#Sylvia Chidi

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Kissing Beneath Wood Smoke and Stars

Those first kisses beneath wood smoke and starswill stay with us forever, exploding with capriciouspiquancy that still lingers, effervescent in our mouths.The drought had broken like an ocean wave,a tang of North Sea air, ice-cold and delicious,and all we wanted was to drown in our embrace,heartbeats echoing, rhythmic and auspicious,lost in wood smoke kisses, stars and space. Kim M. Russell,…

[seizethedeansofproduction]

pics for reference (goes L to R and top to bottom)

[ace--of--swords]

A solitary place

Is not where I belong

Read my lips and trace the lines on my face

You see! Solitude is not my favourite song

◇◇◇☆☆☆◇◇◇

Sylvia Chidi - In Solitude

Comission for @claudia-nomusaabara of most divine Claudia.

Comissions

[siren-sashimi]

Hemimetabolism [HC scenario; Marquis Vincent de Gramont x ballerina!reader]

Contents and warnings: female presenting reader, work place pressure (highly competitive work environment) , Reader has self loathing thoughts, instances of stalking, allusions to exploitation, power plays, intimidation, very long outline…

[Based on an anonymous prompt; HCs on their beginnings] Don't forget, you're working in the arts. Talent alone isn't going to save you a safe spot in life. Patronages in ballet aren't rare, you've to dance every part perfectly, smile at the sponsors, no finger shall be moved the wrong way, never badmouth anyone in your company, your mentor knows you dance your part perfectly yet dance it again and again and again and again to perfection, don't fall off the rails, don't show your exhaustion, don't let anyone hear your crying, perform always towards anyone in excellence.

♦ You know you're good, you wouldn't have been invited for a season to Rome. For nothing but the constant demand, constant scheming for the best part, pressure by patrons, by the artistic director, by the instructor, and by company members, be it for the pettiest reasons, leaves your self confidence raw and frail, tiptoeing the line between a the proverbial stiff upper lip and a breakdown. While everyone around you, including yourself doesn't show any of it.

In addition, patronages are the actual stepping stones for someone's career - someone might be influential enough against the director's will, maybe someone's the choreographer's old classmate . Most hope that whoever throws an eye on them isn't this unpleasant of a person, perhaps someone highty-tighty about arts but not about their protegée's body. And if... maybe they're not too violent, their touches not too unbearable.

♦ New play for the season: "Sylvia". Since you're new, you become a dryad. And the costume-department has some lovely ideas creating  dresses for each tree a dryad could be. Not overwhelming but you made it as part of well-regarded company, you have a visible part, you can work up and up each season. Still, only a dryad as a guest... You surely hadn't put it all in your performance? What could you've done more? Surely, there was something you missed, to focused on your own steps that you didn't lay your eyes on the actual  main characters, how well they master their technique… Maybe the excitement over the invitation into a renominated position had you blinded for everything else. You hadn't been attentive enough, you hadn't been good enough for another role.

♦All company members are asked to attend the season opening party (and of course, training next day starts at 8 am sharp!). An opportunity to garner the favours of sponsors and patrons of the theater, maybe gain some yourself. As ambitious as you feel, you hope a simple dryad will be too uninteresting to make an easy prey.

♦ Tough luck, some guy is extremely interested in picking wall flowers. He seems important enough that people talk to him, a quick chance for you To slip through the cracks. Yet he moves progressively closer to you through the crowd to the point he begins to end conversation with a smile that's straining more and more. Polite save distance isn't safe anymore. You begin to slowly but surely try to move towards the upper bathroom. Are these steps other guests who need to use the facility or...? In increasing panic, you rush past the door and run up even more stairs. Rushing down the dark hallway you almost collide into a large figure. He tells you that you shouldn't be here, why are even here?

♦ The place you planned to become your escape is now guarded by this tall men who seems ready to attack you at any wrong move. "Chidi!" an authoritative voice calls upon the man. The tall man steps away from you, only one step, his gaze still fixed on you. Next to him, behind the door of the balcony area of the building steps another tall man. His clothes are of finest quality as well as way too fancy even for an season opening event at classic arts.

Something in your distressed look, your eyes constantly twitching to the banister you can't see behind you, to check if the creep from downstairs is following you must've told the well-dressed man something. "Rather scared and lost. Leave her be." he tells the one called Chidi. "Um... I am sorry, I didn't want to interrupt." Whatever you could've interrupted anyway "I just wish to go upstairs." "To do what?" Chidi snides in. "I..." you look back "Just a rest, the party got quiet too crowded." Chidi looks unimpressed yet the other shrugs, and waves vaguely behind him. You're allowed to pass.

♦ It is only at the top at the stairwell of the 4th floor, you hear Chidi and the other man again, at least you recognize their voices. These voices arguing with the one of the down-stairs creep. But within minutes the minutes end - all you hear is a dull sound and a wail which quickly ends. What on earth happened? Should you go or not? That didn't sound good although... if that creep won. You retreat into the shadows, deeper into the hallway. At one point, no idea how much time passed, the night is getting too cold, you need at least some slight hours of sleep for the next day. Passing the hallway none, nothing is to be seen. The catering staff is cleaning up the buffet and decorations.

♦ Training starts, one of faunes is already rumoured to have gained himself a sugar daddy, if Orion falters, the faun might become the hunter soon. You are only relieved, your company will stay in their own circles. Even on a night out, you surely won't meet anyone who has any say or money in casting. No consequences, you're not asked to change position so whatever happened at the opening party, you were lucky this time. Only during last rehearsal before the day of first costume fit, your choreographer urges you to actual excellence, you will dance in front of one of the most esteemed patrons. They freed some of their time to pay an extra visit, so shine! A performance during which everyone is nervous, your choreographer's voice harder. Only in the distance, somewhere at the upper balcony all of you can only muster out the dark silhouettes of someone sitting in the chair, other people standing around them.

