#appenine

[johbeil]

High plain

Camposecco, on the border of Lazio and Abruzzo, Italy. Olympus 35LC on Lomography Redscale XR film.

[tumbling-dyce]

Winter forest

Yesterday in the mountains of the Lazio/Abruzzo border region. Remains of the ghost town of Camerata Vecchia on the left.

[hyphen-8-it]

honourable mention on this day of days to Caius Martius Coriolanus for also getting stabbed by conspirators

[morgenlich]

temperature acclimation is definitely relative but i do think a lot about how i had a convo with a woman from rome and a guy from southern texas about how cold florence can get in the winter. and i was sitting there, someone from the chicago area, trying really hard not to laugh

[grantourtuga]

Impressions of Italy

[robertdelaunay]

I was gonna go for temple of music leon, but since that’s a no go, Vivian Grey and also that oc of yours who thinks Italy isn’t real,

yippee i was hoping someone would ask for vivian ^_^

two guys of the 1820s...

idk if my posts about vivian count as "meta-posting", and it feels unfair to call him frequently violent when everyone else in the story is also being frequently violent, fairly often toward him.

[lacebird]

BABES- 

[newsbites]

Strange things have been happening in these valleys [in Abruzzo, Italy] for some time, between sinister individuals and unknown companies that are grabbing private land and laying down the law in the allocation of grazing agreements in the public domain.

They were drawn here by the windfall that falls from Brussels to support farmers: nearly 150 million euros per year. Funds supposed to create wealth on the territory but which end up disappearing in nature, monopolized by speculators from the North, but also by characters who smell of the mafia, from Sicily, Calabria, Campania or Puglia. In these valleys, one no longer sleeps as peacefully as before.

The tension is rising, as evidenced by a few recent cases: [horse] breeders who one fine day find forty of their rendered or half-burnt animals, severed water pipes, flat tractor tires. Fires here and there, like the one that occurred on the Campo Imperatore plateau, which destroyed a brand new hotel.

[via Google Translate]

[hauntedbubbles]

They're so sassy with it 🤣🤣🤣

Graves: Watch your ass down there Soap: Aye...I'll be watchin' somebody's arse doon ther'👀 Ghost: Fuckin' 'ell

@atombonniebaby here with my secondary blog...wanted to give my cod content it's own home... HantedBubbles = SoapGhost 🧼💀

I'm also doing a one shot, where Soap didn't get the birthday he had planned, and the boys decide to drop in, unannounced to cheer him up. (or Price has the kids for the weekend)

So...I wrote a bit where Ghost is bribed into getting the above outfit when they're out getting supplies 🤣

Have a read 👇🏼 encourage me to finish it 🙌🏼

"You seen this?" Gaz holds up a t-shirt, a mix of black and neon pinks. "It's got a skull."

He should hate it. He knows he should. It's garish and loud and everything he'd usually scoff at. But fuck it all, he sorta loves it? "It's not the worst thing you Muppets have shown me..."

"With them grey jeans and this..." Gaz hands him a light grey garment, a jacket by the looks of it, trendier than he'd ever have chosen for himself. The arms look like they'd cut off circulation to his hands if he flexed too hard. "I think it could work."

"Go on, son, no point speculating, go try ‘em on." Price shoos him in the direction of the changing rooms.

He could complain or try to argue his case, but he knows this is one of those battles he won't win. With a heady sigh he makes his way to an empty cubicle, which is hardly big enough to house a fucking toddler... never mind his 6”3’ arse.

After what felt like the warm-up session from his workouts (and an hour of swearing at buttons), Ghost managed to wrestle himself into a pair of jeans that actually fit him (if you don't look down past his shins) They were just long enough that his boots might reach ‘em. (And spare him the trouble of looking a right tosser.)

They was...a little hugging. The soft, light grey denim, a far cry from his usual heavy blue work jeans and cargos... He almost hates them too, wants to, but even he can admit, his legs looked mint in ‘em, he turned then, to see how they look in the back and— yeah...not on their life... this ain’t ‘appenin’—

"You alive in there?” Price, king-of-choosing-his-moments, knocked on the door.

Fuck! The button's stuck!..."Ye...yeah..." He struggled to breathe out, trying to keep quiet while fat fingers fumbled with the bastard button. "Tha’s it! I-I ain't buyin' 'nout from 'ere— fuckin' ’ell!”

"Simon, unlock it, yeah?”

If that fucker laughed he'd kill him. With a defeated sigh, Ghost opened the door just enough for Price to slide inside the tiny space... He looks down at the captain and debates if he has enough room to hide the body.

“Just help us get these off, yeah? Fuckin' things are stuck!”

"Reign it in...take a breath." He had to give it to the Captain, that smile that nearly broke, stayed away. "They ain't bad on ya, what's the matter?”

He's more caked up than the fucking bakery isle in this here Big Tesco is what's the fucking matter. "They ain't practical, Captain. Soft as shit fabric'll fall apart after a few washes."

"Fifty quid..." Price smiled, arms crossed and smug as he opened the door. "And I'll buy 'em for ya?”

