#Andrea Ware

[randomrichards]

FISH TANK:

In housing complex

Mom’s boyfriend grooms teen daughter

Who dreams of dancing

[wttnblog]

10 Incredible June 2023 Book Releases

It seems to be the month of genre fiction, but to be honest I’m fully okay with that. There’s so many incredible historical fiction and mystery / thriller books coming out over the next 30 days that I’ll absolutely be reading as soon possible! I love writing these posts because they help keep me up to date on books that I wouldn’t otherwise be aware of, and that’s never been more the case than…

[xichilie]

HELLOOOOOOO GIESS WHO

Oh wait, I'm anonymous

Okay I'm the one who wanted to see Micahs design, absolutely hot BTW, so I saw the brant x fisalia reader fic, and wish to request a part 2, oh and a concept design of Y/N since she's a fisalia and they're pretty affordable just look at cantarella and Rosemary

and I love your art 😘

Tanks yous

Yes, I remember you. XD, and of course, I got multiple requests for a second part and i had time today. As for the concept art, I made one because yeah, you got me. I had this story with an oc in mind. XD I'll attach the picture at the end ♡

Brant x (fem)reader

A Flower Among Thorns (2)

Part1

Brant had been restless ever since that night.

The Fool’s Elysium bustled around him, music and laughter echoing off the cavern walls, but for once, he wasn’t reveling in the lively atmosphere. Instead, he sat at the edge of the stage, absently spinning a silver coin between his fingers, pink eyes unfocused.

Andreas leaned beside him, brow raised. “Alright, what’s got you looking all lovesick?”

Brant scoffed, slipping back into his usual bravado. “Lovesick? Please. I am merely… intrigued.”

Andreas wasn’t convinced. “Uh-huh. About what?”

Brant hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone about the girl who had found him, who had saved him. The one with the softest hands and a voice like a gentle melody. His angel. He didn’t even know her name, yet she had been haunting his thoughts ever since.

So, with a dramatic sigh, he leaned back. “A mysterious beauty healed me the other night. I woke up to the most enchanting creature Solaris-3 has ever seen. And yet, I know not her name, nor where to find her.”

Andreas snorted. “So, you’ve been sulking about a girl?”

“Not sulking. Longing. There’s a difference.”

Andreas rolled his eyes. “And let me guess, you’ve got no leads?”

Brant grinned, but there was an edge of frustration behind it. “Well, I know she smells like wildflowers, her hands are softer than silk, and her voice is sweeter than any ballad I’ve ever performed.”

“So… nothing useful.”

Brant huffed and stood up, dramatically flipping his coat. “Then I shall have to uncover the mystery myself.”

Brant spent the next few days asking around in Ragunna, trying to pick up any clue about his angel. But with no name, no description beyond “beautiful,” and only the memory of her kindness, it was harder than he expected.

At the bustling markets, he leaned against a vendor’s stall with his most charming smile. “Say, have you seen a girl who smells like wildflowers? Gentle hands? A voice like music?”

The vendor blinked. “Sir, that describes half the women in Ragunna.”

Brant groaned.

At a local tavern, he leaned over the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to know a lovely young woman who heals strangers in the dead of night, would you?”

The bartender laughed. “Son, if you’re looking for a healer, there’s a whole cathedral full of them.”

At the city gates, he approached a group of travelers. “Excuse me, have any of you encountered a heavenly being in human form? Delicate, kind, likely saving lives wherever she goes?”

One of the travelers side-eyed him. “...Are you drunk?”

Brant threw his hands up. “Not yet, but I might be soon!”

No matter where he searched, he found nothing. No one seemed to know her, or if they did, they weren’t saying. And Brant? He was getting frustrated.

Had he dreamed her up? Had she been a figment of his pain and exhaustion?

No. She was real.

And he was going to find her.

Even if it took forever.

Brant sat slouched on a worn stone bench in the heart of Ragunna, exhaling a long, theatrical sigh as he stared up at the evening sky. The city around him pulsed with life—merchants hawking their wares, distant music drifting from a tavern, the rhythmic clatter of horse-drawn carriages against the cobblestone. And yet, none of it reached him.

His mind was elsewhere.

On her.

It had been days, and no matter how many streets he wandered, how many people he asked—no one seemed to know who she was.

Which was frustrating, really. How could someone so bright, so kind, so full of life leave behind no trace at all?

Brant let out another heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. "Am I cursed?" he muttered to himself.

"Not cursed," a voice chimed from beside him, smooth and amused. "Just terribly, terribly unlucky."

Brant blinked and turned his head, only to see Carlotta settling onto the bench beside him. Her white hair cascaded over one shoulder, her soft pink attire flowing like silk. Every movement, every breath she took was measured, elegant. She had the air of someone who could read a room in seconds and bend it to her will if she so pleased.

"Well, well," Brant mused, smirking despite his troubles. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you come to sweep me off my feet?"

Carlotta gave him a pointed look. "You looked like a man on the verge of another tragic monologue. I simply couldn't resist."

Brant exhaled through his nose, glancing back at the city. "I suppose I have been a bit… broody lately."

"A bit?" she teased.

He huffed a laugh. "Fine. A lot."

Carlotta studied him for a moment before tilting her head. "You're searching for someone, aren't you?"

Brant's smirk faltered.

She always was too perceptive for her own good.

After a beat, he nodded. "Yeah. A girl. She—" He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "She found me when I was wounded. Helped me. And I haven't been able to get her out of my head since."

Carlotta's expression shifted slightly—an unreadable flicker of thought passing through her eyes. Then, after a pause, she sighed.

Brant immediately picked up on it. He narrowed his pink eyes. "You know something."

Carlotta smiled, amused. "I might."

Brant straightened. "Then tell me!"

She hummed in thought, then leaned forward slightly. "You said she healed you?"

He nodded.

"Then instead of asking the streets," Carlotta mused, "why not ask a healer?"

Brant blinked. "…Huh."

"A brilliant thought, I know," she said dryly, shaking her head. "There is one person who comes to mind—Rosemary. She runs an apothecary not far from here. If anyone would know about mystery healers, it would be her."

