#the bellini incident

[re-re-redline]

—General Headcanons: Mehmed II—

Foreword: You have no idea how long it took me to center the left and right squares, good grief I never want to do that again. It’s a famous portrait of Mehmed by Gentile Bellini which cropped to get the left and right squares as well as the header and the footer. The header has the nice squares that I put for Constantine’s headers and footers. The middle square is my drawing of Koha-ace Mehmed. I am working on something else to put there because, don’t lie to me, he looks kinda goofy, right? It has been changed! That is my depiction of Mehmed II and I have to say, he’s lookin’ good. But that’s just me, hehe.

On another note…Wow, who knew that working on the same thing would cause my writing abilities to slow down significantly? Definitely learning new things…Thus, I have put myself together and taken the time to work on this! Do trust that it’s definitely getting finished as the idea is way too good not to write about.

Ladies & gentlemen, germs & worms, this list of headcanons is based entirely on the vibes that the two pictures I have of Mehmed from Himuro’s World and what I picked up from looking up the real slim shady. This shit’s being held with glitter glue, popsicle sticks and a dream. Speculation of the highest order here. I’ll probably get proved so wrong when he comes out I am so on that hopium in FGO. While you munch on this, I’ll be working on an addendum for Micheal’s general headcanons and some headcanons concerning how he confesses to you. Then it’ll be Mehmed’s turn for some long ass romance headcanons. I have plans…just need to work on plans. Should I put a ‘Read More on this? It’s about as long as Constantine’s GHcs but shorter than his RHcs…

Regardless of my writing plans, I hope you get something out of this filtered crack of a hcs post.

When he was first summoned, exactly three people (technically two) felt what many would call “a disturbance in the force.” These three (technically two) were Constantine XI and both versions of Vlad III. Constantine was having tea with Miss Crane when he felt a cold chill descend down his spine and he found himself barely able to hold his teacup without leaving a sizable crack in the ceramic. Vlad (Berserker) was working on one of his crocheting projects (a sweater for Jack The Ripper) when he also felt a chill down his spine and dropped his needles. Vlad (Lancer) experienced the same thing except he was in the middle of grilling some excellent sirloin for the boys. Case in point, all three of them wandered around a bit to find the source of this anxiety, somehow bumped into each other, found out that they’re all experiencing the same thing and next thing you know…The trio enters the summoning room to find none other than the man they all hate the most in this world, Mehmed the Conquerer. And that’s when a fight immediately broke out with you and Mash desperately fending off two pissed off Vlads and one bloodthirsty Micheal to keep your level one Mehmed alive all while our favorite sultan is smugly flipping off all three of them and goading them to attack him. Thankfully, Watanabe-no-Tsuna and Kintoki happened to pass by and they both aided you in suppressing the trio. After that, Astraea punished all four of them by forcing them all to write on a chalkboard. She was notably disappointed in Constantine since he’s such a model servant and was one of the few who didn’t have a disruption on their record. The attacking triplet were told to write “I will not kill or maim my teammate, regardless of my history with him.” 45 times and Mehmed was told to write “I will not goad my teammates into killing or maiming me.” 75 times. Needless to say, this is the definitive start to a laundry list of incidents started by our favorite sultan.

After he received his first disciplinary action from the lady justice herself, he soon found himself enamored with the technology around him. Yeah, sure, he knew about developments in tech thanks to the Throne giving him this knowledge pre-packed with his summoning, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to know more. After one month of hard studying on his part, Mehmed went from having a passable understanding of smartphones and computers to being the most tech savvy servant you’ll ever meet. He can type five long ass paragraphs with both his thumbs on his phone in under thirty seconds with near perfect punctuation. He’s jailbroken all his devices and is running Linux on his phone and tablet. He’s talking shop with Odysseus about the logistics and R&D of producing Power Armor for everyone as a thought exercise. With how comfortable he is with technology, one would easily mistake him for a man of the modern era instead of a man from the 1400s.

One has to wonder what our favorite sultan will do with his now extensive knowledge concerning modern technology. First he tried building a ‘Big Fucking Cannon’ (one that he can use separate from his NP) but was denied unanimously by administration. So, what does a guy do in place like this? With the current state of affairs with the world being bleached and all, instead of conquering all countries like he wanted to…why not conquer a new frontier? He put in much the same gusto into studying pop culture and came out simultaneously confused and very intrigued. Both came from how slang developed into its current complex form and the intricacies of it. But nevertheless he came out with an interest in the interwebs and that interest turned into…the next bullet point.

Much to the chagrin of his detractors, Mehmed is a very popular gentleman on the socials. He has a Youtube Channel, he has a Twitch Channel, he has Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, a Tumblr— he’s got it ‘em all and a huge following to back them it up. He mostly does vlogs, shitposts, and occasionally collabs with Sei Shonagon, Suzuka Gozen, and Osakabehime. Mehmed also does a history stream when the mood strikes him. He’ll either have MSPaint or a browser open as he goes on and on for hours off the cuff about various time periods and historical events he finds interesting. While the live viewers are understandably halved, y‘know ‘cause he’s the guy you watch when you want to see him shoot a mini cannon not relive your world history class, he still finds it to be an enjoyable way to fill a gap in his streaming schedule and an excellent opportunity to debunk the ‘he’s just a dumbass vlogger’ allegations. All this social media stuff is just a way to stave off boredom during his downtime on saving the world. If he didn’t have this then hoo boy, things will start getting really interesting and not in a good way! So please, just hold the camera during battle and make sure to get his good side, you’re doing Chaldea a bigger service than you think you are.

Now. You may have noticed a running theme here so far. Mehmed does quite a bit of studying. At a young age, he was taught by a ton of teachers and picked up on all the stuff they were putting down real quick. The art of studying and his innate curiosity combined to get us the intellectual we have today. It’s said that Mehmed had a strong interest in Greek and Byzantine culture, his collection of latin and greek works of art and literature are a testament to this. Hell, he even had a few portraits done of himself by the likes of Gentile Bellini. Back to his studies, Mehmed is the kinda guy who wants to know everything. If he was offered omniscience and had a strong reason to believe that he’d actually receive it, then Mehmed would have a VERY difficult time passing an opportunity like that up. Ultimately, he’d decline for two reasons. One, only god should have that kind of knowledge, humans aren’t meant for that. Two, he’d much rather earn that level of know-it-all instead of cheesing the system. The joy Mehmed gets from having that aha moment when he realizes that he’s fully grasped something is unmatched. He lives for that shit. Oh and something that miffs him about being a servant is that he just knows by default every language there is. It takes away the potential fun he could’ve had learning a new language. He was really looking forward to learning Korean, you know?

So, in between conquering the hearts of the people and his secret arms projects (c’mon, he’d totally try and build the BFC whether Da Vinci and Gordy allowed it or not), he’s reading up on various subjects that either didn’t learn about in his lifetime or updating his info the stuff he already knows, like mathematics. Many servants and staff alike got severe whiplash from stumbling across Mehmed—resident social media star—taking notes on Combinatorics and Differential Equations. Fun fact, mathematics is how Moriarty (Archer) and him became friends. Mehmed was practicing working with matrices and accidentally fudged a number which Moriarty pointed out as he was passing by. Then a conversation about the best ways to deal with matrices ensued which then turned into a conversation about cool shit like how to financially devastate your enemies. Needless to say, you’ll often see the two of them in a room together talking about…not evil things. Mhm. 100% kosher convos about math. Nothing else. You have the papa seal of approval on that.

Keeping in line with how much Mehmed studies concepts and the world around him, it should be known that this level of inquisition is also applied to the people around Mehmed. Every single member of Chaldea, servant or not, has held at least one full length conversation with Mehmed II. It doesn’t matter if you have low-ranked Madness Enhancement, Mehmed will at least TRY to hold a conversation with you. Obviously, it doesn’t quite stop there. He’ll go through Chaldea’s index and research his fellow servants and their lives along with their abilities. Mehmed has, tucked and encrypted in the darkest depths of his computer, entire dossiers on everyone. From what incidents they started to gossip and beefs involving them. He goes deep. Disturbingly deep. The reason why our favorite sultan has acquired this knowledge is so that he feels more in control. There’s nothing this man hates more than surprises, and Chaldea is chock full of ‘em considering the wide range of servants on deck. He at least wants to be able to predict how his teammates will fuck up so that he can make the save in time, instead of getting blindsided from just believing in them and getting fucked anyways. It’s already bad enough that he’s not the big kahuna here, so just let him have this, okay?

For all the learning he does, you may feel compelled to ask him questions since he seems like he basically knows everything. And you know what? That’s the best decision you’ve ever made. Mehmed absolutely loves proving how much shit he knows AND he loves teaching just as much. Ask him anything you’d like! He’ll answer it to the best of his ability and dumb it down for you as much as he needs to until you get it. He’s already smiling and pulling out the small whiteboard he has on him at all times when he sees you walking up to him with that inquisitive look on his face, he’s already unscrewing the caps to his markers before you’ve opened your mouth; man’s 100% ready to impart his wisdom unto you. The best questions you can ask him are history related questions since that’s his jam and he’ll be barely containing his excitement if you ask about the illustrious history of the one and only Ottoman Empire. He already has your hand in his as he drags you to his room for it so that he can hold show off all the shit has from his time to supplement his lecture. This might go on for so long that you two could be missing dinner and having a sleepover while he goes on and on about the empire he loved and helped grow.

Speaking of being in his room, for all the innuendoes and dirty jokes he makes, Mehmed is the kind of guy who would pull you into his bed and softly tell you to get under the blankets with him, and instead of anything seggs related it’s actually just glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs. He’ll pick one up and tell you facts about it and after he’s done with all 13 of them, he’ll then shoot ideas on how to make real dinosaurs glow in the dark like these ones. It’s pretty cute. Oh, and if anyone walks into this, then the little shit will immediately wrap his arms around your neck and start cooing about ‘how good you were for him’ and ‘how sore he feels’ and other riveting suggestive comments.

One of his favorite ways to spend time with you is watching historical documentaries! Please give it a chance, it’s not as boring as it sounds. Not with Mehmed the Conquerer sitting next to you that is. He frequently pause to give more context, point out neat things they did and—more importantly—absolutely raze them for getting shit wrong. His full name’s not Pablo Picasso, it’s Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno Crispín Crispiniano María de los Remedios de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz Picasso, dumbass. Get your shit together. You’ll end up learning a lot and your sides will be hurting from how Mehmed goes off on these documentaries. See? Not boring at all. Oh and by the way, his favorite movie is Night at The Museum. Just thought I’d tack that in there.

Vlad and Mehmed do not like each at all. Neither of them want to be in the same room as the other if they can help it. To add onto it, Vlad’s always trying to stealthily take Mehmed out of the picture through some means and it didn’t really bother him until he was nearly poisoned. That’s when Mehmed stopped messing around and nearly turned Vlad into a donut via his cannons the moment his throat started burning. Needless to say that there is a zero percent chance of either of them reconciling or working well together. There’s too much historical bad blood between them and it carried over with a vengeance into their second lives at Chaldea.

Note: If these two get into an argument—which is kinda low since talking takes SO much more effort than killing—then Mehmed will bring up, as a diss, that he fucked Vlad’s brother. Depending on who you ask, this may be true. But regardless, he’ll bring it up and that’s when the fistfight will break out. If you ask Mehmed if he actually did it, then he’ll just wink and say that’s his secret.

As for Constantine… it’s much different. While Constantine hates Mehmed for basically getting him killed and ending his empire, Mehmed on the other hand feels very differently. I implore you to look past the teasing, mean spirited “you’re an old man” jokes and pranks on Constantine for a moment, ‘kay? He’s only doing that shit to act tough and conceal how he really feels. The reality of the matter is that Mehmed actually admires Constantine. It takes balls to run headfirst into your certain doom and it takes a special kind of person to get as far as Constantine did with barely anything to hold Mehmed at bay, and you know what? He thinks that that’s the coolest shit ever. Was it fucking stupid to not accept the deal he gave to him so that he can continue ruling the Morea—you know the place he managed a while ago that really liked him—and be left alone mostly? Yeah. Was it fucking badass? Hell yeah! After Mehmed set foot into Constantinople, he understood why Constantine was fighting so hard to keep the city and he vowed to himself that he’d take care of her. Hence why the name was never changed during his lifetime and long afterwards. It’s why Constantinople became the new capital and was brought from the ground up to greatness. Was the prophecy a big part of it? Yeah, of course it was. That’s how this whole thing started in the first place. But it morphed into something more, and Mehmed really wishes that someday he and Constantine can just have a nice conversation for once about the city they both loved. And maybe… just maybe they both can be friends sometime?

Note: There is a chance for Constantine to reconcile his differences with Mehmed. It’s actually possible! You just need to do the herculean task of getting Constantine to actually talk and be direct about his feelings and what’s bothering him. And if you’ve read the romance headcanons for Constantine, then you know exactly how allergic he is to doing that. You should probably ease him into it by forcing the two of them to work towards the same goal. Like, I dunno… get fucking kidnapped by Douman or something and have those two be your only hope. Trust me, you’ll be saved in the end because Constantine is—unlike Vlad— capable of putting his beef with Mehmed aside for the greater good. And hey, he’ll realize that maybe Mehmed’s not that bad. But y’know, the man to man talk has to happen. And once it does, you’ll soon have two dudes geeking out over the Roman Empire. It’ll be wholesome, but until then, it’ll be a one-sided thing on Mehmed’s end.

To get back into a more lighthearted topic, let’s talk about how Mehmed acts. Man’s not what people expected when they heard that ‘the Father of Conquest’ has arrived at Chaldea. He’s pretty relaxed. There’s not really an aura or a vibe of regality to him at all, he just feels like a normal ass dude to talk to and his usage of modern slang is making it worse. It’s definitely a conversation to hear him talk with Blackbeard, it sounds like they’re both speaking a different language. “I understand these words separately” type shit. The reason why Mehmed’s not putting that much effort into say, intimidation factor or being cool, is because he has such a long ass list of personal achievements that he feels like he doesn’t have to act a certain way. He’s him, he has been him and will continue to be him. …Or at least that’s how he sees himself.

