#imported italian furniture

[cubocollective]

Top Italian Brand Furniture for Modern Lifestyles

To elevate your home's design, opt for branded furniture like Italian brands known for their quality, craftsmanship, and beauty. Cubo Collective offers a chance to explore the world of Italian furniture with a focus on quality and personalized service. Italian brand furniture is a green option since it is frequently made with environmentally friendly materials and procedures.

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 42 – Matrimony.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 41 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You’re a Corleone woman now, after all." / “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

You married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949, binding the allyship of your two families together but sealing your matrimony with love, bliss and trust. Falling in love, compatibility, love languages and a change in your lifestyle met you in an instant, and being Mrs. Michael Corleone altered your life forever. You can still remember how you fell for him and every bit of affection and intimacy shared from the beginning. You remember; you remember it all, and as you look into the past to compare it to your present and expect for your future, you realize nothing remains changed.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of virginity/loss of virginity, nudity, sexual themes & depictions, heavy touching & kissing, fingering, mentions of pregnancy & planning for children, sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first in-between chapter of Moth to Flame: Part II is finally here!! 😫🙏🏻 I'm sooo sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter, but life has been extremely hectic and busy. 😭 The Vichael girlies are going to adore this chapter is all I'm going to say! We delve into Victoria and Michael's marriage from the very beginning! 🤭❤️‍🔥 This is filled with romance, fluff and domestic wholesomeness. How Victoria and Michael fell in love to how their lives changed as husband and wife and more is all included. I wanted this to be very romantic and sensual before we dive back into the action of current day Moth to Flame! 😳

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Bouquets of pink and white roses, white silk, lilac adornments, angel food cake, the lace finishing over your wedding gown, and the taste of Michael’s lips over yours; you married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949.

Planning for your wedding was one of the few and only times in your life when you felt you had a million things going through your mind at once. 

After weeks of careful planning, the hardest part—the wedding itself—came in bliss and resonated perfectly with everything you had in mind for your perfect wedding day. 

The colors you chose for your wedding ranged from an equal hint of décor in baby pink, lilac, and beige, whereas peonies, lilacs, and dahlias were your flowers of choice.

Silk tablecloth, handcrafted Italian furniture imported from Sicily, seven-tier angel food cake, seven varieties of cannoli from pistachio to limoncello, over a hundred bottles of wine—Grilo, Inzolia and Grecanico just to name a few—aged at least ten years, French champagne, little pastries of sorbets and mini cheesecakes served throughout and freshly squeezed juice from the fruit from the Corleone garden itself were just some of the highlights of your wedding day.

Even your wedding gown itself had been custom designed and tailored with the finest Italian silks and fabrics, following a lengthy session of perfecting your hair, makeup, and manicure with your mother, Mama Corleone, Connie, and Sandra down to rehearing how you would walk down the aisle to which sets of jewelry with diamonds and pearls suited you best. 

Everything was planned and executed to perfection—to say the least. Scarcely were there moments throughout the planning period where the wedding wasn’t mentioned in one way or another; it was the only topic on your mind for days to come.

Consummation of your marriage was expected next from all through tradition and customs, but it wasn’t a concept you and Michael personally believed in. 

Although you were a virgin before you met Michael, he most certainly was not. After his brief marriage with Apollonia, the concept of no intimacy until marriage let alone time spent together or some form of physical affection before marriage was seen and strictly enforced as heavily taboo in Sicily only reminded him of how backward he believed the concept to be, as did you.

Of course, you and Michael were both anticipating and thinking about the intimacy you’d share with one another after your wedding celebration, but not immediately after. That would be eagerly waiting for the both of you at the end of the night.

With the wedding cake having been cut, final drinks served and last dances shared, both of your families collected together all of the bridal gifts, thanked and said goodbyes to every guest they could get to while the wedding staff began to clean up.

Michael and you stood for more photographs by and with guests, thanking them for attending as well before you both made off with security to the vehicle that would take you to your first estate.

You’d both arrive at your new estate by the time security did a full sweep and search of the Corleone manor and all festivities had officially come to an end.

Before you and Michael would settle down for the remainder of the day after the wedding, you both went to meet with your families and new in-laws.

Tomorrow morning there’d be the wedding reception to look forward to after all, but there was more than enough for both you and Michael to think about and do before then.

~

Upon stepping out of your chauffeur’s vehicle at your new estate’s grounds, the first thing your eyes found were those of your bodyguards surrounding your new estate.

Noting the heavy yet inconspicuous security around, it was only a split second longer before you blinked and a warm smile crossed over your lips in reaction to Michael standing by your side; his hand laced with yours as you both began to make your way inside the estate.

Just a few feet from the front door you could already hear the cheerful voices and banter of your parents and in-laws in the foyer; you couldn’t help but feel your exhilarated mood amplify with excitement once more.

“Victoria! Michael! Sweetheart!” Your mother beamed, extending her arms out as she skipped over to the both of you.

Hugged, congratulated a dozen more times, and kissed by your parents and new-in-laws, happy tears are shed once again for you and Michael as a newlywed couple.

“Promettimi che mi chiamerai se ti serve qualcosa!” (Promise me you'll call if you need anything!) Carmela gently squeezed your shoulder after pulling away from a hug, smiling at you. 

“Home sweet home,” your mother cooed, bewildered by the grandiose luxury your new estate has to offer just by standing in the foyer alone. “How wonderful.”

“We’re looking forward to that wedding reception,” your father grinned, redirecting his gaze to Michael. “It’ll be an honor to dine in the newlyweds’ home.”

“It’s an honor to host,” Michael agreed, giving a small, quick smile. “I look forward to it, Don Ferrari.”

“Mm,” Vito nodded, approaching both you and Michael. “And the bridal gifts… I had them arranged to be placed in your guest room. Humble gifts as they may be from our family friends, but they’re close to overflowing.”

“A problem I’d actually like to deal with,” you giggled back. “Thank you, father.”

Naturally, the gifts you received from attending friends, family, and guests aren’t exclusive to gifts newlyweds would benefit from, but a wide variety of items ranging from cash bills to jewelry almost as if the givers were trying to appease you and Michael directly.

Without even having to look inside all of the bridal purses and open each individual gift, you already assumed to yourself there are thousands of dollars worth of gifts there alone waiting for you and Michael that may very well take days to completely open.

Your families deliberately didn’t stay for long to give you and Michael as much privacy as possible today, and you and Michael were more than happy to see them out with waves and smiles before settling down for the rest of the day.

“It’s not over for them,” Michael commented by the gates of the estate, loosening his tie.

“No, it isn’t,” you let out a light laugh, smoothening down your wedding gown. “Not until after the wedding reception, at least.”

Michael chuckled—a rare first time he’s in a somewhat lighthearted mood for the entirety of the day. “Do you need anything, darling?”

“No,” you blushed, gesturing down to your dress. “Only to get this lovely gown off of me in one piece and my makeup at last.”

Just a split second later, you both heard a sharp whistle come towards the gates of the estate which prompted you and Michael’s attention immediately. 

“Hey, Mikey!” Sonny hollered from the gates, leaning against his car and waving at both of you. “No invitations for Tom, Fredo, and I to see the new place, eh? Come on down!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Michael glanced back at you.

You nodded understandingly, relieved you’ll at least get the time to quickly undress and take off your makeup before finally getting to spend some time alone with Michael, and you’re more than happy to have Michael bond with his brothers before retiring for the rest of the day with you too.

The endless amounts of gifts and stuffed bridal purses crossed your mind once more as you entered the estate, imagining you and Michael would more than likely have to get Tom to secure any precious assets or cash bills while the other items remain secure.

You carefully slipped out of your wedding gown and let the lacy, tulle fabric pool at your feet as you grabbed a white, silk nightgown to step into; careful not to let any of your makeup smear against the fabric.

You’re not one to wear a full face of makeup on any regular day, but outings, special events, and evenings—especially your wedding—remain exceptions each time you enjoyed getting dolled up, but your daily beauty routine only consisted of your normal skincare steps, light eye makeup, a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

Upon Michael’s return inside the estate and to the bedroom to undress and unwind, it was his first time gazing upon your face without any makeup as you cautiously stored your nightgown away in an empty closet.

You hadn’t even noticed Michael’s eyes on you at first but picked up on his presence immediately; right then and there, Michael had found himself admiring your beauty and looks, stunned by your natural appearance.

“More congratulations?” You smiled shyly, turning around to face your new husband.

“Something like that,” Michael answered, tossing his tie onto the edge of the bed. “Nothing we both haven’t heard enough of.”

You held back your laughter, “then I hope you don’t mind I retired my glamor for the night already.”

“Not at all,” a ghost of a smile crossed Michael’s lips as he slowly began to approach you. “I’m sure the bridal gifts have nothing but your name on them, after all. I don’t think I need to go and see for myself.”

“Oh, please,” you felt a blush stinging your cheeks as you gazed up at Michael.

“You look beautiful,” Michael murmured, tilting your chin up to face him. “You know that?”

Your skin gave a healthy glow under the evening light as Michael admired every inch of you from the shape of your cheekbones to the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, and your body language towards him filled with desire.

You expected then and there for Michael to lean in and kiss you, and he did, but gently upon your forehead as he let his warm lips linger over your skin.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and embraced your husband, taking in the scent of his heavenly cologne as your heart began to race in your chest against his.

“You should expect all of this, you know,” Michael spoke to you in an ushered voice. “You’re a Corleone woman now, after all. Those gifts want nothing more than to appease and impress you, I’ll make sure of it myself.”

Michael’s intention is to spoil you to no avail and not only with material gifts but your every request; the luxurious lifestyle you can expect to live with him as Michael’s wife and the future mother of his children holds you on a separate pedestal next to being Don Ferarri’s wife, and Michael will continue to keep it that way.

The very gifts with your name engraved upon them awaiting you consisted of everything from cosmetics, luxurious perfumes, oils, and creams, full sets of dazzling jewelry set with diamonds and precious stones, congratulatory letters, towel sets followed by pacifiers, bibs, baby bottles, and cloth diapers that made you blush as you unwrapped them—knowing all would be expecting the news of your first pregnancy next.

An amused look crossed Michael’s eye as he wrapped his arms around you seeing you open the final present for today a set of two pacifiers, he saw a look of excitement over your own expression but also blush spreading over your cheeks as the two of you made eye contact once again, knowing the rest of the night began to the both of you. 

~

The first home you and Michael owned together and settled in was a grand estate in Long Island but outside of the Corleone mall unlike Connie and Carlo’s home and that of Sonny and Sandra’s that were inside the gated family community.

Still, your new home was not far from Michael’s family or yours, and you could make the commute in twenty minutes. 

The plot of land in which your new estate would be built was purchased immediately on the day of your engagement ceremony with construction where your father and Vito had given the green light for construction to begin the day of.

Normally for the size of your estate, it would have taken a good construction crew six months with daily work, but the home was completely finished in just one. Bringing in extra of the best workers and paying a premium always worked well in the end. 

Your grand estate stood at just slightly over five thousand square feet with state-of-the-art architecture, taking inspiration from Modern American design to Italian fixtures and marble imported from Rome. 

