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snowviolettwhite · 3 months

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If a marginalized person from marginalized group is dealing with bigotry and very clearly is upset and just needs to let out their emotions and vent don't try to debate with them, even if you think you are being being civil. I don't have the energy to debate with people that antisemitism is just as bad all the other forms of oppression and bigotry while then being told Jewish people have it better than other all groups.

I will block you, do not tone police me. I come on tumblr to express myself and enjoy and share my hobbies and escape, not to become more stressed. This is my page if I want to vent I will vent.

Someone said to me that Jewish are the most represented minority but the smallest minority, so it would not make sense to hire Jewish actors. It would be too hard to find them. There more Jewish roles than Jewish actors, which is laughable. I wonder why Jewish people are one of the smallest minority could it be because of an event that happen less than hundred years ago and the increase in hate crimes and over 2000 years of prosecution.

There are barely any explicit Jewish roles that are not stereotypes or about the super religious or about the holocaust and most of them that are are played by Italian actors. When actually Jewish actors play these roles they deal with fetishization and are called unconventionally attractive and often play the comedic characters.

Look the Andy Samberg and Timothee Chalamet both great actor, extremely talented and attractive. Andy Samberg is a cutie pie in my opinion.

People have had audacity to say to me that 'you might not to be getting cast for the roles you actually want because you're unconventionally attractive,' despite the fact in my mother was considered the most beautiful girl in her Jewish community, I look so much like her and people from my family's community are constantly trying to convince my parents to set me up with their sons.

Also, calling someone unconventionally attractive is not a commitment.

People are constantly talking about the privilege in masking or hiding certain parts of yourself to avoid possible harm and how not all Jewish people look stereotypical Jewish but have you thought about Jewish people who do look stereotypical and how saying these things are affecting them.

Their physical traits are being presented as ugly and saying they can not hide for safety.

I have had strangers come up to me and ask me if I am Jewish because I look Jewish. It is mostly well meaning older Christine people who are trying to be friendly and start a conversation and like learning about different types of people, so I don't really mind.

But if people whose families have been who have been in the U.S for generations can tell someone is Jewish just by looking at them then but about people who actually want to cause harm to Jewish people.

I as a Jewish person and actor was calling out erasing of Jewish stories stories, misrepresentation, underrepresented and double standards in film, television and theatre.

Non-Jewish actors still to this day wear prosthetic noses and wigs to play Jewish roles. You can look it up, there are loads of articles about non-Jewish actors doing this. Look up what Bradley Cooper did. He knew Jake Gyllenhaal, a Jewish actor had been planning for years on producing and acting in a biopic about Leonard Bernstein a Jewish man and bought the rights before he could and now in the film Bradley Cooper is wearing a prosthetic nose.

Comic books and Broadway were built off the handwork of Jewish Americans and Jewish Immigrants. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is changing canonical Jewish characters from the comic book and completely erasing their Jewishness and sometimes even turning them into Christians. They are barely any Jewish actors or writers involved in the MCU, if any.

Characters and very clearly show plays and musical that are about being Jewish sometimes don't even have one Jewish actor in the cast. I read a article a while back about a Jewish actress being the only Jewish person cast in a production Fiddler On The Roof. The makeup artist wanted to give her a wig to make her hair look coarser, thicker and darker and wanted to give her a prosthetic nose to appear more Jewish. When the actress told them she was actually Jewish they proceed to tell her she was too pretty to be Jewish.

In the book Red, White & Royal Blue Nora is Jewish. For the film they hired a Christian actress who from what I heard pressured to the creators to change Nora to Christian because she did not feel comfortable playing a Jewish character and because she is a devout Christian. If they want to have black actress they could hire an actual Jewish black actress. If I was hired to play a character who did not align with my religious or spirit beliefs I would not ask them to change it for me.

Before anyone comes at me Judaism is an enthoreglion, people are Jewish by ancestry and linage, not just their beliefs. Most people who identify as Jewish are born into Jewish families and Judaism is one of the hardest religions to convert to, so you have be extremely dedicated. This is not a dig at Jewish converts I am just making a point.

Jewish actors are still being told to change their names to sound less ethic. Zachary Levi is not a full name, it is his stage name and he is not Jewish. The reason Levi is a part of his stage name is because he has the same name as another actor. He has said before he has angered about missing out on roles because people think he is Jewish. Actually Jewish actors are being turned away from role because they look too Jewish or sound too Jewish. Jewish actor get nose jobs and chemically straighten their hair.

#antisemitism #liberal antisemitism #antisemitism in film #antisemitism in television #antisemitism in theatre #jumblr #jewish actors #jewish

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botanybulbasaur · 4 months

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Schneider is SICILIAN, not Italian. YOU ARE WRITING HER WRONG.

Yes, this post is directed towards YOU, fan fiction authors!! And— yes, I will admit, it sounds a little confusing, but I’ll elaborate.

Schneider is an immigrant from Sicily, which, in all due respects to everybody who writes her speaking standard Italian, HAS ITS OWN LANGUAGE!! (Or dialect..? Aye aye aye, I am not awake enough to perpetuate one side or another of a centuries-old argument.)

For more information, you can go to a website somewhere on the interwebs (like this one!: https://mangolanguages.com/resources-articles/sicilian-and-italian-whats-the-difference/) or simply take a look at Schneider’s wiki page!

So, sí, Reverse 1999 officially makes the distinguishment here: her mother tongue is Sicilian!

The next time you pick up your keyboard (or.. phone, if that’s your thing?) to write a fic, stay away from the Italian google translate screen— as tempting as it may be!— and go to a website like Glosbe instead to use the Sicilian translator there; given you’re trying to write a vulnerable moment where she expresses herself in the first language she’s ever learned to.

I apologize if anything in this post is overly fired-up or aggressive. My family (particularly my grandfather) have been looked at like they were insane when they spoke Neapolitan in the middle of Rome, so the distinguishment between Italian and its sister languages is very important to me— as well as other Italian fans of the game, I’m sure.

That’s all for this post! Happy writing :3

#reverse 1999 #r1999 #re1999 #schneider #yelena greco #schneider greco #kisses her gently. go cuss a fucker out in sicilian my dear #yes her ult line is in Italian. yes she uses swear words from Italian. no you should not only have her speak Italian in your fic #just because reverse 1999 devs only had her speak in Italian (..for some reason :c) it doesn’t mean YOU should!!#sicily #auauaughh #I’d like to think they intended to have her speak Sicilian but fucked up #Or maybe she just uses it to communicate w mafia members?#Most Sicilian people do use Italian at their jobs lmao #Crime is #Technically a job #Remember the phrase ‘Sicilian first (comma here) Italian second’#Hhhhhh

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copperbadge · 1 year

Photo

Pictured above: the Amerigo Vespucci, a three-masted tall ship, encounters two US aircraft carriers: the Independence (black and white image, 1962) and the George H.W. Bush (color image, 2022).

Built in 1930 for the purpose of sail training, the Italian Training Ship Amerigo Vespucci is designed after 18th century 74-cannon "ships of the line”, naval warships common to the Age of Sail. She carries a standard crew of 16 officers, 70 noncoms, and 190 sailors; she has an overall length of 101m/331ft and a maximum width of 15.5m/51ft with a steel hull and a top speed of 10 knots (19km/h). The masts are steel but carry traditional canvas sails and use only hemp rope; mooring lines are synthetic per port regulations. Currently she carries both diesel and electric engines. More details and specifications at Wikipedia. Her sister ship, the Cristoforo Colombo, was given to the USSR as war reparations after WWII.

There is a commonly-repeated story that when the Amerigo Vespucci encountered the USS Independence in 1962, the Independence signaled the Amerigo Vespucci to ask, “Who are you?”

The ship replied, “Training ship Amerigo Vespucci, Italian Navy.”

The Independence then is reported to have responded:

“You are the most beautiful ship in the world.”

Well, they weren’t lying about that.

Wikipedia’s only truly useful citation for this encounter is a YouTube video of the USS George H.W. Bush meeting the Amerigo Vespucci in 2022.

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This encounter was also documented in a US Navy press release from September 2022, which has better information for the initial exchange. The 1962 photo leaves no doubt the Independence and the Amerigo Vespucci did encounter one another, but the exchange of communications does not have strong visible documentation. The press release states that the NHHC website has a record of the encounter, but does not link to it.

The NHHC website, which is a massive pain in the ass to use, has a records page for the black and white photo above, but that appears to be the extent of its documentation. Presumably there’s a logbook for the Independence or the Amerigo Vespucci or both, but that’s beyond my ability to locate. I have not been able to find a record that isn’t embedded in 21st-century documents which don’t have strong citations. There is no record of who on the Independence felt the need to compliment the Amerigo Vespucci, or how the ship responded. The Italian Navy’s history of the Amerigo Vespucci, now available only through Archive.org, does not mention the encounter.

The earliest record I could find of the Amerigo Vespucci referenced as “The most beautiful ship in the world” comes from a post at VisitVenezia, which Google believes was posted in 2004 (there’s no date on the post itself). The earliest reference to the actual meeting of the two ships is a vague reference in a blog from 2012, which merely states that “another ship once radioed, you are the most beautiful ship in the world.” There is no citation for the story’s origin at that post. If the exchange did happen, the story of it appears to have surfaced to civilians only in the 21st century. Most other records 2012-2022 eventually trace back to Tumblr, actually.

The USS Independence’s Crew Book for 1962 has been digitized; reading through it there is, as they say, a lot to unpack, but despite numerous pages dedicated to the sights of the Mediterranean, there is no mention or photo of the Amerigo Vespucci that I could find. It does list the two commanders of the Independence, Melvin R. Etheridge and Bob J. Robison, as well as the full 1962 crew. And if you like men in uniform, 60s military technology, or poorly printed photos of Europe in 1962, it’s a fun way to spend an hour or so.

In any case, the Navy says it happened, and it’s a great story. We do have documentation, both in the video above and in the September 2022 press release, of the 2022 encounter. The USS George H.W. Bush, captained by Capt. David-Tavis Pollard, asks via radio, “Sailing vessel on my starboard side, please identify yourself.”

The ship responds, “This is Italian Navy ship Amerigo Vespucci.”

The US ship asks, “Are you the one that sailed by the USS Independence in 1962?”

To which the Italians reply, “Yes we are. We are the senior national vessel in active duty.”

The US ship responds, “Amerigo Vespucci, you are still after 60 years the most beautiful ship in the world.”

To which the Amerigo Vespucci answers, “George Bush, we are flattered and express fair winds and following seas for your deployment.”

I’d love to know who sent the original messages, and where it might have been recorded; if folks have access to documentation or know sailors who served on the Independence or the Amerigo Vespucci in 1962 who might remember it, please feel free to let me know. After all, I’d like the story to be true.

And she is, then and now, a beautiful ship.

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#amerigo vespucci #military history #naval history #tall ships

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years

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i remember thinking i had you ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

levi ackerman x reader | wc: 0.7k+ | L’s FOLKLORE event

“I can’t believe you don’t remember the name of the restaurant.”

Your accusation isn't one of malice or irritation—if anything, there’s a hint of competition laced into your words. A tone of challenge that sparks a fire inside of Levi’s chest.

Your husband glances up from where he sits across the table from you, eyes unimpressed as they eventually return to the annotated novel before him.

“It was years ago,” he states unenthusiastically, “and from what I recall, the food was subpar at best. We never went back there again.”

You watch him fiddle with the ballpoint pen in hand before scribbling something into the header of a page. You note the black ink smeared on the side of his pinky finger, trailing upwards towards his wrist. You fight off the sudden urge to kiss the bone that protrudes from where his forearm meets his hand.

“But it was our first date,” you emphasize with a whine, for clarification, “that’s supposed to be something you remember.”

Levi, now intrigued by your little tantrum—but still doing his best not to show it—closes his book with a sigh before placing it flat on the table. His knuckles wrap an antsy rhythm against the leather cover.