Brant sat with that information for a moment. Then, suddenly, he shot to his feet. "Carlotta, you absolute angel."

She smiled, satisfied. "I do try."

Without another word, Brant spun on his heel and hurried off into the streets, new hope sparking in his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he was finally on the right path.

The bell above the door chimed softly as Brant stepped into Rosemary’s Apothecary, the warm, earthy scent of dried herbs and rare botanicals wrapping around him. The shop was meticulously organized, with shelves lined with glass bottles, labeled neatly in careful script. Bundles of flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling, casting delicate shadows under the soft glow of lanterns.

Behind the counter stood Rosemary.

She was a woman of quiet elegance—long, light purple hair, her features sharp but not unkind. Unlike the extravagant attire associated with the Fisalia Family, she wore a simple, well-tailored white-grey apothecary coat, the only adornment a fine silver embroidery along the cuffs. Her violet eyes, cool and unreadable, flicked up to meet his as she finished measuring out a fine blue powder, tapping it neatly into a small paper pouch.

Corking the glass vial beside her, she finally addressed him.

"Welcome to Rosemary’s Apothecary, where your perfect potion awaits. What do you need,?"

Her tone was steady, polite, yet held an edge of knowing. It wasn’t the first time Brant had walked through those doors, and she always greeted him the same way.

Brant let out an exaggerated sigh, draping himself over the counter as if utterly exhausted. "Ah, dear Rosemary, must we be so formal? No warmth? No 'Brant, you seem troubled, do you require a remedy for your aching heart?'"

She merely blinked at him. "Do you require a remedy for your aching heart?"

He grinned. "Not a potion, no. But I do require something only you can provide."

She didn’t react, merely set the pouch aside. "If it’s information, I deal in medicine, not rumors."

Brant smirked. "Ah, but this is not a rumor. It is a tale of fate! Destiny! The kind that inspires sonnets and songs for generations to come!"

Rosemary simply waited.

Brant exhaled, straightening slightly. "I'm looking for someone. A healer."

That made her pause, if only briefly. She tilted her head slightly, considering his words. "There are many healers in Ragunna."

"True," Brant admitted, before his smirk softened into something almost wistful. "But only one like this."

He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the memory of that night. The gentle hands, the soft glow of magic, the way she had looked at him—not with fear, nor judgment, but kindness.

"She has long, light purple hair," he began, voice unusually soft. "Like moonlight spun into silk. Her eyes… warm, like the deepest amethyst, the kind that draws you in, makes you forget yourself."

Rosemary’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her eyes.

Brant, too caught up in his own memory, missed it.

"And her voice," he continued, exhaling a breathless laugh. "Soft, like a lullaby. Gentle, calming. Like she could soothe even the most troubled soul."

His smirk returned, albeit fonder. "Which, of course, explains why she saved me. A lost Fool in need of salvation—"

"Was she alone?"

Brant blinked.

Rosemary was still watching him, but there was something… careful about the way she asked.

Brant thought back, tilting his head. "Yeah. No one else was there."

A quiet sigh escaped her. Not one of relief, but of trouble.

Brant caught it instantly, straightening. "Oh-ho? What was that? You know something."

Rosemary hesitated. It was the first time she had ever seemed uncertain about what to say.

Then, finally, she met his gaze directly.

"Forget about her."

Brant froze.

The lighthearted air between them vanished in an instant.

He had expected teasing, maybe some cryptic remark, but not… this.

His brows furrowed slightly. "…Why?"

Rosemary’s fingers tapped lightly against the wooden counter, her expression unreadable. "If she was alone, then she was somewhere she should not have been. And if you truly do not know who she is…" she paused, voice measured, "then it’s better that you forget."

Brant’s stomach twisted.

That didn’t sit right with him.

Not one bit.

_______________________________________

[reimenaashelyee]

New Alexander Comic update!! 🐏

The Queen seeks advice from the Egyptian priest, and he's got some interesting ideas...

A webcomic about the life and legends of Alexander the Great. 👁‍🗨 About the comic 📕 Read from the beginning 🛍 Get the print or ebook edition of Book 1

Historical footnotes under the cut:

... Time flies when one isn't paying attention, doesn't it? (or rather, when one had a final semester of postgrad, two out-of-state weekend festivals and a flu to deal with)

I am just going to give up on consistent updates for the time being in favour of updating whenever I have something new. @_@ The next two months and a half are going to be another whirlwind of activity. Some of the relevant pieces of those two months:

I will be tabling at Emerald Hill Comics Festival in South Melbourne on September 15, 11 am to 4 pm. More info about the festival on Squishface Studios' instagram. As for me, I will be selling my usual wares: Seance Tea Party, My Aunt is a Monster, and Alexander Book 1.

I am currently working on completing the script of Book 2 in preparation for a 2 week long group residency (Comic Art Workshop). If you can believe it, I have been struggling through the script for this Book since late 2019, as the story for this Book is structurally challenging aka it's above my skill level. Things are slowly starting to look up though, which means I am more confident about proceeding with updates.

Footnotes:

The serpentine dalliances referenced are:

Peniarth MS 481 30r (National Library of Wales)

Andreas Boscoli, Olympias, Mother of Alexander, Visited by Zeus in the Guise of a Serpent (Art Institute of Chicago)

BNF Fr. 50 120v (Bibliothèque nationale de France)

[theheartmold]

Do you by any chance have an Andrea fact or two you could share? Or perhaps a snippet from a wip? Thank you!

I do have a snippet from the current WIP I'm working on! I'll attach it under a readmore!