Your estate was two stories, finished with an attic consisting of a master bedroom with a walk-in closet designed to be almost the size of a small bedroom for you and Michael, a study that was half a private library, two guest rooms downstairs, a nursery upstairs, a wine room in the basement, full front and back yard, three other extra bedrooms, an office for Michael and four bathrooms.

A mid-sized swimming pool was built in the backyard where your home’s carefully curated and trimmed garden surrounded the sides and fences protected your family’s privacy so one could neither look into the estate grounds nor out of it.

Twenty-four-hour surveillance was always to be expected with varying bodyguards and a careful selection of specific windows—such as the ones in Michael’s office—were selected and built to be soundproof.

Your bathtub had 24k gold claw-finished, quartz countertops as well as in the kitchen, marble floors, a foyer in the front of the estate fit with a French handcrafted chandelier, a private exit to the gardens and plenty of storage with a full laundry room at the end of the hallway downstairs.

Crown fixtures adorned the kitchen and a wide spiral staircase decorated with a blood-red carpet led upstairs to where one of two hidden emergency exits only you and Michael knew how to activate could be found.

The price of your home came to a grand total of $250,000 and was exactly where you and Michael wanted to be; exactly where the two of you planned to start your family and raise your children.

Michael and you had both grown up in Long Island; meaning nothing short of symbolic with the feel of home settling into your first house in New York together.

You and Michael only had a brief discussion about where your first home could be since the two of you came to an agreement so quickly to choose Long Island to stay in.

At the time, thoughts of buying another home elsewhere or even moving in the future were not on your mind although Michael had begun to think of Nevada and a villa in Sicily almost immediately on; the latter being a familiar and mutually agreed upon idea to you.

Of course, both you and Michael’s family knew just as well as the both of you why you didn’t have a honeymoon after your wedding, and there were no questions asked or teasing to be made.

Going on a honeymoon with Michael after your wedding was in your mind just as much as your wedding was, but the same could not be said for Michael who was much too preoccupied with the danger and threat of another family war, especially with hostility coming from the Ricci family.

Going outside of New York—let alone going to Sicily—would paint a clear, red target over both your and Michael’s backs and especially create vulnerability within the Corleone family considering Vito was semi-retired at the time.

It didn’t matter if you and Michael decided to visit Rome, Venice, or anywhere else in Italy just for the sake of visiting home but staying away from Sicily; the mafia families including the Ricci’s still had power stretching there legitimately.

Naturally, both you and Michael yearned to take a true honeymoon trip to Sicily and Sicily only. Even with the rest of the world as a choice to visit, you would have rather continued to postpone your honeymoon until you could safely visit Sicily again without having to worry about anything but how to spend quality time with your husband.

You’d very well have your honeymoon with Michael a little after your first anniversary together, somewhat defeating the purpose of a true honeymoon but with the threat of your lives and your family on the line, it was all very worth it with a legitimate reason to delay.

In Michael’s second marriage now come hell or high water he would never risk a slight chance of you being anywhere where there’s a notion of danger, even if you begged him to.

“Well,” you bit your lip, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.”

“I know, darling,” Michael raised his water glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I feel no different than you do.”

You brushed your fingers against the fabric of the window’s curtains and glanced over to Michael again. “They’ll know, won’t they?”

Michael’s eyes met with yours almost instantly; his expression appeared grim knowing you referred to the Ricci family, but with the Barzinis and Tattaglias to worry about as well.

“As they do,” Michael replied and set his glass down. “Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head and faced the window—blushing as you felt Michael’s presence approach you from behind. “But it’s been on my mind again and again these past few weeks. I can’t shake it off.”

“And on mine,” Michael lovingly embraced you from behind and lightly pressed his chest against your back. “As much as I would like to degrade them to such, they’re not animal enough to disgrace a wedding, even without an invite.”

“They should know better,” you murmured under your breath.

“And they more than likely do,” Michael nodded and moved his hands down to your hips to tenderly caress them. “None of those men deserve further justifications, but above all, they’re curious about you, and just who you are.”

You placed your hands over Michael’s and gave them a soft squeeze as you remained quiet.

“If it’s about safety—” Michael began.

“I feel safe with you,” you told him as you turned around.

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours as he gave you a small nod; you swore to yourself for a moment that you could see a glimmer of a brief smile over his plush lips. 

“I do,” you continued, “always. And as you can guess…” You blushed sheepishly, “I was thinking about our honeymoon too, and we can’t even go.”

“We will soon enough,” Michael rubbed up and down your arms gingerly. “When we are able to and when we can. You know it’s not something I want to put aside to forget or neglect.”

“I know, baby,” you smiled back shyly. “I believe you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael lowered his tone of voice and pressed a warm kiss over your forehead. “I promise I will. None of what our family is going through now will last. I personally guarantee it,” as Michael moved back from the kiss, he tilted your chin up to gaze directly into his eyes. “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

Blushing furiously and feeling a wave of butterflies rush to the pit of your stomach, you nodded at Michael before leaning up to give his lips a sweet kiss.

“I’ll wait until you say we can go,” you whispered against his lips as you wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Until then,” Michael murmured and closed off the distance between both of your bodies, ensnaring you in a deep kiss once more.

~

Michael’s changed lifestyle to a mafioso and your continued one as a mafiosa would never change. You both married one another knowing what your lives are and would continue to be, but also remaining unaltered.

You’re a lawyer, after all, and a skilled prosecutor with a name made for herself—reputation and all—in New York. Your career is more than something you see to corrupt and use for your “family business”, but is also a passion; something you want to continue doing until you feel ready to retire.

Michael was always impressed as to how you were able to find a passionate career that also benefited both sides of the family business. 

Through being a lawyer, you also bonded well with Tom and had another fellow lawyer as a brother-in-law to bond with.

Regardless of whether you and Michael choose to have one child a fear down the line or four back to back, Michael has no intention of interfering in your career or keeping you from it; the same can be said for any of your other passions and hobbies.

You already know your maternity leave from work and raising an infant will take priority in your life which will result in a break from work, but you’ve accepted it and will make it happen. 

Perhaps if you weren’t a mafiosa yourself from a powerful crime family, you would have fit the bill as a mafioso’s housewife better but Michael recognizes your true talents and abilities just as well as you know yourself.

Now married, you attend trials and continue with your cases at most three times a week. After all, you’ve always been careful in choosing which cases to get involved in while maintaining a flexible schedule for yourself.

You built a reputation with your prowess this far without Michael and his family’s influence, which begs the question of what Michael’s lifestyle has become after marrying you.

Michael is always working, even when he’s not. More than ever, Michael spends time with his father and brothers. Even when Michael is alone in his own office, he’s talking over the phone to his men or family and constantly keeping himself preoccupied until he’s with you.

Michael’s unwavering dedication to the family business, his loyalty, and his work ethic don’t bother you. As a matter of fact, it’s everything you expected from Michael and saw coming before you married him.

What you love about Michael’s work with the family business is that he can separate it and he will separate it very well from his personal life. 

Michael does not mention anything related to his work when he’s with you regardless of how casual the circumstances or if your own curiosity arises since your family is also almost always involved. 

You know then and only in those scenarios would you ask Michael a question if you had one and your family could not answer; you know your boundaries and where the line remains when asking Michael about his work.

To Michael, any mention of what he does and what he is outside of work is nothing but severely unpleasant and he would rather avoid it altogether; something you respect and agree with.

At dinner one evening, you saw Michael’s tension settled within him as he ate—sitting across from you in silence. 

Michael sighed quietly and took a sip of his red wine before his eyes met yours; seeing curiosity spark in your expression.

“Ready to settle down, baby?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Something like that,” Michael nodded, continuing to eat his risotto. 

“Everything alright with your father?” You asked and rose up from your seat to begin cleaning up. 

“He’s fine,” Michael’s answers were dry and to the point on purpose. “We’re working on it.”

“Alright,” you gathered a pile of empty plates, brushing off crumbs upon the tablecloth next to Michael.

Only a split second later did you look back up at Michael and catch his eye—almost feeling embarrassed for asking but you neither see annoyance nor discomfort in Michael’s expression. 

You understood Michael didn’t want to talk about this with you and you didn’t push it. You also knew last night he didn’t come home from his father’s estate until 2 AM, and you had no intention of bothering him about it now. 

You’ve always had more than enough to do for yourself and for the home regardless of how long Michael worked in or out of the manor. 

You’d have your own day to worry about; cleaning up after breakfast, prepping for lunch, tidying up the house, laundry if required, getting any other daily errands done, focusing on a bit of your own work projects, then relaxing with a good book or in front of the television with a glass of wine. 

You could step out into the garden for some fresh air, pull weeds, water the lawn, go for a walk or a dip in the pool; you balance your work and life well and you’ve never felt neglected or lost without a sense of purpose.

The compatibility between you and Michael is like none other and the two of you have always recognized this; there is no lack of transparency or intimacy, and there is no elephant in the room blocking the two of you from bonding with one another.

You and Michael could and always will make it work. 

~

When it came down to planning to start a family with each other, having children was brought up immediately between Michael and you; a crucial concept and the second step into a married life with one another.

Of course, the brief conversation that only consisted of asking one another if you wanted children when you and Michael had first met did not count as a real and insightful conversation, it did strike you that Michael was a mature and serious man, ready for fatherhood and expecting to start a family in the very near future.

Michael would not have minded waiting a year or two before having children, but he would personally not wish to delay it any further past that.

To Michael, it was as if he had an urgency of some kind to start a family but there was no reasoning behind it or pressure coming from anyone. Still, you came to appreciate how much Michael anticipated entering parenthood with you, regardless of his reasons.

Perhaps you did sense Michael’s urgency when he first met you and asked if you wanted to have children in the future, but you simply had brushed it off for all that it was—a simple question.

You were twenty-five years old when you met Michael, and you were the second youngest sibling in your family and the only daughter.

With your little brother Dante being fifteen years younger than you, you practically raised him alongside your brothers and because you came from an equally large extended family, you loved children for as long as you could remember.

Just as you and your brothers had grown up, you knew the importance of proper parenting and how love would mold a child’s life forever.

Michael believed children were the products of their parents’ discipline, love, and behavior, saying, “If adults can bring out the worst in each other, they can do the same for children”.

Michael himself was twenty-nine when he met you and neither of you had objections of any kind to starting a family immediately after getting married.

Coming from the families and reputations you both grew up in and had, things such as time and money would simply not be an issue for you and Michael.

It was more of a matter of readiness and active parenting heavily required from both of you equally, not just yours as the mother. 

You also knew Michael would be a stricter parent than you, but this did not imply anything harsh or along the lines of cruelty whatsoever. 

Michael is not the type of man to ever raise a hand against a child or even raise his voice; calm, and collected, and with thorough explanation comes discipline and understanding. Michael knows how a child’s mind copes and works. 

You are most definitely not the kind of parent to yell, threaten, let alone glare at children to have them respect or tolerate your fear let alone beat a child.

Neither Michael nor you ever faced such things growing up, but you both saw your fair share growing up with other children at school and in the neighborhood who did not have the same childhood as you two did.

Any type of abuse or psychological manipulation was a severe hard line; it was something you and Michael would never subject any child to, ever.

From being the only big sister to your little brother Dante, you knew there were a million ways around teaching and disciplining children without being physically, psychologically, or verbally abusive—even to children who have behavior issues. 