With his full attention now on you, you can’t help but feel a little bashful beneath his glare. Even with a quick glance at the silver band adorning his left hand, an identical one hugging your own ring finger, his stare still makes you feel like it did all those years ago. The feeling of a fleeting crush that somehow resembles the weight of the world. A crush on your husband, the voice in the back of your mind giggles.

“Right, then what do you and your photographic memory remember about our first date?” he gives in to your antics, as he does every time.

You smirk behind the hand your jaw rests on, as if you’ve been patiently waiting for him to ask this very question.

With a smug raise of your shoulders, your answer is simple. “I remember thinking that I already had you wrapped around my finger.”

Levi scoffs as he raises an eyebrow, “On the first date? That’s rather bold, don’t you think?”

It is bold, but as you recall the memory, it’s nothing short of the truth.

Five years ago, in a stuffy little Italian restaurant, over a debacle of entrées, you knew you had Levi in the palm of your hand.

“One of our first phone calls was an hour long conversation about how picky you are—about how you hate certain vegetables and always look up the menus of restaurants before eating at them.”

Levi follows along, but seems to miss your point as his head slightly cocks to the side.

“Right…and?”

“And, you still switched meals with me when I didn’t like mine,” you can’t help the dreamy smile that etches its way across your skin at the memory, “even though it had eggplant in it. You hate eggplant.”

Your husband hides a blush behind a scowl as he rolls his eyes. “I was trying to be a gentleman, the dish was terrible.”

“It was the premise,” you’re quick to correct him.

It was never about the first date or the name of the restaurant or the stupid overcooked eggplant. It was about him, and the sacrifices he makes for you without a second thought.

“You barely knew me and yet you were already going against your high standards to make me happy,” your voice is a soft whisper now, but Levi still hears it clear as day, “that’s what I remember about our first date.”

The confession is tender and sits in the center of the table that separates the two of you. Though he’d always deny if ever confronted, Levi appreciates it—the way you notice his tiny acts of devotion. He always hoped you felt the love embedded into them, and with a silly discussion of your first date, he officially confirms his wish.

His taunt betrays the flushed pigmentation on his face, “Funny, I remember you having food all over your face for the majority of night.”

You pout at his gentle tease and he laughs beneath his breath, picking up his book once more.

Lifting it high, you can no longer see his handsome face, but the spine of the novel can’t swallow his voice.

Behind the annotated pages, he whispers. “You did have me, though.”

Your eyes light up as you lean into the ledge of the oak table. “On the first date?”

Levi hides a knowing smile behind his book.

“Mhm,” he confirms without hesitation, “on the first date.”

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman drabble #levi drabble #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #levi fic #levi ackerman fic #L’s FOLKLORE event!

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ifuckingloveryoshu · 13 days

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CANTO 6 PART 3 SPOILERS

Im beyond pissed, tumblr crashed in the middle of me doing this so this is going to be so much shorter than I want it to be. NON RYOSHU RELATED POST ABOUT THE HEATHCLIFF. DON'T TAKE WHAT I SAY AS FACT I AM NOT QUALIFIED FOR THIS. LOOK AT THE LINKS I CITE FOR MORE INFORMATION! You can click them when their mentioned. Im not citing in the proper format. This was done on 5 hours of sleep, two eggs, and a box of banana milk.

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The Erlkonig or Erlking is this figure in German Mythology who kidnapps children. When he touches you, he kills you. This poem made by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe then adapted to this song is what you see. Erlkoning Heathcliff is trying to intice Heathcliff to die by telling him that it's his fault Cathy is dead. All identities refer to the sinner as "child" when you look into their uptie stories. Mili and the singer of the video here use the same technique of changing the tone and pitch of their voice to differntiate two characters.

The Wild Hunt is a part of Norse Mythology where Odin, mounted on his sixed legged horse Sleipnir, goes through the forest. According to norse-mythology.org, anyone who gets caught up in The Wild Hunt, spotted or seen, gets carried away. Your soul will get incorporated into The Wild Hunt. We all know Erlking Heathcliff did, the rising of the bodies. The Wild Hunt is also mostly describe as having hounds, and who was a hound? Hindleys.

From the same website, on the page of Sleipnir reads,

Also, the horse that heath rides on has a weird liney pattern on it's 4 legs that kind of look like that runestone. There's more connection here, I just don't want to type it again.

How did Project Moon mix two diffrent mythological ideas together? (Its not just two, they mixed so many more.) Meet human mistranslation and the progression of oral tradition and story telling throught time. I don't kno where to start. There was mistranslation poem when, according to ancient-origins.net Johann Gottfried Herder wrote a seperate ballad from the one I linked at the start called Erlkönigs Tochter.

The Anglo-Saxons were early German settlers. This is where things get messy because I have several more potential leaders of the Wild Hunt but here are two, King Herla and Herne The Hunter.

Herne The Hunter: Popularized by Shakespeare potentially from a play called The Merry Wives of Windsor. This man called Jacobb Grimm said that Hene The Hunter was related to Odin. Herne the hunter is this ghost. ( https://mythopedia.com/topics/herne-the-hunter ) Im trying to say there are other media that connect the Erlking to the Wild Hunt but its on Wikipedia so it makes it seem fishy. Another Link Here

King Herla: A british king who attended a dwarf wedding. When he left the wedding, the world had changed. Unbeknowst to him, 300 years had passed and he was claimed to be missing. When his men tried to get off their horses, they turned into dust so they were stuck like that. Read it here, its short. Someone better and more credible than me summed the story up better than I did, historian Chrissy Senecal. Read right here. An additional link to cross refrence if you'd like. King Herla and Odin got conflated together when really, their diffrent people

I found this other website article about Wild Hunts which kind of brings me to the next thing, the Harlequinn. They weild clubs, their devils, the image of them is popularly joyful? Maybe goofy and lighthearted? Perhaps associated with cards? Matt, or Heathcliff's portrayal of Matt. Now, I'm looking at Wikipedia and I see this section.

What do we have here? A mention of the Erlkönig, Dante's Inferno, masked, club weilding giant. Heathcliff's not giant but hes pretty tall, at least by my standards but whatever, im very short. DANTE'S INFERNO, Canto 11 and 12. What the fuck Project Moon, are you playing 5d chess?

Back on topic, Hellequin is the fairy king, and this figure pops up in German, French, Italian, and English folklore. I can't do proper research when all my search results are mixed with random junk and I'm becoming nutty. You will not normally be able to access this article without paying but here's the link anyways. Journal Article from this book on a section about horned deities made in 1922 speaks of a group of ghost riding, who are also huntsman.

And also another mention of Dante's Inferno. The name, Herne The Hunter is mentioned again.

All and all, The link between The Erlkonig and The Wild Hunt isn't as wild and unexplainable as I originally thought. It's just so cool to see all these concepts intersect. There still so much to touch upon like the headless horseman refrence and the Dullahans, RYOSHU COMPARING THE WILD HUNT TO THE PARADE OF 100 SPIRTS, something along that line, I forgot the name. I'm just not the right person to yell about this but I will anyways. The writers mixed so many symbols of death into one character. Such a wild and nutty Canto. Thank you so much Project Moon.

#not ryoshu #not ryoshu related #limbus company #lcb heathcliff #a link between The Erlking and The Wild Hunt #canto 6 spoilers

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planerot · 7 months

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Radiator Spring residents ranked on how trustworthy they are in the kitchen

(All these are intended to be humanized headcanons, but can be interpreted however you like. Also, quick content warning for food and a brief allusion to mold)

Flo - She literally owns a diner, (I did some googling and turns out, even though it's called Flo's V8 café, it's a diner. The disneyland website describes the IRL version in car's land as a 'Route 66-inspired diner' ) she makes the best food in town no questions asked. She's the one who makes everyone in Radiator Springs their birthday cakes and dinners each year, and has their favorite flavors and foods memorized by heart. If she catches wind that someone in town in feeling under the weather, that person will have a big pot of soup delivered to their doorstep before the end of the day. She is also very good about keeping her workspaces extremely clean due to the health and safety standards that come with running a diner. 10/10, she is the best by a very large margin.

Doc Hudson - During Doc's earlier years, back when he was still racing, he was a very mediocre cooking. He made stuff that was incredibly bland, boring, stupid easy, or a combination of all three. After his accident and moving to Radiator Spring, he was kind of forced to learn to make more interesting meals after eating nothing but mac and cheese, sandwiches, breakfast foods and other such things for a month straight and growing positively sick of it (because we all know his self isolating ass would NOT want to accept any invites to eat or, god forbid, risk accidentally socializing while at Flo's when he was fresh off a life changing crash). He, overtime, forced himself to learn how to actually cook and thus accidentally became one of the most talented cooks in Radiator Springs, second only to Flo.

Guido - He spent a lot of time in a tightknit, small Italian village, living with Mama Topolino, I feel it's very likely he picked up some tips, tricks and recipes during his time there. The vast majority of what he knows how to make is Italian food, but so long as he has a recipe, I think he could make anything.

Luigi - Basically the same as Guido. Only reason I put him below Guido is because he doesn't have the basically super human reflexes and motor control Guido has, thus making him more prone to spills and mess in the kitchen.

Red - The issue with writing any headcanons for Red is that he's more a gag then an actual character. I did a bunch of digging on his wiki page and all of it can be summed up to 'He likes flowers, is a firefigher and incredibly sensitive'...so I worked with that best I could. I think he'd be pretty decent at cooking since firefighters usually take turns cooking for their team, so anyone in that career usually has to learn to cook something actually edible. Red likely learnt how to cook during his very early days of firefighting before he moved to Radiator Springs. His dishes are definitely simpler, but that doesn't mean he can't make some very tasty, filling dishes. He takes enjoyment in serving his food to others and absolutely will burst into tears if someone insults his cooking.

Lizzie - Lizzie is the stereotypical baker grandma. A lot of the recipes she makes are pretty old, but that doesn't make them damn tasty. Her memory issues make baking a bit harder, but she still manages just fine. Baking helps keep her up and moving, even if it's only in her kitchen

Sally - She's never really had a knack for cooking and does her best from what people have taught her through the years. She can make a lot of really good pasta dishes, but other then that she doesn't really excel at anything.

Sheriff - Incredibly average. He's more the type to get food from Flo's or buy prepacked stuff then he is the type to actually make himself anything. When he does actually bother, all the stuff he makes is pretty good but absolutely nothing to write home about. He's more the type of person someone asks to pick up groceries for a meal then actually make the meal.

Fillmore - 100% more a baker then a cook. He first picked up baking to make weed brownies and ended up really enjoying the whole process. His recipes are very hit or miss though since he likes trying to make his desserts more healthy in some way. Sometimes this means they just taste a little off, and sometimes this means they taste like he just tossed sugar and cocoa powder in a bowl with some dried hay and baked it. He is also a hazard in a kitchen since he sometimes he gets munchies while high and will completely forget stuff in the oven, thus leading to multiple fire alarm scares.

Ramone - God bless his heart, but this man can barely cook. Flo has tried to teach him, but he just cannot seem to quite get it, often burning things, adding to much seasoning or accidentally forgetting ingredients. He loves spending time with Flo in the kitchen, so he gets relegated to vegetable peeling or pot stirring, which he very happily does because it means he gets to hang out with his amazing wife. The one thing he does excellent at is decorating. It took him a couple tries to get the technique down, but he is an amazing cake decorator, his years of painting cars meaning he has a scarily steady hand and very keen artistic eye. Flo always lets him decorate the cupcakes/cakes when she makes them for people's birthdays and they always turn out gorgeous.

Sarge - The issue with Sarge is that he refuses to toss anything out. He isn't good at cooking at all. That man does not give a shit how black his scrambled eggs are or how his chicken wings could probably be used as bricks, he will eat them. Whenever someone asks why he eats obviously terrible food, he just says something about how this is nothing compared to how terrible food was in the military. He's grown an iron stomach and hates wasting food even when it would probably be better for his health just to toss out the suspiciously fuzzy loaf of bread.