Andrea tried not to let on to how amused they were that Illario had his nose buried into the crook of his elbow to try and block out the scent of fish. Where they waited, high above the city and perched on a slanted rooftop, there was nothing to hide the smell of the river and the fishermens' wares. If they weren't so used to it, they imagined that they would be doing the same. "Surely Treviso can't smell that much better," Andrea murmured, twisting their golden hair into a braid over their shoulder. It would stay out of their way like this. "What with being right on the canal." Illario whipped his head around to look at them, dropping his arm, but revealing that his nose was still scrunched up in distaste, as if the city had personally offended him. Andrea idly wondered if a city even could. "Treviso doesn't smell like fish," Illario replied. "It smells like…" "I'm sorry. Sewage." "Have you ever been to Treviso?" He almost sounded defensive. Illario's disgust had shifted from the smell in the air to their words, and Andrea simply pursed their lips so as not to smile. "No," they lied. "But surely every city on the water smells the same. It's a city. On the water." Andrea had been to Treviso—several times, in fact—but only once that stuck out in their memory. Five years ago, in the upper rafters of a Crow safe-house, tearing a man to pieces to prove that they were worthy of a full induction into the guild. It was a moment of pride, both for themself and for Viago. Andrea still remembered how he had managed to tell them that they'd done a good job afterwards. It was one of the few times he ever had. Illario scoffed, breaking them out of their reverie. They let their hands fall away from their hair after tying off the braid. "You said that you wouldn't be waving goodbye to Salle," he said, and gestured with his hand to the sprawling city before them. From where they perched—the roof of a building just next to the bank in the small financial distract of Salle—one could almost see all of it. The one structure that always stood out to Andrea was the Chantry, and even here, from across the city, they could make out the silver moonlight glinting off of the circular stained window. "I did," Andrea admitted begrudgingly, "but in my defense, I was under the impression that we were leaving Salle. Not finding other accommodations." Illario raised an eyebrow. "So you wouldn't have said that had I told you that we would be starting our work here?" "I might have been more selective in my words, yes," Andrea said coolly. They tried to look for a clue to the questioning in his gaze, but his eyes held nothing of note, and they looked away before they could be accused of staring. "You would have lied about your sentiments," he said. "I don't see why it matters," Andrea replied. A quick glance at the window told them that Asier's meeting with his client hadn't ended yet; they could still make out a second figure through the window a floor below them. A shame; Asier would be thinking he would get to go home, unawares that another meeting yet awaited him.

[the-great-pretender02]

Opened a Ko-fi!

Here’s some of my wares:

A couple of Star Trek keychains! And made to order charms or bracelets for Tamagotchis or other digital pets or devices.

[espithewarlock]

Wrote this today instead of working. Probably going to add more & edit before it goes to AO3.

Enjoy!

— — —

It was absurdly easy to slip out of the castle unnoticed. The guards didn't even look in his direction before he slipped out of the back gate.

Charles would be concerned if it wasn't massively to his benefit.

He enjoyed the fact that the Crown Prince's chambers overlooked the back garden. It was his favorite place in the whole castle and nobody questioned it when he said he wanted to go out there for some fresh air.

Luckily, nobody also questioned why his clothing looked a little bulky.

Once he got to the garden he stashed his fine silk outer layer and exited the castle grounds wearing more common, if nice, linen.

(He was very lucky that his chief of staff, Andrea, was used to his odd requests and procured the common clothing without question.)

(Honestly, people should start asking questions more often.)

The castle was stifling. The demands were endless and boring. Charles needed to escape, just for a little bit, for the sake of his sanity.

He'd probably be back before anybody even noticed he was missing.

So, for the first time in memory over the 22 years of his life, Charles was alone. No guards, staff, minders, teachers, companions, or anyone with him.

It was a liberating feeling. He could just go where he wanted, and he wanted to go to town.

As the Crown Prince, he was supposed to be preparing to rule for the benefit of his people. Unfortunately, he didn't know his people.

They all bowed and kept a respectful distance when Charles appeared with his father in their finery and crowns. They would downplay their needs or troubles and express their unending gratitude to the Crown.

Charles hated it. He wanted to know them, to hear their woes and do what he can with the resources of the Crown to help them. Improve their lives all across the kingdom.

So he had resolved to meet them. Little excursions where nobody would recognize him were perfectly safe. All he wanted to do was talk, browse the market, maybe have a drink in a tavern. Listen to the local gossip and see if there was anything he could do to subtly help.

As he slipped into the bustling town square, Charles felt alive. All around him were people, his people, going about their business without giving him a second glance.

Anyone who bumped or jostled him gave a quick "pardon me," instead of prostrating themselves in apology. It was wonderful.

Charles meandered through the streets with no goal in mind. He listened to the town criers and vendors hawking their wares, occasionally stopping to admire a simple piece of jewelry or purchase an apple to snack on as he walked.

He absolutely loved this. Being part of the people and exchanging pleasantries when they didn't know that he was a prince was lovely.

They treated him like an equal. Well, he was more than their equal. His job was going to be to work for them, after all. He just had to wear a grossly expensive crown when he did so.

Thinking about that crown reminded him that he probably needed to head back to the castle, but a delightful scent distracted him. He followed his nose just off the main thoroughfare to a bakery emitting the most delicious smells.

The sign out in front said Gasly's Baked Goods and Charles did not even hesitate before pushing the door open.

A small chime signaled his entrance and was instantly followed by a friendly shout, "One moment, please," from the man behind the counter.

Charles watched the man expertly lift the heavy looking large wooden spatula...thingy, shove it into the brick oven, and pull it out with freshly steaming loaves of bread on top.

The man quickly deposited the loaves on a cooling rack at his side and grabbed the bottom of his apron to wipe his hands while he turned around.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you?" The man asked with a genial smile.

Now that he had a better look, Charles realized this man was much younger than he expected. He was probably only a year or two older than Charles, if he had to guess, and had the most stunningly blue eyes.

On top of that, his muscles made Charles feel weak in the knees. They were impressive and bulging out of the simple shirt and apron the man was wearing.

"Are you Gasly?" Charles blurted out, then covered his mouth in embarrassment as his face heated up.

The man's smile grew wider in amusement. "One of them, yes," he said, giving a little bow, "Pierre Gasly, at your service."

Charles was worried for a brief moment that the bow meant that the man…Pierre…knew who he was. When he raised his head, Charles saw no flash of recognition and that teasing grin would never be present on anyone that was actually bowing to him. That was definitely a relief.

