#it has wider margins and is hard to open

[goatmilksoda]

[patchiko]

GIVE US MORE ABOUT NSFW AL JAYYY PLSSS

HRHSJSGAHS OKOK!!

NSFW Arkham Knight / Ak!Jason Todd !! <3

detailed smut !!

(wet dream, praise, soft sex 2 somewhat rough sex, not super long, , im so obsessed with his brain)

rq are open :3

‘tis under the cut!! :p

M’SO EXCITED TO WRITE MORE ABT HIM M’SHAKING AND THROWIFN UP

NGL, i think one of the only reason he would come to terms with liking someone is bc he had a wet dream…

listen,, 99% of his dreams are nightmares, and you just changed his fuckin statistics for the possibility to the 1% chance of him coming in his sleep and being able to rest well after.

he has mixed feeling abt this..

on one hand hes like ‘wow cool i get to sleep well,’ but on the other hands hes like staring at his boxers and hes like ‘but at what cost…’

but oh,, he just knew he was fucked when it first happened and he woke up

after many , many years of overthinking, and his mind not being able to shut up … the thing that made his ass get so quiet was a fuckin’ wet dream

uuhhggrr it was such a good one tooo (hes internally cringing so hard)

ONE hand in his hair, softly rubbing his scalp, the other massaging his shoulder to the base of his neck. Jason has both hands on your hips. Being so gentle yet passionate with each thrust, fighting back the nastiest sounds begging to leave his mouth. So he starts kissing you, open mouth kissing your jaw to just between where your neck and shoulders connect. The noises you start letting out make his breathing stutter for a second. His kissing gets more passionate, soft sucking at your skin, and he’s feverishly rubbing and grabbing at your hips.

The wet sounds of him fucking you get louder. Poor guy is just barely stopping himself from rutting into you. His strokes were slowly getting more rapid but nonetheless coordinated, hitting that spot that had you loudest. Jason was marginally coherent but he’s still trying his hardest to make you feel good. Your body returning the favor by squeezing him so lovingly and he just cant fight back the soft gasps he lets out in between his strokes. The wet sounds, the lewd noises, the details of your body and skin he felt every time he pushed into you. All of this just because of him, just for him? You babble to him how good he was doing, murmuring how good it feels between moans, and it has him gripping your hips.

JASONS rocking himself roughly into you, but its that ever so loving hand, still gently massaging his neck and scalp. That sensation has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Soft curses leaving his mouth. He buries his face right next to your head and has to grab the bed sheets just for an last attempt to stay composed. But the moaning gets louder, and you don’t stop gently massaging his hair.

So he can’t stop the “mmh, mmh, mmh” ‘s leaving his mouth with every rapid push of himself. He can’t stop the way his hands trail down to your legs to spread you wider for him. Grabbing at your thighs as he fucks himself through.

N’ just as he cums with a breathy gasp, his eyelashes are fluttering and eyes rolling to the back of his head. Letting his body weight press onto you and closing his eyes shut, trying to control his stammered breaths,,

he fuckin’ wakes up..!

First thought was “what the fuck.”

genuinely startled, he doesn’t freak out bad but he like slowly reaches to touch his pillow.

his mind was so blank, couldn’t tell if it was because of the wet spot on his sweatpants or he was genuinely so stunned.

*hes like scratching his head and looking at his pants.*

hes goes to take a shower and his eyes are so blown out he looks like one of those cat memes

but his mind is soo quiet,,

in my brain at the very back of his mind he’s like ‘whys there so much of it.’ HSIGSISHSISHSIDHS HES COMPLETELY SERIOUS TOO???

he’s taking a shower and his brain, oddly, isn’t foggy, not dissociating, just feels so here.

which is horrible because that means he really has to directly face his feelings

KRILLING MYSELF WHY IS HEART TO HEART PLAYING WHILE I WRITE THIS???

heart to heart, heart to heart, heart to heart <3

Next time he sees you he feels so odd, he knows it a natural thing that can happen.. but it was so

djsksnkdnd

tingling under his skin sensation is yelling at him to leave, and he does.

hes cringing

he likes you…

he cringes harder

ghosts you for awhile

realistically doesn’t want anything like that to happen ANYTIME soon

but is it weird that he kinda wants it to happen at all?

MENTAL GYMNASTICS COMMENCE !!

but when he stops ghosting you for awhile, and comes back to see you still being just as patient as you were every time you saw him before,

arms always open for him, food waiting for him, a sweet smile. and with your own patience, his own patience begins to thin.

Everytime he leaves you its a little harder for him to not come back

that tingly feeling under his skin slowly becomes a craving for just your presence. thats all he wants.

he doesn’t need to fuck you when he just has your eyes on him.

“what you run from is what you end up chasing.”

live footage of arkham knights brain cells falling for u insta reel

TEEHEE i loved writing this it was so fun, rq/inbox is open !! feedback is always appreciated >:3

[alnilaem]

i need more professor Price pleaseeee😭😭🙏🏼

hell yeah brother i was waiting for this ask

-

He’s so suave with it. It’s a testament to both his age and his field of study, linguistics, in how Price is able to ply you with sweet, trusting words and a tractable face.

He’d heard of your upcoming lecture—a lesson on the epistemology of language—and insisted that he help you with your material. Who are you to deny? Price has years of experience under his belt, that sentiment reflected in the papery crows feet of his eyes as he smiles and the spread of parsed-over dissertations published in his name.

Price calls you to his office when you’re finished teaching your last lecture for the day, when only a sparse amount of students remain on campus. When the sky is hanging out to dry and you two are the only academic staff still working.

You stand on the threshold of his office. Price sits behind the venetian red of his big desk, fanning out his legs, spreading himself against its leathery backrest.

An amused look unfurls across his face. It offsets the innate, rugged look he has, provides a bit of disarmed magnetism as the sheet of soft skin on his belly shakes when he laughs.

“What’re you standin’ all the way there for?” He teases. Curls his finger into a shepherding motion. “C’mere, I don’t bite. Not if you don’t fancy it.”

Price chuckles as you fold your lips, preening under the sudden embarrassment that lays hold of you. You step inside, clutching your script, the papers already dog-eared and shaded in multicoloured footnotes along the margins. You bite your nails into the leather facet of the chair sitting across from Price, but he tuts, collapsing your movements.

“John?” You hum.

He sets his hands around the lip of his desk, pushing himself back. And, before the confusion makes it to your bones, Price is spreading his knees wider, slapping his thigh.

Your eyes widen. “John-“

“We’re all adults here aren’t we, Lassie?” He says, Tucks his chin into his chest like he always does, crossing his arms, looking at you expectantly.

Your tongue feels drenched in sorghum syrup and treacle. It’s heavy, laden, as you struggle with a response.

Price continues anyway. “I reckon you’ll control yourself around me just fine.”

You flush, and Price chuckles. He’s rubbing his thigh now. Over and around it, bending atop the curve of it, kneading his own flesh.

“Also,” he tacks on, “it’ll be easier f’r me to read your script. Rather than passin’ it back every line.”

The sorghum syrup pushes down your throat as you swallow. John raises his eyebrows, tilting his head as if he’s just made a valid point. He keeps beckoning you, shepherding you closer as your feet take hesitant steps. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap. Flush, against the cable-knit of his sweater vest.

“There we go,” he hums. “Wasn’t so hard was it, Bird?”

You shake your head. The wiry hair of his beard grazes the shell of your ear as he leans in, holding a pen, beginning to sift through your script. He adds a few tweaks here and there, and lulls you by squeezing your hip.

Every now and then, Price will inhale. That’s when he drags the spire of his nose along your neck, breathing deeply, pretending to sniffle under the whorls of cigar smoke in his office.

Something is poking you. You begin to move, but Price swiftly stops you. Holds you with the hand that’s held so many pens, that’s cracked open the spines of so much literature. Price keeps you on top of him. On top of the suddenly stiff, bellied muscle of his lap.

“Settle down,” he grunts. “We’ll be here a while.”

[goodlucktai]

love that doesn’t have a place to rest

one piece word count: 2.5k pairing: sabo & luffy, ASL brothers this was my piece for the @flameemperorzine ! leftover sales are open now ❤️‍🔥 title borrowed from never love an anchor by the crane wives

x

When Sabo wakes up, he does it slowly. It’s a peaceful, drifting sort of journey back into the world.

He’s comfortable, which must mean that he’s safe, which must mean that he’s home. When he opens his eyes, he’ll see a familiar canopy of rich greenery hanging over him, the pale light of fresh dawn peeking through the leaves.

Sabo isn’t usually the first one awake, and when he is, it’s only by a slim margin.

Any second now, he thinks, not even fooling himself with the put-upon annoyance, there will be a tiny rubber body flinging itself on top of him like a fun-sized catapult. Luffy’s voice will be loud enough to rouse the whole mountain when he cries, “Good morning!” He always says it like every single day they get to wake up in their ramshackle little treehouse together is a wonderful surprise, even though they’ll always get to wake up here together, forever and ever until they grow up. It's not the type of thing a little kid should be grateful for, but Luffy has all sorts of silly ideas. 

With a groan, Ace will roll over and tug his blanket up over his head. “Before breakfast, he’s your brother,” he’ll grumble.

Sabo will make sure to complain about the early hour, and call Luffy names and tug on his cheek so that beaming smile stretches even wider—but he’ll still get up and follow Luffy down the ladder into the jungle and stumble into half a dozen little adventures well before the sun has a chance to really shine. 

And sooner than later, Ace will join them, because he can’t fool himself, either. The sky always looks the best and bluest when they’re looking up at it together. Sabo knows he’d give up every extra hour of sleep and everything else in his whole life for that view, side by side by side.

He opens his eyes. He sees the ceiling of the infirmary instead. And then he remembers.

The person Sabo was ten years ago and the person he is today meet in the middle with an earth-shattering crash. He lurches upright so suddenly that Koala, dozing on the chair beside the bed in a precarious lean, tumbles to the floor with a screech.   

Sabo crashes into the communications room at a dead sprint, taking the door halfway off its hinges, and demands an update. He looks manic enough that three people start talking at once, about three different missions, and a fourth slips cautiously out of his line of sight in the direction of the kitchens.

Once deep breaths are had and calming tea has been acquired and Sabo is slightly more specific about his request, he’s read in on Fire Fist’s botched execution and all other relevant developments he missed during his episode. He thanks everyone for their assistance, knocks back the cup of herbal tea he let go cold, to the entire room’s collective disgust, and then stalks off to steal a carriage.

He could probably just requisition one, if he spoke to Dragon—but he would probably also fling himself at the man claws first like a territorial jungle cat, and demand to know what the fuck he was doing that was more important than helping his own son, if he spoke to Dragon. So he’s going to just steal it and spare them both the trouble.

Sabo doesn’t think about Ace. He can’t think about Ace without crumpling to the floor under the weight of impossible grief and letting it crush him into tiny, insubstantial pieces, and right now there’s something he still has to do. He very, very carefully doesn’t think about Ace.

Luffy disappeared before the end of the Summit War, long-gone when the dust finally settled, but it isn’t hard to find him. The oceans are unknowable and wild, but so is Sabo, and so is the place that raised him, the looming rainforest and its giant beasts and birds and deadly-beautiful flora. If he had to, he would bend the world into the shape he wanted, he would force it to give up its secrets at knifepoint—but he doesn’t have to. There is an army of intelligence at his disposal, contacts in all corners of every country.

And there is Ivankov, whose feelings are obvious even over the snailphone. They sound bone-tired and worried in a way that pricks restlessly at Sabo’s heart like a million needles. Iva explains that they hitched a ride away from Marineford with the Pirate Empress, of all people, who seems to treat anyone allied with Luffy as an ally of her own. Boa Hancock’s ship was hailed by the Heart Pirates, the rookie crew that had rescued and absconded with Sabo’s injured brother, and she gave them enthusiastic permission to shelter at Amazon Lily indefinitely.

“That,” Iva told him, their voice world-wearier than Sabo had ever heard it, “is where Strawhat-boy will be. Whatever need you have of him, please go gently.”

Sabo doesn’t have a gentle bone left in his body and arrives on Amazon Lily like a tropical storm. He’s met with open hostility at first, for all of ten seconds. That’s how long it takes Trafalgar Law to lift his head and say, “So you’re Strawhat’s brother? Emporio warned me you were coming. Took your time showing up.” At which point Sabo becomes an honored guest and the eldest Boa all but trips over herself trying to make a good impression.

He’ll definitely have an opinion about all of these things some other time. It all goes up on the shelf where he’s keeping Ace, safe in the back of his brain. He has to focus on what he can still do—the person he can still reach. It’s too late for him to save anybody but Luffy is his responsibility. His only family. His little brother.  

“Where is he?” Sabo says, doing a passable job of sounding like a human being.

Trafalgar tilts his head eastward, where the coast begins to climb upwards into a craggy cliffside. Jinbe, beside him, has his arms folded over an impressive swathe of bandages that wrap around his chest and midsection and looks Sabo up and down with a critical gaze. He clearly isn’t eager to interject where it isn’t his place, but he’s equally as unwilling to let someone who might be a threat go near the young captain in question while he’s hurting. It’s surprisingly proprietary for a person who has only had Luffy’s acquaintance for a short time.

But then Luffy has always had that effect on people, hasn’t he? He worms his way in. He makes you care.

“The surgery was a success,” Trafalgar says without overture, like the word ‘surgery’ in correlation to Sabo’s brother doesn’t send ice down his spine. “But it wouldn’t have been for anyone without the Op-op Fruit. And there’s still a good chance that all my hard work will be rendered a waste of time if that kid goes on another rampage.”

“He was disoriented when he woke up,” Jinbe adds carefully. “He went looking for his brother. And it—pained him. To realize that Ace was gone. He was hurting himself. I told him to look past what he lost, at the things he still had.” His deep, strong voice softens as he goes on, “If his grief wasn’t so self-destructive, I would have let him have it. He deserves to have it.”