You and Michael had been stressing to yourselves subconsciously the need to be nothing but good, loving parents teaching your future children manners and discipline early on without fear of repercussions or pain, but simply just to learn and understand.

~

Just a week ago you walked down the aisle and faced your lover—for the last time only as a lover before becoming Michael’s wife, wedded as Mrs. Corleone.

Now as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the role of Michael Corleone’s wife had already truly embedded in you; seeing your husband clasping a new diamond necklace around your neck gently.

You blushed as you caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, placing a hand over your necklace carefully.

Michael admired the glistening diamonds over your neck; his eyes adoring the very shape of your collarbones before he leaned toward your shoulder and planted a soft kiss over it.

With a bit of arousal having flared up in you, you shivered from Michael’s warm touch as he let his hands linger around the back of your neck before he placed them on your hips.

“Mm,” your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the brief moment, feeling Michael’s breath over the side of your neck.

Michael’s hands slowly made their way over to your stomach where he rubbed tenderly, watching as your body language submitted to how good he was already making you feel.

“Are you late?” Michael murmured over your shoulder.

Butterflies churned in your stomach and blush stung your cheeks at the very question. “I think it’s still too soon to tell, baby.”

“Mm,” Michael nodded and began to massage your sides.

“Why do you ask?” You slowly opened your eyes and spoke to him in a soft, ushered tone. “Do you suspect I am?”

“Perhaps,” Michael answered, “I want to be the first to know.”

You cracked a shy smile, “and you will be without a doubt.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Michael took your hands in his, turning you around to face him directly before he pulled you into his embrace. “Although you never did tell me how many you wanted.”

“I can tell you now,” you rested your head over Michael’s chest and nodded. “Four little ones… That would be something.”

“Mhmm,” Michael kissed the top of your head. “A topic better suited for the future after we have our first.”

“Boy or girl?” You grinned and looked up at your husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael told you. “But ultimately a son somewhere down the line to succeed our family.”

‘Of course.’ You knew it must have been the same with Michael’s father as it was with yours; one son at the very least to carry the family’s legacy under his name. ‘Understandable.’

“If you’re not…” Michael’s hands touched your hips again; his eyes beckoning to you. “Then we can try again.”

“And again?” You teased back, giggling. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Michael murmured and pulled your hips into his.

“As many times as we need to, hmm?” Your breath hitched as you bit down on your lip.

“As many times as you want to,” Michael corrected before he sealed a kiss over your lips.

~

The intimacy and love continuing to blossom between you and Michael unfolded in feverish desire and yearning. Like the beginning of an eternal and dangerous addiction, neither of you could get enough of the other.

Michael knew your love language was physical affection and words of affirmation just as you knew he was spending quality time with you and touching. 

Michael couldn’t care less for material gifts and preferred experiences above all, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care, enjoy, or appreciate either.

“Ah…” A breathy moan escaped your lips as your hand clutched over Michael’s back; feeling his firm, flexing muscle as Michael remained leaning down and hovering over your naked body.

Between the sounds of Michael’s lips leaving a trail of hot kisses over your neck, you heard his breathing hitching as his throbbing erection pressed against your stomach.

Barely a week into your marriage and filled to the brim with insatiable love and desire, Michael was unable to get enough of his new bride and her beauty.

“Ohhh…”

Inhaling deeply, Michael took in your scent as he nuzzled your neck; now glowing pink with the love marks he left behind as you had let your free hand roam through Michael’s tousled hair.

“Look at me,” Michael whispered against your lips as he grazed his thumb over your mouth, parting your bottom lip. “Look at me when I make love to you.”

‘Oh God, yes…’

The first three months of marriage may as well have been a fever dream for both of you. 

Of course, none would be surprised at the sudden stamina the new bride and groom have for one another although some teasing and a dirty joke here and there would be in order, but if it wasn’t a night out or quality time spent with the family, Michael and you were doing nothing else but getting lost in one another again and again.

You’d lay in bed naked with the blankets barely covering yourself as you’d watch Michael strip down right in front of you before approaching you on the bed, and Michael enjoyed every second of undressing you himself with his own hands; the way the curves of your hips and fullness of your thighs felt against his hand as your skin was hot to the touch, brimming with passion and your body begging for pleasure was nothing short of ecstasy to Michael.

With your bodies intertwined with one another, you could practically feel Michael’s heart racing against yours; nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and memorizing every part of each other’s bodies filled your evenings for days to come.

You woke an urge tailored to your pleasure inside of Michael he could not ignore. Even after a night of ecstasy, if you approached him half-naked in the living room and begged Michael to fuck you again, he wouldn’t say no. 

You straddled Michael’s lap and let your lace panties slip off your ankles as you felt the smooth, Italian silk fabric of Michael’s suit brush against your bare skin.

On his lap, you let out a whimpering moan as you pressed your hips against his and ran your hands up Michael’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt; his chest hair brushing past your fingers as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Michael leaned his back against his seat comfortably; his hands ran from your calves to your upper thighs before he cupped your ass and gave it a greedy squeeze.

Michael’s eyes expectantly looked at you. “You play the innocent, sweet role well…” 

“Mm—” You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Michael’s neck from him giving your ass another harsh squeeze.

“But I see right through it,” Michael whispered to you—his tone low and husky. 

“I…” You breathed shakily against Michael’s skin before planting a deep kiss over it; your free hand roamed through his black, silky hair.

You heard a barely audible, soft moan escape Michael’s lips which only intensified the feverish arousal coursing through your veins as you continued to hungrily kiss up and around Michael’s neck.

Michael wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his hand over your ass; his eyes half remained half-opened as he let you get lost within him, taking and getting everything you want.

Your kisses grew wet, hot, and sloppy around Michael’s jawline as you moaned through them yourself; severely aroused to the point where you thought your wetness pooling over the fabric of your panties was soaking through Michael’s trousers.

“Mine…” You cupped Michael’s cheek and turned his face to look him in the eye directly. “All mine…”

“Yours,” Michael said back before his lips sealed over yours in a crushing, needy kiss.

Your pussy throbbed from arousal over Michael’s knee; it practically had a heartbeat of its own from how horny you were feeling towards your husband—so much so that it was almost criminal.

“Look at you,” As Michael pulled away from the kiss, he gripped your throat with his free hand and let his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “Can’t get your hands off of me.”

“You’re mine,” you panted back and took Michael by pleasant surprise as you licked his thumb. “

“That’s right, baby,” Michael murmured before pulling you back to him by your throat to give you another wet, rough kiss over the mouth. 

As you fully straddled Michael’s lap and began to slowly grind your hips, gyrating them against Michael’s pulsating erection, Michael let his hands slip up through your skirt and play with the band of your panties.

Lost in insistent, passionate kisses, Michael pulled at your panties only to let it snap back against your skin as you were distracted between his lips.

Michael let his fingers go further, parting your dewy pussy lips to spread your wetness with one hand while squeezing your breast and massaging your nipple with his fingers on the other.

Aside from such fiery, mutual infatuation and lust, there was more; there was and always will be more. 

The love between you and Michael blossomed so naturally that it could never feel forced like it was some sort of obligation that had to be fulfilled.

In public, despite the two of you being not so fond of blatant displays of affection, held hands or had Michael wrap an arm over your waist in casual but adoring affection you craved and yearned for always.

Just one touch from Michael—let alone his presence—was more than enough for you. It did nothing but thrill you all the more knowing this man is yours and you’re his; you’ll have all of Michael whenever you want and however you want. 

Distance makes your heart grow fonder when Michael’s away on his business trips or doesn’t come home for a night. You’ve never felt insecurity, unsafe, or any sort of lingering sadness about Michael’s consistent absences to begin with.

Even at the end of a long night with little time to yourselves to follow another eventful one, you’d have just the same satisfaction in Michael’s embrace without the sexual intimacy. 

Some of your most loving, romantic nights with Michael were the two of you skin-to-skin on the rooftop, naked and exchanging soft kisses as Michael smoked a cigarette.

Saying, “Yes, I do” and signing your marriage papers, your legal name became Victoria Ferrari Corleone; a unique love and lover to Michael in the sense that Michael could never treat you the way he treated Apollonia or Kay, but exponentially more protective, loving, and open to you in all aspects.

Your compatibility with Michael only resulted in him being all the more open with you; not feeling obligated to because you’ll get upset or ask, but because Michael wishes to—because he wants to. 

There’s simply no entitlement; only love and caring. You could not describe your marriage to Michael Corleone in any other way.

[meinkatz]

BLOW INFLATED ARMCHAIR BY ZANOTTA

The Blow inflatable armchair was designed in 1967 by Jonathan De Pas, Donato D’Urbino and Paolo Lomazzi (with Scolari). Blow, the first Italian inflatable design object, soon became the symbol of the new free and light style, and represented the embodiment of the utopian design project by Marcel Breuer as an article of furniture supported by a column of air, in addition to confirming how Zanotta has consistently combined research and the promotion of experimental products to an evolved public over the years. In the wake of their success at the 1968 Furniture Show, the designers created other visionary inflatable objects in transparent PVC, such as those displayed in the Pneumatic Hall at the 2nd Eurodomus Show in Turin. Although the armchair is currently out of production, Blow is nowadays considered a symbolic object of the legendary ‘60s, one of the most important “pop” items and as such it is taken as a model of the social and cultural changes of those years.

DOWNLOAD

[humansofnewyork]

(24/54) “One afternoon the empress and prince attended a session of parliament. It was an important day. Everyone was hoping to make a strong impression, and I’d prepared a speech especially for the occasion. I was the last speaker on the schedule. The Speaker of Parliament saw me approaching the podium and tried to wave me off. When I kept coming, he hurriedly adjourned the session. I think some of my colleagues viewed me as an annoyance. I’d developed a reputation for speaking my mind. And whenever I could speak, I spoke. I gave a speech on every budget, every proposal, every vote. The topic was always different. But the theme was always the same: 𝘋𝘢𝘢𝘥. Justice. The word that appears most in Shahnameh. Everyone gets what they deserve. One day I gave a speech saying I’d been informed that Iran’s highest-ranking admiral had used a battleship to import Italian furniture. I asked how we could allow such corruption, from a man with a breast full of public service medals. The crowd was silent. It was unheard of to criticize the military, because it was in the hands of the king. But I wanted to show that I was not afraid to speak. So that other Iranians would feel free to share their thoughts. My words were never heard in the media. If there was ever a mention in the newspaper, it would only say: the representative from Nahavand gave a speech. But still, I spoke. I always had hope that I’d find a way to be heard. There is an Iranian proverb about ‘words that fly.’ It says that if words are false, if they are self-serving, if they come from ambition: they will never fly. Even if they’re shouted from loudspeakers. Even if everyone says them at the exact same time: they will soon be forgotten. For they have no soul. They have no 𝘫𝘢𝘢𝘯. But if a person can find the right words. If the words have 𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨, if the words have 𝘬𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥, if the words have 𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪- they will grow wings. And they will fly. Even if they’re censored; they will fly. Even if they are silenced; they will fly. Even if they are buried deep in the ground; they will still fly. And they will reach the doorstep of every household.” 