“I’m Charles,” he started to introduce himself, and then panicked because he had not been intending on using his real name, and definitely couldn’t use his real last name, “uh…Norris. Charles Norris.”

It was the last name of one of his childhood friends, someone that he hadn’t seen in years and he hoped that it wasn’t recognizable.

There was a slight smirk on Pierre’s face when Charles gave his name. “Your parents followed the trend after the prince was born, Charles uh Norris?”

Charles felt his face heat up even more. That was an unfortunate side-effect of royalty. A good third of the males born in the year or so following Charles’ birth were also named Charles. 

“I blame my maman,” Charles tried to come up with a cover story on the spot, “she…um…works in the castle. We do, I mean. My whole family. My father is a…military advisor. I study history and strategy. My younger brother wants to be a captain someday.”

That wasn’t technically false, but it was definitely stretching the truth.

“Very interesting,” Pierre looked at him as if he could see right through him and Charles wanted to die. This guy was turning his brain into mush and he felt like sinking straight into the floor.

“So, Charles uh Norris,” Pierre continued, his amusement physically palpable, “did you come here to regale me with your family history or can I help you with something?”

This was mortifying. Charles was actually going to crawl out of his skin and the red of his face was going to become his new skin tone.

“Yes, of course,” he said, probably a bit too loudly, “I need…bread.”

Pierre looked like he was about two seconds away from bursting into incredulous laughter. “Well, you have come to the right place. We have” he paused, gesturing broadly around the shop, “bread. Though I am a bit surprised. I thought the castle kitchens make their own bread, no?”

“They were…out,” Charles gave the world’s lamest explanation and had half a mind to just walk back out the door and never show his face in town ever again.

“Out,” Pierre repeated, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

Charles groaned in frustration and Pierre actually started laughing at him. He ran one hand through his hair sheepishly and offered a placating grin. “I’m sorry,” he said after the laughter died down, “I just…it smelled so good and I…I don’t…”

“–do this very often?” Pierre finished his thought for him and Charles gave a small, embarrassed nod.

The smile he received in return was much more understanding, much less teasing, and Charles felt a sliver of relief wash over his body. Pierre probably thought he was an ignorant rich kid that grew up in the castle.

He wouldn’t be very far off, in that regard.

“Well, what you were probably smelling were the loaves that just came out of the oven,” Pierre explained, “but we offer a variety of products that might fit your tastes. Do you prefer something savory or sweet?”

“Sweet,” Charles responded instantly. He always had a bit of a sweet tooth, much to his mother’s dismay, and enjoyed indulging whenever he got the chance.

Pierre gestured and walked over to another stand behind his counter that held a large tray, maybe half filled with croissants.

“These were made by yours truly this very morning,” Pierre seemed particularly proud of himself as he showed them off, “we have plain for two coppers each or six for a silver. We also have chocolate-filled and raspberry-filled, three coppers each or four for a silver. Over here–”

“I’ll take two chocolate and two raspberry,” Charles interrupted, not needing to see anything else. The croissants looked decadent and his mouth was watering just thinking about them.

A smile lit up Pierre’s face as he carefully selected four croissants and placed them into a nearby cloth bag. “Do you need anything else today?” Pierre asked as he handed the bag over the counter.

Charles shook his head and gratefully accepted the bag. He placed a single silver piece into Pierre’s outstretched palm and watched the strong fingers curl around it.

“Well, I appreciate your business, Charles uh Norris,” the teasing grin was back and Charles felt a faint blush return to his cheeks, “and I sure hope the castle runs out of bread again soon.” Pierre followed his statement with a wink that only served to make Charles’ heart stutter.

“Thank you,” Charles mumbled, too embarrassed to say anything else. He knew his face was red again as he turned to make the quickest reasonable exit out of the store.

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard strong peals of laughter start up just before the door closed behind him.

Once he was back on the main thoroughfare, Charles pulled one of the croissants out of the bag and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled lovely, warm and inviting, just like the inside of the bakery, and he sank his teeth into the pastry.

Instant perfection hit his taste buds. The pastry itself was light and flaky, the chocolate rich and sweet, and Charles devoured it before he could restrain himself.

The raspberry one was just as excellent, the slight tartness creating a balance with the sweetness that was simply delightful. He did not care that he was ruining his dinner as he ate the other two on the short walk back to the castle.

It was stupidly simple to slip back into the garden unseen and he hid the bag where he had stashed his nicer clothes earlier. 

Charles realized that it was much later than expected and rushed back to his rooms to change. He was only five minutes late to his afternoon tutor and he hoped that he didn’t have any chocolate or raspberry smeared on his face.

He was definitely going back to Pierre’s Bakery.

[autistpride]

How many of these famous autists do you recognize? And this isn't even a complete list!

So many amazing wonderful people are autistic. I will never understand why people hate us so much.

Actors/actresses/entertainment:

Chloe Hayden

Talia Grant

Rachel Barcellona

Sir Anthony Hopkins

Dan Akroyd

David Byrne

Darryl Hannah

Courtney Love

Jerry Seinfeld

Roseanne Barr

Jennifer Cook

Chuggaaconroy

Stephanie Davis

Rick Glassman

Paula Hamilton

Dan Harmon

Paige Layle

Matthew Labyorteaux

Wentworth Miller

Desi Napoles

Freddie Odom Jr

Kim Peek

Sue Ann Pien

Henry Rodriguez

Scott Steindorff

Ian Terry

Tara Palmer -Tomkinson

Albert Rutecki

Billy West

Alexis Wineman- Miss America contestant

Athletes:

Jessica- Jane Applegate

Michael Brannigan

David Campion

Brenna Clark

Ulysse Delsaux

Tommy Dis Brisay

Jim Eisenreich

Todd Hodgetts

John Howard

Anthony Ianni

Lisa Llorens

Clay Matzo

Frankie Macdonald

Jason McElwain

Chris Morgan

Max Park

Cody Ware

Amani Williams

Samuel Von Einem

Musicians:

