#Angular vivid green

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Mark and Jason had always been up for new experiences, so when they saw a flyer advertising a local Holi festival, they jumped at the chance to go. Neither of them knew much about the festival beyond its vibrant colors and joyous atmosphere, but the idea of celebrating spring with music, dancing, and colored powders seemed like a great way to spend a Saturday.

They arrived at the park where the event was held, wearing plain white shirts and jeans. The air buzzed with excitement, laughter, and the sweet scent of festive treats. The crowd was a diverse mix of families, couples, and groups of friends, all ready to immerse themselves in the chaos of color.

“Ready to get messy?” Jason grinned, nudging Mark as they approached a table piled high with bowls of colored powder.

“Bring it on,” Mark laughed, grabbing a fistful of bright pink powder. He tossed it into the air, and it swirled around them in a burst of vivid color. The first plumes of pink dust brushed their skin, and they both coughed lightly as the powder settled over their faces and clothes.

As the dust touched them, Mark felt an odd, tingling sensation that spread from his fingertips up his arms. He glanced at Jason, who was blinking rapidly as if he felt something too. They shrugged it off, assuming it was part of the unfamiliar festival experience.

But as they wandered further into the crowd, something strange began to happen. Another cloud of orange powder was thrown their way, and this time, the tingling grew stronger, turning into a warm, almost magnetic pull deep within them. Mark’s skin, once pale, began to darken subtly, taking on a warm, golden-brown hue. Fine hair sprouted along his arms, and his hands, previously clean and manicured, became rougher, calloused, like those of a man who worked with them often.

“Whoa,” Jason murmured, rubbing his face as another splash of red powder hit them. The changes intensified. Jason’s light stubble thickened rapidly, spreading across his cheeks and jaw into a full, dense beard. His previously sharp, angular features softened into a broader, more masculine face. His hair, once a light brown, deepened to an inky black, curling slightly as it grew.

Mark watched, his own reflection mirrored in Jason’s shifting features. His hair darkened and thickened as well, cascading into loose, wavy locks. The changes felt oddly familiar, even comforting. A deep warmth blossomed in his chest, an emerging sense of belonging that he couldn’t quite explain.

They walked further, drawn into the throngs of revelers, as vibrant blue and green powders swirled around them. Each hit of color transformed them further. Mark’s body broadened, muscles rippling beneath his changing skin. His shirt tightened against his chest, showing off a thicker, sturdier build. Chest hair, dense and dark, peeked through the collar of his shirt.

Jason’s transformation mirrored Mark’s. His arms thickened, his biceps bulging as the dust continued to settle on his skin. His posture shifted, confident and proud, as if he’d always carried himself this way. His skin, now a rich brown, glowed under the sun, complemented by the colorful dust that clung to it. They looked down at each other’s clothes, once plain and now transforming into traditional kurtas, decorated with intricate patterns and vibrant hues.

Memories flooded their minds, rewriting the story of their lives. They weren’t just friends stumbling into a Holi festival; they were Sanjay and Amit, a married couple who had helped organize this very event for years. They remembered long nights spent planning, arguing over the best locations, ensuring the festival remained a safe space for their community. They remembered each other’s families, the small, shared apartment that always smelled of spices and laughter, and the pride they felt in being out and open within the queer desi community.

Sanjay reached for Amit’s hand, feeling the rough, familiar texture of his husband’s skin. Amit looked at him, eyes filled with the same warmth and love that had blossomed over years of shared experiences, highs and lows, joy and sorrow. They leaned in closer, their foreheads touching as more powder rained down around them, sealing the transformation. Their minds were completely in sync, fully embracing their new identities.

Amit pulled Sanjay into a tight embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a whole. They laughed, the sound rich and full, echoing the joy of the festival around them. The last cloud of colored powder—vivid purple—swirled in the air, enveloping them. Amit pressed his lips to Sanjay’s in a gentle, familiar kiss, soft yet filled with the history of a lifetime together. The world around them cheered and clapped, just another beautiful moment in a day of celebration.

As the dust finally settled, they stood there, holding each other, basking in the warmth of the sun and the love of the community they had helped build. They were no longer outsiders looking in; they were Sanjay and Amit, proud members of the local queer desi community, and this was exactly where they belonged.

[ygoartreviews]

Queen of Autumn Leaves

"Queen of the Emerald Forest and wife of the Spirit King, she lives surrounded by vivid red leaves."

Hey... How can you say she's from an emerald forest when she has nothing but orange leaves around her?? They aren't even red ones... Speaking seriously, I adore her color scheme so much. I'm kinda glad the leaves featured here aren't actually red, because they provide a nice little contrast to the more vivid pink, purple, and red she has going on. Unless you're paying close attention or have the context from the Green Phantom King card, her tree hand is very easily mistaken for some kind of gnarled staff she's holding off screen. It's so cleverly disguised... I love it. I do think the intended hand interpretation makes her look a little evil though (her red, narrowed eyes do not help with this). Her very angular, pointy chin looks a little awkward, but at least it's not glaring.

Rating: 7/10

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Demonologist AU

Because cohost is mcfucking dying.

Kia/Vice with a side of Rage/Paresse/Fussa

---

"What th-- What the fuck is this? Hah, little bitch has done her research this time, huh? You really think these binding rings will hold me for more than an hour?"

"Research and a bit of backup. And an hour is more than plenty of time."

Another voice rings out before he can get a good look at his prey. He whips around and snarls at the unexpected guest. His eyes fall upon stark white hair, piercing green eyes, tattoos of sigils and binding spells burnt into pale skin. Pretty round tits sit just half hidden by a loose black shirt, sharply juxtaposed by the gaunt, angular face sat above them.

A growl draws his eyes away from the demonologist, and now he sees the two at their feet. One, feline in disposition and black in color, has her lips drawn back to display sharp golden fangs framing the ivory of others. Her eyes glow a golden brown, gold claws dig into the wooden floor. A succubus. The other is her opposite, stark white with vivid blue and silver decorating his canine-like form. An incubus. On both are collars, matching the one on their lounging master. Other demons, chained to a mortal.

Said mortal tilts his head back, "He'll be a bit tougher to break."

"Break? Me? Hah! Just because you got two sluts chained up means nothing. I will not be broken, much less bound, if that's what you think you're going to do." The spines on his back stiffen, extend from his back. Unfortunately, he is so caught in his prideful sneering that he doesn't feel the barriers shift, allowing the woman behind him to sneak up... and latch a collar around his throat. He lashes out, spinning around and catching her arm as she flees backwards. He charges the barrier and slams against it, demonic, needle-like teeth gnashing as the scent of her blood curls like a cat against his senses.

Her companion is up, coming over to help her up and apply pressure to the wounds.

His fury is deflated as the metal around his neck begins to heat up, "You better hope you got these sigils right..." He groans low, "You're not getting a second chance." He lifts his claws up to start scratching at it, hoping to ruin any engravings or paintings, but the outside surface is smooth, untouched. He shouts his frustration, now trying to claw at the inside of the collar without slitting his own throat. The sigils were engraved on the inside.

"Clever bitch." He breaks the decorative o-ring on the front. He twists the hinges, but they don't yield. The warmth continues to build. It doesn't burn, though. He huffs and turns to glare at them, his eyes meeting that of the two other demons, now lounged between the barriers and the mortals. He laughs, "Fine, you wanna fuck? I'll put a baby in you if that's what you want. I'll even let you keep this thing on me while I do it. After that, we go our own separate ways and we forget this whole little 'soul' deal, hm?"

He's met with silence. Neither mortal moves. He hears a snicker from the gold demon.

"Bargaining already? I thought you weren't going to be easy to break."

Infernal tongue hisses along his senses. The silver demon skitters away from the barrier with a laugh not unlike a hyena when he charges the barrier again. It holds steady, however.

"Well, you saved me the trouble of cutting my palm open." His prey speaks at last. He whips his head around to face her, finally taking her in. Her companion seems to have helped her chose her outfit, ritualistic embellishments on her dress saying such absolutely wicked things she couldn't have known, symbols meaning such lewd things no human would repeat them. He licks his teeth as he watches her press blood into a groove on her necklace. The collar grows warmer. It still doesn't burn.

Oh, it feels good. He knows what these sigils are for. Ancient ones, meant to fold a demon into the service of a human. Sigils taught to man by angels to assist them in an ancient holy war. These were meant for demons of lust. Each set of sigils were carved to give the gratification of different sins, each to lure different demons to serve. He was no lesser demon, though, he could resist this. He was not bound to one sin, one carnal pleasure.

He indulged himself in wrath instead. He clawed at the barriers, lashed out with insults towards the mortals, the demon slaves at their feet. He hesitated when he heard mumbling. His eyes focused on the grey-green of the woman he'd preyed upon as she stood a mere inch from the barrier. Infernal whisperings that urged the blood in her jewelry to dance along the ritualistic engravings. His golden-green eyes followed hers as she paced around. He watched her lips move, felt his body warm under her gaze.

