#provincial silk

[admk-sarees]

[xtruss]

Archaeology: How Asia’s First Nomadic Empire Broke the Rules of Imperial Expansion

Ancient China’s mobile neighbors built an empire that’s attracting scientific scrutiny

Xiongnu Herders in what’s now Mongolia, portrayed in this painting, followed their own rules in building a multiethnic empire and advancing iron-making technology starting around 2,200 years ago, new studies indicate. Flickr (CC0 1.0)

— By Bruce Bower | July 2, 2023

In an age that spawned the ancient Roman and Egyptian Empires, Mongolia’s Xiongnu Empire broke the rules of imperial expansion.

Long before the Mongol Empire arose, Asia’s first nomadic empire, horse-riding Xiongnu people, conquered ethnic groups across the continent’s northeastern and central expanses (SN: 1/29/10). A common political system headed by Xiongnu imperial rulers formed about 209 B.C. and lasted for roughly 300 years. Unlike in Rome or Egypt, mobile groups of Xiongnu animal herders accomplished this feat without building cities, forming central bureaucracies, devising a writing system or mobilizing masses of farmers to produce food.

Today, remnants of Xiongnu culture largely consist of more than 7,000 tombs, some heavily looted and many yet to be excavated, in Mongolia and nearby parts of China and Russia. In the last decade, geneticists and archaeologists have ramped up efforts to study these sites and ancient records to decipher the Xiongnu Empire’s political organization and technological achievements.

Starting from a heartland in what’s now central Mongolia, the Xiongnu Empire (brown) spread across a large part of northern Asia, taking hold around 2,200 years ago. Naturalearthdata.Com/Wikipedia (CC0 1.0)

A few ancient Chinese chronicles include descriptions of the Xiongnu political system. These accounts portray the Xiongnu as predatory raiders who belonged to a “simple” confederation of herding groups run by a few nomadic alpha males. Even so, warfare with mounted Xiongnu warriors equipped with bows, arrows and metal weapons had inspired Imperial Chinese leaders to construct their Great Wall.

Some researchers have argued that Xiongnu people formed a lesser, “shadow empire” alongside Imperial China. But that view is giving way to a picture of the Xiongnu Empire as a different, not lesser, type of ancient state, says Yale University archaeologist William Honeychurch.

In this view, nomadic Xiongnu elites developed a flexible system of political power that connected mobile groups with different genetic and cultural ancestries spread across extensive grasslands and forests. “Elite lineages were not only an important part of a multiethnic Xiongnu state, but members of these lineages were sent to peripheral areas as part of state integration,” Honeychurch says. One new study, for example, indicates that Xiongnu women from elite lineages in central Mongolia served as “princess” emissaries to the empire’s frontier, assuming political power in distant territories populated by various ethnic groups.

“This must have been an empire organized around moving populations,” says archaeologist Bryan Miller of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. “Xiongnu elites were savvy politicians who delegated power to keep the empire together.”

In another recent development, excavations in Central Mongolia point to Xiongnu people as early ironworking innovators whose advances spread to their regional neighbors. These discoveries, and others, highlight the unappreciated complexity and the ongoing mystery of how Xiongnu society worked, researchers say.

The Xiongnu Dispatched Frontier ‘Princesses’

Initial insights into the Xiongnu people’s diverse genetic origins were first published in 2020. DNA extracted from remains of 60 individuals excavated at 27 Xiongnu sites indicated that two genetically distinct populations of Mongolian herders had coalesced to become the Xiongnu people around 2,200 years ago. One population descended from several western Mongolian cultures and the other from a couple of eastern Mongolian cultures.

Additional genetic contributions to the Xiongnu mix then came from farther away, most likely a culture near present-day Ukraine as well as Imperial China, reported archaeogeneticist Choongwon Jeong of Seoul National University in South Korea and colleagues.

Building on those findings, Jeong’s team then examined DNA of 17 individuals from elite and low-status graves at two Mongolian cemeteries on the Xiongnu Empire’s western frontier. Central Mongolia’s Xiongnu heartland lay around 1,200 kilometers to the east.

The six largest and richest tombs contained women whose genetic ancestry traced back to central Mongolia, the scientists reported in April in Science Advances. These women rested in wooden coffins placed in square tombs. Items found in these tombs included gold sun and moon emblems of Xiongnu imperial power, glass beads, silk clothes and Chinese mirrors.

Gold Sun and Moon Emblems of Imperial Xiongnu power were found among other elite items in a woman’s tomb on the western edge of the ancient nomadic empire. DNA evidence indicates the woman was related to ruling families in the empire’s Mongolian heartland. © J. Bayarsaikhan

One woman was buried with horse-riding equipment, a gilded iron belt clasp and a Chinese lacquer cup. These objects have previously been found in graves of male horse-mounted warriors. But such items signal that a deceased person had been powerful, not necessarily a warrior, says Miller, a study coauthor.

Miller and his colleagues suggest that the women had been sent to the frontier to maintain Xiongnu traditions and nurture contacts with Silk Road trade networks (SN: 3/8/17). Preliminary signs of genetic relatedness among individuals interred at one of the cemeteries suggest that some elite Xiongnu “princesses” also cemented power by marrying into local families.

The elite women’s graves were flanked by simple graves of adult men, and of girls and boys ranging from babies to adolescents. These commoners possessed greater genetic diversity than the female big shots. If the men were retainers or servants of female elites, they had come from distant parts of the Xiongnu Empire or possibly beyond, the researchers say.

Male Rulers Were Homebody ‘Princes’

Like these female elites, premier Xiongnu rulers had common roots in central Mongolia while their followers had diverse geographic origins, another team reports in the June Archaeological Research in Asia. But rather than being sent to the far reaches of the empire, these rulers stayed close to home.

Three male nobles interred in large underground tombs at one of the largest Xiongnu cemeteries, Gol Mod 2, spent most or possibly all their lives in the Khanuy Valley where they were buried, say archaeologist Ligang Zhou of Henan Provincial Institute of Cultural Heritage and Archaeology in Zhengzhou, China and colleagues.

Meanwhile, at least four of eight individuals buried in some of the many small satellite graves situated near the nobles’ tombs had spent much of their lives in distant places before settling in or near the Khanuy Valley, measurements of different forms of the element strontium in individuals’ teeth and bones indicate. Diet-related strontium signatures, which vary from one region to another, signal where a person spent early and later parts of their lives.

The identities of those in satellite graves, who were apparently killed to form entourages of followers that accompanied deceased nobles, are unclear. They include children and adults, Zhou says. Some were buried with metal weapons or luxury objects such as jewelry.

Genetic and strontium findings suggest that “Xiongnu political organization in central and western Mongolia was highly similar,” Zhou says. Then, as the empire expanded, rulers in the Xiongnu heartland sent select members of their extended families, such as high-ranking women, to new territories in order to replicate the imperial power structure.

Seen from above, a Xiongnu noble’s tomb, left, lies near a set of small tombs that contained his followers to the afterlife. Xiao Ren, Henan Provincial Institute of Culture Heritage an Archaeology

Iron Innovations Bolstered the Xiongnu Empire

From the start, Xiongnu imperial power depended on a ready supply of iron weapons and other gear that enabled horse-mounted warfare. Researchers who view the Xiongnu Empire as a faint version of Imperial China argue that the nomads’ power depended on importing crops and borrowing iron-making techniques, or simply trading for iron products, from the Chinese.

But new findings suggest that Central Mongolian metallurgists launched a regional boom in iron production around the time the Xiongnu Empire originated, says archaeologist Ursula Brosseder of the University of Bonn in Germany.

At a riverbank site, Brosseder and colleagues have excavated five iron smelting installations that contain by-products of iron making and burned wood. Radiocarbon dates of that material extend to as early as around 2,200 years ago, when the Xiongnu Empire arose.