Susan Boyle

Elizabeth Ibby Grace

David Byrne

Johnny Dean

Tony DeBlois

Christopher Dufley

Jody Dipiazza

Pertti Kurikka

James Jagow

Ladyhawke

Kodi Lee

Left at London

Red Lewis Clark

Abz Love

Thristan Mendoza

Heidi Mortenson

Hikari Oe

Matt Savage

Graham Sierota

SpaceGhostPurp

Mark Tinley

Donald Triplett

Aleksander Vinter

Comedians:

Hannah Gatsby

Robert White

Bethany Black

Scientists/inventors/mathematians/Researchers:

Damian Milton

Bram Cohen

Michelle Dawson

Carl Sagan

Writers:

Neil Gaimen

Mel Bags

Kage Baker

Amy Swequenza

M. Remi Yergeau

Sean Barron

Lydia X Z Brown

Matt Burning

Dani Bowman

Nicole Cliffe

Laura Kate Dale

Aoife Dooley

Corrine Duyvus

Marianne Eloise

Jory Flemming

Temple Grandin

John R Hall

Naomi Higashida

Helan Hoang

Liane Holliday Willey

Luke Jackson

Rosie King

Thomas A McKean

Johnathan Mitchell

Jack Monroe

Caiseal Mor

Morenike Giwa- Onaiwu

Jasmine O'Neill

Brant Page Hanson

Dawn Prince-Hughs

Sue Robin

Stephen Shore

Andreas Souvitos

Sarah Stup

Susanna Tamaro

Chuck Tingle

Donna Williams

Leaders:

Julia Bascom

Ari Ne'eman

Sarah Marie Acevedo

Sharon Davenport

Joshua Collins

Conner Cummings

Kevin Healy

Poom Jenson

Amy Knight

Jared O'Mara

David Nelson

Shaun Neumeier

Master Sgt. Shale Norwitz

Jim Sinclair

Judy Singer

Dr. Vernon Smith

Artists:

Miina Akkijjyrkka

Danny Beath

Deborah Berger

Larry John Bissonnette

Patrick Francis

Goby

Jorge Gutierrez

Lina Long

Johnathan Lerman

Julian Martin

Haley Moss

Morgan Harper Nichols

Tim Sharp

Gilles Tehin

Willem Van Genk

Richard Wawro

Poets:

David Eastham

Christopher Knowles

David Miedzianik

Henriette Seth F

[doyou000me]

For the wip game - You Can Touch, But He's Mine and The Shop At The End pls!!!

@cryingatships thank you for playing the WIP game with me~!

To see all of my WIPs (and maybe make my day and ask about one of them???) check out the full list here~!

You Can Touch, But He's Mine (Deep Night Smutfic)

First, a confession: I got so excited about talking about The Shop At The End, I almost forgot you also asked about this fic 🙈

You Can Touch, But He's Mine is a KhemWela oneshot smutfic born out of my frustration with Khem in episode 3 when he got all jealous and started being a bloody asshole to everybody.

The premise in simple: Khem loves watching Wela work as a host. He loves watching the customers gaze longingly at Wela and his current company, claw for a few hours of Wela's time and spend fortunes for his attention. Khem loves showing those same customers to the taxi stop in the early hours of the morning, loves seeing them off and loves being the one who gets to take Wela home to strip him of his carefully coordinated outfits and host persona.

Also, I should probably mention that Wela's outfit for the night has had me look at these for inspiration:

The Shop At The End

Thank you for asking about The Shop! I didn't realise how much I've missed this story until I started writing about it and couldn't stop myself!

@welcometothelairofthebitchking also asked about The Shop At The End, so you can find a snippet from the beginning of the story over in their answer!

As mentioned in the WIP list, The Shop At The End was originally a fanfic idea. I have plotted, written and rewritten it quite a few times but before I could finish it, I made the desicion to stop writing for that fandom. BUT (as with When I Grow Up) I was too in love with the story to give up on it, which is why I am now considering how I can rewrite it into an original story.

It is (surprise surprise) centered around a magic shop run by Lili, a succubus (we Do Not Ask about her Age) and her young assistant - the main character - who may or may not be an incubus and/or magician and may or may not also be aroace (so many delicious desicions to reconsider now that I'm no longer guided by an existing canon).

Around them circle a cast of social outcasts, including a vampire, a pack of werewolves and a dwarf exiled from the mines. There's also my favourite character, Andrea/Cameron (I keep changing my mind), a nonbinary shape shifter who changes their apperance to fit the extravagant fashion choice of the day. They resigned from the police in a rather spectacular fashion to write erotica and open a book store selling porn as a front for behind the counter (in the attic) forbidden, dark magic texts. They are one of the reasons I can't turn my back on this story.

The plot needs quite a bit of reworking now that it's not going to be a fanfic anymore, but my thoughts keep returning to it for the vibes alone! It's quite comfy to mentally sit in the shop for a while...

Think warm sunlight shining in through the curved storefront and a fat cat sleeping in the display window. Think herbs and amulets and knick-knacks hanging from the ceiling. Think rich, almost ghibli-like interiors with polished wood and brass detailing and light glinting off glass phials. Think hundreds of little drawers all marked with handwritten labels such as human teeth, adult and bone dust, mixed or claws, werewolf and skulls, mice.

Think polite smiles and ironed shirts and buttoned vests. Think black market wares hidden in the back and ingredients measured on brass scales and payments made in gold.

Think shady dealings and questionable favours and bribed cops. Think surprise raids and rumours spreading over pints of beer, rumors about something going on that is keeping the coppers busy, about strangers approaching those around you with promises of change, about the calm before a storm.

And when society comes looking for the main character to be their hero, think: "Why should I sacrifice myself to help all of you, when all you have ever done is shun me?"

[siri-ike]

Bellyache pt.2

Prev

He'll be fine. He once threw up an entire, live centipede. There's nothing that can keep Mikey down for long. Raph really picked the best twin. Ok, so they aren't really twins, but technically, Leo and Donnie aren't either. They just decided these things based on appearance. Does that make it any less true? Point is he'll be fine. Crabs. What was Mr Bishop saying, something about frogs. Oh no, he's looking at Raph.