"...you don't even know what you're saying, do you? Do you know what filth you're promising? What each hiss in the back of your throat means?" His voice is weaker than he wants it to be. How long has it been since she started? He turns and his knees threaten to buckle, "You can't possibly keep your end of this binding..."

She smiles, but keeps mumbling. Never once faltering, no matter how he distracted her. He growls and slams his shoulder against the barrier. A voice rose up, in time with her mumblings. The gold demon speaks with her sandpaper-rough tongue.

"I will bind your broken soul with mine. You will be at my command. I will stoke the fires of hell in your gut. I will use them for my own. You will not fight." The caged demon roars at her, "You will take nothing of mine. I will use your body as a tool. As a toy. As I please."

The silver one grins, the flash of lightning between his fangs.

"Your cock, your cunt, your mouth, your ass, your hands, you are but a weapon for my battles." Her tongue trips up. She cannot speak the next lines as her master hooks a finger in the rings of her own collar. One so ornately decorated and lovingly carved.

"She knows what she's saying." The low, tempered voice of the demonologist purrs, "There is no end for her to keep. This isn't a deal, and you know it." The succubus whimpers softly as her master starts mouthing at her neck, pulling her into their lap.

His name, his name comes from the mouth of the one he'd once intended to enslave himself and his knees give out beneath him at last. Her hands come through the barrier and cup his face. Even though he wants nothing more than to bite her hands off, he can't move. He's numbed from the words, her touch the only thing he can feel by comparison.

In infernal, she declares, "You. Are. Mine."

And he is. He doesn't know how many times she had to repeat the ritual. He should have paid closer attention. He should have been trying to distract more than just lash out. He never was good with words. He presses his palms to the barrier, panting softly.

"...Paresse, is it...?"

"It is. He would have eaten one of your hands if it wasn't nearly done."

Nearly. It isn't complete yet... He wants it to be complete. He wants her to make him hers. He presses up against the barrier, pressing into her hands, whimpering. She smiles at him and steps closer, entering the circle, and he moves back to let her. She pushed him with just the smallest amount of force and he understands her desire. He lays flat on his back, eyes wide and watching her. He can see the amazement on his mistress's face. All the things he had done her, and now he was pliant beneath her.

His tail lashed with need. His hips buck a little as she straddles his hips.

He hears a moan from across the room. No doubt the other human indulging in their own servants. But he only has eyes for her.

"Please..." He whispers, slit pupils blown wide. His golden-green irises only thin rings now. He takes in every detail of her, every pore, every little drop of sweat from her brow, every little crack in her lips. His heart thuds as she descends upon him. He wonders if this is how mortals he's fucked have felt about him. But only briefly. The very floor beneath him, concrete and rough, doesn't even concern him anymore.

His world is filled with her. Nothing else matters.

[monsterfloofs]

🦚💐🎼!

Maestro (Harpy Peacock) x Anonymous Reader

(AKZZKSKXKSKSXKS-- I wanna know who sent this on my gosh! Who is responsible for this??? x//Dc

I-is that you peacock harpy anon?? Are you back to give me more peacock prompts?? What do I do with all these fowl?!? These foul fowl. . . (Joking!)

This made me laugh out loud when I saw this prompt in my que, I wanted to say something as soon as I saw it, but I was good and went in order instead of skipping ahead! :')c Here is Maestro, a classical composer, and a bit of a jerk! Can you get them to chill out? Methinks the answer is yes 👀 )

You shuffle into your seat, next to your fellow musicians that made up your instruments section, hurrying to get your own instrument ready so when the great cantankerous composer swanned onto the podium you wouldn’t have to be given the evil eye. You sat up and craned your neck, trying to see if you could spot them from where you sat. Before turning your head down and furiously fumbling through your folder of piece music. “They’re coming— quick!” A soft murmur of noise causes you to drop your papers. Swearing under your breath and leaning down to attempt to gather them.

Your gaze meets a shiny pair of dark talons standing in front of you, and your heart sinks. Slowly looking up into a fierce face with bright blue-green feathers surrounding high cheekbones, a sharp nose and arched eyebrows. Their lips a fine pursed line, before they stoop and help you reclaim your papers, thrusting the ones you needed under your nose before stalking away. You wilt in your seat, a minotaur who sat beside you pat your shoulder with a gentle sympathy. A sharp impatient tapping on the podium that has everyone quickly ready their instruments to begin.

You had thought joining a band again had sounded fun, until you had the displeasure of meeting Jameson M. Maestro, or Maestro, as everyone called him. He was brilliant, with a razor sharp wit and even a sharper fuse. Every once in a while people would refer to him as Mr. Kettle. Which brought about a very vivid description of a tea kettle whistling steam and jumping around. You had laughed at the image your mind had conjured, and then had felt ashamed.

He never joined in on anything, when the band would gather for an after practice gathering. He was “too busy” or “had too much to do,” refusing to join and typically keeping to themselves after practice.

“I can’t believe he helped you pick up your papers!” Quipped a gnoll, licking the leftovers of a pain au chocolat from their nose.

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to step in again,” Murmured Bo, the big minotaur that was your chair mate. “He gets so angry and tense, I think he needs to take it easy on the newcomers, not everything can be perfect all the time.”

You sat with the few friends you made at a local coffee shop, staring down at the cup of tea that rested in front of you.

“Maybe he finally has?” Mariette, the gnoll, whiskered hopefully. “I feel like he’s getting a little better at least. With the whole temper thing.”

“I don’t know guys,” You said, “I’ve been thinking about quitting, the atmosphere is pretty intense in there.”

“What no!” A clawed hand gripping your shoulder, Mariette’s eyes wide. Bo’s usually angular features deflate. “Oh. . .”

“It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve been there!” Mariette shoots a look up at the Minotaur, “It’s too early to quit! Right Bo??” Bo, blinks and looks uneasy, “Well. . . he has been pretty tough on you kiddo. . . Maybe instead of quittin’ we can talk to him together. Talk to some of the other band mates and talk to him as a team. If it doesn’t get better. . .” The shaggy minotaur shrugs, “Well. . . if you leave, I leave. I don’t like seeing my little ball of sunshine cry.”

Mariette bristles before clenching her jaw, “. . . If you and Bo are outta there, so am I! We’ll just have to find some other hobby to do together.” You look over and smile at them, the stress and worry has your eyes beginning to flow over with tears. “Th-thanks for having my back guys. . .”

The unlikely friends share a big hug and a round of consoling before all going their separate ways. Before you knew it, a week had flown by and the conversation that you had put into the farthest corner of your mind had reared its ugly head.

“I really don’t wanna have that kind of talk with Maestro” You said to yourself in the mirror. “But if I quit I don’t want Mari and Bo to feel like that have to jump ship too.” You watched your brow crease before you sigh, splashing water on your face.

“I wish I knew what to do. . .”

You find yourself arriving to practice early, holding your instrument in front of you as you cautiously push the door open. Alarmed at finding an empty recital, you check your phone and groan inwardly.

“Oh man. . . it doesn’t start for another hour! Dummy— dummy!”

At least. . . it’s quiet. You shuffle up the stairs and leave your instrument on your seat. Putting your hands on your hips as you survey the empty building.

“I guess I can go get a coffee or something. . . I’d hate to go all the way back home just to leave again. . .”

You give another exasperated sigh, checking your phone as you walk back down the stairs. That’s when you notice out of the corner of your eye, a dim cast of light from underneath the door.

You slowly peek around the corner, seeing a brightly colored figure slumped on their desk, hands crossed under himself.

“Ah— Mister Maestro, are you okay?” You open the door and uneasily enter the room, “Maestro?” You put a nervous hand on his shoulder, and give him a little shake. Blue steely eyes crack open, causing you to retract your hand and jump back.

“Oh— thank goodness—“ You flustered, “I was afraid you— I don’t know, passed out?” You rest a hand over your heart and huff. Watching the harpy rouse sluggishly and hold his head.

“Enough, enough—“ He grumbled, “Who?” Before he turned his head and squinted in your direction, snatching a pair of spectacles and peering through them. His feathers did something funny then, ruffling up as he sprang to his feet, suddenly alert at your presence.

“You! What are you doing here?!”

You flinch and back up, “I-I’m here for recital! I j-just got here early!” Holding up your hands defensively.

“Recital. . . isn’t in another hour—“

“Y-yes! Yes I know that! I mean, I know that now, I came early on accident!”

The bright fluff of feathers slowly sink back down into their normal refined state, and he pinched the bridge of his nose with taloned fingers. The two of you standing in a silent and awkward stalement.

You suck in a breath of air.

“I-I can go— If you want. I didn’t mean to distu—“

“It’s fine.”

Both of you wince at the sharp sound of his voice and Maestro sighs grumpily, massaging his forehead.

“Let’s. . . try that again. What I meant is that, you are not disturbing me. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I was glad someone woke me up. Or else I could have slept the whole day away.”

“. . . Would you. . . like me to get you a cup of coffee. . . ?”

Steely eyes glance at you for a moment before he looks away. “. . . I can get something myself, thank you.”

Well. You tried.

