#questions queries and quibbles

[outer-space-aro-ace]

Like your blog :D - @aroacesafeplaceforall

Thank you!

[lord-byrons-ghost]

Greetings, Afterlife!

Ladies, Gentlemen and... creatures constructed from exhumed corpses and revived by galvanism, I salute you.

Having roamed the edges of this chaotic death world, attempting to comprehend the pure insanity of my fellows, I have decided to give up, and simply plunge into the fray myself. I have not quite the martial genius of our dear Emperors @napoleon-bonapartee and @alexanderfanboy, but I can at least entertain, or compose some manner of scribbling suitable for recording the battles.

House-Keeping:

Do not mention my wife, if you favour your sanity.

I will be inordinately sour-tempered if awoken before 2pm.

If you are Lady Caroline Lamb - NO. I will not elope with you.

All queries, questions and quibbles will be answered, as long as they consider that I am usually busy scribbling, carousing and being in the blackest of moods.

The other chaotic gentlemen and ladies of the afterlife.

Yrs &c,

George Gordon Noel, 6th Baron Byron (I hate my title, please call by Byron, or Noel if informal.)

(OOC: Hello all! I've been loving watching the Napoleonic RP for ages now, and as someone who RPs privately a lot, I thought I should jump in.

I'm Lord Byron obsessed, and thought it would be nice to have some more Napoleonic creatives aside from the lovely David @askjackiedavid, so here I am. I'm basing my (probably inaccurate) Byron off the years 1816-1819, when he's in Switzerland and Italy, so as to mostly overlap in experience with everyone else. Looking forward to the chaos! - @vesseloftherevolution)

[rollercoasterwords]

hie rae! i have query/a dichotomy about gender and shit that i would love you to share your thoughts on (if you feel like it, no pressure!). i remember someone once called you something like the "resident tumblr smart person" and you also seem knowledgable about gender (do you do gender studies?) but first i just wanted to say how much i love your fanfics! they're some of my favs ever honestly and thank you so much for writing them!

i remember someone once called you something like the "resident tumblr smart person" and you also seem knowledgable about gender

ok, so basically one of friends was staying at my flat a few days ago, i mentioned (jokingly) that i feel like a bad feminist when i shave my face but that i hate having hair on my face too much to not shave it. for reference i'm a brown cis women who has a fair amount of facial hair and i have been shaving my face since i was a teen. my friend (who's trans) pointed out that she also shaves her face regularly but that for her, its a form of gender affirming care and so would it be possible that its also that for me?. we're both really interested in gender and the elements of performance in it and so we spent ages talking about it and couldn't really come to a conclusion. the thing that i was wondering about especially is that when i do shave my face, it doesn't really feel like its affirming my gender - it feels more motivated by insecurity and the desire to conform. so do you think it would be possible that for cis women it is possible for shaving to be gender affirming or is it all a product of our socialisation/ the beauty industry?

sorry for the mess that this ask is, i hope you can understand it! thanks!  💙💙💙 

hi!! ty 4 the kind words i'm glad u like my fics <3 and i do in fact study gender studies lol there are of course many people v knowledgeable abt these topics tho it's not like i'm the foremost expert etc. happy 2 be ur tumblr smart person 4 the day tho & happy 2 share my thoughts!

so in the first place i don't necessarily think a distinction between trans/cis is useful here in determining whether something can/should be considered "gender affirming," nor do i necessarily think there's a strict dichotomy between "gender affirming" beauty practices versus "it's just socialized" or whatever. every woman is going 2 have different experiences with & reasons behind shaving, and oftentimes those differences will not map neatly onto a binary of trans/cis in which one side always finds the experience affirming and the other does not. additionally, all beauty practices are socialized in the first place & will often engender a mix of feelings that don't fit neatly into "this is 100% affirming" versus "this is absolutely not affirming in any way."

i think it's easy to say "shaving is just patriarchal conditioning for women and we need to stop to be good feminists!!" but that sentiment also fails to recognize that many women derive very real economic and social benefits by conforming to beauty standards, and many women furthermore find it necessary to shave to mitigate violence they might otherwise face. it doesn't mean it's a good thing that these standards exist (beauty in and of itself is always a tool of power imo), but it also makes it, in my opinion, kind of pointless to quibble over whether it's "feminist" to shave or not; each person faces their own set of material conditions that they have to navigate. also, the things an individual person chooses to do with their body hair really don't strike me as incredibly important in like...the grand scheme of Feminist Action, y'know? the entire question seems to lie more in the realm of like...personal feeling & decision making, and in that instance i am a supporter of total bodily autonomy. everyone picks and chooses their own battles when it comes to what beauty standards to adhere to; i don't shave my body hair, for example, but i'm scheduled to undergo a cosmetic surgical procedure in a few months, and for me there isn't a clear divide between the medical/gender affirming/socialized beauty standards reasons that i've chosen to do so. physical pain is one factor, but i'd be lying to myself if i said that i haven't been socialized to think about gender & the way it relates to my own body and appearance, and that that isn't factoring in as well. even if surgery is "affirming" for me, i still don't necessarily know that i'd call it a feminist action so much as something i'm doing to make my body easier to live in.

anyway, all that is to say--no, i don't think shaving makes you "a bad feminist." and i don't doubt your friend when she says that shaving is gender affirming for her. you both have different experiences when it comes to shaving, though, and if you've reflected on this and don't feel like shaving is something you really want to do, then maybe consider seeing what it's like if you stop--not to become "a better feminist," bc again, i don't think whether you personally shave is going to make or break Feminism, but bc it might make you happier. personally, my experience when i've stopped partaking in certain beauty routines or practices is that there's a period of insecurity at first which slowly fades as i've realized that most people really don't notice all the things about my body that i do. but that's my personal experience; if you decide to stop shaving and find that there are conditions in your life that make it too difficult, it's not worth agonizing over if you decide to start again, or to shave sometimes. in general i think this sort of individualistic emphasis on whether or not every single thing a person does is "feminist" is not useful tbh, nor do i think personal feelings of empowerment or affirmation are the best yardstick 4 measuring whether a certain action is "feminist"

[travelingue]

Naples (2): Neapolis or Nablus?

To prepare for our trip we watched Clive Myrie's good-humoured BBC series on Italy. 

The episode on Naples, which aired just before we travelled, portrayed the city as a glorious melting pot brimming with history and conviviality, the home of pizza and the beating heart of the multicultural south.

Workshops in picturesque alleyways were "fast becoming one of the city's most exciting creative hubs", Myrie told us.

I'd also read Gomorrah by the investigative journalist Roberto Saviano, which depicts Naples and its region as a crime-ridden hellhole.

I kept those contrasting images vivid in my mind by calling the first Neapolis and the second Nablus (Naples and the impoverished West Bank city, both ancient Greek settlements, share a common etymology.)

Outside the airport terminal, we followed signs for the buses.  I wasn't completely sold on that mode of transport: the Alibus website showed pictures of long lines of backpackers waiting to board under a hot sun, which did not bode well for the frequency of the service.  On the other hand, the fare was cheap (€5) and as the night had fallen we were at little risk from sunstroke.

On our way to the bus stop, a man offered to drive us to the city centre, along with a few fellow tourists, for €5 each.  Being accosted and directed towards a collective taxi was more evocative of Nablus than Neapolis, but we decided to take a chance.

The minivan was comfortable and delivered us to Piazza Garibaldi in 20 minutes.  This was Neapolis after all.  The driver even pointed the way towards our hotel.

Like most central squares in European cities, the Piazza Garibaldi features vast open spaces, far-reaching transport links and the statue of a national hero.  But while similar urban foci across the Mediterranean world are usually alive with crowds in the evening, the piazza offered nothing but empty gloom.

The main road along the Centro Storico was not much more animated.  A fast-food joint was open.  A few shadows shuffled past.  After 300m we turned into ramshackle lanes strewn with refuse: definitely Nablus.

I wondered if we might have got lost.  How could such a slum attract tourists?  But Google Maps does not lie: we found our hotel tucked away behind a metal door.

"Is there a place where we can eat around here?"

My tentative query was met by a confident response. "Pizzeria del Popolo: 300m away, just across Piazza Mercato," the young woman at the reception said.

The piazza in question would make a perfect location for a brutalist dystopia.  Lined on one side by a housing block that shows every sign of having been built with what Roberto Saviano calls "Camorra cement", it is dominated by an installation shaped like a giant dog turd. Not a soul was stirring.

We found our restaurant, as discreetly positioned as our hotel, at the bottom of the housing block.  Once inside, the atmosphere changed.

Maybe that's what happy families do in Naples in the evening: they go to the pizzeria instead of hanging out in squares.  A 31st birthday was being celebrated at one table. It was vibrant and proper – none of the boozy ruckus such events occasion in Britain.