"Perhaps you can answer the question." For a moment, he just looked like a baby turtle in headlights. "How do reptiles react to the cold?" Thank goodness he was in Bishops' class and not Lucas's.

"t-tired?" He stutters out hopefully.

"That's correct. Reptiles are cold-blooded and therefore need external heat to stay warm. If it gets too cold, their heart rate slowes down, and they hibernate. This can leave them vulnerable to predators."

Surviving biology was no easy feat now that they're on the chapter focusing on reptiles and amphibians. It seems Bishop only ever calls on them rather than the other students. 'He probably just wants to make sure we're on track with everyone else since we haven't been in school as long as them.' Leo had said. It's like he just can't help but lick the boots of any and all authority figures. Heh. Ya'know, gross metaphors aren't the same without Mikey taking them too far. It's not like he misses him or anything. Raph can handle school. He's been handling school. For, like, almost two months. He's got this. It's just a few hours. Alone.

Donnie missed lunch again. It's weirdly peaceful with just Leo and April. It's a little nice being able to just eat silently while they do their TCRI conspiracies. Lunch was some sort of fish. It doesn't matter. Raph'll eat anything that's put in front of him without much thought. Because any food is energy and energy is violence. Raph loves violence. He really does, honest. Sure, it's been a bit duller since being accepted by the humans, starting school, and legally mandated therapy. And yeah, some nonviolent sports have turned out to be fun, too. But he still dreams of violence,  just maybe not every night. But, right now. This isn't a problem he can punch. Nobody hurt his little brother. And Leo's right. It probably was something he ate. He did once try to eat a frog whole, so it was bound to happen.

After they finished their lunch, Leo insisted on bringing some to Donnie in the science room. He'd been examining blood samples from last night. 'Given voluntarily,' he claims. He's also been acting weird. But more the usual kind of weird. The kind of weird Donnie gets every now and then a couple times a year. Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe he's a werewolf. No, wait there's no wolves in New York. Ware-possum? Ware-racoon? Maybe Mikey's a ware - something and Donnie's trying to cure him. That's deffinetly what's going on. Raph should warn Leo and April so that- no, what if they're in on it? What if they're all just waiting to get him alone so they can turn him too?

"LEO!" Raph says calmly as they turn the smelly corner (Andrea dared them to lick the gross wall last week)

"yes?" That's exactly what a were-something would say.

"I have to, be um, at the mmnm. Reading starts moon- soon. I mean I, said I'd yelp- Help! At, eh, library, with, uh, bye." Nailed it.

After expertly evading his pursuers, Raph proceeds toward the gym, number one source of information. There's still about 20 minutes left for lunch, which means Mona-Lisa's still practicing on the hockey field.

Next

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Welcome to the working week although, for those of you working in the NHS, welcome to just another day.

The Mighty Josiah arrived on Friday and we made a quick video. On Saturday morning, I woke up at 5.45, he was awake, so we went downstairs and waited for the dawn. While he ate waffles and Nutella, and played some madness on his tablet, I snatched a few extra hours of sleep.

Saturday afternoon was big fun! Thank you to everyone that listened to the radio show. If you appreciate good musicianship, you will enjoy Slave and Gil Scott-Heron. Hellen Andrea Stavrou did a superb job! If you missed it, it’s available on MixCloud (yay!) Next week, The Letter S (Pt. 2). Executive producer: Eliza Meilan.

While the family went out to see the new Marvel film at the cinema, I was fairly certain I could find something good on Netflix and I found the fabulous Nicholas Cage/Pedro Pascal/Tiffany Haddish movie, ‘The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent’. Cage plays HIMSELF in a ‘comedy action thriller’! I kid you not. Well worth your time.

While making scrambled eggs for brunch yesterday, I added some coarse black pepper, and I heard it mumble the C word under its breath! “Charming!” I thought.

No wonder Sean Combs settled one day after Cassie sued him; he didn’t want his private life getting scrutinized. Too late! My timeline is now full of VERY unsavoury stories about Mr. Combs. If you want to do some digging yourself, check out the mysterious death of music industry executive Shakir Stewart!

The Trouble is organising a Christmas Fayre at the bottom of our road, in order to sell her jewellery, and so that other local craftsmen and women can sell their wares. She’s now looking for vendors to make the fayre as varied and interesting as possible. I have suggested that I do a kissing booth. Price per pitch is £35. I figure, if I charge £5.00 per kiss, I only need seven customers and I can cover my costs!

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

[vm4vm0]

Lipstick Lover from Evaline Wu Huang on Vimeo.

Directed by Janelle Monae & Alan Ferguson Produced by: Alex P. Willson and Nandi George

Production Designer: Evaline Wu Huang DP: Allison Triplett

Production Supervisor: Manar Humidan Production Coordinator: Valerija Valentina Mizula Asst Coordinator: Christian McLain 1st AD: Kirsten Knisely 2nd AD: Mollie Lemm

1st AC: Sarah Ratay 2ns AC: Ariel Pomerantz Loader: Meriel O’Connell Loader: Paolo Arriola Vintage Camera Operator: Coan "Buddy" Nichols Vintage B Camera Operator: Mat Matthews Gaffer: Marlon Obrien Best Boy Electric: Alice Becerra Key Grip: Sergio Silva Best Boy Grip: Henry Martinez Additional Cinematography: Coan "Buddy" Nichols, Alan Ferguson, Tree Young-Stevens

Art Director: Andrew Caso Set Decorator: Chad Tatham Set Decorator: Natou Fall Prop Master: Leone Reeves Leadman: Vincent Quintana Set Dresser: Joanna Cabalquinto Art Assistant: Aaron Meritt

Wardrobe Stylist: Sakinah Bashir, Marquise Miller Make-up Artist: Myrna Powell, Starlynn Hair Stylist: Andrea Garcia, Nena Ross Davis HMU Swing: Patrice Harris, Tru'von Reed Body Painter: Julie Hassett Assist Body Painter: Meg Wilbur

Medic: Joe Sartee Fire Safety Officer: Gabriel Martinez Craft Service: Irene Chen Party Producer: Bridgid Jones