Lightning - He has mostly lived his adult life living off of fast food, microwave dinners, canned soup and whatever he can eat when people invite him over for dinner. He could probably be a very competent chef if he was taught how to, but he is a bit to embarrassed to admit it to someone else.

Mater - Do not let him near a kitchen he WILL burn it down. For the love of god he is clumsy as fuck and will somehow seriously injure himself or anyone if left to his own devices. He likes the idea of cooking for himself and his friends, but in practice it usually ends with either a fire, a hospital visit, or some horrid combination of both.

#god this is such a long post sorry about any typos #it's a bit hard to proofread a post this large #flo #doc hudson #guido #luigi #red #lizzie #sally carrera #sheriff #fillmore #sarge #lightning mcqueen #mater #pixar cars #cars fandom

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angellayercake · 1 year

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Banchetto: Antipasto

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Aperitivo

The tomatoes should be small diced and even. In a dish so simple every detail must be perfect lest they disrupt the whole. The juicy seeds are scooped out and left to one side leaving you the ripe flesh to work with.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Whatever it was about the recipes from the book they had done the trick. He was finally eating and you could relax slightly. Although it was clear to you that whoever had translated it had not been an experienced cook. The descriptions were sometimes clunky, other times made little sense at all. With your lack of Italian and the mysterious translator's lack of cooking knowledge it was clear that some things had been lost in translation. But, since the day he had left the notebook out for you he had refused to discuss it.

You flick through the pages most days making notes of recipes to try, ingredients you need to acquire and passages that need further research. The thought of showing the notebook to anyone else made you uncomfortable but the odd instruction? That didn’t seem so much of a breach of trust. For now though you stuck to the simpler recipes. There had been less to translate and any errors you had found were easily corrected with your cooking knowledge.

The thought of being Papa’s personal cook hadn’t really excited you when you first found out, especially with how difficult he was during the first few weeks. You enjoyed cooking for the whole Abbey. It was a challenge for you cooking in such large batches and still maintaining the flavour and standard you expected of yourself. Cooking for one man hadn’t seemed like much of a stretch even if it was Papa Emeritus III. But now as you tried to settle on your choice of the day you could acknowledge how much fun you were having learning about authentic Italian cooking.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Leaves plucked carefully from the stem and piled in the centre of the wooden bowl. Your fingers come away fragrant, with a faint tinge of green you notice as you rock the curved blade back and forth slicing through the delicate leaves. There is nothing like the aroma of freshly cut herbs you think as you add them to the tomato.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Wine?’ He gestures the bottle towards you after pouring his own.

‘I’m working Papa. No thank you.’ You continued stirring the pot in front of you, turning down the heat fractionally. He had taken to sitting in the small kitchen space as you prepare his evening meal. He rarely spoke much but had the occasional question about something you were doing. Dipping your spoon in the sauce you blow across it to lower the temperature before giving it a taste. You allow the small mouthful to roll over your tongue giving yourself time to identify the flavours. Taking a pinch of salt you sprinkle it across the surface as you continue to mix. You reach for your tasting spoon, cleaning it quickly before taking another taster.

‘Why are you doing this? Hungry already, are you?’ You take your time finishing your taste test happy that the flavours were now balanced. He is watching you inquisitively and you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are at his lack of understanding given the life he has led.

‘I’m making sure the seasoning is as it should be.’ He tilted his head as though he still didn’t quite understand. ‘I am tasting, not eating Papa. To see if anything needs adding to improve the flavour.’ He nods as you finish speaking.

‘So you say Sorella, that you must taste it as you go along so you know when something is ready. You must monitor the flavour as it develops so you know if you must add this or that.’ He gestured to the rack of seasonings you had placed next to the oven.

‘The good thing about seasoning is you can adjust it as you go up until the very end of cooking, but how would you know if you didn’t taste it?’ You smile at him over your shoulder as you continue to stir.

‘Si I understand. But that only works if you have not done enough, no? What if you were to add too much?’ It is no surprise to you that this is his next question. You had asked something similar when you had been completing your training. You were enjoying sharing your knowledge with him. ‘Surely the dish would be ruined?’

‘Well that depends. If you know what you did to ruin it you can add something to counteract.’ Turning down the heat for the last few minutes you are able to give him your full attention.

‘Adding more, this would not just make the situation worse eh?’ You smile and shake your head. Aside from burning a dish there was not much you could do to ruin a simple dish entirely.

‘That’s why you must understand how to balance flavours before you try anything like this. For example if I added too much salt to this dish I could add some lemon juice to neutralise it or if I added too much spice adding some oil will help temper the heat.’ He didn’t respond further so you returned your attention back to the task at hand although you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then. He was lost in his thoughts, brow furrowed as he absent mindedly swirled his wine around the glass. Every time you look over at him he holds your gaze for longer and longer until you can’t bring yourself to look away. He is not the man you thought he would be, that's for sure. Now he had gotten used to your presence he was quiet and thoughtful. Much more introspective than many would give him credit for.

He visibly snaps back to the present and you quickly turn back to your cooking. The thought of him catching you staring has a blush spreading across your face. He moves in the corner of your vision, setting down the glass and running his hands through his hair, his agitation confusing you. He stands and moves closer, placing his hand on your arm and squeezing to get your attention, as if he didn’t have it anyway. You don’t understand the frustration in his face or what about your conversation had inspired that feeling.

‘But how do you know Sorella? How can you tell what must be added, what must be taken away, and by how much?’ He flusters you with his questions. The thought that your conversation is no longer about food grows in the back of your mind as you look into his eyes.

‘Intuition, I suppose, practice, experience.’ Your answer only seems to increase his frustration so you continue. ‘Your personal taste also plays a part.’ His hand drops from your arm but he looks at you a moment longer before returning to his seat. The conversation is over and you can’t shake the feeling that you said something wrong. Removing the dish from the heat you quickly serve up a generous portion for him and place it before him at the table. You clean up quickly wanting to get away from the awkward atmosphere as soon as you can. As you are about to leave he calls to you.

‘This is very good Sorella, grazie,’ along with a tired smile. You take it for the apology you think it might be and give him a smile in return.

‘Good night Papa.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The smell hits first as you pull the foil package from the oven, opening it slightly to let it cool as you prepare the bread. Cutting through the loaf diagonally for the best slice. Thick enough to carry their intended load but thin enough to ensure they toast evenly. You brush them with oil watching it drip into the airy dough before returning the tray to the oven.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The bread, cheese and seasoning could already be found in the now well stocked kitchen but the fresh ingredients required a trip to the Abbey gardens and so to see Primo. You were apprehensive. He would have questions naturally but you had been doing your best to keep Terzo’s confidence. The longer you spent with him the more you realised he was quite resentful of his brothers interference in his life. A veiled comment here and there. A roll of the eyes when you mentioned speaking with them but at least he wasn’t taking it out on you any more.

The walk through the ornate moon garden and past the fountain gave you some time to prepare yourself. The fragrant white blooms waved softly in the breeze as you walked. You had always thought this part of the garden bland especially when compared to the riot of colour and chaos that was the kitchen garden. That was until you had been passing through one evening on your way back to your quarters. More often you walked the long way from the Papal suites, through the winding halls but one balmy night you had thought to cut across the gardens to shorten your journey. Instead you found yourself sitting mesmerised as the white blooms seemed to glow in the moonlight. Now you take every opportunity you can to wander through the flower beds, the soft sound of the fountain and singing birds your soundtrack and the floating bees and butterflies your companions.

Today though you do not have time to linger so you spare only a quick glance before heading to the green houses. You slide open the door to let yourself in, feeling the humid heat wash over you as you close it again behind you. The sweet smell of ripening produce melded with the earthy scent of the damp soil filling your senses as you look around for Primo. You spot his dark robes through the greenery and make your way to the potting tables set up in the centre.

‘’Buon pemeriggio Sorella,’ he called as you moved into his line of vision. ‘And what can I help you with today?’

‘Only tomatoes today Papa, and some fresh basil as well.’ You had known Primo for longer than either of the other Papa’s, your work in the kitchen had brought you together very shortly after you had arrived at the Abbey.

‘Ah both staples in all good Italian cooking si. Is he still having you make all the classics for him?’ He gestures you towards the vines at the far end. ‘Come, come we will find the best that I have for my fratellino.’

‘Thank you Papa. Those meals do seem to be what he prefers, but I don’t mind.’ It felt that you were the only one not surprised that Terzo might prefer food from his home country given the reaction of everyone but you were genuinely enjoying his preference so far. ‘I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn many Italian recipes before this so it is an excellent opportunity.’

‘Si Sorella I am sure. And how is my brother? Is he behaving himself?’ You wonder what he means by behaving himself. Surely he knows that Terzo had been eating normally for some time now. ‘I fear he has not forgiven me for siding with Secondo. More often I used to be the neutral party between them.’

You take your time before answering him, slightly surprised at his candour. You had always got the impression that the brothers kept their familial relationship private from the majority of the congregation. ‘He is fine I think Papa. I don’t see much of him except at mealtimes but he seems well.’ He fixes you with a look you can’t quite decipher.

‘I think you have seen him enough to know him better than most.’ Hesitation fills you with his statement. You know exactly what he means and yet you don’t really want to let on.

‘I just make him food Papa,’ is your simple reply. You are just doing the job that has been asked of you.

‘The mistake people often make with my fratellino is to take him at face value. He does it very well, his show. He has done, since he was a child but it is a mistake to think he is only this.’ You nod slowly. That was something you had noticed. The man you had got to know so far was different from the man you had seen at rituals and at mass but that was not entirely unexpected.

‘You know him best I’m sure.’ You keep your attention on the tomatoes searching through the vines for the brightest red you can find.

‘Si, si. I know him, Secondo knows him but many others, I think they only know Papa Emeritus III. Many will need to find out who Terzo is now. Maybe even including him.’ You aren’t entirely sure how to respond. This was not how you were expecting this conversation to play out but you try to bring your mind back to the matter at hand.

‘I think I have enough tomatoes now Papa. I just need some basil and then I will be out of your way.’ You add what you have collected to his basket before winding your way back out of the vines.

‘Oh Sorella you are not in my way. I appreciate any visitors that find their way here.’ He hands you the basket of tomatoes and motions you to follow him out of the greenhouse towards the herb garden collecting a pair of secateurs as you pass the potting table. Instead of trimming from the larger plant though he picks up a smaller plant still in its own pot.

‘This one,’ he starts turning back towards you and offering you the plant to hold. ‘It was broken from the main during the last storm. But you see when something breaks if you allow it to grow roots and nurture it, it becomes a whole new plant.' He cuts away at the leaves all the way down to the stem starting from the base and working up the plant methodically.

‘That’s enough now Papa you can stop,’ you say but he continues cutting until there isn’t a leaf left on the poor plant, just little stumps protruding from the bare stem. ‘What will happen to it now that there are no leaves?’

‘If it is strong it will grow back even bigger and better than before Sorella. And I am sure it is strong to have survived all that it has already.’ He fixes you with one last confusing look before adding the cuttings to your basket. ‘Give my greetings to my fratellino, and tell him to come and see me when he has finished sulking.’

‘Of course Papa.’ You nod your head in farewell and take your leave. You had thought you would be subtly integrated about Terzo, not given some kind of plant based philosophy lesson. You sigh to yourself checking the time as you make your way back through the gardens. There is no time to dwell on cryptic metaphors. You need to get back and start your preparation otherwise his food will not be ready on time. And that was what you had been asked to do, just make him food.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It is a pleasant surprise that the recipe had suggested roasted garlic but it made such sense by smoothing out the pungent flavour and adding some depth. Before mixing you generously splash it with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and season with freshly ground salt and pepper.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

For once he wasn’t loitering in the kitchen as you cooked so as you came close to finishing you decided to fetch him. Bruschetta was best served fresh. You wandered through the rooms in an effort to find him but it wasn’t until you reached the door to his bedroom, left slightly ajar, that you knew you had located him. Reaching forward to knock your actions are halted when you hear a choked off moan.