Sabo is halfway up a hill before he’s aware of moving in the first place, using his hands to climb when it gets steep, not feeling it when sharp branches cut against his face as he shoves his way through them. Observation Haki comes naturally to him but he thinks he’d be able to find Luffy even without it. His soul or heart or something equally as important inside him would tug him in the right direction.

He was always the best at finding his brothers.

Sabo knows right where to go. He doesn’t know how he knows, but his feet guide him without faltering, picking his way over the river stepping-stone by -stone. And as he gets closer, over the cheerful babbling of the water and the thrushes in the trees, Sabo can hear the faint sound that’s become so familiar to him over the last couple of months—the sound of a little kid crying.

“This is why Ace calls you a baby, you know,” Sabo says to the hollow log Luffy is hiding in.

Luffy stubbornly won’t budge, so Sabo crawls in after him. Luffy’s face is all sticky and dirty, and Makino would have a lot to say about it if she could see him, but she’s not here. A little dirt never killed anybody. The tears bother Sabo, though.

They bother Ace, too. He probably remembers as well as Sabo does how it feels to be left alone while you cried. They both learned a long time ago that no one was going to come make it better.

Luffy hasn’t learned that yet. He still cries over every little thing that hurts or scares him, and Ace gets loud and mean because he hates it when his siblings are hurt or scared. He hates it even more that this crummy world failed Luffy as wholly as it failed Ace and Sabo. 

But it’s not the same, not really. Luffy can tear up over every heartache and frustration and nighttime fear, and his big brothers will come running. It’s annoying sometimes, and upsetting other times, and they can’t always make it better, but Sabo and Ace would never leave Luffy to cry all by himself.

Luffy isn’t crying when Sabo sits beside him. His dark eyes are wide and faraway, gazing out over the water the way he used to when they were children, dreaming about their future.

His brown skin has a sickly, ashen pallor to it. There are bruises beneath his eyes and an unhealthy thinness to his frame. He is covered, head to toe, in bandages. Even his hands are wrapped up, finger by finger. It’s proof of how far he would go, how much damage he’s willing to do to himself for just the opportunity to reach out and save someone he loves.

Sabo doesn’t know what to say. This is one of the most important people in his life, and he failed this person so spectacularly. He opens his mouth, but he can feel the words forming right before he speaks them—Do you hate me? He closes his mouth.

Coward, he berates himself venomously. If Luffy hates you, it’s as much as you deserve.

But his lips stay glued shut. He can’t open himself to that inevitable blow, not yet. The question goes up on that mental shelf next to Ace. Instead, Sabo sits beside his only living brother for as long as he’s allowed.

“I haven’t seen you since I was little, Sabo,” Luffy says suddenly. “I saw you all the time back then.”

Sabo’s heart is racing. He’s confused and unsettled and hurting so keenly he could lay down and die from it. But he can’t let Luffy go unanswered, so he says, “Of course you did. We lived together.”

A faint smile touches the corners of Luffy’s mouth, like some distant part of him wants to laugh.

“I mean after you died. We saw you a lot. We talked to you and you would talk back. Sometimes I wondered if maybe you were really still there and everyone just got it wrong. I was dumb.”

“No,” Sabo says quietly.

“I thought I’d see Ace now,” Luffy goes on, in a meandering, conversational way. “The way we used to see Sabo. But Sabo is here again instead. I’m not mad, ‘Bo. I missed you. I wish you hadn’t left.”

Sabo doesn’t know how to hold this without it breaking him. He needs more hands. He needs his twin, his anchor, his other half, to help with the heavy-lifting. He isn’t enough on his own. He will never, ever, ever be enough on his own to make up for Ace dying in Luffy’s arms, bleeding all over Luffy’s hands, carving a hole into Luffy’s heart right next to the one Sabo left there ten years ago.

There is nothing that he can say that will make this better. The only thing he can do is be here, and put his arm around Luffy the way he used to when they were children, and whisper, “I missed you, too, Lu. I wanted to stay.”

Luffy doesn’t cry how Sabo remembers. He doesn’t throw his head back and wail and shove balled fists into his eyes. But the way he curls against Sabo’s side is familiar—the way he makes himself smaller, and tucks his face against Sabo’s shoulder like he’s seeking shelter, and winds rubber limbs around him until they’re too well-tangled to do anything but hold each other.

The sun sinks slowly through the sky, and Luffy’s body gets heavy and loose. He falls asleep between one thick, hitching breath and the next. 

“I don’t believe him,” Sabo’s twin says incredulously, staring down at the little boy sprawled like a sack of potatoes across the mossy rocks. “As soon as it gets dark, he’s out like a light.”

Sabo laughs, the way he’s only recently learned how to laugh. It bubbles up all the way from his stomach, from the squishy warm center of him. He isn’t allowed to be noisy at the mansion, but Ace’s face always scrunches in a wolfish grin at the sound.

“And he’s up with the sun, too,” Sabo says. “Better than an alarm clock.”

He sloshes across the shallow part of the river and kneels in the muddy bank, beginning the familiar chore of gathering up a seven-year-old’s sprawling rubber limbs so they can carry him home. Luffy always droops when he sleeps, like taffy left out in the sun, his bones going all bendy since there isn’t conscious thought to keep them firm. He’s as light as a kid half his size, and twice as much work.

“Brat’s lucky we don’t just leave him here,” Ace mutters, but he doesn’t mean it. He sits carefully still while Sabo situates Luffy on his back, and keeps one rough, scarred hand wrapped carefully around one of Luffy’s soft wrists the whole way back up the mountain.

Their little brother only comes close to stirring once, and all he does is press his face against Ace’s shoulder with a content sigh that’s so quiet it could almost be a secret. 

Luffy is lucky that he has someone to carry him home. But Sabo and Ace are lucky, too. They have someone to carry.

Sabo rests his cheek on the top of Luffy’s head, and listens to the marathon march of his heart. He counts every beat. He feels like a ghost.

“I wanted to stay,” Sabo says again. He hopes that someone’s listening.

[leandra-kinard]

you could just not respond and keep the slurs to yourself. have you ever considered that? maybe a post by someone affected by the slur isn't the place to harp on why it's so hard for you to not be able to type it. you can have your opinions, you're grown and obviously not open to change. but consider respect and decorum when you decide to invalidate the feelings of marginalized people on their own fandom experiences. blocking is free, scrolling is free, be fucking decent.

Sigh. I am going to respond calmly to this one because it comes from a place of wanting to be supportive and understanding to other people's struggles.

However, I still disagree. Firstly, I've seen posts like these many times, and the logical fallacy in it has always rubbed me the wrong way. So I felt like I wanted to say something this time in the hopes of opening people's eyes to the logical fallacy. The assumption that I could do this on here was, admittedly, too optimistic.

Secondly, I understand not wanting to be faced with things that are uncomfortable to us, but that's not how the world works. And in many ways, that is good or at least neutral.

There are many things that make us - in our own personal contexts - uncomfortable, and the feelings as such are valid. But what is not - in my understanding of fairness and common sense - valid, is making your own problem (that is valid in your limited personal context) everyone else's problem.

I find that kind of behavior not only annoying and irrational but actually dangerous.

To elaborate on what dangers I am seeing in it in detail would go beyond the scope of this response, but to pick out one factor, it's dangerous because it creates the attitude and assumption that things are universally something because they are that thing to you.

That automatically creates injustices for people in wider and different contexts, and an atmosphere of anxiety and over-caution that is detrimental to human interaction.

We are all different, we all come from different social and cultural contexts. We have different personal and societal needs, different expressions of ourselves. To measure everything by one standard you automatically apply bigotry towards other standards.

This 'trend' to find offense in things and limit the ways in which we can communicate and express ourselves is so fucking detrimental to us as human beings. People preach for tolerance and acceptance but then are incapable of applying it to others when others' needs clash with one's own.

Example: the whole "queer is a slur" discourse. There are people who have VALID lived experiences with the word "queer" being used against them as a slur, often combined with physical violence; there are gay men who have been beaten up or even killed while being called that.

On the other hand, you have a mostly younger generation (but not solely) who have reclaimed the word and feel empowered by describing themselves as such; there are many neutral usages for the word as well, such as "queer theory" in academia.

So what do you do with that? Who gets to decide which side is right and which side is wrong?

If we were to apply the principle of who feels the strongest about it, who has known the most violence/discrimination in connection with the phrase, then we would HAVE to concede to the "queer is a slur" faction (and to the "ABO without dashes is a slur" faction). If there are just a dozen non-straight people out there who get literally (not over-used figuratively) triggered back to violent and abusive experiences when hearing/reading the word "queer", then we all have to stop using it, right?

Well. For some reason we (society/the LGBT+ community at large) have decided that no. We care more about the utility of the word queer in the contexts we have created than we care about the valid and lived experiences of those people. Because it HAS utility and means something positive to many people.

(Personally, I am very much in two minds about this issue and understand both positions.)

And this example is even different than the ABO one, because we are talking about "queer" with the same main meaning in the same language. It's not like "queer" means "wood shoe" in Swahili or is a company that makes knitting needles in Korea. "Queer" means the same thing, whether it's used as a slur or used as an empowering/neutral term to describe non-straight people.

Whereas ABO means a myriad of entirely different things in different languages, most of all as an acronym for completely innocuous things like the "American Board of Orthodontics" or my cited wind energy corporation. So there you even have a much more washed out and very much broadened variety of meaning and context.

So, then why is it we say "Fuck them older queers who have been hate-crimed and killed while being called this slur that we like to use to describe our identity" but don't apply it to ABO fanfiction where the meaning is completely removed from the meaning of the slur?

It's not only inconsistent, it's even going much further into the restrictive!

So no, I do not play along, I do not keep quiet, I do not simply accept it. Because it is IMPORTANT to remind people to THINK. To see context, see meaning, see intention. And to also understand that the world cannot be fair to everyone because every fairness to you is an unfairness to someone else.

We HAVE to be able to tolerate and understand that. Or else we have to succumb to tribalism and all stay in our small little niches where everyone thinks and speaks exactly like we do, and if you only fall one millimeter out of line, you have to find your own community, because you can't be part of ours anymore.

THAT is the danger in this way of thinking.

If we ban saying "abo fanfic", we have to ban saying "queer community", we have to ban Brits smoking "a fag", we have to ban Spanish speakers saying "libro (or other masculine noun) negro", and so on.

And we CANNOT do that because it creates more injustice than it initially strives to fight.

[outmakingmoonshine]

I wrote this reply a few weeks ago about the 773 tattoo on Carmy's arm that really looks like 223. You'll have to read that first because I'm not gonna explain it all again here and you'll need context to understand this post.

SPOILERS below if you haven't watched to the end of S3 yet

Right before this in Marcus's mum's funeral scene he's talking about having someone who really listen to you and pays attention to you and the camera does a not so subtle zoom in on SydCarmy's faces. Then the next scene is this one where Syd says she made the margins wider on the menus because Carmy always writes in them. We already know Carmy pays close attention to Syd and he does really listen to her even though it's like he gets amnesia right after and does the opposite of what she wanted, he does really try to listen and understand her in his own way. This an example of Syd really paying attention to Carmy immediately after being told how significant it is and how good it makes you feel. Carmy looked shocked that she paid attention to him and went out of her way to do something thoughtful for him and said "That's really nice. Thank you." Then Carmy goes on to do a checklist of the things they both need which also showed he knows her too.

Keeping the number meta above in mind, I'm not sure who first mentioned this (pls link the post if anyone knows so I can credit them) but sydcarmy both represent the number 2. In the post above I spoke about when the two 2's (sydcarmy) face each other and finally turn to take notice of each other. I'm pretty certain this scene was a small glipse of what their future together would be like if sydcarmy did face each other without anything or anyone coming between them. They become a cohesive unit, working together as one just like they were in this scene. Sydcarmy are mirrors of each other in many ways, just like the twos are mirroring each other on the clock behind them. I know one is technically a 5 but visually it's a 2 backwards and how else would they symbolize two 2's facing each other on a digital clock? Imo these numbers in this scene represent this moment being a good thing and a glimpse of what they could be, plus the whole scene gave me strong married couple vibes.

In numerology 9 represents completion/the end. The next number, 10, begins the cycle from 1 again or you could say it evolves, moves forward and keeps growing. 9 has other asociations but the core foundational meaning of it is completion. It's telling us in the end they will face each other and balance each other out, mirror each other. "Mirroring is an act of love." If that number sequence in the background of this specific scene isn't positive SydCarmy foreshadowing idk what is. This scene, the context, subtext and symbolism in it alone lets me know the sydcarmy love story and endgame is still very much on track. We're just taking a detour for now, like 99% of will-they-wont-they ships do right before the end of the story.

This shot showed directly after a Carmy/Claire opening scene in 3x05 and Carmy was laying in bed staring at it in some of the darkest blue lighting I think we've seen in the show.

I think this may even be a few shades darker than the sex scene with Claire. Imo it's because Carmy's in his darkest place now, he knows how he feels and who he wants but he can't have it. Carmy metaphorically turned to face Syd in the panic attack scene then fully turned, paid attention and listened to her in the table scene. Now he's somewhat aware of his feelings for her, tbh I think he does know but he's avoiding it because he's in a really dificult situation with Claire and he already let Syd down again after promising to be there for her. He doesn't love Claire romantically but he doesn't wanna hurt her either He's just stuck which is what I think this season was about, Carmy's still mentally and emotionally stuck in the freezer. Carmy said saying sorry to Claire was too hard and I think that's because he knows he has to tell her he doesn't feel the same way and it's gonna hurt her. We keep seeing cute flashbacks with Claire but I don't think it's because he misses her, I think it's because he feels really guilty that he lead her on so much because that's what the scenes were showing. He was acting all loved up with her and it's interesting that we the audience/Carmy never saw that last season and we're only seeing now it in hindsight. Remember the show is telling us the story through Carmy's eyes.