Janelle Monáe Stylist: Ali Mandelkorn Janelle Monáe Make-Up Artist: Keita Moore Janelle Monáe Hair Stylist: Larranisha Russell Editor: Jorge Sandoval Assistant Editor: Sky Kim Editorial Producer: Ellie Ware Editorial Managing Partner: Michelle Eskin Editorial Executive Producer: Amber Farls Editorial Head of Production: Brady Fiero Colorist: Asa Fox Head VFX: Andres Jaramillo

Choreographer: Jemel Williams Dancers: Fulani Buhati, Kacie Garland, Helen Gedlu, Tydryn Scott, Bianca Muscatelli, Asha B Franklin Male Talent: Raphael Thomas, Rameer Colon, David Dwane Washington, Onochie Akah Exotic Talent: Jasmin Jassy Davis, Quanice Jackson, Kailan "Rocco" Snowden, Regine Smith, Cynthia Zavala, Jess Barlow, Tia Williams, Francis Hernandez, Christine Enriquez Lipstick Lover: Ashleigh Baugh Model: Tyanna Stitts

Wondaland Friends: Kelli, Stephanie, Bueno, Nyesha, Nate, Chuck, Nana, Jemel Client: Wondaland Label: Atlantic Records Production Company: Wandering Cameras VFX: Straynge VFX Editorial: Cut+Run LA

[smartwirtschaft]

Return Only – Not for Sales

Manchmal steht auf einem Produktetikett oder einem Versandkarton der Hinweis „Return only – not for sales“. Klingt erstmal simpel, wirft aber beim genaueren Hinsehen Fragen auf. Was bedeutet das genau? Warum darf das Produkt nicht verkauft werden? Und was passiert eigentlich mit solchen Artikeln? Wenn du jemals ein solches Etikett entdeckt hast – vielleicht auf der Rückseite eines elektronischen Geräts oder auf einer Palette im Lager eines großen Onlinehändlers – dann lohnt sich ein genauerer Blick hinter die Kulissen. Denn dieser unscheinbare Aufkleber erzählt oft mehr über die Logistik und den Umgang mit Waren als man denkt.

Was bedeutet „Return only – not for sales“ überhaupt?

Wörtlich übersetzt heißt es: „Nur zur Rückgabe – nicht für den Verkauf bestimmt.“ Das bedeutet, dass der Artikel nicht erneut in den Verkauf gegeben werden darf. Er ist also nicht für den Weiterverkauf freigegeben, auch wenn er äußerlich vollkommen in Ordnung erscheint. Das kann mehrere Gründe haben: - Defekte oder Beschädigungen: Der Artikel wurde zurückgegeben, weil er einen Fehler hat, beschädigt wurde oder nicht mehr voll funktionsfähig ist. - Geöffnete Verpackung: Viele Händler verkaufen aus Prinzip keine geöffneten Produkte mehr – besonders im Elektronik- oder Kosmetikbereich. - Veraltetes Modell: Manchmal handelt es sich um ein Produkt, das inzwischen durch ein neueres Modell ersetzt wurde und nicht mehr ins aktuelle Sortiment passt. - Interne Prüfung oder Testzwecke: In manchen Fällen wird ein Produkt zurückgeschickt, damit es intern analysiert oder als Testobjekt verwendet werden kann.

Warum dürfen solche Produkte nicht verkauft werden?

Ein Hauptgrund ist der Verbraucherschutz. Händler und Hersteller möchten vermeiden, dass Kunden minderwertige oder gebrauchte Ware erhalten, obwohl sie für Neuware bezahlen. Außerdem geht es um rechtliche Absicherung – sollte ein Produkt mit dem Vermerk „not for sales“ Mängel aufweisen, schützt sich das Unternehmen damit vor eventuellen Ansprüchen. Auch das Thema Markenimage spielt eine Rolle. Ein Premiumhersteller will nicht riskieren, dass ein halb funktionierendes Gerät in Umlauf kommt und negative Bewertungen nach sich zieht. Lieber wird das Produkt aussortiert, selbst wenn es noch funktionieren würde.

Was passiert mit solchen Produkten?

Die Wege dieser „nicht verkäuflichen“ Artikel sind unterschiedlich – und nicht immer nachvollziehbar. Hier ein paar mögliche Stationen: - Recycling oder Entsorgung: Viele Produkte landen tatsächlich im Elektroschrott oder werden fachgerecht recycelt. Gerade bei größeren Ketten ist der Aufwand, solche Artikel zu prüfen, oft teurer als ihre Vernichtung. - Refurbishment-Programme: Einige Unternehmen holen sich die Geräte zurück, überprüfen sie, reparieren sie und verkaufen sie dann als „refurbished“ oder generalüberholt – natürlich ohne den Vermerk „not for sales“. - Mitarbeiterverkauf oder Spenden: In seltenen Fällen werden Artikel intern weitergegeben oder an gemeinnützige Organisationen gespendet. Allerdings geschieht das eher bei kleinen Unternehmen oder als Ausnahme.

Ist es illegal, solche Artikel doch zu verkaufen?

Das hängt stark vom Einzelfall ab. Wenn ein Unternehmen ein Produkt explizit als „not for sales“ kennzeichnet, ist das eine verbindliche Vorgabe – zumindest innerhalb der internen Prozesse. Verkauft ein Händler so ein Produkt trotzdem, könnte das rechtliche Folgen haben, vor allem bei späteren Reklamationen oder wenn nachgewiesen wird, dass das Produkt fehlerhaft war. Bei Privatpersonen ist die Lage etwas grauer: Wer auf einem Flohmarkt oder bei eBay ein Gerät mit solchem Aufkleber weiterverkauft, verstößt in der Regel nicht gegen ein Gesetz – aber Käufer sollten wissen, dass sie hier auf Garantie und Gewährleistung verzichten.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio

Was sagt das über unser Konsumverhalten?

