#marble slab bench

[ashadamsphotography]

Master Bath - Transitional Bathroom Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional master bathroom redesign featuring a hinged shower door, black cabinets, a one-piece toilet, beige walls, white tile and mirror tile, ceramic tile, and a black and beige floor.

[hotspothutspot]

New York Transitional Bathroom

Inspiration for a huge transitional master blue tile and marble tile marble floor and gray floor bathroom remodel with raised-panel cabinets, white cabinets, a bidet, blue walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door and white countertops

[thefty-o]

Arab uncle drains his nephew

Samir yawned and stretched as he got out of bed, his dusky olive skin contrasting against the crisp white of his cotton thobe. At 45, the Lebanese father of three was starting to feel his age. He caught a glimpse of himself in the ornate gilt-framed mirror and sighed. While he'd never been a large man, his formerly lean physique was starting to soften, his stomach rounding out above his sirwal and his arms losing their wiry tone.

"Yallah, I need to start exercising again," he muttered to himself, stroking his neatly trimmed beard.

As he headed to the bathroom, he nearly collided with a wall of tawny muscle. His nephew Tariq, who was staying with them for the summer, loomed in the doorway, his skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat from his morning prayers and calisthenics. The 20-year-old was an absolute Adonis, his tall, powerful frame packed with perfectly sculpted brawn, straining the seams of his sleeveless white thobe. His traditional red and white shemagh was slightly askew, untamed black curls peeking out, framing his striking aquiline features and smoldering dark eyes.

"Sabah al-khair, 'Ammu Samir," Tariq rumbled in his deep, resonant baritone, his voice rich with the musical cadence of Levantine Arabic. "You look like you could use some cardamom coffee to put some pep in your step, old man. I know your constitution isn't what it used to be."

Samir flushed, biting back a retort. "Shukran, but I think I can manage," he said stiffly. It was just good-natured ribbing, he told himself, even as he felt a pang of envy at Tariq's effortless virility. What he wouldn't give for a taste of that youthful power and vigor.

As he brushed past Tariq into the bathroom, their bare arms touched. Instantly, Samir felt a jolt of electricity crackle through him. He gasped, bracing himself against the marble sink as a wave of dizziness washed over him. In the mirror, he swore his reflection was... changing?

Before his eyes, the soft flab melted off his frame. His midsection tightened, hints of abs peeking through the gap in his thobe. His arms and legs regained the lean, wiry musculature of his youth, his biceps filling out the sleeves of his undershirt. His slouched shoulders straightened and broadened, his posture improving to project a newfound confidence. He looked robust, vital, like a man ten years younger.

Tariq suddenly shuddered in the mirror behind him and Samir startled. Was his nephew slouching? Samir could have sworn that he used to be eye level with the boy's plump pecs, but now he was staring right into their center.

"Mashallah, 'Ammu, looking good," Tariq said, clapping a massive paw on Samir's newly sturdy shoulder. "A few months training with me and inshallah, you'll be almost as big and strong as your nephew, eh?"

He threw Samir a wink and sauntered out, his sandaled feet nearly cracking the marble tile with each heavy step. Samir shook his head wryly. Tariq had always been a big boy - clearly took after his father's side. Perhaps with this newfound energy, he would take the young man up on his offer to get back in shape.

...

A few days later, Samir found himself in the makeshift gym in the garage, spotting Tariq as he benched a truly prodigious amount of weight, grunting Arabic encouragements. Tariq's performance was flagging slightly, his reps slower and more labored than last week. He was still monstrously strong, but perhaps not the utterly untouchable mountain of power he'd been before.

As they racked the weights and sat up, Tariq's sweaty arm brushed Samir's... and again, that electric jolt, that head rush. Samir watched in awe as his own arms seemed to swell before his eyes, his biceps and triceps growing, pulsing with vascular striations. His shoulders broadened, stretching his sweat-soaked sleeveless tee. Pectoral muscles barreled out above his tight six-pack, two brawny slabs of beef heaving with new mass.

It was as if he'd gained 20 lbs of muscle on the spot. He looked like he lifted seriously now, his frame dense with carved, powerful sinew and brawn. Tariq, on the other hand, while still unquestionably huge and imposing, seemed slightly... diminished. A little shorter, a tad less impossibly broad and thick. He looked more like the biggest, buffest guy at the mosque now rather than an avatar of masculine perfection.

"Wallahi, 'Ammu!" Tariq exclaimed, a note of surprise and something almost like unease creeping into his usually unflappably cocky tone. "What's your secret? I swear you get bigger by the day!"

Samir just smirked and flexed a bulging bicep, feeling a thrill as he watched his nephew's gaze widen with shock and awe at the size and definition. "Maybe you've been slacking on the halal meat, son," he teased. "Need to get more protein to maintain those gains."

Tariq just laughed, but there was a strained quality to it, his dark eyes flickering with an unsettled light. "We'll see, old man. Race you to the shisha lounge?"

He took off, and if his stride was a bit less than its usual loping, ground-devouring, leg-powered swagger, Samir didn't comment. He followed at an easier pace, enjoying the unfamiliar heft and solidity of his new, enhanced muscles. Something had shifted between them, and they could both feel it.

...

A week later, Samir woke up feeling like a new man. No, like a king, a titan, a conqueror of old. He practically bounded out of bed, 250 lbs of densely packed, heavily striated Arab muscle quivering and flexing with coiled power. He felt invincible, brimming with vitality, virility, and masculine energy straining to be unleashed.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror and had to stifle a shout of triumphant joy. He was magnificent, his tall, heroically proportioned body an anatomy chart of musculature, all broad planes and deep cuts and hulking, vein-streaked brawn. His thobe had ridden up as he slept, exposing a mastodon cock throbbing half-mast against his deeply corrugated abs, a thick, wrist-thick pillar of pride and potency. His heavy balls churned visibly in their overstuffed sack, swollen with seed and the sacred essence of a true alpha.

"Allahu akbar," Samir breathed reverently. He was a living incarnation of the male ideal now, a pinnacle of strength and virility that surpassed any man he had ever known - including, he realized with a dark thrill, his nephew Tariq. He could feel it in his gigantic, steel-cable muscles, his raging monsoon of testosterone-fueled might - he was the dominant one now, the apex predator. Tariq had nothing on him anymore.

As if on cue, there was a tentative knock on the door. "'Ammu Samir?" came Tariq's voice, reedy and thin in contrast to the booming bass Samir remembered. "I, uh, I think there may have been a mixup with our clothes at the laundry. I seem to have shrunk out of a lot of mine somehow..."

"Faddal," Samir called, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that vibrated through his cavernous chest. Enter.

The boy who slunk through the door was barely recognizable as the swaggering erotic demigod of a few weeks ago. Oh, he was still handsome enough in a coltish, pretty boy way, with an athletic swimmer's build, but next to Samir's towering, mega-muscled hypermasculinity he looked downright scrawny. His eyes widened to saucers and his full lips parted in an audible gasp as he took in his uncle's massive, naked body, his gaze immediately drawn to the throbbing log of manflesh sitting heavily atop Samir's deeply ribbed washboard midsection.

"M-Maa shaa' Allah, 'Ammu," Tariq stammered, face flushed, a visible tenting rising in his loose sirwal. "You... what... I mean... Subhan Allah, you're enormous..."

"Alhamdulillah," Samir purred, flexing his planetoid biceps with a low growl of power, his pecs and lats flaring out even wider, his cock jumping and pulsing against his abs. "What's wrong, little one? Never seen a real man before? Intimidated to be in the presence of your true alpha uncle?"

Tariq made a small, choked noise, his eyes glazing over with lust and worship, his lithe body trembling. The boy was clearly in thrall to Samir's extreme muscularity, the raw sexual power and masculinity rolling off him in waves. He looked ready to fall to his knees and service his supreme elder on the spot.

"Don't worry, nephew. You'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with your new place," Samir rumbled, voice thick with sadistic amusement, reaching out to roughly palm Tariq's pretty face with one huge, calloused mitt. "Wallahi, I'm going to enjoy breaking you in. By the time I'm done with this little zakar of yours, you'll be my perfect little eromenos. The only thing that overactive aql of yours will be able to think about is worshipping your 'Ammu's ripped, massive body."

Slowly, almost tenderly, he pushed his thumb into Tariq's slack mouth, making the boy gag and sputter as he forced it in up to the knuckle.

"Shh, shh, just submitted," Samir crooned darkly as Tariq's eyes bulged and watered, weakly trying to pull away. "Salim and accept your place, little one. You're going to become very familiar with parts of 'Ammu much bigger than this."

And with his other hand, he reached down and grabbed the root of his titanically engorged manhood, slowly, almost lovingly smacking his nephew's spit-slick cheek with the girthy, vein-ravaged shaft.