I said in the post above I initially thought the number 3 represented Claire and/or Marcus, but in 2x08 Carmy (2) asked Richie (3) to be the "go-between" and give Syd (2) an I love you note, literally putting the three in the middle of the two 2's so it made sense it probably represented him at the time.

And maybe it does, idk, he's been getting between them since S1 in one way or another, directly or indirectly. But it more likely represents anyone that comes between them. The third wheel so to speak.

Notice how the 2's aren't facing each other here in 2x08 because this was before Carmy faced what Syd means to him in 2x09.

And you may be wondering if the mirroring numbers represent how sydcarmy end up why isn't Carmy's tattoo 753? Well 753 isn't the chicago area code so it would raise questions why Carmy had a random tattoo of 753 so I think it was a choice to keep the symbolism but keep it subtle.

I didn't expect s3 to feel this bad (I should've tbh, this show always makes you feel the most) but I didn't expect it to go well for sydcarmy. That's why I posted this post the day before the episodes aired reminding everyone what the show told us to expect. They did warn us this wasn't gonna be a mushy gooey love story. It's not gonna be cute and sweet, it's gonna be ballbreaker and that's what Carmy's doing to Syd. He's doing to her what the NY Chef did to him. He's already making her sick, making her have panic attacks and he knows he's a "bad boss". He glanced her way when they were talking about it at the table in 3x10. When I saw Carmy confront NY Chef, for a moment I thought they were gonna have Carmy say the same to Syd one day in the future (this is how bad the whole situation felt while watching the show, it was truly horrible to watch) but I really don't think so. Carmy doesn't want to be anything like that arrogant guy so I can only imagine he'd be the complete opposite with Syd (someone he genuinely cares about) when he finally pulls his head out of his ass, metaphorically gets out of the freezer and faces the situation he's in like Cicero told him you have to run straight into it, you can't avoid it.

Even though this season was very hard to watch I think the same amount of subtext, symbolism and metaphors that pointed to sydcarmy in the last seasons is still all there. It's just more difficult to see, especially after 1 watch because there were barely any scenes that seem good for them on a surface level, they all went to Carmy/Claire. But underneath the surface a lot of the scenes imply good things are still to come for sydcarmy imo.

[riconas]

congrats on finishing your exams!

for your consideration: rain oral knotting swiss. it's so much for swiss to take but he's desperate to make rain happy

this is what happens when you overestimate your cock sucking abilities 

tags: blowjobs, oral knotting, praise kink if you squint

“Good boy,” Rain groans. 

Swiss looks up at him through his lashes. He’s drooling all over the place, but his mouth is so full there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Not that he minds. Not that Rain minds. 

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Swiss obeys. He loves it when Rain gets bossy. Loves to be on the receiving end. Rain knows how to get his head nice and quiet, how to get him pliant and easy, and he abuses that knowledge all the time. 

Again, not that Swiss minds. 

“Gonna let me fuck your mouth?” Rain asks, breathless. “Gonna let me fill you up?” His hand comes up to hold the back of Swiss’s head, fingers threading through his hair, and Swiss shivers in anticipation. He nods, just enough to let Rain know he’s heard him, and presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of Rain’s dick. 

Of course he’s going to let Rain fuck his mouth. Of course he’s going to let Rain fill him up. What silly questions to ask.

Rain makes a sound between a whimper and a groan. “Make me cum,” he demands, though the breathlessness in his voice really detracts from the effect. 

“Mm-hm,” Swiss tries to say, but it comes out sounding so garbled, so stupid, so he stops trying. 

Maybe this is a ploy to get him to shut up. If it is, it’s certainly working. 

“Tighter,” Rain growls. 

Tighter? Swiss thought he was doing so well. He hollows his cheeks, moulds his lips around the shaft of Rain’s cock, sucks extra hard when he slides up to the head. The full blowjob repertoire, et cetera. 

“Gonna knot your mouth,” Rain pants. “Fuck, gonna give it to you—open up, open up—”

Rain pulls him in, thrusting at the same time, and Swiss gags when he feels Rain’s cock hit the back of his throat. By pure instinct, he tries to lurch away, but Rain holds fast, that merciless grip on his head not letting up. 

He can do this. Dew lets him knot his mouth all the time. How hard can it be?

“Good boy,” Rain gasps. “Oh, fuck, good fucking boy.”

Swiss closes his eyes at the first burst of warmth in his mouth, followed by the all-too-familiar taste of Rain’s cum, salty and bitter and so very good. He tries to swallow, but there’s no room—Rain’s knot is beginning to swell, locking itself behind his teeth, putting pressure on his tongue. He opens his mouth wider in an attempt to accommodate it, but the space is filled in no time. He’s stuck.

“Swallow it,” Rain growls, gripping the underside of his jaw, keeping it closed nice and snug. “It’s not in all the way. You’d better take all of it.”

Desperately, Swiss tries to relax his throat, to let Rain push it in a little further. It helps, but only marginally. There’s nothing more he can do.

A couple of tears squeeze their way out of the corners of his eyes and run down his face. Once they start, they don’t stop; before he knows it, he’s sobbing quietly around Rain’s cock, shoulders taking the brunt of the strain as he tries to keep his teeth to himself. His jaw is so sore, and his nose is so stuffy, but he can’t breathe through his mouth, so he has no choice but to endure it. 

“You’re okay,” Rain says, brushing the tears away. “Slowly. You’re breathing too fast.”

Satanas, it’s so much. Too much. His jaw hurts, no longer the pleasant ache that gets his head all light and hazy. This is sharp, throbbing pain, radiating down his neck, muscles stretched so tight he swears something’s sprained. 

He’s going to be so nice to Dew after this. 

“Good boy,” Rain says again, and all the angst dissipates. Swiss moans around his cock, more spit and cum dribbling out of his mouth to splatter on the floor beneath him. He wants to ask Rain if he’s making him feel good. He needs to know. Needs to please him. 

In a last-ditch attempt to keep himself sane, he reaches up to cup Rain’s balls, and plays with them like that, squeezing, rolling—as if it’s going to make Rain’s knot go down any faster. It’s a good enough distraction for him, anyhow. Takes his mind off his poor jaw. 

Until Rain shoves his hands away. 

“Behind your back,” he says. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” 

Well. That’s not good. Swiss stares up at Rain, pleading, but he can’t beg with his mouth filled, so it gets him nowhere. 

Doesn’t matter, he supposes. Just as long as Rain’s happy.

[centrally-unplanned]

Doing some tab closing and I enjoyed this piece a lot; it has a clean thoroughness on investigating each of the different possible causes of the Baby Boom of the mid 20th century.

For those who don't know, the Baby Boom, despite what is often taught, probably had little to do directly with World War Two - it was not a phenomenon of soldiers "coming up" and releasing their pent-up baby-making drive. This is most easily proven by the fact that countries that didn't participate in the war had the same boom! And that the boom was already starting in the 1930's.

Its cause is still unproven, but the article makes a solid case for it primarily being a product of affordable housing (which itself is connected to WW2 in some ways) and more importantly medical technology, as maternal mortality declined between 1930 and 1960 by ~90%:

Which is another classic case of the 'short' being made by time into the 'long' - most people probably think of safe pregnancy as this gradual process of improving sanitation & medical technology throughout the 19th and 20th century, but in fact the lion's share of the decline was the invention of antibiotics that could treat sepsis over the span of 20 years. The "price" of having a child, combined with the housing boom creating the space for it, induced a fertility bump.

The article ends by stating that these forces could, in some way, be reproduced - that if today you make pregnancy safer and childcare cheaper again, you can get a similar rise. I think this is the false, solutionist optimism that only a concluding paragraph can bring, however. For one, if that was the case, you think you would evidence along the income spectrum of that - for a 75% income band couple in Sweden or the US, housing is more plentiful then ever, and pregnancy safer than ever, but in the main fertility continues to decline across every band (the super-rich in some countries are a tiny exception).

But more importantly, I think it mistakes why this happened. If you portray it as a cost-benefit calculation, as "oh the price of kids is way down now, lets shift our consumption basket", then sure it sounds replicable. I don't think that is right, however - you should instead look at this as a cultural revolution induced by rapid change.

The role of women in the workplace & wider society was undergoing a ton of flux in this era, and it was in a period of "contestation" - these changes were not settled or agreed on by society at large. What a woman should "do" with her life was very open, and many factions still pushed for a form of family traditionalism. The counter-forces to that 'benefited' from things like maternal mortality as counter-arguments; women (and their husbands) both desired the old way but feared the price, one they no longer had to bear due to no longer being mass farmers. That was the equilibrium of the 1920's.

Then technology came along and throw the whole game into whack, changing the equilibrium. It was so rapid, so sudden, it induced a culture shift. You can metaphorically think of it as like a consumer rush, buying the hot new toy - in this case the hot new thing was safe pregnancy and houses to raise the kids in. Everyone wanted a piece of that *new* possible life, different from the old. It was, in a sense, a fad.

Which you cannot replicate - its done. We have the tech, we have the wealth, it didn't last. The culture shift that began of the 1960's was absolutely a response to new equilibrium of the 50's, its gender roles were never stable. Radical new technology (like exo-wombs) could change that, sure, create a new hotness. But 5% reductions in maternal mortality or slightly cheaper childcare won't cut it. It could shift the margins, but it can't make a boom.

Or so I predict at least. Its certainly hard to quantify that dynamic, but I think if you study how people saw themselves & family in that time, this comes out from the narratives of the time - with no equivalent today.

[balkanradfem]

Mending a bag with a broken zipper

So if you've never replaced a broken zipper, it might seem like a daunting task, but it's actually very easy. I've only done it once, on a jacket, with no tutorial, and it worked perfectly, and looked awesome. So I am very confident I can do it right.

The scariest part is just removing the old zipper. It feels wrong to rip your garment or bag apart, especially if you don't feel like you're capable of putting it back together, but one needs to keep in mind that the garment can't be used unless you do it, and this is for the best.

(My gardening bag, made out of canvas, has 7 pockets, but the main zipper stopped working.)

First thing to do is to see if you have a good zipper to use as a replacement. Zippers are actually expensive to buy, but you can easily accumulate tons of them by simply removing the zippers from old pieces of clothing you no longer want. I also get clothing from other people who don't want it, and if it's completely ungiftable and useless, I will cut out all of the zippers, elastics, buttons and any decorative stuff that could potentially be used elsewhere. That's why I have a good collection of free zippers! Here's what I found I could use:

I've decided on the lowest, black zipper, just because it was the smallest and I wouldn't have to cut much off, I can use the bigger zippers for bigger projects. I don't care what color it is, as long as it works. I was also contemplating using a fun green color for the project, to highlight that it was a mend and to make the bag more colorful, but the brown thread was so perfectly suited for the bag, I ended up going with the more boring option.

Now how to get the zipper off? I turned the bag inside out to see better how it's connected. I needed to find the thread that connects it to the outside of the bag, and you see that light thread at the edge between the bag and the zipper?

That's whats holding it together. So I cut that thread and started picking it off, and once you manage to rip a few seams, the zipper starts to separate and come off. Sometimes violence can work in this situation, if you have a very sturdy fabric, you can just pull them apart. But in my case, the inner lining is pretty fragile and was starting to tear when I pulled hard, so I just patiently cut it off little by little. Seam ripper would work great in this situation, but I don't have one so I just made it work with scissors.

And the zipper came out! Here's a comparison from old zipper to new, new is slightly bigger but it won't be a problem, bigger zippers can always be trimmed. You can also see how the zipper was connected to the canvas fabric on the outer side, and there's also lining fabric on the inside that's now loose. So far so good!

Now is the part where potential mistakes are possible; I need to remember that the bag is inside out, so the opening part of the zipper needs to be facing inwards, and it also needs to go the direction all other zippers on the bag are going (I later realized I messed this up, oops.)

I'm now lining it up with the bag, and even though usually I'm too impatient to pin stuff, I yield and acknowledge that in this situation, the zipper needs pins in order to be sewn on evenly. This is actually the part where some choices can be made; you can decide how much of the zipper will be shown outside! You can sew it on so that only the zipping part is visible from the outside, or give it a wider margin so you can see the zipper fabric too. If you're sewing with a flimsy fabric, it's best to give it a wide margin, because soft and flimsy fabrics can often get stuck in a zipper if they're sewn on too close. My canvas fabric cannot get stuck, so I'm pinning it pretty close, but later in the process I did give it a bit more of a margin, because it 'felt right'.

I've started sewing it on!

So about the edges, if your zipper doesn't have a stopper there, or if it's too long and you've cut the edge off, you need to sew the both sides together, so that the zip cannot zoom over the edge and fall out. This is something I've done on both sides, to make sure it's secure, and it doesn't need to be tidy, only very firm and impossible to break apart. I'm hand-sewing it with a continuous stitch, which is very easy and it looks nice enough. At this point I completely neglected the lining and I'm just sewing it onto the outer fabric, but this is okay, I decided it was easier to ignore the lining for now, and just focus on making sure it looks nice from the outside.

Here you can see me stitching all the way to the other side, and again firmly stitching the both sides of the zipper together, so they can't break apart. Then I turned the bag back from inside out, to see how it looked on the outer side, and it looks good, this isn't professionally made, but it looks well done! I decided to then pin and stitch the other part while having the bag turned correctly, so I could see exactly what I was doing from the outside, while again, ignoring the lining.

And now the outside part is completely done! It looks so good, partly because the bag is a little faded, but the zipper looks new and well preserved, so this is like an upgrade for her. Here I'm now turning it again inside out, to fix what I've ignored before; the length of the zipper, and the inner lining.