My only quibble was the lack of wine: real Neapolitans, it seems, wash down their food with beer.  But they sure can do pizza here: unctuous dough and fresh ingredients for €8 - a ridiculously small price to pay for a taste of Neapolis in the middle of Nablus.

Previous entry on Naples:

. Ryanair

[amitapaul]

40/26

26/4/24

MetaPoem on NaPoGloPo

Just an excuse, only the slightest tap of the shoulder perhaps,

A thought hook, a mere memory, a story, a sound, a book,

A question, a query, a quest, a word, written or unwritten,

A phrase, a form, a formula, a fantasy, a figment,

Anything will do, to bring out what’s bursting in you.

Reams and reams roll out describing dreams

Inscribing in ink what I imagine, what you yearn for,

Our hopes, our aspirations, our inspirations, our desires

So similar yet varied, underlining our shared humanity

As dozens respond to the same prompt from the same source.

Is this the Spiritus Mundi , ''a universal memory and a 'muse' of sorts

that provides inspiration to the poet or writer” according to William Butler Yeats ?

Is this Hive Mind ? One Humankind ? Humming Live ?

The World-wide Web alive with sparking nodes ?

Geological and Electric Lodes ?

Writing together with Poets across the Globe in GloPoWriMo

Gives us this feeling of Community, with all Humanity,

People tip- tap- typing away, scribblers scribbling,

Questioners quibbling, poem- hunters hunting, poem-punters dribbling …

The Ball mustn’t fall or stop still but keep rolling

Runners running and slower strollers leisurely strolling

Keep the readers reading, their screens constantly scrolling

Cajoling, consoling, gambolling, eye- rolling, extolling

With Rhyme and Reason, Consonances, Assonances , Dissonances,

Alliteration, Anadiplosis, Anacolutha, Anaphora

and Anagrams.

O the Euphoria of Deep Metaphoria !

( over the Drone of Rhymezone ! )

( ASA )

#24gloponapowrimo #amitasinfinity

Prompt : Write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance

[raevenlywrites]

My tagging “system”

Common tags on this blog, for all your tracking and blacklisting needs

raev rambles and raev rants are chatter, rants especially for things that have me fired up (similarly, foxes and fate chatter has its own tag)

raev elsewhere/me elsewhere is usually a post about my twitter, patreon, or some other off tumblr situation (I can never remember which I use :P)

raev has a face is, well, mah face. raev does art, similarly, is my art. Promptly written is anything written based on a prompt, and wip excerpts isn’t used as much as it should be (but that’s why I have the wips only sideblog @raevenlywrote)

I use both self reblog and shameless self promotion for things I think might be annoying tbh XD

raev plays and raev reads (and I like raev watches and raev listens?) are common tags on my twitter for when I’m doing read-alongs, and I think I’m going to start using them here as well (raev plays? in particular is for queries about what I do and don’t play. If I get enough asks about things I watch, read, or listen to, I’ll add question mark tags for those as well)

raev does advice is mostly writing advice, but sometimes life advice

All writeblr tag games are tagged at least tag games, if not also writeblr tag games

Meet the OCs is for anything relevant to any of my characters, from posts that remind of them to random chatter about them to asks they’ve answered in character, usually co-tagged with something like OC Tybee or OC Aaron (I’m not as reliable about using this one as I’d like to remember to be) Similarly, some of them have their own tags such as Big Aaron Mood or Gil ghostwrote this

*exceptions to the OC name rule are riftlings, who are tagged rosey the riftling, quibble the riftling, mirabella the gargoyle, etc

raevenly shitposts is not used as often as I’d like it to be, but it’s for exactly what you’d think it is.

Asylum specific tags are asylum lore, asylum inspiration, asylum cousins, and asylum’s second skin.

General writing tags are writing advice, writing inspiration, and worldbuilding

ETA: raev spams cute is pretty much exactly what youd expect

[phantomofthepairofdice]

A Hidden Life: Review

Note: this is a piece written for a class upon the film’s release that has been edited and repurposed.

A Hidden Life had its local premiere at the Houston Cinema Arts Festival on Friday November 15, 2019. Clocking in at just under three hours, it is an epic, esoteric, and devastatingly beautiful piece of work. It is also a bit of a return to form for writer/director Terrence Malick who spent the last few years in a very productive but divisive period in his career telling stories in modern settings. The film tells the true story of Austrian farmer Franz Jägerstätter (August Diehl) and his family as he refuses to swear loyalty to Hitler and serve in his army. Malick’s penchant for voiceover is mostly used in letters sent between Franz and his wife Franziska (played with boundless wells of empathy by Valerie Pachner) during his imprisonment. Featuring small, but effective performances by Bruno Ganz, Michael Nyqvist, Jürgen Prochnow, Franz Rogowski, and Matthias Schoenaerts, the emotions of the film are brought to light with great effect. It is a marvelous work that displays Malick’s affinity for tortured men finding a place in the universe alongside nature under god. It is a poetic, sweeping, and moody film that ebbs and flows through time while never losing sight of the value of family, love, and kindness. It is a film that feels prescient to the current moment of political upheaval, while never crassly grafting modern sentiment onto its narrative.

Terrence Malick is a filmmaker whose career is remarkably enigmatic. After arriving in 1973 with Badlands, he premiered Days of Heaven in 1978. Then he disappeared, only to re-emerge twenty years later with 1998’s The Thin Red Line. Another seven years passed until 2005 which saw the release of The New World. Then, in 2011, there was an unprecedented shift for Malick after the release of his Palme d’Or winning The Tree of Life. It launched a period of intense creativity for the director that spawned four narrative films, a documentary, and two short films in the span of just six years. This increase in productivity also gave the world his three most divisive films: To the Wonder, Knight of Cups, and Song to Song. These three movies are wholly modern, eschewing the historical backdrop that leant itself so well to Malick’s depictions of earthly divinity and spirituality. While some people embraced his new approach of montage and leaning more toward loose, unstructured expression, almost everyone was taken back by his attempt to find the beauty in a modern world that has so little of that left. There is no denying how strange it is to see a Malick film that has a scene at a Sonic drive thru. Yet, A Hidden Life feels like a perfect synthesis of a film like The Thin Red Line and Tree of Life. There is history, war, and men reckoning with their place amidst it all being told in Malick’s recent style.

A Hidden Life opens with text explaining the true story behind the film and the mandatory oath of loyalty to Hitler that that soldiers had to swear upon being drafted. Then, in a shockingly new technique for Malick, the film uses footage from Triumph of the Will. These scenes highlight the beautiful presentation of evil in Riefenstahl’s film; it is an interesting counterpoint to the film that follows. Where Triumph of the Will uses jaw-dropping filmmaking to highlight a single man being worshipped in an urban setting, A Hidden Life is about a farmer in nature who refuses to submit and follow any one thing but God. Malick is a master of capturing organic awe. Teamed up with cinematographer Jörg Widmer, he has perfected his distillation of tactile sensation. In Malick’s hands, the earth breathes. The grass dances to music of the wind. Dirt and mud are a communion between man and nature. In his best work, the juxtaposition of war or conflict alongside this immaculate magnificence of the world begs certain questions. How can something so evil and vicious exist in a place so heavenly? Do we deserve to be condemned for destroying this loveliness? A Hidden Life focuses on truly exploring these dilemmas through a combination of abstraction and narrative.

The film is shot on wide angle lenses that emphasize the scope of the world in which it takes place. This choice draws attention to the massive blue skies and the rolling hills, but when Franz is in prison, it almost feels like a taunt. There is so much empty space in the frame focused on concrete or bars that was once inhabited by other people or natural objects. One shot, used twice in the film to great effect, is a swooping crane tracking shot of Franz riding into town on a motorcycle. It first appears as Franziska recounts how the two met and later, after his death, as a memory of purity and love that she can fall back on. Another particularly interesting choice with the camera is when it switches to first person point of view. The intense subjectivity of being placed in Franz’s mind only comes twice: when he is being beaten by a prison guard and as he slowly walks to the place of his death. The beating is particularly interesting because the shot holds for longer than would be expected and it forces the viewer to beg for the violence to stop. It is also noteworthy that the film is shot on digital which allows Widmer and Malick to capture images in natural light, even in very dark places. It feels like a great example of how this film blends his classic style with the more elements he picked up in recent years.