That makes these finds, each of which consists of two pits connected by a tunnel, the oldest Xiongnu iron smelting kilns by at least 100 years, the researchers reported in March in Asian Archaeology.

Earlier research had established that people living just north of Xiongnu territory in southern Siberia started producing iron as early as around 2,800 years ago. Based on comparisons of finds in the two regions, Xiongnu metallurgists not only learned about iron making from their neighbors but also invented tunnel furnaces, the investigators say. Eastern Asian groups outside the Xiongnu sphere began making and using tunnel furnaces over the next couple of centuries.

Discoveries by Brosseder’s group “show that metallurgy reached the Xiongnu in Mongolia from southern Siberia, not China,” says archaeologist Nikolay Kradin, director of the Institute of History, Archaeology and Ethnology at the Far-Eastern Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Vladivostok. Craftspeople at several iron-making centers, some slightly younger than Brosseder’s discoveries and others yet to be found, must have managed that technological transition, hypothesizes Kradin, who did not participate in the new research.

Brosseder suspects the Mongolian site she’s studied hosted a major iron-making operation. Four iron-making furnaces excavated near the other five have not yet been dated. And ground-based remote sensing equipment has revealed signs of at least 15, and possibly 26, more iron smelting kilns still covered by sediment.

“We can expect more findings of Xiongnu iron smelting centers considering the demand for iron horse gear, arrowheads, carts and other material by the empire’s large army,” Brosseder says.

No reliable estimates exist for the size of that army, or for the overall number of Xiongnu people, says Michigan’s Miller. Xiongnu herders, who also occasionally cultivated a grain called millet, moved across the landscape in relatively small groups that must have been greatly outnumbered by Imperial China’s estimated 60 million citizens.

The Capital Was a Seasonal Seat of Power

In the same valley where Brosseder’s group discovered the oldest known Xiongnu iron smelting kilns, Mongolian researchers have uncovered remains of what was probably a Xiongnu political center, or perhaps even its capital, called Longcheng in 2020. Consistent with everything else about the Xiongnu Empire, “this was a capital of a different kind,” says Miller.

Longcheng excavations so far have focused on a large building that may have hosted important gatherings.

Roof tiles on that structure bear an inscription in ancient Chinese characters that reads “Son of Heaven Chanyu.” Chinese records refer to the supreme Xiongnu ruler as “chanyu.” That royal inscription, the only one found within the Xiongnu realm, identifies Longcheng as a seat of power, Miller says.

Rather than a permanent site, Longcheng, like several excavated Xiongnu villages and walled compounds in central Mongolia, served as a seasonal stopover or temporary meeting place, Miller suspects (SN: 11/15/17). “We don’t know if those other sites were separate political capitals for the Xiongnu,” he says. Top Xiongnu honchos gathered for part of the year at Longcheng before packing up and moving elsewhere, he speculates. Xiongnu herders, regardless of political status, navigated animals to seasonal grazing spots. Staying in one place throughout the year was not an option.

Having a flexible, mobile system of rule appears to have kept the nomadic realm rolling for a few hundred years before the Xiongnu Empire rapidly disintegrated about 1,900 years ago. Why it did so is an enduring mystery. Perhaps the empire succumbed to combined attacks by Imperial China and other groups or, in true nomadic fashion, Xiongnu people reorganized on a smaller scale and moved to safer areas.

Still, “the Xiongnu had created a massive imperial network in Asia,” Miller says. “Their ways of life didn’t go away overnight.” For instance, Xiongnu-mediated trading by groups situated along Central Asia’s Silk Road routes continued despite military defeats in the empire’s central Mongolian heartland. Only further archaeological and genetic discoveries can clarify how Xiongnu people in the imperial core responded to those setbacks.

Whatever happened, Asia’s first nomadic empire can likely be counted on for a few more surprises.

— Science New, July 02, 2023, By Bruce Bower

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: female reader, obsessive thoughts, nsfw, dub - con (reader is intoxicated), hinted stealthing

I'm thinking about a sweet, shy boyfriend who slowly but surely grows insecure, paranoid and jealous.

At first he's everything you've ever wanted - you're his first girlfriend and he does everything in his power to make you feel loved and appreciated.

As time passes, this doesn't change - he's still treating you like a goddess. But you are both different people now. You mature and you change, you blossom into a more radiant version of yourself. You finally get your dream job. As you gain more experience and wisdom, you begin to realize you want more from life than the small provincial town you've spent your whole life in.

In the beginning he supports you fully - he wants to see you happy after all. But then you start coming home later and later, looking more tired than the day before. Your friend circle broadens, and you spend more and more time outside of your shared home. Before the man knows it, it's Friday evening again and he's passively staring at you while you fix your makeup and adjust the tight dress (his favourite), ready to go to yet another networking event - for the third time this week.

You kiss his cheek, telling him not to wait up, just like that - no sweet words, no reasurrings or tempting promises, nothing he can cling onto in the darkness of your empty bedroom. Your perfume still lingers in the heavy air, making him light - headed. He can't stand it anymore - he buries his face in your pillow, savoring your smell, then he wraps the soft plush around his throbbing length and just thrusts, pathetic broken moans muffled by his own hand. He thinks about your smile and your eyes and the way you say his name and--

Fuck, now your pillow is all dirty again. Your boyfriend can't remember the last time he got to touch you directly. Recently you're always too tired or stressed out when you come back home, and though he's been respectful of your wishes, he's just so pent up at this point - all his dreams consist of you in compromising positions covered in silk and lace and nothing else. Just thinking about it gets him hard all over again.

So this night when you come home drunk and needy, climbing over his lap, he doesn't bulge - doesn't push you off. He doesn't like your new life - having to share you with all those people who don't deserve you, having to stay aside and watch as you give yourself away to people who couldn't care less. He's the one who cares about you so much he's going crazy every second you're apart. He's your real family, he's the only one that should matter to you.

And that night as he fucks you raw for the first time in forever, his cock stretching your velvety walls beyond reason, your blissed out moans and cute little cries tell him exactly what he wants to hear. You're finally letting go, finally allowing yourself to feel safe and protected in his arms. This is your home, this is where you belong. Your body is calling out to him to take control - and he intends to do just that.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Late Warring States period(475–221 BC) Traditional Clothing Hanfu Based On Based On Chu (state)Historical Artifacts

【Historical Artifact Reference】:

Late Warring States period(475–221 BC)：Two conjoined jade dancers unearthed from Jincun, Luoyang,collected by Freer Museum of Art

A similar jade dancer was also unearthed from the tomb of Haihunhou, the richest royal family member in the Han Dynasty, and was one of his treasures.

Warring States period, Eastern Zhou dynasty, 475-221 BCE,jade dancer by Freer Gallery of Art Collection.

Warring States period(475–221 BC)·Silver Head Figurine Bronze Lamp.Unearthed from the Wangcuo Tomb in Zhongshan state during the Warring States Period and collected by the Hebei Provincial Institute of Cultural Relics and Archaeology

The figurine of a man dressed as a woman holds a snake in his hand, and 3 snakes correspond to 3 lamps.

Sword of Goujian/越王勾践剑:

The Sword of Goujian (Chinese: 越王勾践剑; pinyin: Yuèwáng Gōujiàn jiàn) is a tin bronze sword, renowned for its unusual sharpness, intricate design and resistance to tarnish rarely seen in artifacts of similar age. The sword is generally attributed to Goujian, one of the last kings of Yue during the Spring and Autumn period.

In 1965, the sword was found in an ancient tomb in Hubei. It is currently in the possession of the Hubei Provincial Museum.

【Histoty Note】Late Warring States Period·Noble Women Fashion

The attire of noblewomen in the late Warring States period, as reconstructed in this collection, is based on a comprehensive examination of garments and textiles unearthed from the Chu Tomb No. 1 at Mashan, Jiangling, as well as other artifacts from the same period.