♦ Next day is first fitting day. Diana is clad in the palest silver, wearing a wreath of stars, on the center a sickle moon. All the dryads wearing bodies in the colour of the stem of their tree, yet the tights are appliqued with the ornaments of these trees, the headwears even have fake leaves. But when you ask for your costume, the seamstress is a bit at loss explaining that yours will need to wait. Here you are, all your fellow dancers transforming into mystic spirits and characters of old tales, whereas all your wear are your regular training attire, colourless, simple. Maybe you had made a big mistake at the party. A detrimental mistake even. ♦ Even the next day your mind is clouded. If these aren't thunder clouds wearing your head down. That is until the seamstress catches you before the changing room. You will be the spirit of a birch tree. Your costume is white except your skirt and sleeves are dyed black on the hems, white tights painting with black marks, gold and green leaves sewn on all over. You're the only dryad with a golden wreath. Maybe you shouldn't feel like a gleeful five year old. You're only a side character, a decorative dancer but the thought how magical you look… your movements feel much livelier. Even back in regular training attire… something magical blooms in you.

♦ This weird giddiness still lingers through all the rehearsals up to the premier. Your entire body is fluttering and floating like a birch's leave in the wind. As if someone saw you and figured your style would come out best in the character of a birch dryad. Dancing like this comes so easy to you, you almost forget that you're just a side character. Of course when you see Sylvia dance, it is as if her body was a petal in the wind, Diana's movement swift, effortless whereas even the lift of her little finger demands all attention on stage, you think that you maybe be a happy tree but in the end you are tree on stage.

♦ For the evening of the dress rehearsal the theater has good news: As little appetizer, the patreons of the theater organized a little meeting with champagne and snacks. They even somehow booked the Villa Borghese. All of your nerves are too tense to actually care much about the idea of party. And what if you meet that creep from last time? At least everyone would be lenient on you excusing yourself early, all of you would understand needing a rest. But when you arrive there, only the entrance area being lit for a get-together, dancers and instructors small talking in pleasantries, the man from last time was nowhere to be seen. In the evening's twilight, slowly drifting away from the crowd you finally have time to actually view some art in Rome, in peace, only far off voices, no crowd of tourists… Admiring the great Titian, and Caravaggio for yourself.

♦Of course, so many Bernini's, so, so many. One you know from previous art references of aestheticized pictures of the Internet. The beautiful Appollon hunting after the despairing Daphne. The physicality, Daphne's agony immediately understandable. Having the time and silence to study the statue you perhaps got you so lost in it, you only resurface after you become aware of another person's presence next to you.

♦ He stands perfectly still, hand in his left pocket. Perhaps that perfect poise and silent movements hid his presence for a while. Otherwise he's hard to overlook. Definitely taller than many men, an aura at ease as only someone untouchable, so powerful is (almost like Diana of stage), and that suit… "Oh, it is you…!" you remember loudly from the last party. Still studying Bernini's work, he lightly tilts his head, giving at best a small hum. Then he turns his head towards you. "So you remembered?" That comment tucks at the corners of your mouth. "You're not easy to forget, Signore. Your style alone…" No reaction from his side. Due the difference in  height he of course has to look down to you. Yet… perhaps it's just the natural form of his big eyes, the way eyes in lighter colours pronounce the pupil. It feels like being watched. You quickly try correct and impoliteness. After all he… "You saved me that night. That's hard to forget." "Hmm" he shifts ever so slightly "how so?" Carefully you eye him. "Perhaps I was a bit speculating but the last things I heard were your voices and-" that uncomfortable sound of a body hit, perhaps a cracked nose "he was gone." This man's nose looked intact. "Perhaps there's also thanks due to your… companion, the one in the grey suit." Whatever you said seems to amuse your saviour. He huff, his grin showing his teeth. "Well" he says "It's been a long time since I wasted fists on an cretin like him. It was worth it." What has been worth it? You tense. Perhaps you were too alerted by the nightmare idea of having to crawl at a patron's feet but suddenly you become aware of the man in front of you. Both of you are too far away to hear any other voice from the party. He was practically towering over you, hands large, strong enough to break a nose with one hit… His attire, his hair, his cologne reeked of wealth. Good grief, he was part of the group that could book out the Villa Borghese for a private event.

"Such philistines wouldn't even recognize art if it would scream at them. They only throw money at the idea of titillation. And I've to share my sparse time at the same meetings with these swines." In his monologue your breath became more even. Just a bit intimidating looking bohemian, wasn't he? Suddenly his eyes snap back at you. "Don't you think a thanks is appropriate to the one who saved your skin? I even sullied my hand hitting him" Don't flinch! you remain to yourself, doing your best to overhear your mind screaming at you to run. Have you ever had paid attention how broad his shoulders are? How even these so well cut suits betray a strong physique?  If you play any game you can only loose. "Thank you." you decide to reply. Simply, that's all. ♦ A smirk carves into his face. A silent prayer passes through your mind when you see this, a litany begins when he bows down to you. "No, no, that won't do." Large green eyes fixing on yours. Internally you check all the technique you've ingrained in yourself, breathing calm enough, posture not too tense - if only no fear creeps upwards your eyes.

Not too close, but close enough to smell his subtle perfume, refreshing, dark, like a forest, so elegant. "I would say you owe me some damn good performance. Your effort for mine, sounds like a fair exchange, wouldn't you say?".

His smile looks satisfied, less directed to you. He leaves you standing there, leaves you confused. Is your patron - with these words he is, right?- just a chivalrous peacock or a patient wolf?