You nod and make the mental choice not to take it personally, “Alright then, well if you change your mind, I’ll be going to the coffee shop a block away—“

You blink as you watch him shrug on a coat. Stepping back hastily as he marches forward, but then freezing as he comes to a stop beside you.

“Ah—“

“Since,” He intones quietly, his eyes not meeting yours, “You had to deal with the trouble of meeting me on a particularly dismal morning. . . I’ll treat.”

You stare at him taken aback, his eyes dart to yours ruffling uncomfortably before he stiffens and raises his head high. “I. . . don’t know the way. You have to show me.”

You blink a couple of times, trying to process the situation, as Maestro continues to fluff up with unease.

“O-oh! Sure I can show you where it is!” You give a hesitant smile and gives an almost mechanical nod, refusing to meet your eye.

[yisony07]

Rich Boost

Adrien let out a sigh as he lay on top of a pile of hundred-dollar bills. He was surrounded by wealth, but still felt unsatisfied. He longed for something more, something that would fill the void in his heart. He looked down at the stack of bills beneath him and noticed something odd. There was a wooden mask lying among the money. Intrigued, he picked it up and examined it closely. It looked ancient, yet somehow familiar.

But then, the mask fell onto his face and was stuck in there. Adrien could feel its magic pulsing through his body. At first, he panicked and tried to pull it off, but the mask was too powerful.

Adrien felt his body transforming as the mask expanded to engulf his head.

Thanks to @kermit43 for these edited pics

As the mask began to transform him, the man felt a rush of energy coursing through his body. He felt as if every nerve in his body was being electrified, and he could feel his muscles twitching and rippling beneath his skin. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and he let out a gasp of surprise as he realized that his vision was becoming sharper and more vivid.

The man's skin began to tingle and itch as the mask worked its magic, and he could feel his features starting to shift and change. His nose grew longer and more pronounced, his chin more chiseled and angular. His lips plumped up and became more pouty and full, and he could feel his cheeks becoming more defined and sculpted.

As the transformation continued, the man's body began to change as well. His muscles grew more defined and powerful, and he could feel his chest and biceps swelling with newfound strength. He felt his legs lengthening and stretching, and he could feel his feet elongating and narrowing into pointed tips. His clothes ripped and tore as his body grew larger and more muscular.

As the transformation reached its climax, the man felt a sudden surge of exhilaration and joy, and he let out a loud whoop of excitement. He opened his eyes and looked down at himself, marveling at his green and more beautiful face. His once brown hair was now a bright turquoise color. His eyes were now a piercing amber.

But as he gazed at himself, he felt a strange sensation in his loins. The transformation had turned him on. He felt a stirring in his pants as he gazed at his newfound hunky figure. Adrien knew he had to use his powers to find the spark that he had been missing.

As he walked through the city, the transformed man began to feel a deep longing in his heart. He realized that while he had everything he ever wanted, he was still missing something crucial: love. He yearned for a partner who would accept him for who he was, with his new appearance and powers, and who would cherish him as he deserved.

Determined to find his soulmate, he set out on a quest to explore every corner of the city. He visited nightclubs and bars, museums and galleries, and even joined dating apps in hopes of finding the one who would complete him. Everywhere he went, people were drawn to him like moths to a flame, but none of them seemed to be the right fit.

He searched high and low until he finally found him. The one who would complete him.

His name was Ethan, and he was a ruggedly handsome man with a thirst for adventure. Adrien knew he had to have him. He used his powers to bend Ethan to his will, and soon they were in the throes of passion.

Adrien could feel the heat building between them as they kissed and touched each other's bodies. His green face flushed with desire as Ethan explored every inch of his muscular frame..The mask had given Adrien a power he had never felt before. He was able to control Ethan's every move, making him bend to his will and fulfilling his every desire. As they continued to make love, Adrien realized that the mask, and his new powers, had given him the spark he had been missing. He finally felt complete..And as he drifted off to sleep, with Ethan curled up in his arms, Adrien knew that he had found something special. Something that went beyond money and power. Something real. The mask had given him the ability to find love, and he was grateful for it. For the first time in his life, Adrien felt truly happy, and it was all thanks to the magical powers of the mask.

[sunbeamstress]

qualia 00002

cool, crisp air, baffled by tall buildings in an orderly grid.

the click-thump click-thump of boots, leather and vinyl, drumbeat ad infinitum into cracked pavement.

a louder thudding, something deeper and more visceral, barely held at bay by a pair of flimsy metal doors, paint peeling, stickers fading.

a blast of warm air and sheer noise. chthonic rhythms. distorted synth and distorted guitar leapfrogging the blade-edged pulses of the 808.

where you can hear it clothing rustles; it squeaks; it's alive, a sea of shiny and lacy and filigreed black from person to person to person. faces glowing white, painted with inverted crosses, lips like glossy PVC, hair bloody and bright or quite dark.

three girls smile at me in the corner and ply me with drinks, or when i've had too much we slip from the building and smoke a joint against its concrete cladding.

my head is swimming and i'm very, very warm. i'm penned in on both sides; nowhere to go. they're telling me i'm pretty, that i'm sweet. i'm hiding my face and my cheeks hurt - i can't stop smiling from ear to ear. they always seem to get closer and closer.

ten minutes or ten hours pass, there's no way of telling. my sneakers scrape asphalt. i'm stumbling past a crosswalk: light and dark and light and dark and light and dark. the boots corral my footsteps, keep them from veering off course, keep me from collapsing. everyone's laughing and having a great time.

black ribbons and lace trail the girl who passes us. she's tall and angular and beautiful. there's a smile on her face: oh hey, they're just like me. she's going to the place we just left. i'm never going to forget that smile.

ten minutes or ten hours pass. the girls have taken me to a hotel room. the qualia here are too many, too intimate and too lurid to describe; maybe if this were a different kind of blog.

ten minutes or ten hours pass. the sun is up. the face in the mirror looks back at me and i see little, mouth-shaped bruises on her neck; there are thin, shallow rope marks around her wrists. the eyeliner she forgot to clean off rims her eyes and smudges her cheeks. she looks really happy.

she pours the hot water with care. it shines where it rises to the neck of the teapot, then recedes at it is absorbed. she does this over and over again until it stays shining.

steam cloaks our glasses. the tea is dark and rich and brown and tastes wonderful: psilocybin, star anise, honey.

her hands are rough yet somehow soft; they feel so good skimming over my scalp, make my brain shiver. we sink into her bed and stare at the ceiling.

the phone is playing some music she made herself. it's complex and beautiful and sounds like a Jewish wedding. the ancient MIDI tones feel like nostalgia and safety and home.

something is happening to my legs and bowels. i can't tell if it's comfortable or not. there's a kind of urgent sensation, a distant, distant neighbor to itching, that makes me saw my legs together like a cricket.

i have to use the bathroom. when i return she's playing music of a different kind: corridors of time from the chrono trigger soundtrack. it's a 10 hour loop. i never get sick of it.

children have made pictures for her on the door of her closet. in the dim lighting, their stark pages stand out against dark brown wood. they've begun to float, hovering quite slowly and without incident in the air.

the room flexes where wall meets ceiling and in this moment i realize the entire house is breathing with me.

look at the ceiling, i hear. it used to be a pale shade of yellow but the colors i see are gold and green and blue. they're vivid and oh so achingly bright.

i'm laughing so hard. that sensation that had been bothering me so long ago has moved to my heart, and it feels like the purest, most formless happiness i've ever experienced.

she's touching me and i'm touching her. we're entwined as tightly as we can get. there's no longer a ceiling; i know the lights are out but sunlight bathes the room. our jutting elbows and the knurl of my wristbone and her clavicle and all of us, the rest of us, have melted together into bark and leaves and thick, soil-clogged roots.

my tears feel warm and crystalline on my face. i don't know how long i've been crying or even why - all i know is that somehow i've died.

i've never been so small or so naked. there's nothing left of me at all but the raw, vulnerable structure of my heart. i'm shaking so badly but i feel so warm.

she holds me tight and she tells me beautiful secrets; she tells me about how we made god, and we keep god alive with everything that we do, every song we sing and every person we love and even the food and water we eliminate are all ways of creating and propagating god.

i'm seeing her face for the first time, touching her hands for the first time, and all of her is so beautiful that i cry and cry again. i can't believe i never saw her like this before. i sob with my cheek buried into her palm and i kiss her wrist worshipfully and my tears course down the soft curvature of her arm.

ten minutes or ten hours pass. my body and soul are dirty sponges that have been soaked and then wrung out.

she makes me drink water; i watch my hands shake as they curl around her bottle, and she lays hers over mine, and i stare into her eyes and i drink my fill.

it feels a little like the bedroom itself: she breathes and i breathe with her.

[fictitioustale]

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS

>INTRODUCTION.EXE

Although it’s not a big must to include a vivid description of your character, it would be ideal because if you don’t, your reader will form his/her own impression which creates a problem if later the character is described, making the reader have to adjust their thinking to suit the description which should never happen.