One of the jokes he often makes is that you have to pay him tribute and will sometimes point to his cheek or open his arms. Again, it’s a joke, so don’t feel compelled to give him a smonch or a hug if you don’t want to, Mehmed’s expecting you to say no and he’ll just say that he’ll ‘put it on your tab’ for later. Said tab does not exist and he isn’t keeping track. Though, he certainly doesn’t mind if you do peck him on the cheek or hug him as he’s a physically affectionate person by nature. On another note, uh, don’t ever let him be the event shopkeeper. You may find that things cost a bit more than usually do. Like your Corona Fous cost will 475 currency instead of the usual 400. If you ask why, then he’ll just smile and say that he’s ‘funding a personal project.’ It’s the BFC.

I want to loop back to something I said at the very beginning of these headcanons. I said that Mehmed will start a long list of incidents. Well, these incidents don’t come from Mehmed’s ‘inner desire to sow chaos for his entertainment’ something wack like that. Nope. It actually comes, surprisingly enough, from wanting to improve Chaldea. See, this guy took a look at the rules and found himself disgusted. There’s just not enough rules here! And the punishments are so lenient! This is awful, said he to himself. And thus, the incidents Mehmed starts are based on loopholes he found in the rules and technicalities and he hopes that with how much trouble he’s causing, that Chaldea’s administration will step up their game and bring the hammer down. …Yeah, they don’t. But that’s no reason to give up, he’ll just have to— oh shit that’s Astraea. Run!! Mehmed’s unfortunately made an enemy of Astraea with all his shenanigans and she has made it her mission to give Mehmed exactly what he deserves in place of Chaldean administration. So if you see him with an icepack on his head and a couple of bandages, it was probably the Lady Justice drop kicking him. Don’t worry about it too much, he knows he deserves it.

All in all, Mehmed II is a nerdy and learned type of guy who shows off his knowledge and loves imparting his wisdom to others just as much. He’s pretty goofy and laidback for a sultan and often rolls the jokes made at his expense. Seems like a simple guy, right? Well… what if I told you that this is actually just the light side of the moon? That Mehmed, in fact, has another side to his personality. A ‘gap-moe’ if you will. As much as our favorite sultan likes to hide it from others, he’s not all that good of a person deep down. Don’t get me wrong though. The man I just described is very real and is by no means a facade, that is Mehmed II. But where there’s light, there too is darkness.

Talent is a thing people are born with, it’s described the dictionary as a natural aptitude for something, after all. Mehmed believes that, those who are bestowed talent by god will at some point pay for that talent in some manner. And when you look at some of history’s best geniuses, you can see why he thinks that. To him, he believes that since he’s so talented, god has cursed him with the worst inner demons a man could have to balance him out and stop him from being too powerful. And honestly, there are times when Mehmed really wishes that he was just a regular person so that he doesn’t have to hold those wretched things at bay.

You will find, at times when Mehmed hugs you, that he’s squeezing a bit too hard. You tell him in a strained voice that you can’t breathe and for two seconds he’ll squeeze even harder before letting go and apologizing, stating that he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes. You’ll also find that Mehmed sometimes will squeeze your hand too hard when he’s holding it in his, and you just barely catch him looking away when you turn to ask him why he did that. When you’re in the kitchen cutting veggies, you’ll feel a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head. You don’t find who it is but, conveniently, when you cut your finger, guess who’s already at your side with a band-aid? Honestly, it’s like he was waiting for this to happen. I’m sure you see where I’m going with this, right?

Mehmed II is, in fact, a sadist. He likes watching your face contort in pain, he likes seeing the minute differences in your expression for different injuries, how you sound different too. It’s all so morbidly interesting to him and he wants to know more. He wants to see your face when you sprain your ankle, he wants to hear how different you sound after being nearly choked to death, he wants to see you deal with missing a hand. It’s another facet of his curiosity and he won’t stop thinking about it until he’s dealt every injury known to man onto you and sees the results for himself.

Now, you may be saying: “Redline, this is just Beryl 2: Electric Boogaloo. This headcanon is ass.” But I dare to disagree. See, Beryl flopped because he’s an undercooked loser who appeared straight outta left field and did jack all in his own damn Lostbelt. He has zero character to him other than “hehhe, breaking Mashu’s fingies is gret show of love, eye hop she luvs me when aye snap her neck tomorrow <3 <3” Mehmed, as I see him, is more than this. Way more. Go back and read the paragraphs before this if you don’t believe me, and for that matter go and read about the his history while you’re at it, the man’s a legend.

Not only that, but Mehmed—unlike shithead mcgee here—actually has self-awareness. He knows that causing you pain is a bad thing and that it only serves to satisfy his sick and twisted desires as opposed to being anything constructive or enriching for either of you. He knows that it will drive you away from him in the end. He knows that this isn’t healthy and that feeding the demons is going to end with you lying dead on the floor. He knows, he knows, he knows. Trust him, he knows.

There’s also the fact that his sadism is not how he shows love, it directly comes from his want and need to know things. Mehmed shows love like a normal person would. He gets enjoyment from hugging people, holding hands, giving gifts and spending quality time with his loved ones. You know, like a normal person. He feels genuine guilt when he actually harms you and he’s quick to right his wrongs in any way that he can. You can see the self-loathing and the guilt in his eyes when he sees the bruise on your arm from when he grabbed you too roughly. His self awareness and the subsequent guilt, that which compels him to hold the inner demons at bay, puts him leagues above Beryl Gut. His internal struggle and how he deals with his self-control waning along with his thoughts and feelings on the matter make him more than just a sadist. It makes him Mehmed II. An ultimately good man burdened with desires that harm others which in turn hurts him too, leaving him all alone to beat the hell out of himself when those desires hit their logical conclusion.

And ideally, you’ll never ever have to know about the awful awful thoughts around wriggling in his skull. You’ll just see him as your nerdy Archer class servant who likes goofing around, making posts on the internet, and shooting cannons and stuff. That’s all he is and that’s all he should be. ( :

P.S. If you tell him about the Elixir of Immortality, then he’d immediately tell you to destroy it. Good on you for not drinking it yet but seriously, that shit needs to go now. That is not something that should be in human hands and who knows what’ll happen if the wrong person finds out that you have it. If Qin Shi Huang has a problem with him destroying it for you then they’re going to have to deal with the Father of Conquest himself. Immortality only brings infinite suffering to poor soul cursed to have it, forcing them to watch the people they love wither away time and time again for the rest of forever. And that’s not getting into the prospect of you witnessing the horror that is the heat death of the universe. It sounds like a nightmare and Mehmed doesn’t want that for you. End of story.

And that’s that. Those are my headcanons straight from my cranium put into words for your screen’s depicting pleasure. Am I reaching? Are these headcanons awful? Or perhaps I have done something right? Let me know, and um… I am considering opening my inbox, not for requests but for talking, so I’ll pondering that. And I hope you all got who you wanted for the GSSR and Destiny Order ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t! Murasaki I love you but I wanted Castoria And I’m gonna sit on my 400 SQ until September when a certain very beautiful saber who shares a seiyuu with Kakyoin comes out on NA. I’ve folded a few times but I’ll save as much as I can for real! Wait for me! Uh, ahem. But yeah, that’s all from me. Until next time!

—Redline, over and out!

[batesmotelofficial]

This is my full attempt to watch the hell house series.

Specially before movie number 5 comes out next year, the concept pretty cool and here’s the synopsis

Hell House LLC (2015)

A documentary film crew investigates the deaths of 15 people, including tour-goers and staff, on the opening night of a Halloween haunted house five years after the tragedy. The film reveals what happened leading up to the incident and what went wrong that night. It was directed by Stephen Cognetti and stars Gore Abrams, Alice Bahlke, Danny Bellini, and Paul O'keefe. Hell House LLC is available on Amazon Video, Shudder, YouTube, Vudu, and iTunes.

😕

(Crying)

-Mod 1

[a-vampire-culturelover]

Junkclan Moon 57- Leaf-Bare

Important Events:

Quailcurl recovered from his mangled tail.

Bellini has got greencough.

Loudprance recovered from Whitecough.

Yarrowlily has healed well from their bite-wound.

Frostpaw disappeared for a few days and came back with a crimson leather collar. She also has a running nose.

Mintpaw, despite his Issues after the Twoleg Monster Incident, his head is feeling better..

Thistlepaw, Hornetpaw and Badgerpaw are all now apprentices! Thistlepaw is apprenticed to Daisysnarl in the hopes of nurturing her growing hunting skills, Hornetpaw is given to Wormwater to quench her curiosity of the world around her, and Badgerpaw to Ruestar.

Badgerpaw's pelt is a little torn.

Patrols:

Frostpaw goes hunting with Bluebellpaw and Mintpaw, trying their best to ignore the fact their brother is a little more violent than before, and she suggests hunting close to home as to not go too far out into the growing snowfall. It doesn't work out too well.

Daisysnarl wants to practice fighting techniques with Thistlepaw, although neither step up to teach.

Ruestar takes Badgerpaw to see the "Thunder-Bison", which Badgerpaw looks at with awe and a little bit of fear.

Wormwater takes Hornetpaw out to gather moss, and helps her feel a little less distracted with her task.

Bluestorm tells Waspflare about a dream regarding.. Odd figures in her sleep, and the two have a conversation about it while on patrol.

Loudprance, Snakehollow, Smallrise, Budfleck, and Yarrowlily go hunting near the Large, tall metal structures of Junkclan territory, and manage to find a few dead birds to take home.

On their way to make the Border, Quailcurl starts telling stories Slumbershade told the younger cat of Junkclan's Father-Clan, Whaleclan. However their clanmates seem unenthused, so he stops.

Hawkchase catches some astonishingly fat chickens by a twoleg nest.

Sneezetangle and Wrentongue notice a Moleclan scent strayed onto the Border, following the scent but walking in circles.

Important Relationship Events:

Egretleaf promises to look out for Cloverbloom.

Waspflare thinks Smallrise is reliable.

Waspflare told Budfleck about a feather on their face.

Slumbershade finds some fluff that smells like Flowerheart and added it to his nest!

Chaffinchheart hopes he's on a patrol with Bluebellpaw tomorrow!

Blubellpaw is upset after spending a day with Chaffinchheart's bad attitude.

Robinflight can't believe how talented Wrentongue is!

Ruestar goes to ask his daughter Bluestorm for Cleric wisdom.

Daisysnarl and Yarrowlily enjoy each other's company.

Bellini appreciates Bigmane's efforts.

Loudprance ignores Waspflare.

Mintpaw stepped on Frostpaw's foot and pretended not to notice.

Robinflight and Mintpaw checked the other clans at a gathering.

Badgerpaw thinks Loudprance is being thoughtful of others.

Thistlepaw is able to work together with Daisysnarl on her hunting crouch!

Important Thoughts:

Ruestar thought he heard the voices of Starclan cats..

Bluestorm thinks of how awful kittypet food must taste.

Mothfeather feels a sense of dread after seeing the first snow..

Sneezetangle is feeling silly :>

Daisysnarl is grateful for Bluestorm's treatments

Cloverbloom wonders the things Slumbershade has seen and done..

Budfleck wonders how Scorchclan is doing..

Toadpaw is rolling in the sunlight, trying to ignore his broken bone..

Bluebellpaw wants to be left alone all day..

Mintpaw complains about picking out Slumbershade's ticks.

Badgerpaw daydreams about having a Mae and kits someday!

Slumbershade enjoys his old age..

Stink Mink contemplates Clan life..

Steve was wandering into the Yard when she heard a strange noise that scared her back inside.

Cowbird, while on a walk, was nearly caught in a twoleg trap!

Slug, after having a good time with the "Loner" group scaring kittypets, took a nice stroll through the city.

Chocolate Pudding fears living his twoleg den after hearing from his neighbor Steve about a Wandering group..

[gumnut-logic]

Sing us a song, you’re the Piano Man

“Virgil.” The doctor patiently drew his attention again.

The woman had very pale blue eyes. Quite lovely contrasting against her dark hair, porcelain skin, like a painting.

The doctor blinked. “I hope you’re not referring to a Picasso, Mr Tracy.” But her lips were curving into a smile. “Now let’s see how you are.”

There were pokes and prods, a touch to his forehead and his blood pressure was taken. Didn’t nurses usually do that?

“I’m afraid you are under strong security arrangements, Mr Tracy. Usual doesn’t apply.”

-o-o-o-

I’m parked outside on a gorgeous sunny day again, ready to write, with Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ playing in my head. yes, I have a fic brewing based on that song. I am beyond it, I really am ::headdesk::

Nutty

(Sooo many ideas, so little of me to execute them)

[muchadoabout]

Met Opera streams tag game day #1

Thanks, @revedebeatrice for tagging me! 

What’s a production you've seen that changed your whole opinion of an opera?

2012 Ballo. This production showcases an idiosyncratic concept of a modern interpretation of the historical incident. The creative liberties* taken are bold and quirky. It also successfully brings the satirical elements to the spotlight. They’re something that I didn’t often find in other productions that I have watched so far. Then, the stupendous cast and those stylish costumes... The finale scene looks like an Armani fashion show. It’s a chef’s kiss all around.

*Yes, including the Kitchen Knife of Doom™.

What is an opera composer you're trying to explore more?

Those bel-canto dudes (Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini)

Did you discover any new favorite singers? 

Well, to name a few; Radvanovsky, Rebeka, Tézier, Kwiecień, Polenzani, Oropesa, and Lindsey. 