During the late Warring States period, both noble men and women favored wearing robes that were connected from top to bottom. These garments were predominantly made of gauze, silk, brocade, and satin, with silk edging. From the Chu Tomb No. 1 at Mashan, there were discoveries of robes entirely embroidered or embroidered fragments. The embroidery technique employed was known as "locked stitches," which gave the patterns a three-dimensional, lively appearance, rich in decoration.

The two reconstructed robes in this collection consist of an inner robe made of plain silk with striped silk edging, and an outer robe made of brocade, embroidered with phoenixes and floral patterns, with embroidered satin edging. Following the structural design of clothing found in the Mashan Chu Tomb, rectangular fabric pieces were inserted at the junction of the main body, sleeves, and lower garment of the robe. Additionally, an overlap was made at the front of the main body and the lower garment to enlarge the internal space for better wrapping around the body curves. Furthermore, the waistline of the lower garment was not horizontal but inclined upward at an angle, allowing the lower hem to naturally overlap, forming an "enter" shape, facilitating movement.

The layered edging of the collars and sleeves of both inner and outer robes creates a sense of rhythm, with the two types of brocade patterns complementing each other, resulting in a harmonious effect. Apart from the robes, a wide brocade belt was worn around the waist, fastened with jade buckle hooks, and adorned with jade pendants, presenting an elegant and noble figure.

The reconstructed hairstyle draws inspiration from artifacts such as the jade dancer from the late Warring States period unearthed at the Marquis of Haihun Tomb in Nanchang, and the jade dancer from the Warring States period unearthed at Jin Village in Luoyang. It features a fan-shaped voluminous hairdo on the crown, with curled hair falling on both sides, and braided hair gathered at the back. The Book of Songs, "Xiao Ya: Duren Shi," vividly depicts the flowing curls of noblewomen during that period. Their images of curly-haired figures in long robes were also depicted in jade artifacts and other relics, becoming emblematic artistic representations.

The maturity and richness of clothing art in the late Warring States period were unparalleled in contemporary world civilizations, far beyond imagination. It witnessed the transition of Chinese civilization into the Middle Ages. The creatively styled garments and intricate fabric patterns from the Warring States period carry the unique essence, mysterious imagination, and ultimate romanticism of that era, serving as an endless source of artistic inspiration.

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Recreation Work by : @裝束复原

Weibo 🔗：https://weibo.com/1656910125/O6cUMBa1j

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[whencyclopedia]

The Journeys of Paul the Apostle

The journeys of Paul the Apostle, as the New Testament relates in the Book of Acts, started with his conversion experience on the way to Damascus, after which instead of seeking to thwart the growing Christian movement, he helped spread it. His four journeys by land and sea across great lengths of the Mediterranean and over vast expanses of land in Asia and Europe totaled over an estimated 16,000 km (10,000 mi).

The Journeys of Paul the Apostle, c. 55 CE

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

Paul's First Missionary Journey

After persecution in Jerusalem, Antioch was one of the places to which Christians fled, and it was from there Paul began his first missionary journey. Annexed by Pompey the Great in 64 CE and made the Roman provincial capital of Syria, with an estimated population of 250,000, Antioch was one of the primary cities of the East, along with Alexandria and Constantinople. Located at the northeast end of the Mediterranean on the Persian Royal Road, Antioch benefited from its location at the end of the Silk Road and its proximity to Greece, Anatolia, and Italy. As Hughs and Jones mention, not only was "its wealth derived from being a center of civil, military, and later ecclesiastical administration of much of the Near East but also from its position on the commercial road from Asia to the Mediterranean" (103).

Besides its own wine and olive oil production and as a center for the fulling of cloth products, silk from China, lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, dye-works from the Levant, and weaved silk from Damascus could all have found their way through Antioch for distribution throughout the northern Mediterranean areas. As it lay on the Orontes River and at the edge of a fertile plain, Antioch communicated commercially with the harbor of Seleucia 26 km (16 mi) downstream on the Mediterranean. As common travelers in ancient times hitched their rides on merchant vessels, the water portion of Paul's trip was aboard a cargo ship performing trade transactions. Thus, it was at Seleucia that Paul boarded a cargo ship to the province of Asia, stopping at the island of Cyprus.

Cyprus, with a prominent location at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, was also known for its wine and olive oil production. A scenario for trade would have been a combination of Eastern goods loaded alongside refined and agricultural products accumulated at Antioch. Then, with a stop at Cyprus for partial distribution, Cyprus' products would have been added for final distribution in Asia.

With fellow evangelist Barnabas and Barnabas' nephew, John Mark, Paul first landed at Salamis on the eastern end of Cyprus after leaving the port city of Seleucia and sailing west toward Asia. Like with many of his subsequent stops, Paul first visited the local synagogue, attempting a conversion of the Jews to Christianity. From Salamis, heading west, walking nearly the length of Cyprus, Paul and Barnabas came to Paphos, their point of departure for Asia. At Paphos, the proconsul Sergius Paulus would become a convert.

Paul the Apostle's First Missionary Journey (c. 46-48 CE)

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

Heading to Asia from Cyprus, Paul's ship stopped at Perga in Pamphylia, in southwestern Turkey today. From Perga, John Mark departed for Jerusalem as Paul and Barnabas pressed on into Asia. At their first stop in Antioch of Pisidia, at the synagogue, Paul preached the history of Israel as he weaved in the story of John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth, said to be a descendant of David, as the resurrected Savior, son of God. Though Paul and Barnabas initially gained Jewish and Gentile converts, a faction of opposing Jews expelled them from the city.

At Iconium, with similarly mixed results on learning of a plot to kill them, Paul went on to Lystra. As many in Lystra were worshipers of gods and their idols, Paul preached they should turn from worshiping "things" to worshiping the "living God" (Acts 14:15). When some hostile Jews came from Antioch and Iconium and won the crowd over, both groups stoned Paul. Thinking he was dead, they dragged Paul to the outskirts of the city. When some brethren came to retrieve the body, remarkably Paul had recovered and went back into town. The next day, Paul traveled east for Derbe. With his mission ending on a more positive note, large numbers rallied at Derbe to Paul's message. Deciding to head home, retracing their steps through Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch, after appointing elders in each church, the apostles went on to Perga; then, after preaching there a bit, they boarded a ship for a short junket west to the port city of Attallia, then from there they sailed back to Seleucia, then traveled up along the Orontes to Antioch.

Continue reading...

[justarandomlambblog]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 [END]

The second shackle comes off

Get adopted and feel loved, mangey cat

We're gonna pretend I didn't give Heket the wrong shaped crown aight? aught 👍

(explanation beneath the cut bc I didn't want dialogue)

The harvest comes. Narinder can't help but notice how sad the wheat fields are, the wheat growing small and patchy at best. He remembers how Heket would make the wheat fields flourish just by walking between the stalks. The memory of the fields she would create early in their godhood makes him feel somber, realizing now what the cost of being a godless land is; their entire lives are left to the limitations of the earth, without any god to help them thrive. These people are making the best of what they have, and they're happy even though it's not a lot.

Narinder notices some are harvesting wheat while others till the earth once it's been harvested, and the old dog explains that once this wheat is harvested they plant "winter wheat", which can be harvested in the spring before they plant their summer wheat. They till and fertilize the earth before planting the winter wheat, of course. Narinder tries his hand at harvesting the wheat, and the old dog begins to teach him how to use the sickle. Time passes.