Alongside the gigantic scope of the film are smaller character moments that stand out just as much. The film’s central martyr, Franz, is shown multiple times throughout the film doing tiny acts of kindness that bolster his mission to be in harmony with the world around him. During a transfer between prisons, Franz, in handcuffs and uniform helps an elderly woman bring her luggage down from a high rack on a train. Later as he leaves a store, a soldier knocks over an umbrella leaning against a wall before he takes a few steps back and sets it upright. These tiny moments speak volumes to his consideration and reinforce why he so strongly resists the mandated oath to subservience. He will not serve a cause that takes human lives, destroys homes, and sacrifices men for native expansion.

As the credits began to roll on A Hidden Life, I was shaken. For the next ten minutes or so there was an enormous lump in my throat that threatened to break the dam of emotional fortitude and let tears loose by just recalling moments within the film. I found it to be profoundly touching and inspiringly lyrical in its execution. Though I hesitate to use and expression that tends to lean more toward hackneyed cliché, I found A Hidden Life to be an experience rather than merely a film. It paints with a broad brush on a massive canvas in the hopes to reveal universal truths rather than specific reckonings. Certain scenes do occasionally feel repetitive and I am not certain that the choice to use English as the primary language with bits of German thrown in primarily by Nazis was the right one, but these feel like minor quibbles that easily overlooked when appraising a project so massive and noble in its intent. Currently, our world is primed for a movie about what protest and freedom of mind look like under an oppressive regime. Family, faith, and love are not more important than they were previously, but they certainly feel like their significance is in short supply. Malick and his collaborators have given us a film that embraces these ideas; so long as you are willing to embrace the film itself, there is a great power to be witnessed. As the world becomes more barbed and dejecting, I was truly comforted by the film and its effect of slowing down to appreciate what truly matters. Towards the movie’s closing moments, a young man, about to executed, is given a paper and a pen. First, he pauses, then turns toward Franz and asks, “What do I write?” This question is massive; loaded with the implications of countless other questions. Where do I start? What words can define a life? Will anything be good enough? Who do I address this to? What do I write? For three hours, this film put me closer to potentially having an answer to that existential query.

A Hidden Life is now streaming on HBO Max.

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 5 Part 2

Words: 1467

CW: Vampires

TW: Blood

B:

The flight was unlike anything either had ever experienced. It was a marvel, seeing the world from a new perspective. Who can put it into words? Or paint a masterpiece capturing just how small and insignificant one feels when seeing how small they were in the greater scheme? Yet every life they passed over would continue on their way, utterly oblivious to the circumstances of their world at large. Inspiring and humbling simultaneously. 

It also made for a splendid distraction from what would be waiting for them, or Cal in particular.

He was used to people hating him; really Derrick was the only person who’d so much as tolerated the scoundrel, with his own mentor ready to strangle him after a few years. The Citadel may have been a death trap waiting to happen, but he knew every inch of the place and how to survive it. This whole experience would be brand new...and they’re all vampires, he assumed. Ones who knew what they were doing with their abilities, if the two he’d seen on the battlefield were any indication. 

Frak it all, get a grip! Since when did he fret about new adventures? He was constantly going into dangerous situations, usually with the intent to kill someone. That aspect was already out of the way! Technically. Which was why everyone would be looking to take his head. You know, entering castles tended to be easier when nobody knew anything about him...but this newness wasn’t all bad. Though saying it out loud would be impossible, he was especially glad for Derrick coming along. The man had been dealt a bad hand...or more accurately an entire deck of darkness. About time he got a break. The...former(?) assassin would figure things out. 

Like wrapping his head around a change of occupation and address all in one day. Oh yeah, and classification? Vampire? There wasn’t any quibbling about that terminology, not after what he’d seen. ...That and the fangs emerging all too easily with the thought of food. He was guessing his usual fare of oranges wasn’t going to cut it either. This strange thirst was beginning to press more insistently at his tolerance for hunger. He wasn’t sure how he felt about...drinking blood. Best to use this time to think it over. Or there’s what he should have done. Never mind! Avoidance it was then! 

.... 

Yeahhh...the reception was about as frigid as one might expect. 

But staring at those doors, seeing someone else answer them and feeling the finality in the sound of them closing behind...none of this may feel real yet, but it was starting to sink in. 

For once, Cal didn’t have a quip questioning the formality, or lack thereof, from the butler. Suppose when one’s a vampire, a few details such as tone weren’t worth quibbling over. Not that he could fault the man his frost. Definitely blaming any failing in the attempts at levity on distracting levels of thirst...and less on the array of Antarctic level temperatures being directed at the pair. Least he wasn’t so pitiful Derrick felt the need to put an arm on his shoulder...ah, never mind. Okay, so he waited till they were out of sight. Small mercies. No one followed them, seeming content to wait for dinner to begin the grilling. 

When Cal floated the suggestion he might take his meal in his room, the words faltered before being fully formed. Dude may have been a butler, but Sebastian could give the assassins a run for their money in the intimidation factor. Got it. No avoiding this. 

Didn’t seem to matter how good Cal was at hiding things, Derrick always saw through it. Annoying...and helpful. The bandages came off from around his rib cage, gnarly bruising explaining stiff movement. Course, Derrick was decked out with his own variety of colors as well. The two made quite the pair, each helping the other with clothes a bit restrictive for current predicaments, but they certainly looked a sight better than their former, somewhat tattered options. 

In the end, the jacket rounding off the outfit refused to stretch over the mountain’s shoulders, threatening to burst down the center seam if Derrick so much as flexed and it had to be left behind. Cal assured him this was just fine...and not to think about it too much. They’d be having more important things occupying their minds shortly anyway. 

.... 

The atmosphere at the table was one of downright hostility, though Comtesse’s appearance was enough to take nearly everyone’s breath away. Derrick had zero trouble catching names, though none of them outside of Napoleon and Jean were familiar to him. Generals and emperors were names that circulated the Citadel; a vague curiosity as to what was happening in the outside world frequently getting the better of him. The animosity didn’t phase him; being the focus of disdain and ridicule was his normal as well. A polite nod and unaffected smile greeted every member, whether returned or ignored. 

For Cal, despite a number of them being famous during or after this current time, they all rang bells. Though with the exception of Dazai, and admittedly the rest were very distant memories he hadn’t dredged up for over a decade. Lot of water under that bridge. And bodies. His expression was one of his typical jester’s grin, the nerves bunched up and singing with no place to go being tightly reigned in. She’d told the residents there was no harm to be done, but he knew rather personally how powerful a desire for vengeance tended to inspire people to action. 

Just maybe not at the dinner table? One can hope. 

“Right! Famous lads from history, eh? If I’d have known the great Napoleon Bonaparte was on the battlefield, I might’ve brought more darts! Course, I thought you’d be shorter an’ all. Inferno or not, you’re reasonably impressive!” 

Derrick could’ve groaned, however if he said he hadn’t anticipated this happening it would’ve been a lie. Leave it to Cal to get the elephant out of the way first thing. Scratch that, Cal would ride the elephant around the room whooping and hollering. 

“We are indebted to your graciousness for freeing us from that place, and accepting us into your home. It may be a moment before I can formulate questions, in the meantime if I can answer anything for you?” 

There were two conversations taking place, one, civilized and calm between Derrick, Comtesse, and whoever was listening to that particular discussion. The second consisting of Cal, Arthur, Theo, Napoleon, and Mozart...mostly in fortissimo. There was a hard glint in Cal’s emeralds, a closing down as he deflected queries calling into question his sanity, morals, and parenting. Shakespeare watched both conversations with avid interest, muttering things to himself while a smile played about his face. 

One thing stood out above the bickering, the scent of rouge putting a crease between Cal’s brows he wasn’t sure what to do with. “Your Comtesse was another job. There was nothing more to it. Take it as personally as you like, she’s important to ya.” (You don’t have the first possible inkling how many people I’ve killed who were important to someone.) That’s why he’d personally taken to not have anyone important to him. Till Derrick took that personal and became someone important. One day he’d recall how the frak that had happened...  ”All I’ve got to offer is my word. I won’t be raising a hand against her from here out. Same goes for any of you all either. Take it or leave it, that’s how it is.”

More of a promise than he’d ever given out before. Even Derrick hadn’t gotten that, understood or not. They both knew, in the Citadel you did what you had to. Avoiding being put in a bad situation was the only way to go; it was why no one had seen them together, let alone knew they were friends. 

The rouge was practically taunting him now. The smell was all too familiar, memories kept locked up tight creeping along the edges. Eat or wither away. Great options. His fangs and throat had specific ideas and didn’t like being ignored. Words dried up along with the inhibition. If he hadn’t have outed himself already, the reaction to his first conscious topping of blood would do it. Revulsion, not for the beverage ingested but for everything that peculiar scent of copper brought back with it, transformed his features from the devil-may-care rascal into a man haunted 

The smile turned fractured façade wouldn’t fool anyone. His question posed for la Comtesse was quiet, the din at the table keeping its animated dissection of actions taken pointedly ignored.