بعد‌ از ظهر شهبانو و شاهزاده به نشست مجلس آمده بودند. روز مهمی بود. بودجه‌ی سال آینده در مجلس بررسی می‌شد. نمایندگان رسانه‌ها برای گزارش این رخداد دعوت شده بودند. من شب پیش در رویارویی با نخست وزیر در زمینه‌ی قانون «از کجا آورده‌ای» بگو مگو داشتم. در آنجا سخنان تندی میان ما رد و بدل شده بود. رئیس مجلس ترسیده بود که من در هنگام بررسی لایحه‌ی بودجه آنها را به میان آورم. هنگامی که نماینده‌ای دیگر را در حال بازگو کردن سخنانم در مجلس دیدم، شگفتزده شدم. سخنران بعدی من بودم. برخاستم تا به سوی تریبون بروم که رئیس مجلس پیشنهاد کفایت مذاکرات داد و جلسه پایان یافت. مرا به رُک‌گویی می‌شناختند. بیشتر نمایندگان به رویدادهای محلی می‌پرداختند. من همواره درباره‌ی اولویت‌های ملی سخن می‌گفتم. در رابطه با هر بودجه‌ای، هر پیشنهادی و هر رأی‌گیری سخنرانی می‌کردم. زمینه‌ها متفاوت ولی بُن‌مایه همیشه یکسان بود: دادگری. واژه‌ای که بسیار در شاهنامه آمده است. همه، آنچه را که شایسته‌ی آنند دریافت می‌کنند. باری در یک سخنرانی گفتم باخبر شده‌ام که دریاسالار، فرمانده نیروی دریایی از ناو جنگی برای وارد کردن اسباب و اثاثیه خانه‌اش از ایتالیا استفاده کرده است. پرسیدم چگونه می‌توانیم چنین فسادی را برتابیم، و آن هم از مردی با سینه‌ای پر از نشان‌های افتخار. همه ساکت بودند. انتقاد از نیروهای نظامی امری کاملاً ناشناخته بود، زیرا آنها برگزیده‌ی شاه بودند. من می‌خواستم نشان دهم که از بیان راستی‌ها بیمی نباید داشت. شاید دیگران نیز چنین کنند. آن فرمانده برکنار شد. کشور را نیکخواهی مردمانش پیش می‌برد و نیازمند مسئولیت‌پذیری دلیرانه است. سخنان من هرگز در رسانه‌ها بازتاب داده نمی‌شد. اگر هم در روزنامه اشاره‌ای به آن می‌شد، تنها گفته می‌شد: نماینده‌ی نهاوند سخنرانی کرد. ولی من کار خود را می‌کردم. همیشه امیدوار بودم که راهی برای شنیده شدن پیدا کنم. پندواژه‌ا‌ی درباره‌ی «سخنانی که پرواز می‌کنند» وجود دارد که می‌گوید اگر سخنان دروغ باشند، اگر خودخواهانه باشند، اگر آزمندانه باشند، هرگز پرواز نخواهند کرد، حتا اگر از بلندگوها فریاد زده شوند. حتا اگر همه در یک آن آنها را بیان کنند، بزودی فراموش می‌شوند زیرا جان ندارند. ولی اگر کسی واژه‌های مناسبی پیدا کند، سخنانی آهنگین، خردمندانه و راستین، بال خواهند گشود و پرواز خواهند کرد. حتا اگر از شنیده شدن‌شان جلوگیری شود، پرواز می‌کنند. حتا اگر گویندگان‌شان را خاموش کنند، پرواز می‌کنند. حتا اگر در ژرفای زمین فرو برند، همچنان پرواز می‌کنند و به در هر خانه‌ای می‌رسند

[acewithapaintbrush]

I really love @daedelweiss Life Mission AU and especially how close and affectionate the twins are so following my MO I just had to write something. Hope I got the characterisations right.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

"And this is 'Run of the Mill Pizza'! The best pizza place in the Hidden City. Ah, what am I saying! In the whole world!"

Leo spreads his arms wide and wiggles his fingers a little. It's easy to see how much he loves this place and how giddy he is to show Donnie. 

Don meanwhile is not particularly impressed. It seems like a nice enough place, but it's nothing fancy. The furniture looks old, the smell of cold pizza hangs in the air and the clientele��� well, some of them he wouldn't want to meet in the middle of the night, let's just leave it at that. 

Don has occasionally accompanied Big Mama to meetings with important people at big and fancy restaurants, so he knows that this is definitely not the best Italian place in the Hidden City. He doubts this place sells a calzone sprinkled with gold leaf or champagne for 50 dollars a glass. 

But his twin looks so expectant and proud. 

"It's amazing." Don agrees easily. He looks around a bit more and his polite smile gradually turns more real. It does look a lot  more cozy than the other places he's been to and Don has recently developed a new fondness for all things cozy. He's lived his life surrounded by sharp words and restricting armor long enough to last him a lifetime. "It really is, Lee." 

"Pepino!", a voice shouts from behind them. "I hope you have come to pay your tab. You still owe me for the last delivery." 

"Tio Hueso!" Leo pulls Don towards a skeleton in a suit who manages to appear as if he is raising an unimpressed eyebrow without actually having an eyebrow. Don is kinda jealous. "Apart from the fact that I still can't believe you would charge your own godson for pizza, I've actually come to finally introduce you to my twin. Donnie, this is Tio Hueso. He runs this place and he looked after me while Dad was out looking for you all. Tio, this is mi hermano, Donnie."

The tall skeleton stares down at Don who does his best to not let on how intimidated he is. The void where this man's eyes should be seems to grow darker and darker the longer Don looks into it. The pinpricks of light don't help any.

But then Hueso smiles and it transforms his whole face. He suddenly doesn't seem nearly as scary. 

"Ah bueno. So we finally meet." He holds out his hand and Don straightens and shakes it with a firm hand. Some of Big Mama's lessons stick around longer than others. Hueso nods in approval. "I was glad to hear that you are alive. Welcome home, mijo. It's good that you have finally found each other again."

"Uh… Thanks." Don shuffles his feet while Leo beams and looks between the two of them with wide and hopeful eyes. The genius suddenly realizes that Leo must have been just as nervous about them meeting as Don has been. He suddenly feels very bad for his first uncharitable thoughts about this place. 

"Si. Very good. Good for me!" Hueso exclaims after a brief pause. He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. "Ay, that boy talked about you nonstop. My poor ears." 

"What ears?" Leo mutters sullenly. There is a light blush spreading over his cheeks. 

"'Oh, I'm sure my twin would have been super strong and super smart. Oh, I'm sure he would have been good looking, just like me, and an awesome ninja and super kind.' On and on and on he went." 

"Thanks Tio Hueso. I think we'll just-" 

"He drew pictures of the two of you and your other brothers all the time. I'm sure I still have some lying around."

Hueso disappears into the back, completely ignoring Leo's indignant spluttering and red faced outrage. 

"That you still have them only proves that you actually care! I hope you know that!" The slider shouts after him. He turns to his twin when it becomes apparent that Huseo is ignoring him. "Coming here was not an excuse for him to embarrass me." 

"Embarrass you?" Don asks and smirks. "As if the lair isn't plastered with your childhood drawings of us all." 

Leo pouts. "That's different."

"If you say so." Don leans back against a table and settles in to wait. As much as Leo acts long-suffering, he's also not made a single attempt to leave before Hueso comes back. The soft-shell turtle fiddles with his hoodie, surprisingly feeling a little bashful, a little unsure, all of a sudden. "Strong and smart and kind, huh? Guess you were pretty disappointed when you met the real me." 

He winces. Where did that come from? He is usually much better at keeping thoughts like that inside his own head. 

Leo doesn't react at all and when Donnie finally dares to look up it's to see his brother staring at him with a gobsmacked expression. 

"What?" 

"Ugh, forget I said anything." 

Leo takes him by the shoulders. "You are strong and smart and kind and an amazing ninja. You are the best, ever! Ever and ever!" 

Donnie groans and throws his head back so he can stare at the ceiling, but he doesn't even bother to hide the grin spreading across his face. "Okay okay, stop it already! I'm awesome, I get it." 

"You are." Leo's serious tone is enough for Don to snap his head back down. Leo stares at him with a mixture of pain and happiness that only his twin seems capable of. "You all are. The days I found you and Raph and Mikey were the best days of my life. All of them. How could I ever be disappointed?"

Don finally gives in and pulls Leo into a hug, burying his head into his brother's ever present scarf. He still has trouble showing affection in public, but for his family he is willing to learn. 

They separate quickly enough and Don is a good brother and so he ignores the way Leo surreptitiously rubs his face into the folds of his scarf to get rid of some treacherous tears. Instead he lightly punches his arm. "And what about handsome?" 

Leo acts like he has to think about it. "Well, since we are twins I'd say yes. Incredibly handsome." 

They are still laughing when Hueso comes back with an old drawing. If they were more familiar with each other, Donnie might have teased the man about the fact that it's in a very nice frame. As it is, he grabs it before Leo can stop him. Don can't help the undignified snort that escapes him at the sight of it.

"If that is how you always pictured me, then I believe you about not being disappointed." 

Leo chuckles and rests his chin on Donnie's shoulder so that they can both look at the crude drawing of a lonely 5 year old together. 

"Yeah. Definitely better than anything I could have ever pictured." 

[injouable]

Was Franz Joseph as boring as he seems?

There are hudreds of different types of media dedicated to empress Elisabeth, including films, books, tv-shows and musical. And in most of them the figure of her husband Franz Joseph, who was much more important in historical and social context, is barely a piece of furniture in the backgroung. Even if his character is somehow developed, the central figure is always Elisabeth and never him. It is simply explained by the outstandind personality on the empress, that can have a lot of more or less romanticized interpretations. Compared to her, the emperor is just a boring and worthless normie, that noone would be interested in. But here are some facts about his young years showing that he also deserves some attention.

1. Just look at this twink and his tiny waist.

I'm 100% sure that he wore corsets.

2. Franz Joseph had a fenomenal memory. He never forgot names and faces and could easily memorise large vocabulary, which allowed him to learn six languages (German, French, Polish, Czech, Hungarian, Italian and a little of Latin and Greek). Also he was a really good dancer and had a talent for drawing. Here's his pencil drawing at the age of 13.

3. That little line from the musical "Feelings are forbidden for me" was actually a really big thing in his upbringing. His mentors literally didn't allow him to show any emotion to make him elaborate an iron discipline and self-control. Eventually his character became highly reserved and devoid of compation and warmth. And when he was already 17 his mother Sophie *suddenly* realized, that it all went in a wrong direction. The best solution that she came up with was to force her son to play a comedy role in a private perfomance at the court, so that he could gain more easiness in communication. Franz hated the whole idea and hated every minute on stage. But, supposingly, it did actually help him to imrove his social skills, because after that contemporaries always described him as a totally amiable and charming lad.

4. Franz Joseph became an emperor when he was 18. At that point the country was on the edge of revolution and the previous emperor, his uncle Ferdinand, decided to simply run away from Vienna refusing from the crown and left the reins of government together with a political disaster to his young nephew. Rumour has it, that when Franz Joseph returned after the transfer of power ceremony he burst into tears.