Your eyes find him straight away through the gap in the door, sitting on his bed with his back to you. Which would be fine if he wasn’t sitting opposite a mirror which gave you the perfect view of exactly what he was doing and you have to hold back a gasp as soon as it registers. The first thing you notice is his hand wrapped around his cock. How could you not? His stroke is slow and teasing and you can see the pink head disappearing and reappearing from his fist. You shouldn’t be seeing this and you certainly shouldn’t still be watching but you can’t move. Realising how long you have been staring you quickly glance up at his face and let out a sigh of relief that his eyes were closed. His face was slack with pleasure, an expression you could recognise from when he especially enjoyed the food you had made for him. That knowledge sent a spark of unexpected heat through you and you have to look away.

But you can’t drag your eyes from him completely. The next thing you notice is his other fist clenched to hold the hem of his shirt out of the way of his ministrations. You can’t see much but what you can makes your mouth dry. His stomach was tense twitching as he pleasured himself but that didn’t disguise the softness that had grown in the time you had been working for him. Right there only just visible was the evidence of your hard work and you could not have predicted the reaction it would have inspired within you.

A loud low moan finally brings you back to your senses. You have to go, this isn’t right. Dragging your eyes away you turn as quietly as you can leaning against the wall a moment as you catch your breath. Pulling yourself together you carefully make your way back to the kitchen pleased that you weren’t caught in such a compromising situation. What you didn’t know at the time was if you had let your eyes drift to his face one last time before turning away you would have met his burning mismatched gaze where it was fixed on you in the mirror. Watching you, watch him.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now toasted you grate the parmesan directly onto the bread and give them a minute more in the heat to begin to melt and crisp. You spoon the well mixed tomato and basil onto each slice piling it generously until you have one spoonful left.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It takes a lot longer for parmesan to melt than you had thought. You stare at it intently attempting to stop your mind from wandering to what was happening just down the hall. Don’t think about what he was doing. Don’t think about how he sounded. And certainly don’t think about how he looked, so different from the last time you had seen his body. Gone was the concave stomach and the visible ribs. You had noticed it somewhat in his face, the shadows receding under his cheeks and around his eyes. But that didn’t prepare you for seeing how his stomach had filled out. If you hadn’t seen him before it would have barely given you pause, but knowing that you had done that. Your cooking and your care had changed him, that affected you as much as watching him pleasure himself had.

The shrill beep of the timer pulls you back to reality abruptly and you reach for the toast quickly so as not to let them burn. Only when the tray is securely placed on the trivet do you allow your mind to wander again. The guilt was starting to overwhelm you now. You should have left as soon as you realised what he was doing, not stood and watched like a pervert but you had been glued to the spot. Reaching for the bowl you let the image of him fill your mind once more as you spoon generous heaps of the mixture on to the fresh toast. So lost in thought you are as you carelessly eat the last spoonful, oblivious to anything else going on around you.

‘Caught you Sorella,’ he whispers so close you feel his breath against your ear. No he can’t have. You choke, coughing and spluttering and he laughs as he pats your back, helping you clear your clogged airway. You gasp in air as soon as you can and force yourself to look at him. He is smiling, why would he be smiling at you after catching you watching him in such a personal moment? You wipe away the tears that had gathered at the corner of your eyes as you concentrate on regulating your breathing.

‘That was eating and not tasting I think.’ A hysterical laugh bubbles up in your chest, relief washing over you. He was talking about you eating, not about you watching him jerk off. He laughed along with his hand resting on your shoulder and you were torn between leaning into it and pulling away. You were already attracted to him and everything that had happened this evening just compounded to make it worse. This was not what you were here for and you needed to pull it together.

‘Yes Papa, you caught me this time,’ you offer with a weak smile before adding two slices of the bruschetta to a plate and handing it to him and creating a buffer between you. He accepts it with a grin, not even moving before taking a bite. His eyes close and he lets out a now familiar moan at the taste. He adds another couple of slices to his plate giving you a wink that makes your pulse race and your knees weak and then he is gone.

Thank you @ghostchems and @namelessdrool for all your help!!! And @running-ace21 for the original prompt :)

#papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #banchetto

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aurorawest · 5 months

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The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi - 5/5 stars

This book managed to rip my heart out at least 3 times. I loved it. Medieval enemies-to-lovers slow burn; very romantic. Kinda read like fanfiction at times but in a good way. 10/10 would read a follow-up love story about Arundel and Captain Wekena. If you like Captive Prince, give this one a try.

Reforged by Seth Haddon - 4/5 stars

Pretty good bodyguard romantasy. Ironically CS Pacat blurbed this one (another am-I-in-the-matrix moment). The world was interesting and I enjoyed the politics, though they're definitely not as complicated as other SFF politics I've gone feral over (see: Captive Prince, Winter's Orbit, A Memory Called Empire). I ordered the sequel after I finished this.

The Doctor's Date by Heidi Cullinan - 4/5 stars

A Power Unbound by Freya Marske - 5/5 stars

Where do I start? I love, love, LOVE A Marvellous Light. It's one of my favorite books ever. None of the rest of the books in the trilogy could live up to it, really, because it's so good. You'll notice I rated this one 5 stars though, because quite honestly I fell prey to a bit of The Academy Paying The Lord of the Rings Trilogy Its Due syndrome. I did love this book and thought it was better than A Restless Truth (which I still loved!) but part of that is, quite frankly, just due to the fact that I prefer m/m romance to f/f romance.

Anyway. This was such a good finale to the trilogy. I loved that the romance was a giant middle finger to purity cultists. I loved that one of the mains was Italian. I loved finally getting the story of what happened to the Alston twins. One thing I thought was really cool was how, viewed from the outside, you totally get why Edwin is such a loner. I really admire from a writing perspective how Marske pulled that off.

I feel like there's a lot to be said about what Marske was trying to SAY with this book, but I definitely need to reread it first before I can articulate any of it. The purity culture stuff is obvious, but the magic system too. I feel like Jack when he's almost able to connect everything in his mind into a bigger idea, but he can't quite get there.

I've got a special edition from Illumicrate coming, so I'll be rereading it when I have that.

Oh also, this book was the embodiment of all that one tumblr post -

The Guncle by Steven Rowley - 5/5 stars

I saw this in bookstores for years before I finally gave in and bought it. The blurb makes it sound insufferable and twee. Ignore the blurb. This was such a good book about grief and learning how to live again after terrible loss.

I Like Me Better by Robby Weber - 4/5 stars

At last I can stop getting the Lauv song stuck in my head whenever I set eyes on this book (it's stuck in my head as I type this). Pretty standard-issue YA, but it was cute and had a good message.

The Stagsblood King by Gideon E Wood - 4/5 stars

Another book about moving on from grief! This is the second book in a trilogy. When I was trying to determine if I wanted to read on beyond book 1, I scoured the internet for information about what happens in books 2 and 3. Eventually I decided, hell, I enjoyed book 1 well enough, even if what I want to happen in the rest of the trilogy doesn't happen, they're worth reading. SO, to that end, I will tell anyone looking for info that Tel gets romantically involved with a new man in this one, which, eh. I still want him to somehow end up with Vared. It was still quite good though.

In the Lives of Puppets by TJ Klune - DNF at pg 82

So funnily, we were at the bookstore the day I was about to start reading this, and my wife pointed out Ravensong (also by Klune) to me and said, "Do you have this one?" I made a face and said, "That's an older one of his books and I'm wary of his early work after that horrible Verania series. I don't think I've ever read an author as hit or miss as TJ Klune."

I wrote the above when I was 60 pages in and now I have officially DNFed this. Listen. You know how in Thor: Love and Thunder, Taika Waititi was clearly given free rein to do whatever he wanted, so all of his worst impulses made it to the final cut unchecked? Yeah. That's what this book is like.

Here's my Storygraph review: I see Klune is officially Too Big To Edit now. This book has exactly the same problem that his awful Verania series had—a joke that's funny at first but quickly grows tiresome when it's repeated five times per page. The emphasis on Victor's asexuality was also weird and read like Klune was just super proud of himself for writing an ace character.

Lion's Legacy by LC Rosen - 4.25/5 stars

Queer, YA Indiana Jones, but less #problematic. This book had some eerie similarities to my own archaeology adventure novel(s), which made me wonder half-seriously if I somehow know Lev Rosen? Anyway, I feared this would be very heavy-handed and not nuanced on archaeology's ethical dilemmas, since it's YA and also the current culture is to view said dilemmas as completely black and white with no nuance, but I was pleasantly surprised. It manages to examine that, queerness, and daddy issues, plus has time to be a genuinely fun and exciting adventure story. Highly recommend.

Too White to be Coloured, Too Coloured to be Black by Ismail Lagardien - 4/5 stars

I picked up this memoir in a bookstore at OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg as research for Six Places to Fall in Love, since Percy is coloured. A pretty brutal read, but good, and definitely good research. The author was a photographer and journalist through the most violent years of apartheid.

The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson - 5/5 stars

Two nonfiction books in a row?? This is the second book by Erik Larson I've read, the first being the excellent The Devil in the White City. I'm not, in general, all that interested in WWII when it comes to military history, but this book is about the day to day lives of Churchill and the people surrounding him (with brief stops to visit FDR and high-ranking Nazis sprinkled throughout). This is a very, very good book, and I recommend reading it if only as a reminder of the resilience and bravery of ordinary people under terrifying circumstances.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh - 5/5 stars

Holy shit. Holy shit is this book good. Imagine the love child of Lost, Person of Interest, and Battlestar Galactica, but queer and with multiverse shenanigans thrown in.

I need everyone to read this book. Now. Yesterday. Get to it.

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effervescentdragon · 7 months

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My lil contribution to @1016week Day 2 - social media. This is the snippet of my SF Admin AU which I started writing a long time ago for @welightitup (and @mssr-monagato which is a given). I hope you enjoy it! 😘

" - and this is why I think I would be a good fit for this job."

She isn't looking away from him, and he doesn't let himself show how much he is intimidated by that glare, even though he really, really is. He did everything right, said everything right, showed her his best work. He knows he did. There is nothing more he can do. They will either hire him or not.

God please, let them hire me. I need this fucking job. This is my last chance, and if I blow it, it's corporate hell with dear Dad, and I will die. I will literally die.

Her long, red nails tap on the glass table twice. He thinks this may be what doom sounds like. It sure feels that way.

"Mr. Gasly. You have an impressive portfolio, and your CV is one of the best I've seen. What I want to know is, what will you bring to this job? What is the thing that distinguishes you from all the other candidates for this job?"

Her eyes bear into his, and he swallows. Goddamn she is intense. Pierre knows the question, it is a standard question everyone asks in job interviews, and he knows the answer he's expected to give. He opens his mouth to say the prepared, standard spiel, but in that moment his eyes stop on the pictures hung on the wall behind her. They are all the same. Same poses, same settings, same camera angle. A whole wall filled with the same picture over and over again.

Fuck this.

"You're wasting opportunities here."

She raises an eyebrow, and her eyes regain some of the focus they've lost during the rest of the interview, as she was listening to his pitch, probably the twentieth one and identical to every other one she's heard during the day.

"Oh?" She says, and it sounds like a challenge.

Fuck it. Full send.

"Yes. You are sitting on a goldmine, and you are doing nothing about it." Pierre takes a deep breath. You can do this. He looks her straight in the eyes.

"You have the most beautiful and the most attractive driver on the grid driving for you, bar Lewis Hamilton, who is, you will agree, in a league of his own. Your driver is very easy on the eyes, he is kind, he is extremely good at what he does. And you are doing nothing to capitalize on that and attract more fans, when you could literally have your social media engagement, and with it the revenue, go through the roof."

She says nothing. He plows on.