♦ The premiere is met by roaring applause! The titular Sylvia isn't only loved by Amintas, the audiences adores her too. At the last step, all of you fauns, nymphs, Artemis herself, beholding Sylvia's happy end, all you can think how grandiose the first dancer was. At the thought how good you have to get to reach any glory of hers, your toes ache beyond the exhaustion of the evening.

♦ It's party time announcement! While the faun, lead by Sylvia's dancer are popping open their first champagne, the adrenaline rushing as much as the bubbles in the flutes. Maybe you would've celebrated too but after the curtain fell, tiredness struck heavy on you. You don't know why. You dance's impeccably but only as much as a dryad can… Did you do your best performance. And compared to the greatness of the lead dancers…

Trying to sneak away you bump into something heavy. Trying to figure out whatever this object is you recognize that it was the familiar frame of someone you already had bumped into. Chidi… hadn't that been his name? "Would you be so kind to accept the Marquis' invitation?" he tells you, ignoring you just trudged on his polished leather shoes. "Who…. You mean your…" in what relation did they even stand to each other? And what Marquis? "You mean the… sharply dressed companion of yours?"

"The Marquis yes. So what do you say to dinner?"

"Just dinner?" The way Chidi doesn't bat an eyelash nor moves any muscle makes you wonder if he ever danced too with his composure. Yet offers you a small kindness: "The dining place isn't exactly what I would call discreet. If you please, Miss, the Marquis isn't patient."

♦ With only the most flashy parts of your stage makeup hastily wiped off, and off-stage clothes which look drab and tired even against Chidi's impeccable grey uniform, you're escorted to a louder part of the inner city of Rome. The place is well packed for a Friday, definitely more quaint than chique. Chidi and you are greeted by a quiet yet friendly waiter, led to a room behind a curtain. In it, a door's open to a much more quiet backyard.

The Marquis, it is him, the man from the parties, is dressed in champagne white, more befititng a visit to the opera than this (albeit cozy) place. Leaned against the back of his chair, eyes following one of Rome's cats, balancing on the walls of the backyard. At Chidi's announcement he gives you polite smile.

♦ You're served fried artichokes. (Chidi is relegated to a table behind the curtain, presumably designated to dine on his own.) In spite of the tiredness seeping into your bones, the bewilderment of whatever goes in, the smell so rich, savoury, the sweet bitterness of the artichoke… At your host announcing: "Bon appetit, you worked for it." only your manners save you from wolfing it down. The melange of  and the smoky after taste, rich golden taste of oil, turning the bitterness sweet is nothing you've tasted before, a sensation so gladdening it washes over your thrumming nerves. Looking up, you see your host smiling, again. You can't read it. "It's good" you initiate the conversation "it really is. It was kind of you to invite me here. Thank you." "It's nothing chique yet I remember it from my first travel to Rome. Even in better establishments nothing comes close to this."

♦Surprisingly, the conversation flows easily. Your nebulous host introduces himself as Marquis Vincent de Gramont, he's from France (he's fine with English, if you want to drop the Italian you meticulously put together for this season). Although such mentions make you almost drop your fork, he easily smoothes from such grand revelations to talk about your play. Apparently he's a patron of the Opera in Rome, indeed he's very fond of ballet. Asks how you came to balett. Actually the conversation is so lovely, you almost forget your first meeting, his title. But after the dessert plates are taken away (Chestnut tartellette), he stands up and offers you his arm, it all comes back. "Walk with me." Hesitance from… precaution? Nervosity from the attention from such a vibrant man (and what all that could mean…)?

The pause has been too long to appear as courteous. Without looking into Monsieur de Gramont's eyes your threat your hands around his elbow, leaving the now empty restaurant, Chidi following you in some meters of distance. ♦ Outside, Roman night life is as vivid as it can be on a Weekend, although calm enough that you can be unbothered. Vincent walks comfortably whereas you… don't know where you're going. "Monsieur…!" you speak up out of a sudden before suspicion morphs into panicked fear "why…" The deep orange light of the street life cuts a sharp profile of the Marquis' face, even in the dark his eyes are clear enough about to flit… in the profile you see one eye slowly, almost lazily slide towards the direction of the tense figure on his arm. "What is it?" "Why are you doing… why are you so nice to me?" Now he pulls his arm out of your hold, stands up before you, looking down to you. So, so many people pass loudly talking, laughing, arguing over the cobbled streets, the two of you could as well stand in the silent. Next to you only the silent, immovable marble, Daphne's face contorted in metamorphosis and despair.

"Why can't I be nice to you?" "May I be frank?" "I doubt anything you say make me even quiver. But if you need, I'll permit it."

"None in a position such as yours…" (if there's anyone else who could ever be in a higher position, if there was anyone ever like this man, you just know it by the richness of his clothes, by the day he still moves as if he was invisible for those who shouldn't see him) "Any patronage, be it art for art's sake, isn't out benevolence. They demand at least a good piece of art in exchange. At least…" you stress "And you… well, see where you got us. What you wear, what you make possible. In all frankness, if your ever were to ever ask anything of me, there's no chance I could refuse. You probably know it by instinct. And I'm afraid your words make such a probability become fact." "Please don't take it as an accusation of your character, this world I move in works on unspoken rules." you add quickly. Have you gone too far? Probably he would only need to lift his pinkie of the left hand and you could forget even having a silent role in a local theater production.