"Mmm, such a pretty little face," he groaned, his voice a low Arabic growl. "Going to look even better stretched around my horse cock. Open up, 'azizi. Your new life as 'Ammu's sharmuta starts now."

And with that, he pulled his thumb out only to replace it with the blunt, leaking head of his inhumanly huge erection, groaning in pure alpha male bliss as he watched his nephew's throat visibly distend and bulge obscenely around his girth.

Oh yes, this was going to be very good indeed, Samir thought as he prepared to orally break in his new fuck toy. And it was only the beginning of Tariq's training to be the perfect submissive receptacle for his dominant alpha seed...

[stardust-swan]

What Is It Like in a *Posh* Moroccan Hammam? 🫧

When I say "posh," I mean upmarket hammams in a wealthy residential areas, not hammams in hotels. This post is about authentic hammams used by wealthy Moroccans, not ones aimed at tourists.

Decor

One of the first things you'll notice in upmarket hammams is that the decor is far more elaborate than in basic hammams. Decor will of course vary from place to place, but to use the example of the hammam next to my great-aunt's place in Casablanca I always make sure to go to:

The walls in both the main washroom and the sauna room are made out of blue and white marble in a traditional zellige pattern. There are also ornate sinks jutting out of the walls also of blue and white marble, whereas in basic hammams there will just be faucets. The sauna has long benches made of marble across the length of each side of the room, and the massage tables are slabs of heated light grey marble.

Regardless of the individual decor choices of each hammam, each building will always be spacious, with high ceilings and curved arches.

Ambience

Upmarket hammams feel luxurious, but understated, focusing on relaxation and subtle elegance rather than opulence and "wowing" people.

The lighting will normally be natural, but if artificial lighting is used it will be subtle and non-intrusive. Whereas in basic hammams it will be bright and practical, and in tourist hammams it will be dim with lighting coming from lanterns and candles (ambient, but not practical for visibility).

Although some may have private areas, authentic hammams in wealthy areas will generally follow the tradition of communal bathing.

As they are located in residential areas rather than tourist hotspots, and as they are a lot larger than basic hammams, they don't feel overcrowded and the experience is more intimate.

Services Offered

Upmarket hammams offer more services than basic hammams, but unlike tourist hammams, all the services are based in authentic Moroccan traditions, whereas in hotels the hammams offer a blend of the basic Moroccan services (sauna, sabon beldi, etc) and services similar to what you'd find in Western spas.

Authentic services you will find in upmarket Moroccan hammams include:

The usual sauna, cleansing with sabon beldi, deep exfoliation and ghassoul clay masks you'll find in every hammam in the country

Massages with argan oil, ghassoul clay, jasmine oil, amber oil, olive oil, honey, or herbal compresses

Herbal steam baths with tabrima, eucalyptus, lavender or mint

Rosewater and orange blossom water rinses

Henna treatments (it's not just used for temporary tattoos but has benefits for the skin and hair)

Facials with products like argan oil, sweet almond oil, honey, and saffron

Foot baths with herbs, oils, and/or milk

(Services will depend on each individual hammam)

The treatments are all high quality by staff who really work for their money. The attendants will scrub off absolutely every bit of dead skin on your body, and I have honestly never been as thoroughly massaged as I have been in these hammams.

Relaxation Lounge

In basic hammams, you just put your clothes on and leave after adjusting to room temperature, but in upmarket ones, you relax in the hammam after towelling off.

After you're dressed, the staff will lead you to another room. To use the hammam local to my great aunt as an example again, the relaxation lounge in this one:

Is full of white chaise longues, one facing another so that you can chat with your companion. They each have a low table in between them, on which a staff member will put down a silver tray, which will have a lit candle which will also have ghassoul clay integrated into it. There will also be glycerin preserved rose petals scattered on the tray, and of course refreshments - a bottle of cold water (much needed after all the heat and steam) and refreshing peppermint tea in a floral cup and matching saucer.

In other upmarket hammams they might have leather couches or armchairs instead of chaise loungues, regular candles without the clay, and Moroccan mint tea instead of peppermint herbal tea, but they'll all follow the same format.

Would I Recommend Trying One of These Hammams?

If you want a luxurious but 100% authentic hammam experience, absolutely! Although hotel hammams are surely fun with their swimming pools, etc, if you want to really experience true Moroccan culture and feel classy while you do it, I'd recommend finding one in a middle or upper class residential area.

They're also inexpensive if you're on Western wages - the one I described in the post is €4 for entry and €15 for a massage, and pretty much all similar hammams will be in that general wheelhouse. Whereas I have no doubt that the ones in hotels are way more expensive - the tourist price vs the local price.

Tips For Going to Authentic Hammams

Whereas in hotels the staff will speak multiple languages, in ones the locals use usually they'll know just Darija and French, maybe basic English but there's no guarantee. If you know French it will be fine, but if not get a Moroccan friend to accompany you.

Shave before going. The attendants will only exfoliate you if your skin is hairless, as the kessa glove can more effectively remove dead skin and impurities without hair in the way, and with smooth skin there's no chance of the rough gloves tugging on your hair and causing your skin to become irritated. The subsequent skincare products applied to your body will also be easier to apply evenly and will be better absorbed. If you haven't shaved beforehand they'll just give you a razor.

You can buy toiletries like soaps and towels, but it's also acceptable to bring your own.

Don't be afraid to get naked. Moroccan women strip down to their panties. Nobody will look at you, everyone is concentrating on bathing (wearing your bra or swimsuit is honestly more likely to bring attention to you than going topless as that's how people will know you're a tourist). You'll see many different body types and all ages in the hammam, so don't worry about being judged if you have stretch marks, extra weight, etc

Men and women bathe in separate areas or buildings, so don't worry about the opposite sex seeing you. You might occasionally see a mother taking her young son with her (as in, toddler age), but never older boys and men.

You can talk and laugh, but don't shout or giggle loudly or anything. It's meant to be a relaxing experience for everyone, and as the rooms are so spacious, loud noises will carry across them.

The massages are really thorough, so be prepared. I've been massaged everywhere from the insides of my ears to my privates in these hammams. If you have anywhere you'd rather they don't touch, communicate it with the massage therapist before getting your massage done, as the norm is to massage literally everywhere.

[blueiscoool]

Michelangelo’s ‘David’ Was Carved Out of a Flawed Marble Slab

Two sculptors had tried and failed to chisel something out of the block—until Michelangelo stepped up.

Michelangelo’s David was recognized as a masterpiece the moment it was unveiled. In fact, its commissioners found the sculpture so beautiful, and so massive, that they decided its intended home, high up in the roof of a cathedral, just wouldn’t cut it.

The statue was conceived almost a century before Michelangelo picked up a chisel to create it. In the early 1400s, the Opera del Duomo, the workshop of Florence’s cathedral, began commissioning pieces for a series of 12 massive sculptures depicting prophets from the Old Testament. These would each be housed in niches of the church’s tribune, semi-domed apses in the roofline, over 260 feet high.

In 1464, Agostino di Duccio, a sculptor inexperienced with projects at such a large scale, was commissioned to create the statue. Duccio traveled to a Carrara marble quarry in Tuscany, where he handpicked a giant block of stone. Upon its arrival in Florence after a long, arduous journey, the block was found to be a flop. The hewed hunk of marble was tall but thin and riddled with holes and veins, imperfections both unaesthetic and potentially compromising to the structure of so large a statue.

Realizing his error, Duccio chipped at the stone with his hammers and chisels for a while, but soon gave up on his work. The abandoned wedge of marble went untouched for a decade until another sculptor, Antonio Rossellino, seized the mantle. After some attempts to salvage the work, he, too, deemed the block unusable. It was left naked in the Opera’s courtyard for another 25 years.

Finally, in the summer of 1501, the workshop’s overseers assigned the work to Michelangelo. In just over two years, he transformed the misunderstood marble block into the 17-foot-tall statue that is today one of the most famous artworks in history. At the unveiling, the unexpected size, weight, and beauty of the statue demanded a reshuffling of plans. In 1504, 30 Florentine cultural leaders, including Leonardo da Vinci and Sandro Botticelli, convened to determine David’s fate.

After months of raging debate, it was decided that the statue deserved a spot in the Piazza della Signoria, in front of Florence’s town hall. It took 40 men four days to transport a rope-bound David, caged in wooden scaffolding, from Michelangelo’s workshop to the plaza a half-mile away. Upon arrival, the artist took his chisel to his creation one last time, applying finishing touches. The statue had been designed for viewing from far below; this unexpected setting and perspective required slight modifications.