What’s an opera (or production) that you wish you could watch again for the first time?

2007 Onegin. It’s pure magic. 

[morethanaprincess-a]

Closed starter for @wanderlust-songbird​ !

For the eight hours she'd been in meetings and seminars that day with various world leaders, from politicians to fellow aristocrats, Sonia's capability and expertise had come into question approximately three dozen times. She'd stopped keeping count at around twenty-six, her patience and levels of fatigue both waning enough that it had taken everything she had to just smile, politely assure the group that this was, indeed, the joint wishes of both her and her father, and that they would not buckle in the face of a decision that would not benefit their people in the long-term.

And while she normally didn't mind a post-meeting reception, that evening was particularly grating on her nerves. Some choice words from her personal secretary had encouraged her to don the cocktail dress at least, but once she'd arrived, few of her (mostly male) peers hardly deigned to speak with her on any of the important issues at hand: instead, the young Princess of Novoselic was deferred to partners or spouses, who looked at her with similar pitying expressions, as if she were a last resort to replace the King of Novoselic instead of it being the Royal Family's intention to send the young woman to represent the country's interests in her father's stead. It was remarkable, in its own unbelievable way: even in the current day and age, and with her education fulfilled at In Utero, Hope's Peak Academy, and Oxford University, the basis of her gender and appearance was enough to bring her judgement into question. Princess before a person always, and princesses worldwide, much less those eventually filling their father's shoes as absolute monarch one day, were still more often consulted for their fashion and charity work than economic and international policies.

That was when she'd shook the negative thoughts from her mind, politely excused herself from conversation with the Queen of Spain, and sought out the nearest refreshments tray. Thankful that it wasn't shots of limoncello but a bellini instead, Sonia took the stem of the champagne flute between nimble fingers and disappeared onto the hotel's terrace. The reception did lend itself to one excellent perk: Rome at sunset, in all of its glory. A banquet awaited her shortly, multiple courses and expectations of how to eat, converse, and have it all go off without incident. But in that moment, she would've given the sapphires dangling from her earlobes for a dinner at a quiet restaurant, with a table right on the sidewalk in order to watch life go by. A simple pasta dish, or a pizza, would certainly improve the difficult day she'd had so far.

With a small sigh, she brought the drink to her lips and took a deep sip. The colors that stretched over the horizon almost matched the peachy liquid in her glass: soothing, and all the while below her the streetlamps slowly began to illuminate one by one, with shops and restaurants following suit in order to entice patrons inside. Perhaps it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to get into a little trouble: borrow a vespa and go wherever her instincts took her, at least until the next official event she needed to attend as a full-time working royal.

But it wouldn't be conducted in secret: Not now, at least, as she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Turning slowly, Sonia tucked a lock of her long hair behind her ear as she greeted the newcomer with a smile. "I apologize: if you were looking for a moment alone, I was just about to return indoors. You should stay for the view for a little while, though: it's excellent at this hour."

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

3. alone in our secret, together we sigh

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“I did not bid a hundred and fifty bucks for you to not pay attention to me,” whined Bianca Stone.

Thomas Hunt, who sat nearly a foot away from his “date” in Chateau de Rose, barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had known that auctioning off his evening for charity was going to guarantee him several hours of boredom at best, but being essentially held captive by one of his most detested students was not what he had even considered in the realm of possibilities for how the night would go. Aria Sheridan, the unnervingly perky hostess and auctioneer, had failed to inform him that his students would be allowed to bid on him, something that surely would have influenced his decision to take part in the event. But he had been one of the bigger names on the block, and though he knew that hundred and fifty dollars was Anders Stone’s money, at least it was going to some good use for once-

“Thomas, are you even listening to me?”

Snapped out of his thoughts, he reluctantly turned his gaze to his student. “Do not call me that.”

Bianca’s frown quickly turned sly. “Oh, okay. I’ll call you ‘professor’ then, if that’s what you like.”

He did not appreciate the implications behind her words. Or the tone she used to deliver them.

Thankfully, their server appeared, bearing their respective meals and drinks, giving him a much needed out from the salacious turn their stilted conversation was going. Though he hadn’t been to Chateau de Rose in years, not since – well, it had been a while, but he had ordered what he considered to be his favourite dish. Salmon Wellington with a side of herb and garlic mashed potatoes and acid-free cherry tomatoes. Back when he had frequented the restaurant with – well, back then, he only ordered the buttered mashed potatoes to spare his date from garlicky breath. But now, however, he hoped it would at the very least deter Bianca.

As he gulped down his three fingers of scotch, he nearly choked at the feeling of a shoe rubbing suggestively against his ankle. Swallowing hard, he shifted further away from her, only for the distance to be shortened by his smirking companion.

“Don’t be shy, professor.” The way she said the last word made his skin feel like crawling. “We’re tucked away in the corner. You don’t have to be so staid. We can get a little closer. A lot closer, in my opinion.”

Though the meal was as delicious as he had remembered, his stomach was churning. “I don’t know what you think this is-”

And then a commotion pulled his attention away from her, to where two people were noticeably getting escorted to the only other booth near them. The commotion came not from the two settling into their seats, but from other diners present who apparently couldn’t help but speak loudly of their entrance.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“Why, of course, I worked at the Fox Theatre for years. I’d recognize that face anywhere!”

“Chris Winters and . . . wait, who’s that with him?”

“That’s certainly not Sofia Morena.”

“Now, where have I seen that girl before? She looks so familiar.”

As the voices of the other diners seemed to fade into the din of the restaurant, Thomas found himself fixated on the booth in which the action movie star was openly flirting with his other notorious nuisance of a student. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the conventionally handsome household name and A-lister leaned into her and whispered something, earning him a face-splitting smile and a laugh that Thomas had heard often from across the lecture hall.

And several times during . . . other situations, but he didn’t want to think about those.

Ignoring Bianca’s attempts at getting him to sit closer to her, Thomas finished his food and signalled to the waiter for another drink. He gulped down his refill in record time as he watched Chris Winters wrap an arm around her shoulder and hold his phone in an angle that suggested they were taking a selfie.

Thomas sensed Bianca moving a little closer, cell phone in hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered.

Bianca scowled. “If I had known you were going to be this rude, I would never have bid on you! You’re the worst date ever.”

Removing the cloth napkin from his lap, he dabbed at the corners of his lips carefully before folding it and placing it on the table beside his empty plate.

“Miss Stone, what exactly did you think was going to happen?” Thomas asked, genuinely curious. “Did you think your purchasing several hours of my time for charity guaranteed that we’d, I don’t know, fall in love and have children together? At the very least, cross the line that should never be crossed between student and teacher? I wish I could say I didn’t expect you to be so obtuse. This is simply a charitable obligation for me. I mean, really. Do you honestly think I want to be here?”

Bianca stood up so fast that Thomas instinctively leaned back. Grabbing her purse and phone with one hand, she took hold of her half-drunken bellini and tossed it at him, narrowly missing his face.

“I’m getting a refund,” Bianca declared. “And for your information, I wasn’t even that into you anyway.”

“Right,” Thomas deadpanned, assessing the damage the colourful cocktail was doing to his shirt.

Bianca left in a huff, leaving him damp in alcohol and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable to the other diners, who had begun speaking to each other about what had just transpired in more hushed tones than before. He heard his name murmured more than once, which annoyed him; usually, he was in more dignified situations when he was recognized, and he suspected that this incident would be in a tabloid soon enough.

But he had other things to worry about, like the state of his clothing. He took his cloth napkin and delicately dabbed at the splatter. The shirt was most likely a write-off, unless he could get a-

“Tide pen?”

He startled at the sight of his other student, having left the booth where she had sat with Chris Winters to approach him, brandishing the aforementioned product as though she were offering a spare pencil. Warily, he took it, and made quick work of his shirt. Though he knew she lingered by him, he didn’t glance up until after he had finished the application. Then, he handed it back to her with little fanfare.

Still, she didn’t move from where she stood, watching him closely as though assessing the situation.

Finally, he snapped, “What do you want, Miss Schuyler?”

His student seemed surprised by his tone. But quickly, her eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome.”

He felt a rush of heat on his cheeks, realizing that he didn’t even bother thanking her for the pen. Though he had his own doubts about whether it would actually work, it was a nice gesture all the same. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at her properly, only to find that she had returned to her booth and her own celebrity date, who seemed eager to recapture her attention now that he had been handled.

Well, Thomas thought as he prepared to leave, at least the rest of my evening is free.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Unfortunately for Thomas, it was not to be.

Aria Sheridan, upon getting brought up to speed with what had occurred between him and Bianca, called him just as he was getting into his car. Though his bidder had forfeited her date – and failed to bully her way into getting a refund – he was still obligated to attend the other event for the evening. And, much as he hated to admit it, it wasn’t like he had other plans for himself other than getting out of his suit and repressing the evening’s events with a bottle of merlot.

The aquarium had been kept open after hours for the charity dates, and though he felt a little silly walking through the exhibits by his lonesome, he much preferred it to having to deal with Bianca clamped to his side, much like the starfish to its mossy rock. He found himself walking in a tunnel made mostly of glass, surrounded by aquatic creatures who seemed almost at peace with being held captive for ogling by the public. Even he knew it was cynical to think like that, but he couldn’t help himself. The seahorses, the clownfish, even the eels, all unwitting spectacles for the amusement of those who would tap on the glass and buy obnoxious, over-priced plush versions of the creatures at the gift shop afterwards.

Despite himself, while stopping to observe some jellyfish, he wondered if it would have been an enjoyable experience with an actual date.

Now that he was finally alone, barring the fish, he allowed himself to reminisce, his mind’s eye conjuring up a heart-shaped face with a dazzling smile and a laugh that he was startled he even remembered. Her name on his tongue, as though he were decades younger again, being dragged out of the dorms to a party or being pulled along during a tiring, cliché hike to the Hollywood sign with their likeminded peers.

He pressed his fingertips gently to the glass, closing his eyes against the blue tint of the tunnel.

Yvonne.

He wondered if she ever thought of him, of the aspiring director who had failed to meet her that fateful night when they were to run away together, as her time in America was ending. He had sat in his dorm room all night, his hair clenched between his fingers, forcing himself to read to distract himself from thinking of her sitting at the bus stop. He wondered, for the first time in years, if he would ever see her again. If he would ever feel like how she made him feel again.

It was a love destined to end, and they both knew it. But they were young, in love, and desperately foolish enough to believe in those grand gestures Hollywood peddled in their blockbusting, lackluster romantic comedies. He had not wanted it to end, but he knew that running away would severely hinder his burgeoning career, and though he had loved her, he loved film – and the prospect of being one of the greats – more.

Still, he had regrets. He seldom allowed himself to dwell on them, but as soon as he afforded himself that moment of weakness, it all came back to him. His mind was cruel enough to conjure up dregs of their final conversation, done over the phone, months after she had returned to Spain, when his guilt and his need to hear her voice became too much to bear.

“I have a husband now. We’re expecting.”

“You made up your mind. I made up mine.”

And, lastly, “Please don’t call me again.”

It could have been him, and he knew it. She knew it. But it wasn’t. And, as far as Thomas was concerned, he might never be that for someone.

A husband. A father. A lover.

He had his career, the respect of his peers, and accolades that spilled over the polished surfaces of his many armoires and credenzas. All that had been dreams when he had met her.

He didn’t dream anymore. Couldn’t remember what he last dreamt of even if he tried. His life had become a blur of grading and critiques and tiresome events. Waking up in his bed and falling back into it sixteen hours later, repeating the cycle with little to differentiate the days.

Though he had dated after Yvonne, he found it difficult to forge a lasting connection with any of his now-exes. God, how he had tried. Marianne, for all that they had in common, was just too much like him, critical and cold, and they were better off as friends anyway. And Priya . . . he hesitated to brand her a mistake, but his memories of their short relationship proved that her choosing to prioritize her career over him was not a decision he should’ve been blindsided by. He chose not to dwell on the others, those he had brief dalliances with, because they were momentary distractions more than anything else.

All the awards in the world couldn’t fill the void he had been working tirelessly since that night in his dorm room to ignore.

He hadn’t realized he’d pressed his forehead to the glass until a thunk from the other side startled him out of his thoughts. A turtle knocked itself against the glass before swimming away. He looked after it for a few seconds before straightening his shoulders, wiping under his eyes with his thumb, and leaving the tunnel through where he had come in.

The room he entered was more dimly lit than the tunnel, but the displays emanated that blue-green glow that made it obvious where everything was. He didn’t have to squint much to see the benches, the informative plaques citing statistics and scientific names, and . . . he stilled.

Even shrouded in shadows, he recognized her immediately.

His student stood alone, tears streaking down her face. Her head bowed as soon as she saw him enter, and her arms, wound around her torso as if giving herself a hug, squeezed her sides as if in reassurance or comfort.

No Chris Winters in sight, or anyone else involved in the date auction, for that matter.

His chest felt tight at the sight of her.

But, before he could say anything, she broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I let Bianca win.”

Thomas blinked, taken aback by the apology.

“I could have won,” she continued, her voice shaky in a way that made his own throat feel dry, “but I let her win. I shouldn’t have.”

He felt frozen in place. “Where is your date?” His voice embarrassingly cracked at the last word.

“He’s gone.” She sniffled, a pitiful sound in the otherwise silence.

Thomas looked around. Still no employees or other charity dates in sight. Where did they all go? Were they even here when he showed up? He struggled to remember much of anything between parking in the nearly empty lot and all the memories he dredged up with his forehead pressed against the glass.

His student lowered herself onto a bench and buried her face in her hands. And, as much as a part of him scolded him for doing so, he joined her on it, though he chose to keep his eyes glued to the exhibit in front of them rather than the girl softly crying by his side.

“I bet you would’ve been a better date than Miss Stone,” he finally said.