♦ Indeed he huffs, shakes his head. "Well, I wasn't wrong about you. Indeed I want to bring you to a hotel room, if you would be so kind to follow me." Once again for this evening he offers you his arm. In your eyes it has the same outlines of a noose. By the unspoken rules of the world to literally tip toe in… you have to tie it around your neck. For a while you two (Chidi somewhere behind) walk in silence, your stomach churning. The food was too good to turn sour in your mouth. Your thoughts are racing. Sure, he's handsome, and could move heaven and earth with no effort, he reeks of money. But what would you need to do for him? Men this handsome and rich are the least suspected (if anything could ever reach such a man). For some patrons already having a dancer on their whim was an ideal board of powerplay… sex just one that gratified ego and sexual urges. Maybe a slither of hope is that the Marquis' this rich that you would be a quick past time. "You know the story of the nymph Echo?" His questions tears you out of the current of your racing thoughts.

♦ Quickly you roam through your mind. "Wasn't that the story with Narcissus?" "Indeed. And?" "Um… she… was cursed to repeat the last words that could be spoken to her. Narcissus wouldn't have her any way, he… I don't know if I remember it correctly, either he thought of her as stupid as she only repeated his words or he already was in love with his own reflection. "Do you know what happened to her." "I only know that he drowned himself." You two stepped into the hallway of a baroque hotel, only by passing you noticed a small plaque naming it "il Continentale". While recounting this story, the Marquis lead you up a spiral staircase. Why wouldn't he take an elevator? The far rings of elevators were to be heard in the lobby. "Echo", the Marquis continued "was so humiliated, she retreated into a cave, didn't eat, didn't drink, he bones turned to stone. But nymphs are, in a way, immortal. He voice remained. "The arm you held pulled you down a carpet laid out hallway. "You know the other way Echo died?" She would die once again? You could only shake our head. Room numbers, there were so few rooms, they passed into a blur. 21, 22… there, there it was a bight door. Even the pristine white paint couldn't elevate how heavy the wood must be. "The god Pan was in love with her, she didn't. In fury of her refusal of him he tore her apart, threw all he parts between the mountains. There they ghost around, still resounding from the rock faces. Now you two stood facing the door. No taste in mouth, no feeling in any of your usually so sharp limbs. Your palms felt under the rich material of your patron how hard the Marquis' arm muscles were. He has told you all this like he talked about the weather forecast. Hadn't looked at you but opened the door. You sprung to run the other way. In the hallway, a forecast shadow, in the middle of it all stood Chidi. "Come on in." the Marquis called you. "we don't have all night." If Echo's last remains was only her voice, you dearly, dearly wished it would be the thing that would be heard of you too. But in the end all there was left was memory, she's died violently anyway. ♦ The room was excessive. In the way Baroque is excessively luxurious, heavily, suffocating though. Like a cat finding quick comfort, the Marquis seated himself into an armchair of the room, facing you. His face hardly readable, although you would guess it was… relaxed? Unbothered? What should you do know. Chidi hasn't followed… "You know what's your problem?" Monsieur de Gramont asked you. You're still standing, close by the door. Over your silence he continues. "You're selling yourself short." Have you even offered yourself to him yet? "You don't know your worth yet, and lesser men, like that rancid trash who followed you… well, even he knows about your worth and wants to exploit it." "You don't?" It slips out quietly. Suddenly the Marquis' face drops, he jumps up, and struts over to quick like a leopard falling over it's prey. He does this again. Again he hulks over you, green eyes drilling into you, lighting up too brightly. The silent look itself is a command to your to respond whereas your body, your instinct screams to barge through this heavy oak-wood door somehow, somehow dash past Chidi, somewhere, anywhere away from this transfixing gaze. "Would you like me to?"

♦ His cologne is so clear, even in panic you notice how tasteful it his. You two are so close, the warmth of his breath brushes over your lips. It is almost too hot, it melts your frozen body as if someone threw boiling water on ice in winter. The paralysis cracks a little - enough for you to drop you gaze. ♦ A clack of shoes. Carefully you eye the Marquis who'd taken a step back. "There, you did it again." He shakes his head "You're probably clever enough to notice by know but I wouldn't need to waste any time or money on a dinner and a chat "You think that all this" a broad hand waves over the golden glittering, fresco overpainted room "is for fornication. Pardon me, my dear, but if for such a brachial purpose, I wouldn't need time to satisfy such needs." So why creep me out like this? You wanted to scream although there was this little observative, sharp part in you. This part in your picking up in clues, listening to the little bits dropped in conversations that could offer positions, roles, opportunities… Where was this conversation going. "My life is unpleasant enough. I would like to enjoy at least something beautiful. Both of us can agree that out exchange is created for mutual exchange. In simple terms: You will be granted my protection from any unsuited… let's call them supporters, and I demand your excellency. But" Vincent raises a finger "you have to deliver myself excellency. Understood."

Entirely flabbergasted you can only nod. "Excellent. So we have an agreement. If you would be so kind to not look like a deer in the headlights anymore." ♦  Through the confusion all your relief bursts through with all the fear Monsieur has indeed helped build up. And if you can judge by all the years of pressure induced in your training, he knew exactly what he said. Every single, every single damn word was cleverly laid out. "So that's all?! And what is this" grand gesture over this excess of a room "then?! Why tell me about the gruesome of murdered women-" "Echo" "starving or ripped to shreds, these stories are still scary."

As an answer there was this cryptic smile on his lips. The Marquis stepped forward, reach past you for the door handle. In the often so repeated gesture, his hand waved over an room with stucco at every corner, covered in gold leaf, walls painted with scenes of luscious forests, too tame, too bright to resemble any real forest, in-between  branches half-dressed characters, from myths your partially knew or believed to know, dancing, holding the other down, laughing, vases full of flowers smelling in their own beauty, a window open to the deep blue night. "This" Vincent says "this is a little thanks for your splendid work tonight. I choose the right tree-spirit for you, my dear dryad. A taste of my upcoming thanks. And the stories…" For a moment he might have looked at you, yet his thoughts were somewhere else "…just the coincidences what role you play, that I meet you at the statue of Daphne's. Romanticism is a blinding understanding of the world yet… I think if you give a thought about all these nymphs… I think you might draw an revealing thesis for yourself." With a nod he opens the door. "Good night, my dear. Breakfast is ordered for you. Recover well. I will see you on stage tomorrow evening."

