#view from textile city

[heizlut]

Praise kink for kazu? <3

he’s my lil baby, definitely a soft dom for sure that would give you endless praises🥲:

Sweet Little Angel

cw: none, this is cute as hell

tags: shy sub fem!reader, soft dom!kazuha, (also lowkey possessive!kazuha), praise kink, mostly proofread

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

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You were a shy little thing, always clinging to your boyfriend like he could protect you from everything (and he damn well will try his best to do so!). Kazuha loved you, loved everything about you. Especially the way you clutched his arm while you walked or when you’d subtly hide yourself behind him as he socialized with others. You were just too cute for your own good.

Kazuha had recently returned from travelling on the Alcor and made his way to your quaint home in Inazuma. Once you saw him walking up to your home, you practically flew out the door and into his arms making him laugh. You both stayed in each other's arms for a moment before he pulls away first and holds out a wrapped gift and smiles sweetly, "I brought something back for you from Liyue." Your face lights up and you beam at him, pressing little kisses all over his face.

Once inside your home, you unwrap his gift to you, letting the patterned paper flutter to the floor. You pause when you hold up the most beautiful red silk cheongsam-style dress, intricately patterned with golden swirls and leaves. Kazuha sits there smiling as he takes in your reaction but tilts his head slightly when he sees your eyebrows furrow, "Is there something wrong with it, angel?" You study the dress, focused on the cutout that would show off your cleavage and how short the hem of the dress actually was. Your eyes move to Kazuha, "Can I really wear this?" Kazuha looks a little confused but smiles anyways, "Of course, it's for you. Go on, put it on for me."

You peek your head out from behind the bedroom door, cheeks bright red as Kazuha gives you an encouraging soft smile, "Come out. Let me see." You hold your breath as you come out in the beautiful dress, nervous to be wearing something so gorgeous...yet revealing in the right places. Kazuha's breath catches in his throat when he sees you, his vermillion eyes trail down your body. His eyes linger on the little circular cut out in the chest that exposes your cleavage, "Oh, angel... Turn around for me. I want a full view." The blush on your cheeks refuses to go away as you do a slow turn for him. Shit, the dress hugged your curves and your ass so perfectly; the hem sitting pretty on your upper-mid thighs.

"Come here...", Kazuha's words were soft but laced with lust and he holds his hands out to you. You walk over to him and he places his hands on your waist, "Such a pretty angel... Let me take out you in this." You almost choke on absolutely nothing, "In this dress?" Your mind floods with everything that might go wrong if you wore this out, feeling way too shy to wear something like this while walking around Inazuma, "But what if I ruin it, Kazu..." Kazuha's hands slip from your waist and into your hands, "Don't worry about hypotheticals, just let me take you out." He presses his lips to the tops of your hands. You finally relent. Kazuha was just too sweet to deny.

Clutching at his arm as you both walk through Inazuma City, you feel so aware of yourself. You felt the eyes of passersby staring at you and Kazuha was most certainly aware. A surge of pride runs through him that you're on his arm looking the way you do; that you're all his and no one else's. Your confidence was only boosted when Ogura Mio, the lovely woman who ran Ogura Textiles & Kimono's gushed over your dress saying the material, the intricate pattern, and the way it fit you was simply divine. More eyes fell on you when you walked with more confidence instead of leaning into Kazuha's body.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you when you walked up to Tomoko, the street vendor, and began chatting away, using your little boost in confidence to spur you on. Kazuha was quick to catch Tomoko's eyes wandering down your figure and that bright smile that he flashed you when he told you that he was also offering tri-color dango that day. You smile happily when Tomoko hands you the stick of tri-color dango and you bounce as you excitedly turn back to where Kazuha was standing. Kazuha's affectionate gaze falls on you as you walk back to him, hips swaying and all. Did you know how sexy you looked?

"Got everything you wanted?", Kazuha asks in his usual soft tone. "Mhm!", you express with a cute grin on your face. He hums in acknowledgement and wraps his arm around your waist as you continue to walk. A little crumb of dango sticks to the corner of your lip and Kazuha chuckles, pointing by his own lips to let you know you had a little something. Your cheeks heat up and you giggle, swiping your thumb on the spot then bringing it to your lips, sucking the crumb off your finger.

His cock stirs to life in his pants at the promiscuous action you just pulled with such a doe-eyed look on your face and in that sexy little dress no less..., "Let's go home, angel." You pout a little, "But I was just starting to have fun being out..." Kazuha takes your free hand, "I have something more fun for the both of us at home." You look a little confused because he hadn't brought anything else home with him besides the dress he had gifted you, but you let him lead you home.

As soon as the door shuts, his hands are all over you and he kisses the corner of your lips, down your jaw, and to your neck. You suck in a breath as your fingers tangle in his soft white hair, "Kazu..." He sucks at your neck, leaving a dark hickey in its place as he groans against your skin, "You're too pretty...too cute and sweet..." He trails off as he sucks another mark closer to your collarbone now, "You don't realize what you do to me, angel..." Kazuha's voice was husky as his breath fans over your sensitive skin.

Kazuha presses a hasty kiss to your sweet tasting lips, the flavor of the dango you ate earlier lingered there. He licks his lips as he steps back and starts removing his clothes, tossing them off somewhere in the room, he didn't care at the moment. Your pupils dilate as you watch in awe of the beautiful man in front of you and your hands reach around to the back of your dress, fumbling for the buttons. But Kazuha clicks his tongue, halting your movements, "Keep it on. You look so beautiful wearing my gift."

Arousal pools between your legs, wetting the cute white pair of panties you had put on earlier today. You squeal when Kazuha picks you up and places you on the bed. His vermillion eyes sparkling with affection and desire for you and only you. He crawls up on top of you, kissing you slow but with a heated passion. Kazuha moves down and carefully lifts the dress up to your waist, revealing your cute soaked panties. You whimper his name when he drags the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor, "Be still for me, angel. Let me taste how sweet you are..."

A high-pitched moan falls from your lips as his tongue drags up your wet slit. Kazuha groans against your clit, unable to help himself as he grinds his cock into the mattress at the taste of you alone. He laps at your juices as if he was a starved man, tongue flicking at your clit and prodding your pulsating entrance. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you come undone with the most beautiful noises. Kazuha makes you whimper when he drags his tongue against your entrance, overstimulating you, "You did so well for me, pretty girl. You're always so good for me..."

Kazuha doesn't bother to wipe the sticky slick mess from his lips and chin as he moves up again, capturing you lips in his in a hungry kiss. His tongue licks at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, to which you grant. You part your lips, letting his tongue dance with yours, tasting traces of your own arousal. Kazuha's leaking cock rubs against your pussy; his upper body brushing up against the smooth, silky fabric of your dress. The feeling was overwhelming him, making his mind go blank. He looks deep into your eyes, both sharing a loving and heated gaze. You speak first, your words coming out in little pants of breath, "I want to feel you inside me, Kazu..."

He felt his eyes glaze over at your words and the look on your face and he releases a shaky breath, "Anything for you, angel..." It doesn't take much effort for the fat head of his cock to breach your entrance, making both of you suck in a harsh breath. He's the one that whimpers when he sheathes himself fully inside of you warm, wet walls that flutter around his cock. You wrap your arms around his neck as you look up at him with so much need. Kazuha catches your gaze and whispers sweetly, "Gonna move now, alright?" Your lips part slightly as you nod, "Uh-huh..."

Your expression twists to one of deep pleasure as Kazuha fucks you slow and deep. The drag of his cock in your tight pussy had you seeing stars as his name falls from your lips like a desperate prayer. He does his best to keep quiet as he grunts and moans while your cunt squeezes him so perfectly, wanting to hear each noise you make for him. He simply cannot get enough of you, not daring to tear his eyes away for risk of missing every little expression you make.

Kazuha is mesmerized by you, the way you moan his name, they way the gifted dress bunches at your waist, the way you cling to him desperately as he fucks into you at a sensual pace, and the way your hair is splayed out across the pillow. His heart felt like it could explode with the love he has for you, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on. As if you descended directly from Celestia and right into my arms... A beautiful angel taking my cock so well..." Your lips form a lazy smile, finding it cute that his poetic nature remained with him even during such a sinful act. Your smile turns to an "O" and your eyebrows knit together as he hits that spot deep inside of you.

Kazuha feels his end coming near, but he wasn't about to finish before making you cum one more. His thumb moves to your sensitive clit, rubbing frantic circles as he pants above you, his thrusts getting more sloppy, "Cum for me, angel. Let me hear you pretty moans..." Your vision goes white as you arch your back off the mattress, letting out a cry of pleasure as you release all over his length. "That's it, pretty girl... Fuckfuckfuck-", Kazuha almost collapses on top of you as ropes of cum spill inside of you. His cock throbs to the beat of his racing heart as he stills inside of you. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes locked on each other and your heart swells with the way he looks at you, "You did so well for me. My sweet little angel. I love you..."

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a/n: got myself in my own feelings with this one🥹

[cadere-art]

What does agriculture and typical plants and animals used in food look like in different regions and cultures?

For the sake of brevity, my answer will only cover this part (but don't worry, I'm working on the plants (and invertebrates) as well) :

VERTEBRATE LIVESTOCK OF UANLIKRI

Thanks to a wide range of environments and intercontinental trade, Uanlikri boasts a wide variety of vertebrate livestock, some domesticated locally, others brought along by settlers from the other continental masses. Most livestock on Uanlikri are ceratopsians (some more highly derived than others).

Caviþ

Pronounced chavith. Caviþ are a highly derived species of ceratopsians originating from the Basin region. The wild species still exist, roaming the southern Basin plains in great hordes.

For the most part, caviþ are kept as beasts of burden and for their meat and leather. In most locales, they are unpopular compared to O'ohu, which are more powerful, meatier, more docile, and have more offspring at once. Nevetheless, keeping caviþ has its avantages: caviþ are smaller, hardy, tolerant of crowding, and produce rough but warm pelts.

In general, caviþ are too small to be ridden by adult antioles, but not for the Apinaat and Abimaat, two peoples of pigmies who make their living on caviþback across the southern Basin plains and on the Matar Peninsula. For the Apinaat and Abimaat, caviþ, wild and domestic, are their whole livelihood. Their use of caviþ as mounts gives them an incomparable edge in warfare and has earned them a fearsome reputation.

Wek

Wek are one of the few non-ceratopsian livestock originating from Uanlikri. They were first domesticated in coastal areas of the Pwetitwì range from large gull-like birds, and spread from there to most northern coastal areas of Uanlikri. Wek are meaty and adaptable birds kept for their eggs, plumage, and guano. They require access to open water to thrive, but accept saltwater and freshwater alike. They are primarily kept in coastal areas, as well as along the Koramme river and Basin Great Lakes, where the slow-moving waters suit them fine.

Kabi

Kabi, a guinea pig sized ceratopsian, are the most widely kept livestock on Uanlikri. The kabi in the picture was enlarged for ease of viewing: the vast majority of kabi breeds are much smaller, though giant breeds do exist. Kabi are a multi-purpose livestock: they are bred for their meat, abundant eggs, soft patterned pelts, and companionship. Kabi are extremely adaptable and very tolerant of crowding. Their ease of keeping in urban environments has made them ubiquitous through all the cities of the continent.

There are hundreds of kabi breeds and landraces on the continent. Kabi have a tendency to establish themselves as feral pests as well as livestock, where natural selection by the environment encourages the development of landraces best adapted to the local climate. They also make excellent pets due to their highly social nature, and many lines of kabi are bred purely for good temperament and pleasing (though sometimes extreme) appearance. Kabi are also ubiquitous overseas: it is unclear where they were first domesticated, but most theories point towards dwarf and standard kabi originating from one domestication event on Uanlikri, and red-leg kabi originating from another domestication event overseas, possibly of a different but related species: this would explain some of the difficulties in breeding dwarf and standard kabi to red-leg kabi.

Tsut

Tsut were one of the livestock species brought along by the Senq Ha Empire, conquerors and settlers of the Western Peninsula. These diminutive therizinosaurids were selected through millenia for an extremely downy, frizzy coat which can be sheared and spun like wool. Of all Senq Ha livestock, tsut were the ones to find the fastest and most widespread adoption, only limited by their destructive browsing habits and preference for hilly terrains and cool weathers. Tsut down revolutionized the world of textiles in Uanlikri, where spun-down fibres were previously very rare and very expensive, requiring capture and shearing of wild animals with very little suitable fibre.

Tsut are primarily raised for their fiber but also provide meat and more importantly crop-milk. Consumption of crop-milk is slow to catch in communities not descended from the Senq Ha, but the Senq Ha's people use crop milk abundantly, using it fresh or processed in dozens of different ways.