5. Two weeks later, when it was known, that austrian troops entered Hungary to suppress the rebellion and the civilian war has actually started, there was one peculiar incident. During an evening ball FJ's youngest brother Lugwig Victor accidentally cracked a mirrored door and asked the emperor to protect him from punishment. Unexpectedly Franz Joseph asked his mother, if he could smash the door completely, when there's already a crack in it. And after getting a permition he frantically and furiously shattered the glass into pieces. I didn't find any information about did he do it with some object or with bare hands, but just imagine, if he did it with bare hands.

The craziest is that it wasn't even at the imperial palace, they were on a visit to some archbishop and the man was totally pissed off by this prank.

There will be no conclusion.

[readingpastmebedtime]

Now that the first season of PJO has wrapped I have formed my opinion. I think there was a lot of good aspects of it, the cast was great, the effects were good, the changes to the plot didn’t really change anything super important and overall I liked it. I just wish it was a little less serious. Like I know the books can be pretty dark in plot and stuff but the tone is always funny. Like the characters are terrified a lot of the time but they do step back and make fun of the absurdity of it all. Like Charon and his love of Italian suits, the pink poodle giving them instructions, Grover consistently getting nervous and eating furniture is all so fun and I felt like that absurdist humor was missing from the show. Percy didn’t crack enough jokes at inappropriate times a lot of the silly was taken out and replaced with serious. And it was okay it’s just I love the silly.

[exoticalmonde]

Arknights - Zwillingstürme im Herbst Event (Day 1)

HEY, Zwillingstürme im Herbst is here and I CANNOT pronounce a single of the German words they are using, I think I might just end myself here. For some reason, the update was loading extremely slowly, but it was long enough to get us through those pesky 10 minutes we had to wait until the server was open.

On the flip side, we have a bunch of cool new things to look at and a reason to rewatch the trailers and cinematics + review the music that comes with the event.

Warning: The following content goes over obvious stuff about the event and the characters that I plan on working on + my personal ideas for who is useful in what way.

At the END of the post is a guide for the music tunes you need for the interrogation event. As far as I have gotten at least.

Since it's Arknights' sixth celebration event we expect a LOT of content, a long story, probably a daily check-in for missions inside the event itself and much more. The banner for Viviana and Virtuosa Arturia (being the Limited operator) lasts a whole three weeks, with every day carrying a single free pull.

Oh the joys of saving for Zuo Le and Logos knowing that I really do want Viviana is a bittersweet sensation. I'm going to get Lessing today at least, so we can be content the husband team stays strong.

Not to forget the free 10-pull we get along, which got me a single Baseline.

---

When it comes to the videos and PVs we got, they're actually an insane amount in comparison to other events. Of course, the anniversary has something to do with that, but it's also because the characters we are getting and the story that is meant to unfold is very important to the Arknights world.

This is the official trailer that introduces us to:

all the new characters,

flashing us with the gorgeous medal set,

the skins that are coming out WITH the anniversary event,

the new characters in the red ticket shop

operator archives for: Czerny, Rosa, Diamante, Santalla, Shalem

modules for Mudrock, Penance and Vulcan

+ Lessing, Baseline, Nearl Alter, Bagpipe,

new furniture sets

Naturally, there is no event without the PV. This is from the POV of Viviana.

The event teaser is subsequently the introduction video as you enter the event.

I watched this just now for the first time and it's equally horrifying to see the Aegir, charming to see her get along with kids, saddening since I know this is her at her mother's funeral and also it makes me absolutely insane to think that I feel anything but resentment for her and everything she's done to Ebenholz and Kreide.

I know she is going to make a huge mess in Leithanien again, I know it.

I feel a little smitten for the reason we are getting an ENTIRE introduction to the University. I can't even imagine how it's going to come to play inside the story itself. But I am glad that there's more embracing of the regional tongues now.

Fondly, I was reminded the other day how I started playing when there was only the Chinese and the Japanese (and Korean?) voiceover. Now there is German, Italian, Russian along with the English.

How... Unfortunate, we might never be able to hear French.

As far as I'm familiar, I think Ripples is meant to be the music for both the Candleknight and Arturia.

UPDATE: OF COURSE ARTURIA WOULD HAVE HER MUSIC VIDEO COME OUT TODAY WHEN I MADE THE POST ABOUT IT YESTERDAY BUT WHAT ELSE DO I EXPECT, HERE YOU GO

---

There is this video that isn't on YT but it's on the Arknights Twitter page, so I'm going to link it anyways for anybody who wants to see enamel pin-like designs of Bassline, Arturia and the others. It's basically character showcase but in some different form.

---

I love the character intros but more than anything I enjoy reading Travel Guides because this means these places are going to be super important to the lore itself and I am EXCITED!!!

---

Most of the enemies are very easy to deal with as long as you know the base mechanic and don't get too taken away by the music. The ones with a purple sphere on their heads need EXCITED music to neutralize their special skill and those with a yellow star need MELANCHOLIC music to calm down.

Long story short, the Tuning Nodes need to be all active at the same time and the place where you see that jellyfish shield is the place you need to avoid placing operators because they just won't do anything for the Node itself.

Attack Speed gained from the Exciting music is stackable for your operators. I don't know to what point, but Dr. Pinkie was having a blast learning this last night.

---

Speaking of the characters and Baseline specifically, he's a Lupo from Leithanien, appointed in the year 1100 (the year the story is set in as well) as a sort of mediator between RI and the Leithanien Imperial court. He's uninfected and his role is Defender, specifically Guardian aka Medic Defender. Real name Michael Wolfgang, tiniest Schatz because he's only 160cm tall and pretty much the same size as Greyy-alter me thinks. Birthday is on the 16th of July.

From what I imagine, I can use him instead of Nearl/Gummy or Spot since his Skill 1 heals operators only if they are under 50% and his Skill 2 stops attacking and concentrates on healing + gives the ally a shield.

I haven't done the speed/strength comparisons to Nearl but VS Gummy, his skill 1 charge is 6 seconds and the difference is only 20% additional healing at M3 for a cost of an additional 1DP at all E stages.

To me, that's good enough to exchange honestly if you're looking for more tankiness due to his Talent.

If we overlook the cost of maxing out a 5-star in comparison to a 4-star.

AND NOT TO MENTION HIS TOKEN IS--- I mean, if you insist I have it, sure, but I feel like the mouthpiece of any instrument is important to the player in their own way... right?

---

Lessing is the free 6-star operator you get in the event by competing the missions in Herzenfolgen. It's unlockable after you finish stage ZT-2 and it comes with 3 (technically 4) characters you can get event materials from including Lessing's Potential.

He's a Guard, specifically a Dreadnought (or as it's also popular - a Duelist Guard) whom I immediately am looking at as FINALLY there is something I can use instead of Melantha when I get asked for someone of that type. You'd think that out of all the guards I do have already there's going to be someone who does as much damage as Melantha and equal in health, but no.

Since Mel is a 3-star character and only reaches level 55 E1, I'm going to compare them like this: Lessing does more damage, has more health and defence than Melantha. His Redeployment time is 10 seconds more than her though.

Skill-wise Lessing's Skill 1 is an Offensive Recovery (charges itself when hitting enemies) like Hoederer's that does additional damage on the charged strike sans health regen.

Skill 2 is like a buff on his first talent: Pain Focus (this is at E1) - When blocking, take 20% less Physical and Arts damage from enemies not blocked by this unit. So that means that at lvl 7 of his skill you apply the maths that I am NOT going to math myself. At least not while Dr. Pinkie is sleeping to check them for me. When deployed, 1st Talent effect increased to 2x, ATK +35%, and attacks become 2-hit combos. His Skill 3 is what people get him for: Become immune to Negative Statuses, HP +80%, and attacks deal 180% ATK as Physical damage when attacking a blocked target Skill can be used when Operator is affected by a Negative Status, removing the status, but dealing 600 Arts damage to self.

So far as I can read while my Lessing is cooking in the training room - yes, you might be able to kill him if you use his skill and he's under 600HP.

My little Hoederer, big sword - big damage wielder. The only saving grace for Melnatha is that she's 13 DP at max potential while Lessing is 21. That's a lot to consider.

And of course, he is a cutie patootie in his letter, I'm crying.

---

Here is the guide offered by the Twitter page for the Herzenfolgen because otherwise, I could not grasp a single word of the explanations inside the event itself.

To explain it in simple terms:

Every day you get 3 people who will tell you a story and according to the information they give you, usually the important part is in red, you have to figure out what sort of emotion they have felt and then you have to align them to the 'desire' they have.

Making a mistake 2-3 times gives you the emotion and the 'desire' so it's not impossible to figure out, but it's a lot of experimenting as well until you get both right. And the notes you get are exhaustable, so you need to farm for them to know.

Dr. Pinkie also told me yesterday that the cards you DO manage to use also disappear.

Whenever you complete the day you get an Authorization Warrant to unlock the case-related characters and then you get a pot for Lessing every time you finish those.

You get 2 a day actually I think. Since I already managed to squeeze 4.

Here's all the emotions since some of the guides I found kind of misnamed the emotions and I had to spend a long while staring to get it to actually work.

TO GET THE FINAL ONE: DIE REISE (Tomorrow's Opus) you just have to complete all of the main interrogation nodes.

With that, I wish you good luck, enjoy the music of Zwillingstürme and I hope that you enjoy the music as much as I do. My favourite theme so far is 'Under the Spires' and 'Anger's Opus'.

WHICH, I almost forgot, YOU CAN FIND ON SPOTIFY AS WELL, IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!

[steampunkforever]

The thing about Cary is that he's a high-dollar pragmatist. Something about how he was raised means he expects to be given the best possible tool for the job. But he has to deem the job important.

Which is to say that he comes equipped with a highly specific (and somewhat uncommon) Italian battle rifle that fits his needs (gunning down Mothman) and owns a precision hi-fi system crafted by an insane audiophile craftsman working out of a boutique workshop in Osaka. He also only owns one set of flatware.

After the events of the campaign Cary buys a Plymouth Satellite, but not the roadrunner. Because he only needs the performance, not the flashiness. Four doors are more practical for his operations, but he specs the drivetrain to be as powerful as it can be. Best possible tool, no expense spared.

This explains why, while Cary's apartment is fitted out with a sound system and record collection the worth of several houses, his furniture is whatever the basic set from Sears was at the time. Enough to look respectable but not enough for Cary to actually pay attention to it.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fourteen (Part 2)

The journey to Wexford feels long because it is so often interrupted by traffic jams and detours to bypass the worst of the floods along the river. We don’t really chat that much, we avoid confrontation instead, and have the radio on playing the top 40 hits until we’re out of range of the greater Dublin area, and then we listen to the smaller, country stations whose hosts have accents that even I can hardly understand. 

The sight of the familiar palm trees along the long, straight road towards the seaside has me sitting upright and pressing my forehead to the glass to marvel at how everything looks the very same as it used to, save the bits of foliage strewn across the road here and there. The sea is remarkably calm, lacking any of the white peaks of foam breaking on the surface, and the village is just as still. My memories are of a bustling, lively place, people crisscrossing the little roads with ice cream cones and cars backed up as far as the caravan parks, but today I spy only one person about, and he’s bundled in a dark coat with a wire-haired terrier on a leash, on their way towards the wet beach. 