Notes: Gosh, I really wanted the statue of Apollon and Daphne featured so re-wrote everything to take place in Rome, I don't even know if the Roman Ballet is this good that Reader develops complexes.

While writing Chidi interactions, I was also shortly inspired by the idea how reader is a protegée for Vincent purely for art for art's sake. Chidi has to watch the Marquis at all time, so naturally he has to accompany the Marquis at his leisure views as well. And Chidi falls for her. Could be cute, Chidi using the few minutes his boss doesn't inflict trouble on himself trying to be sweet for the reader, complimenting her, and wanting to learn more about classic ballet to talk to them a bit more. Make of that dark menacing guard dog pining, blushing and fumbling for words to start a conversation.

[ejesgistnews]

On-Fire Nigeria Beat New Zealand in Opener at FIFA U-17 Women’s World Cup.  Nigeria kicked off their FIFA U-17 Women’s World Cup campaign in style with a commanding 4-1 victory over New Zealand in their opening group match at the CFC Stadium, Santiago De Los Caballeros. The rapid-fire performance saw the Africans seize control early and never look back. Nigeria's Quick Start It took only two minutes for Nigeria to draw first blood, with Harmony Chidi setting up Shakirat Moshood for the opener. Just 11 minutes later, Khadijat Adegoke doubled the lead, smashing a powerful shot that slipped through the hands of New Zealand goalkeeper Brooke Neary. [caption id="attachment_305210" align="alignnone" width="900"] U-17 WWC: We’re Battle Ready For Flamingos – New Zealand Captain Eglinton[/caption] Faridat Abdulwahab made it 3-0 in the 28th minute, firing from outside the penalty area after a well-taken corner by Moshood. Nigeria's dominance continued in the second half when Taiwo Afolabi’s header, off an Adegoke cross, secured their fourth goal in the 55th minute. New Zealand’s Response New Zealand found some consolation on the hour mark when Hannah Saxon turned an Ela Jerez corner into the net. However, the Kiwis were largely outplayed in possession, territory, and chances, with Nigeria creating 32 attempts on goal to New Zealand's three. Player of the Match Taiwo Afolabi was awarded the Player of the Match for her stellar performance in the midfield and her crucial goal. Match Statistics (New Zealand / Nigeria) Possession: 36% / 64% Shots: 3 / 32 Shots on target: 1 / 10 Passes: 307 / 553 Passes completed: 53% / 76% Corners: 2 / 11 Free kicks: 6 / 6 Next Matches for New Zealand New Zealand faces the Dominican Republic next on Sunday, October 20, 2024, followed by Ecuador on Wednesday, October 23, 2024. Both games will be held at the Cibao University Stadium in Santiago de los Caballeros. Line-ups New Zealand: Brooke Neary, Charli Dunn, Mikaela Bangalan, Emily Humphrey, Alyssha Eglinton, Hannah Saxon (Charley March 66′), Amber De Wit (Кута Morgan 78′), Katie Pugh (Grace Bartlett 57′), Millee Loxton (Nat Young 46′), Ela Jerez, Katie Chellenbron (Mary Brown 57′) Subs not used: Sophie Campbell, Harriet Muller, Maddison Sawkins, Pia Vlok, Laura Bennett. Head coach: Alana Gunn Nigeria: Christiana Uzoma, Khadijat Adegoke, Hannah Ibrahim, Jumai Adebayo, Onyedikachi Ekezie, Faridat Abdulwahab (Muinat Rotimi 85′), Shakirat Moshood, Taiwo Afolabi, Harmony Chidi (Ramotalahi Kareem 85′), Aishat Animashaun (Blessing Ifitezue 78′), Peace Effiong. Subs not used: Sylvia Echefu, Elizabeth Boniface, Anike Azeez, Prisca Nwachukwu, Asiata Isiaka, Funke Arogundade, Oghenemairo Obruthe. Head coach: Bankole Olowookere Referee: Olatz Rivera Olmedo (Spain) Assistant referees: Gabrielle Lemieux (Canada), Katarzyna Wasiak (United States) Fourth official: Alina Pesu (Romania).

[aromaticcoffees]

Peace, Peace, Peace

Peace, Bring it on Peace, peace You do no wrong Peace, peace, peace You are strong

Stronger then hatred Stronger than fear Stronger than the dark powers of a troubled mind

Peace Stay with me Peace, peace Flee not, try to be kind Peace, peace, peace Why hath thou so tough to find?

– Sylvia Chidi

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the…

[regexkind]

☕ "The good place" tv show

I loved that show. It has characters who I found deeply relatable (hello Chidi) and talked about some of my favorite shit (hi hi hi philosophers I am biting you and biting you and biting you) while having a very engaging plot.

I found the ending bitterly disappointing. "Eternity will be boring" is a trope I find so loathesome. Imagine thinking that there is some sort of finite list of skills you can perfect until you're bored of them and it's over. What the fuck!! I know eternity is a long time but you'll be inventing new kinds of newfangled diversions and arts and such for so long. Chairbuilding is not your typical skill. Your typical skill is not only more niche than you suppose but more niche than you can suppose. "Writing software to make it easy for people to ape Homestuck's format" is something that sounds niche to our ears but is like. Small potatoes. "Writing an audience of sentient bots that can appreciate ke$hastuck, and then watching them play off each other" sounds niche but isn't niche. And that's two software/homestuck related examples, I am sorry but that is what is on my mind today. Most of my art is in the computer. Let's see if I can come up with another thing.