Llekme

Llekme were domesticated in the Northern peninsulas of Uanlikri from a species related to the caviþ. They share many of the caviþ issues and advantages, being hardy but temperamental. However, contrarily to the caviþ, they are an extremely popular livestock among both sedentary and nomadic populations Uanlikri's north. There, they are used as beasts of burdens and pulling animals of limited power as well as for their meat. For the desert nomads of the Atashir, llekme provide essential help in carrying their tents and tools; in cities, they are often used as pulling animals, working alone or in teams to pull small carts and coaches.

Hêtâ

Hêtâ are family of highly derived ceratopsians, including a dozen species and subspecies on the mainland and a few endemic island species. They are, in truth, not yet a domestic species. All species of hêtâ are game animals highly appreciated for their ornemental feathers and delicious meat, and there have been several attempts to domesticate various species of mainland hêtâ, none of which have been successful. Mainland hêtâ have extremely nervous dispositions, are prone to dying from stress, and mostly fail to reproduce in captivity: they rarely breed, and when they do, they most often do not provide parental care, leading to the death of the chicks.

This said, there is an ongoing project on the Ojame archipelago to restore and domesticate the near-extinct Ojame hêtâ. The Ojame hêtâ is endemic to the archipelago. Due to the absence of large predators on the archipelago, it has evolved to be larger and much less fearful than mainland hêtâ, but was driven to near extinction by hunting and the introduction of larger, bolder breeds of oujabe [dog analogue] from the mainland and of continental hêtâ imported for use as wild game.

The failure of mainland domestication attempts and a joint desire to preserve and profit from the Ojame hêtâ has led to a unique, unusually coordinated project to domesticate and reestablish the Ojame hêtâ. In a rare show of goodwill and collaboration, this project is shared by both Wetki and Ranaite communities on the archipelago. The Ojame hêtâ is thought to be a promising source of meat and ornemental feathers as its population levels rise and stabilized. Successful captive reproduction has been achieved, and semi-domesticated captive population are being reintroduced to Êrar, the archipelago's largest island where the hêtâ had been completely eradicated.

Wagwacguk

The wagwacguk (wag-wash-guk) is a wild animal living as familial herds in the tundras south of the Kantishian, with a domestic subspecies of marginal range in the lands of the Daghwa-Igdø and the Kantishian High Plateau. It is a large, extremely hardy animal with a warm, plush coat and thick leather. For the Daghwa-Igdø, wagwacguk are their main livelihood. One month per year, they feast on the fresh meat of wagwacguk calves, culling their herds as the first dayfrosts touch their lands; the later kills are preserved by smoking and freezing. The rest of the year, wagwacguk blood provides them with most of the protein in their diet. Wagwacguk pelts, leather, guts, horn and hooves are the materials involved in most of their material culture.

Though domestic wagwacguk are most closely associated with the Daghwa-Igdø, they are also kept by the Oubixwø-øi of the Kantishian high plateau as part of the Oubixwø-oi's diverse survival strategies.

O'ohu

O'ohu are domestic hadrosaurs named, in most regions where they are kept, after their loud and haunting cry. They are the largest and second-most widespread livestock on Uanlikri. Where they are kept, they are invaluable for their work as beasts of burden: plowing fields, pulling carts, carrying charges of all kinds. They are essential to the work of peasants and armies alike, and they are surprisingly fast. Historically, they have often been used in active combat, pulling war chariots. They cannot be ridden: their back ridge is too fragile to bear the weight of a rider and their alternatively bipedal and quadrupedal gait makes balancing a saddle impossible. They are also used for meat, blood, leather, and other byproducts. Their finely scaled and patterned leather is considered especially attractive, and their hollow horns are often made into music instruments. In many cultures, O'ohu grastroliths are considered to have medicinal properties as the ultimate digestive aid, and are often sold at a considerable markup by gastrolith merchants.

[travelingare]

📍Istanbul, Turkey.

Photography amazingly captures the vibrant energy and rich history of Istanbul, Turkey. This magnificent city, spread over two continents, is a tapestry of centuries of cultures, colors and heritage. Istanbul, where East meets West, is a city unlike any other. Its skyline is adorned by the majestic Hagia Sophia and the elegant Blue Mosque, symbols of the city's deep historical roots. Wander through the bustling Grand Bazaar, a maze of colors and scents. Here, every alley and shop is a treasure trove of handicrafts, spices and textiles.

The Bosphorus Strait, a vital waterway, not only separates Asia and Europe but also offers some of the most picturesque views of Istanbul. A ferry ride on the Bosphorus is a must-do experience. Immerse yourself in the charm of the different neighborhoods of Istanbul. From historic Sultanahmet to modern Beyoğlu, each area tells its own unique story. Istanbul's cuisine is as diverse as its heritage. Try traditional Turkish delights, savory kebabs and fresh seafood, a real feast for the senses.

As the sun sets, watch the city transform into a golden hue. The silhouette of minarets and domes against the evening sky is a sight to behold.📸@mstfatyfn

[mekachu04]

6. Lipstick

Kidd - 11 | Killer - 15 | Victoria - 15 almost 16

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Killer in dresses and makeup

Teenagers doing teenager things

Victoria is a mill girl

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Victoria had been a mill girl since she was 10, a doffer for the older women in the textile mill, and earning herself a bed at the Women's Boarding House, tucked away on the city side of the mill complex, blocking the city's view of the textile manufacturing building and the waste it dumped freely out into the Heaps. She was well aware of the good fortune she'd fallen into, having seen the conditions other girls and boys her age outside of the walls lived in. She was almost 16 now, and still sleeping in the same bed night after night.

The years of being underpaid and overworked left her with a roof over her head, three square meals a day, and never having to worry about the things that go bump in the night.

Never had to worry about the unwanted attention of the older boys as not a one of them yet able to sneak past the Widow Matron of her building.

 That wasn't to say Victoria had not been sneaking a certain younger boy in for a couple of years now.

Three years actually - right under the nose of the adults - with the exception of one of the nurses who'd taught Victoria herself the tricks on a night the young woman preferred not to remember. It was a good thing Killer made a convincing girl, prettier hair than her own, and a wore her dresses and heels as naturally as she did. She just had to make sure he was out by curfew or someone was bound to notice the extra girl at head count.

Once, on one of her free weekends, her dress had torn along the back when it got caught on a nail or something. Instead of going home - and possibly be misunderstood as forfeiting her remaining free time - she'd convinced Killer (and Kidd because she'd forgotten to lock the door) to follow her into a shop's bathroom and put her dress on so she could sew it back up as properly as one could on the fly.

While using him as a dress form - she wasn't particular well devolved and he was about as wide chested as she was and it fit him well enough for the task - Kidd had asked the two if that meant Killer was a girl.

Killer had looked upset, it was too close to the ugly things the other boys called him and while she knew Kidd didn't know any better, it was still bordering on hurtful.

"What's wrong with being a girl?" she had demanded of him. Kidd looked surprised, before slouching against the main door, looking properly told off, muttering "Nuthin'."

With a frown, she'd turned back to her stitching, when Killer spoke up, his voice timid in a way she wasn't used to, "Victoria wears pants most of the time, does that make her a boy?" he asked Kidd.

"…no?"

"You're wearing one of her old shirts right now - does that made you a girl?"

The boy shook his head no.

"It's just clothes and stuff."

"Okay." Kidd agreed, sounding like right now he just want the conversation to end.

But Victoria had looked at Killer in her favorite yellow dress - it was the wrong colour for him, but made a cute silhouette.

She'd brought him an older blue one of hers a few weeks later. They'd snuck into the bathroom again, and she'd dressed him up and it looked so much better than the yellow one had.

And then they'd waltzed right in though the front doors of her boarding house, only barely keeping composed long enough to shut themselves away in her currently empty dorm room before they were laughing wildly, clutching at each other to keep from falling over.

"I can't believe that worked!" Killer was cackling, and neither could Victoria, and the thrill of getting such a big one over on the Widow Matron was a high she'd not been expecting.

Most of the time, Victoria was more than happy to hang out with both of the boys, but there was something exhilarating in sneaking Killer away from both his childminder duties and past the women of the boarding house. She was pretty sure some of the other girls had suspected something was up seeing as Killer - who had the audacity to introduce himself as Killer still - could never be found at meals or at bed check.

So far though, the only thing anyone had actually said was when Nicolette had still been in the room getting ready when Victoria and Killer slipped in one afternoon. Killer had quickly looked away from the half-dressed woman, blushing, and Victoria had felt a little offended he'd never reacted to her that way. Nicolette had frowned at the interruption but otherwise ignored them, at least until she was putting her things away. She held a little tube up thoughtfully, before tossing it to Victoria. Even surprised, she'd caught it with ease, looking confused.

"Killer'd look good in purple, I think." was all Nicolette said, before heading out for her own night on the town.

It was a tube of lipstick. Victoria and Killer looked at it thoughtfully.

Nicolette was right. Killer did look good in purple. It was a soft lilac colour that worked well with his straw yellow hair and ice blue eyes. Victoria found she liked painting him up in it, some times adding a touch of purple powder that she'd later pick up to the creases of his eyelids.

Sometimes, after he was all dolled up, they'd hit the town together. Other days they spend in her dorm room. "Just don't mess up your lipstick" was her only rule.

And then he'd either escort her back to the doors just before 10, or would be sneaking out the back, headed back to the Heaps. He had a small collection of makeup that was just his that he hid in one of his caches, along with the dress. The other clothes he would bring back to Kidd, who was more than happy to wear even the ugliest prints if not for anything more than the fact they'd never belonged to anyone else before him.

Kidd would watch him those nights, carefully washing the makeup off under the flickering of lamp light.

"You don't have to wash it off…" Kidd had said finally, "If you don't want to. I don't care if you like to look pretty."

Killer had smiled up at him, head tilted so his bangs fell away from his face for once, and he studied his younger friend, "You think I look pretty?"

[obsessedbyneon]

Before I head to another book scan about Hong Kong, these are some black and white photographs of daily life in the city back in the day, by Patrick Zachmann.

Houseboats in Hong Kong Bay, 1987.

The Racecourse in Happy Valley, 1985.

In a tram, 1987.

A street in gHong Kong, 1987.

Mr. Raynold Lee, former president of the stock exchange, 1988.

Small textile firm in the Walled City of Kowloon, 1989.

A game of Mah-jong, 1982.

In a Hong Kong restaurant, 1983.

A view of Hong Kong from Kowloon, 1992.

Scan

[handweavers]

may I ask what you're researching? I'm very intrigued now!

i'm researching the history of textile manufacturing and trade in kano (a city in northern nigeria, one of the original hausa kingdoms) during the sultanate of kano and fulani rule under the sokoto caliphate from the late 1700s to about the 1880s, just before the british conquered the region. kano was a centre of trade on the trans-saharan routes for centuries and 'the' centre of cloth production in west africa for a very long time, with the majority of the city devoted to extensive cotton production, spinning, dyeing, and weaving (as well as leatherworking, agriculture, and the slave trade, among others). cloth from kano was traded across africa and into europe, west asia, india, and onward.

because of my background in weaving and craft, i'm not only studying the history of the trade and production but the actual production itself; as in, i am trying to figure out exactly how they processed the cotton, dyed it, wove it, what equipment and techniques were used in this process, etc. and understand how these relate to the economic and cultural history of the region <3

if you're interested in my bibliography so far i uploaded the list for viewing here (and if you want any of the documents and don't have access to them via jstor or whatever send me a private mssg and i can send them to you)

[scotianostra]

On August 1st 1967 Queen's College in Dundee became a fully fledged university in its own right and was renamed the University of Dundee.