"Why?” Ghost blurted out. "I ain't got anywhere to wear 'em!"

"Because I remember the crazy shit you used to wear back in the day, and this is bloody tame... Why not let Simon have this one, eh?”

He hated the way his cheeks burned hotter... but fifty quid? Outta the Captains pocket? Fuckin' hell. "A'right, fine! But on the small chance I croak it t’night and end up a real fuckin' ghost lookin' like a knob...I'm haunting ya!”

Price laughed at that, clapping him on the shoulder. "That sounds like a yes?"

"A begrudging one."

"Then get to it. We 'aven't got all day."

Bastard.

Ghost double knotted his laces. Nothing pinched, everything fitted, felt comfortable. Fuck. He stood on a deep breath and turned to the ridiculously big mirror and tugged the scarf back down around his neck, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck's sake..."

The skull T-shirt clung a little tighter than he expected. Not quite a second skin, but enough to be noticeable. These clothes were... new and different, and he doesn't know how to process how that made him feel.

He was the kind of guy that could blend into any crowd, could fade into the background and be unnoticed. He liked being invisible. Hated being in the spotlight.

The jeans made him feel like an asshole.

The shirt made him look like a twat.

And yet, who he found staring back in the mirror was a man that could pass for an everyday bloke. One who didn't live on the fringes of society, one who hadn't done the things he had. This was a guy who could be content curled up on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea. The kind of man that had roots, who had friends and family that stood by him...had his back.

Simon stepped out of that cubicle, feeling more naked than he had when he'd stripped down. Yet, a strange sense of security washed over him as he faced his commanding officer with an apprehensive stare.

Price had that stupid, dopey grin plastered on his face, just like when he was congratulating his troops on a job well done.

"There he is," Price whispered as he reached up to ruffle his hair, and he batted the hand away, scowling as he ducked out of the changing room.

"Fuckin' hell, sir..."

"Garrick...I'm warnin' ya..." he growled, shoving the smaller man towards the exit of the store. "Not another fuckin' word."

[thedarling-rover]

Seven / Letters to Susan Huntington Dickinson

Please picture me In the trees

Why, dear Susie, it must'nt scare you if I loom up from Hindoostan, or drop from an Appenine, or peer at you suddenly from the hollow of a tree, calling myself King Charles, 

I remember you, Susie, always - I keep you ever here, and when you are gone, then I'm gone - and we're 'neath one willow tree.

I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other

Dear Susie, in all your letters there are things sweet and many about which I would speak, but the time says no — yet don't think I forget them — Oh no — they are safe in the little chest which tells no secrets — nor the moth, nor the rust can reach them — but when the time we dream of — comes, then Susie, I shall bring them, and we will spend hours chatting and chatting of them — those precious thoughts of friends — how I loved them, and how I love them now —nothing but Susie herself is half so dear.

And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry

You wont cry any more, will you, Susie, for my father will be your father, and my home will be your home, and where you go, I will go, and we will lie side by side in the kirkyard.

Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

[johbeil]

Rosehips

Hiking below Monte Velino, Abruzzo, Italy. February 2023. Olympus E-M5 with M. Zuiko Digital 12-50 mm.

[xxconnection]

text: Sapiente Sibillia ("Wise Sibyl") Memory of the prophetic sibyls of Cumae turned, in medieval Italian tradition, into a pagan mountain goddess. Wise Sibillia lived in a subterranean paradise in the high Appenines. Seekers entered it though a grotto with a magical spring-fed lake. Within were caverns full of marvels and treasures, where the immortal Sibillia and her faery women regularly assumed serpent form. They taught the arts of magic. Sibillia blessed those who visited her mountain, and when they returned to the world they passed the rest of their days in joy. It was said that whoever stayed longer than a year could no longer leave, but remained deathless and ageless, feasting in abundance, revelry, and amorous delights. Notecards by Max Dashu Painting by Max Dashu

[sunou-kitsune]

Fun facts about Penance Arknights

- She appears to be based on either the Appenine wolf or the now extinct Sicilian wolf

- She's the second 6* juggernaut defender after mudrock

- She's one of the few operators to have gone to law school

- Her e2 art depicts her similarly to statues of Justitia, the roman goddess of justice (scales and all)

- Her weapon is a giant gavel

- Her name Lavinia Falcone is a reference to Giovanni Falcone (1939-1992), a Sicilian judge who fought the mafia and took a leading role in the Maxi Trial, the most significant trial against the Sicilian mafia and the largest trial in world history

- She is shorter than 5'9"

[ask--the--newsies]

What was the most awkwardest interaction you accidentally ran into, or saw?/crutchie

"probably when someone asked jack if he's confessed to davey yet,"

[ crutchie chuckles. ]

"the poor guy's head was spinning. he's so oblivious, even 'bout somethin' what's 'appenin' to him!!"

[scotianostra]

On 22nd February 1875 Sir Charles Lyell, eminent Scots Geologist, died.