The statue became quickly known as “the Giant,” a symbol of liberty for the Florentine people, with his glare pointed at their rival city, Rome. Though beloved, the Giant fell victim to vandalism in his first year, when protestors pelted the colossal sculpture with stones. In 1527, a riot against the ruling class broke out in the plaza, and a bench thrown out of a window struck the statue, breaking its arm into three pieces. David went on to survive earthquakes and lightning strikes before the city council decided to protect him.

After almost 370 years, fans and art connoisseurs finally compelled the city to move David into the Galleria dell’Accademia for his protection in 1873; he still stands there today. Even in the confines of the museum, though, David was unsafe. In 1991, a mentally disturbed Italian artist, Pierro Cannata, snuck a hammer into the museum. With it, he lunged at David’s left foot, shattering a toe before being subdued by museum-goers. Cannata claimed that La Bella Nani, a figure from a Veronese painting, compelled him to strike David. Thanks to the attack, David’s beauty is now shielded from jealous hands and hammers by a wall of plexiglass.

By Adnan Qiblawi.

[secretwhumplair]

Arrival

1,186 words | Mirai and the serpent king (sequel to Apprehension)

Content | Slavery, fear, dehumanisation, implied future noncon

Notes | Mirai arrives at the serpent king's palace, and prepares to meet his potential new master!

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator

The palace appeared out of the greenery, all lattices and domes and carved decor, all rather too beautiful to belong to a dumb beast. Maybe the king would care about the singing, after all; Mirai felt a sting of fear and humiliation both at the thought. Soon they passed through an elegant archway, under the watchful eyes of more guards, and after that, the road was paved with slabs of some smoothly dark grey stone, grooves carved into it in elaborate patterns.

The outer parts of the palace were quite open, one arch next to another looking into rooms and corridors alike. They were brought into one such airy room, where a snake man behind a desk took note of their precence on a large scroll, looking like they were the most exciting thing to happen today, sent off what appeared to be a messenger into the deeper parts of the palace, and instructed them to wait.

There was a marble bench at the inner side of the room, opposite the windows, and the slavers took their seat. Mirai didn’t need instruction to kneel on the floor instead. The grooves still present here dug into his knees.

The slaver holding him yanked on his chain hard enough to momentarily steal his breath. »Over here, we’ve got to do something about your hair.«

Mirai obediently turned to present the back of his head, blinking back the tears from the shock of the pull; he would never be able to handle that. Immediately, he had to wonder whether the serpent king enjoyed this sort of thing. Many snakes liked to strangle their prey, didn’t they?

He bit his cheek trying to push the thought out of his head. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t change a thing about what was to come.

He always did his best to maintain his hair himself, limited as he was to his bare hands, because he knew the slavers wouldn’t be gentle when it came to doing him up for the market. He squeezed his mouth shut against the comb ripping at what tangles he hadn’t been able to get rid of, and tried to let the slaver’s swearing at him about what a nuisance he and his hair was, as if he chose to keep it as long as it was, pass over him.

It took too long for the slavers not to get bored. One of the others leaned in. »You know, they say no one leaves the snake king’s harem. ‘Cause he eats the slaves he grows tired of.«

He was kneeling on the floor that had by now become outright painful, terrified over his future whichever way it might play out, and that was what finally pushed the tears into spilling over. He heard the slavers snicker as he hugged himself, trying to get a hold on himself.

One of them slapped the back of his head. »Get a grip. The king won’t want you all puffy.«

»Get out of that,« the one doing him up said, ignoring their companion.

Mirai pulled his tunic off; if ever he had been able to afford shame, it was long gone by now, and his only worry was what his naked form might entice any observers to do to him.

»And clean yourself up while you’re at it.«

He wiped the dirt off his bare feet, knowing full well he’d have to put this same tunic back on if he failed to sell. He rubbed what travelling grime he could off himself; it was a far cry from being truly clean, but it was all he could do now. The slaver grabbed him by the back of his neck and rubbed rose water behind his ears and under his jaw.

Then he was tossed his nice, clean, white market tunic. It was shorter than the travelling one, barely reaching his mid-thigh. At least the air was warm; the slavers had already shed their overgarments in the humid heat, although they weren’t quite as exposed as he, and complained to one another, quietly, clearly still unwilling to offend the guards or even the secretary.

»And don’t say a word, you hear me?«

Mirai nodded, eyes cast down. It went without saying, really, even though most potential buyers ended up insisting on hearing his voice before buying anyway—or rather, not buying, usually.

Then they waited.

The slavers, grumpily, dug into their travelling rations when midday was gone long enough to expunge any hope they would be offered refreshments. Mirai got nothing: it wasn’t like he would lose weight quickly enough now to influence the sale. After walking all morning, he was aching for even a a little snack, but he had to be grateful to be offered water alone.

Despite his discomfort, he was grateful for every moment he didn’t have to face the reality of being offered up to the serpent king; and he was so exhausted he dozed off where he knelt despite his fear. Not enough to fully lose track of his surroundings, of course, that was not a luxury he could allow himself, but enough to quiet the ache in his knees and heart.

He started fully awake when one of a pair of guards approached them, ordering the group to follow them. It must have been hours, and he felt like his knees would burst when he got up. The floor had pressed vivid pink patterns into his skin, but it couldn’t be helped now.

His heartrate picked up as they moved through wide corridors, decorated with elaborately woven tapestries. This was it. He was going to be sold to the serpent king, a monster by all accounts, or rejected and punished, but now, between the guard’s slithering bodies so very capable of crushing him, one fear was far more real than the other. They were so big, and just imagining their king’s proportions made it hard to hold back tears.

Maybe, as a member of the harem, at least only the king would have access to him, and the existence of a harem meant he wouldn't have to satisfy him alone. But then, maybe he liked to share? Maybe he liked to reward loyal guards, like the ones that eyed him curiously as they passed through the corridors?

His head was spinning with terror and what straws of hope he could cling to when they entered the throne room.

It was big in every direction, slender columns carrying a high, domed ceiling inlaid with geometrical patterns. Across from the large double doors was a dais a few steps high, with a oval-shaped cushioned seat, its curved back intricately carved, upon which the serpent king lounged. The scales covering the loops of his body were of a deep earthy brown, and he wore nothing but golden jewellery hanging over his chest and looping around his arms, and, of course, a crown.

The look of his golden eyes felt like it would pierce right through Mirai, and he had to force his knees not to buckle in terror as they were walked up to the center of the room.

[stanchett]

hello, I loved your Gwen fic! Idk if you do Lucifer requests, but I would love to request a Lucifer x Human reader where they meet on earth and the reader doesn't know Lucifer is actually the devil. She only finds out when she is already so enamoured that she doesn't care anymore. Thank you if you decide to write this! :))

Thanks so much for the request!! I hope you enjoy! :)

(This is un-beta'd, apologies for any mistakes I might've missed)

In Mourning

Lucifer Morningstar x fem!human!reader

Warnings: grief, hurt & comfort

2k+ words

Your feet dragged through the cemetery, your heart still heavy with loss. A week without your best friend felt like an eternity, and you did everything you could to distract yourself from the pit in your stomach but found yourself visiting her grave daily. Fresh flowers in hand, you approached the marble slab and dropped to your knees, the overwhelming rush of heartbreak washing over you. Despite knowing she couldn’t hear you, you told her everything that had been on your mind that day through the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. You traced your fingers over her name, elegantly embossed in the stone, and you almost wished to join her. The passing thought scared you, and you hung your head and allowed yourself to sob. Through your tears, you failed to realize that a stranger had been silently watching you from a distance. 

Wiping away the remnants of your tears at last, you begrudgingly stood to leave, placing the flowers in the cup of water in the ground. Your eye caught on someone sitting on a bench before a statue of the Virgin Mary, smiling up at her in a way that made you feel uneasy. You thought it odd, looking away to scoop up your remaining belongings before looking back up. They were standing now, and moving in your direction. You sighed to yourself, mentally unprepared to speak to anyone after your last half hour of crying. You were sure you looked terrible. As they got closer, you noticed they were beautiful; adorned in a white suit with white heels to match, light blonde hair in perfect relaxed curls, and they were tall. Very tall. Over 6 feet at least. They had a certain aura about them, and you felt strangely comforted in their presence as they approached. 

“What weighs on your heart, young one?” Their voice was even, with undertones of genuine concern. ‘Young one’? You couldn’t have been much younger than they were, although their manner of speaking made them sound timeless. You looked away with a forced smile to shield your grief. They came to a halt a few paces away, carefully processing your reaction. Anyone close to you would’ve known better than to ask what was wrong. You looked up again, willing away any stray tears at their question, and found it difficult to look them in the eye. They intimidated you.