"He has the looks, and he has the brains, and he has the mythological-like background and appeal. Hell, the Italian media calls him Il Predestinato! He is a Ferrari child through and through, he lives and breathes for this team, which is an angle that can be explored so well, and yet you do nothing. He is even willing to speak about the hardships of his life, although I personally believe he should be left alone about that." He clenches his fist. "And again, I reiterate - there is not a bad angle for the kind of face he has. And you need something new; something fresh. You know what I've found out as I did research on the perception of Ferrari in the public, in the target groups?"

"Enlighten me," she says, and Pierre forces his hands not to shake as he shuffles through his papers and pulls out printed-out screenshots. He points to the highlighted words repeating themselves on the pages.

"Outdated. Old-fashioned. Uptight. And a million other synonyms, all meaning one and the same thing." He looks back at her. She isn't looking away, and her expression is stone-like, but her eyes are flashing. He swallows the bile rising in his throat, because he can't believe he's about to say it.

"Boring. People think Ferrari is boring. Ferrari." He laughs incredulously. "The oldest team on the grid, the team that is synonymous with motor racing. The mythological team. The red cars. All of that, and it comes down to one thing. Boring."

He can't help but scoff, too deep in his spiel to care whether or not he is crossing the line. "Which is unimaginable to me, especially when you have the history," he points around the room at the pictures of very inportant people with the drivers and Ferrari personell, "the glory", he points to the trophys in the room, a mere dozen of what he knows are hunderds more, "and the beauty." He steels himself and shuffles the paper, pulling out a printed picture of Charles Leclerc, who is smiling at the camera bashfully.

He taps on the picture. His finger lands on Charles' dimple, and stays there.

"You need to utilize this, and even if you don't hire me, please, make whoever you hire use this - use him. Because otherwise, you're going to end up like Red Bull, after Daniel Ricciardo left." She twitches visibly. "Utterly unlikeable."

Pierre feels like he's just run a marathon. His breathing is irregular, and he makes himself calm down, repeating those meditation techniques his brother insisted on him knowing. The silence in the office is deafening suddenly, and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

"I see." Her voice is calm. "Thank you for your presentation, Mr. Gasly, and for this interview. We will be in touch."

Fuck. I completely blew it. Fuck.

"Thank you for the opportunity," he manages to say.

He goes to gather his papers, but she hums.

"Leave your research here, if you don't mind?"

It's not a question; not really. It's an order, given with an icy smile. He makes himself smile back even though his stomach seems to be turning like he's on a roller-coaster ride.

"Of course," he says, and removes his hand from the picture of Charles Leclerc's face. "Have a nice day, and thank you again."

She says nothing more, only inclines her head in a silent dismissal as he leaves the room. He passes the security in a daze, moving on auto-pilot right up to the moment when he's sitting in his car.

"Fuck," he says out loud. "Fuck, Pierre, you absolute fucking idiot."

He crosses his arms over the steering wheel, and then after a second, he lets his head fall forward too.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He groans. "I am so stupid!"

"Excuse me, sir, are you - Are you okay?"

Pierre groans again, because he is nothing if not dramatic, and turns to look at the person interrupting his mental breakdown through his driver's side window.

"Fuck," he says, eyes widening, because right next to his car, crouching in what looks to be a very awkward manner and looking at him through his window is nobody else but Charles Leclerc.

Charles Leclerc, the Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari and the one everyone is convinced will be a World Champion someday. Charles Leclerc, who is a thousand times more beautiful in person than he looks in any of the pictures online. (And Pierre would know, because - because he did research. For the Ferrari interview. And not anything else.) Charles Leclerc, whose voice is kind, and whose French carries the lilt of the Principality. Charles Leclerc, whose eyes are wide in an emotion Pierre cannot recognize in his shocked state. Charles Leclerc, who is - frowning.

"Excuse me, I saw you were in - in distress. And I - I wanted to ask if you maybe needed some help?"

"With what?" Pierre asks, then wants to kick himself, because his tongue was always quicker than his brain, and his brain is currently screaming Oh my God that is Leclerc that is Charles Leclerc oh my GOD on a loop.

"With.. with whatever you are distressed about?" Charles says, and Pierre thinks the way he scrunches his face, half-confused, half-deternined, is absolutely fucking adorable.

Then again, Pierre thinks Charles Leclerc is adorable all the time, so that's not a revelation.

"No, no, ah, thank you," he laughs, because he can't help it. The irony is painfully laughable and laughably painful simultaneously. "You are very kind, but my problem is," he grins, "myself."

Charles laughs with him, and there is something knowing and sad hiding behind that smile. It makes Pierre want to smooth out the curve of it. It makes him want to bite it.

"Ah, I know that feeling well, my friend." He grins, and his eyes are sparkling green, perfectly offset by the dark purple of his shirt. "I hope your problem becomes more manageable."

There is sincerity in Charles' voice, and a whole weight of knowing, of understanding. Pierre can feel his hands relax on the steering wheel, and his utter desperation fade away a little.

"Thank you," he replies. "I hope so too."

Charles just nods at him, and they look at each other in commiseration brought on by shared diapazon of feelings.

"I should be going," Pierre says, then thinks Oh hell, I fucked up one thing already today. Full send. "Unless you want to give me your number?"

Charles' eyes widen and he looks - unrealistically good. Nobody should be that good-looking, nobody can, because Charles is just unreal. This close, Pierre can see him clearly, and the little tiny imperfections - the bitten corner of his lip, the little patch of hair he missed while shaving, the red spot on his cheek - they all make him even more beautiful.

"I -" Charles starts to say, cheeks red and face surprised, then seems to steel himself. "I could do that." He smiles sweetly. "But only if you tell me your name."

Pierre's heart feels like bursting out of his chest, a thousand and one emotions flaring as he replies "Pierre Gasly. At your service, cheri."

#1016 week 2023 #f1 rpf #piarles #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing

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schismusic · 12 days

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Joy Division, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love New Order, too

Spring is weird as hell because one time you have this glaring sun that powers you up like being plugged into a wall outlet, then not five minutes later clouds begin to gather and you feel like you're going to die if anything goes south. So the most obvious combination to represent two sides of this same coin, emotional and meteorological, is Joy Division and New Order.

Sometimes you need Transmission or Shadowplay for the sunny days — impassioned jolts, sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes The Perfect Kiss hits harder on a cloudy afternoon, coming back home and in need of that extra push to not fall asleep in the train. It's surprising to realize the versatility displayed by both bands, or the same band in two different iterations according to whomever you ask. Peter Hook says, as late as 1993, that the laziest member of New Order is Ian Curtis. Or again this other person, in the comments under the Atmosphere official video on YouTube, who went to see New Order (Hooky-less New Order, which might be a relevant distinction) at the O2 Arena a couple of years ago and they gave an encore, says "Those of us who stayed got the privilege of watching Joy Division perform three of their songs". Interesting outlook on the matter. I personally saw Peter Hook and the Light play both Joy Division records and, I'm pretty sure, an encore comprised of just Love Will Tear Us Apart at the Arti Vive Festival in Soliera, back when it was still free to attend some of the events. I remember being pretty mad that Hooky had stopped to take pics with basically everyone and then left exactly as I was approaching. In retrospect I don't exactly blame the man, it was like midnight anyway. I remember nothing of the back trip home.

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My first contact with Joy Division happened when I was thirteen and very much in my prog era. I was in Rome staying at an aunt of mine's place for my fourteenth birthday and she told me I could get a CD, since I had gotten some money saved up over time. Some Facebook page dedicated to Pink Floyd I'd liked (yeah, Facebook at age thirteen — I literally just wanted to play a fucking Flash game, back when Facebook allowed them, and I ended up getting to be terminally online. Crazy how things turn out) used to share a lot of memes and fanart relating to the Unknown Pleasures album cover, and me being a massive Pink Floyd head at the time I thought "I mean, if these guys are pushing this band so hard, that's gotta mean something". The album cover was pretty striking, admittedly: a far cry from the paisley ass paintings that I had grown to accept as the gold standard for the music I liked, but its simplicity struck a chord closer to The Dark Side of the Moon, or perhaps The Wall. Those were records I liked a lot, probably called them "the best records ever made" to more than one person, not like they aren't but that's a very bold statement to make when your listening experience consists exactly of

Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor when I was six;

Daft Punk's complete discography (minus Random Access Memories, which wasn't out yet) when I was twelve;

Pink Floyd's complete discography, courtesy of a CD collection coming out with some Italian newspaper, that same year;

a couple random classic rock records recommended to me by older friends and relatives usually well into their fifties or sixties at the time, random people on Internet forums — which, for clarification, I did not actively attend, preferring to just lurk from time to time — and the OndaRock "milestones" page.

So browsing through the surprisingly expansive CDs section of this electronics shop in Rome, and being mesmerized by a vinyl rack in the days when Music on Vinyl was the final frontier of pretending you could re-analogue the digital ("you mean to tell me these are like CDs, but bigger? Whoever designed these truly lived in the future"), I came across that very same album art that had stricken me so hard. I had listened to the first seconds of the album on YouTube, but that weird drum sound — so echoey, so distant, ultimately not particularly powerful, meaning it didn't really sound like Bonzo: it sounded more like my own band, which at the time didn't even exist yet — I didn't really know what to make of. This store I was in had one of those preview listening machines that would scan the barcode on the CDs and give you a small snippet of the song. I pull the CD up to the scanner, the scanner lights up green, I put on the headphones and the solo from this comes up:

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Clearly they had to be kidding me. I had come to know, sneaking into infinitely many rehearsals with the band from my mother's town, what it sounded like when someone tried to play lead without something else filling up the arrangement (even though I didn't really know all that, or at least lacked the vocabulary to properly express it) and, for Christ's sake, didn't these guys notice rehearsing? It sounded empty, weirdly so, and it wasn't my thing, I thought. I put that CD away and picked up a band I knew I'd like — Genesis, specifically. So Nursery Cryme became the first CD I've ever paid with my own money, the very day I turned fourteen. Not a bad pickup. I remember being very impressed with the fast blurring lead guitar on The Musical Box and digging the sweet pastoral atmospheres of For Absent Friends and Harlequin. I still think of that record more often than one would probably assume looking at this blog, or my most played on Spotify. At the time, that was the best move I could take, really: why beat my head against a record that, as your average prog nerd ballbreaker, simply wasn't speaking to me?

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Then all of a sudden in August of the same year my friend's dad hands me a 16 gigabyte USB drive, full of random music from all eras of rock. A lot of it remains inscrutable to me for a really long time, most notably Tom Waits (see related post), but I spent the whole month reading random folder names, seeing if something catches my eyes, and at one point I come across the Mars Volta. Open the folder up, read the names of their first three records, and my first thought is "Christ, these guys look incomprehensible. I'm about to have some fun". Long story short: I end up having a lot of fun, the Mars Volta turns into my favourite band at the time and finding out that they had previously been called At the Drive-In makes me gain some measure of respect for punk rockers: if they tried hard enough, I must've thought, they could prog as hard as anyone. In the meantime the ghost of Joy Division remains at the back of my head. I feel like I'm missing something, for the first time in my life: it's not them, it's me. Too bad that same realization didn't occur to me when it came to the people in my life until much, much later, but that's being fourteen for you I suppose. Early King Crimson and the Mars Volta were the pinnacle of violence to me, and not even the very few Metallica songs I'd downloaded just to see what would happen scratched that itch. It felt a bit too cauterized for some reason (I would later find out I had been looking in the wrong direction the whole time: the Black Album "sucked", according to my favourite metalhead of the time, who somehow catalyzed my interest from the very second I saw him in the school's courtyard. Hard to imagine why I would imprint on people like puppies do, but what the fuck, not like I've ever outgrown that anyway, I've just gotten better at managing it). But I felt there was more than violence to this, or different forms of violence. When Christmas came around and my relatives tried to get me presents, my mother asked if there was anything specific I was interested in, and I basically told her "look, if they can get me some CDs off of this list, I'm golden". It had some bangers on it, namely Noctourniquet by the Mars Volta — it's one of their best and I will die on this hill, be warned — and The Downward Spiral, which might as well warrant its own post in an ideal world. But the best of them all I think came from a random purchase, once again with the little money I had lying around at the time.