Jude pulls into a roadside spot near the top of the steps that lead down to the quieter end of the strand. As we climb out of the car I glance up at a huge, vacant holiday home that immediately uncovers an ancient, buried memory. Those Italian boys we met on the beach stayed there, and that guy whose name I can no longer recall cooked us the most delicious pasta before that weird little guy tried to grab my arse. I’m still not as old now as those guys were back then, and the idea of hanging out with seventeen and eighteen-year-olds is unthinkable and weird to me now. How strange to think of it in this way, to look back at those men and wonder what they were thinking when they invited us to spend time with them.

Jude hops down the little wooden steps towards the beach house. It stands there proud and solid with its shutters drawn and all of its patio furniture stored away until the summer, and I follow along and stand by him as he unlocks the door as though he’s opening up an ancient tomb.

The house has that undefinable scent of a place that’s unoccupied, and when Jude opens the curtains to reveal that beautiful sea view, dust particles puff into the air and float through the beams of late morning sunshine. It’s tidy. Tidier than it was when I used to come here, but apart from that everything is the same. 

Jude explains what he’s doing as he does it. Checking the electricity. Looking in the freezer to see if it’s defrosted, searching for water damage, tile damage on the roof, testing the shower, everything works. The storm may have torn over this beach and ripped chunks from the dunes, but this house has stood here defiantly, unbothered by nature at its most brutal and unforgiving. 

“How’s it feel to be here?” He wants to know as he stands by the stairway, observing me in my place on the couch, and I tell him that it feels the same, but different, which is vague, but he accepts my answer because I suspect that it’s not really that important to him. He’s more interested in whether or not I am as hungry as he is. 

“If you like we can go to the boat club for something to eat.” He suggests. “It’s still early enough for them to be doing breakfast, I think.”

“I never ate there when we stayed. We only ever used the tennis courts.”

He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

My stomach growls. “Alright is enough for me.”

We head along the cracked, narrow road towards the end of the peninsula where the boat club stands with its back to the sea, with salt dried on its windows and a squeaky weathervane on the roof. 

I was here a few times before, because it has the nicer of the two tennis courts in the village, the other of which is in the middle of a campsite and was always full of pre-teens using it for anything but tennis, but I never felt like the boat club was somewhere I had any right to be. It has a particular type of snootiness about it that has me worried that I’ll be found out at any moment like everyone else who frequents it knows some secret that I don’t, and they’ll soon figure out I don’t belong with them and shoo me off the court like a wild dog.

We go in through the glass doors to the dining room and find a seat next to the window with a view out towards the lighthouse on a spit of land to the east. I glance through the menu and ask Jude for his recommendation, which is the pancakes. The waitress who takes our order is my age with a pretty face and blonde hair twisted up into a spiky bun. 

“Alright, so two pancakes.” She says, doing a slight double take when she lifts her eyes from her notepad and fixes them on Jude. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He smiles. “Hi. Yeah, just down to check on the house since the storm.”

“Thought you lived in Germany now or something.”

“Yeah I do, I’m just back for a little while.”

“Oh right.” She wipes her hand on the front of her trousers. “You keeping well and all?” Her name tag is glossy gold. Clóda. 

“Sure, I’m fine. And you? Are you in college?”

“I never went in the end. I work weekends here, and then during the week I’m at the front desk in the resort hotel.”

“That’s cool. It’s nice that you’re staying so busy.” They smile at one another, and then she seems to remember she has things to do. “Right, so.” She says with a self-conscious smile. “I better go back to the till.” We thank her, and as she hurries off I look at Jude, who folds a napkin in half. Then again, pressing the side of his thumbnail along the edge to crease it. 

“Someone you used to know?”

“Yeah. We hung out one summer a few years ago.”

“Right.” There was tension between them. I bet they had sex. I insist to myself that I’m not jealous, but my heart jolts and something thick and heavy settles in my stomach. 

His eyes flicker to mine for a moment, holding incredulity in them and killing any desire I had to ask something else. I don’t dare to feel anything else about this waitress and the summer he spent ‘hanging out’ with her. We both know that I haven’t got the right to. Our unspoken words hang big and heavy between us now, but we don’t say them, opting instead we make benign remarks about the weather, the movement of the sea, the atmosphere in the boat club, and when Clóda returns with our food we talk about that, how it’s tasty but not as tasty as other pancakes we’ve had in more exciting places. When we leave, Jude heads towards the village through the car park, but I stop him. A gentle breeze brushes my hair over my shoulders.

“Would you mind if we walked along the beach?”

“It will take longer.”

“If you really want to get home, that’s okay. But If you’re not in a big rush I think it’d be nice. I miss being by the sea.”

He considers this. “Okay. If you want.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[grandmaster-anne]

Gone to rack and ruin?

By Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence | Published 29 July 2020

Country Life Guest Edited by HRH The Princess Royal

What on earth do you do with a ruined, but historically significant country house?

This is a question that plagues the average workaday heritage chairman, causing headaches, insomnia and occasional bouts of teeth-grinding. Here, I will use four examples from the English Heritage portfolio to illustrate the challenges we face. Country Life readers may have their own views about how we should deal with them; if so, I anticipate a flood of letters offering advice. Each site is different and no one solution fits all.

Kirby Hall

Kirby Hall in Northamptonshire was built in the 1570s by Sir Humphrey Stafford and, after his death, by Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor. This magnificent house shows all the creative energy and architectural innovation of the first Elizabethan age.

In the 17th century, it hosted five royal visits and boasted one of the finest gardens in England. After four generations of Hattons (all called Christopher in that charming, if rather confusing, English way) it passed to the Winchilsea family, who lived there until the 1770s. Abandoned in the 1830s, it is now roofless, but retains enough of its form for us to imagine how astonishing it would have looked when first built.

John Summerson wrote: ‘The beauty of Kirby’s decline is that it was private and without violence. The house was never burnt, ravaged, used as a quarry or assaulted by mobs.’ English Heritage looks after buildings that suffered exactly those fates, but because Kirby was spared all of them, one can still appreciate there the romance of a lost grandeur.

What should we do with it? The Ministry of Works in the 1960s did its usual thorough, if, by current standards, a little over-zealous, conservation job. Part of the house is still roofed, but leaks are threatening the ceilings underneath. One proposal was to re-roof a further part of the house — the Great Gallery — and use it to display a collection of contemporary furniture, paintings and so on.

That idea has not yet passed the ‘value for money’ test. We are currently working on a modest new exhibition, which will be completed later this year. Major additional work would require a substantial funding package to match.

Sutton Scarsdale Hall

Sutton Scarsdale Hall in Derbyshire is another example of the rise and fall of a noble country house and is one of our greatest conservation challenges.

It was a Baroque masterpiece, built in the 1720s for the 4th Earl of Scarsdale using some of the notable craftsmen of the day. The splendid exterior stonework was carved by Edward Poynton of Nottingham; the Italian master craftsmen Arturi and Vasilli carried out the fine stucco decoration in the principal rooms, remnants of which are still visible.

The cost of the building over-stretched the Scarsdales — an all-too-familiar story, I’m afraid — and the house was sold in the 19th century to a local family, the Arkwrights. In turn, they were forced to sell in 1919 to a company of asset strippers.

Despite the fact that Lord Curzon’s 1913 Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act had by then provided the Government with protective powers, many of the hall’s finely decorated rooms were sold off as architectural salvage.

Amazingly, some still survive, but sadly not in Derbyshire: three interiors are displayed at the Museum of Art in Philadelphia and a pine-panelled room is at the Huntington Library in California. The latter was given to the library by a Hollywood film producer, who had used it as a film set for Kitty in 1934. He had bought it from the newspaper magnate and collector, William Randolph Hearst.

More happily, the hall was saved from intended demolition in 1946 by Sir Osbert Sitwell. His descendants handed it to the nation in 1970.

The roofless hall stands proudly on a prominent hill, an important part of the visual landscape of the area and visible from Bolsover Castle across the valley. However, the exposed hilltop location and lack of protection from a roof or glazed windows make the building itself, and especially the exceptionally important plasterwork, acutely vulnerable.

We are currently spending considerable sums patching and making good, but, for a charity such as us, this cannot be a long-term solution. What should we do? One option would be to re-roof the whole hall — at huge expense. Another would be a partial re-roofing to cover the best areas of plasterwork.

A third would be to devise some form of tailor-made protection for the plaster-work in situ, but anything of this nature would have significant aesthetic impact. We have even thought of a private investor taking it over and turning it into a hotel or apartments. All options remain under consideration.

Witley Court

My third example presents a very different set of issues. A new house was built on old foundations at Witley Court in Worcestershire in the early 1500s, but eight generations of the Foley family (all called Thomas — rather proving my earlier point) progressively modernised the Tudor original in Jacobean, then Palladian style, enlarged the park, built a new parish church next door and, in the early 19th century, commissioned John Nash, the leading Regency architect, to remodel the house extensively.

In 1837, ownership passed to Lord Ward, later Earl of Dudley. During the Dudleys’ tenure, the house was transformed into a ‘Victorian palace’ in the Italianate style made fashionable by Prince Albert at Osborne.

The whole house and church were encased in Bath stone; a new wing and a conservatory were added. Among many additions to the gardens was the magnificent Perseus and Andromeda fountain, fed from a new reservoir in the hill behind.

As happened so often elsewhere, the estate began to be broken up after the First World War and, in 1937, a serious fire gutted much of the building. From then until it was taken into public guardianship in 1972, it was stripped of materials and vandalised, but, thereafter, it was stabilised and made accessible. The great fountain continues to operate for an hour each day and looks magnificent after a major restoration in 2004 and further work in 2016, the latter generously funded by Unilever.

Visitors can now enjoy the park and gardens and wander through the house, where the fire has revealed the various stages of its development.

There are no plans to re-roof the main house, but how can we enhance the pleasure of visiting the place and bring more of its history to life? For example, we are considering digitising the many excellent photographs of the interiors taken during its heyday, so that people can call them up on their mobile phones as they walk round.

We would like to refurbish the conservatory as a cafe. This would require expensive works to bring in services, yet those might enable us to produce more events there, following the very successful art exhibition held in 2019 — perhaps that was a harbinger of things to come.

Belsay Hall

Now, at last, for something with a roof — Belsay Hall in Northumberland. The site comprises three distinct, but related elements: a medieval castle, a 19th-century hall and, linking the two buildings, an outstanding garden. The Middleton family has owned the estate since 1270 and still lives nearby.

The hall’s designer, Sir Charles Monck, drew on the classical ideal he had seen on honeymoon in Greece and transposed the style of a Greek temple into an English villa from 1807 (Fig 6). Its sense of space, balance and rigorous architectural logic were unlike anything seen in Britain. Incidentally, Monck demolished the old village of Belsay on the site and rebuilt it in its current position outside the park — the sort of thing you could do in those days.

He deliberately quarried the stone for the hall in a way that left space for a unique garden, the ravines, pinnacles and sheer rock faces he created inspired by the ancient quarries of Syracuse, Sicily. The gardens still showcase the interplay between natural beauty and the sublime, between wild and tame, from natural woodland through the exotic-ally planted quarry to the more formal terraces and garden rooms near the house.

The family moved from the draughty castle to the new hall on Christmas Day 1817. Sadly, flaws in Monck’s internal guttering system led to wholesale infestation with dry rot. By 1980, when the family handed the buildings and garden into public guardianship, it was unoccupied, unfurnished and stripped of much internal wood and plasterwork. The silver lining of this cloud is that it is now possible better to appreciate features of its design. Standing in the beautiful central atrium,

it does feel more like a temple than a house. The windows are huge, allowing in plenty of natural light, and the acoustics are exceptional, thanks to the empty rooms, vast cellars and a network of flues.