“However did you manage to wrangle a wormhole anyway, swee—Comtesse?”

[lumi-klovstad-games]

PSA: respect your game’s Modding community!

I never really understand why folks (and it seems to predominantly happen on Nexus Mods) kind of throw tantrums when they don't get the game mods they want. Like, modders pump out amazing content, much of very professional quality, that takes real work usually for free that would take the rest of us YEARS to learn how to pull off with a similar level of skill. 

That's like being given free tickets by Christopher Eccleston to the red carpet premiere of his latest movie of... let’s say MacBeth, and then griping to him after the show that you were annoyed that he did "some Shakespeare play" and not more Doctor Who.

I think the only mod that I didn't get that ever elicited an emotional reaction of any sort from me because I didn't get it was when Covadonga's World War weapon pack for Fallout 4 (I was CRAZY looking forward to it) sailed past every single projected deadline and just kind of faded into the aether with a gradual but consistent end to status updates instead of releasing.

Even then I did my best not to be an entitled monkey about it and moved on; barring this example, obviously. It's the one mod project where I genuinely wondered what the hell happened; that's mostly because for the longest time it seemed like it was almost done and status updates by Cova always were worded such that it sounded like the launch would finally happen in the next month or so... for nearly a year. From what I understand, real life intervened but the cancellation was never formally announced -- and that's the part that really bit me: not knowing. Even so, I didn’t cyberstalk Cova, I didn’t barrage the people who were helping him with his project with questions and queries. I was majorly disappointed, but I shrugged and moved on. 

As far as I can figure, most people are like this. It’s just that the ones who AREN’T are very, VERY vocal and that can hurt the community at large by distorting a modder’s perception of said community. A lot of modders who now come across to me as “rude” in the comments? They didn’t start that way. They usually were heckled to that point by people complaining about things they don’t like and/or nitpicking their work (there is a fine line between “details-oriented constructive criticism” and “nitpicking” that, though difficult, every person who uses mods has an obligation to master to the best of their ability) for perceived inaccuracies. Honestly, if I faced that kind of prolonged heckling, I would probably beat someone or stop showing up. I’d go way beyond “rude sarcasm”, so props to those modders for their restraint.

As long as modders are honest about how + why a project isn't happening or can't be finished (and that even includes "I just don't have the energy/passion/drive to do it"), I think those of us who merely consume what they create have no right to be picky and instead every obligation to be understanding. You don't have to like bad news -- just respect the bearer.

Respect your modders.

P.S: If you’re one of those types who wants your Fallout game to have gun mods that are as realistic as possible down to the serial markings on the gun and intricately modeled inner components that you’ll never even see with realistic damage, ballistic performance, spread, etc., just go play Escape From Tarkov. To quote Viva La Dirt League, “it’s gonna feel like getting punched in the dick”, but it was 100% made with your nitpicking and quibbling in mind. Leave the modders alone.

[sparkcreative17]

several Tough Questions to Ask an advertising Agency Before You Hire These

There are a lot of great agencies on the market. And there are a lot of bad kinds too.

So how do you know what you happen to be really getting when you signal a new agency?

Whether you are huge enterprise or a small business, you do have a set budget, with a fixed number of resources and a placed amount of time to get it accomplished. Many times you need to rely on any team of partners which can help assure you have effectively expended your budget and are getting the many from it. Research, instinct, along with experience aside, since the money stops with you, it is important to ensure you have the right team by you. Advertising Agency

So , what I thought can be helpful is to share a number of my learning's related to selecting the most appropriate partner marketing agency that will help you through those times when you will have questions or need to use outside agencies for your entire project to an company.

Tough Question #1: Which will really be working on my bank account?

Well, that depends. Several agencies have a hierarchical method structure that requires a single level of contact between the clientele and the agency itself. It creates life easier on the agency's end. From the client point of view, you would ideally have immediate access (phone, email etc . ) to all individuals working on your personal account. This includes everybody from your Production Artist up to the man or woman ultimately responsible for your business (usually an Account Executive or organization principal). Ultimately though, that will overhead can cost you time and money, that will make smaller projects more costly.

My very own preference is to work with firms that have a more senior man connected to my account. The one that knows the in's in addition to outs of getting things performed or is even doing it project themselves. Its similar to when I go to a restaurant as well as order my food. I need a waitress that will listen closely, identify costs for ala cart items that may or may not be necessary, and know that special requests take longer or will cost a lot more. The same works for an firm. What has generally proved helpful for me is to either make use of a smaller agency where you gain access to more senior staff, or perhaps make sure you have an experienced profile executive that understands your own processes, your business, and their very own firm's cost structure (no ala cart, surprise invoices).

Tough question #2: How can the agency measure promoting success?

That's an easy query to answer, but only if anyone asks it. There are many ways to the path results via software and also systems... quality of advertising campaign responses, number of new customers, mass media coverage, internet conversions, online traffic, email clicks, etc . However the first question you need to ask will be, what is most important to me because the client, and is that the most important thing to my "boss"?

Just before moving forward on a project, consider, what is most important to determine, and then what results could well be adequate to justify enough time and cost involved. Regarding though, and look to your advertising and marketing agency to be a partner, not just a vendor. For example , you may have the aim of generating 100 qualified options, but have only a limited price range, a small market, or have no the sales resources to adhere to up on leads generated. This is why an experienced Account Exec and marketing team is vital. They help you set goals so that you can meet them together. Once you have set your goals along with objectives, you can then build a want to address the cause and-effect romantic relationship between your marketing program and your effects. Lastly, I cannot stress adequate that you communicate them usually to your sales team, executives, in addition to marketing partners as each and every will play a role in their accomplishment.

Tough Question #3: Can i market to sell or industry to educate?

Let me answer this kind of question with a question. Do you want sales pressure? I may. If you are looking to build a long term partnership with a customer, then unquestionably, the better method to use is Education-Based Marketing. People are tired of offering and sales pressure. Rely on needs to be built. You do that through demonstrating that you are a pacesetter in your field and have resolved the problem for others who are just like themselves. Prospective customers want details and advice, which is the inspiration of Education-Based Marketing. And also until business owners realize just what customers want - and present it to them - businesses will continue to get a inadequate response to their marketing.

Check out multiple techniques to get your communication across. Training videos on YouTube may well work for some clients, just where white papers on the same matter, delivered via email could work better for others. Today, frequent educational techniques include websites, white papers, case scientific studies, articles and videos... and a lot can be produced at a pretty low cost. Just make sure you are offering people what they want inside the medium they want it with.

In looking for marketing help, look for people who specialize in education and learning as well as selling. It will help your current reputation, your relationship along with your SEO results.

Tough Query #4: How am I those billed for services: by using an hourly rate, project pace or retainer?

A project will take 10 minutes or 10 days. That being the case, easily were to charge clients per hour, I'd have to know exactly how very long the project will take and this there would be no surprises. A great hourly rate means you will end up billed exactly on the moment it takes me to do the work.

In the end, some agencies must charge for additional time, thus must recoup it within other areas. I am not as huge a proponent of an by the hour quote because

#1, diverse skill sets have different costs (ie a Production Musician will not be billed at the same charge as the Creative Director), #2, I have to track hours associated with specific projects. An admin hassle.

Now of course, for much larger agencies, clients may have a plus in that clients can selectively bypass the higher-tiered staff for ones with a lower charging rate but you don't would like to ask a Production Artisan about overall marketing strategy.

Regarding small projects, ask to get billed in increments which can be smaller than 1 hour. For more substantial projects, many smaller consumers like to be quoted over a project basis. Together we all develop the plan, I supply a quote, and the project can then be completed and paid inside stages. It is a good equilibrium when you want to test an agency regarding performance and build a longer expression working relationship between customer and agency. It does, still mean the agency is much less likely to negotiate terms of your agreement since the long term connection may be uncertain.

As an business owner, I personally prefer a retainer-like. Why? Because it allows me to designate costs and hours correctly. And for the client, he/she can easily count on me for Back button number of hours allocated to these. This allows for some negotiating area with both parties. For example , when you use a retainer, my dialogue with the client would be i would usually charge X in this amount of work but in the attention of developing a long-term romance, I'll charge X without Y%. Furthermore, in the soul of fairness, I would not quibble if the amount of perform in a given month travelled a little over (and I actually wouldn't expect that the consumer would complain if a calendar month was a little light. In the long run, it works out even.

One particular alternative in how I offer you projects versus other businesses, is that I bundle our services into larger assignments with a set price construction. This allows the client to get the good thing about a retainer model (a cost reduced set of built-in deliverables) with a set estimate for completion of the job.