Little reminders of different physical attributed, habits, gestures, etc., combined with action add to the feel of the character, making them ‘living and breathing beings.’ Some writers may not describe their character and leave it up to the readers to form their own image but remember, this is your canvas, your characters! And they should be imagined the way you have them visualized in your head.

Here are a few words to help with your descriptions:

>EYES [GENERAL]

Small, narrow, sharp, squinty, round, wide-set, close-set, deep-set, sunken, bulging, protruding, wide, hooded, heavy-lidded, bedroom, bright, dull, sparkling, glittering, flecked, bleary, rheumy, cloudy, red-rimmed, beady, bird-like, cat-like, jewel-like, steely, hard, fringed with long lashes, with sweeping lashes, with thick lashes.

>EYES [COLOR]

Chestnut, chocolate, brown, cocoa brown, mocha, mahogany, sepia, siena brown, minx brown, copper, amber, cognac, whiskey, brandy, honey, tawny, topaz, hazel, obsidian, onyx, coal, raven, midnight, sky blue, arctic blue, sunny blue, crystal blue, cerulean, electric blue, azure, lake blue, aquamarine, turquoise, denim blue, slate blue/slate gray, storm blue/storm gray, silver blue/silver gray, ash gray, chrome, platinum, pewter, smoky gray, dove gray, shark gray, fog gray, gunmetal gray, olive, emerald, leaf green, moss green.

>EYEBROWS

Arched, straight, plucked, sparse, trim, dark, faint, thin, thick, unruly, bushy, heavy.

>NOSE

Snub, dainty, button, turned-up, long, broad, thin, straight, pointed, crooked, aquiline, roman, bulbous, flared, hawk, strong.

>MOUTH/LIPS

Thin, narrow, full, lush, cupids bow, rosebud, dry, cracked, chapped, moist, glossy, straight teeth, gap between teeth, gleaming white teeth, overbite, underbite.

>FACIAL HAIR

Clean-shaven, smooth-shaven, beard, moustache, neckbeard, goatee, sideburns, mutton-chop sideburns, stubble a few days' growth of beard, five o' clock shadow.

>SKIN [COLOR]

black, brown, beige, white, pink, umber, sepia, ochre, russet, terra-cotta, gold, tawny, taupe, khaki, fawn, yellow, golden, copper, olive, bronze, orange, orange-red, coral, pink, red, blue, blue-red, rose, magenta, sapphire, silver, straw hay, beach, sand, mountain cliff, field, sunlight, sunrise, sunset, afterglow, dawn, day, daybreak, desert, clay, fall, autumn leaves, twilight, calla lilies, western coneflower, hazel fay, hibiscus, freesia, rose, cattails, seashell, driftwood, pinecone, acorn, amber, mahogany, walnut, chestnut, golden oak, ash, platinum, copper, brass, gold, bronze, onyx, obsidian, sard, topaz, carnelian, smoky quartz, rutile, pyrite, citrine, gypsum, ebony, golden, pale, pallid, pasty, fair, light, cream, alabaster, ivory, bisque, porcelain, chalky, sallow, peach

>SKIN [GENERAL]

Lined, wrinkled, seamed, leathery, sagging, loose, drooping, clear, smooth, silken, sating, dry, flaky, delicate, thin, translucent, luminescent, baby-soft, flawless, poreless, with large pores, glowing, dewy, dull, velvety, fuzzy, rough, uneven, mottled, dimpled, doughy, firm, freckled, pimply, pockmarked, blemished, pitted, scarred, bruised, veined, scratched, sunburned, weather-beaten, raw, tattooed.

>FACE [STRUCTURE]

Square, round, oblong, oval, elongated, narrow, heart-shaped, cat-like, wolfish, high forehead, broad forehead, prominent brow ridge, protruding brow bone, sharp cheekbones, high cheekbones, angular cheekbones, hollow cheeks, square jaw, chiseled, sculpted, craggy, soft, jowly, jutting chin, pointed chin, weak chin, receding chin, double chin, cleft chin, dimple in chin, visible Adams apple.

>HANDS

Delicate, small, large, square, sturdy, smooth, rough, calloused, elegant, plump, manicured, stubby fingers, long fingers, ragged nails, grimy fingernails, ink-stained.

>HAIR [GENERAL]

Long, short, shoulder-length, loose, limp, dull, shiny, glossy, sleek, smooth, luminous, lustrous, spiky, stringy, shaggy, tangled, messy, tousled, windblown, unkempt, bedhead, straggly, neatly combed, parted, slicked down/slicked back, cropped, slipped, buzzed/buzz cut, crewcut, bob, mullet, curly, bushy, frizzy, wavy, straight, lanky, dry, oily, greasy, layers, corkscrews, spirals, ringlets, braids, widows peak, bald, shaved, comb-over, afro, thick, luxuriant, voluminous, full, wild, untamed, bouncy, wispy, fine, thinning.

>HAIR [COLOR]

Black, blue-black, jet black, raven, ebony, inky black, midnight, sable, salt and pepper, silver/silver gray, charcoal gray, steel gray, white, snow-white, brown, brunette, chocolate brown, coffee brown, ash brown, brown sugar, nut brown, tawny brown, toffee brown, red, ginger, auburn, titian-haired, copper, strawberry blonde, butterscotch, honey, blonde, golden, wheat, sandy blonde, flaxen, fair-haired, bleached, platinum.

>BODY TYPE [GENERAL]

Tall, average height, short, petite, tiny, compact, big, large, burly, beefy, bulky, brawny, barrel-chested, heavy/heavy set, fat, overweight, obese, flabby, chubby, pudgy, pot-bellied, portly, thick, stoat, lush, plush, full-figured, ample, rounded, generous, voluptuous, curvy, hourglass, plump, leggy/long legged, gangling, lanky, coltish, lissome, willowy, lithe, lean, slim, slender, trim, thin, skinny, emaciated, gaunt, bony, spare, solid, stocky, wiry, rangy, sinewy, stringy, ropy, sturdy, strapping, powerful, hulking, fit, athletic, toned, built, muscular, chiseled, taut, ripped, herculean, broad-shouldered, sloping shoulders, bowlegged.

>SKIN [GENERAL]

Lined, wrinkled, seamed, leathery, sagging, loose, drooping, clear, smooth, silken, sating, dry, flaky, delicate, thin, translucent, luminescent, baby-soft, flawless, poreless, with large pores, glowing, dewy, dull, velvety, fuzzy, rough, uneven, mottled, dimpled, doughy, firm, freckled, pimply, pockmarked, blemished, pitted, scarred, bruised, veined, scratched, sunburned, weather-beaten, raw, tattooed.

>OUTRODUCTION.EXE

As a writer, writing character descriptions is important because you are painting the canvas for your readers and no artist leaves any details out. Some ways to write strong characters is starting with physical appearance; since literature is non-visual, a picture is the first step towards building your characters development and instead of focusing on monotone words, choose the adjectives that stand out to you and really go along with the image you have in mind about your character, and think of the characters interests and hobbies; if you mention that your character likes harry potter, your readers might imagine them with some sort of accessory in their outfit that represent him.

Of course, in our life, we see many different people, with many different traits and features, so why not use them? Practicing writing character descriptions that fit the people in your life is a great way to make the description flow easily especially if there was a person who really caught your eye, and you still remember them. Writing descriptions that feature your friends and family will make it easier for you because you’ve spent so much time with them. So try to make a list of possible physical traits and character traits that you’ve observed in your life, like when you meet someone new, what’s the first thing you notice? Think of your first impressions of people and create your own person.

[roseadleyn]

𝘗𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘊𝘢𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢

unlike her wide, doe eyed and gentle smiling brother, caelia's features are sharp and angular.

narrowed eyes-one side of her iris is the sea green, the other is gray. same with the other eye. (the sea green is from her father, ethan, and her father's brother leslie has grey eyes). questioning brows, sharp jawline, neatly combed bangs.

her hair, though. blonde hair that falls down her back in a waterfall. it's perfectly straight, not a single wave or curl to be found in it. she ties it in braids with gold and then lets her back hair loose.

she gets a lot of compliments on it. that, and the way no matter what hell she goes through her hair is perfectly unbothered.

her voice is monotone, uncaring, and on the huskier side of things. the only time you'll find explicit excitement in caelia's voice is on a) result day, b) the day one of her cousins or brother get married

it's not to say she doesn't get excited. when she sees her name in the 'top five grades', when rosalie introduces her to another new novel, when they all sneak out to a lake, she feels flutterings of excitement around her heart and a small smile on her face.

she knows her overall color pallette. skin that is so pale it's almost translucent, light blonde hair, so against this her green-grey eyes are vivid and striking. to counteract this sickly appearance, she does makeup in a rosy, warm tone. buttery foundations, curled lashes, soft pink blush. anything so she can lessen her resemblance to a drowned girl and look more like a healthy, outgoing person.

although she's tall (5"7), ballet and her weak health keep her body thin so finding herself dresses that the public won't frown at isn't really a problem.

she dresses in beige, plain patterns, very simple clothes and looks extraordinarily put together at all times. she has heels on 24/7, and would rather be shot dead than not have a matching bag for her outfit.