Earlier today I was daydreaming about making a vortex of flamethrowers out of tubing, cooking alcohol, humidifier modules and computer fans. Then I would use this to make a firenado. The point isn't how awesome this would be (though it is doubtless awesome). The point is that I have these sorts of ideas all the time. I live in a technosorceress' Sylvia Plath hell of my own creation, fueled by my ADHD. And I have these ideas all the time but I'm hardly very knowledgeable on anything! If I had expertise in even one field--metamaterials or embroidery or musical composition or or or... I would have such crazy dreams. Dreams I can't even imagine having right now. And Tahani has all the fucking time in eternity to pick up areas and have crazier and crazier dreams. I can't ever imagine losing the thrill of existence if I had all eternity to dream of art and no obligations to leach the joy out of doing so.

[primordialnyx]

Do you have any favorite poems about finding meaning in life?

Hmm, finding meaning in life? I have a few personal favorites that still hold meaning in my heart:

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. - Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum 

I fought and fought to free myself. - Sylvia Plath

Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave. And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it's one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be. - Chidi Anagonye, The Good Place

I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center. - Kurt Vonnegut, Player Piano

And much much more of course.

But whether they relate to finding meaning in life will be subjective. I think part of the meaning of life is how you’ve let your soul breathe so I hope you’ve allowed your soul to breathe today.

[novantinuum]

10 Fandoms, 10 Characters, 10 Tags

Tagged in this challenge by @runrundoyourstuff​, thank you! I’m probably just... gonna pick one of my favs from each fandom.

1) Steven Universe: Steven Universe

2) Gravity Falls: Ford Pines

3) Trollhunters: Jim Lake Jr.

4) Doctor Who: Clara Oswald

5) Avatar the Last Airbender: Toph Beifong

6) TAZ Balance: Lucretia

7) Breath of the Wild: Urbosa

8) Star Trek Discovery: Sylvia Tilly

9) Lord of the Rings: Samwise Gamgee

10) The Good Place: Chidi Anagonye

I probably won’t tag a full 10 people because I’m lazy, but I’ll tag a few to do this challenge if you’re bored and want something to do:

@englandamericaitaly, @cynthi-universe, @infriga, @ashidaii, @hugthesquids, @fexiled, @the-ill-doctor

[callmegwynbleidd]

What is my destiny? What is your destiny?

Can it be changed at all? Or is it another hallucination? A figment of our imagination, of what life should hold in stock for us? If destiny would walk our paths, I would say to her:

"Why have you come all this way, just to lead us astray?"

~Sylvia Chidi.

[its-all-about-harrystyles]

Candlelight

I hope that you like this, It was a quick idea that I wrote down and turned into smut?!? Plus I think Harry would look glorious in candlelight, 

The poem is call ‘Kiss Me Slowly’ by Sylvia Chidi

Word Count: 1318

The candles cast a warm glow around the living room, turning everything around you into warm hues of yellow and orange. The scent of sandalwood and vanilla drift around the room, a smell so glorious you could probably bathe in it. 

You had always loved candles, always lit them, to you they felt like happiness, to fill a heart with molten gold light and warmth. You could practically use them for any occasion and at any time. To you, however, they were best used at night, to light a dark, lonely room into one of dancing gold light, and warmth.

You stare across to the beautiful man sat reading beside you, completely shirtless. His fingertips trail gently around your ankles that are resting on his leg, the small action causing small goosebumps to appear on your skin.

The candlelight glows warmly against his skin, making it look golden as if he’d sat in the sun for hours. Of course, you knew that wasn’t true, you haven’t had sun in London since September, but you could pretend. Hir hair, which he was growing out, was tied back into a bun, small curls falling out towards the front of his face. You lean forward and push them back, your hand lingering as he turns to you,

“Kissing is an art, one most master.

Kissing slowly is better than faster” You whisper, leaning in to place a kiss to his lips. You hold there, allowing him to place his book onto the edge of the sofa and turns back to you, his arms delicately wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you up onto his lap. 

“Are you using poetry to get into my pants?” He questions, his eyebrow raised suspiciously. You giggle, tracing your finger slowly down from his jawline to his shoulder.

“Kiss me slowly,

Kiss me tenderly,

Kiss me sweetly.

Kiss me on the lips,

Down to my fingertips” You whisper, savouring the way the golden light cascades across him. His eyes shine brightly as he looks at you, leaning forward he presses a small delicate kiss to your lips. His hand takes yours and slowly brings it to his mouth, He looks to you as he brings his mouth to your fingertips and begins to place soft kisses to each. You gasp slightly as he nips at one, your body grinding against him as he does. 

You gulp as he looks at you to continue, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk. God damn that handsome face, 

“Delicately sample my nipples

Kiss it, tease it, rather simple

When done right, let me be precise

Kissing itself can be rather very nice

Kiss me slowly,

Kiss me tenderly,

Kiss me sweetly” You feel his hand work its way up your back, gently unclasping your bra. He pulls the fabric from your breast, throwing it to the side. You whimper as you feel his lips on your collar bone, the kiss hot as he lets his lips linger. Slowly he traces the kisses down, his free hand holding your hip steady. You whimper as his lips find your nipple, gently sucking at the sensitive nub. You arch backwards, you stomach tight as you grip his shoulders. 

He pulls away, using his free hand to travel over your breast, he pinches the nub between his fingers, the sensation rippling through your body as he takes the other between his lips. He kisses it, sucks at it as you buck your hips, your body heating up as you feel him harden beneath you. 