“Oh I.. lost a friend recently. I was just visiting with her. Or trying to…” Your shoulders dropped in defeat. You knew it sounded ridiculous, visiting someone who was no longer living as if they still were. But the stranger only smiled in understanding, and you felt a small sense of relief come over you. 

“Walk with me,” was all they said, turning away from you. Slightly confused but enjoying their company, you obliged. The two of you strode together in silence for a short while, enjoying the chirping birds and gentle breeze blowing around you. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you found the cemetery to be quite peaceful despite your sadness.

“Grief is an interesting creature, is it not?” Your head jerked in surprise at their sudden words, disrupting the stillness between you. You nodded in response, your eyes grazing over the names and dates of the headstones as you passed. 

“Oh… Yeah, I guess it is,” you answered a little awkwardly, not sure what else to say. Your mind was still somewhat clouded from crying. “Have you lost anyone close to you?” You almost feel silly asking, but you needed something to distract you from thinking about your friend. You missed her dearly and knew she should be the one taking a walk with you.

A smirk plays on the stranger’s face, their hands clasping behind their back. “Yes, I suppose I have. Almost everyone, in fact.” Your heart sank for them, and you cursed yourself for asking such an imposing question. You couldn’t help but wonder what that felt like. You let the silence take hold again between you for a moment, but your curiosity quickly got the better of you.

“Does it ever get easier like they say it does?” You felt your eyes prick with fresh tears again, but you quickly blinked them away. 

“With time. I suppose it does become easier to cope with, yes,” they said definitively, glancing down at you to catch your ponderous gaze. There was something in those eyes you couldn’t quite place, but you were intrigued nonetheless. You came to a stop in front of a small pond, surrounded by beautiful flowers and a few looming statues. Leaning toward the water’s edge, you caught a glimpse of your reflection and immediately regretted it. Your eyes were still slightly swollen and your cheeks tinged pink, though the latter could be due to your encounter with this beautiful stranger. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw them reach down to pick something up. Lowering yourself onto a nearby bench, they took a step to stand beside you, and held out a pristine white rose for you to take. You looked into their eyes with a kind smile and took it blindly from their grasp, your fingers brushing in the process. You dropped your gaze to take in its beauty before bringing the seemingly-perfect flower to your nose, its sweet scent wafting into your senses. Before you could offer your thanks, their voice was in your ear.

“Those we love are closer than we think.” You turned around to ask what they meant by that, only to find yourself completely alone, your sole company being the rose in your fingertips, its petals now black as night. 

----------

Four more visits you’d had to the cemetery with no sign of your mysterious stranger. You of course told your best friend all about them, your words falling on deaf ears. You knew she would’ve been just as invested as you were in learning more about them, and the thought brought you some much needed comfort. You wondered if you kept visiting for her, or for the chance to run into them again. It was on the fifth day that you finally saw them again, walking alone among the graves, still dressed in white from head to toe. It was a stark contrast against the green of the freshly-mown grass and darkened evening sky. As you approached your usual spot beside the rectangle of stone in the ground, their head turned to you, having already paused themselves before the grave you were headed toward. They raised their palm gracefully in greeting, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. 

“I wondered when I might see you again,” you teased, their eyes sweeping over you. You noticed a hint of nervousness taking hold at the way they looked you over, your stomach filling with butterflies. “Would you like to sit with me?” you asked, half expecting them to turn you down. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did, you normally spent this time crying your eyes out to your best friend anyway. You were pleased, however, when they lowered themselves to the ground, sitting with their legs extended beside you, one crossed over the other. It was such a simple act, yet they made it seem so regal.

“I suppose I can stay for a bit,” they replied, leaning back on their hands to watch you sit. You eased down beside them facing the grave, a solemn reminder of the reason you started coming here in the first place. Keeping your tears at bay, you looked in their direction, suddenly hesitant to meet their eyes. A question arose in you and you asked it before you could stop yourself.

“Where did you go? You disappeared on me the other day.” Their brow furrowed in thought, and you regretted being so forward immediately. You hardly knew this person, you remembered. What right did you have to know what they were up to? They answered nonetheless, apparently able to look past the prying nature of your question.

“I had some business to attend to. A few other souls were in need of guidance.” Their reply only puzzled you further, making them sound like a therapist or some kind of cult leader. They were certainly dressed like one.

“What kind of business? Can I ask what it is you do?” Their eyes took on a darker glint. Suddenly you weren’t sure that you really wanted an answer to that question.

“I am in the business of life and death... And judgment,” was their response. You leaned away to gauge their expression, now an amused one. Your eyebrows raised at their words, a million more questions flooding your thoughts. You don’t ask them, just allowed their statement to hang in the air. They had their hooks in you and you desperately wanted to know everything about them. After all, you didn’t even know their name.

After a beat, they stared off into the distance, watching the sun go down. As if able to read your mind, they volunteered, “Lucifer Morningstar. That is who I am.”

You held back a laugh, immediately discrediting their confession. “Like… the fallen angel?” Their head whipped around, anger igniting in their features. Your face fell at their seriousness. You still didn’t believe them, but something in the air around you both changed, as though suddenly charged with electricity. All of your nerves were on edge, but you had a hard time feeling anything other than adoration for this stranger who had brought you so much comfort in just the couple of times you’d met. 

“As in, the Ruler of Hell.” They swiftly rose to their feet, and you clambered up to join them. With their hands interlocked at their front, you heard a noise behind them. At that moment, the sun dropped below the horizon, blanketing the sky in deep oranges and purples. They turned as if to leave and you reached for their arm, and that’s when you saw them; a set of massive black wings with horned tips, longer than you were tall. A sharp gasp left  your throat, taken aback by them. You momentarily wondered how they kept them hidden during your last meeting. You would’ve noticed that detail before as it would’ve been hard to miss. 

“Wait! Don’t go..” The pleading nature of your words embarrassed you, but you were enamored with this being, this Lucifer Morningstar. They looked at you over their shoulder with a sly smile, satisfied that you were finally convinced of their identity. You reached out to them again, your fingers ghosting over the leathery flesh of their wings, not daring to touch them. They fluttered when your fingers got too close, recoiling from your fingertips. 

“They’re so beautiful,” you whispered without thinking, lowering your hand as they turned to face you again. You felt inferior to them, and almost considered kneeling before them when they took a step toward you. Wordlessly, they reached forward and cupped your cheeks in their hands, urging you to look up at them. Their eyes glistened in the fading daylight, a thoughtful smile on their lips.

“I have been watching you for some time, and I could no longer find the will to stay away,” you felt dizzy at their admission, a strange mix of emotion overcoming you. How long had they been observing you from afar? At that moment, you didn’t care. You felt your heart clench and your stomach fill with nervousness again as they lowered themselves to be eye-level with you. 

“So don’t,” Your eyes flicked to their lips, this perfect being laying themselves bare to you filling you with a feeling you couldn’t begin to explain. Leaning in, they captured your lips in a soft kiss, more gentle than the breeze on the day you met. When you parted, you saw something in their eyes akin to sorrow; they couldn’t stay in this realm and they knew it. “Take me with you."

They smiled at your request, placing another kiss on your forehead. “Are you prepared to enter the gates of Hell?” The question caught you off guard, almost certain they wouldn’t consider for a moment letting you join them in their dominion. You only nodded in reply, thoroughly prepared to part from this realm if it meant being by their side. Taking your hand, they lead you from your place in the cemetery, and you hoped you would be seeing your best friend much sooner than you’d hoped.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Wolff/Sekemoto

Leighton's last journey 2 - (very long Part) Note at the End

When you're young, you can get to the place you want to visit relatively quickly. But Morgana took into account that Yumi needed a little longer to walk to the cemetery. That's why she stopped every few meters and looked behind her to make sure that the old lady could follow her.

The path was no longer flat in some places, it went a little uphill, over a few hills. It was a great effort for the old woman. “It's not far now, Yumi, I can already see the wall of the cemetery. Do you think you can still make it?“/”h-hh, I won't let such rough terrain stop me to give my son his final rest”. Yumi had to take a short break and take a deep breath.

Morgana looked at her with a warm smile. “Please tell me if you're not feeling well, then we'll turn back”. Then Yumi's voice got a little louder. “No! I won't go back, I'm his mother. Morgana, I don't know when my last clear thoughts will dissolve into nothingness. I'm fine today, I don't know how I'll be tomorrow… So please” . Morgana knew how important the whole thing was for Yumi. And what she couldn't see was almost like a sign for Morgana.

“I really admire you, Yumi… And I'm…"/ ���Please, save all the other words for later, alright? I want to get this over with now…”. Yumi picked up the backpack she had set down for a moment. Even though it didn't contain much, it felt unusually heavy. But maybe it was just because an old body was carrying it. “mhm, o.k.”.