The history of what would become Dundee University stretches back to 1881 when University College Dundee was founded. Its creation owed much to the wealth gathered in Dundee through the jute and textile industry. The prospect of establishing a university in Dundee had been under discussion since the 1860s. It was made a reality with a donation of £120,000 from Miss Mary Ann Baxter, of the hugely wealthy and influential Baxter family. Her cousin, John Boyd Baxter, the Procurator Fiscal for Dundee District of Forfarshire, was heavily involved in the discussions and also donated monies. As the main benefactor and co-founder, Miss Baxter had definite ideas about how she would like the college to run and took an active role in ensuring her wishes were fulfilled. The deed establishing University College stated that it should promote “the education of persons of both sexes and the study of Science, Literature and the Fine Arts”. As well as promoting the education of both sexes, Miss Baxter insisted it should not teach Divinity, and was adamant that those associated with the university did not have to reveal their religious leanings. Baxter’s role in establishing University College, Dundee was noted at the time by Scotland’s most notorious poet, who has always had an association with the city, William Topaz McGonagall who wrote: Good people of Dundee, your voices raise And to Miss Baxter give great praise; Rejoice and sing and dance with glee Because she has founded a College in Bonnie Dundee University College, Dundee became part of St Andrews University in 1897, under the provisions of the Universities Scotland Act of 1889. This union served to “give expression to local feeling that there should be a vital connection between the old and the new in academic affairs.” Initially, the two worked alongside each other in relative harmony. Dundee students were able to graduate in science from St Andrews, despite never having attended any classes in the smaller town. However, over time relations became strained, particularly over the issue of the Medical School and whether chairs of anatomy and physiology should be established in Dundee, St Andrews or both, setting the stage for the tensions that would place some strain on the relationship between the two institutions in the decades ahead. By the mid-1900s separation was being proposed. A 1954 Royal Commission led to University College being given more independence, being renamed Queen’s College, and taking over the Dundee School of Economics. In 1963, the Committee on Higher Education under the chairmanship of Lord Robbins recommended in its report to Parliament that ‘at least one, and perhaps two, of its proposed new university foundations should be in Scotland’. The government approved the creation of a university in Dundee, and in 1966, the University Court and the Council of Queen’s College submitted a joint petition to the Privy Council seeking the grant of a Royal Charter to establish Dundee University. This petition was approved and, in terms of the Charter, Queen’s College became Dundee University on this day in 1967. To mark the event and the University’s independence the people of Dundee witnessed an unusual event as hundreds of students filed up the Law dressed in red academic gowns. At the top they admired the stunning views – “an arresting vision in crimson” – before heading back down to the newly designated Dundee University. Fifty years on, and Dundee and St Andrews universities enjoy a warm relationship, very much in the spirit of friendly rivalry. Both are in the world’s top 200 universities and are among the top ranked in the UK for student experience. The combined strengths of Dundee and St Andrews have been recognised as an “intellectual gold coast” on Scotland’s east side. Other highlights in Dundee University’s history include the formal merger of Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art with the university in 1994 and the Tayside College of Nursing and Fife College of Health Studies becoming part of the university from September 1, 1996.

And in December 2001 the university merged with the Dundee campus of Northern College to create the Faculty of Education and Social Work.

[eleonore-songeve]

Fleeting Embraces ( Part 1 )

Summary : In medieval London, Aveline regularly encounters Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, in her dreams. Despite her initial skepticism, she is intrigued by Morpheus' revelations about the power of dreams. Their relationship develops, combining fascination and mutual respect, as Aveline begins to view dreams as having an influence on her waking reality.

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In 1287, London was a thriving medieval city, but it was still far from becoming the global metropolis we know today. The city was centered around the Tower of London, which was both a fortress and a royal residence. The streets were narrow and winding, with half-timbered wooden houses and thatched roofs.

Daily life in London centered around trade and crafts. Merchants sold their wares in bustling markets, and artisan guilds regulated the production of goods such as textiles, metals, and foodstuffs. The Thames played a central role in the transport of goods and people.

England was ruled by King Edward I at this time. He was known for his expansion of royal power and for his rigorous management of finances. Tensions with Wales and Scotland were also present at this time, and Edward I was involved in conflicts to extend his authority over these areas.

However, Aveline was not at all concerned about the political, social and economic upheavals of her country, living in a small village, far from the capital.

Each dawn saw Aveline emerge from her small home in the village, ready to embrace the challenges and simple moments that dotted her day. His days were punctuated by the tasks of daily life, but also by warm exchanges with the villagers who formed a close-knit community, where everyone knew each other.

The morning often began with a visit to the local market, where she exchanged a few words with the merchants who greeted her with a knowing smile. The stalls were full of local produce, and she lingered to discuss the latest news while shopping. Once her basket was full, she left, happy.

The rest of the morning was spent doing the agricultural tasks that defined his life. Aveline, having always been an orphan, having been educated by the elderly residents, actively participated in the planting and maintenance of crops, working alongside the other villagers. It was a moment when the solidarity of the community was manifested, everyone making their contribution to ensure the success of the harvests.

At lunchtime, she met with the grandmothers to share a simple but nourishing meal. Lively discussions echoed, evoking joys and gossip.

In the afternoon, she devoted time to more personal activities. She indulged in contemplation from the nearby hill, letting her gaze wander over the green fields. Or she made crafts, sharing her skills with those who wanted to learn in the rainy weather.

The evenings were punctuated by gatherings at the community home, where stories, songs and sometimes even a few dances were shared. Aveline, with her mischievous liveliness, brought a refreshing energy to these moments of conviviality.

Then, she returned to her modest home, with a light heart and a spirit nourished by the day's interactions.

Each day was woven with work, human connections and moments that recalled the simple beauty of existence, appreciating it greatly, not wishing to change its place for anything in the world.

As Aveline reached the age of twenty, the caring seniors of the village, guardians of centuries-old traditions, began to weave threads of anticipation around the young woman. A subtle murmur spread, carried by the wind of gossip, announcing that the time had come for Aveline to dive into the mysterious waters of love.

It was during the meal, during a lively conversation, that they spoke of the undeniable charm of Hugo, the village cutie. They tried, with a very maternal delicacy, to suggest that perhaps, between the furrows of the fields and the bursts of shared laughter, a romantic awakening could see the light of day.

But Aveline, a young woman with a mischievous look and a carefree soul, had taken this advice lightly. She responded with bursts of joyful laughter : “Maybe, maybe.”

The grandmothers persisted, persevering in their quest for love for she. They weaved romantic stories, insinuating chance meetings between her and Hugo during village gatherings. They already imagined the soft murmur of conversations shared by candlelight, walks hand in hand through the green hills.

However, Aveline, with her sparkling gaze, continued to joke and push back these romantic aspirations.

“Oh, you are so hasty ! So let the roses bloom at their own pace.”, she exclaimed, laughing.

Aveline, determined to live at her own pace, continued to cultivate the simplicity of her daily life. The elders, although persistent, learned to accept resilience in the face of the fact that she wanted to chart her own path, brushing aside pressures with a mischievous gesture.

Nevertheless, one night, destiny got in her way, putting her on the path to love, with an individual she would never have thought of, or even imagined, not knowing at that moment, his existence and all that would bring.

Morpheus, the ruler of the Dream Domain, moved through the dreamscapes, observing the dreams of mortals, to keep busy and check that everything was going smoothly. It was during one of these nocturnal wanderings that he crossed paths with the young woman.

She stood in the middle of an incredibly realistic dream, on top of a hill, looking up at the moon high in the sky, larger than in reality, surrounded by a singular aura that caught Morpheus' attention.

Her jet black hair delicately framed her oval face, like an ebony waterfall. His eyes, lit by a mischievous glow, reflected curiosity. They were the windows of his soul, wells of wonder, looking at his surroundings, with an intensity like he had never seen, interested in everything that constituted his dream which reflected a part of his sweet life.

Her skin, soft and pale, bore the subtle marks of the simple treatments of the time. It was a blank canvas, a testimony to the simplicity of medieval beauty rituals, where nature and gentleness were the allies of grace.

Dressed in a modest dress of earthy hues, she exuded a natural elegance that contrasted with the fantastical glow of her surroundings.

The content of the dream was imbued with a captivating novelty, distinguishing itself from the usual dreams of sleepers. He perceived in the imagination of this young woman an apparent simplicity which in reality revealed grandeur, each detail displaying exquisite beauty and depth of spirit.

Immaterial, he observed the scene with unusual fascination. The singular soul of this young woman captivated his attention. Gliding silently through the twists and turns of the dream like a night breeze, the Lord of Dreams approached.

He stopped beside her, remaining standing with indefinable subtlety and elegance. Their eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

- By my faith, who are you, good lord ? She asked, her eyes expressing a combination of surprise and intrigue.

He hesitated, then announced in a captivating voice, without even being aware of it :

- I am Dream, the Ruler of Dreams and the Guardian of Endless Nights.

With a smile, she put her hands behind her, looking at him with a slight tilt, as if she thought it was all just a figment of her imagination, aware that she was dreaming.

- Dream ? Really, is that your name, sweet lord ?

- I am known by many names.

- What are you talking about, please ?

- Names woven into the fabric of times. They call me Morpheus, the Weaver of Dreams, or the Guardian of the Gates of Night.

- Understood... She said skeptically, before saying in her soft voice, deciding to play along. Morpheus ? I take a lot ! And what does the honor of your coming bring me, Lord Morpheus ?

He remained silent, thinking about his own motivations and why he was engaging in conversation with a simple human, a race he had hardly liked since Nada's affair. Understanding his silence, Aveline, innocently, patted him lightly on the ground and said to him in her soft and cheerful voice :

- Don't stand, take a seat and come and contemplate the moon at my side. It is so vast that it would be a shame to miss this spectacle, wouldn't it ?

Intrigued by Aveline's invitation, Morpheus silently consented. He sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the moon which bathed the dreamscape in a silvery glow.

After a moment, he broke the silence :

-Your world is enchanting, dear mortal. Your dreams are woven from the unique web of your creativity, a beauty that is often hidden from the other dreams I experience. Every night in your dream kingdom offers a splendid picture, a living painting that stands out among the countless visions of the ephemeral.

- It's nice to think that the Master of Dreams would deign to linger in this simple reverie, and what's more, who would tell me who appreciates it, right ?

- Simplicity sometimes conceals an unsuspected depth. I am intrigued by the soul that shapes these night visions, by this ability to discover greatness in modest details.

Aveline stared at the moon, letting her thoughts sink into the soft clarity.

- Lord of Dreams, can you explain to me what dreams really are ? Why do we have them ? Why are they sometimes beautiful and sometimes scary ?

Morpheus nodded, saying :

- Dear mortal, he began in a voice full of wisdom, dreams are the invisible threads that weave the fabric of your lives. In the soft glow of the lunar glow, you discover worlds that go beyond the limits of your daily reality. These night visions are the keys to your imagination, the back doors to realms where the rules of the material world fade away.

He paused, watching the reflection of the moon's glow in the villager's astonished eyes.

-And nightmares, he continued, are the shadows that dance in the darkest corners of your mind. They are the mirrors of your fears, the echoes of the torments that you carry in silence. But remember, even in the darkness, there are lessons to learn, challenges to overcome. Nightmares, although feared, are the forgers of your resilience, the craftsmen who sculpt the strength that lies dormant within you.

Aveline listened to Morpheus' words with a gentle smile, as if she were hearing a fantastic story. His voice, warm and full of candor, broke the silence of the night.

- Oh, kind stranger, your words are woven with the magic of fairy tales. Dreams and nightmares, threads that dance in the mist of the invisible, is this not the work of our fertile imagination, a theater where our minds play out their hidden plays ?

Aveline looked down at the ground and picked up a handful of flower petals, letting them flow through her fingers.

- Maybe we are all like actors in a mysterious show written by the subtle spirit of the night. And you, dear dreamer, would be one of his fleeting creations. The stories you tell me are perhaps the fantasies of my own mind, echoes of my inner world that come to life in this starry night.

She looked up at Morpheus with a spark of curiosity.

- Yet, what would life be without a hint of mystery ? So, so be it, I'll take part in this enchanted game. Tell me more about these dreams woven by the threads of a reality that could only be an ephemeral dream.

A gentle smile floated on Aveline's lips, an invitation to share the wonders of her own world.

- But first, Monsignor, please stop labeling me “mortal”.

Morpheus, perplexed, tilted his head slightly.

- But you are mortal, like all beings who come to my kingdom. Why does this bother you ?

She smiled, expressing gentle patience.

- My lord, the term "mortal" seems to evoke a fragility, an impermanence which, although true, carries with it a connotation of degradation. Each of us is ephemeral, but we preferred to be defined by our essence, our dreams and our actions rather than by our finitude

She paused, letting her words float in the soft night air.

- I am Aveline, a soul who dances in the glow of existence, and although my life is a flame that burns one day, I prefer to be defined by the glow of my dreams rather than by the duration of 'my breath.

She added, with quiet conviction :

- So, if you wish, just name me Aveline.

Seeing Morpheus' eyebrows furrow slightly, she continued :

- My lord, imagine if I named you "Ephemeral of the Dream Kingdom". Although this is technically accurate, wouldn't you think it does justice to the grandeur of your existence ?

She continued with a kind smile.

- When you said your name, Morpheus, you made a fair exchange. So, I simply ask you to call me by my name, a name that, although doomed to fleetingness, aspires to be more than that in the dreams I weave.

Aveline expressed these thoughts with a delicacy that she hoped would allow Morpheus to see the mutual respect behind her request.

Morpheus, still imbued with his ethereal and reserved character, absorbed Aveline's words with an inscrutable expression.

He didn't like the fact that she was asking for fairness between them. However, seeing the glimmer of hope in the young woman's green eyes, he didn't know why, but it calmed his feeling of offense.

After a moment of silence, he responded in a calm and measured voice.

- Well, if the name 'mortelle' displeases you, I will respect your preference, Aveline.