Inner Spark Creative is a full service advertising and marketing agency serving clients across the southeastern United States. Services include SEO, pay per click, website design, location marketing, marketing automation, and more.

References SEO

[mytabijastrologyblog]

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what is astrology?

Astrology is the belief that the alignment of stars and planets affects every individual's mood, personality, and environment, depending on when he was born. Free astrologers consultation print horoscopes in newspapers that are personalized by birth date. These horoscopes make predictions in people's lives, describe their personalities, and give them advice.

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When you can hardly find time for yourself amidst hestic schedules. When you are looking for a second opinion from another astrology expert. When travelling to far-flung location is not commendable. When expressing your feelings is easier without revealing yourself.

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Meet astrologers with similar astrological skills sets and suggest a free consultation astrology trade. Learn as much as you can on your own and keep lots of notes about questions you encounter. In a trade you would give them your feedback on their chart and they would give theirs to you.

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 I do not intend, nor do i want in any way, to call into question or quibble about the validity of the various prediction systems but i think it's right, as a passionate researcher of the astrological science,to share with you my studies and the results obtained with the "sensorial system". If you are not satisfied with any free online astrology consultation on this queries then you can also visit the most authenticate website tabij.in for more details.  

[outer-space-aro-ace]

HAPPY NEW YEAR 🥳🎊

Sorry this is late! Happy new year! I hope your 2024 is... ace!

[fume-knight-of-shovelry]

Artistic Licenses

A sequel to Inaccuracies and Lights, taking place after both of those stories. You can also find them and my Gency week prompts, as well as any other stories I write, on my Archive page.

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

“Angela, have you taken a look at this?” Genji entered Angela’s office without knocking, hands enclosed around thin sheet of paper. He’d elected to keep his mask off for today’s visit. Sighing, she looked up from her work and rested her head in her hands.

“Genji, I appreciate you seeing me so frequently on my off-hours. But would you please knock? One of these days, you’re going to catch me at a bad time.”

“Whatever do you mean, Angela?” Genji grinned. “I imagine that you’d be more concerned that someone might walk in on us.”

“Very funny, Genji.” She rolled her eyes and drummed the corner of her pen on the edge of her desk, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Well, what did you want to show me?”

“I apologize, Angela. I’ll be more mindful in the future. But here, take a look at this.” He shuffled the stack of paper in his hand across the surface of her work table towards her. “Something of Brigitte’s. I think she got it from Reinhardt when she was much younger, and she gave it to me after our last trip to Sweden, and I thought you’d enjoy it.”

 His girlfriend looked the book over, flipping from page to page, chewing on the tip of her pen. “Die Walküre? This is...very old. In fact, I believe that the inaugural performance of this was over two hundred years ago!” She looked back up at her boyfriend, beaming with gratitude. “Thank you, Genji! This is a recent script reproduction, but it is still a wonderful gift. What about it made you think of me?”

 Genji reached out a finger and flipped back to the cover, pointing to the title. “Walküre. German for ‘valkyrie’. I thought you’d find it fitting, given, well, you know.” He began to circle around to the back of the desk, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Is something wrong, Angela?”

 She shook her head and turned to let him plant a quick kiss on her lips, tilting her chin upward to better face him. “Nothing at all, Genji. I merely find the idea that these valkyries have any similarity to me a little...silly. Do not get me wrong, this is a fantastic opera, and my quibble is not meant to detract from the value of your gift.”

Now it was Genji’s turn to raise an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean, ‘these valkyries are not similar’? Can you be more specific, Angela?”

“I mean, Richard Wagner was a theatrical and musical genius, I’m not disputing that. That his plays have stayed relevant for so long is remarkable.”

“Angela. The valkyries?”

“Right, sorry. He was good, but he took some significant liberties from his source material. Torbjörn would be able to tell you more, or Brigitte.”

“I’m not asking them, I’m asking you  .”

“Genji, I need to get back to work.” Angela made a shooing motion with her right hand, brushing against Genji’s forearm. “Later, I promise. Okay?”

Genji sighed, but he couldn’t argue with that. “All right, Angela. One more, for the road?” He leaned down and puckered his lips, and felt her return the gesture. With a light smacking sound, they parted, and Genji left her to her work. He had enough to do between now and the end of Angela’s workday.

“So, you were going to elaborate on your point earlier.” Genji prodded. Rather literally: as Angela stood in their kitchen in the sink, he poked the back of her shoulder.

“Oh, right. My apologies.” Angela shook her hands dry from the dishes she’d be doing and turned, leaning against the edge of the countertop. “I was talking about valkyries, correct? Well, as far as I know, the original mythical valkyries were servants of Odin.”

“Who?”

“Ah, right, you wouldn’t be familiar with that.” Angela tilted her head towards the book Genji had brought her, now resting on their table. “He was a Scandinavian god of poetry, wisdom, war, kings, and hanging, among others. Not a nice god, from what we know, even if he ultimately tried to act in the world’s best interests.”

“How do you know so much about old belief systems?” Genji crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture coming across less as “frustrated” and more as “self-conscious”. “You’re making me self-conscious about what I don’t know.”

“Please, Genji, that was not my intention.” Angela reached out to run her fingers over her boyfriend’s forearm, smiling calmly. “And if it makes you feel better, I really don’t know that much. Just the bits that stick out to me as the most interesting.”

Genji winced. He hadn’t meant to whine, but clearly he’d sounded aggravated enough to merit comfort. “Apologies, Angela. What else did you have to share?”

“Well, valkyrie literally means ‘chooser of the slain’.” Angela hadn’t acknowledged his apology verbally, instead communicating her understanding with a light squeeze on his arm. He knew what she meant. “And rather than being the angel-like figures that they’re often depicted as, they could be...somewhat sinister.”

“How?”

“Well, their name isn’t a euphemism. They were literally choosing the slain: who lived, who died, who told their story. They could heal and act to save humans, but more often they might actually engineer the death of a particularly powerful combatant. The belief was that this was so that the bravest, strongest, most stalwart warriors would go to Valhalla to be at Odin’s disposal come Ragnarök, ‘the doom of the gods.’” Angela sighed and leaned into Genji, resting her chest against his shoulder. “In practice, though...not to be dismissive, but in reality this was probably an explanation for why many of the most valiant fighters died young, in their prime.”

Genji slipped one of his hands out from the fold in front of his chest and stroked the back of Angela’s neck, murmuring softly. “I suppose it’s easier to believe that everyone who perishes in battle does so at the will of a league of superwomen for some greater purpose , rather than due to chance or an uncaring world. If you find the appellation ‘valkyrie’ inaccurate, why not choose another?”

Angela leaned back, from Genji, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm. “Because our cultural consciousness has cemented valkyries as angelic figures. I’ve no illusions about the role the eventual Christianization of Scandinavia played in that a millenia ago.” Angela rolled her eyes, blowing a strand of hair out from her face. “Now, though, it’s another good way to market my technology, as cynical as that may sound. And it is not wholly inaccurate: the valkyries did supposedly have benevolent tendencies and healing powers, even if their primary function was to create and collect dead soldiers. Having an angelic-themed suit and naming it ‘valkyrie’ was too good to pass up.”

“Why not rebrand it as an ‘angelic’ suit, then? I know little of angels, but I’m sure you could find some way to incorporate their names into your suit’s name or branding.”

“Because, mein lieber, angels are even worse in that regard. At least the valkyries look like beautiful women. Angels in the Torah an be...very distressing in appearance.” Angela shuddered. “The hayyoth are essentially wheels with wings and eyes all over them, as are the ophanim. We hold the seraph to be winged snakes with human characteristics, although some view them as having human heads and six pairs of wings…”

“Enough!” Genji held Angela close, pressing his lips against the side of her throat. “You’re making them sound worse than some of the      yōkai     I’m familiar with, and given how bizarre      those    can get, that is quite an achievement.”

Angela patted the back of Genji’s shoulder, letting him lean into her. “Is my big, strong boyfriend scared of Jewish angels? Don’t worry, liebling. I’ll protect you.”

“Save me, Angela! You’re painting a vivid picture of angelic terror!” Genji cuddled his chin between her jaw and clavicle side of her jaw, then broke out into giggles, burying his face in her hair. “Sorry. I couldn’t keep a straight face. But yes, I understand. You’re willing to sacrifice a bit of accuracy for the sake of not driving your patients away in terror.”

“Very true, Genji. Although I won’t pretend it doesn’t bother me. And the caduceus staff and suit spinal design…” She scoffed. “Well, let’s just say that I felt rather silly when I remembered that the healing is represented by the Rod of Asclepius, not Hermes. Blame that on the United States and overworking myself as I was applying for the patent.” She grit her teeth audibly in frustration.