When they arrived at the cemetery together, Yumi looked around. She remembered what the cemetery had looked like before. Even though they had tried to restore everything as well as possible, the traces of the disaster were still clearly visible. Then she stopped and could already see the pretty gravesite in the distance, which had been prepared in the near of a large cherry tree…. “That… That's not marble, is it?”/ “hn… Yes it is”.

Yumi was really surprised. Because if there was one thing she loved besides her son and cherry trees, it was marble. “That can't be right, where did you get these slabs?"/ ”From the ruins of the old town hall. There were still a few intact. And I thought you and your son might like that"/ ‘Oh Morgana…I'll have to take a closer look’/ ‘I'd love to, we'll follow you…’.

The last steps to the gravesite were no longer as difficult for Yumi as the long walk here. She looked at the light-colored marble beneath her feet. It was laid out in the huge foyer of the town hall. She also looked at the lovingly arranged flowers. “Oh Leighton… what wonderful people we have around us.”

Morgana put Sam down and gave him a toy. As Yumi was about to take the urn out of her backpack, she seemed to ask herself where she should put it. Just free-standing? No, she didn't like that. Morgana knew that and pointed out to her that there was a cavity under the two slabs to the left and right of the stone where the urn could be placed. Then she fetched the tombstone from the mausoleum's vestibule and helped Yumi put it in its place. “Thank you, Morgana. Now please give me a moment”.

Morgana sat down a little apart on the stone bench and watched the little boy play. and yet she could hear a little as Yumi began to speak in her mother tongue. It was a mixture of speaking and light chanting. Her own ritual, which was probably part of her culture when a loved one was laid to rest.

At some point, Yumi's singing fell silent and all that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. But then the silence was broken by a heart-rending sob. “Why didn't you spare him? You should have taken me, why did you take my son?…” These were the words she kept screaming towards the sky. The heartbreaking words and the crying of the old woman also made Morgana cry.

But when Morgana realized that Yumi was getting more and more into it, she had to intervene. Yumi changed her posture almost every second, standing on her knees and then sitting on her calves again. It almost seemed like a hysterical fit. “Yumi…Yumi, calm down, ssh…"/ ‘h-huu, why… Why him?’/ ‘Gran'ma…’.

Of course, it was an unusual sight for Sam to see his grandmother like this. “It's all right, Sam, your grandma is fine, she's just… very sad and tired"/ ‘why sad?…’. Morgana almost had a little trouble looking the little boy in the face. “I'll explain later, okay? Will you make a circle in the sand for me with your car?"/ ‘mhm’. The little boy went back to his toy and Yumi seemed to have calmed down a little. … “Morgana…”/ “Yes, Yumi?”.

It took a moment for Yumi to find the right words. ““I'm sorry I'm such a burden to you, it shouldn't be your job to take care of me”/"don't say that, Yumi, do you hear me? You're not a burden, not to me, not to Thornton, not to anyone.” Yumi was very touched by these words and she clung to Morgana. “Sam, he needs a family…"/ ‘I know…’/ ‘I'm certainly not going to leave this world tomorrow… Or in three days, but when the time comes…’/ ‘Yumi…’/ ‘please let me speak’.

Morgana continued to hold her and listen to her. “When I'm gone, I want you to take care of him, Morgana. Can you… promise me that? He doesn't have such a deep bond with anyone else here than with you… And I probably won't even be able to pick him up at some point, I'm afraid of doing something wrong.” Yumi really thought a lot when she had her lucid moments…

Yumi looked at the gravestone for a moment and had his face clearly in her mind. “You always had a good relationship with Leighton. I'm sure he'd like that too… Please…”. Morgana stroked her shoulder and supported her with her other hand. She thought for a long time about what would become of the little boy. “Yes, I'm sure he would. All right… I promise you"/ ”thank you, Morgana. Can you please help me stand up?”.

After Morgana had helped Yumi to her feet again, she became thoughtful for a moment. “Hm… I wonder what Thornton will say?"/ ”About my request? I'm not worried about that. He's proven himself to be a good man over the past few months. Even if you two have had your difficulties in the past. He's been able to get used to what it's like to look after a child. Now you have one of your own and he's doing wonderfully.” Morgana was touched by her words, because she was right, he had changed a lot. “mhm.”

Morgana went to Sam, took him in her arms and packed up his toy again. She looked at the little boy's face for a moment and could clearly see his father's eyes in it. Then she smiled and went back to Yumi. “Oh, come here, my darling.”.

Sam looked at his grandmother. And she had that calm and friendly face again that he knew. “you o.k.?"/ ”Mhm, everything's fine, Sam. You're such a sweet, quiet child, like your father, until he became a teenager. Then he started getting into sports. I would love to see you discover life and the world. But don't worry, we'll always be with you. Morgana smiled and then checked what time it was. “Shall we go back slowly?”. Yumi looked at her and nodded. “mhm. I've told him everything I wanted to say”..

After saying goodbye to her son once more, Yumi made her way home again with her grandson in her arms. Morgana walked behind her this time, carrying the rucksack that the old woman had been carrying earlier. It seemed to have done her good to have taken this step that day. They arrived home safe and sound in the late afternoon.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover😊

Note: I don't think I have to apologize for this abundance of pictures and text. You were all warned this morning *wink*. But it was important to me to just pack everything into one post, without a break in between. (who likes to interrupt a funeral?) I could have added a little cliffhanger, of course, but I didn't feel like it.. I hope it wasn't too annoying to have to read everything 😊

[salantami]

Villa Imperiale reopens in Pompei from August 1st. The villa, so called for the splendor of its paintings, is a large residence built below walls and scenographically arranged on terraces at multiple levels degreasing towards the sea. The rooms were decorated with beautiful frescoes and geometric marble floors, of which only the trace left by the slabs on preparation remains. The Villa was built during the 1st sec. AD was destroyed by the earthquake of 62 AD; at the time of the eruption it was in the phase of dismantling. The rich house has arrangements that allow for an immersive experience in the daily life of antiquity. In fact, the cubicle, the bedroom, has been rearranged, with all its furnishings: the bed, benches, chandeliers, chanelers, tables and document drawers. The large triclinium presents the beds on which you used to eat half-drawn meals, the tables and the rich pottery, both in bronze, glass and ceramic, used for banquets. In addition, three traces previously visible at the Antiquarium will be exposed in the villa, which will close from tomorrow for extraordinary maintenance and rearrangement of some exhibition rooms.

[fascinationex]

Take 2! How is Sealstorm handling the heat in Australia when he visits with Percy?

He's a creative problem solver :)

(takes place not long after this short I think)

-----

Perceptor didn't know when the power went out. For one, it happened some time after two in the morning, when he was fast asleep. He had probably slept better after the relentless cold of the hotel room had melted away.

The first he knew about the power outage was at 6 in the morning when he opened his eyes to clean white sheets and a wide expanse of white ceiling.

His first thought was that Brainstorm was... absent. Odd, since he liked to wake Perceptor up with a suffocating reminder that he weighed at least three regular people.

His second thought was that it was strange that he wasn't freezing. Despite his best efforts on this trip, he usually woke with icecubes for toes and fingers gone terribly stiff with cold.

Preceptor blinked at the white hotel ceiling for a second. Then leaned over to pat the bedside table until his glasses materialised in his hand. His phone was next. There was an SMS, which had come through in silence at 2:31 AM: Dear valued guest, hotel management has been made aware that the electricity supply to this block is currently unavailable...

That wasn't good. Perceptor knew Brainstorm would probably be fine even if the power stayed out for a while, but his belly still did a nervous little flip about it. Getting too hot would be bad news for a polar mermaid.

Brainstorm was truly a creature of the ice and cold, well-armed with all his weight of blubber and fur to swim in waters that would kill Perceptor in minutes. But that meant that he couldn't tolerate a lot of heat. Sixteen degrees was fine, but eighteen was pushing it, and over twenty made him feel sick, which in turn made him cranky and rude.

It being high summer, their selection criteria for hotels on this trip had pretty much started and stopped at climate control. And now, evidently, the power was out.

Perceptor skimmed the rest of the message: utilities supplier working on it, management apologises for the inconvenience. Right. He turned the phone screen dark.

"Brainstorm?" He rolled out of the bed. It was a tall, luxurious hotel bed, set so high off the ground that he kind of just spilled into a standing position. He'd taken to sleeping in soft trousers and a hooded sweater, in red and black respectively, for the cold. They were warm and cosy—a little too warm now, actually. He pulled the sweater off and left it on top of the rumpled covers.

Outside the master bedroom, which was pretty much 90% enormous bed, the hotel suite was... kind of a mess. There were long snaking trails of water over the floor and furniture displaced at random. He glanced into the kitchenette and found the refrigerator and freezer units completely absent, but most of their contents spread across the benches.