- I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord.

A slight smile appeared on Morpheus' immortal lips, showing a subtle recognition of the dialogue that had just taken place between them.

Then, she suddenly left him, waking up in his world.

The following evening, Aveline fell back into sweet sleep, finding herself once again on the ethereal hill. The stars sparkled above her, and the silver light of the moon created a magical atmosphere.

In the dreamscape, she made out a familiar silhouette emerging from the mists of the dream. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, reappeared, as enigmatic as the first time. His eyes reflected the silver glow of the moon, and he approached Aveline with unparalleled grace.

- Good evening, Aveline. He whispered in a haunting voice.

She greeted him with a smile.

- I didn't expect to see you again anytime soon. What brings you here, Lord Morpheus, on this occasion ?

The Lord of Dreams, his gaze lost in the stars, confessed :

- I have returned to explore more of this world that your mind created.

Aveline nodded, letting herself be carried away by what she believed to be her imagination, a complicity that she cherished.

- In that case, let's explore it together. She offered, holding out her hand, a warm glow emanating from her.

Morpheus, after silent deliberation, finally accepted, arousing the obvious joy of the young woman. Thus, through fantastic lands, they shared moments of contemplation and discovery. Morpheus revealed new aspects of his kingdom, to the limits of what a human mind could conceive.

During this new adventure, they exchanged words, he confiding fragments of stories about dreamers of the past, souls whose dreams had left an imprint on the very fabric of the dream universe. Aveline, although admiring, could not help thinking that all this could only be the fruit of her imagination.

Finally, as the moon's glow reached its peak, Morpheus announced :

- The time has come for me to take my leave. Aveline, until our next meeting.

Aveline smiles, grateful for these unique moments.

- If it's as you say. In any case, I will await our next meeting with great fervor, Lord Morpheus.

And like the first time, the Lord of Dreams vanishes into the darkness of the dream, leaving Aveline to wake up in her bed.

The nights followed one another, and each evening, Aveline found Morpheus in the kingdom of his dreams. The landscapes changed, the adventures were renewed, but the presence of the Lord of Dreams remained constant.

Aveline, although captivated by these nocturnal encounters, persisted in believing that Morpheus was only a creation of her mind. Morpheus, for his part, continued to reveal fragments of wisdom and enigmas that intrigued Aveline. He spoke of the power of dreams, how they could influence reality, and how each dream contributed to the fabric of the universe.

One evening, as they stood on the shore of a sparkling ocean, Aveline questioned him curiously.

- Lord Morpheus, why do you take your place in my dreams every night ? What force brings you to be present in these places ?

- As I told you before, dreams are portals to the soul, Aveline. Your mind creates worlds of unique beauty that I appreciate, just as I have come to appreciate your presence.

Aveline shook her head with a gentle smile.

- It's fascinating and pleasant to share these moments with you. However, I can't help but believe that this is all just a figment of my imagination.

He approached her, at a distance where she could have felt his breath if he had any, causing the young woman to blush due to the sudden proximity to a man.

- Mortals, in their misunderstanding, think that dreams are only illusions, without influence on the waking world. But that is their mistake. Dreams are fragments of reality woven into the fabric of night, and their power extends far beyond the realm of sleep.

Aveline stared at Morpheus, absorbing his words with some thought. The waves murmured softly around them as they stood on the ethereal shore.

- Do you really believe that our dreams can have any influence on the world with our eyes open, noble lord ? She asked, her eyes showing a mixture of fascination and doubt.

Morpheus inclined his head gravely.

- Each dream is an echo, a subtle melody that resonates in the waking hours, influencing the course of your lives.

Aveline, stepping back, lost herself in the contemplation of the dreamlike stars.

- It is a very strange thought, Sir Morpheus, I say. She said, before she felt herself leaving, a sign that she was waking up.

Two months had passed since the first meeting between the woman and Morpheus. Dreams had become a sanctuary where their connection had deepened night after night.

At that dusk, as Aveline strolled through the cobbled streets of her village on her way home, with a full stomach, she could hear the bursts of laughter from the children in the houses lit by candlelight, making her smile. Sometimes, Aveline wondered what her life could have been like if her parents had not died, but the memories of her childhood would arise and these questions would just as quickly disappear, driven from her head. She did not consider herself unlucky or to be pitied.

Her heart was imbued with a special serenity when she reached the threshold of her little house. However, when she arrived at the door, she jumped, surprised to see a man she did not recognize from the village.

The man's silhouette stood out in the darkness. The pale light of the moon cast dancing shadows across his features, masking his face in an aura of mystery.

-Who are you, noble lord ? She asked, her voice trembling, as she searched the darkness for clues.

The man remained silent, taking a few steps forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. The glow of the moon revealed her features, and Aveline shivered, recognizing the blue eyes that had become so familiar to her in her dreams.

- Please excuse me, but I'm afraid you misunderstand who I am, you know. She stated, trying to appear comfortable and hide her anxiety, knowing she was helpless.

After a moment, the silence becoming heavy, Aveline narrowed her eyes, trying to pierce the veil of the unknown.

- Why are you here ? What is your intention towards me ?

The individual moved a little closer, now visible in his full appearance, and smiled.

- I came to visit you in your world.

Stepping back a little, she looked him up and down, observing his clothes waving silently in the light wind. A long, deep black coat fell gracefully to her feet, creating a stark contrast to the earthy palette of the surrounding landscape. Her dress, a dark yet richly textured hue, revealed a timeless elegance, evoking a mystical aura.

A finely crafted belt adorned her waist, accentuating her slender figure. High boots, made of polished leather, framed his feet. A necklace with a red ruby as a pendant adorned her neck.

Ebony locks spread in a flowing, rippling cascade around her pale face. Deeply black, they seemed to catch the ambient light and reflect a subtle glow, creating a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. The hair, neither too short nor too long, accentuated her delicate features and piercing eyes.

Although the hair was of equal length, it appeared untouched by the wind, maintaining a carefully maintained appearance.

Aveline felt a shiver run down her spine.

- You... You look like someone I know... But... But that can't be, it can't be.

- It is, Aveline.

The man stepped forward slowly, each step marked with confidence. The proximity became tangible, to the point that Aveline's breath almost caressed the face of the one who didn't have one. She could have felt the quickening rhythm of her own heart, an irregular beat that echoed in the silence of the moment.

Aveline, in a state of fascination and confusion, could not look away from this being who seemed to possess a deep and intimate understanding. Anxiety should have overwhelmed her, pushing her to flee or call for help, but strangely, she remained motionless, captivated.

As the space between them shrank to nothing, Aveline almost whispered to herself :

- Lord Morpheus...?

A glimmer of recognition lit his eyes. The name echoed in his consciousness, conjuring up images of dreams and deep thoughts. Morpheus gave a slight smile.

- Yes, Aveline. Our paths have crossed many times during your dreams.

She felt overwhelmed by a strange warmth, a connection that transcended the rational. His mind, enveloped in this enigmatic presence, tried to untangle the intertwined threads of reality and dreams.

- I... I'm not daydreaming, am I...? She stammered, her eyes searching for answers in the deep gaze of the man before her.

- No, we are not in my kingdom. We are in your world. He replied, an assured calm in his voice.

The words struck Aveline's mind like shards of truth, provoking a confused reflection on the blurred boundary between tangible reality and intangible dreams.

However, before she could unravel this mystery further, the cheerful voices of villagers approaching their position pulled her from her thoughts. Panic gripped her at the idea of being caught alone in the middle of the night with a stranger. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly opened the wooden door, inviting the man inside.

The Lord of Dreams crosses the threshold with infinite grace. Aveline, still in shock from the situation, closed the door behind them, trying to hide this unusual encounter from the curious eyes of the outside world.

As the voices of the villagers faded away completely, Aveline breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, feeling a wave of calm after the storm of her own dismay. However, the darkness of the room, plunged into the silence of the night, made her realize that she had just brought a man into her home.

The room, devoid of light, because Aveline had not yet lit the candles, accentuated the enigmatic nature of the situation. Despite the darkness, Aveline could feel Morpheus' penetrating gaze on her.

She blushed, embarrassed, already imagining the village grandmothers' gossip about this nocturnal encounter if they knew it.

- I... I apologize, very humbly. She stammered, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a shy smile. It's just... I wasn't expecting a visit, especially at this time.

Morpheus, always calm and reserved, inclined his head slightly in assurance. He seemed to understand the complexity of the situation and the unexpected nature of their meeting in the waking world, nevertheless thinking that she would be happier to see him under these conditions.

Aveline, looking for a pretext to hide the uneasiness in the air, decided to light candles.

- I'm going to light some candles to light up the room a little. It will help us see things more clearly, I think. She announced, trying to maintain some normalcy in what had become a picture of the strange.

Under Morpheus's scrutinizing gaze, she looked around the room looking for candles. His gestures, although deliberate, revealed a certain excitement. She still didn't fully understand what was happening, but she wanted to hide her own insecurities behind a facade of activity.

One by one, the flames danced with the matches, illuminating the room with a flickering glow. Morpheus, once the room was bathed in this warm and soft light, observed the nooks and crannies with particular attention.

Aveline, a little more reassured by the light of the candles, looked away from Morpheus' shadow which seemed to blend into the darkness. She hoped that this subdued atmosphere would help ease the tense atmosphere.

Morpheus' gaze rested on the shelves, decorated with pottery with simple and authentic shapes. The fumes of the dried herbs, carefully arranged in a basket, floated in the air, creating a subtle ambiance that tickled Morpheus's senses. The atmosphere of the room revealed a humble life, but full of nuances, like a living painting that Morpheus was invited to contemplate.

Aveline, watching him do this, felt her head turn, and declared in a calm but perplexing voice :

- I feel the need to take a seat.

She sat, her eyes fixed on Morpheus, waiting for explanations.

Morpheus, while maintaining his aura of mystery, took a seat in the chair that she offered him with almost supernatural grace. His eyes, of infinite depth, met those of the woman. A breath of silence hung over the room before he began to speak, choosing each word carefully.

- I introduce myself again. I am Morpheus, Dream of the Infinites, Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares, watching over the dreams that populate the night of humanity.

Morpheus' words echoed through the room, tinged with a revelation that transcended human understanding. The woman, although surprised, received these explanations with an astonishing openness of mind. Her eyes held a mixture of fascination and acceptance, as if a part of her had always known that their connection went beyond the limits of her consciousness.

- Morpheus... You are Morpheus, Dream of the Endless... She repeated slowly, letting the weight of this revelation settle. The dreams... Was all this really real ?

- Dreams are as real as life itself, sometimes even deeper in their meanings and truths. He explained, his voice carrying ancient wisdom.

The woman, trying to assimilate this extraordinary revelation, confided to him that she needed time to understand. She held her head in her fingers, closing her eyes, thinking about everything that was happening right now. If she wasn't dreaming or if it was reality. However, when she looked at him, she felt deep inside that she was not sleeping, but that it was indeed happening.

- Why did you come here ? She asked with perceptible excitement, her eyes searching for answers in the enigmatic ocean of Morpheus's pupils.

He responded with a simplicity that contrasted with the complexity of their connection.

- I just wanted to see you, in this waking world.

- Understood... She said, her face betraying her nervousness. Noble lord... Uh... How should I act ? Should I get you something ? A humble offering perhaps ? Or would it be rude of me to let you sit in such a modest chair ? I... I apologize, I...

She stood up, panicking. Morpheus, with the wisdom characteristic of his timeless being, reassured her in a softer voice than usual :

- No need for change or offerings. You can act as you normally would in my presence.

The woman, seeking to follow this advice, replied in a slightly trembling voice, sitting down again and tightening the fabric of her dress around her legs :

- Understood... As usual... Hm...

Her look betrays a mixture of astonishment and respect towards this being who, despite his grandeur, treats her with disconcerting simplicity. However, still in shock from this extraordinary encounter with Morpheus, she took a deep breath and gathered the courage to ask a question that weighed on her tormented mind :

- That would mean that all deities exist ?

Morpheus, with infinite tranquility, replied in the affirmative :

- Yes indeed. Each pantheon, each belief, finds its reality somewhere in the cosmic fabric of the worlds. Gods and goddesses, myths and legends, are all facets of the human imagination made reality.

This response shocked the woman in a way she had never anticipated. Having never been a fervent believer, she found herself confronted with the idea that the deities, which she had always perceived as tales, were in reality existing entities. The tangible presence of Morpheus in front of her forced her into an acceptance that she struggled to integrate.

His gaze betrays deep confusion, a tumult of emotions mingling in the crucible of his consciousness. She could not deny the evidence before her, the existence of gods and goddesses, embodied in the person of Morpheus. It was a revelation that shook the very foundations of his understanding of the world.