I finally cut off the extra length, it's already sewn up and I'm happy with it, so I'm sure I can safely cut off the extra. On the second to last picture you can see the lining is all over the place and not even reaching the zipper, that's completely fine because I can easily stitch it to the zipper in about 3 minutes. It would have been a nightmare trying to stitch it all in one go and constantly worrying if both the lining and the outer canvas are in the correct position, this way I had an easy time stitching it to the canvas, and only a few minutes of easy extra stitching to make sure lining is all connected. I only pierced the zipper with this stitch, not all the way to the canvas, so this little fix is completely invisible and it doesn't matter if it's not the neatest.

And here we go! The bag is fully functional, completely ready to be used and enjoyed again, with her new flawless zipper, and I think this was a great way to spend an hour of my time.

[8iunie]

Måneskin: “When you get famous, people just want to know who you’re f**king”

The global Italian rockers open up about discovering themselves, mastering fame and finding their genderless sound. (posted on 20.01.2023)

It’s late morning and Italian rock band Måneskin are comfortably seated in a swanky West London hotel room, already kitted out in signature Gucci, jet-black eyeliner, and clean-cut 70s-style statement suits. The quartet, an electric gleam of cool against a silver-spotted setting, are nonchalantly scrunched into a deep turquoise couch. Their suave image serves as a reminder of how far they’ve come since their early Italian X Factor days.

Over a year has passed since the group’s whirlwind takeover as glam rock stars conquering the Eurovision Song Contest 2021 and they’re showing no signs of slowing down. In fact, the band’s authentic image and relentless sound has earned them over six million followers on their band’s Instagram account — a figure greater than the population living in their fashion capital hometown, Rome, where the rock and rollers were born. Måneskin’s rise as next generation figureheads isn’t too unconventional, after all, plenty of breakthrough acts – ABBA, Celine Dion, One Direction – have cut their teeth on televised competitions. And as game-changing winners, the rock band are eager to start writing their own legacy.

Måneskin’s commitment to being more than a hazy Eurovision memory is not to be unexpected. The band have committedly popped where you would least expect them – the 2021 BRIT Awards, Gucci’s luxury Aria campaign, or Disney’s live-action adaptation of Cruella – reminding us that they’re not going anywhere. And, just yesterday, the Italian artists spontaneously flew to London for a glitzy one-off showcase to debut their emo ballad, The Loneliest, co-written by British producer MNEK. While they’ve marginally recovered, the band are still buzzing from last night’s sweaty reception at Camden’s The Underworld in front of 500 die-hard fans. (“Oh my god, it was like a sauna in there,” bassist Victoria De Angelis chimes in, her voice hoarse from the manic show). It doesn’t matter if they’re pulling off last-minute sold-out performances or rubbing elbows with Guns’N’Roses, the Eurovision victors are doing it in style: flamboyantly dressed and with a compelling sense of gratitude.

Now, whether they’re rocking fashion red carpets or main stages, Måneskin are ready to make their presence felt. “We’ve gained a lot of successful things in the last year and we’re really happy about all the paths we’re going through,” drummer Ethan Torchio says, gesturing to the wider band. “We never had a specific ambition to gain or to achieve anything. It’s all about how we approach it day by day.”

While the band may not have pinned their hopes on a specific accolade, Måneskin’s shared teenage experiences primed them for their rapid accession as one of Europe’s hottest rock exports. Forming at high school as a unified three-piece, Ethan Torchio joined the gang after responding to an online open call out for a drummer. This fateful pairing, alongside the band’s long-standing friendship has become the crux of Måneskin’s outlook. “We all have a very clear vision — we are very bitchy,” Victoria says confidently, smiling. “We have very specific ideas. Being only four [of us] and not having overproduction, we think that our individual sound really makes the difference”. Ethan, who’s taken to perching on the couch armrest, echoes his bandmate: “We’re perfectionists.”

As Måneskin’s latest album, RUSH!, dawns, the artists have been busy splitting their legacy between Italy and the rest of the world – from showcasing support for Ukraine at Coachella in California to bringing their rock and roll swagger to The Green Fashion Awards alongside style icons Karolina Kurkova and Elisa Sednaoui. “These two ways of expression (rock and roll) are ways in which we have always liked to measure ourselves,” youngest member Thomas Raggi says in accented English. “We like to alternate them because they represent the different musical souls of which the band is composed.”

Måneskin’s rock and roll philosophy is more than a reliable shoehorned statement. Much like their striking clothing, it fits like a well-worn mantra. (“In a younger age, it really helped us define our personality and stand out in some way,” Victoria says.) Growing up in a “very conservative country”, the artists found the music scene as an opportunity to experiment with their image as teenagers. Labelled as “weird” or receiving “a lot of judgements” wasn’t going to hold Måneskin back. Instead, the alternative act learned to lean on each other for support, she says, and strengthened their bond. “It really helped to have a purpose and have this project together. It made us feel reassured that we’re doing something cool and we were allowed to be ourselves.”

As the band found themselves migrating from headline to headline, they became accustomed to facing off gossip together. Ask them about the cocaine-meets- Eurovision moment and they all laugh, sharing familiar smiles with each other. “We were already so successful in Italy so we got kind of used to hearing speculation about us,” Ethan shrugs. “The huge Eurovision blowout was a good moment of our lives because we were all at a point of growing and personality building.”

But the speculation didn’t just stop there. The questions of drugs subsided and talk about sexuality quickly rose to the fore. At the time, a quick internet search of Måneskin’s name would lead to autofills poking questions at everything to boyfriends, girlfriends, and identity labels. “We’re not very touched by these kinds of comments. We all are very sure of what we are and how we want to show it,” Ethan responds. Although the band were quickly dismissive of the online talk, a bigger lesson loomed, frontman Damiano David reveals. “In Italy, we did not discover that there’s more than one sexuality until we got to use social media. Just like everybody else, I was [use terms] ‘straight’ or ‘gay’,” he candidly shares. Since then, the vocalist admits he’s taking on “more knowledge” to better himself as an ally — “I’m fully straight but this doesn’t stop me from being an ally. I’m on the side that has to learn new things.”

The band’s public discussion of identity has been one they’ve decidedly kept close to their chest, until now. “We understand people can get very affected by [speculation] because they’re making themselves sure of what they are and how to express [themselves] to their parents or to their friends,” Ethan empathises. As a member who has faced the brunt of opinion, the drummer pauses, choosing his words carefully: “[Trying] to guess people’s sexualities is one of the worst things to do — it’s very bad.”

A time that was particularly testing for the band was when Måneskin’s provocative Want To Be Your Slave music video hit the internet. A visual centred on sexual liberation and self-expression, the band quickly faced questions on their aesthetic and affiliation to queerness. “People are curious about it because it’s been quite a taboo topic for many years, it’s something now that other people are so interested in, not only with celebrities, but just generally with everyone,” Victoria says. She recalls times in high school where similar-aged teenagers would guess whether an effeminate boy is gay or not. “Like, who the fuck cares?!” she huffs. “People are really interested in the private lives of the artists. They look it up because it makes them feel like they know you better or it’s just to gossip or break a scandal.”

A brief pause falls over the band and Damiano shakes his head, prepping an answer: “I think it’s easier. It’s just not that complicated. When you get famous, people just want to know who you’re fucking. It’s just sick curiosity.” The inner-band debate strikes up again as Ethan proposes the media curiosity is fuelled by a misdirected want for knowledge and understanding.

While this is one the few times the band disagree, they respectfully onboard one another’s opinions as they take stock of the bigger conversation. The root of animated discussion breaks open as the members begin to turn the question inward. “I don’t really know how to identify. In the past years, I’ve been identifying as bi, but, lately, I’m having no interest in boys. I’m discovering [my identity is] developing,” Victoria says, her striped brown tie falling forwards. “I like some girls and then it changes to ‘okay, I almost don’t like any boys at all’. It is something constantly… It’s lesbian but also Harry Styles.” Damiano cracks up with laughter and Ethan quips that the former One Direction star is christened “the chosen one”. Circling back to her line of thought, the bassist proves she’s hardcore with her closing line — “It’s just who you are and you can really express yourself and I think this is like what matters the most and what we think is real rock and roll and freedom.”

Måneskin are no strangers to taking a stand. If you ask us, it looks like they love causing a bit of a stir. Mid-last year, the band, once again, caught headlines after Damiano and Thomas shared an unplanned kiss on stage at the Polsat SuperHit Festival. The band vividly recalls fans sharing the impact their music had on them. “When you get there and see how you can help thousands of people, it really makes you understand the difference you can have in that moment,” Victoria reflects. The group’s commitment to ensuring freedom of expression is larger than a few lyrics in a song – it feeds into their interviews and on-stage actions too.

“Being part of this generation it’s hard. It’s useful to take some strong positions on topics, because we need some strong actions. We’re just trying to do our part,” Thomas elaborates, explaining Måneskin’s move to be controversial every now and then. “We also try to improve ourselves every day. But at least you can try to find and to look for the right thing to do.” Lead singer Damiano backs up the decision to use their platform to back political causes. “If you have the courage to speak up about things, I think it’s very, very helpful,” he says earnestly. “We have to be able to understand when it’s better for us to take a step back and let those really affected people talk about it, because we are just allies and we’re not getting discriminated against, but we can try to be empathetic and use our voice and our power to help everybody.”

The four-piece have chalked up a reputation for being unpredictable and stylishly outrageous, but this consensus doesn’t sway the young band. If anything, their years in the on-screen media pipeline has taught them how to utilise the spotlight. It doesn’t matter whether they’re discussing music, tours or politics, the band inevitably comes back to the value of being authentic for their fans (“We just feel very close to them,” Victoria says protectively.) At the centre of their overlapping comments on friendship and frenzied life changes, Måneskin are humbly aware of how their fanbase supports them. The bassist continues, saying it’s important to create a place where everyone can be who they want. Pausing, she periodically slips into Italian, asking her bandmates to translate a term.

“It’s obvious everyone wants to be free for who they really are. In my experience, at first, I was so concerned and worried ‘who am I if I do this’ or that I’m something else or that I’m changing, but it’s [best] to not be worried about these things,” she says passionately. “We want to create with our fans and to put everyone in this healthy environment. And doing this really gives strength to young people or people who are in more oppressed situations to have courage to see that it’s okay.”

There’s no doubt Måneskin have distilled their lived lessons into this new record to create a rock and roll oasis. From beat-thumping inductions to media gossip to tongue-in-cheek comments on becoming the “kool kids”, the monstrous, hardcore noise of RUSH! has it all. “For me, it is a very personal record. It tells the story of how I came to discover myself and what I want to be as a person and as an artist,” Damiano explains. “All this frenzy led me to look inside myself, somehow I felt free to express a part of me that I had kept more hidden.”

The album is a chaotic amalgamation of crushing guitar riffs, full-throttle lyrics, and sonorous vocals sways through lines of Italian and English. Måneskin’s charge forward with spluttering drums, cranked up instrumentation, with songs pouring their original larger-than-life stamp into their broad rock productions. At their height, the band’s best tracks (La Fine, Gossip ft Tom Morello, Kool Kids) ignite like a blazing stage sign giving direction to Måneskin’s inevitable rise as one of today’s spirited rock acts.

An evolution from their gutsy sophomore studio release, Teatro d’ira: Vol. I, new album RUSH! captures the spark of each member. “Each of us had the freedom to follow our own personal direction. This time we didn’t look for the synthesis, the lowest common denominator between our different personalities, but we kind of added them up, exalted them all to the same level, and despite everything I think we still retained our identity,” Victoria shares.

With that, the band did not shy away from splurging on animated guitar hooks or fret over going too heavy with the familiar political zing of their rock tunes. Victoria adds: “We live in the concern of a progressive loss of people’s rights and we are afraid that this common thought is growing. In the track La Fine we refer precisely to this thought. Our music wants to be free and genderless. The goal is that people can identify with our message without having any definition of gender or category.”

After months of mania and unrelenting bouts of success, Måneskin are eagerly positioned to take on what’s next. And with a sold out arena in London already on the cards, it won’t be long before they’re greeting roaring fans once more. But, for now, as they savour the release of RUSH!, the band have found renewed strength in their amped up sound. “We have found our synthesis in diversity. This record is a point of pride and artistic growth for us,” Damiano reaffirms. And in a lesson learned by all, Victoria shares a final note of uplifting advice: “Never be afraid to express yourself. Always be free!”

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

PHOTOGRAPHY BY FABIO GERMINARIO

[lesvegas]

New Vegas - Now Under New Management!

In 2301, the city of New Vegas had been a raiders’ paradise for nearly twenty years. Backed by an army of robots, a hedonistic courier has rendered the Mojave untouchable by anyone who would take the keys to the city from their cold, dead hands. But it was only a matter of time before someone else aspired to become the new king of the wasteland, and all they had to do was be born within the Strip’s walls.

Chapter 1: Vegas Lights [ao3 link]

Casino floors never had any clocks or windows so the patrons could forget about the illusion of time. It was easier to give away everything you had on games and drinks when you weren’t being reminded of a family or a boss expecting to see you at a certain time. If you were particularly susceptible, you could waste entire days and nights and all your savings on the slot machines until you had nothing to bet but your own life. This was just one of many ways some guys in the old world managed to suck the money out of idiots with disposable income despite starting their businesses in a desert.

They weren’t stupid enough to not take advantage of the view, though. If you already forked over the cash, you could have access to taking up space in a casino hotel’s luxury suite, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. If you don’t look too hard, you can just bask in the glow of the pretty Vegas lights, bright enough that you can forget missing the natural night sky.

I won the lottery by being born in one of these rooms. I’ve never had to pay a cap for anything. I’m not even twenty and I’m already king of the wasteland. And up here in my ivory tower at the top of the Tops, I can only stare forward at the lights for so long. Even a ruler with no responsibilities has to look down at his subjects sometimes, and I’ve been making a habit out of observing the street below.