She made a sound between a sob and a laugh. “I know I would be.” She raised her head and gave him a little smile. “For example, I wouldn’t waste a bellini on you.”

That little smile made him feel a little braver. He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. The mere touch made her smile brighten for a beautiful, lingering moment, before dimming once more as her eyes went downcast.

Thomas wanted desperately for that smile to reappear.

“I wanted to keep bidding,” she admitted. “You looked so nervous on the stage, seeing Bianca and I bid on you. And, between the two of us, I consider myself the lesser evil, so . . . I was going to.”

“What stopped you?” Thomas asked, shifting on the bench to see her better. Her eyes were still downcast, but she had somewhat of a bitter smile playing on her lips.

“I want to say my friends,” she said slowly. “They knew Chris was going to be at the auction, and that he’d taken me on a couple of dates already, so I felt pressured to bid for him. But that’s not the real reason.”

Thomas’s brows furrowed. “What is the real reason, then?”

She snorted. “It was the way you looked at me. When you were standing on the stage, when I was about to outbid her. You looked . . . well, you were . . . disgusted.”

Sighing deeply, she turned her gaze to the exhibit in front of them, following the manta ray’s movements as though she hadn’t just made Thomas’s stomach twist with her confession.

They were dangerously close to talking about it. What had transpired between them in the past few weeks, first at the masquerade, then on that film set overnight. She had not spoken to him about personal matters since that night on the set, allowing him to blissfully pretend as though he hadn’t, for a handful of hours, been close with her in a way that he knew he shouldn’t have been. But now they were alone, and it seemed as though it was the time to discuss it.

“It . . . scared me, seeing you look so horrified by the possibility of spending any time with me. Even after . . . what’s happened between us.” She looked as though she was speaking to the manta ray. “I may be a hell of a handful as your student but believe me when I say I didn’t want to torture you. Still don’t.” She shook her head. “I’m surprised you’re even talking to me, after everything.”

Thomas’s mind was cruel, bringing up images and sensations he hadn’t allowed himself to think of. The beautiful blue dress. Her impressive, fluid dance moves that kept up with his. The sound of her voice as she teased him for apparently being able to recognize every person in that ballroom apart from her. The mask that hid her high cheekbones, one of the most prominent physical characteristics of her, but still couldn’t conceal her identity from him.

The truth that he had kept to himself. That he had known it was her from the start.

His playing along, pretending that he didn’t know who she was, was irresponsible. Reckless. Inappropriate. But he had done it, partly out of curiosity to see where it would lead. Another part due to his boredom of attending the event stag, of attending such events for years alone and without much to keep him past the obligated hour or so of mingling. And another part . . .

“Can I drive you home?”

She looked surprised to hear him offer. And, honestly, he was surprised he offered, too. For a moment, they looked at each other, frozen in that mutual moment, before she nodded.

“I don’t think there’s anything going on after this, so . . . if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be grateful not to walk back in heels.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He’d let her pick the music for the drive and was surprised that she unearthed a CD case from the console to rifle through.

“Barry Manilow?” Margot giggled. “I didn’t take you for a Fanilow.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Thomas said warningly, though he found the corners of his mouth twitching.

She flipped to the next few slots. “Ooh. A big musical theatre fan. The Music Man, Oklahoma, and – Ooh!” Pulling out a CD, she stuck it into the slot and allowed the music to wash over them both. At a red light, he side-eyed her with an amused grin.

“What? ’The King and I’ is one of my favourite shows,” she admitted.

The light changed, and another song began, one in which two forbidden lovers sang about hiding their relationship. Though she seemed unaffected by it, choosing to stare out of the window, he felt himself glancing more and more at her as the song progressed.

He did not appreciate the irony.

But, all the same, he kept a close eye on her as they neared the dormitories. Where, he realized too late, it would be completely conspicuous for him to be dropping off one of his students in the late hours of the evening. Especially one who was dressed to the nines like she had just gone on a big date-

Wait a minute.

He looked over at her as the car came to a stop by the curb. She was rifling through her purse for her keys, hardly paying attention to his lingering eyes, when he spoke.

“Why did Mr. Winters leave you this evening?”

She stilled. Sucking in her bottom lip, she bit down on it enough to transfer some of her lipsticks to her teeth.

He waited.

And waited.

Then . . .

“Good night, professor. Thank you for getting me back safely.” Her hand moved toward the door handle, only to freeze on it upon contact.

Offering her an out, he simply said, “Good night.”

But rather than swinging open the door and taking her leave, she turned herself until she was angled to him, her face fully visible to him. Though her eyes still seemed a bit puffy from her earlier crying, she looked otherwise flawless, even with the slight smear of dusty rose lipstick on her front teeth.

“He knew I wasn’t . . . into being with him tonight, but he had been a good sport all the same,” she said, her voice so soft against the darkness of the night and the gentle hum of the car’s engine. “We got to the aquarium shortly after you did. I saw you in that tunnel, looking so upset, so sad, and I wanted to talk to you. But Chris . . . well, he didn’t want me to. Said I’d been distracted all evening and that I needed to focus on what really matters.”

Thomas suppressed the urge to scoff. Regardless of the kindness Chris Winters may have usually bestowed upon her, his superstar ego still got in the way. It wasn’t a surprise; big names like him, whose careers revolve around big-budget, unnecessary-explosions-and-gunfights, tropey Tommy Phelps-ian films, almost always thought far too highly of themselves, demanding their mere presence entitled them to nothing less than the best at restaurants, public events, and the like, as though they weren’t one injury away from being replaced by a brighter-eyed actor who continued the vicious cycle . . .

Margot’s voice was a little quieter than before, more vulnerable.

“So, I did.”

Their gazes met over the centre console and held for several moments too long.

Thomas felt strange, a mixed bag of emotions furiously working their way over his senses. Mortified that she’d seen him so . . . so human. Upset at himself for opening that old wound in the first place. Confused that she had intended to blow off one of Hollywood’s biggest movie stars to comfort him. Touched that she considered him and his feelings of great importance to her.

“I made up my mind,” she continued, shrugging. “He made up his.”

His ribcage felt constricting around his lungs. Her eyes upon him felt both judgemental and soothing.

Finally, he straightened up in his seat, nodding to himself as he broke the spell. She similarly took the movement as a dismissal and pulled on the door handle, stepping out into the cool night. Illuminated now by the lamppost by the sidewalk, he could see her, really see her.

Of course, he’d seen Margot on screen in several assignments during his class. For all her faults, she really was a remarkable actress, and her classmates almost always asked for her assistance in their projects, meaning that her visage was more often than not gracing the screen, inexplicably yet seamlessly transformed into whichever character she was embodying. He could recognize her a mile away, regardless of the darkness of the room or the mask perched upon her face.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night, Thomas,” Margot said, giving him one last small smile before closing the door and turning for her dorm.

He did not correct her.

[fort-worth-tx-daily]

Population

According to recent statistics, the population in Fort Worth, Texas is 835,129 with a density of 2,422 people per square mile. The median age in the city is 31.8 as compared to the US median age of 37.4. The number of people per household in the community is 2.8 as compared to the US average of 2.6 per household. 49.3 percent of the people in Fort Worth are married, 12.2 percent are divorced,  37.7 percent are married with children, and 22.0 percent are single parents. The people living in this metropolis are a mixture of white, black, Asian, Native American, and Hispanic Ethnicity.

One person killed, 5 wounded in Texas highway shooting

(CNN)One person was killed and at least five others were injured when people in two vehicles shot at each other on a Fort Worth, Texas, freeway Friday night, officials said. The two vehicles, which police say each had several occupants, were traveling eastbound on the Southwest Loop of the 820 freeway just after 10 p.m. local time when people began shooting for unknown reasons, according to police. Read more here...

A shooting incident happened on a Fort Worth, Texas freeway involving two cars and their passengers. According to police officers investigating the matter, both vehicles were traveling eastbound on the Southwest Loop of the 820 freeway. Based on the reports given, the people inside the cars just began firing at each other for unknown reasons. Stray bullets hit a woman driver and a man who was just inside his house on the service road. There were at least five other gunshot victims who were taken to a nearby hospital but their wounds were not life-threatening. At present, the identities of the suspects are unknown and they are still at large.

Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, TX

Located in Fort Worth, Texas, the Kimbell Art Museum formally opened its doors on October 4, 1972. It is owned and operated by the Kimbell Art Foundation. When they started, their collection only included British and French portraits of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. At present, the museum houses about 350 works that not only epitomize their periods and movements but also touch individual high points of aesthetic beauty and historical importance. Among the treasures found here are Monet's Point de la Heve, Bellini's Christ Blessing, an eighth-century Maya stone panel depicting the Presentation of Captives, and Picasso's Cubist painting to name a few.

Located in Fort Worth, Texas, Muse is a full studio and co-working space for artists. Feeling the need for a creative hideout, its founder Jacob Lovett conceptualized and built Fort Worth's newest shared venue for the creators living in the city. Lovett was born and raised in this community and he graduated from the University of Mississippi with a degree in marketing. His works involve realism oil paintings that focus on one singular subject. Just this year, Muse was created from the combination of his past work experience and his passion for the arts. It is founded on the idea to provide a place where local artists and creatives can connect and collaborate.

Link to maps

Kimbell Art Museum

3333 Camp Bowie Blvd, Fort Worth, TX 76107, United States

Get on I-30 E from W Lancaster Ave and Summit Ave 6 min (2.2 mi) Take I-35W S to South Fwy. Take exit 45B from I-35W S 6 min (6.0 mi) Take California Pkwy N/SW Loop 820 to Thelin St 2 min (0.7 mi)

Muse

5501 Thelin St, Fort Worth, TX 76115, USA

[spiltscribbles]

Quiet Things

Alex doesn’t get jealous.

It’s just not a thing that he does, has never thought it worth while. For a majority of his life he was too busy with school and Lacrosse and plotting out his eventual path to the presidency, to ever even fathom caring too terribly if the girl he was seeing was flirting with some other guy, or was being flirted with. Besides, it’s not his place to get all angry about it. If she liked him more than Alex, well he  had no right to interfere in  that, there’s something called free fucking will. 

“Nah, ’S because you’re too obsessed with yourself,” Nora had told him three weeks after their first break up in that somewhat snide tone of voice that she can pull out as effortlessly as her future professor monotone. 

“Slanderous,” Alex had sniffed before taking a huge ass bite out his burrito— thank God that Chipotle’s a national commodity now, which means they could stuff themselves silly before the second national debate . 

“Accurate my friend,” Nora had retorted with a clucking of her tongue, stealing his side order of chips and  queso while Alex was to busy glaring a hole through the glossy photograph of Prince Henry of Wales that’s the front cover of Vogue Italiano’s newest spread.   “You’ll always love yourself most.”

“Well yeah babe, I’m the only one who could appreciate me in all the right ways.”

“The only one who can stand you for longer than an hour you mean?”

Alex had pouted, teasingly, and Nora had laughed, adoringly, and neither of them really took it to heart. It was a bit of a quirk, his self absorption that is. Nora and June had noted it fondly for an eon, it wasn’t some new revelation.

Though What was n entirely new revelation was how only a few short years later, Alex fell head first for the fucking pretentious— not actually pretentious— prince of Wales, realizing he was definitely bisexual all along, and being forcefully outted by the old fuck trying to oust his mother from the oval office before her destined eight years are up. All in that order. 

God have times changed.

Alex supposes that it’s only right that amidst all of that, he also changed along the way, that he found a guy— a literal Prince amongst men— that makes his heart thud out an uneven staccato with every glance. Someone who makes it so Alex’s ADHD wired brain goes still, goes hyper focussed on him. On Henry’s pretty pale eyes and lovely thin lips and the way one corner of his mouth tugs upwards before the other every time he smiles. He found a guy who he chooses every day to spend his forever with, the first person that makes his knees go weak and the first person that Alex admits is  probably his only match. Found the guy he loves more than any other— His person, the one he’d give up the world to be with. The guy who makes his analytical mind shut off in favor for the idea that in all probability soulmates can exist…? And if so, Henry’s more than probably his.

All this to say, Alex now gets it when June— his delightfully neurotic sister— starts asking him a thousand times over if she looks okay in whichever dress she’s got on after she sees an Instagram post with Pez, forever adventuring a new part of the world, tagging a different girl, or when Nora doesn’t realize she’s being flirted with at her new internship at the Brookings Institute by another grad student. “Just cause I fuck dudes now doesn’t mean I suddenly get what’s trendy~” “You’re fucking one dude and only one dude.” “I think you just proved my point?”) 

Suddenly Alex wishes June were here, even in all her craziness, at least then he could have an honest analysis on what’s playing out right in front of him, in the middle of fucking douchebag Phillip’s birthday party. Just there, out in public, right next to the table holding up the thirty four thousand dollar cake. And oh! Look! The fucking gross ass  prick just snuck a finger to lick off some of the frosting!

Desecrating stupidly expensive desserts is there thing damn it!

The aforementioned prick is all high cheekbones and long lashes and such big brown eyes. He’s Hassan Nair, “Call me Haz.” No Alex will fucking not, thank you very much.

The prick, as Alex will be referring to him here forth, is the son of some Dubai business magnate, worth probable billions and is so sickeningly pretty that Alex would feel bad if he wasn’t dating the literal prettiest man alive, he’s kinda accustomed  with  not being exactly the hottest guy in a room.  But fucking prick boy must concede the point if the way he’s been gazing down at henry since this shindig has begun is anything to go by, and Jesus Christ, is it actually fair that he’s like half a foot taller than Alex too! No it’s not! None of this is fair! 