Morpheus, sensing his confusion, chose not to add pressure to this already trying revelation by revealing to him that as far as he was concerned, he was above the gods, he was more. He let the woman take time to digest.

Aveline, looking for answers in Morpheus' deep gaze, persisted in her questions.

- So what do you want from me ? Why did you show up at me, who's nothing special, just a humble village girl with no big story ?

Morpheus, inclined to his imperturbable calm, let a hint of a smile appear delicately on his lips.

- Earthly merits cannot have any value in my eyes. He replied softly. What you are, Aveline, transcends simple appearances. I did not come with pre-established expectations. Your essence intrigues me, and the simplicity of your daily life represents a unique reflection in the kaleidoscope of human existence. You are much more than you imagine yourself to be, and it is this essence that guided me to you.

Morpheus' response brought a shy blush to Aveline's cheeks, a complex mosaic of embarrassment and surprise. The idea of being perceived as "interesting" by the Dream Lord aroused conflicting emotions in her. She had never imagined that her simple and unpretentious life could captivate the attention of a being such as him.

A silence fills the room, broken only by the muffled crackling of the candle and the frantic pulsations of Aveline's heart. He observed the young woman with calm intensity, capturing every nuance of her emotion.

After a moment of embarrassment, she timidly raised her eyes to meet those of Morpheus.

- I'm nothing other than... Me... She whispered, uncertain about the interpretation of this new perspective on her existence.

Morpheus, with a deep look in his eyes, replied :

- This is precisely what charms me, Aveline. The purity of the soul, the sincerity of an existence without artifice. Everyone carries a unique story, and yours, although seemingly simple, resonates with a beauty that transcends the limits of the trivial.

Aveline, still blushing but also touched by Morpheus' words, discovered a certain warmth in this unexpected recognition. Concerns about his own importance faded slightly, giving way to a burgeoning curiosity about the deeper significance of this encounter.

The seconds dragged on, and Morpheus, although resolute in his unchanging nature, could not ignore the emotional transformation he had caused in Aveline. As he watched the embarrassment and confusion flash across the young woman's face, a fleeting emotion flashed through her infinite eyes, a wound in her eternal ego, a crack in her imperturbability.

Morpheus, sitting in the tranquility of the dim light, reflects on the nature of this encounter. An unexpected sadness, an echo of regret, manifests in his being. The question lingers in her mind : "Was it a good idea to venture into the life of a simple human like this ?"

A glimmer of hesitation crossed Morpheus's eyes, a rare flash of vulnerability. Despite his infinite wisdom, he also found himself subject to the torments of human emotions, which he explored in a unique way through the twists and turns of dreams.

Rising with thoughtful grace, he advanced towards the door, ready to slip away.

Aveline, coming out of her trance, noticed his intention to leave and stood up with new determination.

- Wait a minute.

The Dream Lord stopped, turning back to her.

Aveline's gaze, tinged with shyness, but carrying a glimmer of audacity, met that of Morpheus.

- Can I... Can I find you in my dreams ? And... Even here, in... In the Waking World ? That's how we say it, right ? She asked, her voice barely audible, mixing embarrassment with vibrant curiosity.

Morpheus, impassive as usual, nodded slightly.

- If this is your wish, Aveline, our paths will cross again in the kingdom of dreams and in the waking world.

The door closed softly behind Morpheus, leaving Aveline alone with her thoughts and the anticipation of the nights to come. The idea of finding the Lord of Dreams in the dream world awakened in her a new emotion, a bridge between reality and imagination that took shape with each beat of her eyelashes.

When she went to bed, Aveline surrendered to the palpable expectation that filled her. In sleep, she delved into the realm of dreams, searching for the familiar figure, which she quickly found, creating an eternal bond between Aveline, the simple villager, and Morpheus, the Dream Lord and the King of Nightmares.

For better and for worse.

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Author's word : 

I hope you enjoyed this first part of the story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

In any case, I'll see you soon for the rest of the events !

[kemakoshume]

Down by the River — Nanami Kento x Tiana (Disney)

Summary: In the early 1930s, Nanami embarks on a business trip to the South, where the Crescent City awaits. His journey begins with new connections and the enticing allure of Southern cuisine. America might not be so bad after all.

Tags: Crack Relationships, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Why Did I Write This?, Fluff, Business Trip, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Drinking & Talking, Comfort No Hurt

a/n: The fan edits got me. My Elsa x Jack Frost shipper is jumping out for this. I have to say... this is easily the most random thing I've ever written, but it helped break my writer's block, so woohoo! Write weird shit more often, y'all. Also posted on AO3.

America was Nanami’s least favorite place to travel.

Work had taken him all over. He’d seen all of Japan, every nook and cranny—old and new. He’d been to China more times than he could count; his Cantonese was better now than before, and he could make his way around without an attendant. Asia was his domain; he’d grown used to recognizing the surnames and affiliations that mattered, what gestures were niceties in one place, and a way to get mowed down in a fit of rage in another.

America was a different beast altogether. It was a wild and enigmatic land that kept Nanami perpetually on edge and consistently uneasy in his own skin. The places were chaotic—New York and San Francisco. Wall Street and Pacific Heights, most often. Two opposing coasts, filled to the brim with people capitalizing most on those with the least.

White-collar crime and cocaine—that was what Nanami knew of the States. It made him wish he hadn’t learned English; he wouldn’t have to live with as much as he knew if he hadn’t.

Despite not liking it, he’d grown used to it though—the coasts and the insanity that happened on each of them.

The South, in contrast, was wholly unfamiliar territory. He’d never been and wasn’t quite sure what to expect as the steamboat continued down the river, churning water and whistling every few minutes as it continued down the path. He'd heard of the common things: the chambermaids and the sharecropping, the stark divide.

Asia had its things, too, though, so he tried not to judge. He was headed to New Orleans for one simple thing: to meet with the sugar baron and solidify a trade deal. His sugar for their textiles.

Simple, tedious. Safer than sorcery.

The ride into the city was surprisingly comfortable. He lounged in a reclined chair on the deck, his eyes hidden behind shades that concealed his exhaustion from the arduous journey across borders—across seas. The sky painted itself in alluring hues of lavender and rose, casting a serene glow over the waters of the Mississippi, like spilled oil paint.

The air hung heavy with the scent of magnolia blossoms, their perfume an intoxicating blend of sweetness and decay. Spanish moss, soft as bundles of silk, swayed languidly from the cypress trees that lined the riverbank, caressed by the gentle breeze.

The Crescent City, that’s what his boss had called it. The birthplace of jazz.

Nanami couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of it.

"Please collect your belongings, everyone," a petite deckhand announced, dressed in long corduroy trousers and a cute puffed hat. "We'll be docking in port in five minutes."

Nanami adjusted his glasses, straightening out the legs of his slacks as he made his way to the port side of the boat and watched the city come into view along with the sound. The bustling swing of music was expected, but Nanami hadn't anticipated enjoying it so much. The masterful wail of saxophones, the sultry croon of trumpets, and the deep, resonant throb of bass greeted him as he filed off the boat.

Other men exited the boat before him. Some wore business suits, while others wore Navy uniforms, and a few were in Army attire. Most bobbed their heads along to the music, while some outright danced. People lined the port, leaning on the ropes to catch a glimpse of the arrivals they'd come down to the harbor to greet and welcome home.

The city had a vibe reminiscent of New York, perhaps, but it felt more homey. It felt good in his soul.

"Hello, gentlemen. Good to see you all safe and sound!"

Among the welcoming crowd, a young woman stepped forward with a beaming smile, scanning the group until she spotted Nanami, skipping over to him. Her big blue eyes shone as she looked up at him, tilting her body to get a good look at his face. “You must be Kento, right?” Nanami nodded. She must be the daughter. "Wonderful! My name's Charlotte," she introduced herself, coupled with a sweet giggle. "You can call me Lottie, though. Everybody does."

Nanami tipped his head in a subdued bow, a gesture that the American women found charming.

“Pleased to meet you, Lottie.”

She smiled like a young girl, all cherry pink cheeks and tight lips. It was cute, demure in a way that spelled immaturity rather than modesty.

Not Nanami’s type.

“My daddy told me to come ‘round here to collect you. Is this all you brought with you?” She pointed to his briefcase and the small musette bag on his shoulder. He nodded again. “That’s light. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? That Trans-Pacific is a long way’s journey to get here. I bet you’re starving.”

Nanami hummed, acknowledging her observation. "I could eat. It's been a long day."

"A long few months, I reckon." Lottie placed a comforting hand on his back, gently steering him further into the bustling city. "My good friend works at this little ol’ restaurant down on Lafayette Street. It's just a hop, skip this way, and we can get you some good eatin'. Have you had Cajun before?"

Lottie's words tumbled out rapidly, but Nanami managed to keep up. He shook his head, allowing her to guide him through the lively streets.

"Oh, you're in for a treat then. This here is the best food you'll ever have. Just wait until you try a beignet." She playfully wiggled her brows, her enthusiasm infectious.

Though Nanami didn't understand the term "beignet," he took her excitement as a promising sign. "Whatever tastes good, I'll try."

"That's the spirit!" Lottie gave his suit jacket a friendly pat as they weaved through the crowd, exchanging greetings with any familiar faces she spotted.

“Here we are, mister. Hope you brought a loose pair of britches 'cause you’ll need ‘em.”

Nanami looked up at the building, taking off his shades to read the chalk writing fixed onto the side.

Duke’s. Charming.

The ambiance inside was a perfect mirror of the outdoors. People packed in from wall to wall, and the music from just outside the rear of the restaurant wafted inside, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.

“Let’s go sit you down at the bar, get a nice cold one and some grub in that belly. Tiana!”

He sat, slipping off his jacket to drape it across his seat, while his glasses found a home on the bartop. His bag hit the floor with a thud as he dropped it to rest between his feet.

“Hey, Lottie,” a sweet voice floated from the kitchen, followed by the source of it. The woman—slim-figured with rich brown skin—gave Nanami pause. She was beautiful, not unlike many of the women he’d met with her complexion over the years, but she was more, in a way.

Perhaps it was the curls. Nanami had developed a liking for women with thick, coily curls. They framed her face exquisitely.

“Hey, Tia. This is Kento.” Lottie placed a hand on Nanami’s chest as she introduced him. "He's a business friend of Daddy's. Take good care of him for me, will you? I have some business to attend to myself while Daddy’s out at the shooting range."

Lottie winked, and Tiana—Tia, as she called her—responded with a gentle smile.

“Can do,” she assured Lottie before turning her gaze to Nanami. “Give me one second, sugar, and I’ll be right with you.”

Nanami nodded, settling into his seat. A group of soldiers occupied the other end of the bar, rowdy as they sang unfamiliar songs. There was a little curse lazing on the bartop, slumbering against one of the soldier’s arms—surprisingly harmless.

He left it alone.

“Have a nice meal, Mr. Kento. I’ll be ’round to come get you a little later tonight,” Lottie purred with a natural pout, her lips reminiscent of a porcelain doll's. “Don’t have too much fun without me, y’all.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tiana replied with a warm smile, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve a full round of plates.

She moved through the bustling restaurant with a graceful rhythm, her deft hands skillfully balancing trays filled with tantalizing cuisine—Creole, Nanami assumed from the building sign. He couldn’t quite understand the difference between that and Cajun, but all the food that passed his nose smelled heavenly all the same.

The spice that clung to the food was present in the air, pleasantly familiar, like the hawker centers in Singapore or the night markets in Taiwan. He still harbored dreams of visiting Malaysia, indulging in street food, experiencing Mamak stalls, exploring mosques, and paying his respects to the land.

His boss informed him he was slated to go to Germany next, for what he didn’t yet know. He could dream about Malaysia in the meantime.

He took out his pocket notebook to jot the thought down.

“Order up!”

Nanami followed Tiana's graceful movements with his eyes, catching glimpses of each dish she served, the way she bantered with the other patrons and had every man in the place hanging off of each word. Her presence was striking and commanding—a woman in charge.

That’s what it was—what made her so beautiful. She was a woman. The kind Nanami did like.

The meticulous care she took in plating the food made it as visually inviting as the enticing aroma was to his senses. Her apron bore the telltale signs of ware of a kitchen in perpetual motion, a fragrant cloud carrying the essence of spices and sweetness floating around her.

As she passed by him their eyes met, and a knowing smile graced her lips.

“So, you’re from out of town, huh?” she said, tawny brown eyes looking up at him through wispy lashes. She cleaned a mug, stuck in a constant stream of motion that made it hard for Nanami to look away.

Nanami nodded, and she placed the cup under the beer dispenser, pouring him a tall glass.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged, accepting the beer when she set it in front of him, accompanied by a shaker of flavored salt.

“How far out of town?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully, trailing his fingers through the condensation dampening the sides of his mug.