There were no rich kids wasting daddy’s money or wealthy men and their gold diggers out on the town. There were no small-time vendors selling trinkets and snacks or criers promoting the acts of the week. There were no tourists from the West or lucky locals from Freeside. Hell, there weren’t even any whores flaunting their goods outside of Gomorrah anymore; they were all inside, where it was marginally safer. The Strip was packed, always, but never with anyone that was worth a dime.

It was mostly raiders down there. Worthless fucking raiders. They had to still be raiders; they didn’t actually do anything around here to earn all the caps they spent at the casinos. Not that they had to spend much when Fresno made this place a raider’s paradise.

“You need to open the window when you chain-smoke.”

I didn’t look back at my father. But I did open the window a crack before he could ask me again. The coolness of the night air almost made it possible to ignore the smell of blood, sweat and shit outside. I took a fresh cigarette out of my case sitting on the windowsill, used the last embers of the butt between my fingers to light it, and took a drag. I tossed the useless butt out the window, watching it fall, almost hoping it’d light up one of the palm trees below. Maybe it’d fall and crush some of those Fiends sitting around on the sidewalk, inhaling Jet, blissfully unaware of their inevitable demise. Wishful thinking.

“Wider, please.”

He was reclining on the sofa where he had been for hours, reading a pristine copy of Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor again. There was little else for a man like him to do when there was no real work to be done. According to the posters in Vault 21 and some old books I’d read, my father was an ideal man; he was reserved, he prioritized me and his ‘wife’ above all else, he only ever drank or smoked when Fresno did, kept his hair neat and wore a shirt and tie every day, spent most of his free time reading-

“Auguste?”

I shoved the window open all the way. Fine, let the whole room smell like shit, see if I care. If he really preferred the stench of the Strip to the scent of cigarettes, I could keep the window open. Let the sounds pour through, too, all the yelling and obnoxious music. He’d learned to tone out the noise years ago.

I looked back at him over my shoulder when I felt him staring at me. He was sitting up now, holding the napkin he used as a bookmark between his fingers, debating if he was finished reading or not. The room was smokier than I thought, I’ll admit it, but he didn’t need to be on my ass about it. I put my cigarette out. “Happy?”

He slipped the napkin between the pages he was on and closed the book, leaving it in the corner of the coffee table before standing up. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled from lying down and his blond hair was still perfect without any product. If only I was so lucky.

“Is this about Brutus?”

I must have looked real upset just then, because I saw one of the rare instances where my father looked like he actually regretted asking me something. I spoke up before he could even think to apologize.

“Is what about Brutus?” I asked, coming off way more defensive than I wanted to.

“Your…” He paused, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t piss me off. “Mood.”

No, of course I’m not still upset about losing my best friend. He was just some dumb animal I’ve had since my tenth birthday. Just a stupid puppy Fresno gave me with the hope that I’d be so distracted I’d forget my father even existed. God forbid a ten-year-old want his father’s attention sometimes.

“It’s been a week. I’m over it.” I lied, then tried to change the subject before he could pry. “You never complain when Fresno smokes indoors.”

“I’m not Fresno’s father.”

“Obviously. That thing doesn’t have a father.”

I thought I was pretty clever, but he didn’t seem to like my joke very much. I closed my cigarette case and pocketed it before he could come and take it from me. “Am I wrong?” I continued. “Would someone with a decent role model be responsible for this?” I made a sweeping gesture out the window with a splayed hand.

He approached the window, and I stepped aside to let him have a look. There was absolutely nothing new down there that he hadn’t seen, but he seemed to be looking for something anyway. He eventually spoke again without looking at me. “I don’t see why you care about what goes on in the streets. You only go outside to have dinner or catch a show. Your life is confined to suites, bars and casinos. Nothing that happens out there has any relevance to you.”

He took a step back and closed the window half-way. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. “You’re as safe and taken care of as any young man can be. Your only concerns are what happens within these walls.” He pointed out, then walked over to the coat rack by the door. I followed him.

“What about you, huh?” I asked. “Did you really come all this way just to be some weirdo’s trophy husband?” “Auguste.” He always spoke more firmly when I talked shit about Fresno. “If you’re so unsatisfied with the state of New Vegas,” He put his coat on. “You’re more than welcome to do with it what you will once you inherit it.”

The idea of this city becoming a monarchy was still bizarre to me. I was basically a prince set to take over once Fresno finally croaked, sure, but it still felt wrong somehow. A city like this shouldn’t really have a ruler. Stars and casino owners, sure, but even a mayor wouldn’t feel right. Maybe I was just too used to the hands-off approach Fresno had taken since before I was born.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I said. “Come on, you told me you left Reno for Vegas. Didn’t you ever have dreams for this place that didn’t involve… this? You said Reno didn’t have opportunities anymore, what with the families, and the, uh…” “The NCR.” “The NCR!” I snapped my fingers. “New Reno had no room for new ideas or new money, that’s what you said. It was all family drama and politics. New Vegas was really new again, a real diamond in the rough, the last real city in the world. You always said you wanted to start something out here, so why are you just letting raiders run it into the ground while you’re wrapped around Fresno’s finger?”

He only buttoned up the bottom two buttons of his coat, and took a look at himself in the mirror by the door. “I didn’t just leave Reno because it lacked financial opportunities. It also lacked any reason for me to stay.” He said. I already knew he didn’t have any family he wanted to tell me about. “I came to Vegas to find a purpose. And, eventually, I found something more important to me than any ambitions I previously had.” “Yeah, that’s real sweet.” I teased. “But seriously, what did you think it’d be like today, twenty years ago? What did you really want before you met Fresno?”

I was so close to getting a real answer out of him, I could just feel it. Something in his eyes seemed to give way as he adjusted his tie, but it was closed off again when the door suddenly opened.

Fresno, my father’s ‘wife’, seemed eager to see him but frowned when they saw me. I don’t think they’ve ever smiled at me. “Oh, I thought you’d be alone in here.” They said to him. “This is our suite.” I pointed out. “We share it. I live here.”

“Whatever.” They said dismissively, then smiled at my father. From the way he’d been checking his watch and the way they were dressed, it was obvious they had a date planned tonight. They had a date planned almost every night, but this one must be a fancy date, because Fresno was wearing a white shirt under their leather jacket. “Dinner and a show downstairs? Or the Ultra-Luxe?” They asked him, leaning in close enough to kiss him. They weren’t wearing lipstick today. “What are you in the mood for, my Valoire?” My father had the audacity to look at me instead. “Would you like t–” “No.” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to be dragged around as a second thought. I had business to attend to, anyway. Before I could give them a look of disgust, I turned around to return to my place at the window, looking down.

Fresno probably wanted to say ‘you weren’t invited, anyway’, but held their tongue. The only thing stopping us from lashing out at each other was the fact that my father seemed to like us both equally. He was very careful not to lean one way or the other unless one of us were obviously in the wrong.

I heard the door open, and a pause before it shut again. It might have been a moment of hesitation. Maybe my father and I would continue our conversation later, maybe we wouldn’t. But I already knew enough to know that any real individuality he had was destroyed years ago. He was devoted to Fresno, they were devoted to him, and neither of them could care less what happened in Vegas. It was all on me to make something of this place. Where a king fails, a prince inherits his mistakes.

I closed the window the rest of the way and got a glimpse at my reflection.

Despite my best efforts, I was the splitting image of my ‘mother’. Oh, I had my father’s strong nose and his bright blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. I had Fresno’s complexion, their fiery hair, their strong jaw, their obnoxious freckles, and their weak frame. There was only so much I could do about that, but I made up for it in keeping my hair short and tidy, and only ever wearing suits. Yes, my suits were much flashier than my father’s, but that was warranted in this city. And red was my colour.

I took out my cigarette case and opened it. There were only a couple sticks left. I lit one and saved the last for later as I turned my gaze down to the street again.

One of these bastards shot Brutus, and I was going to return the favour. But it’s been seven days since and I still hadn’t figured out who’d done it. All I really knew for sure is that it wasn’t a Khan; for all their faults, they weren’t stupid enough to pick a fight with me. They had their own home somewhere in the desert and treated Vegas like the attraction it was, for the most part. We were also their biggest buyer next to the Fiends. No, they knew well enough not to fuck with me or my dog.

Honestly, I don’t think it was a Fiend, either. They’re stupid, sure, but there were two types of Fiends: the ones that were fucked up and mellow, and the ones who were fucked up and aggressive. The former occupied the Strip, the latter were in Freeside if they were lucky. If a Fiend was going to attack, they’d do it to my face, not shoot from afar. I can’t imagine they’ve got good aim after taking God knows how much Jet.

Then there were the 80s. They weren’t too common around here, even with Fresno’s affiliation with them. All I ever see them do is act tough and ride those goddamn ‘motor-cycles’ they’re so obsessed with. Loudest fucking things in the wasteland. The second this city is mine, I’m outlawing them for good. Maybe they knew what was coming and wanted to strike first. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

That left the Scorpions, Vipers, and Jackals. A dwindling gang, a cult, and the weirdos that now ran the fanciest casino on the Strip. Not including any individual raiders that weren’t really part of a group. Hell, maybe there was no real motivation behind it; people shot and killed animals for fun all the time. Maybe Brutus and I were just unlucky that night. I don’t fucking know. But I still want the head of the son of a bitch that did it.

I stepped away from the window. I wasn’t gonna make any progress watching ants go by. I figured my father and Fresno had freed up the elevator by now, and so I left the suite to head downstairs. I had my own date at Gomorrah. 

Thanks for reading. Fresno belongs to my partner, @thespiral <3

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 16

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 2: Worship

Also written for @jj-carstairs for her birthday, which marks the FIRST TIME I've managed to get it out for her actual birthday, since it always falls right over obiyukiweek. Thankfully this year both her birthday request and the theme for the day overlapped nicely :3

After all his attempts to forge the Second Prince’s favorite dagger into a proper blade, Lata has managed to hammer one useful bit of information into Obi at least: protocol isn’t so much a rigid set of rules squatting between vellum margins, as old as the peerage itself, as an equation. A complicated one, the sort with letters instead of numbers and operations that take a room full of clerks the better part of a day to churn through. A system of fussy bookkeeping that would make Kazaha salivate if he was ever allowed to crack the spine on it.

He’s gleaned enough from his scattered lessons in knighthood to know that station and situation are two of its variables, but for how all that solves for precedence— well, that’s a mystery that’s best left to his betters. But what he does know is: His Majesty has a lot of it.

Not enough to declare primae noctis, the way they said the North’s High King once did— not that he suspects there’d be many complaints, should Elder Highness try to claim his due. But he's clearly got enough wiggle room to cut in for the primae dance-us or whatever the court liked to call it. No other reason for the royal mouth to take so satisfied a slant, for him to close that white gloved hand around Miss’s with such relish.

“Oh my,” His Majesty hums, those midnight eyes rounding to innocence. “I trust you will find no offense in my asking, my dear marquis?”

Obi doubts this man was innocent in the cradle, let alone now. But that's hardly His Majesty's angle. Oh no, he's more interested in Miss's attention-- or rather, directing it right to where Obi would like it least. She turns, concern etched into the space between her dainty brows. “Obi…?”

But it’s too late; Obi’s scuttled his stormy scowl to smiles and sunshine, letting only a hint of wryness break through. “None at all, Your Majesty. Simply wondering if you made it a habit to take pretty young brides on a tour around the ballroom.”

“Only when I am the one hosting their wedding,” he replies, one side of his perfect mouth tugging up into a smirk. “After all, is it not the host and the woman of highest rank who open the floor?”

If he were Master, all it would take was flutter of eyelashes and cock the head, and the royal personage would be halfway up the curtains, just from anticipation. But His Majesty is not just immune to that sort of game; he invented them. So Obi smiles wider, aiming at the only crack present in the royal armor. “I would have thought that would be your wife, sir.”

“Ah, I am afraid the blame for that lays squarely in my own court, my lord.”

Fingers perch on the back of his hand, a touch so light Obi would be tempted to call it the wind if he could not see the glove. One that is more lace than silk, baring enough skin from wrist to elbow that Mrs Carre would call it unseemly. Or at least she would if the style were not sure to sweep the next season by storm, since it is the queen consort that touts it.

“As much as I am loath to admit it...” The tilt of her head is demure, modest as would be expected of a consort, but the hand that curves over the round of her belly is not; no, that is as proud and protective as a lioness with her cubs. “At this juncture, it is recommended that I leave the dancing to much more…nimble young ladies.”

Obi covers her hand with his own, mouth slanting into his most charming smirk. “I could be nimble enough for the both of us, if milady wished.”

Her Majesty might play the retiring young queen well, but when Obi looks at her, steady and steely as her brother was on his walls, it’s not hard to remember that the ladies of the North had weathered sieges in their husbands’ stead, and waged wars in their absence.

And started more than a few of them, by the grin she smothers. “I do appreciate the offer, my lord marquis, but tongues would wag. I hardly think your wedding needs to spur on gossip.”

Any more than it already has, the twitch of her lips implies. A point he’d love to contest, at least on Miss’s behalf, but between the carefully composed timeline of their supposed courtship, and their lengthy disappearance between the ceremony and reception, they’ll be keeping the rumor mill churning well into next season. Perhaps even longer, provided no young lady made herself a hasty marriage, or a hot-headed buck put himself on the dueling piste.

Just the way His Majesty planned, if that smirk of his is anything to go by. “If my lady wife would like to cause a scandal, she need only say the word, and I would be happy to oblige.”

The offer rolls off his tongue with the ease of a born rake, but Obi’s not fool enough to miss the fierceness in his eyes, or the way his body turns toward her, like a bloom following the sun. Nor does it seem to escape Her Majesty either.

“You devotion honors me, my lord, but I think we both agree that there is no lady of higher rank than a bride on her wedding day. Now” —that sharp gaze cuts to him, smile honed to match— “it may be no grand dance, but perhaps you might escort me to my chair, my lord?”