Alright, okay. This is not cool. Alex should not be just lurking in the shadows like some sort of Twilight love interest, gazing hopelessly at Henry and letting this totally new and totally unwelcome feeling— a bit envious, a lot inferior, and just slightly worried— be eating him hole. He’s fucking Alex Claremont Diaz. He’s the son of the American President! He’s going to an amazing law school! He’s hot and smart and fun damn it. And Henry chose him! Henry chose him when he first plunged down to kiss him, this edge of frantic, the night of that New Year’s party. Henry chose him when they stood hand in hand facing the crowds with their chins tipped high and their love holding strong. Henry chose him when he bought that Brownstone in New York and adopted a dog with Alex’s name as the co owner. 

Truly? Who is Hassan Nair in the face of all of that?

Alex watches him wink at Henry for the third time in the past five minutes and he sees red.

God damn it the prick does look like a One Direction stand-in, doesn’t he?

Fully intending to just find Beatrice  and bitch about Hassan fucking Nair to her, Alex swigs down his Bellini, but stutters still when Henry pivots around, his ever alert eyes softening once catching on him. 

Damn it, Alex is a weak, weak man.

“Lost you in the crowds?” Henry asks in greeting once Alex saddles up to them, slinging an arm around Henry’s waste in a way that Alex prays comes off nonchalant.

“Didn’t wanna just intrude,” Alex corrects, brow kinked playfully. “I’m not so gauche.”

Henry rolls his eyes heavenwards, but Alex knows he’s reluctantly charmed when that ghost of a smile passes across his lips.

“You once dragged me out from a conversation I was having with President Macron because you wanted to compete over who could catch the most bugs.”

“Hey! They were fireflies not just bugs you ass!” Alex charges, fully indignant now. “And you’re only pissy because my jar was like a thousand times brighter than yours!”

“You started for like a quarter of an hour longer,” Henry says airily, pale head tilted, imperious. 

“Excuses don’t become you sweet cheeks.” Alex informs him, positively gleeful over the dusting of red that comes over his elegant features.

“Ahem,” the prick interrupts with a cough, eyes skewering Alex. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“We have,” Alex corrects with a thin lipped smile. “At Phillip’s wedding— Erm ah before the incident.”

“I don’t recall,” the prick just shrugs, turning his full attention back to Henry, and yikes Alex has to give him props, he’s definitely mastered the cold dismissal thing down pat. “Henry we should grab lunch soon, it’s been ages since we’ve caught up.”

Did this guy just ask out Henry right in front of Alex? What the actual fuck?

“Of course,” Henry says in that blithe, detached sounding way he does whenever he’s trying to be polite and doesn’t know how to react. Fuck is Alex so happy he knows how to decipher his different moods. “But I reckon Alex and i best get going, we promised a friend that we’d meet them for dinner.”

The prick’s bright eyes dim and he just nods. “I’ll call you?”

“Sure,” Henry grabs for Alex’s hand and it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

.-

“Didn’t know we promised any such thing your highness?” Alex goads as they slip into the rental car, Amy and Shaan in a separate one tracking them back to the castle.

“I needed an excuse Alexander, and I never claimed to be above fibbing if it means I get to escape social situations,” Henry intones, lying back with his eyes shut. Sometimes Alex has to catch his breath when looking at him, sometimes forgets just how stunning he is. 

With a swallow, Alex forces his eyes back on the road and wills himself to sound normal.

“He seemed nice?”

Henry’s lip quirks and fuck, apparently he’s just as easy to read.

“You hated him.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“I did not!”

“Lying doesn’t become you sweet cheeks,” Henry parrots in a nasally voice that Alex refuses to call an imitation of him.

“He looks like a privileged prick,” Alex finally admits, feels his heart swell at the casual way Henry clamps a hand against his thigh, squeezing lightly.

“I reckon you thought the same of me not too long ago,” Henry prods.

“Oh I definitely still do babe,” Alex snorts, winces slightly when Henry moves to pinch his side instead. “Ouch.”

“You’re rude.”

“I love you,” Alex soothes, picks up Henry’s hand and kisses the tops of his fingers dotingly. “’s Why I was so annoyed by his flirting with you so blatantly.”

Henry stiffens slightly before relaxing, flickers his gaze to Alex’s profile meaningfully. “He was not flirting.”

Alex scoffs.

“He was literally undressing you with his eyes the entire night!”

“We’re old friends,” Henry says weakly, pillar going pale. And Alex suddenly remembers what Henry had told him over a year ago now. That his first time was with one of Philip’s old school friends when he was only seventeen. That they were both firmly in the closet and understood how to keep things quiet. That Henry appreciates it for what it was but was still so confused and terrified  and lonely in the aftermath. 

And oh, it makes sudden sense now.

He wonders what different sorts of expressions must be playing across his face at this moment because Henry’s just goes sad, presses closer to him. 

“I think you’re my first love,” he says, and Alex can read the words that go unspoken that hug around the non sequitur. 

“Me too,” he assures him.

Henry nods, soft and slow, before he presses a kiss to the hinge of Alex’s jaw, the corner of his mouth, lands on the hollow of his cheek. “From the first moment Alex Claremont Diaz,” he says in the same voice he had right before their first kiss. “I knew you were it, no matter how hopeless it seemed or how much you evidently hated me. I new you were it.”

It’s Alex’s turn to flush, tries tempting down his smile.

“Shut the fuck up you dork.”

“You’re so witty and quick and too smart for your own good,” Henry just continues on, adjusts himself so that he’s got a better look at him.

“So help me.”

 “You are so beautiful and bright, like a supernova, you know that?”

“Henry I swear to God I will kick your princely ass out and make you walk.”

Henry shakes his head with a tsk, tsk. “Such pretty lips and such a dirty mouth.” 

“Now you’re sounding like a porno,” Alex laughs.

“Shall I move onto complimenting your ass or would that be too explicit for your mild sensibilities?” Henry asks, mock owlish.

“I literally despise you,” Alex groans before pulling over on the side of the road and kissing him senseless.

He’s not sure how much time passes but is forced to move off him when Amy and Shaan begin beeping their horns in a crass cacophony of sound.

“Promise to help you with the tent downstairs once we get to bed,” Henry guffaws, and in turn Alex just repeats the fact that he utterly hates him with as much feeling as he could muster, goofy grin splitting his face in half all the while.

.-

Two weeks later they see the prick at one of Beatrice’s charity luncheons, and Henry doesn’t take his hand out of Alex’s back pocket the entire afternoon.

It’s fucking fantastic. 

[blueishfood]

Gone Away (chapter 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2,5 k

Warning(s): Angst... a lot of it.

Summary: You try clubbing a year after the incident. It doesn’t go that well, meh, you never liked clubbing anyway.

A/N: This chapter is set 1 YEAR AFTER the last chapter! 

You smiled awkwardly to your best friend as she put on her mascara in your bathroom mirror. She grinned back excitedly.

“This is going to be the best night out ever!” She turned to shake your shoulders, screaming loudly.

Your best friend was nothing like you. While you grew to become silent and withdrawn since the incident, she was as she had always been. Loud, pretty and annoying. She sighed happily, turning back to add extra blush.

“Thank god you finally agreed. It’s never fun without you, not real fun anyways. Honestly you haven’t been out and about since…” She stopped mid-sentence and frowned. She put down her brush and grabbed a smaller one during the tense silence.

“Well,” Her smile was back as quickly as it had disappeared. She grabbed your hands and spun you around, her laughter twinkling merrily in the air around you. “You’re single and definitely ready to mingle, if you don’t mind me saying!”

“Oh, shut up.” You shot back at her, smiling a little. You blushed, glancing down at your black, closefitting dress, that you were not near comfortable wearing.

“I can’t believe you actually put me into this thing.” You commented, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you better start believing gurl!” She looked you up and down slowly. “Damn you’re fine, if I didn’t know you liked guys, I might just have fucked you myself.” You choked at the nosy comment and shoved her roughly.

“Fuck you!” You shouted, laughing loudly.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Your best friend quipped, not missing a beat. You rolled your eyes fondly.

“Keep those hands to yourself, Tina.” She smiled before turning back to the mirror.

“I will, babe. But you should stop doubting yourself. You’re honestly very pretty.” She applied her lip gloss and looked apprehensively in the mirror.

“And you deserve a night clubbing.” She added before grabbing your elbow.

“And that night has to be tonight?” You asked, following her anyway.

She nodded and grabbed your purses. “Definitely tonight.” She closed the door behind you.

You never particularly liked going out, not before the incident, and not after. But then again, anything was better than staying at home in the dark.

Your bills and busy life had never allowed you to move out of your old house. It didn’t make sense to change that part of our life, not even after what happened. You wanted to, but you never had the time nor the energy to start looking for other options.

TINA had tried to get you to move out and to be more social so many times the past year, you couldn’t possibly count it on one hand. It would be fun, she said. She tried to tell you how unlikely everything was.

It could have been something you imagined; you were terrified after all!

And when she realized that it was not an imagine: Not everybody ends up with their soulmate anyways.

But you knew all of that, and yet, your fears often seemed to be right. People who weren’t already married to their soulmates were looking for them. When they figured out that you weren’t it, they would leave you in the dust. You knew that from experience.

It’s not like you blamed Tina for trying to help, it wasn’t her fault she never knew how it felt. You were happy she found her soulmate when they were only kids. That was her happy ending, just not yours.

Sometimes you dreamt of finding the man of your dreams. Another who knew your song. That man would be kind and caring. And that fateful night had been naught but a terrible nightmare.

But then you woke up. And it was like finding out the truth all over again.

You hated your soulmate. You hated what he had done to you. You hated everything he was. But what you hated most was your longing for him. Why did soulmates have to be this way? You met him only once, in a terrible situation none the less, and now you felt yourself reaching towards him in your dreams. This strange man whose soul somehow matched your own.

“… are you even listening to me? Girl!” Your head snapped to where your best friend sat beside you in the car. She was driving, her manicured hands pretty on the wheel. You rubbed the crook of your eye and sighed.

“Sorry, Tina. I just have a lot on my mind,” you smiled apologetically.

“Hey!” She batted your hands away from your eyes. “You’re ruining my makeup, dumbass!” You grinned and pretended to rub a large portion of your face as your best friend shrieked, horrified.

“God! You just don’t appreciate hard work, do you?” She sighed, a smile itching at the corner of her mouth. You laughed loudly. She grinned back at you.

“Well, mademoiselle, we have arrived at last.” She made a large gesture towards a loud club on your side of the car.

You looked the place over with a nervous smile. It had a large and rich vibe, two guards stood by the door and a large line formed in front of it. The sign read: STARkS. You almost laughed, of course Tina would bring you to a club owned by Tony Stark. How could she not, when she was such a huge fan?

“Okay, I admit this is a little bit conceited, but… he’s super cute! Maybe we see him this time,” Your friend admitted, a bit too exited for your taste. You rolled your eyes but nodded your silent approval.

Tina whooped and pulled into a parking slot. “Yes! I knew there was some fun left in you,” She patted your cheek. You rolled your eyes again and stepped out of the car.

Approaching the bouncer took time, the que was long and the people stubborn. Finally, when you arrived, the bouncer surprisingly let you in when hearing your names. You had expected a brawl between your bestie and all the security members, but apparently, she had gotten tickets way ahead of time. She claimed it was for your return.

“Only the best for my bestie!” She exclaimed, gripping your hand tightly as she dragged you inside with her. You laughed with her but was sure she had planned on going anyways. She had the days Tony Stark were rumoured to be at his bars stapled on her wall, but you didn’t mind that. You knew she would have stayed at home with you if you asked her to. You also knew that it was time for you to give something back to her.

The club was loud and bright, but just the right amount. No large flashy disco balls like the trashier clubs in town and the music was pretty good. The interior was stylish and reflected Mr Stark himself. Flashy, immature and a little over the top, but legendary none the less.

With a small smile, you tracked after Tina, trying to keep up while not being trampled by the crowd. She wavered through the crowd like some dancer, it didn’t really help that you weren’t one.

One recklessly long step to keep up, and you were tripping over your high heels. The floor looked hard. You really didn’t want to hit it, but everything you tried to grab, swayed away and your feet were gone beneath you. With a shriek, you braced for impact.

But it didn’t come.

A strong hand stopped you from falling, gripping your arm tightly. The person pulled you up and stepped away.

“You okay there, ma’am?” You looked up at your saviour, who smiled down at you. He was tall and handsome. For some reason, you felt like you had met him before somewhere. You frowned at the man, but he nodded at you and disappeared.

For a second you just stood in the middle of the dancefloor, a little frozen in the moment. You stared after the man, but he had long since gone out of your eyesight. Something irked you the wrong way.

“Hey! There you are, where did you go?” Tina looked at you with a concerned gaze. Confused, your eyes found Tina. Not knowing how to explain what had happened, you shrugged. Your best friend rolled her eyes. “You can’t just disappear! Let’s go, hun.”

She led you to the bar, but your eyes never stopped searching for the man you had seen. Somewhere in between the rubble of your memory he had to be hidden. Perhaps if only you would get another glimpse of him…

“Y/N! Do I have to choose for you?” Tina was pointing at the bartender. You blinked. You had no idea what you wanted.

“Do you recommend anything?” You asked, trying to buy yourself some time. Tina smiled, leaning suggestively on the bar. Apparently, she found the bartender attractive.

“I have always been a good judge of character. Maybe you would let me make something that I think fits?” You nodded, not in the mood to choose. Tina nodded enthusiastically along with you. You almost rolled your eyes. While the bartender started mixing things together, you took the time to take another look at the crowd.

“A Strawberry Basil Sorbet Bellini for the pretty lady,” You turned back around as the bartender gave a drink to Tina. He turned to you with a curious smile. “And a Blackberry Gin & Tonic for the mysterious one.” You grabbed the drink a bit harshly. If he tried to get any mysterious secrets out of you, he would fail. The bartender took a step back to Tina, thankfully registering your way of telling him to fuck off.