"... Brainstorm?" he called, a little louder. Weirdly, the hotel room didn't sound as though the power was out. The heavily glazed windows kept most of the traffic muted outside but he could hear the dull humming of something. "Are you alright?"

"Bath tub!"

The sound of his voice was a relief. Perceptor turned towards the bathroom instead. It was, like the rest of the suite, perfectly palatial and on-trend. In this case that meant it was an awful lot of big marble slabs, and that the room came fitted with the strange, voyeuristic vibe of walls that were half clear glass.

That meant that Perceptor should have been able to see in straight away, but he couldn't: what had once been clear glass had evidently not remained so, and when he touched the surface he pulled his fingers back fast at the biting cold of it. It had become frosted the hard way, he guessed.

A mass of dark smudgy shapes were vaguely visible on the floor. One of them, he assumed, had to be Brainstorm's furred back flippers and tail.

Perceptor was more curious than worried, now. He opened the door and paused in the threshold, and although he was braced for the temperature change, it still smacked into him like a wall of frost. He was suddenly very, very awake.

It was freezing in here.

The remains of several kitchen appliances lay strewn about, cannibalised. Strange mechanical parts littered the marble floors, the exposed organs of systems he rarely contemplated right out in the open. The humming was louder than he expected. There was evidently no grid power in use. Instead, Brainstorm had rigged something with a system of wires, boxes, electrical tape and mysterious coloured fluids: crude chemical batteries, he supposed.

In the sunken tub itself, Brainstorm was half-buried beneath icy water. His long claws were delicately manipulating a length of copper wire that Perceptor felt probably did not belong around so much moisture.

He rolled around when Perceptor came in, turning so he could prop his spined elbow on the lip of the tub and rest his chin upon his hand.

"Percy! Good morning," he crowed, letting the wire tumble from his off-hand casually. His attention was suddenly laser-focused on Perceptor. Heady. "Come inside, you're letting all the cool out."

Perceptor looked at the machinery. His toes already hated him, but he took a step inside the bathroom and closed the door.

"This looks..." Advanced. Dangerous. Necessary, perhaps. Also, very much like an inappropriate use of hotel property. "... creative," Perceptor suggested, instead of any of those things.

"What, this old thing?" Brainstorm crooned, picking up a chunk of ice, examining it and letting it splash back into the water. "I'm a creative problem solver. Also, it started getting really hot at about three am and I had to put my unmatched genius to the task. Are you coming over here?"

Perceptor eyed the icy water in the tub. It was very, very cold in here. At some point, there had been a bath mat, which might have insulated his toes a little—but it was basically a block of ice, so he assumed that had gotten soaked at some point before the... unmatched genius situation... had unfolded in here.

He took another step closer to the tub. One of Brainstorm's damp hands wrapped around his ankle. His claws were as cold as steel in winter and the chill bit straight into Perceptor's skin.

"I won't be able to stay in here for too long," he cautioned, hoping to manage Brainstorm's expectations. He knew Brainstorm loved to brag about his successful inventions, but Perceptor might have to listen from the other side of the glass.

"That's a shame. That looks interesting." Brainstorm nodded at Perceptor's chest, where his nipples had beaded up tightly, obvious under his tee-shirt. He pressed his thumb gently into the big muscle of Perceptor's calf. Beneath the sting of the cold, it felt nice.

Perceptor hummed. "Freezing is less sexually interesting to me than you may imagine."

Brainstorm let his ankle go, rolling his yellow eyes extravagantly.

"I've heard," he said, sounding perilously close to whining. "Believe me, I've heard."

Perceptor's teeth were starting to chatter. He leaned down just enough to smooth his hand over the cold bone of Brainstorm's helm. "It's very impressive. I'm glad you're not overheating."

"Of course! I'm just that good." Brainstorm beamed "Let me know when they get the electricity on again?"

"Certainly." And that was about all Perceptor could manage, barefoot in this cold. He shut the bathroom door behind him, feeling the warmth of the rest of the hotel suite hit him like a wall. He shivered all over and his glasses fogged at the edges.

At least that meant Brainstorm was still taken care of. Perceptor headed into the carnage of the kitchenette to make his depredations on the steadily warming contents of the fridge. It would go too waste, otherwise.

Probably, he should be more concerned about who was going to take care of the bill for damages to an absurdly expensive hotel room. Brainstorm seemed unlikely. The university, possibly. Insurance, maybe. Wasn't the tourism department sponsoring part of this trip...?

Perceptor deftly avoided the spilled water on his way back to bed with his breakfast.

[srebrnafh]

The girl is sitting on a bus stop bench when he approaches. She doesn't look up - or rather, she glances, but never meets his eyes.

Ah.

"May I sit?"

She nods, still watching the ground intently.

He hates silence, but the battery in his phone is nearly dead, so he can't listen to the music. And everything around them is deadly silent.

"Do you... do you know when the bus could be coming?"

She cocks her head to one side.

"Anytime in the next fifteen minutes, I suppose. They are always a little late, or a little early."

"Ah. So you... you know... I mean..."

"I've been on this bus stop often enough, yes."

"Ah."

It's not a place people visit that late - not if they can avoid it. After all, the old cemetery is not exactly the height of entertainment for anyone in town.

"Your... Your folks down here?"

She licks her lips - nervously?

"My grandma," she says finally. "And... well, others."

He nods, slowly.

"My parents. And my brother," he explains. "They preferred this spot to the new one by the church. Something about the atmosphere of the place. What do they care for atmosphere though? And I... Sorry, I'm rambling."

She shakes her head. Soft curls are slow to drop back in place. She is shivering - a bit. Even though it's such a warm evening.

"It's better to hear someone," she says suddenly. "I mean, rather than sit here and wait. It's so... away."

"It is. That's why I'm here so late, went to clean up the graves somewhat. The anniversary was yesterday, but I couldn't get our of the office early enough..." he trails off, but she nods again.

"I'd rather be near people," she whispers. "It is so weird being out here. I can't... I always hated coming here. When I was a kid."

"Family grave then?"

She nods with a grimace.

"A big one," she gestures. Her hands are so slight they might as well be translucent. "A lot of marble to clean."

"One of these huge statement ones?"

"Our family is so rich we can waste a slab of marble for a grave," she mumbles. "Yes, that kind of thing."

"They told you to help?"

"Not really. Even told me to never try to come here by myself, actually. But then, I never would, unless I had to. When I came... I had to stop believing she was still alive."

"Ah, I see..."

She sighs, heavily, so heavily for such a thin pair of shoulders.

"I... when I was small, I always though she just got lost. I believed it for months and months. Until they took me here and made me read the inscription," she whispered. "They made me finally believe Nana was gone, and not just... forgot where the house was."

"That's a cruel thing to do to a child, but then, if you kept hoping, it might have turned into a delusion... Maybe they were afraid you'd start..."

He bites his lip. What is he doing, playing a psychoanalyst with a girl who apparently can't cope with grief too well? How old is she, twenty? Twenty one? Not that much younger than him, probably, but seems to be as frail as an alabaster-cut flower decorating some of the biggest, most decorative gravestones.

"Having visions? Yeah, that's what the doctors said. Told them to prove to me that Nana was dead and that I'd be "cured" of the delusion... In the end they managed to just stop me staring everyone in the face. They said I made people uncomfortable in the streets. But I was just looking for Nana. Just in case..." she trails off and wipes her cheek. "I never stopped looking for her. Just... just in case."

A car whips by them. The girl curls in on herself.

"And now you don't look at anyone? At all?"

She shrugs, the tip of her worn shoe digging into the dirt.

"I know it doesn't make sense, now," she says finally. Her throat must be so tight, she's so quiet.

"You know she's dead, now."

She nods, slowly.

Swallows.

"But, you know, I hoped, even if they didn't understand that with Nana, that they would be looking for me," she says, her voice like dry leaves moving with the wind. "Because it seems... I feel I'm lost and can't remember how to get home anymore, you see. But they never come here. They just never do."