“Asia. Here on business.”

“You’re from Asia?” Tiana's eyes sparkled with intrigue as though she were solving a puzzle. “Which part? Can I guess?”

Nanami jerked one shoulder. “Go ahead.”

“Maybe the Philippines?” she ventured, passing around more beers. “Lots of business types love the Philippines. The soldiers never shut up about it.”

Nanami quirked a brow, aware of why soldiers held such fondness for the Philippines. “No,” he replied, hiding a smile behind his cup. “Try again.”

“China?”

“Nope,” Nanami stated before taking another sip. “Been there a lot, mainly Hong Kong. I’m not from there, though.”

“Japan?” she guessed, her eyes squinting, her brow raised.

Nanami thumped his finger against the glass with a soft clink, clink, clink. “Japan.”

Her triumphant smile was indeed beautiful, with pretty teeth providing a striking contrast against the fullness of her lips and the warm tone of her skin.

“Got a wife hidden over there or something?” she teased, a sweet smirk gracing her lips. “How many kids?”

“No kids, no wife,” Nanami responded softly, feeling the tension in his body from the long journey. “My maternal grandfather was half Dutch, half something else. My grandmother was Japanese, and my mom married a European man in Japan. They stayed there my whole life, so… Japanese.”

“Fascinatin’. What business brings you here? If you can tell me. First time?”

“I can,” Nanami said, taking a few more gulps. The beer tasted different than what he’d had before in the States, less malty and a hint sweeter. “It’s my first time in Louisiana, but not America in general. I’m here meeting another businessman—sugar cane.”

“Ah, that explains Charlotte. I thought she’d just taken a liking to you; she’s always good at finding the handsome ones.”

Nanami perked up at that, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, fueled by the warmth of the beer. Tiana, with practiced ease, poured him another glass.

“I’m handsome, then?”

Tiana rolled her eyes. “You know you are, with your dapper suit and those eyes. Women must throw themselves at you.”

Nanami tilted his head, a little maybe present in the motion. He didn’t indulge nearly as often as he could.

“Have you met Big Daddy yet?” Tiana questioned, and Nanami almost spit out his beer.

He knew enough of what American women liked to call men that they fancied. He’d never heard the term out in the wild, though.

“Oh, excuse me. Eli La Bouff,” Tiana clarified with a teasing laugh, her lips even prettier when she smiled. “Lottie’s father. She calls him Big Daddy, usually. You’ll see why when you do meet him.”

Nanami nodded, a soft chuckle passing through his teeth. People in the South were different, then. Lighter, more hospitable.

Tiana leaned in closer to the bar, narrowing the space between them as she addressed Nanami. “You look hungry. What can I get started for you, sugar?”

Nanami met her gaze, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Surprise me," he replied, his voice low and smooth. “I prefer savory, but I’m craving something a little sweet.”

Tiana hummed, tapping her chin. “How about blackened salmon with a sweet bourbon glaze, red beans and rice, and piping hot Andouille sausage and chicken gumbo to get you started? We’ll pair it with zucchini, corn maque choux, slow-cooked collard greens, mac and cheese, with some fresh beignets to top you off for dessert,” she said, leaning over to glance at Nanami's stomach, subtly assessing the fit of his dress shirt against his well-defined physique, “if you have any room, that is. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds divine,” Nanami said, solely because of the silky tone Tiana said every word with, not because he knew what any of the dishes were. “You make everything sound good.”

“I made the recipes, so it will be.” She smiled; Nanami returned it. “Wait here, get comfy. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Nanami leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes following as she went to put his order in with the kitchen. It was then that he noticed a little curse on her back, small—the size of a quarter. It was the curse of abundance. Blessed for riches through hardship.

A lucky curse, Geto would have called it.

Nanami left it alone, too, sipping his beer as he waited for his food.

He couldn't help but smirk to himself; Tiana’s words took root in his mind. So did she, it seemed.

Do not perceive me for this 🙈 Come say hi on Twitter!

[mtaartsdesign]

New artwork has arrived in Grand Central Madison’s Cultural Corridor! In her newly commissioned five-screen digital artwork, Eirini Linardaki depicts the vitality of New York City and its verdant surroundings in “Diaphanous Pareidolia.” The artist’s self-described “digital animation journey” uses scanned images of multi-patterned and multi-colored textiles sourced from around the globe to reflect the “multicultural tapestry” of the city, constructing vibrant and imaginative worlds through which subway and rail lines traverse. The central screen depicts Grand Central Terminal from its construction to its present status as a bustling underground transit hub, bookended by depictions of Metro-North and Long Island Railroad trains transporting passengers to and from the city. The collages offer panoramic views of the East River and the dynamic landscape of Long Island City, as well as the serene beauty of upstate New York.

The work is presented by MTA Arts & Design with technical support from ANC Sports.

📸2-3: MTA A&D

[basiliskfree]

(I watched too much history clothes making videos to have Lamp textiles)

For the most part Lamps don’t have the same pressures or need for clothes as Humans. Most finding the restriction of clothes really uncomfortable and annoying on their flexible bodies. Outside of some rare PPE Clothes are pretty much not a thing for hivemind lamps, so the fact all Ships have at least one auto loom and leather growing system was confusing at first to the humans studying them. Turns out textiles can make useful tools and for the speculum Lamps this tool use became used for art

more under Cut

This systems were mostly used instead for tool making, woven textiles are used in bags, Filters and netting for hydroponics. The two types of fibers produced are a polyester like material  (that is about as breathable as polyester) and a Kevlar-like material used in strength base tasks. A ship will usually have one small auto loom that will have two settings a plain weave or hexagon net. Other weaves and things like knit fabrics are just not a thing most Shipped lamps wouldn’t even view these materials as something to make clothes out of.

Mostly do you the power in their Leathers. These Materials are grow into many shapes, functions and forms. The Leather is  the same cell structure as lamp skin and can be grown and shaped to do pretty much anything the Lamps need. Need a Screen? Just grown a section of the Colour-change layer on top of a light production layer. Need a circuit board? Lamp DNA can make single atom wires for all your 3d circuit board needs. This Leather can ether be tanned for strength or kept “Live” for auto repair and some functions (you do have to feed your computer sugars do to this at times). Most Lamp tack is build using systems like this and for Spectrum Lamps if they are make clothes it will be out of this too.

On to Clothes there are two main Cultural views about it one from the Shipped and the Other the Ship-less

For the Shipped Clothes are ether Costume for plays (pictured are Two common characters in Lamp theater The Singer and The Silent) or PPE all of which tends Leather to be grown into a pattern, with it’s Stems formed from a “glue” that makes the separate edges grown into one piece before it’s tanned; leaving a seamless look. Lights and display elements are common as Lamps are very extra about there theater and the extra power draw is fine as these are not clothes meant to be worn for more them an hour.

For the Ship-less Clothes are more an everyday thing used to protect from the dust storms common to the “wastelands” outside of Greenwich (The one Lamp City). As the Name suggests these lamps don’t have Ships to call home, and with what little Living leather they can trade for are not going to waste it on clothes. These Lamps instead have a culture of weaving, taking the fluffs of a Common food crop and turning it into a range of different fabrics. They also tan the hides of parasites that is then sewn together into sheets. often in to geometric patterns.

[galeorderbride]

In response to the prompts post.....Honestly, I would love to see Evie in a casual locale - like a coffee shop, or something of the sort. Bonus points for how it might compare to her time in Menzoberranzan. Like, would they even have coffee shops in spider hell?? Or ANY kind of whimsical establishment, for that matter?! As a fellow drow enthusiast....these are the questions that come to me lol

@evocationwriter thank you for the prompt request!! Here is my way too large post on a bit of Drow lore + a coffee themed fluff piece ft. Gale and Evie :)

All of the info in this post is from various pages in the Forgotten Realms wiki.

...

Ok, so I did some searching on the Forgotten Realms wiki for info on Menzoberranzan amenities. The Bazaar is a large market square in the Duthcloim district, where most non-Noble Drow live. It’s a mercantile district with a lot of diversity (as much as you can get in a place like Menzoberranzan). Sellers from everywhere come here, even the surface, and from what the wiki says, you can find pretty much everything there. 

I didn’t find anything specifically on coffee, but there is a notable shop called Daelein Shimmerdark’s Decanters, which is basically a liquor store lol. So if there’s alcohol, there’s probably coffee. 

According to the DND wiki, coffee in Forgotten Realms lore is pretty rare outside major metropolitan centres. I didn’t see anything about Menzoberranzan specifically but it is a very large city with a lot of wealthy nobles and lively trade, I’d be surprised if Matriarchs were not interested in coffee if not to just show off their wealth.

Another place with a pretty vibrant coffee scene: Waterdeep! 

Evie’s mother was all about discipline and superiority, so I don’t think she’d allow Evie much access to the Bazaar, and might even view surface things like coffee as beneath them. 

But with our favourite, most handsomest wizard? Definitely I could see Gale taking Evie to a coffee shop to have her taste it for the first time. 

So, I wrote this small fluff piece set post-game (even though Weave Wielder isn’t done yet). Gale finds out Evie’s never tasted coffee and wants to change that! 

Rating: T (Fluff piece, some allusions to past narcissistic abuse for Evie, comfort from Gale)

WC: 1906

Set a month ish post-game (Uktar), Gale and Evie are in Waterdeep. This can be read standalone from the whole Weave Wielder fic, but Evie is still pregnant and struggling with her Karsite illness as the crown hasn’t been found yet. No spoilers for the WW ending either, just a little drabble separate from the actual story :) 

Read under the cut :)

Musings of Hazelnut

Waterdeep, the City of Splendours. The place Evie called home for the last four weeks. A bustling city full of arts, culture and populous interaction. In a way, it reminded her of Menzoberranzan, in Duthcloim. A centre of all things one could imagine. She used to frequent the markets with her brothers, when her mother was too busy to tell them a place like that was below them. Servants went there, not the noble Arkenafins. 

But now, Evie could go wherever she pleased, when she felt well enough. In the days where Gale took a break from searching for the crown, he insisted on taking walks together. Keeping her active as her stomach seemed to grow bigger by the day. Four months along, she was beginning to feel the more exhausting effects, and taking short walks helped. Everything with Gale helped. His hand in hers, when they forgot about the crown, that she was slowly withering away until it was found. They still had time, she could still pretend. 

Gale and Evie walked arm in arm around the Castle Ward market, smiling and pointing at the countless merchants selling every good and service the Sword Coast could offer. Textiles of every pattern, handmade shoes oddly placed next to a produce stall with fresh vegetables, mulled wine from Cormyr spreading the autumnal scent of star anise and cloves. Her woollen cloak covered her arms comfortably, masking the necrotic veins within her. As far as anyone in this market was concerned, they were just a normal couple. 

Gale leaned over, saying to her as they walked, “You look absolutely beautiful in that colour, my love. I can’t wait for it to snow, you’ll look practically ethereal.” 

She grinned, feeling her stomach warm with tenderness. “Gray? How can anyone look beautiful in grey?” 

“When it’s you,” he said. 

They shared a glance. Those eyes, the deep chestnut that pulled her in like a magnet. Showing her that every single word he said, he meant with his entire soul. Including the allure of woollen grey. 

A different scent replaced the mulled wine, a darker, more intense one. Steam warmed her nose, a little red from the brisk air. Welcoming her into a hot embrace that begged to remedy her icy hands. Something she’d smelled before in the Bazaar but never tried herself. The half-elf merchant pouring fresh brew into several carafes, labelled with different flavour notes. Coffee. 

“Are you a coffee drinker, Gale? We never had any back at camp,” Evie asked, reminiscing on times that seemed simpler in her head, a false memory that forgot the chaos of that adventure. Remembered pleasantly because that’s where she met Gale. 

He shrugged, “Sometimes. That hazelnut brew does sound lovely with a dash of Waterdeep whiskey. Perfect for a night by the fire, reading to you. Would you like some?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it. No idea if I’d even like it,” she said. 

Gale widened his eyes, “Never?! Didn’t you grow up in the largest city of the Underdark? How have you never had a cup of coffee?” 

Evie shrugged, reading the labels of the coffee: hazelnut, vanilla toffee, Calimshan medium roast (whatever that meant) and dark roast with cocoa. She was interested, mostly just because she enjoyed making Gale excited in whatever way she could. Seeing him eager to enjoy something with her never failed to make her giddy. 

“Mother said things like that were beneath us. Just a fad that made lower matriarchs feel better about themselves. My brothers and I would go to the Bazaar and look, but never touch lest our mother would find out,” she said. 

She didn’t intend to darken the mood, but that was something she tended to do when talking about her past. Realising slowly that for every happy memory she had, there were four sad ones waiting in tow. Thankfully, she had a man like Gale to make up for all the unpleasantness, taking every opportunity to create the best of experiences for her, no matter how big or small. 