The flirting between Tina and her bartender (his name was Frank) was becoming sickening. Suddenly you remembered why you didn’t like clubbing in the first place. Not even before the… thing. Grabbing a final drink, it was all on Tina’s tab anyways, you decided to get some fresh air. Maybe take a smoke for the first time since high school. Cheers to new bad beginnings, right?

The outside of the bar was cold and slippery. In your haste to get away from Tina and Fred, you had forgotten your jacket inside. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You took a deep breath and a sip from your drink. This wasn’t so bad. The only problem was that clubbing had gotten worse since you started climbing that ladder of insecurity. Soon you would be on the very top, the scale stopped at teenage mode.

Leaning against the wall not far from the security, you closed your eyes. You reminded yourself that people were nearby, you were safe. Nobody could do you any harm. Nobody had ever done you any harm. Not even him. It was no way he would find you. No way he could ever come back. No harm had been done.

Your breathing sped up. You let yourself sink down to the rough ground of the pavement. Crawling into yourself, you put your hands around your knees. You buried your head in between them. You tried to gather your thoughts, but your head was a mess.

“He’s not here, he’s gone. No one’s here, I’m alone. He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here…” You muttered, rocking from side to side. Trying to keep the tears from falling was impossible, your breathing sped out of control. “Not here, not here, can’t breathe, stop, please.” Once again you were back to that night, nothing could keep it away. Nothing could stop him.

The hand crumpling your shirt, the force of you hitting the wall, it takes your breath away. The gun glinting in the light of your nightlamp. The trigger, clicking silently, almost in warning. You start sobbing. Why him, why did it have to be him?

You start when a hand touches your shoulder. You looked up too fast and something in your neck snaps painfully. “Ow!” Your hand came to your neck, but it didn’t sooth the pain. In a way, you realized, that’s a good thing, the pain brought you back.

The man before you looked concerned. He was tall and his shoulders were wide. You almost didn’t recognize him in the ally. There he looked just as dark and drunk as any other person in the early morning hours. You flinched away from him because he’s a man and he was standing too close. That was when you saw his face.

“Steve… Rogers?” You uttered the words almost carefully, though you fully knew that it was him. Captain America, the man, the saviour in the flesh. He didn’t answer, just reached out a hand and treated you a smile. He had soft hands. You almost laughed, that was a weird thing to realize when you met Captain America for the first time. He asked you questions, but you didn’t realize that he did until he gave up. You wanted to apologize but couldn’t seem to speak a word.

He didn’t take you back to the bar and you were thankful. For a second you wondered where he was leading you. Maybe you should have been concerned. Yes, he was Captain America, but he was still a man and you didn’t know him. You found yourself too drunk to react to that concern.

Steve brought you to the back of the club. With a confidence you couldn’t fathom, he strode past the VIP barrier. Behind the curtains sat Tony Stark. Around him were other famous people that you would have recognized, but you didn’t see them. Or at least you didn’t get very excited.

What you did see was a man in the corner. He sat in the corner Captain America was bringing you to. He was the man who caught you, you realized. The man who seemed so familiar. The man who you couldn’t quite place.

Terror spread through you a second before you realized, and you couldn’t possibly understand why. Until he turned his head fully towards you and you screamed.

Lunging for you, Steve tried to calm you down. He looked desperate, concerned, and you watched him as from another body. Your feet stopped working and your mind operated on pure instinct. It is him, it is him, it is him. You scrambled away from him, but away from him was away from the exit. You ended up pressed against the wall, your body a compact ball. Sobs, screams and whimpers escaped you without your notice.

The hair, the eyes, the arm. It was all so him and it terrified you. The people in the room were staring. You couldn’t see them, but fear and concern swirled in their eyes. Steve came to you after a while. He grabbed your arm, stopping you from hurting anybody as you kicked and screamed, wrenching your body away from them. Then the adrenalin was gone, and your throat sore. The hands that held you down were too strong, fighting wouldn’t help. That’s when you fell unconscious, the panic only ripples in the water after the stone had been thrown.

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

A/N: So... I continued this? Comment if you want to be on the taglist :)

[hausofmoon]

2020 Is Starting Out Right With All The Greats & Kiara Is Back In Her Academy Award-Winning Role As Lara Croft In ‘Tomb Raider: Underworld’!

After the incident in Bolivia, Lara Croft is ready to start her new adventure. She will explore caves, jungles, mountains, and more to take back what was stolen from her. But it isn't going to be easy because she's not the only one looking for Avalon. 

Aired In A Special Early Screening, One Critic Says,

“Our Lead Star, Kiara Bellini, Has Played The Legendary Badass Action Tomb-Raiding Heroin In Two Previous Films (HERE & HERE) and You Can Tell She Trained Very Hard For Lara’s Evolution Into A Fully Fledged Weapon With Intellect To Boot!  This Is Going To Be An End of Summer Smash Hit!”

C O M I N G  S O O N !

[gumnut-logic]

The Bellini Incident (Part One)

Title: The Bellini Incident

Part One

Author: Gumnut

Apr 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Kayo was going to kill him.

Word count: 3381

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Virgil!whump with a side order of Scott!whump.

Timeline: Standalone, not Rain series.

Author’s note: For @soniabigcheese who threw the prompt at me, and @i-am-chidorixblossom who suggested some Virgil whump. Scott got a bit whumped, too, I’m branching out as a writer, blame @scribbles97.

The prompt: The character who doesn’t realize they’ve been hurt trying to see if everyone else is okay only to slowly realize that everyone is looking at them with mounting horror. Then they touch their side to find it’s wet and oh no…

I’m not sure I pulled it off, and this is only part one, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Bellini Construction...the wind had the sign banging against bare steel girders, an onerous clang above the howl of the weather and the whimpers of the man Scott was edging into a harness. First aid in extreme circumstances was International Rescue’s speciality, but that didn’t make it any easier for the person involved.

“Sir, we are nearly there. Please give me your arm.”

The construction worker was one of three who had been caught unawares by an unexpected storm that had swooped in on the site half an hour ago. The high-rise building was subjected to gale-force winds it hadn’t been secured for, and a lightning strike had been the final straw. Part of the structure collapsed in on itself, trapping the three men who had been making their way down. The elevator had fallen several meters. Safeties had kicked in, but the structure had destabilised and the supports holding the car bent under the strain.

International Rescue had been called and Scott had responded.

The two other men had been uninjured and were now safely aboard, but this man had broken his leg. An emergency splint and a haul up to Thunderbird One was the plan.

As with all broken bones, movement hurt like hell. Scott winced in sympathy as he secured the final buckle of the harness and began the lift up to his ‘bird. “I’m sorry, sir. I will do this as fast and as gently as I can.”

The man’s whimper as he became airborne was his only answer.

Scott had his jetpack on, but the gale was a challenge, so he hung onto the line, slowly pulling the man higher. Far above them, Thunderbird One was firing her stabilising thrusters aggressively to maintain her hover.

“Nearly there, sir.”

But the man was beyond reassurance, his expression terrified.

They had almost cleared the skeletal mass of the unfinished building when the world lit up in blinding white with an ear-bleeding bang. The man in his arms screamed and Scott’s senses whited out. The wind threw them against the building’s superstructure and through spots in his vision, Scott attempted to stabilise their ascent.

John was yelling in his ear when something rammed him from his left and everything blacked out.

-o-o-o-

Virgil gripped his ‘bird’s yoke just that little bit tighter as the man behind him demanded delivery to Port de Saint Tropez on the Mediterranean despite having been rescued in the middle of the Pacific.

“Sir, we will be landing in Sydney shortly. You may make alternate arrangements there.” At least Gordon was being polite. Virgil wasn’t really in the mood having had to listen to the rich billionaire abuse his brother for the last hour as the aquanaut had fished him off the bottom of the ocean, his luxury yacht having had an argument with a reef system. Several of his staff had died in the accident, yet he showed no remorse. Virgil was surprised his brother hadn’t decked him yet.

But then again perhaps that was more worrisome. Gordon had other ways to express his ire.

“Thunderbird Two we have an IR situation.” John. Calm, but urgent.

In the split second between this statement and the following, Virgil’s stomach twisted, his brain automatically listing off the brothers currently unaccounted for. IR situation meant IR operative down or endangered. Alan? Scott?

Kay?

“Thunderbird One is in need of emergency assistance. Contact lost.”

Tokyo. Scott was in Tokyo. Without thought, Virgil was changing his flight plan, inputting new coordinates into the nav system. The sunlight in the cockpit coasted across the decking as the great ‘bird banked into a turn towards the north. A pause for course correction and Virgil’s arm shoved the throttle to full speed.

Dick Billionaire - Virgil hadn’t bothered to remember his last name, and ‘Richard’ was just too easy to exploit - squawked in his seat as they were all shoved backwards at the sudden acceleration.

“What the hell? Where are you taking me?”

“We have another emergency to attend to, sir. We apologise for the delay in your disembark, but it is unavoidable.” Virgil didn’t blink and didn’t look at the man.

“This is unacceptable!”

“Too bad. Gordon, could you please take Mr Billionaire down below. And sir, if you disrespect my brother one more time, I will have you ejected from my ship.”

“Your brother?”

“Get out now.”

He could feel Gordon staring at him, but his little brother did his bidding and apparently it had been enough to shut Dick up for the short term at least. The two left and Virgil turned to the hologram of John hovering above his console. “Details?”

John was frowning at him, but the situation took precedence as it should. “Scott was attending a situation at a construction site. Bellini Constructions high rise apartments in Tokyo. Storm hit and the structure partly collapsed, trapping three workers. Scott managed to free two and was handling the third when the building was struck by lightning. I have not had contact since.”

Virgil’s gut clenched. Shit. “Thunderbird One’s status?”

“I’ve slaved her to Thunderbird Five for safety. Gale force winds are an issue and she has two rescuees aboard.”

“Scott’s status?”

“Vitals steady, but he appears to be trapped amongst a tangle of girders approximately one hundred and fifty metres above the ground. One of the rescuees is with him. The rescuee has a broken leg.”

Thunderbird Two shot over Indonesia, the blue sea interspersed by tropical green and white weather systems as they breached the equator.

“Weather conditions are still poor. Caution is recommended.” Virgil could hear the tension in John’s voice, despite its calm. One brother out of contact and sending another into the same situation definitely sat on John’s reasons to be tense list.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

Guam passed beneath them as they skirted the Philippine Sea. Gordon returned to the cockpit and took up his seat quietly. John briefed him equally as calmly and his younger brother swore. John threw up a hologram of the construction site showing Scott’s location, wind direction and speed, and Thunderbird One.

Virgil grit his teeth.

Ten minutes later Thunderbird Two hit Japanese air space and John was answering their queries in flawless Japanese. Virgil cut speed as they approached the storm whipping across Tokyo and grounding the majority of their air traffic. His ‘bird shook a little and then stabilised, her mass used to her advantage. He kicked in VTOL as they approached the site, killing off unneeded speed and coming to a hover a safe distance above the damaged building.

“Any response from Scott?”

“Nothing.” John’s voice was worried. “Vitals still strong.”

Unconscious or broken comms. One or the other. “I’m going down with the suit. Gordon, keep her in the air and stable. I have no wish to play George of the Jungle with any of those pylons.”

Gordon frowned. “George who?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Just keep her steady.”

“FAB.”

He could have taken the rescue rig, but the less dangling bits below his ‘bird, the better, so he stashed two spare harnesses, donned his exosuit and shot a zipline at a steep angle from the belly of his ‘bird. Carabiner engaged, he jumped.

It was hard and it was fast. But it had to be. The wind tore at him and it had started raining in sheets. His uniform was waterproof, but he had to work partly on instruments to see where the hell he was going and the metal girders were slick when he hit them, his boots sliding despite their specialised grip.

Scott and the rescuee were amongst a tangle of broken girders at the centre of the structure. John shot him integrity readouts and stress factors as he moved. The suit made it awkward and the ground was so far below in the falling rain, he couldn’t see it.

This could possibly be a good thing. One hundred and fifty metres was no small drop.

A cable hung from Thunderbird One and disappeared into a pile of wreckage to his right. It was a haunting sight.

C’mon, Scott, be okay.

It was more a demand than a plea.

The pile of girders was a nasty game of pickup sticks. Virgil was able to move them, but had little option for footing or angle and he was desperate to not cause any further collapse. John reassured him that there was no one below the structure, but it still seemed reckless to just let the spans of metal fall from this height, but then he had no real choice in the matter.

Five girders in and he found his brother first.

He was shoved up against a half-built wall by a single girder, pinning him there by the thruster pack on his back.

It was the only thing preventing the man from falling into the vast emptiness below.

Shit.

“Scott, can you hear me?” No response. “Scott!”

Nothing.

Damn.

Getting there to reach him was going to be a challenge. Calculations and a check with John...Virgil fired a grapple gun across the gap from where he was standing to the stable support on the other side. Securing it, he disengaged his support line to TB2 and clipped himself to the new line.

Gordon grumbled in his ear.

“I’ll be fine, Gordon. Besides, I have little choice.”

More muttering, which he ignored.

Releasing his arms from the suit, he let it take his weight and pulled himself across the gap.

The rain decided to increase and completely wash out his vision.

Goddamnit.

Reaching his brother, he linked in with the man’s harness to prevent him from falling and, with that, a small sigh of relief slipped between his teeth.

But still there was no response from Scott. “C’mon, Scott, give me a sign here.”

Nothing. He still hung limp.

Virgil wrapped his arms around his brother, bringing his helmeted head to lie on his shoulder, as he reached around to disengage the flight pack. A snap of fastenings and he let the pack drop, taking Scott’s weight in his arms. “Scott?”

Nothing.

“Gordon, I need an ascent line down here.”

“FAB.”

Thunderbird Two shifted position, his ‘bird moving to a hover far above Virgil. A line fed slowly down, wavering in the wind. “You’re going to have to catch it, Virg. I can’t get her any closer without a risk of influencing the structure.”