Charles Lyell was born at Kinnordy, Angus 1797, he began his career as a lawyer, but later changed to geology. His background in zoology and the physical sciences allowed his research to cover more of a scientific scope. He believed that creation of the earth was not based on the interpretation of Genesis, but on the basis of scientific explanations. He sought a scientific knowledge of the formation of the mountains.

Lyell was also a Darwinist, and wrote of his observations in The Geological Evidence for the Antiquity of Man in 1863. Later, when he visited the Alps, he saw recognizable similarities in rocks of the Alps and Appenines. Both were made up of tertiary, uplifting rock strata.

Through his experiments on these two mountain ranges, he was able to identify the positions of the earliest seas and gulfs. He studied the glacial movements in mountains, like the Mere De Glace on Mont Blanc in the Alps, searching for a way to identify how exactly mountains were cut and formed. He also theorized a future “convulsion” that would make a new mountain range in Europe, east of the Alps.

Lyall’s greatest work was done on his Theory of Uniformism, based on his attempts to date the Alps: “Although we have not yet ascertained the number of different periods at which the Alps gained accessions to their height and width, we can affirm, that the last series of movements occurred when the seas were inhabited by many existing species of animals” (from Principles of Geology, 1863).

Uniformism meant that all of the processes in which the physical world changed in the past are also changing the physical world presently. Lyell’s theory was counter to many theories on catastrophism, which were based on the idea that the physical world was changed due to catastrophic events, like a flood, or an earthquake.

Of course all this made him quite unpopular amongst the then devout majority who believed the bible in it’s entirety, it’s remarkable that some still believe this version of events!

Although Darwin’s theories of evolution had it’s basis in some of Lyell’s work, the Scot had trouble accepting “the descent of man from the brutes,” He simply could not, as he put it, “go the whole Orang.” So although his Uniformism theories brought him condemnation from the church, he still had some sort of Faith that stopped him believing Darwin’s theories.

Charles Lyell died on 22nd February 1875 aged 77 at his home in Harley Street, London, he is buried at Westminster Abbey, his name lives on in Mount Lyell in Yosemite National Park. California; Lyell craters on the Moon and Mars; the Lyell Centre at Heriot-Watt University; and the jawless fossil fish, Cephalaspis lyell

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

i absolutely have to request this if nobody else has already but kiss to shut them up with peter blease-

this is perfectttttt best way to shut a man up 10/10 XD

↪     𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺  ﹠ ᵀᴱᴸᴸ .

kissing them to shut them up .

You truly don’t think your lover has any real idea of when, or how, to be quiet. (It’s like the rest of him is small, so he feels the need to prove that something about him is big, and the something he’s chosen is apparently his mouth.)

Part of you doesn’t blame him. Part of you thinks you’re reaching the point where you want to smack PETER rather than listen to him continuing to spout off whatever drivel comes to his mind.

“Oi, y’ listenin’ t’ me, precious?” Ah, yes. His one redeeming quality: the fact that, actually, he does love you quite deeply. If nothing else, he likes to use that big mouth of his to remind you of that fact with copious nicknames. Of course, when you glance over, he looks irritated by the assumption that you’ve begun to tune him out. He’s pretty much just complaining. So. Pros and cons.

You give him a nod, leaning back on the bed. You might as well let him get it all out before the two of you drift off to sleep. “I’m listening, darling. You were saying… one of the newbies talked back to you, or something?”

“’R somethin’!” he huffs. “Stupid moron questioned me when I told ‘im t’ go practice with Dagger instead’a me! I mean, this bloody fool didn’t ‘ave ‘alf the balance ‘n’ shite y’ need t’ get up on the trapeze. ‘N’ I’m s’posed t’ let ‘im up there, jus’ so ‘e could drop me ‘n’ Wendy on our ‘eads? Ain’t ‘appenin’! Let ‘im throw a fuckin’ knife at someone instead.”

Idly, you wonder if he thinks he ought to have cleared something like that with Joker. He’s the ringleader and assigns people to their tasks, right? You love Peter just as deeply as he loves you, but his penchant for barking orders is going to get him in trouble one day.

As if it already hasn’t? you think with a chuckle.

All the things streaming out of Peter’s mouth are of little consequence in the long run. He’s easily annoyed, and you’re sure the newbie will be replaced within a month if it turns out he can’t deal with your lover shooing him off. You consider suggesting that the poor lad might just really want to learn the trapeze. Passion counts for something, doesn’t it?

Oh. There’s an idea.

You lean over and, mid-sentence, silence Peter by pressing your lips to his. He squirms around a little, seemingly more out of confusion than because he doesn’t want to be kissed. After a few seconds, when you part, he lets out a soft grunt. “Oi, the fuck did y’ do that for?” A small laugh is puffed out his nose. “I was talkin’.”

“I know.” You give him another kiss, and this time he leans into it since he knows it was coming. Your arm slips down to twine around his waist. “You’re talking about all the things which irritate you. I thought perhaps you’d like a more pleasant distraction from it all.”

He doesn’t have to know that’s a bit of a half-truth, does he? ‘Pleasant distraction from irritating thoughts’ and ‘shutting Peter up’ are both noble causes to use a kiss for.