“Pick a flavour. We’ll sit away from the market and try it. I’ll buy some ginger cream as well, I have a feeling you’ll like it,” he said, smiling as she pointed to the hazelnut flavour. Mostly because it was his preference. Their little game of seeing who could please the other more hadn’t faded with the defeat of the elder brain. 

Leading them down the market square and into a little clearing with picnic tables, Evie watched around as Gale set up the coffee. She saw the bustle of different people, crowding around trying to get from place to place, living all kinds of different lives. This was the first time she’d seen a city during Uktar so full of—life. Not desolate and empty, parading its superiority to no one like in Menzoberranzan. 

“Back home, the entire city would be silent during this time of year. Not a whistle of a presence unless you were attending the ceremonies at Tier Breche,” Evie said, voice trailing as if she was thinking out loud rather than talking to Gale. 

Gale nodded, “Ah, Tier Breche, the education centre in Menzoberranzan. Let me assume you attended Sorcere?” 

She shook her head, “For a while, but no one wanted to tolerate my wild surges. Not that I blame them. When I dropped out, I realised how quiet the city was to those not permitted to attend. Like living in a ghost town at the perfect time coffee should be served. When it’s chilly and cloudy.” 

“You couldn’t buy anything?” Gale asked, pouring two cups from the carafe across the table, finishing off the drinks with the ginger cream. 

“Everything was shut down. Only the necessities could be bought and every luxury good better have been bought prior,” Evie explained, sitting next to him on the same side of the table. “No outsiders or non-Drow permitted. No trade, no festivities. Nothing. The city was silent. Not somewhere a cosy blanket and a warm drink could remedy.” 

So different from Waterdeep, a place she wasn’t sure she’d ever grow accustomed to. She liked far away places, cottages concealed by clusters of birch and oak trees, overlooking lakes, rivers and creeks. Places she could experience good silence. But when she saw the flurry of people around her, she enjoyed a small, tender comfort. Children playing and drinking cocoa as their parents spectated from benches or shopped at stalls. Merchants egging people on to barter, faking their brightest smile to attract patrons. Residents in nearby apartments fanning out their laundry in the windows or waving at neighbours. In the midst of a month normally reserved for clandestine silence. At that moment, Evie felt at home in the middle of that bustle. 

“What about here?” He asked, showing her the spread of coffee he’d set up for her. 

“Perfect,” she said, trying to contain her smile. Gods, he made her look like a fool. Giggly and grinning enough to make her seem insane to the outside world. For something as simple as setting up a cup of coffee for her. 

They held the cups up and lightly clinked them in a cheers, enough for a splash of the hot liquid onto the top of Evie’s hand. She winced a little, a tiny sting that came and went in half a second. Gale, on the other hand, acted quickly in putting their drinks down so he could take her hand and examine the minimal burn. 

“Oh, my love! I’m sorry, are you alright?” He asked, peppering soft kisses on the tiny, red mark. Ginger, nutty coffee faintly hit his lips. She blushed at the public display of affection, one of Gale’s favourite hobbies. Not something she was used to, but would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy such outward adoration. 

Evie laughed, “Are you going to let me try this coffee or would you rather spend the day kissing my hand?” 

“Very well, try the coffee,” he said, letting her pick the cup back up, “I’ll kiss wherever you like when we get home.” 

Somehow, Evie felt nervous. Trying something simple like coffee should’ve been nothing more than a pleasantry. Yet, her stomach tingled with silly anticipation, some of it excited but another part of her felt like she was breaking the rules. Doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Temptation to look over her shoulder combined with the eagerness to rebel. A little too late to be revolting against her mother, but if she could give Evie guilt from beyond the grave, Evie could rage against her useless rules. Against the conditions of her home city, so rigid and violent in the name of superiority and ‘faith’. 

Evie’s lips touched the cup, feeling the warm liquid shield her from the cold. Notes of hazelnut and ginger permeated her nose from the fresh steam, a welcoming taste pushed to the side by the bitterness of the coffee beans. The sharp taste made her shift, contemplating whether or not she liked the drink. 

Gale was enamoured, transfixed by the humorous beauty of her facial expressions as she worked through the taste of the coffee. Getting to watch her experience a completely new thing, sharing a moment with her others never had. After he found the crown, his next mission would be lifelong. Spending a mortal eternity giving her new opportunities, if anything, for a chance to see her living alongside him. Loving her more by the minute, whether she liked the coffee or not. 

After Evie took a few sips, she said, laughing off a growing disappointment that she couldn’t quite place. “This is what everyone loses their mind over? For some reason, I thought this would feel more…impactful. Years of being forbidden from drinking this, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected an otherworldly experience but I did.” 

Perhaps Gale should’ve known part of her eagerness to try coffee was out of spite for her oppressive mother. Disappointment was inevitable, and now, she needed care. Even if she was trying to laugh about it. 

He gently pulled off her cloak hood, moving her hair away from her neck and running his fingers through the fair strands of blonde along her back. Shivers ran down her spine as he brought his index finger to her chin, turning her head to face him, giving her a delicate, loving kiss. His free hand continued to go through her hair, doing everything he could to bring her back to light. This always worked, he had such a way with her. Able to remind her that she didn’t have to be afraid anymore, that vindication was nothing next to the tenderness of her new life with Gale. She had no idea what she did to deserve him. 

“I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t we go home, and I’ll make you whatever warm drink you like. Or cold drink, I won’t fuss about temperature.”

Their faces were still close, hovering over each other’s lips as she said, “Your homemade hot cocoa?” 

“Whatever you wish, my love. It’ll be yours,” he said, moving some of her hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek. 

They picked up the coffee, Gale deciding he would give the rest of the beans to his mother later. For now, the couple walked hand-in-hand back to his tower, ready to spend the rest of the day in comfort and tranquillity.

[junkshop-disco]

Couple of people asked me to share some pics I have on file of the kind of place Thomas Barrow might've grown up that I have saved from when I was writing A Matter of Time. So here they are.

Before we dive in I'm just going to apologise they're all unsourced. I basically screen grab what's relevant to the fic, make a few notes about how I want to use it, and move on. I take notes like a scatty writer; my archivist friends are crying rn. But if there's something you want to know more about, just drop me a comment--I might be able to remember more or point you in the right direction.

Let's start with some background. This is from a write-up on a contemporary report into housing in the North, which confirmed for me that the kinds of places I was imagining as likely locations for where Thomas might've been born as a working class person were broadly on the money. The show gives us little to go on for an exact location, but I was guessing somewhere in the Greater Manchester region. I went with Greater Manchester rather than Manchester itself based mostly on the accent Rob uses in the show and a couple of lines from Baxter about Thomas's dad/background and, of course, that Thomas ends up in service.

These places also imo tie nicely into Thomas's father being a clockmaker, as the Industrial Revolution led to a clock making industry (tied to the need for accurate time keeping mechanisms in factories etc) in Greater Manchester, specifically in places like Salford, Stockport, Bolton and Wigan. There was a huge growth in public clocks in those new factory towns and a demand for cheaper watches, and there were over 3500 clockmakers in the city at the end of the 19th C.. Manchester itself was instrumental in scientific research into time keeping thanks to the Townley Group so there's a strong history of working class clockmaking there (as opposed to the more artisan kind).

And this is about slum patching, with some contextual detail from the 1860s about the kinds of housing and housing issues generally facing working class people.

These pics are both Chorlton, which is a suburb on the outskirts of Manchester from between 1900 and 1920. It's smog not fog, just in case that's not obvious.

These are I think from the Angel Meadows area and show the kinds of housing, in particular the back-to-back terraces I imagine Thomas and Baxter were familiar with and hung about around (which people may be familiar with from shows like Coronation Street). They're designed for factory workers and communities that popped up to serve those kinds of textile industries that put Manchester on the map during the Industrial Revolution.

And these are Salford, which is a borough within Greater Manchester. The second one is dated 1900 so gives a flavour of where young Thomas might've grown up.

Deansgate Lock in Manchester itself. This shows the canal, which was phenomenally important to the textile industry. Also: vibes.

And these are some general shots of villages/housing in Greater Manchester and Manchester itself, including factory workers from a cotton mill.

When I was writing the fic, I discovered a place called Kersal Moor when I was looking for green spaces around the Salford area that Thomas might've gone shooting or walking or something. The first is a painting called View of Manchester from Kersal Moor by William Wylde from 1857 and the second is now, with some poetry that mentions it and conveyed the atmosphere of the place.

I loved the painting because it really shows what Manchester was like from the outskirts and how it got the nickname Cottonopolis. I really liked the idea of Thomas not being from the heart of the city but seeing it from a slight distance, this huge throbbing, smokey industrial beast of a place, and then deciding that wasn't for him and eventually ending up in the relative calm and quiet of Downton but still finding York boring compared to what he's used to.

This is a working class house in Worksop, Nottinghamshire that was essentially frozen in time in the 1920s (I think 1924), which I used for reference for the Ellis house and the kind of fixtures and fittings working class people might have, although obviously being mindful that York and Worksop have different kinds of housing.

And since I've mentioned York, here's what I have for the Ellis's house and contemporary York, a general pic of the town, the Shambles, and a typical town house in the vague area I placed Richard's parents.

I didn't do as much research on Richard's background since the fic is not from his pov so there was limited need for it, but I think it's clear from the few pics it was quite different.

Anyway, that concludes our whistlestop tour of Greater Manchester at the turn of the 19th Century, as seen through the lens of my incredible fic notes archive.

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Forged Divinity Chapter 10: Leannan Meets Jeanette

2302 words

CW: institutionalized slavery, religious themes, dubcon (not explicitly described), abuse, choking, Google Translate

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~~~

Amos 6:4-5

You lie on beds adorned with ivory and lounge on your couches. You dine on choice lambs and fattened calves. You strum away on your harps like David and improvise on musical instruments.

~~~

Leannan didn’t see Phineas much for the next two days. The Council – minus the elusive fourth member – dined together, and Leannan joined them, eating fine meals of fish and potatoes with tart berries and cream for dessert. But beyond that, Phineas was off doing God-knows-what.

James visited Leannan once more, but seemed to lose his nerve before he could do anything, escaping with a lame excuse about ‘business to attend to.’

Leannan explored the Council building a bit. It was full of rooms, all connected by hallways, floored with time-worn linoleum. Some of the lesser-used rooms had sagging ceiling tiles, or were filled with little desks and chairs, stacked on top of each other in three-dimensional mazes of metal and plastic.

He stopped exploring after receiving one too many leering remarks from the guards dotted around the building. They weren’t allowed to touch him, by the Council’s decree, but that didn’t stop them from cornering and ogling him when they got the chance.

The only guard who offered a shred of kindness was the Captain, DuPont. He broke up one such gathering, snapping at his subordinates to get back to their posts, before looking Leannan up and down appraisingly. Leannan returned the look; DuPont was a barrel-chested man with dark skin and hair and a shadow of a beard, authoritative and burly.

“You good?” DuPont asked.

Leannan nodded quickly. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

DuPont smiled at him oddly, then reached out and ruffled Leannan’s hair.

“You let me know if they bother you again.”

~~~

What Leannan didn’t find while he was exploring was the fourth Councilman. He was close to cracking and asking someone who they were – but then he met her.

It was evening, and Leannan was walking back to his room after a long outing to Donda Island’s market. He was provided a small allowance of bartering chips, and today he had spent it on perfumes and rouge. It had taken him all afternoon, as he had stopped to talk to every vendor and passer-by who would humor him. He now knew more about Donda Island and its holdings, its imports of textiles and its exports of berry wine and leather; the ever-shrinking fishing business, the struggling dairy farms, and peoples’ anxieties about the coming second summer, when unimaginable heat would descend upon them.

He’d also learned that their view of Phineas was less than favorable.

He was sorting through this information in his head, trying to come up with the best way to present his findings to Phineas, when a sound made him stop outside his bedroom door. Drifting from further down the hall was an unearthly humming. He recognized it immediately, and it sent a flutter through his stomach: an organ.

He’d always thought that ‘organ’ was an appropriate title; the one back in Iowa City had loomed like a great living creature, breathing and singing through what seemed like hundreds of throats and mouths. Leannan had always stared up at it in awe, hardly able to keep singing along himself.

He stood frozen for moment before quickly entering his room and leaving his purchases on the vanity, then returning to the hallway to follow the noise. It lead him along the corridor, one silent step in front of the next, until he determined the door it was emanating from. He was loathe to interrupt the music, but he had to know. He knocked.

The drone stopped, and a woman’s voice called from beyond.

“Come in!”