*

The orchestra plucks nervously at their instruments as Her Majesty settles into her seat, waiting until her hands fold over the curve of her belly before the first bow slides over strings. His Majesty steps out, bow so graceful it could be a dance in itself, and Miss—

Well, she manages something like a curtsy. Late, of course, and begrudging every inch— deference to royals hardly comes easy to those born under Shenezard kings— but Elder Highness has long been accustomed to covering up unsightly blunders. It’s with something a little sharper than a smile that he sweeps her out onto the floor, the gold lace of her gown belling out into a shimmering spiral of starlight around her feet before she settles into his arms.

There is a brush of a hand against his sleeve, and Her Majesty’s smile meets his frown. “They make quite a pair, don’t they?”

Obi lets his gaze skirt back across the floor, watching Miss’s feet as the king of Clarines leads her through a waltz. The last soirée they attended in Lilias— a lifetime ago, it feels, though it can’t be more than nine months— she’d tripped right over his foot and nearly took out the punch. Careful, Miss, he’d hummed, struggling against a grin. They won’t ask us back if we break the good crystal.

She’d only considered the table, flushed and dewy, hair sticking to the back of her neck, and muttered, Maybe we should try again.

Lata would always harp on how a proper partner was the difference between a poor dancer and an unremarkable one— hear that Miss? Obi would sigh, he’s only asking us to be not bad— but Obi never quite believed him, not when six years of soirées and fraught night masques had only brought Miss up from active danger to potential disaster. But now, with His Majesty, she practically floats over the parquet, lighter than air, not a single stumble. And Obi—

Well, he doesn’t seethe with jealousy, not even a little. If there’s a little smolder in his chest, the barest simmer beneath his skin, well that’s just…heartburn. Got to avail himself of some of those little passed hors d’oeuvres going around.

“He knows how to handle her,” he admits, definitely not through his teeth. “You might not even have to ask them to bring the ice up, after all this.”

If Her Majesty were not the epitome of elegance and graciousness, then Obi would be half tempted to say she smirks. “She is much improved from the first time I saw you two dance. But that is not what I meant. Look.”

It’s an effort to scrape his gaze up from the floor, to let it linger over the scintillating sway of her skirt, to force it to rise up to where silk and lace give way to skin and see—

And see how her brow lies smooth, the corners of her eyes crinkled as even now she smiles. Not politely, not for show, but from joy, and she is— is—

Radiant.

“She would have made a pretty princess, wouldn’t she?” Her Majesty sighs, wistful. Obi watches Miss’s head tip back with a laugh, the long column of her neck exposed, and ah, he can’t disagree. “But not a happy one.”

Obi snaps his gaze down to stare, but the consort only smiles, watching her husband not so much dance as float across the floor. “What—?”

Miss might be the one who is the center of attention tonight, who is supposed to be the spectacle to which all noble eyes are drawn, but there’s quite a few that track the Countess of Yuris as she crosses the ballroom, dropping into a curtsy at the consort’s feet. Obi expects elbows and knees and feathers too, each inch ceded a battle Kihal refuses to be routed from, but instead—

Instead it’s so elegant she might well have been born to give them. A practiced motion, if not a sincere one. Which it isn’t, not when she straightens, head cocked, and demands, “And just what are you two whispering about?”

“What ifs.” Her Majesty’s mouth eases into a softer curve. “Could have beens.”

“You better not be having second thoughts.” If looks could kill, the one the newly-minted countess gives him would at least get him lost at sea. “Shirayuki is better than you deserve, no matter what fancy title they gussy you up with.”

Obi couldn’t agree more; even if he woke up tomorrow yoked by burden of a Your Highness, he’d still be a beggar in his mistress’s court, a interloper with no grace but what she deigned to give him. But to say so would spoil the sport; that arrogant little lift to Kihal’s chin would drop to something more earnest, her stormy eyes clearing to a gentler sea, and haah, death would be kinder than her pity.

Instead he cocks his head, an eyebrow following suite. “Now just how did you managed to sneak in here, your ladyship?”

“Sneak?” Her eyes flash, not like lightning or flame, but like a shadow cutting beneath the water. “I didn’t sneak in! I came through the door like everyone else, stupid fanfare and all!”

He hums, enjoying the way her fingers fist in flattering blue organza. “But I’d been under the impression you should be sweeping down the grand stair on Master’s arm, all eyes on you like the princess you will—?”

“Sh!” Kihal springs toward him, and oh, if they were not in front of the who’s-who of Wistal society, those hands would not be at her side. Too bad; it’s been ages since someone’s gagged him with any amount of intent. “The paperwork might be all signed and dried, but” —her voice drops down to little more than a hum above the music— “Izana thought it would be best not to announce our betrothal at a wedding that supposedly happened months ago.”

His grin stiffens, a dead thing collapsed across his face. “Well, that’s His Majesty for you. Always knows best.”

Her startled eyes try to catch his, but they’ve already skittered away, chasing after Miss’s skirts. Easy to find when the candles here set her alight, embers turning to flame as she turns in His Majesty’s arms.

“I can’t believe it.” Where Her Majesty alighted to the cushion that would serve as her throne for the evening, Kihal slumps, a round cheek dinted where it rests on her fist. “You really got her to go through with it.”

The consort’s polite smile takes a wicked edge. “You act as if it were any sort of challenge. I think you will find that Lady Shirayuki had few objections to how this particular arrangement unfolded.”

“I was hoping she’d come to her senses before paperwork got involved.” Kihal favors him with her most sour glare. “It’s bad enough I might have to listen to you as a peer, now she’s got to do it as your wife.”

“That so?” Obi leans in, letting his smile pull as wide as his patience. “You know what I heard? That—”

“Ah, is it over already?” Her Majesty sighs, so wistful he can’t help but trace her gaze out to the floor, to where the fire of Miss’s dress has banked, along with the music. “Ah, these first dances never last long enough. But at least that means you have opportunity enough to ask your wife to—”

“Too late,” he snorts, watching as Miss is flooded with partners, each more well-turned and -titled than the last. “I think my mistress’s dance card is full.”

The consort’s smile curls at a corner. “Well then, maybe if you ask Countess Yuris to oblige you, you might have the opportunity to cut in.”

He glances down at where Kihal lounges, her scowl conveying how unlikely a favor that is to be granted. But this is hardly Obi’s first time haggling at the market; he keeps his eyes fixed on her, stare as steady as his brow is arched, is that your final offer? implied.

With a sigh forceful enough to make waves, she relents. “Fine. But only because I know you’re more tolerable than an actual lord.”

*

It’s not until they’ve taken their places, the frantic beat of a a polka sweeping the floor, that Obi realizes: he has never danced with anyone but Miss. A natural fleetness of foot and years of learning to anticipate his mistress’s specific flavor of clumsiness has kept his toes from being bruises, but two gallops about the floor with the young countess in his arms, and—

Ah, well, she’s certainly not as graceful as the other ladies on the floor, but she doesn’t need his help. Insists on not taking it, really, nearly wresting the lead from him when he takes a hop too slow before a turn.

“I thought,” she grits out, “that a footpad would be lighter on his feet.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my lady.” He grins into the gale of her glare. “I was a thief, not a highwayman.”

And assassin, too, but he hardly thinks she’ll appreciate that detail. “Then you have even less of an excuse,” she huffs. “What did you do? Stomp around and pick pockets? Honestly.”

It’s not that Obi’s competitive. Well, he is, but that has nothing to do with the way he pulls himself straight, shoulders squaring until every inch could pass for a lord. His arm tightens around her waist, anchoring her to him, and with a smile that would make a shiver go down the spine of every guardsman in Wirant, Obi flings her into her next partner.

“Hey!” she gasps, on her return. “You could have warned me.”

“You wanted me to lead, didn’t you?” he hums, guiding them through their next bout of hops and turns. “So I led.”

There’s not a lot of extra breath to go around— the court loved to keep its waltzes lively, let alone their polkas— but she spares one to huff, “You might actually be fun, if you weren’t so obnoxious.”

He lets his mouth hook at a corner, parting for the barest flash of teeth. “Part of my charm, so I’m told.”

“Funny,” she grunts, obliging him to lift her— only a few inches, enough to guide her into the next turn. “I don’t think that’s how Zen put it.”

His grin hones sharp enough to gleam. “He wouldn’t.”

The dance separates them for a long moment; Kihal spins out with grace, footwork clean if not particularly inspired, before falling into him again, a frown marring the skin between her eyebrows.

“There’s not many of our neighbors here,” she remarks, the way the consort might on the weather or the cut of his coat. “Just the two of us.”

“And Lata,” he reminds her, grinning into her glare. Still, the observation sobers him. “A couple of nights ago our favorite traitor mentioned he didn’t see any northern lords in attendance either. Not besides Miss Kiki— and, I suppose, Sir.”

“Hisame Luigis.” It’s good to know there’s a name that can make her face darken quicker than his. “I hate to give anything he says any credence, but he’s right. I know Izana only wanted a guest list that would keep their mouths shut about the date, but…”

But if Obi were to write the list himself, there’s a bunch of friendly faces that would be here that he can’t help but notice are not.

Kihal heaves another sigh. “I can’t believe Izana’s shoving me into this whole thing with only you to back me up.”

“Oh? Is that so?” He lets his mouth hook into a grin. “That’s not what I heard.”

She blinks, passing around his back before she snaps, “What?”

“I heard…” He leans down, enjoying the way her nose wrinkles. “That you asked them to give me Conti.”

Her jaw drops. “E-excuse me?”

“His Majesty said you practically begged.”

Her cheeks flush, not the way Miss’s does, all pink and hot, but the way his does, just the subtle darkening of the flesh pulled taut across her cheekbones. “He did not.”

He didn’t, but it’s more fun to smirk as they sashay another step or two, to put a little more glee into his clap. “He told me that you made it a condition of your engagement. Because you trusted me.”

“I-I…” Oh, if he knew this was going to make her so left footed, he would have brought it up half a dozen turns ago. “I just thought you’d be an easy lord to throw over, if you made yourself too obnoxious. Can’t use any of your thief skills on a boat.”

“You know what I think?” He favors her with his smarmiest grin. “I think you like me! You might even find me tolera—”

A hand clamps down hard on his shoulder, holding him in place. Not for the first time, Obi curses Mister’s preternatural instinct when it comes to ruining his fun. “Ah, excuse me, Ki— er, my lady,” Sir says, a polite smile stretching his mouth. “But I’m afraid that I must—”

“Ooooh, are you cutting in, Sir?” Obi gasps, hand pressed to his cravat. “I knew I didn’t practice the lady’s part for nothing.”

“N-no!” Sir doesn’t scowl, but he comes close enough to give him a shiver. “I was only going to say that I was sorry I was going to have to steal you away. You’re needed elsewhere. Right now.”

“Please.” Her eyes roll, like a ship on a storm’s swell. “Don’t apologize, Sir Mitsuhide. You’re doing me a favor taking him off my hands.”

“Aw, now that’s not—”

Sir’s hand tightens on his shoulder. “I thought that might be the case. Come on, Obi, you’re needed…elsewhere.”

[thevanitychariot]

The Chariot: Issue XVIII

A Decade of Recognition: The Impact of the Ross Awards

By: Fabiola Quinteiro Original Publication Date: 31 October 2024

The Ross Awards, established in 2014, originally aimed to honor excellence in film, yet its first ceremonies revealed a significant lack of diversity. In the beginning, every nominee and winner was White, sparking criticism about its limited representation.

Over time, this lack of inclusivity drew increasing scrutiny from both the public and the entertainment industry. In response, the Ross Committee was formed in 2020 to address these issues directly. Under the leadership of Hans Neumann, the committee was tasked with promoting a more diverse selection of nominees, encompassing a wider range of backgrounds, race, and perspectives in the awards process.

This year is the tenth anniversary of the Ross Awards and is celebrated as the most diverse yet, reflecting years of incremental change. Less than half of this year's nominees are White, with over a quarter representing minority groups, including Black, Native American, and Latino actors. Avatar: The Last Airbender made history as the most nominated film, while the ceremony also marks the first time Native American actors have been recognized in multiple acting categories.

Still, Latino representation remains a challenge, as Society of the Snow, a film with a majority Latino cast, received no nominations, and Menendez, another Latino-centered story, saw two-thirds of its acting nominations go to White actors. Despite these issues, this year's nominees represents a shift toward more inclusive storytelling, building momentum for future progress.

This year also marks the first nomination for Vanessa Harding (Best Actress, Becoming Madam Secretary) since her historic win with Mademoiselle in 2019, bringing her total to seven nominations, tied with Caleb Adams for the most in Ross Awards history. Over the last five years, she faced a challenging landscape despite her dedication to creating films that explored women's empowerment with much of her previous works being criticized for presenting narratives that prioritized a White perspective over the voices of marginalized communities, particularly in her films Frontline (2021) and A Woman in Arabia (2023). Acknowledging this feedback, Vanessa has shifted her storytelling approach, actively working to amplify the contributions of women of color while ensuring that the stories of marginalized groups are told by their own communities.

The Ross Committee has been instrumental in fostering this change. Led by Hans Neumann, the committee has focused on eliminating bias and reducing nepotism within the awards, emphasizing the importance of recognizing diverse stories and creators. Under Hans's leadership, the Ross Awards reached milestones like last year's wins for Richelle Paisley, the first Black Best Actress winner, and Faisal Mansouri, the first Middle Eastern Best Actor winner. Now as Hans prepares to step down, his departure has opened conversations within the industry about who will take on this important role. Many believe that appointing a person of color could further the Ross Committee's mission of championing equity, ensuring that the awards continue evolving toward true inclusivity and representation in film.

This year's Ross Awards ceremony also marks a pivotal moment for Hollywood as it will announce the next president. Emerson Wright, who has significantly influenced the industry the last five years, will officially step down on January 2025. During the ceremony, the next president will be revealed in a highly-anticipated moment, with contenders including Kimona Lange, Dubois Carmichael, and Julian Lunacharski.