Hearing her aggravation, Genji couldn’t stop himself from bursting out into further laughter. Bracing a hand against the small of her back, the other on her shoulders, Genji lifted up and spun Angela in a poor imitation of a ballroom twirl, leaving him leaning against the kitchen counter with Angela on her tiptoes, resting against his chest. She whooped in surprise, hair mussed from the speed and slightly dizzy from Genji spinning her.

“What’s gotten into you, Genji?” Angela queried, blinking to stop the world around her from tilting. He’d flipped her with a bit more force than he’d probably intended, and now she was trying to keep her balance by resting on Genji’s body.

“Angela, I continue to be frustrated by how most ninja are portrayed. You have expressed displeasure with the inaccuracies your technology’s name and design has with respect to valkyries, angels, and healing symbols. Perhaps we are even more alike than we thought.”

“Are you suggesting that we bond over mutual irritation with inaccuracies?” Angela quirked an eyebrow, the world finally coming to a rest around her.

“No, I’m saying that we already are. There’s a key difference, Angela.” Genji didn’t give her a chance to respond, pulling her forward into another kiss, cradling her body against his. Angela started to speak around his lips, but thought better of it and sank into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and neck.

Their relationship was healthy enough that they didn’t sustain it on petty spite. But it was a lot of fun to air their grievances together, however minor they might be.

[ahgaru]

Cigarette [Day6 fanfic]

Pairing: Jaehyungparkian // Park Jaehyung x Kang Younghyun Word count: 3,210 // cigarette, smoking, make out, more make out, mention of sex, mention of death //

Summary: Younghyun wants to be a singer; Jae wants to be a musician. Younghyun is a smoker; Jae offers a substitute to make him stop smoking -- for his voice's sake. Younghyun got a new addiction. Note: This was made because of Cigarette by Offonoff Well..... I don't usually write this kind of stuff but here it is... Hello.And i know I'm not done with Don't Stop The Rain's epilogue yet but here's a jaehyungparkian one-shot first.

In a dark narrow alley, slender fingers that were clutched turned red from pouding a wall. Sneakers covered with mud, and with a splash of dirty water from stepping on a pool of raindrops on the road earlier, were also hammering the bricks.

A black-haired young man, sitting on the ground from a close distance, flashed his eyes open upon hearing the thumping on the wall and the curses pronounced by a slim fellow. He leaned his head on the wall, fished out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans, took a stick and lighted it.

As profanities escaped the mouth of the man kicking and hitting the wall, smoke came out from the other's. Getting irritated by the quibbling of the tall young man, the black-haired stood up and strode toward him. He stretched out his hand and offered the cigarette locked between his left index and middle fingers.

The silver-haired stared at it cluelessly before placing his gaze at the fox-eyed, trying to widen his tiny eyes in question. The illumination from the street light near the alley and the not-so-birght-moon traced the outline of the half part of his face. It was an adorable sight; the not-so-innocent eyes with a glint of sorrow and passion piercing through the black-haired's made his heart be enveloped in a familiar warmth. The latter unconsciously raised both of his eyebrows upon seeing the countenance of the young man, who, in this moment, looked like a lost child (despite his height which the black-haired thought is almost 6 feet) needing help, he's irritated by just a moment ago. He brushed off the feeling and urged him to take the coffin nail from his hand.

"I'm--I'm allergic," he stuttered.

The shorter raised a brow and smirked, thinking that the other's excuse was lame. "You won't be allergic after you try it," he encouraged "Don't be a p*ssy and just take it"

"No," he deadpanned "I'm literally allergic to almost everything." The fox-eyed put down his hand, still unconvinced to what the other was saying. "I'm allergic to almost all fruits, the grass, pollens, furs--"

"Such a pity," the black-haired said insincerely before he huffed a smoke. "Alcohol?"

"I can take it--a bit"

The shorter walked toward where he was seated before. He bent down to take two bottles of beer before striding back to the taller. He handed him a bottle before he crouched beside him. The silver-haired followed. He took a gulp right after he sat beside the shorter.

The sound of the engines passing by, the footsteps of people walking here and there and their imperceptible conversations replaced the silence that covered them. The taller saw the other chugged up at the corner of his eyes so he took a gulp from his also--trying not to grimace. When the younger puffed a smoke again, the silver-haired looked away with a clenching jaw. He's always hated cigarettes. He then wondered the reason behind why the black-haired was smoking--still, he hated it.

"My mom wants me to be a doctor and go back to Los Angeles," the taller broke the silence. The other eyed him for a second before taking a gulp from his bottle of beer once more. "but I don't really want to. And I failed three exams today," he chortled bitterly before swigging the beer.

"I want to be a singer," the other started to open up which brought light to the eyes of the taller after hearing a word that his heart has always been so familiar with, "but no one believes in my songs" he shared nonchalantly before letting out a smoke.

The silver-haired shifted his eyes from the smoke to the shorter man's profile. His eyes traced the outline of his face; from the forehead, to his nose and they settled on his lips. His chest tingled. He averted his gaze and fumbled with the bottle. He cleared his throat and blinked hastily, trying to brush off the 'awakened' sensation he got few seconds ago.

"C-can you let me hear it?" he requested and the other obliged.

The moment the black-haired opened his mouth and his own song escaped from it, it went straight to the taller's ears and to his chest, penetrating his heart. His body hair saluted to his soothing yet piercing voice. The lyrics spoke sorrow and bitter-sweet experiences. He clenched his fists trying not to shed a single tear.

"How is it that no one believes in your music?" the taller quizzed.

The singer just shrugged and took a hit from his stick again, thinking that the guy beside him just admired his song because he didn't know much about music. The latter furrowed his brows after taking another gulp of beer when he saw the shorter breathing in from his coffin nail once again.

He didn't know if it's the alcohol kicking or the other's voice pushing him, but he hastily snatched the cigarette stick from the other and leaned closer to him crashing his lips on the other's and tried to deepen it a second after.

Caught in surprise by the taller's unpredictable action, the shorter's eyes widened and his breathing hitched. He pushed the silver-haired and irritation started to paint on his face.

"What the--what was that about?" he queried with his forehead furrowed. "I'm sorry but I don't swing that way, man"

The silver-haired stared back at him blankly as if what he did wasn't a big deal at all. "I hate seeing people smoking"

The fox-eyed raised a brow, "Then what? You kiss every smoking stranger you see?"

The taller's jaw tightened and his hand on his right knee clenched, "My father died from lung cancer" The black-haired's face softened. "And you have a goal, don't you? You want to be a singer. I know how it feels when no one believes in you. I want to be a musician but no one believes that I can be successful in the music field." He huffed as he tried to sit on the ground to relax himself "But even if no one believes in me, even if other people are trying to make another path in my life, I'm not giving up in music. You have a very charming voice, and don't ruin that. Your nerves can be damaged because of smoking, you can have throat cancer or cancer of the esophagus. And if you continue that, it's like you're proving that those people who don't believe in you are right--how can you be a successful singer when you're already destroying yourself now?"

The shorter batted his eyelids. The corner of his mouth raised and he chortled amusingly. He wanted to retort but he's so taken aback that he couldn't find words to articulate.

"That's why," the taller continued "stop smoking and continue to reach your goal. I know it's hard to stop it especially if it's helping you psychologically--it may be helping you become calm or I don't know--but for the sake of music, you need to. And because I know it's hard to stop it, I thought I can offer you a substitute"

"Substitute?" the fox-eyed creased his forehead once again.

"I can be your cigarette," the taller declared without a hint of hesitation and with determined eyes darting on the other's.

The black-haired laughed it off. It's a ludicrous idea, he thought. But the next night, after his gig, he went outside of the bar, as usual, stayed in that dark alley, and when he fished a box of cigarette from his pocket and was about to take a stick, he remembered the silver-haired young man and the warm and soft sensation of his lips against his own. He unconsciously bit his lower lip as he remembered what happened last night. His chest started pounding fast and loud.

"I can be your cigarette," the appeasing voice of the said young man echoed in his mind. He squeezed the pack of cigars in his hand and tightened his jaw before putting the box back to his pocket and let out an air.

He leaned back on the wall, looked up and sighed once more. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He bit his lip again as he remembered everything that the stranger has said--to take care of his voice and stop smoking if he wants to pursue his singing career. But he's really craving for a fag right now.

His forehead furrowed as he exhaled a sharp breath. "I'm going crazy," he voiced after he realized he's waiting for the silver-haired guy. So much for 'not swinging that way'. Maybe that's why he thought he's going crazy--he's not supposed to look forward to that substitute but he actually was.