Leannan opened the door, and stepped into a room far finer than his. The bed was larger, and had a grand canopy of fringed damask, and there were a pair of armchairs and a teatable, in addition to a wardrobe. There was no vanity, but instead two – two! – full length mirrors in one corner. There was a distinct smell; some sort of pine resin smoldered in a dish on the teatable, filling the room with pungent smoke. The main point of interest, however, was a very thin and wan woman sitting in the bed, propped up by countless pillows. In her lap was a long, flat, black box, with a row of black and white keys, just like an organ. It had blinking lights, and wires ran out of it to some sort of contraption sitting in a fading sunbeam on the floor. Electronics, Leannan identified, though he didn’t know much about the stuff.

The woman was staring at him, the bags under her eyes doing little to weaken her icy, piercing gaze.

“You must be the holy concubine,” she intoned.

“Yes, madam,” he replied, offering a little bow.

“I’m Jeanette Faverolle. The missing Council member.” A hint of bitterness tinged her voice. “But you’re not here to listen to me complain. You came for the music, yes?”

“Yes, madam,” he echoed.

“Please,” she waved a hand, “Call me Jeanette.”

“Yes, Jeanette.”

“Sit. I will play for you.”

Leannan perched in one of the armchairs, and Jeanette set her fingers to the keys. Leannan couldn’t help but be a little disappointed; what had sounded so unmistakably like his long-lost home through the muffler of doors and walls sounded tinny and small coming directly out of the electronic keyboard. But it was still the sound of an organ, and it was still music, of a sort; Jeanette moved across the keys at random, slowly drawing out one chord before moving seamlessly to the next, building an eerie soundscape. Leannan closed his eyes and leaned forward, as if he could submerge himself in the noise.

Leannan wasn’t sure for how long he sat and listened, only that he had relaxed fully into the chair, sprawled in it most unbecomingly and completely at peace, when Jeanette quite suddenly lifted her hands from the keys and plunged the room into silence.

Leannan sat up quickly, straightening his shirt. Jeanette was staring him down. The evening light from the windows had faded into darkness, and the room was lit only by a single lantern at Jeanette’s bedside, which cast eerie shadows over her gaunt face.

“You belong to the Council as a whole, yes?” she asked.

“Yes, Jeanette.”

“Therefore I am entitled to a quarter of your time, yes?”

“Yes, Jeanette.”

She nodded brusquely. “Return to me tomorrow, after lunch.”

“Yes, Jeanette.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Yes, Jeanette.” Leannan stood, hesitated, then inclined his head to her. “Thank you.”

Her lips pursed, and her eyebrows pinched.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Leannan nodded again, and quietly left.

He walked slowly back down the hallway, dying of curiosity. What ailed the Councilwoman? Why was she never at any of the meetings or dinners? Why had Brochard and James never mentioned her?

His thoughts were cut short by Phineas, fast approaching. Leannan stopped walking and lifted a hand to wave, but Phineas reached him in a rush, catching his waist and fisting a hand in his hair.

“Hej, stranger,” they purred, and kissed him.

Leannan wondered why Phineas was suddenly so touchy after two days of ignoring him, but Phineas explained.

“I shot a deer,” they murmured, nipping at Leannan’s ear.

“Congratulations,” Leannan giggled.

“Come with me.” Phineas practically dragged Leannan to their room, and Leannan spent the next twenty minutes with his head between Phineas’ legs. Afterwards, Leannan crawled up to lie next to Phineas and tried to tell them about what he had learned at the market, but Phineas shoved him off the bed.

“Shoo!” they said unambiguously.

Leannan tried not to be disappointed. Maybe Phineas had more important things to do – but Leannan still felt that the information he’d gathered was valuable. Regardless, he left, returning to his own room – and bumped right into James, who was leaving it.

“My apologies, Master James!” Leannan said immediately.

“Leannan – I was looking for you, I…” James grabbed Leannan’s upper arm and pulled him further into the room, closing the door. He had a wild look in his eye that set Leannan on edge. “I was looking for you, just – hold still…”

James’ hands closed around Leannan’s throat and squeezed.

Leannan had no warning, no time to prepare, and was hit with a jolt of genuine fear. James was supposed to be timid, he was supposed to be all bark and no bite… and yet. Leannan grabbed the Councilman’s wrists and tried to speak, but James was already crushing his throat closed, and it hurt. Horrible little squeaks and croaks were all that could escape Leannan’s mouth. James’ jaw clenched and his eyes were crazed and his arms shook as he clutched Leannan’s neck as tightly as he could. Leannan felt his head growing hot with trapped blood, and knew his face was turning red. Ordinarily when being hurt unexpectedly he would take in air, calm himself, and breath through it, but that wasn’t possible now. His vision started to go gray and fuzzy, and he found himself struggling instinctually. His feet dug into the floor, his shoulders twisted, and his hands yanked on James’ arms. It all only made James grip him tighter, growling something threatening in French. Finally, a coherent thought made its way through Leannan’s adrenaline-soaked and oxygen-deprived brain and he forced his body to fall slack, and rolled his eyes up into his head as if he were passing out. At this, James cursed and threw him to the floor, where Leannan spasmed and sucked in a painful breath through his battered throat. He wheezed helplessly as James stood over him, panting.

“Fucking peasants!” James shouted, “Think they’re above it all! Think they’re better than me?” He lifted his foot back to kick Leannan, tapped it to the ground as he hesitated, then shot it home into Leannan’s gut with a shout of rage. Leannan couldn’t stop the ragged cry that was forced out of him, and he curled up into a ball.

James began to pace, rambling in French.

“Ils demandent toujours ce qu'ils ne peuvent pas avoir!” He punctuated his last word with a second kick, this time to Leannan’s shin. Leannan flinched and whimpered, still disoriented. He didn’t have a plan. He couldn’t handle this.

“Taxes this, taxes that, maybe if you worked a little harder!” James circled around and kicked Leannan in the back, just below his ribs. Tears sprang to Leannan’s eyes, and he urged them on, sobbing.

“Master James!” he wheezed, “Please...”

“Oh, what, are you going to ask for something you don’t deserve too?” He loomed over Leannan, chest heaving; but then he seemed to deflate a bit as he took in Leannan’s pitiful figure on the floor.

“I suppose you do deserve some thanks. That was very… refreshing.” James rolled his shoulders, and his hand drifted to his belt. “Very… helpful.” He contemplated the thought a moment longer before stepping over Leannan and walking to the door.

“I’ll send someone to check on you,” he said, almost sounding regretful, and left.

Leannan rolled slowly onto his back, allowing himself to cry for real. He hadn’t liked that. Not at all. He kept misjudging James, and getting caught off-guard. He lifted a hand and pressed probing fingers to his throat. He didn’t need to look in the mirror to know he wore a necklace of handprints. He sat up, tears rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to go back to Phineas – but he knew Phineas wouldn’t be interested in his whining.

He had to do his duty. He had to endure.

He brushed the tears off his face and forced on a smile, but it only lasted a few seconds before he sobbed again. He didn’t want to have to endure anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to God, “I’ll be okay in a minute, I swear, I’m sorry. I can do it, just give me a minute!”

He pulled up his knees and hugged them to his chest, hyperventilating slightly as he looked around. His room – the room that was supposed to be all his – didn’t feel safe anymore. He hadn’t even realized that he’d felt safe there in the first place until it was taken away. It felt wrong, now. It felt… It felt a way he couldn’t name. It felt bad, that was all he knew.

So he sat, and cried, and slowly calmed down. He was just starting to struggle to his feet, wincing as muscles flexed under new bruises, when someone knocked on the door. He wiped his hands across his face and straightened his clothes before going to answer it.

It was the pale, frizzy-haired woman, bearing a tray with a steaming earthenware mug on it.

“Yes?” Leannan said, then balked; his own voice shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, coming out painfully hoarse and low.

“Councilman Faverolle sent you some honeyed tea, monsiuer,” the woman explained, her eyes running up and down Leannan’s figure. Not in the way people usually looked at him, though. Instead of lustful, she looked concerned; her eyes flitted particularly around his neck. She had a sharp, nervous gaze, like a small bird.

“Oh!” Leannan spoke through the pain, “How thoughtful of him!” He lifted the mug from the tray. “Thank you, madam…?”

She tucked the tray under her arm, tilting her head a little funny at being addressed with madam. “Just Maeve.”

“Thank you, Maeve,” Leannan rasped, smiling as best he could, “You should call me Leannan, then.”

She looked at him a moment longer, then nodded.

“You’re very welcome, Leannan. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Once she was gone, Leannan walked to his bed, nearly limping from the pain in his lower back. He set the tea down on his bedside table and stripped, dropping his clothes carelessly to the floor before crawling into bed. He took up the tea and hunched over it, enjoying the warmth despite the summer night.

He was being rewarded. He could endure.

~~~

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New Exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art Showcases Rare Artifacts

by Samantha Patel, reporter

Submitted photo

NEW YORK CITY - The Metropolitan Museum of Art is set to unveil its latest exhibition, "Echoes of History: Treasures from the Ancient World," offering visitors a glimpse into the rich tapestry of human civilization through a collection of rare artifacts and antiquities.

Curated by renowned archaeologist Dr. Eliza Medina, the exhibition features a diverse array of objects spanning millennia and continents, from ancient Egyptian mummies to Greek pottery to Mayan sculptures. Each artifact tells a unique story, offering insight into the beliefs, customs and achievements of the civilizations that created them.

Highlights of the exhibition include a set of intricately carved jade artifacts from the Shang dynasty, a stunning mosaic depicting the legendary hero Hercules, and a remarkably preserved Roman gladiator helmet. Visitors will also have the opportunity to view rare manuscripts, textiles and jewelry, providing a comprehensive overview of the cultural heritage of the ancient world.

"We are thrilled to present this extraordinary collection of artifacts to the public," said Medina. "These objects offer a window into the past, allowing us to connect with the experiences and aspirations of people who lived thousands of years ago."

The exhibition aims to foster a deeper understanding and appreciation of the cultural diversity and historical significance of the ancient world. Through interactive displays, multimedia presentations and educational programming, visitors of all ages will have the opportunity to engage with the artifacts and explore their significance in context.

"We hope that 'Echoes of History' will inspire curiosity and dialogue about the enduring legacy of ancient civilizations," said Emilia Peter, Director of Education at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. "By learning from the past, we can better understand our own place in the world and the challenges we face as a global society."

"Echoes of History: Treasures from the Ancient World" opens to the public on April 16 and will run through May 2. For more information and ticket reservations, please visit our website."

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Legacy of 1930s Elegance: Budapest’s Timeless ‘Dugattyús House’ on Margi...

Budapest sci-fi építészete: a Dugattyús-ház a Margit körúton

Weiss Manfréd Vállalatok Elismert Nyugdíjintézete

1024 Budapest, II. kerület

"Legacy of 1930s Elegance: Budapest’s Timeless ‘Dugattyús House’ on Margit körút"

The "Dugattyús House" at 15-17 Margit körút, also known as the "Piston House," is one of Budapest’s most iconic residential buildings, capturing the spirit of 1930s modernist architecture. Designed by Ferenc Domány and Béla Hofstätter, this luxury apartment complex was completed in 1938 for the Weiss Manfréd Corporation’s pension fund, embodying the era’s elegance and forward-thinking design.

The building stands out for its sleek, circular glass elevators, expansive staircases, and remarkable views. Its construction was part of a larger urban renewal program initiated after WWI, aimed at modernizing Budapest’s inner-city areas. A 1934 tax law incentivized building new structures by offering generous tax exemptions for developers who tore down older, single-story homes and replaced them with high-density, multi-story buildings. Margit körút fell into the top tax-exempt zone, meaning that builders could avoid property taxes for 15 years and continue receiving 75% tax reductions even after that period, leading to a wave of modern apartments in the area.

The architectural style of the Dugattyús House is marked by horizontal lines of banded windows and solid parapets, complemented by the building’s round edges and large balconies. The lower floors are clad in travertine, while the upper stories are finished with sandstone, giving the facade a luxurious and cohesive look. Inside, marble-lined lobbies and restored original fixtures reflect the building’s high standards. Original features, such as lighting fixtures and rare wood paneling with a checkerboard pattern in the stairwells, were reconstructed to preserve the authentic aesthetic.

The residence attracted Budapest’s social elite, from aristocrats and high-ranking professionals to industrial magnates. Notable residents included engineers, doctors, and even a retired Minister of the Interior. The building’s few single-room apartments meant that this was no place for solitary individuals—most tenants were families or prominent professionals. It also housed influential figures from the textile and milling industries, which were closely connected to the Weiss family’s business empire.

The "Dugattyús House" remains a powerful example of Budapest’s architectural heritage, showcasing the city’s transition into a modern metropolis. Its blend of innovative design, social history, and luxury living has left an indelible mark on the cityscape.

Dugattyús Ház #budapestépítészete #Budapest