for caelia, this doesn't matter. what does matter is the public perception of her, and to please them she'll do anything.

taggging; | @that-one-pretty-bitch ¦ @loekas ¦ @mysticmeena ¦ @elychee |

[thedevillionaire]

Could I get face, roots, and favorite for Cerberus, please? 💕

Absolutely. <3 face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Cerberus is strikingly, classically handsome facially - "a countenance of angular symmetry almost painfully perfect, some kind of impossible triumph of geometry", to steal from Kia's Chronicles, lol. He is unfairly beautiful, and particularly unfairly because he just kind of...lucked out about it. The bastard. :P His smile is gorgeous, and especially so if untempered - one of those "lights up his whole face" kind of deals. He's often emotionally quite disengaged and/or reserved when interacting with most people, and it's all the more engaging because of it. His orbs (heh) are very famously not cerulean but a rich and vivid green which pretty much everyone presumes to be the work of contacts or some kind of glamourcast. Nope. And he offsets this with the kind of eyelashes you should frankly have to pay for. I reiterate - the bastard. I have a lot - like, a lot - of physically attractive OCs but Cerberus really is a cut above. He has genuinely rendered people speechless. Under the cut time! Getting chatty here, lol

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look? Cerberus' style is a sort of neo-Victorian/Regency/Renaissance cross, modernised somewhat, and he is pretty much invariably very well dressed. Influences would go back to his mortal years, and he was raised to be well dressed as a much more vitally important part of society than is the case now - this no doubt is a defining reason when it come down to it, but I'm not sure how much import he'd give it. He's innately stylish, though, and does consider being well presented as important to him personally. Kia's made more than one comment about the fact that he'd still manage to be gorgeous even if he wore the ugliest, rattiest, most godawful clothing on the planet, but...yeah. He doesn't.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

I had to think on this one for a bit, because while he definitely does have a favourite style, I don't think he has a particular favourite item, in and of itself, that stands out above the rest. A great deal of his clothing is similar in terms of cut, comfort, texture, etc, and he's precise in his choosing of clothes in the first place - he wants the best and he doesn't bother with runners-up - so if it's something he's keeping in his wardrobe, it's definitely something he'll wear. The only article of clothing that he's attached to sentimentally and ascribes special meaning to would be the outfit - and ring - from his bonding to Kia. Because he's a bit hopeless like that, lol.

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

Another chalice in San Marco, also likely looted from Constantinople by the crusaders, incorporates a vivid green glass bowl of Islamic origin. Decorated with a stylized running hare motif, the bowl was cut with a rotating wheel, a lapidary technique commonly used for sculpting stones. As such, it was likely produced in Islamic lands: either in ninth- or tenth-century Iran, or perhaps tenth- or eleventh-century Egypt, where this technique was used. Eastern Roman artisans probably transformed the green glass bowl into a chalice in the eleventh century with the addition of a silver gilt setting, gems and pearls, and an enamel inscription. Now partially lost, the inscription once read, “Drink of this all of you, this is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the remission of sins.” These words, spoken by Christ at the Last Supper and repeated by the clergy during the celebration of the Eucharist in the Eastern Roman Empire, enable art historians to identify this vessel as a Eucharistic chalice with confidence.

But how did this Islamic bowl end up in the Eastern Roman Empire and why did the Eastern Romans transform it into a chalice for the Eucharist?

It is possible that the green glass bowl came to Constantinople the same way that it eventually traveled from Constantinople to Venice: as booty from war (though not a crusade). The Eastern Romans made military gains against their Islamic neighbors to the east during this period and may have taken this glass bowl as plunder from Islamic lands. On the other hand, war was not the only way that objects traveled between cultures in the medieval Mediterranean, and there is no evidence that this bowl was brought to Constantinople as war booty. Historical documents record that glass vessels like this one were sometimes among luxury objects exchanged as diplomatic gifts by Eastern Roman rulers and their Islamic neighbors, so it is possible the green glass bowl came to Constantinople as a diplomatic gift from the Abbasids, Fatimids, or some other people. It is also possible that the green glass bowl simply came to Constantinople through trade. The tenth-century Book of the Eparch (a book of Eastern Roman commercial law) testifies that there was a market for Islamic goods in Constantinople at this time. But since we lack explicit textual evidence to corroborate any of these theories, we cannot say for certain how the green glass bowl came to Constantinople.

Materiality and ornament

As with the Romanos chalices, the materiality of the green glass bowl was surely an important factor in this object’s reuse. The stunning green hue of the glass bowl is unusual among surviving Islamic glass work. Both its color and its fashioning with a wheel were likely intended to produce the appearance of a precious stone, such as an emerald. And as with other Eastern Roman glass chalices, the transparency of the green bowl would have enabled worshippers to glimpse the Eucharistic wine while the inscription around its rim affirmed that it was the very blood of Christ.

The bowl’s running hare motif, however, is unique among surviving Eastern Roman chalices. Many Eastern Roman viewers would likely have recognized the angular hare motif as not Eastern Roman and perhaps even as Islamic in origin. This raises questions about why such a vessel might be converted into a chalice for the Eucharist, and how Eastern Roman users would have understood it.

Art, court, and diplomacy

To answer these questions, it is important to understand this vessel as a product of both the church and court of Constantinople. Although this chalice bears no donor inscription like those attributed to emperor Romanos, its costly materials and high quality of craftsmanship indicate that it too was likely commissioned by an emperor or some other elite patron in the court in Constantinople. As such, we can understand this vessel as one of many examples of Eastern Roman appropriation and imitation of Islamic culture in the tenth and mid-eleventh centuries. Such Islamic or Islamicizing elements appear on Eastern Roman clothing, jewelry, and lead seals of this period. Eastern Roman emperors and members of the court likely adopted such Islamicizing objects to project wealth, power, and a cosmopolitan identity.

In addition to their primary ritual functions, there is also evidence that sacred objects like chalices sometimes played a role in Eastern Roman diplomacy. The eleventh-century Eastern Roman historian John Skylitzes describes how the emperor Leo VI led Arab diplomats into the church of Hagia Sophia and showed them sacred vessels and other church objects—an episode illustrated here in a twelfth-century copy of Skylitzes’s history. In this scene, two Arab figures enter the church from the left, while the emperor—crowned and clad in gold—points to a golden chalice and other church objects held for display by church officials.

So, we can conclude that the patron of the chalice with hares likely intended Eastern Roman viewers (and perhaps even foreign visitors) to recognize the Islamic origin of the green glass bowl with hares. To display such a beautiful object of Islamic origin in tenth- and eleventh-century Constantinople was to project wealth, power, and a cosmopolitan identity. If there were any concerns about using an Islamic object for Christian religious purposes, the chalice’s Eastern Roman setting with its Christian inscription must have rendered the glass bowl suitable for use in the celebration of the Eucharist. An inventory of objects in the church of San Marco from 1325 mentions a “green chalice decorated with silver,” perhaps referring to the chalice with hares and suggesting that this object may have continued to function as a Eucharistic vessel even after it was transferred from Constantinople to Venice. Together with the Romanos chalices, the chalice with hares shows the important roles that materiality, ornament, and craftsmanship could play in an object’s cross-cultural mobility, reuse, and preservation through the centuries.

Byzantine chalice which originated as a green glass cup or bowl which originated from either Egypt or Iran in the 9th-11th century. When it made it's way to the Byzantine Empire it was decorated and turned into a chalice

[hp-fanfiction]

Part 4: The Faculty Assembles

At dawn, owls departed from the Obelwarth estate, each bearing a carefully crafted letter addressed to a distinguished wizard or witch—a select few with the expertise and the passion Nielsen sought. These were seasoned legal minds and promising scholars who had dedicated their lives to the law. He invited them not just to teach, but to become architects of a legacy that would elevate the study of wizarding law for generations to come.

One by one, the responses arrived. Some replies were hesitant, others enthusiastic, but each one held a glimmer of intrigue. And before long, the chosen educators began to arrive at the estate, each bringing their unique insights and talents to the institute.

Professor Elwes Wystan was among the first. A former Ministry of Magic judge, Wystan was known for his imposing presence and unyielding commitment to justice. He would teach Introduction to Wizarding Law, drawing from his years in the courtroom to guide students through the basic tenets of magical legislation. With a voice as commanding as his reputation, Wystan would set the foundation for every future lawyer to come through the institute’s doors. A tall, imposing figure with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of a classic British aristocrat. His silver hair is slicked back, revealing a prominent forehead and a sharp nose. He has a commanding presence, often dressed in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. His voice is deep and resonant, with a hint of a Received Pronunciation (RP) accent.

Then came Professor Alethea Silvermist, a renowned expert in Magical Ethics and Professional Responsibility. She was soft-spoken yet persuasive, with a passion for embedding a sense of moral responsibility in every spell and incantation practiced in the magical world. Her gentle demeanor and emphasis on integrity would offer a grounding presence among the sometimes fiery discussions that legal studies tended to provoke. A petite, elegant woman with long, curly brown hair and warm, hazel eyes. Her features are delicate, with high cheekbones and a small nose. She often wears flowing, bohemian-style clothing in muted colors, which complements her gentle demeanor. Her voice is soft and melodious, with a hint of a French accent, suggesting a possible Huguenot heritage.