Over the late summer, autumn and winter, Narinder learns how to live this provincial, modest life. He tills the fields with the other villagers, he sees feral beasts for the first time in over a thousand years, learns to collect eggs from said feral beasts, learns how and decides he doesn't like to collect milk (the godless lands have more feral beasts than the Lands of the Old Faith ever did), has finally regained enough strength to draw water from the village well without help, learns to bake bread (with great amounts of help so as to not waste the precious resources with the inevitable first fifty failures), and attends his first lantern festival. All in all, this marks his approach to his second year here, most of his first year spent indoors recovering. (His fur is also getting long, something something new me new hair something (totally not an excuse for me to draw hair))

At his first lantern festival, Narinder decides to partake in what is usually a coming of age tradition for the village; he gets an ear piercing, choosing a symbol that will essentially act as his written name. He chooses a symbol that is a crescent moon inside of a sun, thinking of Aym and Baal when he sees it. (Note: He is not scared/nervous about the ear piercing, he isn't bothered by a literal pinprick of pain, but the fact that someone he barely knows is this close with a needle is what worries him)

Later on, days or even weeks later, the old dog gives him a chain with their individual symbols on it, with a loose chain hanging from the other side of Narinder's sun-and-moon charm. Narinder questions this and the old dog explains the symbolism behind the charms; two charms with a chain extending between them indicates marriage/partnership, and two charms with another charm on the chain between them indicates that couple's child/children. The one Narinder has is the latter, with the second parent's charm missing, indicating that the old dog views Narinder as his own son, now. It takes a moment, but Narinder realizes all at once that this is the old dog's way of extending an invitation to become family- and it's been so long since Narinder had a family... (And yes, the old dog is fully aware that this cat is thousands of years old (Narinder was very vocal about this in the first weeks before he eventually stopped bringing it up), but that won't stop him from deciding he's gonna be this abandoned, fallen god's new family)

Narinder goes to sleep, and finds that despite everything- despite how simple and quaint and, frankly, not easy life in this little godless village is, he's happy. He has none of the luxuries that he had as a Bishop; no worship, no reverence, no servants, no silks or satins or veils or anything of the sort. Here he's just... one of the people. Just another face in the crowd. And he's happy. Happier than he's been in a long time. Unfortunately for Narinder, he is failing to realize that this godless village is a little less godless every day he's there. But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The village wakes up to their fields flourishing like they never have before. The wheat is taller than the tallest villager, and no one is really sure what to do about this, but there is excitement throughout the village. Narinder thinks of Heket again, reminded once more how she would make the fields come alive. The shackle on his left hand opens up before dispersing into light, and he remembers the way she looked at him in the days leading up to his imprisonment, the quiet and somber warnings she would give him. He takes a moment to grieve before turning his attention back to the present, back to the family he's creating now.

[uwmspeccoll]

Staff Pick of the Week

I was in the stacks pulling another book when the title of this little book caught my eye—Old Loopy: A Love Letter for Chicago was written by American journalist, essayist, poet, and novelist Christopher Morley (1890-1957) and published in 1935 by The Argus Book Shop, Inc. in Chicago, IL. Morley was a New York man himself, but had a soft spot for the windy city, writing on the first page of the book that even "Here, in my own supreme hometown, I had a yen for old Loopy."

The book is very much a love letter to Chicago as is noted in the title, and Morley truly just waxes poetic about the city for 17 pages. On page 7 he opines:

"It is not my wish nor ability to offer a philosophic essay on Chicago. I simply want to tell her I love her. She is one of the few big towns that can be loved as an integer; a subtle unity holds her together, makes her apprehensible. It is partly her essentially provincial spirit; the deep inferiority complex which is so valuable to the artist, goading him to excess, both achievement and despair; and it is partly some underlying vein of rank vitality. The wild onion for which she was named (most Chicagoans have forgotten this) is an accurate symbol. An exquisite garlic of paradox is still discernible in her doings."

Half flattery and half slight, Morley continues, saying "Her curiosity is enormous, but it is social rather than intellectual" and that "In her bewildering charm intellect plays little part." He also compares the Loop to a noose, calls Chicago "unruly at heart" and "more than a little goofy," and finishes by decreeing that "She spikes the small beer of living with the pure alcohol of the impossible." Well, at least a little bit of that sounds good... I think.

Old Loopy contains ten photographs of Chicago by American photographer Guy Ederheimer, Jr. It also has a delightful bookplate from the library of we-don't-know-whom that features a man of many intellectual pursuits being interrupted by death. We wish we could see the whole thing, but unfortunately this book used to be in the circulating collection and has a library pocket glued over the bookplate. The cover is what I believe to be silk, with diagonal lines and diamond shapes visible when you move it as seen here.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

first day as a small-town provincial chancellor! new year, new me! haha really learned from my previous experience. i am NOT going ditch town in the middle of my term and wander the countryside as a wanted fugitive! this time, if a corrupt inspector comes asking for bribes, i'm just gonna report him like a normal person. i will NOT drag him into the street and flog him in front of a cheering crowd, no matter how much that uppity bastard had it coming. gotta be the bigger man here. also, blood is so hard to get out of hand-painted silk and the new laundry lady scares me :/

update: wow, this place is so poor and run-down and there's bandits everywhere. really reminds me of home. not much happened today, I mostly did some on-boarding for my new staff and played a bunch of icebreakers. during lunch, i had everyone sit together and eat out of the same pot. some of the high-ranking men got pissy about sitting on the same level as their subordinates, but i pointed out that i used to be a mat weaver, so if their new chancellor could make mats for a living, they could damn well learn to sit together on one.

second day as a small-town provincial chancellor and i spent the day meeting my constituents. man, i feel stupid for being nervous, these guys are actually chill as and even though they were all landed gentry of wealth and status, none of them were bothered by the fact i was just a simple military man who couldn't read or write so good. in fact, my new friend Mr Liu is sending me a secretary tomorrow! what a legend!

third day as a small-town provincial chancellor and ngl my new secretary kinda sucks. the poor guy was SO nervous he barely even talked to me and kept making spelling mistakes, so now there's bamboo shavings everywhere. i decided to invited him home for dinner to show him there's no hard feelings and im just a regular bloke. i thought it was going pretty well, but halfway through the meal, he suddenly throws down the chopsticks, falls to his knees, and confesses that he isn't a actually a secretary. he was an assassin who was sent by Mr Liu to kill me, but he couldn't bring himself to do it because i was so nice to him. and then he just??? gets up and leaves???? and i was like '...ok thanks man, good to know' because how the everloving fuck do you respond to something like that???? what the actual fuck????

update: it's past midnight and i am honestly so fucking upset right now. i can't believe Mr Liu would do this to me. i have a BIG council meeting tomorrow, who the FUCK is going to help me take notes now???????

[opera-ghosts]

Tenor Tom Burke as Mario singing an aria from Act II Puccini's opera 'Tosca'.

How pit lad Thomas Burke, ‘The Lancashire Caruso’, conquered the world but died in obscurity.

By Alan Whittaker

Few people today have heard of the tenor known as the Lancashire Caruso. But at his peak Tom Burke enthralled discerning opera audiences at La Scala in Milan and New York’s Met.

Although he was comparatively unknown in Britain, Dame Nellie Melba, one of the era’s great divas and a woman of formidable authority, heard him sing in Italy and insisted he appear as Rodolfo opposite her in a 1919 production of La Boheme at Covent Garden – a performance that earned him four encores at the end of Act One.

‘At last an English tenor with a voice of pure Italian flavour,’ enthused one critic.

Away from the opera circuit his lyrical voice and vibrant personality endeared him to packed provincial theatres in Britain who delighted in his repertoire of sentimental Irish songs and popular Edwardian drawing-room ballads such as The Minstrel Boy, Killarney, The Mountains of Mourne, Roses of Picardy, Mary, Because, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, and You Are My Heart’s Delight. He was billed as The Minstrel Boy.

Tom’s career was as dramatic and turbulent as any opera storyline, and in the space of 20 tumultuous years he enjoyed wealth, fame and the favours of many beautiful women, only to sink into penniless obscurity as a barman in a golf club.