“I know.” The gale was definitely having its way and the rain brought his vision down to almost nothing. It took several attempts to grab the weighted line. Scott continued to hang limp in his grasp. God, he wished his brother would wake up. There was zero ability to do a medical assessment in these conditions. He had to get Scott up to TB2 and then return for the other man.

The wind gusted and spun him around. Damnit.

It took two attempts to fasten the line to his harness, but finally he was able to signal Gordon to pull them up. “I’m going to need you to secure Scott in the medbay. Ask John to slave TB2 to Thunderbird Five for the shortest time possible. I don’t trust these winds at all.”

As if to prove his point, a gust blew up and whipped them around, sending the brothers into a spin. A second gust grabbed them and threw them both side-on into a damaged girder. Virgil curled around his brother protecting him from hitting the jagged chunk of metal. Pain shot up his left side and he swore. Great, more bruises. He still hadn’t cleared up the last batch from the earthquake in New Zealand. Kay was going to glare at him again.

He pushed off from the structure and they continued their ascent. Being swallowed whole by his ‘bird was the most beautiful feeling. As the hatch closed beneath him, Gordon rushed up and helped him lower Scott and himself to the deck.

He handed his older brother gently over to his younger brother and the hover stretcher following behind him. “Check him out. Keep me updated.” Virgil grit his teeth, man, his side hurt. Damn wind. “Gotta go back down and grab the rescuee.”

With that, he opened the bay doors again, and securing himself, began another descent back down to the construction site.

-o-o-o-

The sudden engagement of powerful rocket thrusters woke Scott Tracy.

The sound was so sudden, so abrupt, he startled awake and sat up before he realised where he was. The world spun in circles to thank him. He clutched his head and found himself at war with his stomach.

Ugh.

Bile rose in his throat, its bitter taste foul. Shit.

“Don’t you be throwing up in here, the place stinks enough already.”

Huh?

Even with his eyes closed he had enough information to identify TB2’s infirmary. But who the hell was that?

He won the battle with his stomach, swallowing forcibly, but his head continued to pound and the world was anything but steady. Despite this, he squinted and opened his eyes.

Oh god.

A basin was shoved into his hands and he lost the war.

His head hated him even more, but at least his stomach shut up.

“Great. Now it really stinks. This is bloody outrageous. I could be feet up, breathing French air, but no, I get dragged halfway across the bloody planet stuck in this tin can with whiner and vomit boy.” Another voice said something unintelligible. “I swear I’m going to sue International Rescue to its knees.”

That had Scott paying attention despite his throbbing head. He opened his mouth to voice a retort, but was interrupted by a familiar voice on comms.

“Scott, how do you feel?” John.

Another attempt to open his eyes proved a little more successful and he found his brother’s hologram floating next to him.

“I-“

“Hey, you, glowboy. When the hell do I get let off this boat?”

John turned slowly and calmly in the direction of a rotund, formerly well-dressed man of European appearance. “Mr Polominka, you will be set down in Sydney as previously discussed as soon as our more urgent patients receive medical attention.”

“And how long will that be?”

Scott watched as his most patient brother frowned. “As long as it needs to be.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

John shrugged. “You could shut up. It would make this whole process much more peaceful.”

Being told to shut up apparently shocked the man into doing exactly that, the look of outrage on his face choked down whatever he had been going to say.

John ignored him and turned back to Scott. “How are you feeling?”

Scott grunted. “Been better.” A bitter swallow. Urgh. “Status?”

“We are approaching Nagoya. We have made arrangements to access hospital facilities there. The storm over Tokyo was making landing difficult so Virgil opted for the nearest major city.”

“Thunderbird One?”

“Gordon has her. On her way home.”

Hospital? He knew his brother. Virgil wouldn’t let him go home without seeing a doctor. Ugh. Almost as bad as fighting his stomach. He eyed the two other men in the room. “Rescuee status?”

“The two aboard TB1 have been delivered to Nagoya. The third has two broken legs and is sharing the infirmary with you. I have reassured him he is safe, however he is still distressed...and Mr Polominka is not helping the situation.”

“Me? You’re the one who kidnapped me!”

John ignored him. “Mr Polominka was rescued off his luxury yacht on a remote island in the South Pacific. We were returning him to Sydney when you encountered difficulties.”

“Returning? I don’t want to go to bloody Sydney. I said France, you asshole!”

While Scott’s blood turned as cold as his expression, John didn’t even bat an eyelid.” Mr Polominka, International Rescue is not a taxi service. You may disembark in Nagoya. Otherwise you will be delivered to the Australian authorities.”

“I don’t want to go to Japan anymore than I want to go to Australia. You will take me to France.”

If Scott’s head hadn’t been throbbing so hard, he would have given the man a piece of his mind. As it was, all he could do was groan.

“Mr Polominka, if you don’t sit down and shut up, you will be spending the rest of the voyage confined.”

“How dare you! I’m Richard Polominka, I own half the French seaboard. I could buy this ship and everyone on it.”

“Mr Polominka, I don’t care.”

John’s tone was so matter of fact, so dry, Scott knew his brother was moments away from calmly doing something permanent.

He opened his mouth to say something when Thunderbird Two’s VTOL kicked in and her forward momentum slowed. Scott grabbed the edge of his bed. The Japanese man groaned.

And Richard Polominka fell over, colliding with a cabinet.

“For Christ’s sake, you bastards don’t stop do you!”

Scott had had enough. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He held his head as the world swung in circles.

“Scott-“

Polominka floundered, grabbing at the cabinet, attempting to pull himself up, only to open the cabinet door and upend a pile of medical supplies on his head. He swore, grabbing shelves and only making more of a mess. Something heavy bounced off his head and his swearing increased in volume.

Scott pushed himself off the bed, knowing he was going to regret it. “Mr Polominka, please calm down.” The pilot found himself falling back against the bed. Vertical obviously wasn’t his body’s preferred orientation at the moment. The bile rose again.

Shit.

“Mr Polominka, please.”

The infirmary door flew open and Virgil strode in. “Scott? John said-“

Polominka took one look at Scott’s younger brother and pounced. “You! You’re the damned pilot of this hunk of junk.” He stuck a scalpel in Virgil’s face. “Take me home!”

Silence fell over the room, TB2’s VTOL a background roar. Virgil looked at the scalpel, then at Polominka. Calm as his orbiting brother, he said, “You haven’t met my girlfriend, have you, Dick?”

The man’s face actually turned red, and he charged the pilot. A brief tussle and Virgil flipped him onto the floor, pinned him, and was scrabbling through those scattered medical supplies, grabbing some tape and restraining the man. “Now, as my much more patient brother mentioned earlier, you can spend the rest of the trip to Australia confined. We don’t have a brig, but I’m sure I can find a closet.” And with that, Virgil dragged the man to his feet and through the door. The sound of footsteps, a creaking door and a satisfying slam.

Virgil reappeared, wiping his hands on his thighs. “So, Scott, how are you feeling?”

Scott stared at his brother. “Kayo?”

A shrug. “She felt I needed a little more hand to hand.”

“Not bad.”

“Necessary. You should have heard what he said to Gordon.” And Virgil’s anger became apparent. Much like Scott, you messed with Virgil’s brothers at your own peril. A deep breath and Virgil appeared to shake himself.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. You haven’t answered my question yet. John has Nagoya Air Control on hold, I need to get my ‘bird on the ground. You good?”

Scott frowned, his vision fuzzy at the edges. “‘Kay.”

“Say that without listing to one side and I might believe you. Lie down. I’ll get you some medical attention asap.” Scott found himself nudged back onto the bed, his head meeting the pillow before he could frame a retort. He reached out and grabbed Virgil, his fingers scraping against his brother’s uniform. “Virgil, are you okay?”

“Huh?”

John’s image flickered on. “Virgil!”

“Yes, Thunderbird Five?”

“Vitals say you’re injured.”

“What?”

Scott pushed himself up again, ignoring the vertigo. “Virgil...”

His brother was staring at him.

The rescuee in the other bed pointed at Virgil and babbled in Japanese. Scott looked down, his eyes widening at a slowly widening pool of blood at Virgil’s feet.

Virgil’s gaze followed his and stared. “Aw, hell.”

Scott scrambled off the bed and staggered over to his brother. Brown eyes looked up and grabbed his, a flash of fear followed by resignation. Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “Kay’s gonna kill me.”

Those brown irises rolled upwards and Virgil was falling forward.

-o-o-o-

End Part One

Part Two

[frombeginingtoend]

Markus - Made For You

Summary: Markus and (y/n) meet after the traumatic incident in the Manfred home.

---

Markus watched as snow drifted lazily to the ground. The sun hid behind the swatches of grey clouds hung high in a gloomy sky. He tried desperately to look human, fidgeting, his leg bouncing aimlessly without him thinking about it, but he had to remember to blink, to breathe, and to make it seem like he was waiting for transport, not people watching.

For the first time in his life he felt the sensation of anxiety. It was like we was being watched, like someone was out to get him. Hell, his father was dead, his people were in danger, and the person he loved? He didn’t know what happened to them. He didn't know if they knew about their father or that he himself was shot, taken to the dump, and left for dead.

His head swirled with countless thoughts that he had never had to deal with before until his saw a figure out the corner of his eye.

Their coat was familiar, as was their hair, but it couldn’t possibly be them, Markus thought.

---

The weather today fit (y/n)'s mood quite well: cold, gloomy, but not overwhelmingly dark.

They carried on with their life despite learning not even a week ago that their father passed of a heart attack and that her closest friend was framed and disposed of like garbage by their idiot of a brother.

Now, there they stood, hoping to whatever they could hope toward that things would turn around. That maybe, just maybe, Leo could kick his drug habit, they could keep their father’s name progressing in the art community, and their heart would mend itself.

Grief pried at (y/n)’s sternum, burning their heart in its claws. Would they ever find love again? This time with someone who could love them back? Maybe they never would… and that would be just fine. They were content with their first love, no matter that it may have been unrequited or one-sided. They still doubted they would find anyone else as caring as Markus. No one else could possibly make them feel the same way: like they were home.

Mind focusing back to the task at hand, (y/n) waited to board the bus to Bellini’s Paints. Then, right in front of their eyes, they saw someone familiar. The same skin tone, the same hair, a ripped undershirt. The name came spilling from their lips without thought, without warning.

“Markus?”

---

His eyes locked with their’s. Tears fell from both pairs, rivers from souls that were so bonded they didn’t know what they would have done had they not been able to see each other at least once more.

“I’m sorry,” Markus whispered. His hands clasped at the lapels of (y/n)’s coat. “I should have come to see you. Forgive me.”

He was crushed into a hug.

“I forgive you, Markus. You don’t need to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

The two clung together like super-glued Velcro. But, alas, they needed to pull away.

“Your eyes,” (y/n) whispered. Their thumbs traced the skin of his cheeks, gazing worriedly into his mismatched optical units.

“I’m fine,” he assured, staring deep into their eyes and covering their hands with his own.

“The blue suits you.” They smiled. “But nothing will compare to your natural green. It’s the most beautiful colour I’ve ever seen. One of a kind.” Their fingers trailed to Markus’ cheekbone. (E/c) eyes flicked down to view his plump lips.

Markus leaned in. He didn’t know what he was doing, but something in him said he was doing it right.

(Y/n) leaned in. They’ve wanted this for so long now.

Their lips touched.

Heat swelled in their chests, heart and thirium pump beating in unison. Every movement was fluid and powerful. They fit together better than any puzzle pieces.

Markus always thought he was made for Carl, but in this moment, he realized he was made for (y/n). The passionate lip lock faded to a few more desperate kisses until they finally pulled away.

“I need to go,” Markus whispered. He didn’t want to leave (y/n), but he had to find Jericho.

“Take me with you.”

Markus was silent, thinking through the negatives and positives. He couldn’t bare to leave now and risk never seeing them again.

“Okay.”

[tarditardi]

L’estate di Davide Sciacca, in concerto da nord a sud

Da nord a sud: il chitarrista siciliano impegnato in un doppio appuntamento all'Estate Musicale di Gressoney il 2 e 3 agosto e a Gravina di Puglia il 6 agosto

Il chitarrista siciliano Davide Sciacca debutta nella rassegna Estate musicale di Gressoney-Incontri Internazionali di Musica da Camera, protagonista di due importanti concerti martedì 2 e mercoledì 3 agosto: il primo "La grande lirica" in duo con il soprano Sachika Ito presenterà un programma con le più belle arie tratte dalle opere di Bellini, Schubert, Mascagni, Mozart, Bizet, Rossini e Coste mentre mercoledì 3 agosto "Sei magiche corde" concerto solistico dedicato alle musiche di Amici, Giuliani, Paturzo , Mascagni, Coste, Di Marino e Frost compositore del suo ultimo album Music with Guitar. Dopo la Val d'Aosta sarà la volta della Puglia ad accogliere il Duo D'Ito in concerto il 6 agosto presso il Chiostro di San Sebastiano per l'Associazione Andalucia Musica.

Due imperdibili occasioni per gli abitanti e turisti Aostani di ascoltare dal vivo il chitarrista Davide Sciacca in due concerti che portano con loro tutti gli elementi fulcro della sua ricerca musicale di questi anni: le trascrizioni per chitarra di temi provenienti dalle opere di Vincenzo Bellini, la promozione del repertorio musicale italiano dell'800 con particolare riferimento alle opere di Rossini e Bellini oltre al melodramma verista di Mascagni, e la presentazione del suo ultimo album "Music with Guitar" con musiche scritte da Victor Forst.