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Closer appears to be, right away, a bit more concrete, and if there's something inexperienced music fans like is a pretty packaging that conjures a strong emotional response before they've even played the record. Compare a color-inverted graph of pulsar emissions to a literal funerary monument. Opening up the booklet I was shocked to see that Genesis was used as a negative point of comparison (bad omen, I thought) by people close to the band, and I came across much more detailed information about Ian Curtis's untimely demise — at that time, something far too removed from my experience to be faced with the delicacy and attention it deserves. Atrocity Exhibition hits like a ten-ton truck, a reference which at the time I wouldn't have been able to make for obvious reasons, and Isolation exposes all the nerve tissue under the skin. Passover comes in and strips everything even barer, and then A Means to an End turns… danceable, for some reason? Big emotional moment with The Eternal and Decades, which I thought actually took them closer to my usual tastes. And yet at the same time I kept looking at Colony, Heart and Soul and Twenty Four Hours as the most compelling cuts. Geometric assault sounding like sheet metal if it were music; rhythmically driven emptiness that serves as a minimal backdrop for depressed poetry, and finally a rocking ebb-and-flow that would probably inform a lot of my interest in GY!BE-like post-rock in the coming years. Very interesting to think that the same guys who'd done Unknown Pleasures could think of this. To this day, when asked, I still do think that Closer is the best Joy Division record, but what does it even mean when the records are exactly two, compilations notwithstanding?

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It was around this time that it came to my attention that both Joy Division and another band called New Order had a record called Substance out, both published by the same recording company, both coming out within a year of each other. Looking it up, it turns out it's fully intentional, because New Order is simply Joy Division minus Ian Curtis. It would turn out to be a tad bit more complex than that. Anyway, I look New Order up and kind of have to do a double-take. Synthpop? In my Joy Division? More likely than you'd think, considering Isolation exists. But yeah, that sort of seals it — I wouldn't care about this New Order for a million years. Until all of a sudden a couple of years later David Sylvian bursts like a comet in my face, which of course leads me straight to Japan, the same year as I'd come across Berlin-era Bowie, and you can probably guess where this is going, right?

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Well, you'd be wrong. I still don't check out New Order. There's a whole new world open to me — vaporwave and therefore R Plus Seven come to my attention, which leads me to dissect that record like an alien tool of unclear purposes. This of course leads me onto an ambient tangent, taking me back to my Tim Hecker listens of that same year, which has the effect of renewing my interest in "pure" electronic music and the then-rising post-dubstep movement. The sheer experience of sound, the dazzling modernity and innovation, is what's in at the time. I have no time for nostalgia-pandering dimwits: the future awaits. Then all that jazz from the first Godflesh post hits, then God pulls the funniest gag in the history of viral infections to my memory, and I have some time to actually look back, a bit less prejudiced. As it turns out, synthpop is not the devil, as some of you might have surmised by now, and as I relisten to Blue Monday I realized I have never listened to either of the Substance record. I do know some, most perhaps?, of the tracks on the Joy Division one, and I do think the New Order one has the more striking cover art — not to mention I knew, by this time, that this was the one to give Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance its name, and that Your Silent Face soundtracked one of the most memorable moments in Nicolas Winding Refn's Bronson. As the ultimate Hideo Kojima stan, I couldn't let this slide, so I pop the record on and get hit with this:

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Way to go, guys. Holy shit. I knew that Ceremony was a Joy Division cut before they could record it, but what the hell — Bernard got it, too. It wasn't a matter of singing ability with songs like these, it's just getting it, finding the right energy. They had that right energy. And then it hit me just as many times these dudes have made Blue Monday over and over again before actually getting it right, and everytime I look into it it's funnier and funnier to realize just how many different attempts it took them to finally be Kraftwerk, but augmented — with the stellar results we all know. Everything's Gone Green, 5 8 6, Temptation potentially, all lead up to this one moment in the history of dance music where somehow three dudes and a girl hailing from Manchester managed to out-gay the Pet Shop Boys (by their own admission, apparently), to shake the whole world's collective booty, to do whatever it is they were supposed to do in this last comparison that would ideally make the previous one a bit less obnoxious but whatever, it's 3am as usual, you know how it goes by now don't you? But then after Blue Monday the record keeps going, and thank god it does, because it's banger after banger. How do these guys keep doing it?

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So I spend some time with that record, then it fades down, then it comes back up last month, when the weather calls for it and its parent company. Which is when I find myself watching the Control movie for the first time, surprisingly enough seeing as I already enjoyed the work of Anton Corbijn as a photographer. Looking at all that, it is revealed to me that Joy Division never really having died is not a bug, it's a feature. Everyone is gasping, I get it, but please pick your jaws up and check this out: the band has never learned how to play their respective instruments. One might go so far as to argue they play their own stuff their own way, and that's basically it. Nothing could be further from the truth. These guys jammed, a lot; that's how Joy Division wrote songs, that's how New Order wrote songs, even going as far as having Bernard Sumner fucked up on acid so he could find the chorus to Temptation or the whole band bombed out of their minds on X in Ibiza clubs to write, basically, the entirety of Technique — and even then, not really, there's a couple jangly tracks that the X would most likely render unlistenable but what do I really know? Point being: it might now have been sparked by a music teacher or instructor, it might not have been the product of a process comparable to that within Television, which led them to organically seek out better, more "by the book" musicianship, but New Order were incredibly familiar with their instruments, had formed an element of comfort and understanding that counterbalanced the alien-ness to music terminology.

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Peter Hook recently uploaded a Yamaha-sponsored video to his Instagram, which I am pretty sure has a say in running, where he jams on a Yamaha bass and, you know, it sounds like Hooky alright, but it's never a discernible bassline until he kicks into the A major strumming that opens Love Will Tear Us Apart. Before that, he just strolls around the neck, leisurely strumming away at power chords imbued with that thick chorus and reverb combo he became renowned for. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I'd find myself thinking "okay, awesome, stop talking — I want to hear you jam a bit more" referring to one of the musicians who were part of possibly two of the craziest storiest in the history of contemporary rock'n'roll, also notorious for playing the rockstar whilst carrying the minimum possible baggage of technical knowledge he could. Once again, this is nowhere near a knock to the man — quite the opposite. Ian Curtis asked "persistence, well, what does it matter?", and Hooky (and, of course, the other members of New Order) found a way to constructively answer that question. Moments before Coil, but a bit later than Israel Regardie, they said "persistence is all" and built a brand on finding a way to consistently sound like splendid, eternal, golden children: "like crystal", impassionate, tightly-knit performers with the purity of a child's heart. Ian Curtis had, in certain ways (at least artistically), the purity of a child in his heart, which some might even argue was a distinguishing feature of most of his literary idols — if you think about it, William Burroughs could be your dirty-minded classmate who walked in on his parents sharing an intimate moment in the bedroom (had his parents been gay men, the metaphor would probably fly better, but that most definitely wasn't the case). So the heart of Joy Division remains untouched, if a bit more naked. Heroes of post-punk, sons of the silent age, you can sleep soundly tonight.

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#schismusic #music #musica #long form content #schism writing #joy division #new order #post punk #new wave #Youtube

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trans-lykanthropie · 8 months

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Playing Card Master Infodump

Ok gang, let's talk about playing cards again.

I’m going to try and get through this as systematically as possible but I will inevitably end up repeating myself due to the interconnected nature of the whole thing. Also I’ll try putting in subheadings to make it more readable. Let’s crack on!

Mameluk Playing Cards

I mentioned in my first post that European playing cards are based on ones from Mameluk Egypt, so let’s see if we can find some historical examples.

From the Topkapu Sarayi Museum in Istanbul, an amazingly preserved set of Mameluk playing cards depicting the four suits

These cards are a perfect starting point. Dating from the 15th or 16th century, we’ll be seeing their influence percolate throughout playing card design throughout Europe. Here we see the suits that will directly influence Spanish and Italian playing cards: coins, cups, swords, and polo batons (a common sport of the ruling class). The court cards are King-Lieutenant-Second Lieutenant, the deck would’ve contained 52 cards (1-10 plus three court cards), and the illustrations are rich in detail and heavy with Islamic calligraphy. We will be tracing the evolution of European cards back to these ones as we go along, so it’s important to have an example of where it all started.

Spanish Patterns

The Islamic influence in southern Spain makes it the perfect entry point for playing cards to arrive in European material culture around the late 14th century. Spanish patterns follow the same suits as Mameluk ones (coins, cups, swords, and staffs), but a deck would contain only 48 cards, numbers 1-9 and three court cards. The court cards follow the Mameluk rankings but with a European twist, making it King-Knight-Page. Swords in Spanish cards are depicted straight, as opposed to Italian swords which are curved.

Old Catalan / Spanish National Pattern, modern day

Piacentine Pattern, found in Italy in Bourbon ruled Piacenza, shows remarked Spanish influence yet is the only Spanish pattern regularly sold today to feature reversible court cards

Some syncretism would occur with the intermediary Franco-Spanish pattern, as Spanish cards would arrive in France prior to the establishment of the French standard patterns. The use of Spanish suited cards continues in areas such as Brittany and the Vendee through the game of Aluette, however the original Franco-Spanish pattern is now extinct. These decks would also consist of 48 cards: 1-9 and three court cards, King-Knight-Page (Roi-Cavalier-Valet). The use of these patterns would directly influence French patterns to come

The court cards in the Franco-Spanish pattern showing Spanish suits

French Patterns

French patterns would begin with Spanish ones around the 14th Century, and would mesh with Germanic ones to produce something we would start to recognise as the Anglo-American pattern. The French suits (Hearts, Clovers (Clubs), Tiles (Diamonds), and Pikes (Spades)) are based on the Germanic suits (Hearts, Acorns, Bells, and Leaves respectively), however for a brief period a suit of Crescents was used instead of Tiles.

Cards celebrating the union of the kingdoms of Britanny and France, 1500, show the Spanish suits

An example of the short-lived Crescents suit, Lyon, late 15th century

The majority of Italian, Spanish, and Germanic patterns follow the Mameluk tradition of all male court cards, which causes French patterns to stand out with the inclusion of Queens in place of the Knights. Queens had appeared in decks in both Italy and Germany in the 15th century, but had mostly been dropped in non-tarot decks. The inclusion of Queens, however, continued in France where their inclusion replaced the Cavalier (Knight) with the Dame (Queen). The naming convention of Dame for Queen will also be seen in Germanic patterns.

The Paris pattern, as distinct from Anglo-American or Hamburg patterns (about which more anon), is unique in that each of the court cards reference a historical or biblical figure, and are so named even to this day in the portrait officiel pattern (a deck of 32 cards, however sometimes printed in 52-card deck variants). As an example, the Kings of the Paris pattern refer to Charlemagne (Hearts), Alexander the Great (Clovers), Julius Caesar (Tiles), and King David (Pikes). The use of Julius Caesar as the historical figure associated with the King of Tiles, and most known in the past by his depiction on Roman coins in profile, might explain why in the later Anglo-American pattern the King of Diamonds is the only King to be depicted standing in profile.

Belgian pattern cards are similar to Paris (portrait officiel) decks and likewise come in 32-card and 52 card variants.