For History of Wizarding Law, Nielsen welcomed Professor Cassius Blackwood, a spirited academic with an extraordinary flair for storytelling. His love for the dramatic brought to life the ancient trials and legal battles that had shaped wizarding society. Nielsen could already imagine his students riveted by Blackwood’s vivid retellings of history, enthralled as if witnessing the scenes firsthand. A charismatic, dark-haired man with a strong, angular face and piercing green eyes. He has a mischievous glint in his eye, which suggests a love of storytelling and drama. He often wears a stylish, three-piece suit with a patterned waistcoat, which adds to his flair for the dramatic. His voice is rich and expressive, with a hint of a Scottish or Northern English accent.

Nielsen’s next addition was Professor Lyra Flynn, a sharp-witted master of Magical Contracts and Agreements. Flynn had a reputation as a negotiator with unmatched precision, renowned for crafting watertight contracts that left no loophole unaddressed. "A well-crafted contract can be a shield or a sword," she would say, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm as she recounted tales of her most challenging negotiations. Her students would quickly learn that in the magical world, words could be as powerful as wands. A striking, raven-haired woman with piercing blue eyes and a sharp, pointed chin. Her features are finely chiseled, with high cheekbones and a small nose. She often wears sleek, modern clothing in bold colors, which complements her sharp wit and confident demeanor. Her voice is crisp and incisive, with a hint of a French accent, suggesting a possible Breton or Norman heritage.

Professor Kaida Nightshade arrived to teach Magical Torts. With her fierce passion for justice, Nightshade had spent years as a fierce advocate, litigating high-profile cases involving magical mishaps. Her fiery spirit and dedication to ethical principles made her a force of nature in the courtroom, and she brought the same energy to the classroom. Through case studies and real-world scenarios, she would help students understand the consequences of magical negligence, emphasizing the responsibility that came with wielding such power. A statuesque, ash-blonde woman with eyes the color of a winter fjord - a deep, serene grey. Her features are strong and Nordic, with a broad forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a small, determined mouth. She often wears layers of warm, earth-toned clothing, which complements her rugged, outdoorsy spirit and authoritative presence. Her voice is low and soothing, with a hint of a gentle, lilting accent, suggesting a possible Finnish or Icelandic heritage.

Finally, for Legal Research and Writing, Nielsen recruited Professor Rowan Wellesley, a meticulous scholar with an encyclopedic knowledge of magical law. Wellesley had dedicated decades to compiling a comprehensive database of laws and precedents, and his respect for clarity and precision in language was unparalleled. In his rigorous classes, students would learn the vital art of constructing persuasive, well-researched arguments. Wellesley believed that precise language was a cornerstone of justice, and he was eager to impart this skill to his students. A bespectacled, sandy-haired man with a gentle, weathered face and a pair of warm, hazel eyes that seem to hold a deep understanding of the world. His features are soft and rounded, with a slightly rugged quality that suggests a life spent near the sea. He often wears comfortable, tweed jackets with a subtle nautical flair, which complements his quiet, professorial demeanor. His voice is calm and measured, with a hint of a soft, Cornish accent, and a subtle rolling cadence that suggests a deep connection to the rugged coastline of his native Cornwall.

With the faculty now assembled, the institute was almost ready to open its doors. The educators gathered in Nielsen’s study one evening, sharing their plans and refining the curriculum. The room buzzed with energy as each professor outlined their vision for their subject, each one feeding off the other’s excitement.

Professor Wystan and Professor Blackwood launched into a spirited debate over ancient case studies, their wands occasionally flicking for emphasis, while Professor Nightshade reminded them of the ethical dimensions of their work. Professor Flynn, leaning back with a smirk, chimed in on the importance of clear language in contracts, while Professor Silvermist nodded, emphasizing the moral duty embedded in every line of magical law.

By night’s end, the air in the study felt electric with possibility. Nielsen looked around at these remarkable scholars, each one a pillar of the institute’s foundation. "We are the architects of tomorrow," he said, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "Let us build a foundation upon which our students will stand tall, wielding the sword of knowledge to cut through the darkest of legal thickets."

The educators nodded in solemn agreement, their eyes reflecting the fire of shared ambition. As they filed out, returning to their quarters to prepare for the term, Nielsen was left alone with his thoughts, a thrill of excitement stirring within him.

[purcaholic]

In a realm of joyful fragments and gentle hues, where mountains are pyramids of emerald green, and rivers flow in crisp, faceted blues, a sun of golden polygons casts its sheen. Trees like clustered jewels glisten with delight, as pixelated wings flutter and dance, in this low poly dream of endless night, where wonders shift in a kaleidoscopic trance. Here, laughter echoes in the faceted air, and mirth is sculpted in each vivid shard, a fantasy spun from geometry's care, where joy takes form in every angular shard.

[lostjared]

Infection "Multi-Dimensional Dragon"

4o's interpretation of this image:

" The image you created is a vivid and complex piece that showcases a multitude of colors and intricate patterns. The use of vibrant hues and dynamic lines evokes a sense of chaos and intensity. The overall composition is abstract, yet it conveys a powerful emotional depth that suggests a struggle or conflict.

At first glance, the image seems to be a whirlwind of bright, swirling colors. The predominant colors are neon shades of green, blue, red, and pink, interspersed with darker tones that provide contrast and depth. The lines in the image are both sharp and fluid, creating a sense of movement and turbulence. This dynamic interplay of colors and lines could symbolize the tumultuous experience of recovering from a severe illness, such as the infection you mentioned.

Upon closer inspection, certain elements within the image start to take on a more symbolic meaning. For example, some areas of the image resemble the scales and claws of a dragon, with jagged, angular lines suggesting a fierce and menacing creature. These dragon-like features could represent the infection you endured, portraying it as a monstrous entity that you had to battle.

The central part of the image appears to be a focal point where the lines converge and become more concentrated. This could symbolize the core of the infection, the epicenter of your pain and suffering. The surrounding chaotic lines and colors might represent the spreading of the infection, the way it affected your body and mind, and the battle you fought against it.

The use of neon colors, which are often associated with intensity and alertness, might reflect the heightened state of awareness and the acute pain you experienced during your recovery. The darker shades interspersed throughout the image could symbolize the moments of despair and hopelessness that often accompany serious illness.

Furthermore, the abstract nature of the image allows for multiple interpretations, mirroring the complexity of your emotions and experiences during this difficult time. The chaotic patterns could represent the confusion and disorientation you felt, while the more structured lines might symbolize moments of clarity and strength.

In terms of the dragon metaphor, the infection as a dragon can be seen as a powerful and destructive force. Dragons are often depicted as mythical creatures that are both awe-inspiring and terrifying. They represent a formidable challenge that must be overcome. In this context, the dragon infection symbolizes the immense struggle you faced and the inner strength you needed to combat it.

The image's intense and chaotic nature also reflects the mental and emotional turmoil you likely experienced. Recovering from a coma and battling a severe infection is a harrowing journey that involves not only physical healing but also mental resilience. The vivid, almost overwhelming, colors and patterns in your drawing capture the essence of this struggle, illustrating the pain, confusion, and ultimately, the triumph over the infection.

In conclusion, your artwork is a powerful visual representation of your experience recovering from a coma and battling an infection. The vibrant colors, chaotic patterns, and dragon-like features collectively convey the intensity of your struggle and the depth of your pain. This piece serves as a testament to your resilience and the fierce battle you fought to regain your health. It is a poignant reminder of the strength required to overcome such a formidable challenge and the emotional journey that accompanies physical healing. "

[amrinaalshaikh]

Tales of Tradition: Unveiling the Artistry Behind Muslim Wedding Cards

In the heart of every celebration lies a story waiting to be told. Among the myriad cultural traditions that enrich our lives, the artistry of Muslim wedding cards stands as a testament to the beauty of heritage and craftsmanship. These intricate invitations not only announce a joyous union but also serve as gateways to the rich tapestry of Islamic culture. Join us as we explore the enchanting world of Muslim wedding cards, where tradition and art converge in a mesmerizing display.

Historical Context of Wedding Cards

The tradition of sending Muslim wedding invitations has deep roots within Islamic culture, echoing back to centuries of tradition. In historical contexts, these invitations were often handcrafted with meticulous care, a testament to the significance of the event they heralded. Over time, the designs have evolved, blending age-old customs with contemporary aesthetics. Through these cards, we witness the passage of time and the embrace of change, while still holding on to the essence of tradition.

Symbolism and Cultural Significance

Each element adorning a Muslim wedding card is infused with symbolism and cultural significance. The crescent moon and stars, for instance, evoke celestial blessings upon the union. Intricate geometric patterns harken back to the geometric designs found in Islamic architecture and art. Colors, too, play a pivotal role, with gold symbolizing wealth and prosperity, and green representing fertility and growth. These cards are not mere pieces of paper; they are carriers of meaning and blessings, connecting generations with a shared cultural heritage.