Tom’s early recordings are now rarities; crackling, scratchy remnants of the Celluloid Age of cylinders – as distant as the Jurassic Age from modern recording studios with their sophisticated electronic gadgetry.

But there is no mistaking the quality of the voice first heard at the coal face of a colliery entertaining fellow miners; the feeble yellow glow of helmet lamps for footlights and a huddled audience of intensely respectful coal-streaked faces sipping cold tea from tin cups, a mile underground and four miles from the pit shaft.

It was a voice that years later, when Burke was an international celebrity, intrigued King George V, not the most mentally athletic or artistically inclined monarch in Europe. After seeing Burke perform the King decided he would like to meet the singer. It was a command, not a request.

Tom’s response was not the most courteous or diplomatic. “Tell the old bugger to wait,” he told the hapless royal emissary.

It was a stupid throw-away gesture but typical of Burke who carried an invisible coal wagon of smouldering contempt and loathing for the wealthy toffs from privileged backgrounds who seemed to control the destinies of working class people without ever working or making any contribution to society or caring about the plight of poor families.

It was an attitude carved into his character from bitter childhood memories. Tom was born in 1890 and brought up in the Lancashire pit town of Leigh, the eldest of nine children of an impoverished Irish miner. Like so many of his generation, memories of his childhood, often in relentless poverty, left an indelible scar that refused to heal. Bread and margarine as a meal, no milk for a pot of tea, slum housing in Mather Lane, four children in one bed, scavenging for coal on slag heaps during the pit strikes, the queue of disconsolate decent people at the charity soup kitchen and the sight of his mother Mary patching piles of second hand clothes by candlelight. Even in ‘good times’ meat was a luxury reserved for Sunday lunch.

It was a scandalous scenario all too familiar to hundreds of poor families but light years from Sandringham or Balmoral.

As a small boy, Tom acquired a love of singing from his father, Vince, who would sit him on his knee and sing Irish lullabies. He left school aged 12 and after a year working FULL TIME in a silk mill, he became a coal miner, joined Leigh Brass Band and learned to play the cornet. But singing was his greatest pleasure.

Vince and Mary were loving parents and with two wages now coming in decided to buy a second-hand piano. Mary pawned her precious sewing machine to help pay the weekly instalments.

It was a four-mile walk from the pit head to Mather Lane and by chance a music teacher heard Tom singing as he made his way home with a group of fellow miners. He liked what he heard and was instrumental in sending the 17-year-old to a singing teacher in nearby Atherton, who suggested Tom should enrol at Manchester College of Music.

To raise the tuition fees, Tom sold tripe in pubs, entertained customers by singing, and worked as a waiter. When he was 19 he walked from Leigh to Blackpool to hear the world-renowned tenor Enrico Caruso sing at the Winter Gardens. It was a wearying round hike of some 60 miles but it inspired young Burke to dream of becoming a professional singer.

He auditioned for the Halle Choir but was rejected by the musical director as ‘too ordinary’. The orchestra’s conductor thought differently and arranged for Tom to sing for London impresario Hugo Gorelitz, who was in Manchester searching for talented vocalists. He reckoned the raw young lad from Lancashire showed promise and after an audition Tom was given a contract, told to enrol at the Royal Academy of Music in London, and pay his fees by singing at various venues selected by Gorelitz. His voice coach was Edgardo Levi and he persuaded his friend Caruso, who had popped into the Academy for a chat, to listen to his pupil.

Whether Caruso was genuinely impressed or merely humouring an old friend is not clear but over a warm hand clasp he told the wide-eyed Burke: “One day you will wear my mantle, but first you must go to Italy. There you will find your voice.”

Burke took his advice and headed for Italy with his young wife Marie, who came from a well-to-do show business family. In Milan he learned the language, lost his flat Lancashire dialect, sang in several opera houses and once stepped in as a substitute for Gigli, the world famous tenor.

The Great War of 1914-18 saw Tom back in London and ready for military service but the Army authorities decided he would be far better employed entertaining the troops than slogging it out in the infantry.

Following his appearance opposite Melba at Covent Garden he made 14 records for Columbia and during the next decade became the toast of London society.

He appeared at Covent Garden in 1920, with Beecham conducting, and the composer Giacomo Puccini, who heard him at rehearsal, was so impressed he insisted Tom be given roles in two more of his operas. It seemed as though the world was at his feet for that same year he was offered £400 a performance – the highest offer ever made to a British singer – to appear in America. He and Marie set sail for New York.

Then the wheels came off. His agent had advertised him in the States as ‘Ireland’s greatest ever tenor’ – not the smartest publicity stunt when John McCormack was around, delighting packed theatres, and proving the nostalgic voice of Home to every Irish exile in America. It was the equivalent of attempting to pass off George Formby as the new Elvis.

The critics were unanimous and venomous. “John McCormack can sleep easily,” wrote one. There were concerts in small theatres but the £400 a night flow dried up and Marie, an accomplished singer, returned to England to raise cash. She appeared in the London stage production of Showboat with the incomparable Paul Robeson. But Tom’s philandering had strained the marriage and they were divorced.

Left to his wayward ways, Tom regularly made the headlines with his drinking and womanising. There had to be questions about his judgement. Would any sensible person pick a quarrel over a pretty girl with Jack Dempsey, the undisputed ex-world heavyweight boxing champion who was known as the Manassa Mauler? Or cross a Mafia boss in a dispute involving another woman; an altercation that left Burke in hospital with a gunshot wound and a compelling urge to get out of town?

A surprise offer to return to Britain with an engagement at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall with John Barbirolli conducting was gratefully seized. He couldn’t quit America too soon and left the next day leaving a pile of debt.

Back home he visited Leigh where he was given a rapturous welcome by the adoring mining community that spawned him, but London and the bright lights beckoned. He sang to a packed Albert Hall and toured the country enchanting provincial theatre-goers. It seemed The Minstrel Boy was back in business; his American experience an unfortunate hiccup. He could afford a flat in the West End, a Rolls-Royce and a butler.

But the self-destructive streak was never far from the surface. He quarrelled with Barbirolli, agents and impresarios, and even slated the people who queued at Covent Garden to hear him perform. “They are not music lovers,” he sneered. “They go to opera because it’s the thing to do, rather like appearing at Royal Ascot. Just showing off.”

His philandering lifestyle – revolving around booze, broken promises, and attractive women – made him unreliable and on many occasions he failed to turn up for singing engagements. As a result he was shunned by agents and theatre managers and earned nothing for a year. He was an outcast.

Worse was to follow. He lost £100,000 – an enormous amount at the time – in the Wall Street Crash and in 1932 was bankrupt. By 1934 he was renting a tiny threadbare room; a washed-up, disgruntled has-been. The man who had taken Covent Garden by storm became a bookies’ runner, steward at a golf club, and a waiter.

He tried running a club in Leigh but a police raid and charges of illegal drinking forced its closure and Tom moved to Sutton, Surrey, where in 1969 he died aged 78.

A selection of the recordings he made during the 1930s with film of him entertaining soldiers wounded in the Great War can be found on YouTube including Puccini’s soaring Nessun Dorma, a rigorous test for even the most talented tenor. Tom’s version would have pleased the composer.

He is buried in the cemetery at Wallington, Surrey, and the inscription on his headstone reads: ‘Never have I heard my music so beautifully sung’- Puccini.

The glitzy, costumed world of grand opera may no longer remember the Minstrel Boy but for some time after his death a group of admirers in workaday Leigh would meet occasionally to play his records and, over a few beers, talk with pride about the local lad who became The Minstrel Boy and the Lancashire Caruso.

[tony-veis]

15 questions for 15 mutuals

Thank you for marking me, I enjoyed reading all the answers to this list so much!   @kestrelteens​ @kayleigh-83​

Are you named after anyone?  My parents only called me that because it wasn't a popular name in the 90s

When was the last time you cried?  In February, when my friend left. In fact, I cry very rarely because I have problems with experiencing deep emotions. When I really cried, it was probably February\March of last year. For obvious reasons.