Ein Etikett wie „Return only – not for sales“ ist mehr als nur eine Lageranweisung. Es wirft ein Schlaglicht auf ein System, das auf Perfektion, Schnelligkeit und Effizienz getrimmt ist – und dabei oft verschwenderisch wird. Dass ein funktionsfähiges Produkt aus dem Verkehr gezogen wird, nur weil es ausgepackt oder alt ist, zeigt, wie stark der Handel auf makellose Neuware setzt. Vielleicht ist es auch ein kleiner Denkanstoß: Müssen Produkte immer „wie neu“ sein, um für uns noch wertvoll zu sein? Und könnten Begriffe wie „Return only“ nicht auch als Chance dienen, nachhaltiger mit Ressourcen umzugehen? Denn nur weil etwas nicht verkauft werden darf, heißt das nicht, dass es wertlos ist. Read the full article

[buttererer]

Various Artists - GAZA

This is a charity / solidarity album curated by Magda Mayas and Boris Hauf.

100% of the proceeds will go to the Gaza Children Fund.

featuring: Christian Wallumrød, Ernst Surberg, Elisabeth Harnik & Harri Sjöström, Josef Novotny, Katharina Klement, Kit Downes, Chris Montague, Lisa Ullén, Magda Mayas, Boris Hauf, Satoko Fujii, Sten Sandell, Sascha Alexandra Lorenz, Aki Takase & Alex Schlippenbach, Pat Thomas, Alister Spence, Steve Beresford, Kaja Draksler, Marina Džukljev, Clara Frühstück, Chris Abrahams, TV Pow, Laurin Kraler Hauf, Anais Tuerlinckx, Chino Shuichi, Johannes Malfatti, Achim Kaufmann, Luca Xelius Martegani, Marlies Debacker, Mathilde Hoursiangou, Daniela Terranova, Rieko Okuda, Ingrid Schmoliner, Simon Phillips, Andrea neumann, d bayne, Frédéric Blondy, Volker Meitz, Marta Warelis & Ada Rave, Håvard Wiik, Joana Sá, Bilgehan Ozis, Burkhard Stangl, Xenia Walkey Hauf

[evoldir]

Fwd: Graduate position: UGeorgia.EvolutionaryBiology

Begin forwarded message: > From: evoldir@evol.biology.mcmaster.ca > Subject: Graduate position: UGeorgia.EvolutionaryBiology > Date: 2 November 2024 at 04:43:04 GMT > To: rdmpage@gmail.com > > > Evolutionary Biologists at the University of Georgia welcome applicants for > our PhD program to start Fall 2025. We are a vibrant group, studying a wide > spectrum of research areas including Behavior, Conservation Biology, > Ecological & Evolutionary Genetics, Evo-Devo, Genome Evolution, > Phylogenetics, and Theory. Our research organisms span the tree of life > including microbes, fungi, wild & crop plants, insects, fish, reptiles, and > humans. > > You can find out more about our research here: > https://ift.tt/ETFuJK8 > > Apply by Dec. 1 here: https://ils.uga.edu/. > > Our group includes: > > Dr. Jill Anderson: Evolutionary ecology of natural plant populations, > especially in the context of global change > > Dr. Justin Bahl: Ecology, evolution and epidemiology of RNA viruses > > Dr. Douda Bensasson: Evolutionary and ecological genomics of yeast > > Dr. Casey Bergman: Genome evolution > > Dr. Holly Bik: Ecology and Evolution of deep-sea species and > invertebrate-associated microbiomes > > Dr. Blake Billmyre: Evolution of virulence/genome evolution in fungal > pathogens > > Dr. Robin Buell: Evolution of tuber formation in angiosperms; evolution of > specialized metabolism in angiosperms > > Dr. John Burke: Evolution of crop plants, adaptation to abiotic stress, > floral developmental evolution > > Dr. Gaelen Burke: Function and evolution of beneficial insect microbes > > Dr. Shumei Chang: Evolution of natural plant populations, plant mating > systems > > Dr. Megan DeMarche: Evolutionary ecology of natural plant populations > > Dr. Kelly Dyer: Evolutionary genetics, genetic conflict, speciation in > Drosophila > > Dr. Spencer Fox: Ecological and evolutionary dynamics of co-circulating > pathogens in humans > > Dr. Mandev Gill: Statistical and computational methods for molecular > evolution > > Dr. Brendan Hunt: Evolutionary genetics of social insects > > Dr. Jim Leebens-Mack: Comparative genomic investigations of evolutionary > innovations including separate sexes, storage roots, and CAM photosynthesis > > Dr. Liang Liu: Statistical phylogenetics > > Dr. Douglas Menke: Evolution of vertebrate morphology > > Dr. Tatum Mortimer: Evolution and population genomics of pathogenic bacteria > > Dr. Kerry Oliver: Defensive symbiosis in insects > > Dr. Benjamin Parrott: Mechanisms of life history evolution in fish and > reptiles > > Dr. Jaclyn Saunders: Evolution of marine microbes, focus on Cyanobacteria & > marine microbial ecology > > Dr. Kathrin Stanger-Hall: Phylogenetics and evolution of fireflies > > Dr. Andrea Sweigart: Evolutionary genetics of natural plant populations, > speciation > > Dr. Kevin Vogel: Evolution of host-microbe interactions in insects > > Dr. John Wares: Biogeography and gene flow in natural populations > > Dr. Mike White: Sex chromosome evolution, genetic sex determination, and > meiosis > > Dr. Kaixiong Ye: Gene-environment interactions in human evolution and > complex traits > > We span several Departments at UGA, but the ILS program ( > https://ils.uga.edu/) allows students to rotate in and join any of our labs. > > UGA is located in Athens, GA. We are 65 miles east of Atlanta, less than > two hours from the > southern Appalachian Mountains, and within easy driving distance of the > Atlantic coast. Athens is a wonderful college town and is home to a > thriving arts and music community. > > > Andrea L. Sweigart > Professor > Department of Genetics > University of Georgia > sweigart@uga.edu > https://ift.tt/qkeSHfl > > Andrea Sweigart

[billion2072]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Asian Imari Oval Dish Andrea by Sadek&Oval Casserole Both Made Japan.🍜