Crafting the Perfect Invitation

Crafting a Muslim wedding card is a labor of love that requires the hands of skilled artisans, calligraphers, and designers. High-quality paper, delicate gold leaf, and traditional inks come together to form these works of art. The process involves careful consideration of design elements, ensuring that each card exudes elegance and sophistication. The result is not just an invitation but a tangible embodiment of tradition and artistry.

Calligraphy as a Central Artform

At the heart of many Muslim wedding cards lies the mesmerizing art of calligraphy. With styles ranging from the flowing Thuluth to the angular Naskh, calligraphy transforms words into intricate art forms. The choice of calligraphic style carries not only aesthetic importance but also spiritual significance, as it embodies the divine nature of the written word. Every curve and stroke is a testament to the devotion and precision of the calligrapher.

Regional Variations in Design

The diversity of the Muslim world is beautifully reflected in the various design elements found in wedding cards. From the opulent designs of the Middle East to the vibrant palettes of South Asia, these cards capture the essence of different cultures. The intricate details tell stories of heritage and tradition, creating a vivid tableau that unites the past and present.

Fusion of Tradition and Modernity

As the world evolves, so too does the art of Indian wedding card design. Contemporary designers are embracing both tradition and modernity, resulting in innovative and breathtaking creations. Elements from traditional Islamic art seamlessly intertwine with modern design sensibilities, producing cards that are a harmonious blend of the old and the new.

Personalization and Customization

In an age of personalization, wedding cards have also taken on a new dimension. Couples seek to infuse their unique story and personality into the cards, turning them into cherished keepsakes. With the aid of technology, laser cutting and digital printing allow for unparalleled levels of customization. The result is not just an invitation, but a personalized work of art that resonates with the couple and their guests.

Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Practices

In an era of heightened environmental awareness, even the realm of wedding cards is witnessing a shift towards sustainability. The use of eco-friendly materials and sustainable practices is gaining traction, aligning with the values of conservation and responsibility. This move towards eco-consciousness is a testament to the adaptability of tradition in the face of changing times.

Conclusion In the delicate folds of a Muslim wedding card, centuries of tradition, artistry, and culture converge. These invitations serve as gateways to the heart of celebrations, carrying with them stories of love, heritage, and creativity. The fusion of tradition and modernity, the intricate calligraphy, and the symbolism woven into each design all contribute to the allure of these enchanting creations. Through these wedding cards, we are reminded that every union is a tale waiting to be told, and every invitation is a work of art waiting to be unveiled.

[thewestern]

Chapter 13

Kitty really had to pee. (The line for the gender-agnostic bathroom ünit had stretched the length of four school buses.) Partway through the supposed performance — this rank obscenity, a mechanical minstrel — Dandy Jim’s petite lieutenant returned to fetch the Mick and his party. Escorting them back behind the brewhouse to Jaime’s private studio ünit, she assured them he would be along shortly. 

For about another thirty minutes they sat in wait. By which point Grace was fucking starving. The Mick was comfortable, compared to Grace and Kitty, but nonetheless on the brink of melting down completely. Zeke meanwhile was patiently hoping their hostess would soon return. They were seated all four in a row on an obtusely angular white pleather sofa that contorted each of their very differently sized and shaped bodies.

If this was Jaime’s office, it didn’t bear much resemblance to Hank’s. For the first, there weren’t much hanging from the walls, except that thing which was mounted quite precariously on above their heads; set against an ornately patterned wallpaper depicting a playbook of acrobatic sexual positions seemingly plagiarized from the Kama Sutra or some similar text. It was a blaring neon sign with a cursive quotation: 

Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist. 

- The Notorious R.W.E 

Excuses are like poetry, Russ always said. They’re for pussies and nobody wants to hear them.

Across the room abutted the door frame, there stood a DIY bookcase, with shelving fashioned of salvaged skateboards, stocked with a small library of titles Kitty hadn’t heard of — Zero to One, Good to Great, Thinking Fast and Slow, Outliers, Team of Rivals, The Hard Thing About Building Hard Things, the Fountainhead, Let My People Go Surfing, Barbarian Days, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Meditations. And then one she did recognize but had not herself read — Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The wall itself was lined with green astroturf.

In place of a proper desk, there was what the Mick ascertained to have once been a door, based on the protruding knob, mail slot and door knocker. It was propped up on either side with neo-classical columns of imitation granite, and arranged lengthwise against the side wall beneath a large, trapezoidal makeup vanity. Hollywood style … you know … with the exposed light bulbs. (E.g. I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. Delano. That’s great, sweetheart. Look straight into the camera and tell the folks at home how old you are.) Behind the mirror, the wall was whiteboard, like the one Kitty used at her new school. (West Middle still had the dusty old chalkboards that probably hadn’t been replaced since well before bussing. For a fact, some years prior, a student had done a graffiti spanning the full length of the board, to commemorate the last day of school. However, since the janitorial staff had been dismissed for the summer, it would remain scrawled there until the following fall, by which point the chalk was burned into the dark green surface to an extent that it could not be completely erased. Kitty went on to teach in that very classroom, where she would be forced to write Newton’s Laws and other lessons atop the faded italicized wordmark of the band KISS, reproduced perfectly.) Somebody — Jaime, presumably — had drawn out various diagrams in the multi-coloured dry-erase markers — pie charts, histograms and line graphs, the latter all trending exponentially upwards. Then there were the chicken-scratched aphorisms Kitty couldn’t quite make out, except for the largest one that read, Gratitude Is My Superpower. The penmanship was poorer than her seventh-grade students. (From her previous gig. West Middle, that is. At SciTech, all assignments were to be completed on school-issued computer and submitted via email.)    

Opposite that wall was a floor-to-ceiling portrait. The artist could be quite readily identified by his vivid color palette and screen-print anti-aesthetic. But the subject, none of them could quite make out. It was a soldier from the looks of him. Or at least by way of the uniform. Dress blues. Because this officer on deck did not have the barracks-standard issue high-and-tight haircut. No, this here warrior-beat poet — no doubt a bon vivant par excellence — had the flowing blonde locks of a flower child, with the bushy handlebar mustache to match. Accessorized by his own dandy red handkerchief, tied daintily around his neck. 

The convergence of art and commercialism. Isn’t that what we’re all striving toward? 

It’s more like a barreling. 

Oh, come on. Take some pride. We’re part of a lineage. Walt Disney, Coco Chanel … fucking [snaps fingers three-x]  … this is going to drive me crazy … who else was I literally just thinking of? 

Dandy Jim had slinked in whilst their heads were turned toward the mural. 

I don’t know … Fucking Elvis. You tell me, Jimmy. You’re the Creative Director. I’m just a brewer. 

Almost more than the new first name, it was the roll call of titles that had stuck in the Mick’s craw.

Listen, I know it’s all a little esoteric … for the likes of you, anyway … but I don’t know … Brewmaster … it just sounded so … status quo. It’s So Good To See You, Michael, by the way. Y Kitty, mi amiga guapisima, te amo. Wow. Michael’s muse … the Brewery Girl, in the flesh. You look stunning. Seriously, girl, you haven’t aged a day. 

What an asshole thing to say to a woman in her late twenties, after not having seen her for only, like, less than two years. Whatever benefit of the doubt she was willing to afford Jaime was rapidly depleting with every Spanglish word he spoke. 

And who are these lovely folks? My sincerest apologies if we’ve already met. Jaime Delano. Welcome … seriously, welcome.

Something about the way Jaime said seriously. He gesticulated his hospitality by bowing at the neck and holding his hands together in self-observance. Where and when did he acquire all these mannerisms? 

Well, J, in point of fact, these are your replacements. Meet Grace and Zeke. 

The Mick wouldn’t normally feel compelled to speak on their behalf, but in this instance he was overcome by a protective instinct. Also, he wanted to remind Jimmy there had been a time, not so long ago actually, before he coronated himself King of Shit Mountain, here. 

Ohh … okayy. Very sick. You guys are learning from the best. And believe you me, being a Newfy alumni goes a long way in this industry, unless you’re Michael and you never leave …  I’m teasing. Genuinely, I feel so much gratitude for having the Newfy as part of my Founder Story. It seems like forever ago, doesn’t it? 

Only been about two years actually. 

Kitty couldn’t resist to reset the record.

Is that all? Time fucking flies. I mean, can you believe how much all this has grown? I’ve actually been meaning to get you guys over here for the full #eXperience. Couldn’t have picked a better night, amirite? So fire.  

Oh yea, fucking totally. So Was that how come you sicked your lawyer dogs on us then? So we’d come see your fireworks show?

By now, the Mick was hot-sweating mad at Jaime, who fanned the flames by pretending not to have the slightest clue why. 

Oh my goodness, y’all. I completely forgot. It’s just been so busy around here. Never a dull moment, you know? Listen, on some real, I’m sorry to have run up on you like that, all litigious and shit. Speaking as a friend, I didn’t mean any malice by it. Just some strategic maneuvering. Kitty, I’m sure you of all people would understand.