Do you have kids?  No, but I'd like to one day. I feel too young to have children yet

Do you use sarcasm a lot?  Not very. Usually it annoys me if I think that the interlocutor is saying something stupid and then I use sarcasm. Otherwise, I rather prefer to talk directly about my irritability.

What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Clothing and accessories. One day when I was approaching the place of the date, I thought, "Oh my God, I hope it's not him in that ugly hat"

Eye colour?  I just found out it's called Hazel. Most of my friends think that I have brown eyes, but in fact it's just dark green. I myself thought for a long time that I had brown eyes, until I found out that this was impossible for genetic reasons in biology class. Lol.

Scary movies or happy endings?  In fact, I really don't like horror movies, as I am extremely nervous, but paradoxically I like Stephen King horror books, I also like to watch reviews of scary games, and at one time I also read a lot of SCP. And some of my favorites are La Favorite and Spencer. But I also like TV series, for example, Sexual Education, The Handmaid's Tale, Euphoria And a lot of animated series

Any special talents?  I can push my shoulder out of the joint and move my eye asymmetrically (but this is very dangerous because it occurs due to excessive blood pressure in the eyes and head). Also, I'm never late even if I'm late. For some reason, it always happens that I come before everyone else.

Where were you born?  Russia, in a small provincial town of Samara. (A million and a half is a small town?) This city used to be a pirate bay, then a fortress, then a merchant hub on the Silk Road, and therefore the city center is located near the Volga River and a beautiful long beach is a 5-minute walk away. Sometimes I think it looks like Miami, but with beautiful wooden architecture of the XIX century

What are your hobbies?  My hobby is art and it encompasses too many areas ranging from crafts and Craft and Art, and ending with the study of the latest fields of art. My professional activity is contemporary art, but I also draw, knit, embroider, sculpt, 3D model and much more. Now I'm finishing sewing another blanket, until recently I completely made my room, I redid some furniture, I really like to change spaces. I also like baking and now I have my own garden and I love messing with plants so much! But I don't perceive it as gardening, for me it's performative practices. And of course I really love sims and now I play sims 4 too much. A very important addition, I completely forgot to write about the TAROT. I started studying tarot since Halloween, but in general I have always been engaged in magical practices

Do you have any pets?  No, I like to communicate with animals and I've always wanted to get a cat, but now I understand that this is a very big responsibility

How tall are you?  182 cm, quite tall and thin

Fave subject in school?  I never liked school, but I liked Social Studies, Biology, World Culture and Art. At the university it was Art History, Psychology and Painting

Dream job?  Don't work. I burned out a lot after working at the museum and could not start a new job for 5 months. I would just like to please you with Sims content and get enough money for a living from it. Now I work remotely and I am most comfortable that now I can wake up, take a laptop and, lying in bed, perform work tasks without communicating with people. Sometimes I feel so bad that it turned out to be the optimal format for me, so as not to overexert myself. I would like to tag all the English-speaking bloggers I subscribe to, so feel free to tag me. @lowedeus @greatcheesecakepersona @jellymeduza @alexbgd @lamare-sims 

[hunting-songs]

DISNEY PRINCESS AESTHETICS Bold what applies. Italicize what sometimes applies.Repost don’t Reblog. 

i. SNOW WHITE.  a cottage in the woods. humming while they clean. trusting too easily. wishing wells. lips as red as blood. seeing monsters in the shadows. the smell of freshly baked pies. blood red apples. childlike innocence. birds chirping. seeing the good. building friendships. laughter in the garden. getting lost in the woods. laughter among friends. 

ii. CINDERELLA. clock striking midnight. dancing in the moonlight. delicate heels. grand entrances. pumpkins. high-ceilinged ballrooms. courage. kindness. sweet smiles. soap bubbles. satin gloves. lavender blue. crystal chandeliers. grace under pressure. running down the stairs. losing their shoes. dramatic confessions. rags to riches. strength through humiliation. dreaming of freedom. 

iii. AURORA. soft kisses. grace and beauty. true love’s kiss. seraphic song. romance. flowers in their hair. spinning wheels. long naps. rose petals. fairies. a dreamer. dancing barefoot. collecting berries. jewel eyes. love at first sight. soft femininity. the sound of rain against a windowpane. befriending forest animals. the prick of thorns. secret meetings. falling in love with strangers. 

iv. ARIEL. collecting seashells. saltwater. the ocean breeze. defiance. carriage rides. sun kissed skin. waves splashing at your heels. adding to their collections. fish out of water. losing their voice. stumbling on their own two feet. the youngest child. restless tides. chasing their dreams. secrets coming out. sacrificing everything for the one they love. the sea breeze ruffling their hair. 

v. BELLE. head stuck in a book. a stolen rose. seeing the beauty in all things. horseback riding. dreaming of more. provincial towns. grand ballrooms. adventure. inventive mind. freshly baked bread. warm eyes. pressing flowers between book pages. shakespeare’s sonnets. powder blue ribbons. loose tendrils framing your face. chipped teacups. sunny cafes. the rustle of pages. breathless pleas for more time. 

vi. JASMINE. sneaking out. disguises. magic carpet rides. kisses on the balcony. midnight strolls. rich fabrics on skin. silk flowers. taking a leap of faith. basking in the sunlight. lounging felines. the ache of loneliness. magic carpet rides. releasing doves. travelling the world. golden palaces. sapphires. lavish celebrations. expensive tastes. living a life of privilege.

[hanayori89]

A Dangerous Game

Your POV

You could feel your diaphragm contract uncomfortably. Link chose to give everyone a brief interlude. You weren't sure why Link called the momentary break, regardless you were grateful. The smothering tension between you both was enough to lay rest to a Stalchild. It was detrimental at this point. You weren't sure you could survive it much longer. Also, you found your nagging insecurities returning. Why would Link choose you? Out of every beautiful and capable woman in Hyrule or outside its parameters; why you?

"I can't hide in this bathroom forever." The stinging sensation of tears threatened to return. You stared at your reflection in the mirror. "Goddesses, if I cry-I'll surely be a poor sight with all this make up muddled on my face."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't." A gentle voice glided past you, making you aware of the second reflection in the mirror. Princess Zelda's eloquent presence stood, gazing back at you. Her eyes met yours in the mirror. A glib statement escaped her peony pout. "It seems Link seeks you at this time." 

"I'll be right out," you stammered at her reflection. You were instantly aware of how provincial your dialect was compared to that of her highness. She showed no instigation of moving from where she stood. She studied your reflection in the mirror, rather passively. An observation came forth from her then. "You seem troubled. Why, I don't recall my face replicating yours even when Ganondorf captured me. A sacred union with your true love should not make you look this way. Marriage is a celebration, unless..." a glimmer of sorrow broke through her regality, "Unless you are me." You turned to meet the princess face to face. Why was she being raw with you?

Something about the princess made you want to bare your insecurities that plagued you from within. She was as regal and poised as the next noble, but in that moment, she was as you were. A human burdened with the unknown possibilities the future could bring. A human who just wanted to be loved. "Princess, I..." you were unsure where to begin.

"Zelda. I will not have the wife of the hero of legend venerate me. I am venerated enough." The same impression of sorrow returning to her face once more. "Why do you hide from Link? Do you doubt your union? Do you fear he shall be called to bear arms against the forces of evil once more?"

"All of those things. I just..." you felt silly divulging this to Zelda. She was tall and curved with muscle to defend her kingdom. Her hair was a long, blonde shawl of silk down her back. Her royal jewels on her neck seemed to be lost to the brilliance that was her face. Her eyes shimmered like aquamarines against the pearly flesh of her taut cheeks. The goddesses most definitely smiled upon her. Until you remembered the sadness on her face when she spoke of love. 