Germanic patterns

The closest pattern to connect Germanic decks to French ones is the Hamburg pattern, which would directly influence the North German or Berlin pattern. Taking the suits that we know today (hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades) and beginning production in the early 19th century, a clear link to the Paris (portraits officiel) pattern is shown in the depiction of the King of Spades holding the Harp of King David, a reference to the association of King David with the suit of Pikes (Spades) in the Paris pattern, and the laurel wreath under the crown of the King of Diamonds (Julius Caesar, King of Tiles). Germanic patterns closely associated with the French patterns name the court cards as King-Lady-Farmer (König-Dame-Bauer)

The Kings from the North German pattern showing links to the Paris (portrait officiel) pattern conventions

Germanic pattern playing cards, however also predate the suits used in French patterns and had a direct influence on them. The Germanic suits of Hearts, Acorns, Bells, and Leaves became standard around 1450, where upon it would directly influence the French suits and finally the modern Anglo-American system of Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Many packs using this system contain only 32 or 36 cards, as is appropriate for the kinds of games played in the areas where they are common, and the court cards are typical established as King-Over-Under (König-Ober Knabe-Unter Knabe) in the Mameluk style of a leader and two ranks of soldier. The Ace in Germanic suits is really, and was referred to in the past as, a Deuce (Daus in German), which is why the Ace in these decks, the highest card in many regional games, actually exhibits two suit symbols rather than one. In the William Tell pattern deck, the four Deuces represent the four seasons of the year, however this is not typical across Germanic decks, which typically depicted a boar or sow in older decks, a tradition that continues today only on the Deuce of Bells.

The Deuces (Daus) of Germanic decks

Saxon pattern

Polish-Silesian pattern for the game of Skat

Altenburg Doppelkopf pattern, exhibiting the North German pattern court cards of König-Dame-Bauer with the Germanic suits

Salzburg pattern showing non-reversible court cards typical of earlier patterns, and Franconian pattern showing reversible ones, typical of later patterns

A hybrid deck showing both Germanic and French suits, in this instance the Germanic pattern is listed as William Tell and the French as Viennese

Italian patterns

Italian patterns closely resemble Mameluk and Spanish patterns, and it is in Italy where the polo baton of the Mameluk deck was replaced with a staff, or baton or club, for an area where polo was not well known or played.

Trentine pattern, showing the Mameluk influence in both suits and court cards (King-Knight-Page)

In South Tyrol, a region acquired by Italy at the First World War, the Germanic Salzburg pattern is still used with Italian translations known as the Salisburghesi pattern.

It was in Italy that the first tarot decks were produced, where additional ‚trumps‘, known in Italian as trinofi, were added for more advanced card games. Typical to Northern Italy in the Italian suits, tarot cards for games such as Tarrochi, Tarock, and Scarto spread to France and Germanic areas whereupon there was further alterations made.

Tarot patterns

Tarot cards were never originally intended for Cartomancy, such associations came later in the 18th and 19th centuries, however there is a distinct split between Franco-Italian patterns and Germanic ones. A rare Italian deck serving as a progenitor of sorts to later 78-card tarot decks that now lost, was described in a letter from Milan in 1449 and supposedly consisted of a deck of 60 cards with only the four Kings as court cards, sixteen trump cards, and the suits as birds rather than any surviving system. Early 78-card decks replaced the court cards with classical figures and made the trump cards those of classical deities. Many of these early decks survive only as incomplete examples, damaged printing sheets, or in descriptions alone.

The Tarot of Marseilles is likely the first 78-card tarot deck to resemble the one we know today. The suits follow the Italian and Spanish patterns, synthesises the French and Spanish-Italian-Mameluk courts cards to give four in each suit: King-Queen-Knight-Page. The Major Arcana, or the trumps when ranked by value, are similar to modern tarot decks, albeit with some notable differences: the Magician is replaced by Le Bateleur (The Juggler), the High Priestess by Le Pances (The Popess, likely a reference to the myth of Pope Joan), and the Hierophant with Le Pape (The Pope). In Swiss tarot decks, the High Priestess is replaced by the classical deity Juno, and the Hierophant with Jupiter, in the style of the older historical Tarot de Besançon pattern.

Germanic tarot cards, however, are entirely different in nature. Trump cards in the Bourgeois Tarot pattern, with its sub-pattern the Tarot Nouveau, depict scenes rather than figures, and are split into groups of four (such as the times of day and the four elements), with the final three depicting Games (trump 20), the Collective (trump 21), and the Individual (trump 1)

Example Tarot Nouveau trumps, reversible but each scene depicting the card’s meaning

The trumps of the Industrie und Glück pattern, a standard tarot deck for games in the Germanic regions that uses the French suit system for value and court cards

One variation of tarot decks, known as Animal Tarot patterns, uses both real and fictional animals for the trump cards, and continues today only in the south German Adler Cego pattern

The End?

Honestly, this is all I have energy for at the moment, but I wanted to show just a hint of the huge variety of different playing card designs throughout the centuries and their effect on the modern decks of today. There is so much more I’d like to get into, so if you have some questions please please please ask!

#playing cards #infodump #history #history of playing cards

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serpentandthreads · 2 years

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How to Read Playing Cards: Introduction

Playing cards have been used for divination purposes for centuries. They are a discreet method of divination because most people would assume you have them for their intended use: playing games. Playing cards can be a good way to introduce yourself to divination if you are in the broom closet or if you find tarot cards overwhelming. That being said, there are a few things I'd like to talk about regarding playing cards.

Do tarot cards and playing cards have the same meanings?

Whatever you have been told about tarot cards and playing cards being similar, get that out of your system now. Tarot cards are a 78 card system split between the major arcana and minor arcana, and then the minor arcana being further split between the four suits. Standard playing cards have 54 cards split between four suits and then the two jokers. Even the suits are different because while tarot cards have the king, queen, knight and page cards, playing cards have the king, queen and jack cards. You can immediately observe that these are two very different card systems, and thus they should be treated differently.

Can I use the card's imagery to read them?

If you want a playing card deck with imagery, that's fine. There are a few out there that have art depicted on the cards, but most don't or only have art on the kings, queens and jacks. This can make your experiences with playing cards tricky if you prefer having imagery to help interpret the cards, but that doesn't mean it won't work for you. Get yourself a journal and document the card meanings (next posts will be talking about the individual card meanings and then some). This will help you in the long run.

Who do so many books and articles have different interpretations to the cards?

I don't have a concrete answer for this one. I think part of it has to do with the fact that most playing cards lack imagery to keep a theme, and part of it is because individuals are taught how to read the cards differently. Many families have their own ways of reading playing cards, but there are usually similarities among them. That doesn't mean the books and articles are invalid- it just means you're going to have to put in the work to determine what works for you.

Can I deconstruct the gendered interpretations of the kings, queens and jacks?

Yes, you can. Most interpretations say that the kings are men, queens are women and jacks can be either. Some will also say that kings and queens are older people (think 40+ years old) and jacks are younger people. Personally, I usually describe the kings as people who are generally masculine-presenting, queens as people who are generally feminine-presenting and jacks... well... can be either depending in the individual reading. If that doesn't work for you then that's okay. You can figure out your own interpretations for the kings, queens and jacks as you go.

Can all playing card decks be read the same?

Personally, I don't think so. I use the standard French-suited playing cards, but there are other types of playing cards (such as the Italian-suited deck or the Spanish-suited deck) that have a bit of a different structure to them. If you plan on using anything other than the French-suited deck then my posts may not be for you.

If you have any questions regarding using playing cards for divination, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to answer.

#witchblr #witchcraft #beginner witch #folk magic #folk witch #divination #playing cards divination #cartomancy #divination witch #serpentandthreads

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mrssimply · 2 months

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WIP Whenever.

So, the holidays did me good (by giving me more free time and energy, it's always about free time and energy). For the occasion, I continued a little of what will probably be my last Cyberpunk fanfiction (then again, I said that when I wrote the second fic, and there were over forty more after that one so...¯\_(ツ)_/¯. But that's not the point).

I also finished the first chapter of the third part of my Wild Animals Rebellion series for the John Wick fandom. To celebrate this achievement after months of struggling with any and every line, I decided to share a little snippet... Or not so little since I don't know how to chose and where to stop so you get about 2 pages worth. Please enjoy xD.

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Under the bright light, Santino’s state looked even worse. He wasn’t moving much, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. He was shivering, blinking slowly under the doctor’s questions as he tried to fight unconsciousness.

His eyes fell on John when he approached the bed and he gave his lover a tight wavering smile.

“I’m late,” he slurred in neapolitan and lifted a hand toward John.

The former assassin came closer and took the proffered hand, feeling how cold it was.

“Santino…”

“I fear we might have to reschedule our evening, my love.”

John frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could reply the doctor was elbowing him away, and another pair of hands pulled him back. Leonora gave him a disapproving look.

“Give them space,” she ordered, switching to english. As a rule, Leonora didn’t speak to John in neapolitan, which the man knew was a sign she didn’t recognise him as family or clan. Santino found it cute, he’d told John she was like a protective great aunt.

John deferred to her, stepping back with a last worried look at Santino. He saw the doctor cut the high quality fabric of her patient’s shirt, revealing a large and ugly gash. It was hard to tell if it was deep or not.

To John’s surprise, he found himself suddenly angry, although he couldn't tell at what in particular, or whom. Confused by his own reaction, he turned to Cassian on the second bed. The man was covered in scratches and bruises, and a nurse was currently stitching a clean bullet wound by his left shoulder. By the bodyguard’s standards, this was nearly nothing, and he looked clear headed enough.

“What happened,” John growled.

Cassian’s eyes slid to Santino’s form on the other bed before flickering back to John, hesitating.

“If you don’t know, then I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Cassian seemed to ponder his choice before sighing. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb.

“Santino was meeting with the ‘Ndrangheta, one of the main oldest clans. They operate in Cosenza,”

“The Imerti family,” John summarized. He knew the inner workings of all three Italian Mafia pretty well, a fact Cassian forgot, or liked to ignore.

“Yes. The meeting was supposed to be secret, but… We got ambushed.”

“By the Imerti?”

“No, another family, De Stefano.”

The main ‘Ndrangheta clan. Nicolasi De Stefano held the seat for the mafia at the High Table, and was the eldest of the members.

Several questions pressed at the back of John’s teeths, and he had to take a second to center himself. The unexplainable rage continued to grow, blinding his judgment.

“Why was Santino meeting with the ‘Ndrangheta?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain neutral.

Cassian’s face told him he’d failed to do so. Worse, a flash of pity crossed the bodyguard’s features.

“You know why.”

He did know. Santino was planning a revolution and he was looking for sympathizers to his cause. In the first days of their new relationship, it had been all he’d talked about : planning, strategizing, plotting the demise of the High Table.

John was of the opinion that they should let them come, he would deal with them the same way he’d done until now: head on, or by turning their own rules against them.

It occurred to him that Santino had never stopped working toward his goal. He’d just stopped telling John about it. The realization sat uneasily in his stomach.

“It was even going well, as far as I could tell,” Cassian went on, distracting John from his own thoughts, “always difficult to say with certainty, they talk in layers, but I think Santino was pleased.”

“What happened?”

“De Stefano’s men stormed in. One grabbed Imerti by the hair and cut his throat before any of us could recover. After that it was a clusterfuck. We lost all of our men so that we could get out.”

From the bodyguard’s tone, John could tell it had been a really close call.

“They helped us, the Imerti. Through a back door, and lent us the car. We’re alive thanks to them. If they survive the purge, we might have secured allies.”

John felt Leonora come by his shoulder, listening to Cassian’s report as well.

“You think we have a mole?” she asked.

“Don’t think so. The only ones that knew who we were meeting and what for are in this room. I briefed our men an hour before departure and they didn’t leave my sight.”

“On the Imerti side then.”

Cassian nodded, glancing over his shoulder at his boss. The doctor was still bent over Santino, but her movements were slower than before. The urgency was past.

The bodyguard then turned to the consigliere.

“I think it’s proving more difficult than he expected.”

John looked at Leonora, but couldn’t parse her expression. The old woman could be like a prison wall when she wanted to, which was a great quality as a consigliere according to Santino. When he’d first come to Praiano six months ago, she’d been more open to him, John realized idly, wondering when she’d slipped back into warryness.

Tonight was full of revelations.