Sound, light and empty space may hold the key to its future use; it is an ideal place for creative programming. We have in the past held innovative fashion and art shows there and have staged acoustic experiences, one with voices broadcast down the chimneys. There will, I am sure, be more of this.

We are in the middle of a major project, part funded by the National Lottery, which includes urgent conservation work, a full restoration of the gardens and a new cafe. The Middleton family and its trustees remain engaged, supportive and, I hope, appreciative of the promise of a new lease of life for Belsay.

These four examples illustrate the enormous technical and financial challenges we face with these and other houses. It’s not unreasonable to ask: why are we doing this? What is the purpose behind a heritage body preserving and/or conserving a building?

Well, we want the places to be informative — to tell us something about the people who built them, about their architectural style, about the people who lived in them or who visited them. It’s all part of explaining the story of England to current and future generations, not only to please or inform expert historians and architects, but to encourage a much wider body of people to see and enjoy our buildings.

From school groups (we host many) to local enthusiasts and anyone who has become fascinated by these places — perhaps after reading about them or seeing a Google arts fly-through online. We hope they will all want to see more, to learn more and enjoy (that word again) the experience.

We have to ask: should we preserve such buildings as they are now, strip them back to their original state when first built or restore them to how they appeared at the height of their glory? With our intact houses — such as Osborne, Apsley or Audley End — the answer is as self-evident as it is with a completely ruined castle or abbey: there really is no option. However, my examples here and others fall between those stools. There are no straightforward answers; we have to look at each on its own merits.

Total returns to past glories are rarely feasible, but allowing further decline is not in our DNA. More commonly, we seek to stabilise each place in a state of ‘sustainable conservation’ — a condition that we can maintain in the long term, avoiding costly repeated repairs. It is an evidence-based way of prioritising work according to historical significance, current condition and a better understanding of the specific causes of deterioration. Once in that state, the typical approach is ‘adaptive re-use’: bringing a building back to life by giving it new uses, which complement, rather than obscure the original.

Above all, these houses must be nurtured and loved so that they can tell their part of the story of England. English Heritage will do what it can, helped by the communities living nearby, many of which provide terrific support — and, perhaps, by the occasional generous benefactor.

[denimbex1986]

'What would “Ripley” be without its transfixing style, from the palpable isolation of a squalid New York apartment to the shadowy charms of ancient Italian streets?

Writer-director Steven Zaillian’s acclaimed eight-hour Netflix series isn’t merely a new adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s enduring thriller about an American tourist in coastal southern Italy embracing deceit and murder: It’s a coolly gorgeous black-and-white pleasure bath of sights, shades and textures. Beauty with darkness. Modern touches in ancient spaces. Art for con artist’s sake.

To achieve his vision of a 1960s Italy that would sweep viewers away right along with Andrew Scott’s dangerously impressionable protagonist, Zaillian assembled a murderer’s row (ahem) of design collaborators: Oscar-winning cinematographer Robert Elswit, who’d worked with the director on the miniseries “The Night Of”; production designer David Gropman, an alum of Zaillian’s 1993 film “Searching for Bobby Fischer”; and Italian costume designers Maurizio Millenotti and Gianni Casalnuovo.

Elswit makes no bones about how important everyone’s set contributions were to the look and feel of “Ripley.” “It was such a clear ensemble of decisions based on Steve’s original ideas that we pursued for the whole [show],” he says. “We wanted to underlie the drama, be part of the storytelling, part of the emotional life of it.”

The production design

“A dream job” is how Gropman describes working on “Ripley,” starting with what Zaillian’s 400 dialogue-sparse script pages evoked, and ending with myriad locations across New York, Italy and at Rome’s fabled Cinecitta studios.

Early research led Gropman to the kinds of images that called out to be re-created. “When you’re doing Tom on the train from Cherbourg to Naples, and you pull up David Seymour’s photograph of Ingrid Bergman going from Naples to Cannes on the Orient Express, you know exactly what that train car looks like in black and white.” Another inspiring source was Piergiorgio Branzi, revered for his naturalistic postwar pictures of life in Italy. “Any photograph of his would fill a moment in [‘Ripley’].”

Months of scouting the Amalfi coast for the sleepy town holding Dickie Greenleaf’s villa led Gropman to quiet but picturesque Atrani. Three elements cinched it: The views from the road above were stunning, the piazza charmed, and what would become something of a location star for rapt viewers, “the incredible network of stairs, alleys and passageways.” The actual villa, however, was discovered in Capri, and completely outfitted in midcentury furniture and assorted antiques and artwork.

You can get to 200 locations and sets easily when a character is constantly on the move, and the norm is to crib from many places to suggest one. “For the Excelsior hotel in Rome,” says Gropman, “the exterior was the Hassler, the lobby was the Plaza, and two suites were an amazing 16th century palazzo in the middle of Rome.” And where exterior period authenticity couldn’t be counted on, CGI filled out plenty of backgrounds. “Train platforms, views out windows, and ferry docks were all big visual effects set extensions,” Gropman says.

As for what was built at Cinecitta, two favorite sets for Gropman were Tom’s New York hovel and his well-appointed, furnished Rome apartment. For every set, though, walls were never moved for the camera’s sake, “so you’re true to the claustrophobia,” says Gropman, and in the case of the dingy New York SRO, “the meanness of that space.”

Props were nearly as important, and Zaillian spent two days looking at demos. One story item, however — a Murano glass ashtray whose importance won’t be spoiled here — had already been chosen. “The ashtray is on one of Steve’s side tables at home in California,” says Gropman, laughing. “That will tell you a lot about Steve, and his ‘Ripley.’”

The cinematography

“Steve is the most meticulous, focused, precise director you could ever work with,” says Elswit of his “Ripley” writer-director. “He had a very clear concept of shooting in black and white, making a designed movie formally organized around tonal structure and graphic images.”

Elswit, who’s previously worked in black and white (“Good Night and Good Luck”), explains why cinematographers love the monochrome palette. “You can exploit the extremes between the brightest white and the blackest black. You exaggerate the contrast in their faces. You can feel it. Sense it. You really do create tension and anxiety through lighting. It’s been done since the beginning of movies.”

It’s even baked into Zaillian’s script. Ripley’s fascination with Caravaggio allowed the Italian master’s famed tenebrism — intense darkness and pockets of equally intense light — to also become a guiding aesthetic for Elswit. Caravaggio “was also obsessed with quality of light, its direction and the reality of it. Like a spotlight on what was interesting.”

Elswit says Italy’s very physicality lends itself to such extremes of light and shadow. “There’s so much texture when you’re looking at walls, streets, the surfaces of buildings, the cobblestones, stairways. It’s granite, plaster, rock, marble, whatever it is, and in black and white, it emphasizes the texture.”

Caravaggio and his era’s peers influenced the show’s look in another way. Elswit and Zaillian gave themselves an unusual rule in framing, to keep Renaissance and Baroque art’s straight-ahead perspective and avoid converging vertical lines, as would happen if a camera tilted up or down. It’s why so much of “Ripley” is a crisply edited procession of static shots, with only humans providing movement.

“That was built into every setup, indoors and out,” Elswit says. “We were going to have the picture plane parallel to the walls of structures we were shooting, always. The buildings couldn’t have converging lines. Steven wanted that formal graphic design.”

Zaillian also preferred overcast days, to avoid any sun-kissed hint of romance and warmth. But Elswit made great portentous use of a hot sky for when Ripley first encounters Dickie and Marge, lying on the gravel beach. “We had a high shot where we had Tom walk by them, and his shadow goes over them,” Elswit says. “I was thrilled. I’m not sure if Steve was at the time, but he ended up being happy with it. That was a wonderful advantage to a sunlit day!”

The costumes

Italy in the ‘60s may have been a fashion mecca, but that wasn’t how Millenotti and Casalnuovo saw the job Zaillian set out for them. “There was a focus on subtlety,” Casalnuovo wrote via email, speaking for the duo. “The costumes shouldn’t be flashy or distracting. Steve’s vision emphasized creating a sense of character and story through the clothing.”

Casting a wide net in their research — with a little over four months of pre-production time — the pair pored over photo books, archives, even vintage albums found in street markets, “searching for a nuanced understanding of the period,” Casalnuovo says. Their rummaging unearthed one socked-away trove containing unpublished pictures of everyday life in the story’s key cities. “This provided invaluable insight into the social fabric and atmosphere. This allowed us to create costumes steeped in authenticity and narrative depth.”

That meant capturing a moment when the world was turning away from formality, while areas like southern Italy still reflected class divisions. Lighter fabrics such as linen and cotton are presenting themselves, and yet the privilege Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn) represents hasn’t gone away. “Dickie’s wardrobe would be more tailored and polished. In contrast, characters of lower social standing would wear simpler, more practical clothing.”

With a black-and-white palette, however, certain scenes needed extra consideration, as when Tom Ripley’s swimsuit needed to set him apart at the beach. Highsmith wrote about a garish yellow/black checkered pair of trunks, but, says Casalnuovo, “a color contrast wouldn’t translate.” (As the final decision ultimately showed, an eye-opening fit and pattern humorously did the trick.)

Of course, when it came to Ripley overall, charting his sartorial trajectory, not surprisingly, was the designers’ most enjoyable project. “Ripley’s wardrobe is a chameleon’s act. Initially, his casual American style clashes with Dickie’s European flair. He subtly incorporates elements like polo shirts and loafers, mirroring Dickie to gain acceptance.” Getting from high-priced mimicry to Tom’s own personal style toward the end was a particular challenge, but the kind costume designers live for. “It was a process that demanded focus and a deep understanding of the character, but seeing it all come together was incredibly rewarding.”'

[katenewmanwrites]

Racing Hearts - Chapter Four

Warings: Mentions of violence, criminal activities, past trauma and emotional distress.

The car comes to a stop shaking me awake, and I hear the click of the automatic locks disengaging. "We're here," Finn says, his voice sounding far away. I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden light as he opens my door. He offers me a hand and helps me out of the car, the heels of my shoes clicking against the concrete as we make our way toward the entrance of the building.

He leads me to a private elevator; the doors closing silently behind us. We ascend several stories before coming to a stop with a soft chime. Finn steps out first, offering me his arm as we walk down the luxurious marble hallway.

He unlocks a door with a small keypad and ushers me inside. The penthouse is unlike anything I've ever seen. The space is sleek and minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city. The furniture is modern and luxurious, with clean lines and plush fabrics. The colour palette is dominated by cool blues and greys.

"Umm, what is it you do again?" I ask, still a little hazy from my nap. I walk around the room, taking in the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights twinkle below us, and it's almost impossible to believe that this penthouse is really his.

"I'm a hitman amongst other things for Mr. Rossi," he replies casually, as if it's no big deal. His words send a shiver down my spine. "But that's not important right now." He walks over to a bar in the corner of the room and pours himself a drink. He offers me one, but I shake my head no.

"Aren't you meant to not be drinking?" I ask, "Doctor's orders and all?" He takes a sip of his drink, before smirking.