The taller went around during this time last night but he still hasn't come. The black-haired huffed and ran a hand through his hair. He sat on the ground, one leg relaxing, and the other was raised. He clenched his hand and hit the other leg--a sign of impatience.

Almost half an hour has passed and a pair of footsteps were starting to come closer. He looked up and saw the tall young man trying to catch his breath. He's leaning down, hands on his knees, and his shoulders kept going up and down. A guitar case was strapped on his shoulder.

The shorter stood up and kept mum. The other straightened up and started telling why he has come a little late than he did yesternight. The former didn't hear a word--as if he's watching a movie on mute or a movie with a different language that he couldn't comprehend what the other was saying. His eyes were focused on only one thing--the taller's mouth. His own agaped as he watched the silver-haired's lips moved as he spoke.

He took a gulp and a step closer, putting a hand at the back of the taller's head, pulled him closer and met his lips. Although surprised, the taller obliged. He rested his hand on the waist of the shorter and responded to the kiss. Just when he was about to deepen it, the black-haired pulled back.

"I needed a toke," the shorter explained--a bit embarrassed by his action because it's like eating his words from last night. Who doesn't 'swing the other way' but kisses a man first?

The taller let it slide and decided not to mention anything about it. Instead, he talked about the guitar he brought with him.

"This is Mery," he introduced "my best friend. I brought her with me so I can accompany you. But this is an electric, so I couldn't really play it right now because we would need an amp. I wanted to bring Taylor, the acoustic, but it's in my mother's room and we fought so I didn't have the chance to get it"

That's the only time the shorter noticed the scartch on the face of the silver-haired and a welt on his left cheek. He didn't stick his nose and tried not to mind it.

"I have an amplifier in my place," he offered.

The night seemed to be staying still when they indulged themselves to the music that the taller produced and the lyrics that the shorter intuned.

Their heartbeats seemed to be dancing freely to the rhythm that was pervading the room. Their hearts were covered with familiar warmth that shouted intimacy and whispered romance--their fond of each other, but romance was still so subtle. Excitement surrounded their tickers and mystique grew bigger.

They feel like they just found the missing note on their scale; that a melody was added to the rhythm of their existence making it more colorful; that their dissonant lives now have harmony.

"You wanna go on a gig with me?" The younger, which was the black-haired, asked with a hint of hope, thinking the silver-haired may be the missing piece to his singing.

"You do gigs?" an eyebrow raised in question.

"We met at the back alley of the bar I work at," he shrugged as the other's mouth agaped "I sing there three times a week."

The night was already deep when the silver-haired put his guitar down and started to pack up. The younger stood up and paced toward the veranda. The taller's eyes followed him and saw his hand take the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He immediately walked toward him and tapped his shoulder softly. The moment the shorter turned to look at him, he collided his lips to the other's.

The black-haired, taken aback, stepped backward and hit the railing. When he started to relax, he let go of the cigarette pack and held the waist of the slim fellow, pulling him closer, as the latter put his arms around the shorter's shoulders.

"I thought you're straight," the older teased with amusement painted on his face when they pulled back, still in the same position "but you're so into kissing me"

The black-haired narrowed his eyes, "I just needed cigarette," he licked his lower lip "and you told me to take care of my voice. I'm just taking your offer."

The taller smirked and locked his lips with the younger's again; this time, deeper. The latter's hold tightened and the older leaned closer as they became more and more intoxicated with each other's taste.

"It's Jae," the older answered when the younger queried his name. They're laying down side by side on the black-haired's bed. Jae asked to stay the night at the other's place because he didn't have a place to sleep at. "How about you?"

"Younghyun"

"Don't you have an English name or something?" Jae quizzed as he raised a hand to rest his head, turning to his side to look at the younger, "Younghyun is long, and Young or Hyun is awkward. How about I give you an English name?"

"I don't need one," Younghyun retorted.

"Brian," Jae declared, not paying attention to what the black-haired has said. The latter creased his forehead and asked why, "Because you look like a Brian"

Younghyun furrowed his forehead more before raising a brow and shaking his head. His eyes rested on Jae's lips again and unconsciously bit his own. The older noticed it and beamed.

"Do you need your cigarette?"

"Uhh," Younghyun averted his eyes "I usually take a puff before sleeping"

Jae compeled and moved closer. Resting a hand on the younger's chest, he started planting small kisses on the other's lips before fixing it in place. When he started to open his mouth, Younghyun breathed in before responding. The latter's hand, which was behind his head, draped between the taller's jaw and neck.

Brian, as Jae calls Younghyun, was drawn to the older's lips. He kept yearning for it more than he ever did for cigarettes. He'd try to let Jae see him taking a cigarette stick just so the taller would take it away from him and kiss him; he'd intentionally act restless if the 'cigarette stick' tactic was already used three times within the day.

They walked the music path together--made songs and did gigs. Their connection grew over time. Younghyun didn't need to pull some tricks anymore just to have Jae's lips on his. Sometimes, he'd just stare at the older, or call his name, and Jae would understand right away (there's a certain expression that the younger always has and a certain tone his voice would make whenever he would need his cigarette).

As days passed, the kisses advanced. Tongues started to join, hands began exploring, and hips commenced grinding. They would always make out whenever they get a chance; usually at the back alley of the bar.

Jae would always spend the night after every gig. His fight with his mother has also gotten worse, which Brian knew nothing about. Jae would stay at his friend's place whenever he's not sleeping at Brian's because he left home already.

Things got heated. The usual make out sessions escalated. It first happened during a rainy night when Jae just had his hair dyed black, and he appeared on Brian's apartment door soaking wet from the rain. He walked to Brian's place, despite the heavy pouring, from his friend's house because no one was there.

It was a titillating sight for Brian. Never had he thought that he would feel that way towards a man. Instead of asking Jae what happened, he grabbed him hastily and proceeded to mess up the older's lips. They're hungry for each other. Without breaking contact, they found their way to Brian's room. No one uttered a word, no one asked if it's okay to go beyond the line. It's as if saying a single word would break the spell.

Neither of them regretted what happened. But neither of them also talked about it. It didn't happen always, but it did at least once a week.

Brian was indenial. Jae knew his own feelings as clear as crystal. They both wanted to know what they had, but afraid of asking the other. They both thought they already knew the answer--that Brian was just addicted to the kisses and sex as replacement to his cigarette addiction; that Jae was just doing the 'obligation' he assigned for himself.

No one dared to make clarifications; both were afraid of the confrontation, thinking one question would ruin their current situation.

"Brian"

Younghyun hated that name on day one. But he loved hearing it every time it would escape Jae's mouth--every time he'd moan it, utter it needingly, or say he calls for him the moment he'd wake up.

Letting out a smoke, Younghyun shifts his gaze to the person who shouted 'Brian'. His heart twitches as he smiles pitifully to himself. He was just reminiscing about him and now he just heard someone pronouncing the name that he gave him.

It's been exactly a year since his last cigarette. It was a fine day when Jae told him to go on a café with him. They ate cake, went to see a movie, played on arcade, took sticker photos, and made love when they arrived home. It was basically a date. And their intercourse that night was a little bit different. It was more than just lust, addiction and obligation. It was slow and sweet yet it seemed emotive than any other sex they had.

He didn't see him after that night. The moment he opened his eyes, no sight of Jae can be found. After a week, he then knew why that last night was different--because he will leave him. And he was sure of it after a month has passed. Now, it's been a year but the hope hasn't still faded.

He huffs as he throws the butt on the ground and steps on it to put out the flame. He's back to smoking for half a year now. He just finished a fag but he still craves for more--more than just a tobacco rolled in a narrow cylinder.

He misses Jae's lips.

He longs for Jae's warmth.

He yearns for Jae's presence.

He needs his cigarette.

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[hutz224]

Quixotic chaotic quest continues

15 July 2020 - alphabetical post #17

Given the large number of parkruns in and close to Melbourne, finding runs beginning with the letters A to P had not been a difficult task. But the letter Q was another matter entirely. For the first time, it would be necessary to travel interstate. Queanbeyan in New South Wales or Queens Domain in Hobart, Tasmania? That was the question. I was left in something of a quandary, but not for long.

The interstate trip came at a good time. Friday 7 February was the last day of my chemotherapy treatment. The same day, Candice and I boarded a Qantas flight to Hobart, where we were staying in a quaint AirBnB house in a quiet Sandy Bay street. We happily quaffed a liberal quantity of champagne with dinner to celebrate the end of my chemo ordeal, even though some side effects would not quit (and still haven’t).

Hobart qualifies as a truly beautiful city. Nobody would quibble with that proposition. Queens Domain is, to quote Wikipedia: “a small hilly area of bushland just north-east of the CBD”. It contains a range of quality sporting facilities, including a two kilometre circuit called “Max’s Infinity Loop”, named after local running coach, the late Max Cherry OAM. 