[hanayanaa]

mmmmm drools last day of the year and i slept 15 hours because i had a cool dream...... well cool is not the right word probably but it was weird af and detailed af also (SUPER LONG AND CONVOLUTED there's like my splatoon agents and then also clownpiece gets involved for some reason and a lot of people die)

it was like. i don't remember all the details but rosie and ame were in this hotel together (al was simply not there) and bla bla normal vacation more or less except like people in this town were very touchy and had 0 sense of boundaries so they'd literally talk to u as if they'd known u forever when in fact they didn't know ur name at all

there was like this big building that was a giant slab of glittery raw marble and the top half had this pool and ame and rosie and some other random people they were friends with my brain invented went in and they just gave out free food in the middle of the pool. there was a bunch of people there but they managed to grab two slices of pizza

ermmm anyway this is where it gets fucked up bc rosie was alone in the hotel room and someone just barged in and started harassing them so they FUCKING JUMP OUT THE WINDOW and they're like fucking dead. and the dude is still up there like omg are u dead. Omg she's dead. Hey are you dead. Lol jumping like that you're definitely dead

anyway ame is like obviously fucking heartbroken and she leaves the hotel and has to drag rosies body back home with her on public transport 😭 and the trains were really weird and the station was not safe at all because there wasn't any railing or anything and it wasn't obvious when the train was urs cuz sometimes they'd drive right next to the platform and you're like oh it's my train and u step down but then it just goes and makes a turn and u almost get run over

also again people in this place had 0 sense of boundaries so ame was also getting harassed by random white women like one of them decided she was best friends with her and was determined to sit next to ame and Ames like No Go Away

like homegirl was insane she was like oh.... all the single seats are taken..... looks like you're gonna have to sit on the bench with meeeee :3

but ame wasn't having that bullshit she just went into swim mode and somehow managed to smash Rosie's corpse into swim mode also and just hid under the nasty ass train seats until she could manage to escape to the top level which she did eventually

anyway the area was nice af for the most part there was this one stop where the shops and stuff were all sanrio fairy kei sweet lolita esque designs like the entire area was like that, ame almost wanted to get off early to see but she had her dead girlfriend in her arms so....

the area she actually got off at was called like avenue oklahoma or something but it was actually this fancy victorian - 1920s fashion district. anyway ame's base/house was this highly secure underground area and she needed to use her fingerprint and eye to access it, it was like a vending machine that would open to this other door, which would then open to the elevator that goes down to the lab

anyway i don't really remember what happens next besides she cried a lot and cryogenically froze rosies body so she could revive her later somehow

Anyway this is where it gets even weirder because clownpiece and junko get involved somehow????????clownpiece is also at the hotel and she's being tasked with solving the mystery of who killed rosie i think and she also has to blend into human society which is fine for her but she's really mad that she can't fly since her wings are hidden. she hates stairs and thinks they're stupid and she also hates walking

she was stuck in the elevator for a while because it moved sideways as well and it was super large and people were obnoxious and dumb and they'd like being entire plates of food in or wear giant ballgowns and poor pipis' room was on the 7th floor out of 8 so she was stuck there while everyone came in and was all over her and each other

ummm the next part is a little blurry but i remember her leaving the hotel and getting chased by someone and she breaks protocol and spreads her wings and starts flying and shooting danmaku but she could also use her torch to turn into different touhous I remember she turned into sakuya and yuyuko among others, she did that to throw the guy off

forgot the next part but now she's in texas for some reason and there's a group of people i don't remember and junko is there and they're just walking casually through this big street and keep in mind clownpiece hates walking so she's a little grumpy

There's this other kid she's talking with I don't remember who but for some reason i wanna say it was Rosie ?????????? idfk this dream already makes 0 sense

anyway i remember they went into a park and rosie sticks their hand thru this hole in a bridge and just pulls out a fish and clownpiece was like "man if wakasagihime was here she'd be so fucking mad at you" and Rosie giggles like "yeah.... ripley (??????? @/energywarning's agent 3 oc) would also be really mad if she was here....." and then they start crying for some reason because I guess Ripley was also dead idfk

Rosie was like "if only i had a jar with me, id keep this fish. id treat it better than i ever treated ripley (???????????????????????)" and then they toss the fish back into the river with a sigh

and then the two kids toddle back to junko and the other adults and I think they were gonna go to yuyuko to beg her to revive Somebody which a) i don't think she can do b) i don't even know whos even dead at this point

Anyway and then I woke up bc it's fucking 8pm now and i took 30 minutes to recall and write all of this down

[chaneldoesglass]

Furnace – The source of heat used to melt and heat glass to workable temperatures. Modern glass furnaces are usually gas powered, and heat to around 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.

Annealer – An oven used for annealing, which is the process of slowly cooling and hardening glass after it has been worked by an artist. Glass will crack if it cools too quickly, so an annealer is used to prevent this.

Bench – The work station that a glassblower works on, usually with arms that support the blowpipe while the artist rolls it.

Block – A wooden, spoon-shaped tool used to shape hot glass.

Blow pipe – A hollow metal pipe with a mouthpiece on one end and a built up area on the other end where the molten glass sits. It is used to blow air into molten glass.

Glory hole – The opening of the furnace used to keep the glass hot so it is soft and workable during the glassmaking process.

Jacks – A tool that looks like a large pair of tweezers, used to manipulate hot glass. Jacks come in many different sizes, for different types of glass working.

Marver – A metal table used for adding color and shaping hot glass on a blowpipe. In the past marvers were made from marble slabs, which is where the name comes from.

Paddles – Wooden tools used to flatten sections of glass, such as the bottom of a piece of the glass art where it will stand.

Punty – A metal rod which is tipped with a small gather of hot glass. When a glass piece has been blown to is approximate size, and the work on the bottom of the piece is finished, the punty is attached to the bottom, to hold it while the artist finished working on the top.

Probe - A metal probe used to poke holes in glass, makes small bubbles and more.

[bosphorus-dinner-cruise-istanbul]

Exploring the Tradition of Turkish Baths: Istanbul’s Hamams

Istanbul is a city where East meets West, a place steeped in culture, history, and tradition. Among its many offerings, one of the most unique and cherished experiences is visiting a traditional Turkish bath, or hamam. These centuries-old establishments offer a glimpse into Ottoman culture and a relaxing, rejuvenating experience that combines cleanliness with community.

In this article, we’ll dive into the history of hamams, the experience of visiting one, and some of the best hamams in Istanbul for both locals and visitors.

The History of Turkish Baths

The origins of the Turkish bath can be traced back to the Roman Empire. The Romans were known for their elaborate public bathhouses, which served not only as places for cleaning but also for socializing, relaxing, and conducting business. When the Ottomans conquered Byzantium (now Istanbul) in the 15th century, they adopted the Roman tradition of baths but adapted them to suit Islamic principles and local customs.

In Ottoman society, cleanliness was considered a religious obligation, and the hamam played an essential role in daily life. It wasn’t just a place to bathe; it was a communal gathering space, particularly for women. People would spend hours at the bath, catching up with friends, celebrating special occasions like weddings, or simply enjoying a break from the rigors of daily life.

Hamams were often built near mosques or marketplaces, and they became an integral part of the urban fabric. Istanbul, as the capital of the Ottoman Empire, was home to some of the most luxurious and architecturally stunning hamams. Today, many of these bathhouses still exist, continuing to offer the same age-old rituals.

What to Expect During a Hamam Experience

For first-time visitors, the idea of going to a hamam might feel a bit intimidating. However, once you understand the process, it’s easy to relax and enjoy the experience. Here’s a step-by-step guide to what you can expect.

1. Arrival and Changing Room

When you enter a hamam, you’ll be greeted by attendants who will show you to a changing room. Most hamams provide a pestemal (a traditional checkered cloth), which you’ll wrap around your body. You’ll also be given a pair of wooden clogs called nalın to wear inside the bath. In some hamams, there are private cubicles where you can leave your belongings, while in others, lockers are provided.

2. The Warm Room (Tepidarium)

Once you’re dressed in your pestemal, you’ll be led to the warm room, known as the tepidarium. This room is mildly heated, allowing your body to acclimate to the temperature. You can sit or lie on the warm marble benches, which help to relax your muscles in preparation for the scrubbing and bathing ritual that follows.

3. The Hot Room (Hararet)

After a short stay in the tepidarium, you’ll be taken to the main area of the hamam, known as the hararet or the hot room. This is where the magic happens. The room is heated by a central stone slab, called the göbek taşı, which radiates warmth from beneath. You’ll lie on this stone, sweating out impurities while attendants prepare to scrub and wash you.

The hararet can feel quite steamy and intense, especially for those not used to high heat. However, the warmth is incredibly soothing, and the experience becomes more enjoyable as your body adjusts.

4. Scrubbing and Soap Massage

The most iconic part of the hamam experience is the scrubbing (kese) and soap massage. An attendant, usually of the same gender, will use a rough mitt to exfoliate your skin, removing dead cells and leaving your skin smooth and refreshed. This is followed by a luxurious soap massage, where you’ll be covered in foam made from olive oil soap.

The scrubbing can feel intense at first, but it’s all part of the deep-cleansing process. Many people describe feeling lighter and more relaxed afterward.

5. Rinsing and Cooling Down

After the scrubbing and massage, you’ll be rinsed with warm water to wash away the soap. Some hamams have basins filled with cool water that you can use to splash yourself and help lower your body temperature. Once the main part of the bathing is done, you’ll be led to a cooler room where you can relax and gradually cool down.