Wakefield Maddow Elected as President of the Ross Committee

By: Fabiola Quinteiro Original Publication Date: 6 November 2024

The recent Ross Committee election has sparked significant discussion in the entertainment industry, as five ambitious candidates vied for the prestigious role of committee president. With Hans Neumann stepping down after four years of service, this election marks a significant shift in the committee’s leadership. Ultimately, Wakefield Maddow emerged victorious, becoming the first elected Black president in the entertainment industry. His election signifies a promising step toward diversity and modernization within the Ross Committee.

The Ross Committee, responsible for overseeing the annual Ross Awards has faced mounting pressure to bring fresh perspectives and diversity to its leadership. This shift is largely fueled by recent calls within Hollywood to promote inclusivity, transparency, and representation across all levels. Maddow’s election, therefore, aligns closely with these goals and has been widely celebrated as a progressive move for the entertainment industry.

The field of candidates included several notable figures, each with unique qualifications and ties to the industry. Godfrey Howard, the current Chief of Staff under outgoing President Hans Neumann, faced significant challenges despite his extensive experience. Though highly knowledgeable about committee operations, Howard’s close association with the established leadership and his lack of popularity in the movement for diversity worked against him, with many voters seeking a fresh face to lead the committee forward.

Adessa Polanski also drew considerable attention. As the daughter of Neal Polanski, the former Vice President of Hollywood Studios, she carries a complicated legacy. Her father’s career ended amid accusations of corruption, racism, and nepotism, casting a shadow over her candidacy. While Adessa has established herself as an independent figure, many questioned her ability to bring meaningful change to an industry still grappling with her father’s controversial impact.

Julia Lombardi entered the race with strong connections, running as Vice President alongside Julian Lunacharski in his campaign for President of Hollywood Studios. Her simultaneous involvement in both the Ross Committee election and Lunacharski’s campaign raised concerns among voters. Many wondered if her focus was on enacting meaningful change or simply securing a position of power. This divided commitment led some to doubt if Lombardi genuinely aimed to drive change within either organization or if she was more interested in climbing the ranks of Hollywood’s leadership.

Two other candidates, Cairene Langdon and Wakefield Maddow, represented a new generation of leaders. Both are recent graduates from Lawrence Harland University’s Leadership in the Entertainment Industry program. Langdon’s experience included internships within Hollywood Studios, while Maddow worked as a production assistant with Cygna Entertainment while pursuing his studies. Despite their relatively recent entry into the industry, both Langdon and Maddow demonstrated a strong understanding of industry operations and modern leadership principles, which appealed to voters eager for change.

In a decisive outcome, Wakefield Maddow was announced as the next president of the Ross Committee, an election celebrated as a significant achievement for diversity and modernity in the entertainment industry. His election marks the first time a Black president has led the Ross Committee, an achievement that many view as a milestone in addressing the longstanding issues of representation within Hollywood’s leadership circles.

Maddow’s first actions as president-elect reflect his commitment to building an inclusive and skilled team. He has named Laszlo Knight as his Vice President and Cairene Langdon as Chief of Staff. Knight, a fellow graduate of Harland University, has extensive experience as a casting assistant with Cygna Entertainment, and his appointment complements Maddow’s vision for the committee. By bringing on Langdon, who possesses deep insights into Hollywood Studios' operations from her internship experience, Maddow strengthens his leadership team with fresh perspectives.

Outgoing president Hans Neumann has expressed his full support for Maddow and announced plans to mentor him over the next several months. Neumann’s guidance will be invaluable as Maddow navigates his early months in office, especially as the Ross Awards quickly approach.

Historic Wins and Leadership Changes at the 2024 Ross Awards

By: Anika Sunisa Original Publication Date: 3 December 2024

The 2024 Annual Ross Awards made history this year with groundbreaking achievements in acting and leadership, celebrating the diverse talent shaping the entertainment industry. Since its founding in 2014, the prestigious ceremony had not seen a Native American Best Actress winner—until this year, when Hialeah Moonshadow was awarded for her role as Katara in Avatar: The Last Airbender. Hialeah spoke to the importance of representation and the need for Native voices to have a stronger presence in Hollywood.

“Representation matters,” she said. “We need to actively create more spaces for Native people in this industry—spaces where we can thrive, where our voices are heard, and where our cultures are portrayed with dignity and respect. Recreating art to reflect accurate portrayals of our histories and identities is always a bet worth making. Our stories matter, and they deserve to be told with care.”

Eliseo Padura also broke barriers as the first Latino recipient of the Best Actor award. His riveting performance as Jose Menendez in Menendez captivated audiences, bringing complexity and humanity to the infamous figure.

In the Best Supporting Actress category, Anya Parrish made history of her own, winning for her role as Leslie Abramson in Menendez. Anya joins the ranks of Tala Evangelista and Evan Tanaka as one of only three actors to win the same Ross Award category twice. She delivered a speech addressing the need to support survivors of sexual abuse and harassment, including men.

“For far too long, male survivors have been dismissed or ignored,” she remarked. “The Menendez brothers weren’t believed when they spoke about the abuse they endured, but today, society is beginning to recognize that men can be victims too. This shift is significant enough to reconsider their sentences and give justice to all survivors, regardless of gender.”

Griffin Alexander became the first openly LGBTQ+ actor to win Best Supporting Actor for his role as Hephaestion in Alexander. In his acceptance speech, Alexander reflected on his journey and expressed his hope for the future of queer storytelling in Hollywood.

“This award isn’t just for me—it’s for everyone who has fought to share their truth,” Griffin said. “I wouldn’t be here without the people who believed in me, even when I struggled to believe in myself. I hope this moment is just the beginning of more queer characters, more LGBTQ+ stories, and more opportunities for our voices to be heard. Representation matters, and it’s time to keep building a more inclusive industry.”

The Ross Awards also featured significant announcements regarding Hollywood Studios' leadership. Outgoing president Emerson Wright announced Dubois Carmichael as President-Elect and will officially assume the role on February 1, 2025. His election marks a historic moment as he becomes the first Black president of Hollywood Studios. His vice president, Elegance Sherwood, also makes history as the first Black woman elected to the role, alongside Irving Stone as chairman.

As the newly elected president of Hollywood Studios, Dubois steps into his role with a clear mission: to build an entertainment industry that values collaboration, diversity, and meaningful representation. His acceptance speech at the Ross Awards resonated with a sense of hope and inclusivity, outlining a vision for a brighter, more equitable future.

“To everyone who has ever felt their voice wasn’t loud enough, their story not big enough, or their place uncertain in this industry, let me say this clearly: there is room for everyone at the table,” he said passionately. “There are enough seats for all of us. Your story matters. Your perspective is needed.”

Dubois expressed confidence that his plans for Hollywood Studios would not only elevate the company but also set a new standard for the entertainment industry as a whole.

“Together, we can usher the entertainment industry into a new era—one where representation isn’t a goal but a reality,” Dubois declared. “I have no doubt that the plans we build together will take Hollywood Studios and our industry to new heights. And when we succeed, it won’t just be because of me—it will be because of us.”

The incoming leadership team plans to focus on inclusivity and innovation, signaling a new era for Hollywood Studios. Dubois's prior role as Chief of Staff at Cygna Entertainment will now be filled by Emmanuel Rajabu, effective immediately.

Emerson Wright will remain in his role until January 31, 2025, offering a smooth transition for Dubois and his team. Emerson's tenure, spanning five years and one month, makes him the longest-serving president in the entertainment industry’s history. He leaves behind a legacy of stability and growth, paving the way for new leaders to continue advancing the industry.

Dubois Carmichael Presidential Acceptance Speech

Delivered at the 2024 Ross Awards, December 3, 2024

“Thank you. Thank you so much for this incredible honor and the trust you have placed in me to lead Hollywood Studios into its next chapter.

Tonight, we celebrate not just individual achievements but the collective power of storytelling—stories that reflect our struggles, our triumphs, and our shared humanity. It is an honor to stand here as the first Black president of Hollywood Studios, and I am deeply humbled by the weight and significance of this moment. But I know this is not just my victory; this is our victory.

As I step into this role, my first priority will be to listen. I want to sit down with people from all walks of life, both inside and outside this industry, and hear their concerns. What do you envision Hollywood Studios becoming? Where do we want to go together? And perhaps most importantly, what does it mean to you when you see accurate, dignified representations of yourselves and your communities on screen? These are questions I want to explore with all of you, because the answers will shape our future.

To everyone who has ever felt their voice wasn’t loud enough, their story not big enough, or their place uncertain in this industry, let me say this clearly: there is room for everyone at the table. There are enough seats for all of us. Your story matters. Your perspective is needed. And I am committed to ensuring that Hollywood Studios becomes a home for stories from every corner of the world, told with care, authenticity, and pride.

I firmly believe that our diversity is our greatest strength. When we embrace it, when we highlight and celebrate our differences, we unlock the potential to achieve things beyond what we thought possible. My vision for Hollywood Studios is bold, yes, but it is grounded in collaboration and mutual respect. Together, we can usher the entertainment industry into a new era—one where representation isn’t a goal but a reality, where all voices are uplifted, and where every audience member feels seen and valued.

I look forward to collaborating with Beijing Lee at PanAsian Cinema and Delaurentis McQueen at Cygna Entertainment. Together, we will forge partnerships that champion diversity and elevate voices that haven’t had a stable platform.

This is more than a job for me; it is a responsibility, a calling, and a privilege. I have no doubt that the plans we build together will take Hollywood Studios and our industry to new heights. And when we succeed, it won’t just be because of me—it will be because of us.

Thank you for your trust, your belief, and your hope. Let’s get to work. Let’s create something extraordinary, together.”

[medaura123]

Best Health Care in India

India's healthcare landscape has experienced significant changes over the decades, transforming into a dynamic and fast-growing sector. Serving a population of over 1.4 billion people, the challenges of delivering quality healthcare to such a diverse population are immense. Best Health Care in India Despite these challenges, India’s healthcare system has evolved with contributions from both government initiatives and a growing private sector, alongside technological advancements and innovations. This essay explores the healthcare landscape in India with a specific focus on Medaura, discussing its structure, accessibility, technological progress, ongoing challenges, and future outlook.

Structure of Healthcare in India

India's healthcare system is a unique mix of public and private sectors. Public healthcare, managed by the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, operates at various levels, including national, state, and district. Public healthcare’s primary objective is to provide preventive and essential medical services, particularly to underserved and rural populations. Public facilities such as primary health centers (PHCs), community health centers (CHCs), and district hospitals are vital for ensuring healthcare access in remote areas.

On the other hand, private healthcare has experienced rapid growth, especially in urban regions. Private institutions offer specialized treatments, advanced medical technologies, and high-quality care that meets global standards. This sector plays an essential role in reducing the burden on public hospitals and providing a wider range of services in cities and metropolitan areas. Medaura is a prime example of private sector contribution, focusing on innovative solutions to bridge gaps in healthcare accessibility and quality across different regions.

Accessibility to Healthcare

One of the most pressing issues in India’s healthcare system is the disparity in healthcare accessibility between urban and rural regions. While cities are equipped with modern hospitals, diagnostic centers, and specialty clinics, rural areas suffer from a lack of infrastructure and medical professionals. This urban-rural divide presents significant challenges in providing equitable healthcare access. The government has taken various steps to address this gap through initiatives like the National Health Mission and Ayushman Bharat, which provide insurance and healthcare services to economically disadvantaged populations.

Medaura has been instrumental in improving healthcare access, particularly for marginalized communities. By leveraging innovative healthcare models, such as mobile health units and telemedicine platforms, Medaura ensures that people in rural and remote areas can receive timely medical attention. Additionally, Medaura’s commitment to cost-effective healthcare has allowed patients from lower-income backgrounds to access high-quality services without incurring exorbitant medical expenses.

Innovation and Technological Advancement in Healthcare

India has become a global leader in healthcare innovation, particularly in fields such as telemedicine, pharmaceutical production, and medical devices. Telemedicine is one of the key areas where India has excelled, making it possible for patients in rural and hard-to-reach areas to consult with doctors remotely through mobile applications and video conferencing. This has opened up new opportunities for providing care to populations that would otherwise struggle to access healthcare services.

Medaura has been at the forefront of this telemedicine revolution, offering cutting-edge solutions that connect patients with healthcare providers regardless of geographic barriers. By embracing digital health platforms and AI-driven diagnostics, Medaura is transforming the way healthcare is delivered in India. It has invested in wearable health monitors, AI-based medical imaging, and mobile health solutions that improve patient outcomes and promote preventative care.

India’s pharmaceutical sector, often referred to as the "pharmacy of the world," has also been a crucial driver of healthcare innovation. The country is one of the largest producers of generic drugs and vaccines, which played a pivotal role during the COVID-19 pandemic. Medaura's collaborations with pharmaceutical companies have facilitated the availability of affordable medicines and vaccines, ensuring wider access to essential treatments and preventative care.

Challenges in Indian Healthcare

While India’s healthcare system has made remarkable strides, it still faces several challenges that impede its full potential. These challenges include infrastructure deficiencies, shortages of healthcare professionals, and public health crises.

Infrastructure: Despite advancements in urban healthcare, rural areas continue to face significant infrastructure gaps. Many villages and small towns lack basic healthcare facilities like clinics, hospitals, and diagnostic centers. Addressing this issue requires coordinated efforts between the public and private sectors to expand infrastructure development in rural and underserved regions.

Human Resources: India struggles with a shortage of healthcare professionals, including doctors, nurses, and paramedics. The doctor-to-patient ratio is significantly lower than the World Health Organization’s recommended standards. Additionally, healthcare professionals are concentrated in urban centers, leaving rural populations underserved. Medaura is working to address this issue by training local healthcare workers and deploying them to areas where their services are most needed.