"Why would Link choose me? He could have chosen anyone. I mean, just look at you princess." This made Zelda's impregnable seriousness falter and she began to laugh. 

"Oh Hylia, forgive me. For I always think of duty. I suppose before duty, we are women, aren't we? She gave her chin a soft caress and then cupped it in thought. "May I share with you a story? I feel it would lay rest to your worries. " You nodded, still amazed the princess was asking for your permission to speak. 

"When Link defeated the beast that was dwelling inside the Water temple-"

"Morpha." You beamed at her. She smiled gently, "Yes, Morpha. You have heard this story, I take it? Bear in mind during this part of Link's journey I was under the alias of Shiek." She gave you a quick glance to make sure you were following along. You recalled Link mentioning the mysterious 'Shiek.' You also recalled your surprise when he revealed that 'Shiek' was none other than Zelda under some form of magic. Staring at her up close and personal, you surmised she was just as beautiful as a man. 

"Link and I stood and watched as the water level slowly rose. Lake Hylia would begin its transformation to its previous state of lush riverbends and waterfalls. The Zora people would be set free to return to their domain. It was at this point when I knew that the goddesses made no mistake in choosing Link as the hero. I disappeared on him, as I often did to protect my identity. I remember watching him from high above one of the trees. He looked out beyond the lake. A look of stark yearning took over him then. He spoke to Navi about how he missed home. I felt guilty recognizing that he too was plunged into an unforgiving destiny. I assumed 'home' was the Kokiri woods from which he came. I was mistaken. Home was you. " 

You gulped, cupping your hands over your mouth in response. You were trying to process the enormity of what the princess had just imparted. You had always wondered why Link returned after each temple to visit. All this time, he had been yearning for you the same way you were yearning for him. 

Zelda pressed on," It was during Ganon's fight that the master sword was knocked from his grip. He never looked more the hero than he did that day. He stood at the mercy of a cruel fate but the only thing he could manage to say was, 'tell Y/N-that I love her. I always have'."  Zelda looked slightly emotional at the memory. "I used my magic and managed to hold Ganon down. Allowing Link to defeat him with the master sword, thus sealing him away. I wanted to send Link back to his time, for he was cheated out of seven years of his life after all. He refused my offer. He had gotten so close to you, going back in time would be a precarious move. He thought it would mess up the flow of how your relationship had formed. What if in the new timeline, you didn't grow as close? What if somehow, it messed up what he dreamed of... being with you. So, I honored his wish, making him equal age, mentally and physically. However, choosing to stay in this timeline means those seven years are forever lost. Link didn't care. He got to be with you the way he wanted. Seven years of his life was worth that to him."

Your hands remained cupped over your mouth. You attempted to hide the uncontrollable shaking of your lips. It proved fruitless. Tears spilled freely down your eyes. Zelda continued, "I can't think of a man in the history of Hyrule who would do for love what Link has done. Trust me, for I have read every piece of Hylian literature to confirm this statement. Sometimes I wish, I could know love this way. I also understand that love takes many forms. For me, it is the love of my kingdom. The love of my people. Now-" Zelda grabbed a handkerchief from inside a compartment in her dress, dabbing at your eyes with it. "You must go to him. For if I must be bestowed this heavy duty to my kingdom- then so it is you have been bestowed a heavy love for the Hero of Time."

In that moment, all you wanted was to collapse into Link's arms. You walked out of the bathroom with your head held high. You turned to Zelda, remembering the sadness that had loomed in her eyes. "Zelda, thank you. Not just for this but, for the sacrifices you have made. The fate you've accepted from the goddesses."

She gave you a simple, dismissive nod. You knew that the raw Zelda you just met had been stowed away for another time.  With that, you ran as fast as your heels would take you. The love of your life was waiting for you. There was no longer room for your self- doubt to infringe itself upon you. 

Link POV

Link stood uneasily behind his mask of confidence on stage. He wondered if he had come on too strong. Had he scared you away? Perhaps being married to him and this consistent attention would grow tiresome. Then there was the idea he could be thrust into another face off with evil at any given time. Maybe he wasn't worth the trouble. 

Was he even sure Y/N felt the same? Wasn't she flirting with him? When she hungrily whispered into his ear, rendering him weak. The way she furiously blushed at him. Didn't she feel the same?

He thought of all the love she poured into him over the years. She cared for him without ever asking for something in return. Even now she came to this competition on his behalf. Wasn't it out of love? An image of him holding you in his arms in the graveyard came to his mind. The way your smile graced your lips as he held you, whirling you around. Suddenly all the people faded away. Link felt like he had in Lake Hylia. He could remember missing you with such a fervor. He remembered wishing he could drown the longing he felt at the depths of the lake. He remembered just wanting to hold you.

A hush befell the crowd as a symphony of soft instruments began to surround the stage. Just as the desperation threatened to swallow him whole, you walked onto the stage. You walked up to Link, a coy smile on your lips. Your voice smudged out beneath the harmony of instruments, serenading you both. You stood close to his ear once more. "I believe you owe me a waltz?" The familiar pitter patter of his heart returned, as it did so often when he saw you. Passion seized him then, causing him to roughly yank you towards him. You hit right into his defined chest.  He took his hand, cupping it as he slightly moved your chin upward. His arm tightly fastened itself around your waist. Link removed his hand from your chin and grasped your left one. Your right hand remained secured to his chest. You couldn't help but feel his elevated heart rate beneath his clothes. You snaked your right arm around his neck. You were both in position, ready to waltz. 

As you began moving your feet in tandem, Link grazed his lips against your ear. "I'm going to punish you for scaring me today."

"I don't think so. I put on a dress for you."

"Just because you look so damn beautiful doesn't give you the right to play with my heart!" He hissed with a tone of resentment that caught you off guard. You looked into his eyes, seeing the palpable hurt. He then took you by surprise, dipping you low.

"I never would intentionally hurt you, Link." The vulnerable base of your neck was exposed, beckoning Link to kiss it. "L-Link there are people watching us!" The warmth of his mouth was now on your neck. You suppressed the little moan that was captured in your throat. He began to murmur against your flesh. " The people never mattered. Because in a sea of people I always manage to just look for you. Don't you understand why I came back to you after every temple? How can you not see the way you make me feel?" He tenderly lifted you up, working you both back into a comfortable rhythm once more. Despite the rising warmth on your face, you met Link's eyes. It was time to succumb to the smoldering want holding you both captive. "Should I make you see? Make you see what you do to me?" Suddenly he pressed his lips on yours. You could hear the 'oohs and aahs' emerging from the crowd. He was no longer in the mood to hide his passion. He firmly poked his tongue in your mouth, not asking permission to enter. He didn't need to, of course. For you, it was more than welcome.  

Link moaned into your lips as he continued to devour you with his kiss. He pulled away and enveloped your face between his rough hands. "Do you see now? That I love you? That I always have. That I always will?"

It was flush to what Zelda had said in the bathroom. She was telling the truth. Then that means so was Link. A bubbly smile erupted on your face. You couldn't fight yourself any longer. You leaned in for another kiss. The concept of honoring the contest became futile at this point.

"I love you too, Link. So much."

You both had been playing the dangerous game of love and you both had emerged victorious.

Link to my Wattpad and other fanfics below 👇🏻

[insilverrolled]

Horace

By Norman Dubie

Along the borders of the Sabine farm, Runners of strychnine and lime, A bearded man stands in a wheelbarrow Singing. And why not? Give him The vegetables he wants. Or knock his brains out with the loose Curbstone from the well. The Goths Have been defeated, and Maecenas was his friend.

We meet eye to eye. He will braid the silk On the husks. This man is drunk. The cloudburst sends you running for the trees And one woman reaches the house. He is still Standing in the wheelbarrow, soaked and loud. The poor canvas theatre in the provincial town Drove him out. Here in the hills Caesar is a spectacle of dead trout Washed with smashed mint and lemons. What have I kept back? Only this: there is no way to leave him.