“ Kiss my body inch by inch

Till it tickles and starts to flinch

Kiss me in the left and right ear

Whisper sweet words of passionate care

Kiss me by the neck

With little kisses called pecks

Kiss me hungrily in the mouth

Hear my groaning delicious shouts” He smirks now, his body rising so he can lower your back onto the sofa. Your legs stay firmly wrapped around his waist, holding him in the spot between your legs. 

Your hands trail tenderly up to his back, your fingers tips grabbing the locks that have broken free at the back. You tug on them slightly, causing him to groan as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. 

You giggle as he places kisses across your stomach, a giggle escaping his lips as you squeal beneath him. He slowly kisses his way up to your left ear, nipping at the lobe.

“My beautiful girl” He whispers, his breath warm against your skin. He traces kisses across your cheek, pecks your lips before repeating towards your right ear. He once again kisses at the spot below your ear, nipping at the lobe,

“Evey fucking inch of you is beautiful. And your all mine” He growls causing you to whimper. His lips attach themselves to your neck, biting at sucking at the area. You cry out, running your nails down his back as he makes marks across your neck, claiming you, showing the world that you belong to him. He pecks his way back up your neck, attaching his lips to yours. 

He growls, kissing you hungrily, kissing you as if you were his source of oxygen. You tighten your legs around his waist, your hands releasing his hair from the band holding it together. You grab at the locks, pulling at it slightly. This causes him to bite your lip, pulling away to look at you, He smiles at you to continue, his hips grinding into you.

“Kiss me below and yonder

Till my juices begin to ponder

And turn on fire with desire

Kiss me slowly

Kiss me tenderly

Kiss me sweetly

Kiss me once, twice, thrice” You gulp as his smile grows, his fingers instantly grabbing at the fabric of your panties. He pulls them down quickly, his eyes hungry as he looks to you. He places a kiss on your knee, before slowly letting his lips travel. He nips at the inside of your thigh, breathing hot against your core. 

“Completly mine” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your folds. You buck, whimpering as he dips his tongue between your folds. 

“Harry” you whine, your hands tugging at his hair as his lips find your clit. You cry out, the sensation shooting through you as he continues to work away at the sensitive nub. He growls against you, slowly slipping a ringed finger inside. 

“Fuck, shit, H” You cry, the feeling of the cold metal causing you to shout out. His finger curls inside you, hitting the sensitive wall repeatedly. You shudder as his tongue continues to work away at your clit, your legs shaking as you get closer to your release. 

“Tell me, baby, tell me what you want” He demands, looking up at you with wicked eyes. The candlelight dances across his face now, making him look like a wicked angle, a wicked angle that was completely yours. His skin is golden, his eyes bright with lust as his finger continues its torture. 

“Cum” You whisper, crying out as he presses his lips to your clit once more. His pace quickens now as if his only purpose now was to get you to come undone, to unravel you completely.

“H, Please fuck” You cry, arching backwards as your stomach gets tighter. Your legs shake as you pull at his hair, shouting out his name as you feel the tight knot pop. The orgasm travels through you, your eyes closing tightly as you arch back into the sofa, your bare chest now flush against his. 

He places soft kisses to each of your cheeks, whispering small praises into your ear as your eyes flutter open.

“Such a good girl” 

“Hmmmm” You reply, breathless as your eyes meet his.

“Who knew that poetry was a way of getting what you wanted” He chuckled, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips.

“Blame the candlelight, it made you look too good” You reply, chuckling as he pulls you up and back onto his lap.

“I mean thanks to the candlelight, but the poem was the one that guided me” He chuckles, pressing his lips to yours once more.

[splungecoyote]

Pink is my Colour

Pink pants and rosy plants Pink blouses, never failing to arouse spouses Pink hot feverish lips Passionate pants of pink Love letters dipped in pink ink You see! You see!  Pink is my colour Pink is the sweet side of wild Quite mild Like a little lost baby child Of all the colours compiled Pink is romantic and disarming All pink roses are ever so charming Pink is my colour The fruit juices I drink Are always colour pink With favourable odours Igniting my fire making me desire more and more Think! Think! Pink always links With erotic pleasant stinks Those flirty winks Combining with pink Creating an effect of kink, kink, kinky!  Pink is my colour Refined or raw Pink is my colour And the colour of my door Pink is my colour And the only colour I adore -Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi 

[redheadgleek]

Top 10 fictional characters you admire

Interesting choice with the word “admire.”

1. Frodo Baggins. This essay pretty much describes why. I love both the book and movie interpretation of the character.2. Dana Scully. I have wanted to be her for the last 20 years. (I almost have her hair. Almost). I admire her integrity and tenacity. 3. Kurt Hummel. His story of having an unrequited crush season 1 endeared me to him forever. I admire his strength in adversity and his courage to stand up for himself and for others. I’m also adding Mercedes Jones because I really love this woman for not apologizing for who she is. 4. Anne Shirley. Another character that I wanted to be so badly. Megan Follow’s portrayal of her stubbornness and yet endless ability to love will always be my favorite, but I’m liking the new versions. 5. Juliet Burke. She quickly became one of my favorite characters on Lost. Just loved her complexity so much. 6. Donna Noble. While I love all of the women of the RTD era, Donna has such a special place in my heart. I admire her humanness and her many many flaws that she overcomes. 7. Anne Elliott. I relate way too much to her story. I admire her compassion to others who are not kind to her. 8. Sylvia Tilly. She’s quickly becoming one of my all time favorite Star Trek characters. I admire her compassion and strong-headedness and her brains and her stunning red hair. And let’s add Michael Burnham to the list. Because I admire her fortitude and her sense of rightness. 9. Chidi Anagonye. I admire his kindness and love for his friends that overcomes his anxiety. 10. Hermione Granger. Smart, know-it-all, sticks to the rules but bends for friendship and love. That’s my girl. 