“Review the men, Cassian,” she ordered, “the snare is tightening, we can leave nothing to chance.”

Wearily, the bodyguard agreed with a nod. Seemingly satisfied, Leonora retreated to address the rest of the household, asking for additional rounds to check the mansion’s grounds.

Cassian then looked a tJohn.

“Should I start with you?”

“With me?”

“The review. Should I start with you?”

Anger flashed anew in John’s veins, surprising him once more in its intensity. He frowned, pulling his lips down into the beginning of a snarl.

“I’m not part of your men.”

“No, that’s right, but you’re not part of the house either. Sometimes I wonder if you’re even in this with us.”

The shock rendered John speechless, and he didn’t recover in time to stop Cassian from hopping down the bed and walking out of the room.

#john wick #John Wick x Santino d'Antonio #santino d'antonio #John Wick 2 #John Wick 4 #John x Santino #that ship doesn have a name and needs one #Johnino?#help please #my writing #work in progress

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mallowmaenad · 12 days

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FELIDAE -- We need to redesign our fursona.

YOU -- What's wrong with it?

INSTINCT [Medium: Success] -- It is from an older time, a time of weakness. We must show strength.

YOU -- Hmmm... yeah. Where should we start?

REPLICANT -- What better than a blank page?

YOU -- You open your sketchbook.

YOU -- Obviously we're still going for a cat.

FELIDAE -- Obviously.

SECRETARY [Easy: Success] -- You have gone on record saying that "Big the Cat is one of the only men I'd ever fuck," as well as "My transition goals are Big the Cat but with huge tits," Maybe channel that spirit into this design.

SUGGESTIVE TORIEL INTROJECT -- I know you always had a thing for big, soft, furry animals.

YOU -- I don't want to be too big, dealing body dysphoria 'n all.

ITALIAN UNCLE -- Hey, just throw some like, Neco-Arc or Chowder shit in there. Or like... That furry guy from Final Fantasy 7.

SECRETARY [Medium: Success] Cait Sith.

YOU -- Can I get some childhood memories while we're remembering things?

REPLICANT [Formidable: Failure] -- Your mom's favorite color was orange!

YOU -- Thanks. Anyway, let's make it a bit short, a bit mischievous, goblinesque.

SECRETARY -- You can't just make new words by appending "-esque" to the end of existing nouns.

KNOWLEDGE BECOME FLESH -- YOU FORGET YOUR ROOTS, YOUNG PROPHET. THE AIR OF MADNESS SWIRLS WITHIN YOUR WHISKERS. YOU ARE THE HERALD OF INSANITY AND RECREATIONAL DRUG USE. YOU CANNOT SAVE HER. ONLY WARN HER. WE'RE ALL MAD HERE.

YOU -- You add stripes on its tail and knowing eyes. You imagine it's gaze glowing a faint yellow.

MURDER MOMMY [Medium: Success] -- This thing looks really weak. How will anyone take it seriously? How will it eat and fuck without some kind of KNIFE-ORGANS?!

FELIDAE [Medium: Failure] -- When the human drops a salivating lump of wet food into the food dish, of course.

ARCHMAGE [Easy: Success] -- Yeah, we need more power. Dark and evil power.

JESTER -- Not too intimidating though, it needs to have a silly side to it!

YOU [Challenging: Failure] -- You express your inner derangement, the approachableness but underlying danger. You give the feline creature a crooked smile, wild, unkempt fur and hands that curl into sharp claws.

DEVIL [Medium: Success] -- This looks like if viziepop drew zangoose.

JESTER [Easy: Sucess] -- it looks like if Viziepop drew an obese Zangoose, at least obese by her standards.

DELIRIUM [Formidable: Failure] -- I'm sure if we keep greasing the elbows this critter will look glamoured up in say... twenty or so more attempts! Otherwise everyone will hate it and I'll be vewy vewy sad...

FAUST FROM CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED FIGHTING GAME GUILTY GEAR [Legendary: Success] -- Please take your pills... Also... You forgot to eat lunch...

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girlactionfigure · 9 months

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He was the proud son of Italian immigrants, and he was born on August 3, 1926 in Astoria, Queens, New York. His mother was a seamstress and his father was a grocer. His father died when he was 10.

He grew up during the Great Depression and quickly learned what life was about. With no father, the family lived in poverty, and by the age of 16, the young boy had dropped out of school to support his family.

In November 1944, during the final stages of World War II, he was drafted into the United States Army and fought in the Battle of the Bulge. After seeing the horrors of war firsthand, fighting Nazis, and liberating a concentration camp, he said, "My experience in the Army turned me into a lifelong pacifist and it’s my hope that all wars and violence will become a thing of the past."

He added, "Anybody who thinks that war is romantic obviously hasn't gone through one."

While in the army, he also saw what racism was about firsthand. He got demoted for dining with a black friend, at a time when the Army was still racially segregated.

“An Army officer blasted the two soldiers — one Black and the other White — with a hate-filled rant for being together in public,” according to The Washington Post. “In the segregated military of the day, the two men were not allowed to socialize. Back then, the punishment for Black and White soldiers associating with one another was more severe than if they fraternized with civilians in occupied Germany.”

“This officer took out a razor blade and cut my corporal stripes off my uniform right then and there,” he wrote. “He spit on them and threw them on the floor, and said, ‘Get your ass out of here!’”

~~~~~

He had been interested in singing since he was a child, and after his discharge from the Army and with the help of the GI Bill, he started studying at the American Theatre Wing. He continued performing whenever he could, even while waiting on tables.

One day, singer Pearl Bailey recognized his singing talents and asked him to open for her in Greenwich Village. There he met entertainer Bob Hope who was also impressed with him, and suggested he change his name.

He would eventually cut a demo, remembering his difficult time, growing up, singing the words, "I left my... soul behind me" in the song, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams."

By this time, he had taken Bob Hope's advice and had simplified his name, from Anthony Dominick Benedetto to . . . Tony Bennett.

“Tony Bennett, a singer whose melodic clarity, jazz-influenced phrasing, audience-embracing persona and warm, deceptively simple interpretations of musical standards helped spread the American songbook around the world and won him generations of fans, died on Friday at his home of many decades in Manhattan. He was 96,” according to the New York Times.

“Mr. Bennett learned he had Alzheimer’s disease in 2016, his wife, Susan Benedetto, told AARP The Magazine in February 2021. But he continued to perform and record despite his illness; his last public performance was in August 2021, when he appeared with Lady Gaga at Radio City Music Hall in a show titled ‘One Last Time.’

“Mr. Bennett’s career of more than 70 years was remarkable not only for its longevity, but also for its consistency. In hundreds of concerts and club dates and more than 150 recordings, he devoted himself to preserving the classic American popular song, as written by Cole Porter, the Gershwins, Duke Ellington, Rodgers and Hammerstein and others.”

The Peace Page last shared a story on Tony Bennett in 2019. This is an updated story, remembering Mr. Bennett’s life.

The Peace Page focuses on past and present stories—some seldom told, others simply forgotten, still others intentionally ignored. The stories and chapters are gathered from writers, journalists, and historians to share awareness and foster understanding—to bring people together. We thank you for taking the time to be here and helping us share awareness.

~~~~~

In July 1961, Mr. Bennett was performing in Hot Springs, Ark., and about to head to the West Coast, according to the New York Times.

Bennett's accompanist and arranger for more than 50 years, Ralph Sharon, found sheet music to a song, stashed in a drawer, along with some shirts, according to NPR. “He packed it before hitting the road.”

"I always remember," recounts Sharon. I took this out of my bag, and looked at it, and called Tony. And I said, 'You know something, we're going to San Francisco next.' And I said, 'This is a song here that might be interesting.' "

“Mr. Sharon and Mr. Bennett decided that [the song written by George Cory and Douglass Cross] would be perfect for their next date, at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco, and it was.”

“They recorded the song — of course it was “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” — six months later, in January 1962. It won Mr. Bennett his first two Grammys, for best male solo performance and record of the year, and worldwide fame.”

Tony Bennett would go on to become one of the most beloved singers in history, winning 20 Grammy Awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award, and two Emmy Awards. He has sold over 50 million records worldwide.

But, he never forgot his past, and he never forgot the promise of America, saying, "we’re the greatest country," but adding the reason is "because we’re all different nationalities and all different religions."

He remembered when his good friend Harry Belafonte, who he had known since the 40s when they were both just starting out, gave him a call and "told me what was going on in the South and asked me to join Dr. King on his march to Selma.”

Bennett recalled on CNN in 2013, “I didn't want to do it, but then he told me what went down — how some Blacks were burned. Had gasoline thrown on them and they were burned. When I heard that, I said, 'I'll go with you.'"

“I knew it was important to be there and support. I remember it was decided that we wanted to set up a performance for the marchers one night, but we were in an open field. One of the organizers had a friend who owned a funeral home and they brought in 18 wooden coffins and we used that as the foundation for a stage that night."

“I kept flashing back to a time twenty years ago when my buddies and I fought our way into Germany,” he wrote in his autobiography. “It felt the same way down in Selma: the white state troopers were really hostile, and they were not shy about showing it.”

At the march, Bennett also met Detroit civil rights activist Viola Liuzzo, who had driven Bennett to the airport, according to the Detroit Free Press. The next day, Liuzzo was shot and killed by the Ku Klux Klan .

~~~~~

Bennett continued speaking out for civil rights and would also speak out against apartheid in South Africa.

He would also say his war experience gave him "a social conscience," saying he believes "every gun in the world should melt somehow and as soon as possible," and comparing America’s gun culture and the political tolerance of it to Hitler’s Germany.

He said, "I consider myself a humanist."

When he received the Jazz Foundation of America Lifetime Achievement Award, presenter Ben Stiller mentioned his admiration for the singer in taking on social justice issues long before it was fashionable, from marching in Selma to refusing to play in South Africa during Apartheid, according to Billboard.

~~~~~

“There is one other very important thing about Bennett to note and to admire,” according to the The Editorial Board of the Chicago Tribune. “He continued to perform despite the onset of dementia.

“For anyone who watched his late-in-life work with Lady Gaga, here was a remarkable example of someone who showed the world one of the oft-forgotten truths about a condition that afflicts so many Americans: People with advanced levels of dementia still can contribute a great deal, especially if it is something they have done for years.

“Bennett struggled to remember names and faces, but when he started to sing, he went on a kind of autopilot, the familiar smile returning to his face and the notes and even the lyrics flowing like good wine. This was familiar to many people who knew dementia well: a reminder that the original person always is in there, communicating and loving just as at the times when it was far more obvious to those on the outside. In his courage, Bennett offered a great deal of comfort to those who best knew what he was facing.

“Fortunately, Bennett managed to surround himself with kind family members and fellow artists who protected his reputation as they did his spirit.”

~~~~~

The Hollywood Bowl said, "Throughout his life, Tony Bennett has been a dedicated pacifist and proactive humanitarian selflessly supporting many causes whose goals benefit the lives of millions. His love for his country has earned him the distinction of national treasure and the United Nations has named him a Citizen of the World as one of their foremost ambassadors."

Bennett remembered in the army when he couldn’t dine with his Black friend.

“I couldn’t get over the fact that they condemned us for just being friends, and especially while we served our country in wartime,” Bennett wrote in his 1998 autobiography, “The Good Life.” “There we were, just two kids happy to see each other, trying to forget for the moment the horror of the war, but for the brass it just boiled down to the color of our skin.”

Bennett remembered being “terrified by the violence,” but it only confirmed his belief that no one “should suffer simply because of the color of his skin.” He continued to speak out against bigotry and hatred throughout his career, often performing with African American entertainers at a time when it wasn’t socially acceptable, according to The Washington Post.

According to an interview with Susan C. Ingram in October 2018, Bennett recalls what his former neighbor Ella Fitzgerald told him - “Tony, we are all here.” "And Ella was right, we share this planet together and we have more in common than we have differences since we are all human."

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

#Tony Bennett

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