6. Relaxation and Tea

After your bath, it’s traditional to sit and relax in the cooling room. Many hamams offer complimentary Turkish tea or water. This is your time to rest, rehydrate, and enjoy the tranquil surroundings. Some people opt to book additional services, such as oil massages, which can extend the relaxation even further.

Top Hamams to Visit in Istanbul

Istanbul is home to many historic hamams, each offering its own unique charm and experience. Here are a few of the most notable ones:

1. Ayasofya Hurrem Sultan Hamamı

Located between the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, this 16th-century hamam was commissioned by Hurrem Sultan, the wife of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. It’s one of the most famous hamams in the city, known for its elegant design and luxurious treatments. The interior features beautiful marble and intricate tile work, making it a feast for the eyes as well as the body.

2. Cemberlitas Hamami

This historic hamam, built by the famous Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan in 1584, is located near the Grand Bazaar. Cemberlitas Hamami is one of the oldest in the city, and its spacious, domed interior offers a classic Ottoman experience. The atmosphere here is both authentic and comfortable, with a range of treatments for different budgets.

3. Cagaloglu Hamami

Dating back to 1741, Cagaloglu Hamami is one of the last hamams built during the Ottoman period. It has a grand and opulent design, with ornate marble floors, fountains, and decorative arches. The hamam was even featured in the New York Times bestseller “1,000 Places to See Before You Die.” Over the years, it has hosted many famous figures, from Kaiser Wilhelm II to celebrities like Cameron Diaz.

4. Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamamı

This hamam, located in the Karakoy district, was also designed by Mimar Sinan. It was built in 1580 for the sailors of the Ottoman navy. The hamam has been meticulously restored and now offers a luxurious, yet traditional, experience. With its modern amenities and stunning architecture, it’s a favorite among tourists and locals alike.

Why You Should Experience a Hamam

A visit to a hamam is more than just a bath—it’s an immersion in centuries of culture and tradition. For many, it’s a chance to step away from the bustle of modern life and reconnect with a slower, more mindful way of living. The combination of warmth, water, and scrubbing offers not only physical cleansing but also mental relaxation.

Whether you’re in Istanbul for a short visit or a longer stay, experiencing a Turkish bath is a must. The city’s hamams offer something for everyone, from affordable, no-frills options to luxurious, spa-like environments.

Conclusion

Istanbul’s hamams are a testament to the city’s rich history and cultural diversity. They serve as a reminder that, even in our fast-paced world, there is value in taking time to care for our bodies and minds. So next time you’re in Istanbul, be sure to take a few hours to visit one of these beautiful bathhouses—you’ll leave feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and connected to a long-standing tradition.

[interiordesigner4321]

Designing Luxurious Bathrooms with Karst Galleria's Stone Products.

Creating a luxurious bathroom is about more than just aesthetics; it’s about crafting a serene oasis where functionality meets elegance. With Karst Galleria's exquisite range of marble, granite, and tiles, you can transform your bathroom into a sanctuary of style and comfort. Here’s how to design a luxurious bathroom using our premium stone products.

1. Choosing the Right Stone

The foundation of a luxurious bathroom starts with selecting the right materials. Karst Galleria offers various stones that can elevate your design:

Marble: Known for its timeless beauty, marble is an excellent choice for countertops, floors, and wall accents. Opt for classic white Carrara or dramatic black marble for an upscale look.

Granite: Durable and available in a wide range of colors and patterns, granite countertops can withstand moisture and heat, making them perfect for bathrooms.

Onyx: For a truly unique and luxurious feel, consider onyx for vanities or wall panels. Its translucent qualities can create stunning backlit features.

2. Statement Vanities

A beautifully designed vanity can be a focal point in your bathroom:

Custom Marble Vanities: Use Karst Galleria's marble to create a custom vanity that complements your overall design theme. Pair it with elegant fixtures for added sophistication.

Granite Countertops: Choose a bold granite slab that contrasts with lighter cabinetry. The unique patterns in the granite can serve as a stunning visual centerpiece.

3. Luxurious Flooring Options

The right flooring can enhance the luxury of your bathroom:

Marble Flooring: Install large-format marble tiles for a seamless look that exudes elegance.

Heated Floors: Incorporating heated flooring beneath natural stone tiles not only adds comfort but also enhances the luxurious feel of the space.

4. Elegant Shower Design

Designing a luxurious shower can elevate your bathing experience:

Walk-In Showers: Create a spacious walk-in shower using large marble or granite tiles. Consider adding a bench made from the same stone for continuity and comfort.

Rainfall Showerheads: Enhance the luxury with rainfall showerheads and body jets that provide a spa-like experience.

5. Beautiful Bathtubs

A stunning bathtub can serve as a centerpiece in a luxurious bathroom:

Freestanding Stone Bathtubs: Choose a freestanding bathtub made from solid stone for a dramatic effect. Surround it with marble or granite for a cohesive look.

Soaking Tubs: For ultimate relaxation, select a soaking tub in a rich natural stone finish that invites long, indulgent baths.

6. Stylish Accent Walls

Create visual interest and drama with stone accent walls:

Marble or Granite Feature Walls: Use large slabs of marble or granite to create a feature wall behind the vanity or bathtub.

Textured Tiles: Consider textured stone tiles for a unique touch. The play of light and shadow can add dimension to the bathroom’s design.

7. Finishing Touches

Details matter when creating a luxurious atmosphere:

High-End Fixtures: Pair your stone products with high-quality faucets, showerheads, and cabinet hardware in finishes like gold or polished nickel for a sophisticated touch.

Natural Light: Incorporate windows or skylights to bring in natural light, highlighting the beauty of the stone while creating a bright and airy atmosphere.

Accessories and Décor: Add plush towels, stylish rugs, and carefully chosen accessories to complete the luxurious look.

Conclusion

Designing a luxurious bathroom with Karst Galleria's stone products is about embracing the beauty and durability of natural stone while creating a space that reflects your personal style. From elegant vanities and stunning flooring to statement bathtubs and stylish accent walls, our products offer endless possibilities for creating your dream bathroom. Let Karst Galleria help you turn your bathroom into a serene retreat that combines elegance, comfort, and functionality.

[witchhouseonsalem]

The Story of the Lot on Salem

The first step in building the house ended up being finding somewhere to put it. I had feelers out for about a year after I made the decision to move home once I was in a good professional place to do it. When I’d been back visiting my parents for a holiday, I had even met with a local real estate agent about new lots in the area.

They sort of sucked. Not the lots themselves; those seemed very nice! The land was in a good location, but the neighborhood that was going up had a lot of restrictions. No mailboxes on the property, only a set amount of earth-tones were permitted for siding, and somehow, despite all the custom housing going up in the area, all the houses sort of looked the same. I have nothing against the greige-minimalism-focused-on-resale home, but if I wanted to live in one I would still be renting. And the sheer number of restrictions for a community that hadn’t even been built yet just felt wrong. Where was the embrace of creativity or oddity? Where were the real works of self-expression in house form?

Not there.

The lot I have came as a happy accident, though, and because I met with that real estate agent. Because even though what she showed me first did not jive well with what I was hoping to do, she kept me in mind. And then, out of nowhere, The Lot came up.

The Lot was actually the expansive back yard of an eccentric local figure with a lot of money and a passion for Victorian homes and capes. When he and his beloved cape collection finally passed on, he donated his home and his block-long back yard to a local organization for their use. The home was a huge help to them, but the yard was a lot of maintenance. So after consideration they decided to lop off the back 2/3 of the property and sell it as one of the first in-town lots to exist in decades.

And that real estate agent remembered me. She reached out. This lot was not only perfect (and lacking all those pesky style restrictions), but it was about $100,000 cheaper than any of the previous lots I was shown. I jumped on it. I got the money together and I got the lot, a year ahead of even moving home. It happened very fast, unexpectedly so. One week I was hoping that something would happen, and the next week it had.

And I had the Lot on Salem. Not only the lot, but I got everything that had existed on that lot, which included marble slab paving and a crumbling marble table, an outdoor oven now crumbling away into component parts, a really pretty metal bench that needs a lot of TLC

a (probably concrete?) Statue of Artemis, several small doric columns, and a listing, dry-rotting gazebo with the prettiest light fixture. The local organization has proposed moving the gazebo onto their side of the property, but still hasn’t actually done it. If they move the gazebo, they get to keep the light fixture. But if they don’t move it, that light fixture is my future front porch light, because that thing is incredible.

So that’s the story on how the Lot on Salem ended up practically falling into my lap, with a combination of great timing, a considerate real estate agent, and a lot of luck.