[worth12malfoys]

Roleplay history !

The rules are simple ! Post ten characters you’d like to roleplay as, have role-played as and might bring back. Then tag ten people to do the same ( if you can’t think of ten characters, just write down however many you can and tag the same amount of people ). Aside from that, please repost instead of reblogging !

Currently playing :

Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter - @worth12malfoys​

Bishop Samuel, Harry Potter OC - @cybersquib​

Beni Timoth, Harry Potter OC - @norpowers​

Reginald Barclay, Star Trek: TNG & Voyager - @ltbroccoli​

Shoya Kasamali, fandomless sci-fi OC - @misstheground​

Alara Kitan, The Orville - @picklejaropener​

Want to play :

None of these are super serious considerations at the moment, just characters I’ve never played before that have crossed my mind. (The closest I ever got to actually attempting any of these was Peter.)

Peter Pettigrew, Harry Potter

Ravenpaw, Warriors

Chidi Anagonye, The Good Place

Sylvia Tilly, Star Trek: Discovery

Aziraphale, Good Omens

Ava Starr, Ant-Man and the Wasp

a few more of my OCs

Have played :

I think it’s easiest to list by fandom at this point.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Andrew Wells, Tara Maclay

Babylon 5 - Vir Cotto

Back to the Future - Emmett Brown

Cabin Pressure - Martin Crieff

DC - Clark Kent, Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers

Doctor Who - Nyssa

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog - Billy

Farscape - John Crichton, Scorpius, Miklo Braca, Ka D’Argo

Fullmetal Alchemist - Alphonse Elric

Galaxy Quest - Mathesar, Laliari, Guy Fleegman

Harry Potter - Colin & Dennis Creevey

Killjoys - Johnny Jaqobis

Star Trek - Rom, Naomi Wildman, Petra Sands (OC)

Stargate - Claire & Melburn Jackson, Jack O’Neill

Will / would like to play again :

Andrew Wells

Vir Cotto

Clark Kent

Nyssa

John Crichton

Alphonse Elric

Tagged by : @gxtenoughnxrve <3 Tagging : @all-my-potter-babies, @magicalmusemun, @iustusetpeccator, @tnott, @puddingseeker

[snowbryneich]

TV Show Asks: 3, 9, 10, 35, 37, 49

3. Oh yes - the first one that comes to mind is X Files. I loved Scully and Mulder but man I hated the arc and it dragged on too long. I preferred Monster of the week episodes I gave it up long before the end and live vicariously through gifsets of Mulder and Scully.

9. This is tricky - I don’t think I’ve ever watched anything I thought I would hate? But I will say I went into ST: Discovery with a lot of reservations because I don’t like that it is set in the past of star trek canon - I hate the idea they are going backwards - it ties their hands so much (and I found Enterprise was so disappointing) but I LOVE it so much. 

10. For a while there it was Game of Thrones - I just stopped watching in season 5 but i was dragged back in for season 6 with the Jon/Sansa reunion and with now much lower expectations I enjoy it for what it is. 

35. Top 5 tv characters right now.

1. Michael Burnham (ST: Discovery)

2. Sylvia Tilly (ST: Discovery)

3. Sansa Stark (Game of Thrones)

4. Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place) 

5. Jamie Fraser (Outlander)

37. I’d take myself off to the world Star Trek the Next Gen – (star trek canon before the Dominion war etc) and split my time between actual space and moving myself into a holodeck where I could visit an approximate versions of all the periods of history I want to see without danger of rape, death, scurvy, etc

39. Mostly I prefer 22 because if I like a show I want more of it but I don’t mind 13 – I think there are some series where they don’t have enough story for 22 and it drags so I like there is no danger of that in 13 (mostly) I mean I’m in the UK. Sometimes we only get 6 so even 13 can seem great!

49. Who are you favourite couples on tv. Most of my ships are not canon across media so here are a couple that are.

Michael/Ash (ST. Discovery) even though they seem so doomed

Claire/Jamie (Outlander)

Chidi/Eleanor (The Good Place)

[tumlbr-trasher]

Happy Woman's day to All the lovely ladies out there... I loved a poem by Sylvia Chidi and art ofc by me. Beautiful Poem, do read. Without women Today a daughter and a princess  Tomorrow a mother or a mistress  Up! Up! Up! Women  Stop! Stop! Stop! Women  Perhaps true, perhaps true  Women are amazing creatures  Moulded with dazzling features  Women are an object of mystery  Have their own place in history  Women are great  They make the best dates  Except when they turn up very late  Without women  What will become of us?  No more noises on the bus  No one to make all the fuss  Without women  What will become of men?  Who will teach them,  How to behave and learn?  Women are the spicy ingredient of romance  Women are the juicy parent of importance  Women are a heavenly treasure  The epitome of human pleasure  Up! Up! Up! Women  Stop! Stop! Stop! Women  Perhaps true, perhaps true  Without women  Would this earth have survived?  Without women  Imagine how many will feel deprived  Women are simply delicious  Beware they can be serious  Especially when suspicious  And turn to Mrs Vicious  Women are priceless  Without women  Life will be without spice  Simply lifeless  - Sylvia Chidi  #sylviachidi #womensday #womensday2029 #womensday2k19 #illustrations #lady #mum #sister #friend #girlfriend #wife #daughter #cousin #neighbour #professional https://www.instagram.com/p/But7XHOFsNvqMv5SzpaEpq8RfUH5sjCveYY9PQ0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=jpndatcanccf