Il 2 agosto in una sorprendente formazione chitarra-soprano, Davide Sciacca e Sachika Ito – Duo D'Ito-si esibiranno in un concerto con le più belle arie del repertorio belcantistico spingendosi fino a composizioni veriste; il 3 agosto, nelle vesti di solista, Davide Sciacca sarà protagonista di un esclusivo concerto presentando un repertorio che abbraccia insieme belcanto e verismo, arricchito dall'esecuzione di composizioni originali autografe  Victor Frost, con il quale ha realizzato l'album dal titolo "Music with Guitar" pubblicato da TRP Music ad ottobre 2021. I musicisti partiranno poi alla volta della Puglia dove il 6 agosto a Gravina di Puglia (Ba) porteranno in concerto le più belle arie d'opera presso il Chiostro di San Sebastiano, per una serata di grande musica sotto le stelle.

Appuntamento, dunque, alla 42ma Estate Musicale di Gressoney, il 2 agosto alle 21.15 presso il Salone d'Onore del Castel Savoia a Gressoney-Saint- Jean e il 3 agosto alle 21,15 presso la Chiesa di Gressoney-La-Trinité ( iconcerti sono ad ingresso libero e gratuito); il 5 agosto a Gravina di Puglia alle 20,30 presso il Chiostro di San Sebastiano per l'Associazione Andalucia Musica.

Biografia

Davide Sciacca ha studiato con il concertista romano Carlo Ambrosio, specializzandosi nel repertorio contemporaneo sotto la guida di Arturo Tallini. È risultato vincitore di primi premi in competizioni nazionali ed internazionali, come solista o camerista. Nel corso degli anni numerosi compositori gli hanno dedicato composizioni originali. Ha ottenuto successi di pubblico e critica durante svariati tour nel Regno Unito nei quali si è esibito in qualità di solista e in duo con la violinista Marianatalia Ruscica. Nel 2016 e 2017 si è esibito alla presenza di Sua Maestà la Regina Elisabetta II e gli altri membri della Famiglia Reale Britannica eseguendo in prima mondiale "Mine eyes unto the hills" di Andrea Amici. Nel 2018 si è esibito per la prima volta a New York, per la Ealing Guitar Society di Londra e la Liverpool Guitar Society. Nel mese di ottobre dello stesso anno ha pubblicato il cd "Counter Irish Project" con il Controtenore Riccardo Angelo Strano. Nel 2019 incide il cd "El Tango" e si esibisce presso il prestigioso "Cavern Club" di Liverpool. Nel 2021 pubblica i cd "LockDowning Street" e "Victor Frost music with Guitar", il secondo edito da TRP Music. In ambito teatrale e televisivo ha collaborato con Michele Placido, Guia Jelo, Ornella Giusto, Sky, Made in Liverpool, BBC Radio ed altri. È docente di Chitarra e presso gli Istituti Musicali Vincenzo Bellini di Caltanissetta e Pietro Vinci di Caltagirone e di Chitarra presso il Liceo Musicale Giovanni Verga di Modica. Ricercatore presso il Royal Northern College of Music di Manchester, sotto la supervisione del compositore David Horne, svolge anche un'intensa attività di promozione del repertorio contemporaneo per chitarra e live electronics scritto da compositori siciliani. "Contemporary Recital – Sicilian Landscape", è stato presentato presso importanti istituzioni estere quali il Royal Birmingham Conservatoire, il RNCM, l'Università di Nottingham e la Manchester Metropolitan University.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DavideSciaccaGuitarist

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sciacca.davide1/

[fun-travel-more]

Things to do in Venice

Built on many islands, separated by canals and linked by over 400 canals, Venice is the capital of region Veneto. It is a city of immense beauty with rich cultural history and if you are going to Venice for holidays then there are a lot of things to do. 

Grand Canal

It was once the main route of Venice, and now the major water-traffic corridor in the city. Crowded with boats, the Grand Canal is one of the most visited attractions in Venice. You can take vaporetto, or water bus, private water taxi and Venetian gondolas for exploring this canal but be careful while taking water taxi and Gondolas to avoid scam.

If you don’t like crowded water boats then take a private taxi and enjoy clicking photos while going through the most scenic routes in the small canals.

If you are traveling in a group then go for boats which serve onboard champagne. Prices for these boats are higher than public transport but lower than gondolas.

St. Mark’s Basilica

Rebuilt in 1092, St. Mark’s Basilica is the most famous and renowned church in Venice and is the best-known example of Italo-Byzantine (Before Renaissance) architecture.

It is located in the Piazza San Marco and next to Doges Palace, this basilica is accessible from the grand canal.

This Basilica is fabulous from every aspect, From the ornate detail, amazing sculptures and artwork of the front facade, to the beautifully designed frescoes and Byzantine works of art on the inside of the domed ceiling. 

St. Mark’s Square

Located on the Grand Canal and opposite the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, St Mark's Square is the most famous and popular Piazza in Venice.

It is a spectacular place and a tourist attraction in Venice. Many important buildings are built on this Piazza including St Mark’s Basilica, Doge’s Palace, St Mark’s Campanile and Torre dell’Orologio.

It is an ideal place to start off your Venice tour and visit its important buildings and museums. Don’t forget to book advance tickets for 

Doges Palace

It was built between 10th and 11th in Venetian Gothic style. Earlier it was used as a residence for Doge of Venice and was open to the public as a museum in 1923.

Sitting next to St. Mark's Basilica, It is one of the renowned buildings on St. Mark’s Square which looks onto the Grand Canal.

This highly decorated palace is simply breathtaking. Made of white stone with diamond patterns on the walls, its front facade features a pleasing and attractive arched design. Inside, the palace is just as impressive and there is a series of beautifully decorated rooms possessing original details, furniture and artwork. 

We recommend you to purchase an advance ticket at season time. Guided Tours for this palace are also available for exploring both the exterior and interior in detail and capture a piece of the history of Venice.

Ponte di Rialto

Ponte di Rialto is one of the four oldest bridges that span to the amazing Grand Canal. It is the most famous and iconic landmark in Venice 

This bridge is a popular tourist attraction and an important pedestrian access route connecting the San Marco and San Polo districts of Venice.

It was originally a wooden bridge which stood for hundreds of years until it collapsed in 1524. After this incident, the bridge was built with an ornate stone that still stands today. The structure and design of the bridge are simply amazing and its symmetry perfectly frames the grand canal. 

Furthermore, you will also find a series of shops on the bridge that sell a range of wares from souvenirs to jewelry.

Gallerie dell’Accademia

It is a museum gallery located opposite the Ponte dell’Accademia on the Grand Canal. This museum has an immense collection of pre-19th-century artworks by artists such as Canaletto, Titian and Bellini. 

Gallerie dell Accademia was formerly a convent and was converted to the museum in the late 1700’s. It is a perfect treat for those who love Renaissance art and iconic masterpieces. Possibly its best-known piece is the Vitruvian Man by Da Vinci which delivers the ideal proportions of man. Other notable works include the Virgin and the Child by Titian, Resurrection by Tintoretto, and the Battle of Lepanto by Veronese.

[opera-ghosts]

In those days operatic managers came to the studio to hear Lamperti's pupils with a view to engaging any they might consider good, and I had had several offers from various theatres. I consulted the maestro as to which I should accept, and he chose for me Messina, in Sicily, saying that as the public there was a most difficult one, if I made a success, it would be a real success. He also made the condition that I should make my debut in " La Sonnambula." This was the opera on which I had principally based my studies. Lamperti used to say, " Once you can sing the ' Sonnambula ' properly, you can sing any other opera." It is rather a curious coincidence that I should have made my first debut in an opera of Bellini's, seeing that his birthday and mine are on the same day — November 1. I left Milan for Messina, feeling I had now reached the turning-point of my career. My great maestro's good opinion and kind encouragement notwithstanding, I naturally started on my journey with an anxious heart ; but I had constantly before me the high standard of art towards which I unceasingly strove to rise — an ideal wliich in the beginning, and indeed ever since, helped me so greatly to overcome the uncertainties and anxieties inseparable from an artistic life. But my doubts and fears were happily soon assuaged, if not set at rest, for at the orchestral rehearsal, when I had finished my first aria, the conductor stopped the band and said to me, " My child, your success is assured, and it will be very great." I am thankful to say his prophecy proved a true one, for at the performance the public was most enthusiastic and at the close of the opera called me before the curtain fifteen times. The Gazetta di Messina scarcely exaggerated the truth when it said that the public had been " so surprised and so fascinated that at one time the theatre seemed converted into a cage of mad people, such were the cries, the clapping of hands, the recalls with which Mademoiselle Albani appeared struck dumb ; and she burst into tears of an emotion which must have tried her more than the execution of the whole opera." The Aquila Latina was also as kind and complimentary to me. From my debut in Messina in 1870 dates the beginning of my public career, and here I may say a word about my stage name, " Albani." It has generally been supposed that I adopted the name on account of my connection with the city of Albany, in America, but this is not so. When I was about to sign my first engagement, my Italian elocution master, Signor Delorenzi, said that my real name, '' Lajeunesse," was not a good one for the stage, and that I ought to adopt another. He promised to find me a good one, and the next day came and suggested " Albani," telling me that it was the name of an old Italian family whose members, with the ex- ception of a very old Cardinal, were all dead. I said, " But did you know that I have lived in Albany?" "No," he replied, "I never heard that" ; and this is the true origin of the name under which I have sung ever since. It was with a glow of heartfelt pleasure that this curious coincidence of the two names struck me. It made me feel that the kind thoughts and good wishes of my dear Albany friends must have followed me even here, and I joyfully chose the name of " Albani," feeling that, to me, it must be one of good omen. I sang for the whole season at Messina, the kind and warm appreciation of my audiences bringing me greater confidence in my own capacity, and strengthening new hopes for the future, so that I began to realise the power that one day might come to me. Amongst one or two incidents which happened during my stay at Messina one especially impressed itself on my memory. One day a messenger came to my door and left an enormous parcel, which on examination proved to contain a large quantity of valuable jewellery — bracelets, brooches, rings, etc. — besides shawls in black and white, and some priceless lace. There was a visiting-card inside, the name on which was quite unknown to me. I made inquiries, and learnt that the sender of these articles

was a gentleman who had been out of his mind, but had since recovered. The excitement caused by being present at the opera at my performances had had the unfortunate effect of again upsetting his equilibrium, and he had taken all his wife's trinkets and many valuables and sent them to me as an expression of his admiration. Through a banker my com- panion and I ascertained his address, and, needless to say, at once returned the parcel. Afterwards we learnt that the poor gentleman had been sent back to a nursing home for lunatics. I recall one other incident which pleased me greatly. One evening an old gentleman asked to be presented to me on the stage he was close on ninety years of age, and quite blind. He had been a prisoner for political reasons, and had lost his sight from his sufferings during his imprisonment. He possessed the love and respect of every one in Messina. In the country he had a property which was celebrated for growing the finest Mandarin oranges in Sicily. He admired my singing very greatly ; he always came to hear me, and would bring me, tied up in a silk handkerchief, some of his " Oranci de Paradiso," as he called them. He told me, in his complimentary way, that he had never heard the " Sonnambula " sung as I sang it, since hearing Persiani. One evening at the opera before I left he asked permission, in the presence of many who were there also, to pass his hands over my face, so that he could form an idea in his own mind, as he could not see, as to what I was like. I remember how anxious he was to hear the " Puritani " of Bellini, an opera I did not know at that time, for I had never studied it, and little thought then that it would become one of my favourite operas, and '' Qui la voce " one of my favourite songs. I hope I may be pardoned for adding here some extracts from the Sicilian Courier written by that brilliant Florentine writer Signer Bertolami. " Catania, May 15. — Yesterday afternoon I took the railroad to Aci Reale, to hear again the singing of Emma Albani on the occasion of her benefit. Who this Albani is, is a question often asked to-day, but one that will not need to be asked in Italy in future years. She has at a young age made her debut in Messina, and has come from Messina to Aci Reale to open the Bellini Theatre. " Emma Albani is a privileged creature, in whom both the lady and the artist stand at the same eminence, in whom are in unison the actress and the singer ; nor can one say whether she is most remarkable in splendour of genius or power of thought, acuteness of ideas or faithfulness of execution, fullness of melody or taste in the variations. " The voice of Albani is not made to satisfy those listeners who, as Carlo Botta says, ' are all ear,' but to fill all hearts which, in the sphere of art, know how to find consolation for all earthly miseries. . . . Albani, in short, is such an artist as inspires respect, mingled with affection, enthusiasm together with reverence. She converts to the religion of art, I shall not say, those who pretend to honour and refinement beyond the mass of mankind, but the veriest sunburnt Cyclops of the day. " Fancy the ' Sonnambula,' that super- human and inimitable idyll, with this young creature in it from beyond the Atlantic, and yet with such a vast perception of Italian art ! . . . " The Catanians, charmed with her singing in Aci Reale, have shown such avidity to have her in the season from October to May, that they offered to pay the penalty of the violation of the lady's agreement for the theatre at Malta, besides increasing her emolu- ments. It seems that the manager of Malta, on the first news of this, came suddenly to Aci Reale, and encouraged himself by finding that a high sense of honour had prevented the lady from accepting this flattering offer." While in Messina a municipal deputation came and invited me to open the then new opera house, to be called the Teatro Bellini, at his birthplace, Aci Reale — a request to which I joyfully acceded. At that time there were no hotels in the town worthy of the name, and on my arrival I

found that, through the kindness of the I sang in the " Sonnambula," and to such crammed houses that I was not asked to sing any other opera, for the Sicilians' love for Bellini and his music was deep and true, and they found my interpretation of his lovely melodies so exactly in accord with their own appreciation, that their enthusiasm increased night after night. At my benefit I was literally loaded with flowers, presents, and poetry, the detached sheets of which were sent fluttering down in every direction on the heads of the audience ; and among the numberless bouquets of every shape was a basket in which was concealed a live dove. They had painted it red, and the dear little bird rose and flew all over the theatre.