"It's a zero alcohol rum," he explains, holding up the bottle. He takes another sip.

I watch him for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject of what just happened. "So, you're a hitman," I repeat, trying to sound casual.

"Amongst other things, yes," Finn replies. "But, more importantly, have you had dinner?" He sets his drink down on the bar and gestures toward the kitchen area. "I can make you something or order in, if you'd like."

I realise then that my stomach is growling. "No, but don't avoid the topic, okay?" I say carefully, walking over to sit down on one of the barstools. "You're a hitman, and you killed someone tonight." I swallow hard. "I just want to know what that means for me."

"Well," Finn says, taking a deep breath, "I think it's clear that I do some morally grey things for work." He pauses, "and because of that I can keep you safe from Patrick. But I can't promise that I won't have to get my hands dirty in the process."

"For example, shooting that man," I say quietly, remembering the way he'd pulled the trigger without even flinching. "If you didn't, we might not have got out?"

"Yes," He says, "If I'm not quick to action and do things that need to be done, people die. And I have to live with that." He watches me carefully.

I take a deep breath. "Okay." I say quietly. "Clearly I'm not really comfortable with everything, but…" I look up at him, my heart racing."Against my better judgement, I find myself trusting you."

"So, will you eat something now?" He asks, changing the subject. "I can order in or make you something." He leans over the counter, close to me. I can smell the faint hint of cologne on his neck, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

"It's late, so whatever is easiest…" I trail off, already realising that I'm hungry enough to eat whatever Finn puts in front of me. He smiles at me, nodding in understanding.

"How about I order some Italian?" Finn suggests. "I know a great place that delivers." He pulls out his phone, pulling up menulog. I watch as he scans the menu, his thumb moving expertly over the screen. "So, what do you feel like?"

I hesitate for a moment, not really sure what to say. "Surprise me?" I offer with a small smile. He glances up at me, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Ok, let's see if I remember what you like…" Finn says, his eyes still on the menu. "You like lasagna, right?" I nod, a small smile playing at my lips. "And garlic bread?" He glances up at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"How on earth do you remember that?" I ask, impressed. Finn shrugs, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, your food order was always pretty basic." He teases, glancing down at me.

"Rude." I laugh. "But you're right." I lean forward, watching as he taps his thumb on the screen.

"Ok, it shouldn't be long before it arrives." Finn says, finally tapping his finger on the screen to complete the order.

"Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?" I ask, feeling uncomfortable in these heels and this dress.

"Of course." Finn says, nodding. "I'll take you to the guest room. There's a bathroom attached." He turns and walks away from the kitchen, leading me deeper into the apartment.

The guest room is surprisingly large and cosy, with a queen-sized bed and a plush armchair in the corner. There's a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a large ensuite. Finn places down the bag from Mrs. Rossi on the bed and turns to face me.

"This room is all yours." He says. "I'll call out when dinner is here, and you can come out whenever you're ready." He turns to leave, but then pauses in the doorway. "Oh, and if you need anything, just ask."

I nod, watching as he disappears back out of the room. Once I'm alone, I quickly change out of the showy formal dress and into a simple linen dress. Throwing aside the diamond necklace and earrings, I pull my hair back into a messy bun. Grabbing the cleanser from the bag, I head into the ensuite and wash my face, trying to feel a little more like myself.

I look in the mirror, studying my reflection. But I don't even recognize the person staring back at me. I wonder what Finn sees when he looks at me now. Does he see the same girl he knew before? Or does he see someone completely different? I wish I knew.

I hear a knock on the door, and Finn pokes his head in. "Dinner's here." He says, grinning. I nod and follow him out of the room, marvelling at how much better I feel in my comfortable clothes.

"Smells great." I say, following Finn to the dining room. The table is already set, with steaming plates of lasagna and garlic bread waiting for us. I sit down and inhale the savoury scent of the food, feeling my stomach growl in anticipation.

"Do you want a drink?" Finn asks. I nod, and he grabs two bottles of sparkling water from the fridge. I take a long sip, enjoying the crisp taste of the water.

"I need to know, how did you get tangled up with Patrick?" He asks, between bites of lasagna. I chew on my lower lip for a moment, debating how much to share.

"I-I didn't. My ex played poker with him," I stammer, taking another sip of my water, trying to keep calm. "He, uh… got into debt with Patrick." I look at Finn, searching for some sign that he understands.

He nods, chewing slowly. "Ah, so you were collateral damage, then." He says, his tone gentle.

I nod, taking another sip of water. "Yeah, that about sums it up. I had no idea what he was doing, and when I found out… it was too late." I look down at my plate, picking at the lasagna.

Finn leans back in his chair, watching me carefully. "I'm sorry, Lily. I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

I feel my eyes sting with tears. I wipe them away and look up at him, searching his face for any sign of pity or judgement, but find none. "It's been… really tough," I admit, my voice cracking.

Finn reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. His touch is warm and comforting, and it sends a shiver down my spine. "You're not alone anymore, Lily. You don't have to worry about anything. I'll take care of you."

I pull away, "Thank you," I whisper, feeling tears prickle in my eyes again. "I think I should get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Finn nods, pushing his chair back. "Of course. I'll see you in the morning." He picks up the plates and moves to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the dining room. I feel a pang of guilt for being cold, but I can't help it. As much as I want to, it's going to be hard to let my guard down.

I head back to the guest room, changing into a slip from the bag, and crawling into the soft bed. The sheets smell faintly of lavender, and I inhale deeply, trying to relax. But no matter how comfortable the bed is, or how nice Finn is, I can't help but feel restless.

I roll over, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of Patrick and what I've had to endure. Finn's words ring in my ears: "You don't have to worry about anything. I'll take care of you." I want to believe him, I really do. But it's hard to let go of the fear and the anxiety that have become such a part of me. After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, I finally drift off to sleep.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

[fdrlibrary]

FDR the Art Collector

This undated sketchbook contains watercolors and pencil drawings by Alexander Jackson Davis (1803-1892), one of the most prominent American architects of the nineteenth century.

Davis began his career in New York illustrating various buildings in the northeastern United States. In 1829, he started his first architectural firm, Town & Davis, with partner Ithiel Town, and then later opened his own firm. As one of the most prolific American architects of the nineteenth century, Davis designed buildings all over the US, including government buildings, commercial buildings, churches, and private homes. He favored Gothic Revival, Greek Revival, and Italianate styles. He also designed interior elements and even furniture.

Franklin D. Roosevelt purchased the sketchbook in February 1942—two months after Pearl Harbor and amid some of the darkest weeks of World War II.

This acquisition illustrates two important things about Franklin Roosevelt. He had an extraordinary ability to compartmentalize his life—using hobbies and personal interests to help himself manage the many stresses of the presidency. And he had an abiding love of and interest in the history, landscape, and culture of the Hudson River Valley.

Shortly after purchasing the Davis sketchbook, FDR shipped it to his distant cousin, Margaret “Daisy” Suckley, an archivist at the Roosevelt Library, to be added to his collection of Hudson River Valley art and artifacts. “I bought this several days ago,” he wrote Suckley, “and it should go to the Dutchess County collection as a loan. Some of the watercolors are really lovely.”

See more sketches by Davis on our Digital Artifact Collection: https://fdr.artifacts.archives.gov/objects/1944

Join us throughout 2023 as we present #FDRtheCollector, featuring artifacts personally collected, purchased, or retained by Franklin Roosevelt, all from our Digital Artifact Collection.

[sorchamidnite]

Friendship: What's your OC like as a friend? How are they at making new friends? What are the most important friendships in your OC's life?

Sorcha… makes friends easily, but struggles to convert to real, lasting, trusting friendships. She was never really a Wild Rose, just their mentor's bratty daughter who acted like she was one of the gang and who they occasionally had to look after or call on.

That said...

Thomas Tirion Macintyre; Wee Tam to his friends. Tam and Sorcha were two queer kids who made it through the hell of Jesuit school together. Tam took a chance on the weird Italian girl who said the furniture was haunted, Sorcha dropped everything and rushed home when Tam was homeless and in trouble. They're ride or die, and Sorcha has been careful to keep him out of her bullshit as best she can. They're business partners too; Tam runs the supply line for her drug lab and extends her connections into Strathclyde University.

Nero Giovanni. Yes, really. For all that they've fucked each other over, for all that they aggravate each other, Nero looked out for Sorcha when she first ran away to the US, and they'll forgive each other more or less anything. Family's family, and slut solidarity is real.

Mia Monroe. It took Sorcha a while to get past her gay panic with this one, but knowing Mia is her gateway into knowing Antonia, Nick, Fina, Hazel… if it hadn't been for Mia, Sorcha might not be the lil' scene queen she is tonight. She doesn't always agree with Mia philosophically, but the disagreements are always informed and reasonable, and that's what matters. Mia's squeamishness around necromancy delights Sorcha (makes her feel brave) almost as much as her apparent weakness for Sorcha's first language...

Hazel Blanke. Hazel is a peer, a contemporary, an enabler, a cheerleader, a fellow traveller, an older sister/bestest bitch/transparent girl crush… they came up at the same time and in similar situations that they've handled very differently. Sorcha idolises Hazel for her work with the safehouses (it's praxis) and her alchemical hustle, and she wants Hazel to see the best side of her, to benefit from her as much as she does from Hazel. Knowing Hazel has unlocked new ideas in Sorcha's deviant little mind, and transformed how she feels about being a thinblood and what potential that has. Also, she's tol. And cute.

Beetlejuice. If Sorcha is BJ's best friend, that's... kinda sad, because sometimes Sorcha wants to push her off a bridge, and sometimes Sorcha can't help but sass her 'cause her Camarilla/Gen X attitude is showing. Buuut when the chips are down, Sorcha genuinely cares about BJ, and acknowledges she's had a hard life and has made the choices she has for reasons. Scrambles her brain a bit seeing a hottie her own age and knowing she's grumpy auntie material underneath, but whatever. They're mates. Sorcha wouldn't wish anything really bad on BJ. Just a slap. Sometimes.

[regalfairytaleacademy]

Welcome to Nymfevilla !!

Nymfevilla was founded by Helpfulness of Pixies in the village.

In the dorms, students take on the important role of helping others, especially when there are special circumstances. They host events, such as tea parties, in the garden. Once there are no assignments or all are fully completed, students are free to do whatever they want and visit other dormitories.

Notable Student

Building Info - (Here)

Bedrooms

Their rooms can be customized to any styles they prefer.

Charisse's room

Classical and gothic, with some fairytale core as details. There has a huge wardrobe nearby her bed. Inside has plethora of outfits with different styles; ball gowns, casual clothing, and others. Even all of kinds of accessories and shoes !! Her study room is next to the bedroom.

Kanako's room

Styled in a traditionally Eastern way with dark blue walls and tatami floor. It has a Italian style study table next to the bed and between of the wardrobe, where Kanako used for doing school work.

Hinata's room

Minimalist customization. All furniture is done in neutral tones, giving the room a refined yet cozy look. In the middle of the bookshelf, there are photos of her and her family. The tiny bed her cats sleep is placed near the bookshelf.

Color Palette

All color schemes for clothings are available to your OCs, but for school uniform...

Dorms and school uniforms do not have any custom styles. So you are free to choose the styles for your OC.