[portablefrailty]

So...I actually know the model whose magnificent partially shaved head dominates this iconic ad. If memory serves, Asha was around 19 when this was taken. A photographer, intrigued by her signature skater/goth/geisha style and peculiar Trinidadian-Indian-Irish interracial good looks, picked her out of a crowd on a NYC sidewalk.

I met Asha a year later at Rutgers--my neighbor in a remote campus housing outpost for solos and transfers tucked into the woods on the edge of Cook Campus. She had stacks of these Sony ads in her room--they were plastering blown up versions onto bus stops on Eighth avenue.

I think she gave me one but I lost it.

She came to our parties in the early days. On slow nights she'd hang out and play spades. But from the first it was clear she was radically different from everyone else. Mason-Gross to her core, Asha not only lived for art, she wore it and at times was it. Though insanely hot at all times, she was a total chameleon--a freak, nerd, tomboy, slut--you never knew. She could show up in a form-fitting kimono one day, a skin tight Misfits t-shirt and ripped jeans the next, a lab coat and horn-rimmed glasses the day after.

She modeled from time to time. She tried Gogo dancing for about a week before realising an easy wad of twenties wasn't worth that kind of ogling. She was too smart, confident, creative and eclectic to be such an obvious sex object.

She made art out of statues of the Virgin Mary, latex condoms, glitter glue and beauty magazines. She did collage, sculpture, tintype photography, silk screen. She could stipple a ceiling, shoot a gonzo horror video and make gourmet caramels. Whatever she set her mind to, really.

She turned we mere provincials on to Fight Club, the Isle of Lost Children, and Portishead before any of the above were cool.

As two opinionated Jersyans with big egos and wildly different styles (even then I was into writer chic) we were never exactly friends. Our connection instead came to be based on our common friendship with Carrie--my future wife.

All three of us met at the same place and time. Carrie and I were deep conversationalists, into one on one chilling, George Harrison and walks out in nature. Carrie and Asha were partners in crime.

They dropped E and rolled through clubs in Alphabet City--Asha talking their way into VIP rooms and scaring off pervs with her fierce demeanor. They once flew to New Orleans on an Ann Rice kick hoping to find vampires but came back with only beads.

With me, Carrie went record hunting in Princeton and thrift shopping in Morristown, stoned strolling through the bamboo forest at Rutgers Gardens or foliage gawking in New Hampshire.

We were like two halves of Carrie's psyche.

After that first year, Carrie and Asha roomed together in a loft apartment above the best sushi place in New Brunswick. It was a place full of candles, Ikea shelves and gothic seating with a big screen TV in the living room and a concrete cherub sitting on the radiator. (Asha stole it from the grounds of some random mansion. Today it's in our back yard).

I was a regular at their place. I endured Carrie's escapades with Asha throughout those early friend/crush-with-benefits days, biting hard on my jealousy. Asha and I we were were definitely rivals then. When I finally got my status upgrade, though, we became something like friends. In the end the "Sony Girl," by then an artist and professor in her own right, was a guest at our wedding (toting a big ass bottle of Veuve Clicquot) who later bought up all the most expensive shit on the baby registry when our son was born.

Sony: MDR G61 Headphones Magazine ad print (1999) The Source Magazine n°112 Issue

[lifechanyuan]

Special Relationships Between People Will Ruin their Lives

Xuefeng

March 15, 2019

(Translated by Qinyou and Edited by Kaer)

How many times have we watched quietly the sunrises and sunsets in our lives and how many times have we listened to the sounds of wind and insects while standing in a courtyard on an evening with a full moon? How many times have we observed carefully the sprouting of grass and the blooming of willows? When distant mountains are hazy and the green hills are dark, when water is gurgling and blue waves are rippling, when wild ducks flutter and mandarin ducks play in the water, when light rain drizzles or heavy rain beats the plantains, have we ever melted our bodies and souls into nature and felt an unforgettable experience and taste of oneness with nature, oneness with all things, and everlasting, eternal joy?

Where has our time gone? What on earth are we doing in this world? Were it not for the deep experience of the meaning of life, then what are we hurrying for all our lives?

“When flowers fall and beauty becomes old, death separates them forever”

“The palaces of Qin and Han are now but grazing land for cattle and sheep”

“Who cares for the cold and lonely west wind? Yellow leaves rustle down by my closed windows facing the sunset; I am lost in memories”

“Do you not see the mirrors bright in chambers high, grieving over your snow white hair that once was silk-black?”

“How much worry can you have? Just like a river of spring water flowing eastward!”

Why are we busy all day? Who are we busy for? Are we not “colonizing a snail’s horn, competing for a flash in time”?

Is it not that “Down in the plain and up on the mountain, all of nature’s boundless glory is their prey, but when they have sipped from a hundred flowers and made honey, for whom is this toil, for whom is this nectar”?

Is it not that “My clothes hang loosely on my emaciated body, but regrets I have none; it is because of her”?

Is it not that “The young know nothing of woe, to write verse, they feign a throe”?

“Broken walls where foxes sleep, deserted platforms where rabbits walk, all were places of singing and dancing in those days; yellow flowers covered with cold dew, withering grasses looming in mist, all belong to the battlefields of the old times”.

When we are old and weak, looking back on the past, will there be regrets? Who took away our teenage time? Who killed our youth? Who made our middle age toil around? Who made us full of sorrow after the age of sixty?

The answer is that it was those with whom we had special relationships; they were our parents, children, grandchildren, husbands, wives, friends, lovers, brothers, sisters, buddies, and the rest, whoever made us worry about, think about day and night, hard to sleep, hate but could not rid ourselves of, and so on; all the people who have had special relationships with us. It is they who have made our lives miserable and distressed, who made us restless and fighting day and night, who forced us to remain on our guard day and night and tremble in fear, who forced us to break the law, take risks, and made us unable to eat or sleep.

Think carefully: if you would not worry about anyone, if no one in the world would make you worry about them, if you lived on an uninhabited island with plenty of food, and if no one cared whether you lived or died, would you still live this way?

Have you ever heard of a punishment method called “the implication of nine generations of families”? A young child or a servant woman to a family would be killed because the boy’s father or the woman’s master made a mistake. Why? Because this child had a special relationship with his father or this servant had a special relationship with her master; that is the reason that they would be killed.

Have you heard of “landslide-style corruption”? A provincial governor was arrested and everyone who had a special relationship with and was implicated with them was also imprisoned. Have you heard the story of the man who traveled all the way to Australia to kill a woman? Why did he do that? Because she and he had a special relationship.

Once you have a special relationship with someone, their food, clothing, shelter, transportation, life, aging, illness, death, love and hate, frustration and adversity, violations of the law and nightmares, sighs and groans, and pains and itching will all be closely related to you and involve your mood and state of mind to affect your future.

Why do people yearn for life in heaven? Because in heaven, there are no special relationships between people. People in the Thousand-year World never know who their fathers are and after spending a few years with their mother, they never see them again. There are no relationships between brothers and sisters, no need to make friends, and no need or possibility to form relationships. People in the Ten-thousand-year World have no biological parents. On the Celestial Islands Continent, no special relationships exist between any two individuals.

People are keen to build relationships, develop connections, forge friendships, bond with lovers, and form buddies, but in my opinion, they are looking for trouble, pain, anxiety, and sorrow. In a word, they are looking for death; the death of Life in the kingdom of heaven! That is to say that once a person begins to form special relationships with others in their consciousnesses and actions, whether they are of emotions or interests, the person will gradually drift away from heaven.

Then, is there any way or mechanism to make everyone live happily and beautifully without having special relationships? Yes; were this not so, I would not dare to say this, but “I am also afraid of being scolded by people”!