Over 200 runners and walkers queued at the start. We began quite slowly on an uphill section. The course had a trail section through the bush, but otherwise followed the quirky dual surface loop (half bitumen, half cinders) out and back, with a quick downhill finish. The hills and trails gave my quads a good workout as I clocked 26:47.

Post-run we quenched our thirsts at a Sandy Bay cafe with local runner and friend Andy Allison. Later we drove past Macca’s and I quipped: “The thought of eating a quarter-pounder makes me feel queasy, but I wouldn’t mind some quiche.” Candice, who is used to my alphabetical wordplays, rolled her eyes and said: “You will run out of words this time, even though you will be typing on a qwerty keyboard.” 

“Good one,” I said, “Now how about a Queen quiz?” Candice quelled my enthusiasm with a prompt: “No, thanks”. Ignoring the rebuff, I posed this query: “Brian May is the quintessential guitarist. Who made his guitar, the “Red Special”?” Answer next blog.

Course ratings - Queens Domain:

Course - out and back on Max’s Infinity Loop plus trail detour, hilly ***

Surface - bitumen, cinders and dirt ***

Setting - natural bush ****

Social index - helpful volunteers ****

This post’s Q count: 32.

The next post will be brought to you by the letter R.

[bluemagic-girl]

Raging at Dave Dombrowski for Wednesday’s Red Sox inaction ignores a lot

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COMMENTARY

The Nice New England Quiet of July 31, 2019, isn’t a story about Dave Dombrowski, however since there’s a cheap likelihood you’re nonetheless mad at him this morning, let’s begin there.

“We had a possibility to make a lot of trades, if we wished to,” the Red Sox roster architect advised reporters hours earlier than Boston misplaced a second straight to Tampa Bay, who’s not significantly better than the 2019 Red Sox, however is 7-1 at Fenway Park this yr. “We simply felt that calls for for what we had been going to obtain, we didn’t wish to pay.”

That “we” is essential. Particularly the opposite half of it.

Given he spoke and fielded questions for 26 minutes, Dombrowski stated myriad different issues, however I don’t suppose we have to get terribly deep. As a result of, as beforehand famous, this isn’t a story about Dave Dombrowski, who stated nothing to rival two Octobers in the past when, within the midst of 34 minutes on why he fired John Farrell, he unabashedly declared “I’m not going to share info. These are issues I hold to myself.”

How that didn’t break Twitter, I’ll by no means know.

Farrell was a surprising transfer in hindsight that was on no account stunning within the second. Groups simply don’t hearth back-to-back division winners — there had been 4 such cases in 5 many years at that time — however, effectively, I dare say the bulk had been calling for it after a pair of meek first-round ousters. Wednesday? Let’s name it the surprising non-move that ought to on no account have been stunning.

As a result of for all the pieces Dombrowski stated in that presser, Wednesday merely validated what he’s accomplished from the second the ink dried on Nate Eovaldi’s $68-million contract in December: Let you know he wasn’t going to spend massive on aid pitching.

The Red Sox inquired about a number of relievers Wednesday however had been advised that groups preferred prospects from different golf equipment greater than Boston’s. Solely method the Red Sox had been getting a deal accomplished, a supply stated, was “to do one thing silly.”

— Mark Feinsand (@Feinsand) July 31, 2019

Extra importantly, it adopted what his boss — the man who, if you happen to’ve bought your coronary heart set on needing one, was truly the villain right here — made public through WEEI final month in London.

“It’s not a luxurious tax situation, it’s a query of how a lot cash can we wish to lose,” Red Sox proprietor John Henry (who owns Boston Globe Media Companions, together with Boston.com) stated earlier than his crew bought clobbered by its greatest rival on a global stage. “We’re already over funds and we had been considerably over our funds final yr and this yr. We’re not going to be trying so as to add a lot of payroll. And it’s arduous to think about fielding a higher crew. If we play as much as our capabilities we’ll be fantastic.

“It’s a worthy crew as a result of we invested. Two years in a row we’ve the best payroll. It’s not a matter of funding, it’s a matter of enjoying effectively. If we play as much as our capabilities we’ll simply make the playoffs. That’s how I see it.”

You’re actually welcome to quibble with Henry’s assertion the Red Sox are dropping cash; previous native Evan Drellich reported in February that it’s possible inventive accounting. However he’s not improper, and calling him low-cost can be laughably shortsighted. (And never simply because he owns the platform I’m publishing this on.) A top-five payroll 17 of his 18 years, a top-two for 10, a top-one in back-to-back years.

Rick Porcello lasted one out the day Henry stated that. Porcello bought one out Wednesday earlier than he was trailing and completed July with a 7.94 ERA. Of 75 ERA-qualified starters final month, Porcello was 71st in fWAR and 70th in FIP. For the season, he’s tied for 56th and 60th respectively out of 70, all for a mere $21 million.

For $88 million as a group, there’s precisely one member of the Red Sox rotation within the prime half of these 70, and it’s Chris Sale, within the midst of maybe the worst full season of his MLB profession. (David Worth can also be prime half, however hasn’t thrown sufficient innings.) I don’t wish to repeat myself, however 2019 has been concerning the beginning pitching, from the blown save rely on down. Thus, Andrew Cashner, who nonetheless counts even when he got here on the 13th as a substitute of the 31st.

Dombrowski’s allowance this winter was spent on Steve Pearce and Eovaldi, through two contracts that had been broadly beloved once they had been signed. Pearce was damage earlier than the spring ended and has 16 hits in 4 months. Eovaldi, at least right here for 4 years, is an out shy of 25 innings pitched in Yr One.

This title protection has felt, at each flip since that first night time in Seattle, not meant to be. The Red Sox acknowledged that on Wednesday. Hardly appears value getting all that mad about, actually not once they opted for consistency over panic. Isn’t that every one we will ask from a franchise’s brainr tust? Utilizing their brains?

The motion introduced after the four p.m. deadline, most notably Zack Greinke to Houston, saved MLB’s first deadline after scrapping the August waiver interval for a lot of individuals. It actually goosed it, however loads of groups had already made their intentions clear. The Astros added three pitchers, plus introduced again a catcher in Martin Maldonado that almost all everybody loves throwing to. Now, we simply wait to see if they will keep away from the destiny of Dombrowski’s 2014 Tigers, who rolled out Max Scherzer, Justin Verlander, and David Worth as a playoff rotation and … bought swept by Baltimore, the thud now in its fifth yr of lingering.

Cleveland accepted that it wasn’t resigning Trevor Bauer, and might need made itself higher whereas dealing him. Oakland added pitching, as did Minnesota. Tampa recognized its wants and crammed each. On the NL facet, Atlanta and Washington loaded up their bullpens for October, the Cubs did some supplementing in a number of spots, and the Brewers did no matter you wish to name their No. four prospect Mauricio Dubon for Drew Pomeranz.

However for each crew that went after it, one other massive one went massive and bought nothing.

“One of the best play was we did nothing,” Brian Cashman stated within the Bronx, content material a wholesome Luis Severino and Dellin Betances can be all of the pitching assist the Yankees want.

“It needed to be for the fitting individual, and we by no means bought there,” stated an brazenly annoyed John Mozeliak in St. Louis.

“We be ok with the expertise we’ve in-house,” Andrew Friedman stated in Los Angeles, the Dodgers refusing to half with their greatest prospect to realize lights-out Pittsburgh nearer Felipe Vazquez.

None lower than the prospect mythmakers at Baseball America identified this week that only one in 5 prospects traded at the deadline from 2003–14 “had MLB careers,” which of their parlance means a optimistic bWAR. The story highlights some massive names who bucked that pattern, however it builds on what we all know to be true: Getting a hit 30 p.c of the time makes you a Corridor of Famer, within the batter’s field and the chief suite.

You’d must be loopy to not suppose the 2018 title affected the 2019 strategy for the Red Sox, particularly accounting for what the accounting appears to be like like after this season. Porcello’s $21.125 million goes, as does the practically $13 million Pearce/Mitch Moreland platoon, greater than $13 million in Pablo Sandoval obligations, Eduardo Nunez’s $5 million, probably the $15 million they paid Dustin Pedroia this yr and the $25-odd million they nonetheless owe him … $240 million payrolls can be within the rear view simply as a pure development.

Dombrowski will possible get his keys again then, and we’ll all nonetheless have the ability to mood the frustration of no matter this season finally ends up being with reminiscences of the one which got here earlier than it.

At the least two of these three groups I simply talked about? New York, St. Louis, and Los Angeles? They’ll actually don’t have anything.

You’re mad at present? Think about how they’re going to really feel.

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