Public Health: India faces the dual burden of communicable diseases like tuberculosis and malaria, along with the rising incidence of non-communicable diseases such as diabetes and heart disease. This creates immense pressure on healthcare resources and necessitates large-scale public health initiatives focused on disease prevention and early detection.

Government Initiatives and Policies

The Indian government has launched several healthcare initiatives aimed at improving access to healthcare services and reducing financial burdens on citizens. One of the most significant programs is Ayushman Bharat, which provides health coverage to millions of low-income families across the country. By offering financial protection from high medical costs, Ayushman Bharat aims to improve healthcare outcomes for vulnerable populations.

Medaura has supported these initiatives by offering complementary healthcare services that align with the government’s goals of improving access and affordability. Its efforts to provide low-cost healthcare, especially in areas where the public healthcare system is inadequate, have been widely appreciated.

The Future of Healthcare in India

The future of healthcare in India is promising, with exciting advancements in medical technologies, increased investments in healthcare infrastructure, and a growing focus on preventative care. Telemedicine, digital health platforms, and AI-driven diagnostics will continue to revolutionize healthcare delivery, particularly in remote areas. Medaura’s innovative healthcare model positions it well to play a pivotal role in shaping this future.

As healthcare becomes more digitized, AI and machine learning technologies will enhance medical diagnostics, personalize treatment plans, and improve patient outcomes. Medaura is already pioneering these technologies to deliver faster, more accurate diagnoses and effective treatments for a wide range of medical conditions.

Preventative care will also play a key role in India’s healthcare future, as lifestyle diseases become more prevalent. By emphasizing early detection and encouraging healthy lifestyles, healthcare providers like Medaura can reduce the strain on the healthcare system and improve long-term health outcomes for millions of people.

Conclusion

India’s healthcare system is a complex and evolving entity that has made significant progress in addressing the needs of its vast population. Through the combination of government initiatives, private sector growth, and technological innovations, India is making strides in improving healthcare access, affordability, and quality. Medaura stands out as a key player in this transformation, using innovative approaches to tackle the challenges of accessibility, cost, and technology in healthcare. With its forward-thinking healthcare solutions and commitment to improving patient outcomes, Medaura is well-positioned to lead India’s healthcare sector into a bright and promising future.

[1001albumsrated]

#21: Miles Davis - Kind of Blue (1959)

Genre(s): Modal Jazz

Of all 1001 albums in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, Kind of Blue might be the most heavily written about, and likely one of the most talked about as well. If someone says "hey I'm curious about jazz but don't know where to start" (or, in 2024, googles a recc chart), this is unilaterally the starting point. Kind of Blue is the Rome that all jazz roads lead to (and from!). I wouldn't say it's my favorite jazz album, and you can argue endlessly on whether it's the best, but it's without a doubt the most centrally located. The tunes are highly accessible, but possess enormous theoretical depth and showcase exceptional technical prowess from the players. And while sales numbers are far from everything, Miles drove sports cars and dated models for a reason: Kind of Blue is RIAA certified 5x platinum as of 2019, making it the best-selling jazz album of all time by an enormous margin (beating the 2nd highest, Herbie Hancock's Head Hunters, 5 times over; no, I'm not going to count the fucking Kenny G Christmas album or whatever, we're talking real jazz here).

It's also a landmark in the explosion of modal jazz, turning previous hard bop and bebop styles on their heads. You can find more compelling music theory explanations of modal jazz elsewhere (I'm confident there's an Adam Neely video somewhere that does it justice), but the short version is that it moved the focus from a more traditional "this song is in a key, play chords from that key and solo over them in the same key" approach to a more open ended approach of playing with a focus on the mode rather than the key, allowing for a much wider tonal palette for improvisation and creating a wildly different sound (you can think of modes as a both a subset and a superset of keys; they essentially rearrange a key to change the root note it starts and ends on while maintaining the same collection of notes, which in practice can dramatically change the feel of the key and allows for modulation between keys to sound more enharmonic. This is a super simplified explanation, again, go learn about the theory if you want to know more).

To me, this album is an old friend. This is one of the first albums that really made jazz click for me. Like most non-jazz listeners, I felt at the time like the bulk of jazz I heard was either dreadful old man coffee shop music or the sound of toddlers causing a directionless racket in the studio. I remember being in my bedroom as a teenager, listening to low quality rips of these tracks in the early days of YouTube, mind blown at the sounds I was hearing. It was laid back, but still had a lot of motion and technicality, and was deeply evocative. Today, so many years later, I feel the same things I felt then. Kind of Blue is one of those very rare, special albums that simply doesn't wear out. I've heard it a million times and can anticipate every note, but it's still a joy to listen to every time.

The version I'm listening to today is the 2007 Japanese SACD (another fascinating element to Kind of Blue is how radically different the various versions of it out there sound, with different mixes often completely rearranging the soundstage). This edition is one of my favorites; it's still the more modern Mark Wilder mix and benefits from the higher degree of clarity his mix brings, but it has a warmer, more laid back feel to it than most of the other iterations of his mix on various other formats. My chief complaint on his Miles mixes in general has always been that they're overly bright, to the point of Miles' trumpet often sounding harsh, and this is one of the very rare versions of the KoB Wilder mix that feels more natural to me.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention the quality of the personnel on this one: the sextet here is an extension of Miles' "First Great Quintet", featuring the dynamite rhythm section of Jimmy Cobb and Paul Chambers, with the impressionistic Bill Evans on piano (and his replacement Wynton Kelly on Freddie Freeloader, as Evans was mostly retired from the band at this point after burning out from the band's rigorous touring schedule), and the all-star sax section of John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley. All of the players (with the exception of Cobb) were great bandleaders in their own right, and all were top-notch players. We'll see most (if not all) of these folks again on this list, with a few showing up later as bandleaders. This is one of the things that I've always found appealing about jazz: every week is a crossover episode. I'm forever discovering that a player I love played as a sideman on this other album, and the bandleader on that one used to play with this other guy, and so on in a web that seems to stretch out forever. Jazz is far from the only thing I listen to, but it's one of the easiest genres for me to get engrossed in on account of the constant interconnections between players (my obsession with Wikipedia and Discogs diving and biography reading doesn't help).

Also of historical interest is the fact that only a few weeks after recording the final KoB sessions, John Coltrane would return to the studio to record the legendary Giant Steps with his own band; this album, for reasons beyond any and all comprehension or semblance of good taste, has been excluded from 1001 Albums. It's laughable to omit both it and My Favorite Things, both of which are major touchstones in jazz (soloing over Giant Steps, referring to the song rather than the album here, is still a mountain that any serious jazz player will climb today during the process of mastering their instrument). And maybe it's my huge obsession with free and spiritual jazz talking here, but I think there's a strong argument for including at least one of Coltrane's freer post-A Love Supreme albums; his interplay with Pharoah Sanders is spectacular, as is the way he and his wife Alice lock in, and those albums would go on to inform all flavors of "out" jazz and experimental music to come (also, while I'm complaining, it's equally ridiculous to omit both Pharoah Sanders and Alice Coltrane from the book as bandleaders, and doing so really shows the authors' collective ignorance when it comes to any jazz that cuts deeper than surface level).

Ok, I'm done griping about the list (for now). Anyways, Kind of Blue is one of the highest pinnacles of musical achievement, yes you MUST hear it before you die. If you somehow haven't heard it, log off and go listen. You'll thank me later.

Coming up next time: we pivot back to country with the legendary Marty Robbins album, Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs (or, for the terminally online, the one with Big Iron on it 😉).

[speedyposts]

‘Forecasts of a Labour landslide are probably over the top’: UK analyst

London, England – Britain is expected to hold a general election in the second half of 2024 and Rishi Sunak, the United Kingdom’s Conservative leader, is under pressure.

The right-wing party that has governed Britain for more than 10 years is far behind the main opposition Labour Party in the polls.

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How to Get AdSense Approval Quickly a Personal Journey to Monetizing a Niche Blog

I will share my personal journey of getting AdSense approval quickly for my blog focused on the SME

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​​Earlier this month, a YouGov survey of about 14,000 people published by The Telegraph newspaper predicted that Labour could win 385 parliamentary seats. The Conservatives are on track to keep just 169 seats, a sharper loss than in 1997 when Labour’s Tony Blair triumphed over John Major.

On the world stage, observers say Sunak’s decision to join the United States in targeting Yemen’s Houthis in retaliation for their attacks in the Red Sea and his refusal to call for a Gaza ceasefire could affect his approval ratings.

Al Jazeera spoke to Tim Bale, a politics professor at Queen Mary University of London, about the upcoming election, the challenges facing 43-year-old Sunak, and Labour’s chances.

Al Jazeera: Sunak faces several crises. As he struggles with a bid to deport refugees to Rwanda, the Ukraine war is still raging, as well as Israel’s onslaught of Gaza. Is he the right person to manage Britain’s foreign policy and government right now?

Tim Bale: I think you’d have to say he’s a bright guy. He’s a hard-working guy. So he’s probably across all the issues in as much as any prime minister could be.

I think his problem on the world stage is that very few of his interlocutors presume that he will be there by this time next year, which means that his influence is inevitably less than it otherwise would be.

At home, he suffers from the same problem in that I think any of the solutions he proposes, or any of the actions he takes, will always be seen as temporary rather than Britain’s policy going forward.

Al Jazeera: Many British Muslims and pro-Palestinian Britons say they are disillusioned with the two main parties since neither has vociferously called for a lasting ceasefire in Gaza. What impact will this have on the Conservatives, when it comes to the election?

Bale: I think it’s very unlikely that it will have any impact on the Conservatives’ vote because very few people who would be exercised about the war in Gaza, certainly on the Muslim side, will be supporting the Conservatives anyway. Their vote among Muslim voters is generally very low.

It’s possible that were we to be drawn, for example, into a wider conflict involving Yemen and were to start having to commit more forces to that theatre of war, I think the public might react against that and that government very much.

Concerning Labour, there’s a lot written about the threat to some Labour MPs representing constituencies with very high Muslim populations.

But very often, they have very, very big majorities, so even if there are some people in those constituencies who feel very strongly about Gaza and therefore vote against Labour, they’ve probably got a sufficient cushion to survive.

Also, it’s kind of reductive to suggest that voters with an Islamic faith are purely defined by that faith. They also have to operate in an economy that is suffering from a cost-of-living crisis.

Al Jazeera: As the new year gets under way, what are Sunak’s priorities?

Bale: The obvious one is the stop the boats issue and the ability or inability of the government actually to bring an end to people coming across the Channel to claim asylum.

The other issues are perennials [like] the state of the economy. Some people now suggest that Britain will go into a recession before the election, which is never good for a government.

Clearly, inflation is going down, but perhaps not quite as fast as people might want it to.

People are still suffering the cost-of-living crisis that they’ve been in for a year or two now.

The other big issue that the government doesn’t seem to be able to do anything about is the state of the National Health Service, the huge waiting lists and the difficulty in finding a [family doctor].

One possibility, towards the end of the year, will be the US election and the extent Donald Trump does or doesn’t endorse Rishi Sunak.

The possibility that Trump should be elected before we hold an election will make people feel that the world has suddenly become more unstable and, therefore, perhaps more inclined to vote for the current government than for a new option.

Al Jazeera: Election polls signal an election defeat for the Conservative Party, with a loss not seen since 1997. Is this likely?

Bale: It’s very difficult to imagine a government this far behind in the polls at this stage of the electoral cycle, with a PM who is, relatively speaking, very unpopular, presiding over an economy that is at best bumping along the bottom, and an NHS that most people seem to think is falling apart, will be able to win an election.

Obviously, Labour have got a big mountain to climb because they did so badly last time around. They have to win an awful lot of seats in order to win a majority.

But I think that looks now eminently possible. Still, I think forecasts of a landslide are probably over the top.

Al Jazeera: What trends are we seeing from early polling, particularly among the Britons who traditionally voted Labour but switched to the Conservatives in the 2019 election?

Bale: It’s clear that the Conservative Party has lost a lot of support in those seats that it flipped from Labour. Partly because [ex-UK PM] Boris Johnson was quite popular, partly because [ex-Labour leader] Jeremy Corbyn was very unpopular and partly because those seats were heavily in favour of Brexit.

Now that Brexit has, to some extent, disappeared in the rearview mirror, it is less of an issue for those voters, and what matters more to them is the kind of bread-and-butter issues like the economy and the NHS.

One would expect a lot of those seats to return to Labour given how poorly the government is judged to be handling those particular issues.

The government is also in trouble with so-called blue wall seats (which are loyally Conservative).

These are seats in the south and the east, which are rather more affluent. [The Conservatives are] very hard-line on immigration, on “woke”, and all that kind of stuff is not popular among well-educated people who often live in those affluent areas.

Generally speaking, [the trends] show that the government is regarded as exhausted, out of ideas, and too right-wing for many – and that doesn’t really bode well for its electoral chances.

Al Jazeera: What could we expect from a government under Labour’s Keir Starmer and the impact on European politics?

Bale: I think that’s the $64,000 question, in a way, because Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves, the shadow chancellor, have presented a very cautious campaign.

They’re not offering far more spending. They’re not really levelling with people [on the] taxation required to help public services recover from the 10 years or so of austerity that we’ve seen.

I suspect that the Labour government would be rather more radical and more inclined to spend money than people think, and raise taxation.

In terms of the impact on European politics, generally speaking, Europe seems to be swinging to the right.

Were a Labour government to be elected, it would at least give some people in Europe the hope that it’s not completely impossible for a centre-left government, a bunch of social democrats, to win power.

Al Jazeera: Will the climate crisis be an election issue?

Bale: What is very urgent is the climate emergency. Although Labour has talked about a kind of big green investment fund, I think they will probably play that down because they’re worried about Conservative criticisms of the cost of that programme.

But if someone were to look back on this election in 50 years, when the planet will be much warmer, and we’re suffering all sorts of consequences as a result of that, they may well say, why were they talking about fairly trivial things when the world’s burning?

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and brevity.

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