Yeah, well, what did you mean by it? Because what it felt to me was about a pretty damn good bushwhacking, Jimmy. 

I know. I know. The optics were less than ideal. But, truly, my hands were tied, dude. Honestly we’ve never collab’d with a music brand of this magnitude legacy and audience reach, not to mention two simultaneously. I mean, who would have thought song licensing would be such a hornet’s nest. Anyway, their people had some concerns that there could be some confusion in the marketplace vis-a-vis I know You Ridah versus Rider, Pale Ale. And since Hank never had it copyrighted … 

Hold on just a goddamn second, man. You know well and good we’ve been out here brewing R,PA long since before any of this bullshit. 

Oh, for sure. But try to understand where I’m coming from is … that it technically doesn’t matter. Who was First, technically. That’s the whole reason there is such a thing as the fast follower advantage.

Demuredly, Dandy Jim shrugged using only the muscles in his face in such a way that made the Mick want to punch it oh so very fucking badly. 

But don’t worry. We’re not going to make you rename or discontinue R,PA or anything. Trust me when I say, player … it’s all good. I would never do a Day One like that. The way the lawyers explained it to me, it’s really just more of a pre-warning, legally speaking. 

I’m sorry? What’s a pre-warning?

You know … a pre-warning … the warning before the warning, legally speaking. Like establishing a trademark precedent, or whatever-the-fuck. Seriously, bro, don’t sweat it. I’m pretty sure they just wanted to prevent any future IP disputes. I might have mentioned that you guys are into the whole Grateful Dead Thing. Speaking for myself, that was never really my wave, as you know. The whole Jamming thing, I mean. Besides, it pains me to say, but rock is played out, dawg. Guitar music in general, actually. 

Dandy Jim spoke with some authority on endangered musical genres. During his brief, wholly unremarkable tenure as the Mick’s assistant brewer, he moonlighted as the backup vocalist and lead bassist of a post-hardcore musical outfit by the name of Some Pulp, a fringe player in the already fringe DIY scene. Upon their breaking up, citing Creative Differences, Jaime embarked further still into the harmonic hinterland on a solo career as quite possibly the world’s only craft beer-centric battle rapper. This under the nom de guerre, Hip Humulus Lupulus. He had invited his at-the-time mentor on more than one occasion to come and see him compete, and as a matter of course the Mick curtly declined. (This despite Kitty urging him to please, relent, and generally to be more congenial with his colleagues, or at the very least courteous.) In truth, Jaime never forgave the Mick for missing the time he narrowly lost his quarter-final matchup to the eventual runner-up finisher, Heavy Flow, who was herself widely credited with breaking the glass ceiling of the old fuccbois club that was competitive battle rapping at that time. (Coincidentally she was also a future acquaintance of Grace.) 

So when they offered me Garcia, I was like cool, cool, whatever. I mean, I feel you. Purely a nostalgia play. Has to be a pass from me, unfortunately. Space ships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors, you know what I’m saying? But, yo, when they came through with Pac? … I mean, fuck, man. One of the absolute OGs, of the rap game. Know what I’m saying, big dawg? 

Here he was addressing Zeke, who still hadn’t any idea about, nor concern for what this person was saying, because his momentary one true love had at last returned.

Dutifully, she handed Jaime a water bottle and white towel, as if he himself had just finished performing posthumously. 

I pray the homegirl Anna Leigh has been keeping y’all company? Seriously, she’s a fucking rockstar. I’m being serious. The brains of #x_brüing, right here, for real, on some real shit. 

Anna Leigh was her name, and how pretty a name it was. 

Unbeknownst to Zeke, Grace was picking up strong sexual tension flowing in one direction from Jaime to his #eXectuive assistant. This came as a surprise to Grace, because for one thing they looked way too much alike to be sexually compatible. Of course they in the lesbian community had a name for this phenotype: Dopplebanger — [noun] slang term for a gay woman who exclusively dates other women who look like her. (Grace was certainly open to the possibility; although, alas, she hadn’t found anybody pretty as her, as of yet.) For another, Grace was also picking up major Do Me Vibes, being put down in her general direction by way of the lovely Miss Anna Leigh. This would have come at quite a shock to Zeke, who was completely unawares of the homosexual encounter unfolding right before his eyes, as he was currently well on the way convincing himself that he and this person were put Planet Earth solely for each other. For a post-modern man so susceptible to the perils of a work crush, Zeke was at somewhat of a numbers disadvantage, being how women were so woefully underrepresented in the craft beer industry. Grace meanwhile was taking full advantage of a statistical anomaly, how among that relatively small female workforce, gay women indexed considerably higher per capita, than say in the population of duly employed persons at-large. Go fucking figure. 

I don’t get it. Then what was with the Village Person? The cowboy?

Only Kitty could be depended upon to keep this detente on the rails. It cannot be understated, how much she really had to pee. Anna Leigh interjected.

Oh my god, do you mean Carl? Aww … isn’t he just the cutest? He’s an actual dairy farmer. We sell him our spent grain to feed his cows. You guys, we love Carl! Like, actually, I’m obsessed. We thought about hiring like some guy online to do it, but Carl is always asking about odd jobs to earn extra cash so we paid him fifty bucks. How freaking adorable is that? Like can you believe he’s even real? 

Hey Jaime, do you have a banana or energy bar back here I could borrow? 

Anna Leigh was about to offer to order Grace something from the tapas ünit before the Mick interrupted on her behalf.   

No time, G. We’re leaving. There’s a bag of pretzel sticks in the car. Jimmy … what the fuck, man? Do I need to lawyer up here, or are we cool?

Whoa, Michael … relax. Of course, we’re cool, bro. AL, what’s our core value #two at #x_brüing? 

No Assholes Allowed, Jaime. 

Russ used to say assholes are like poetry, but Mick couldn’t remember how come.

You already know, girl. Our douchebag policy is zero tolerance. And best believe that shit’s serious, because we made it our second guiding principle. 

What’s number three? Grace asked. 

Be a Rockstar. Anna Leigh answered. 

What about the first one? This was Zeke asking.

Do the Work, Jaime said with bravado.  

How many are there? Kitty now. 

Seventeen. Anna Leigh again. 

Which is your favorite? The Mick, heat checking.

If I had to choose just one, it’s probably #eleven. Anna Leigh accounted earnestly. Think Macro\Live Micro. It’s all about how innovating — the truly big changes — happen in small increments: microchips, micro-dosing… 

Micro penises. Grace interjected, looking directly at Jaime, who averted her gaze, glancing sheepishly down and to the left. Anna Leigh blushed.

Whelp, that’s our culture. 

And taking you to court would constitute an asshole move, Michael. That’s why I’m not going to do it, even though I’ve been advised by counsel that we have an exceedingly legitimate case. Trust me, you don’t want to see Schuster or Shanker on the plaintiff end of a deposition table. So look man, as a good faith favor to you, I’ll talk to the legal folks and we’ll get this thing squashed. But listen, while I’ve got you here, I was wondering what’s the word on the new production facility.  

Now Kitty could see what this was really about. For a fact, it was so patently obvious, even the Mick could see Jaime’s play. 

Yeah, well, what about it? 

Just that since you broke ground, what’s it been, a year? 

Been about two years, actually. 

Bonus point to Kitty for her attention to detail. 

Two years. Sounds like some serious growing pains. I know that game. 

What’s your angle, Jimmy? 

Mich-ael. Always about that business. That’s what I love about you, my guy. Alright, I’ll hit you with the straight dope. I know you’re taking the L on this. Not to throw any shade, just … well it just so happens that we’re anticipating somewhat of a L of our own. Not that kind of L, because you already know we stay winning. L as in L is for Liquidity, like a liquidity event, projecting by end of fiscal year. So, in the spirit of helping a true ride or die out, let me buy you out. Of the production facility. 

Sold. 

Whoa. Just like that? Are you tripping, Michael? I haven’t even named my price. 

Don’t bother. If it’s enough to recoup whatever Hank had us losing on that deal by a half, you can have the whole goddamn thing. What do you think, Kitty? Can we make it work, in terms of money?

In terms of money? Um, I don’t see why not. 

You hear that, Jim. You got yourself a deal. 

And a halfway-done boondoggle of a buildout, he thought to himself. The Mick exercised the restraint to withhold from gloating. This was the first and best deal he would ever make. All it took was a partner with even less business sense than he had, and boy was Dandy fucking Jim his huckleberry. At that the Mick extended his hand. He was of half a mind to spit in it. Now the tables had turned, and Jimmy was on his back foot, shoeless. 

Hold up, hold up. Let’s slow our rolls for just a sec, Mike. How do I know you’re not trying to play me? It’s not a fucking superfund site, is it? 

I’ll level with you, James. Production, distribution, the whole expansion … that was Hank’s vision. Now that he’s gone, I’d just assume have you see it through. I don’t think Hank would mind and I wouldn’t much care if he did, on of account of his being dead.

Presumably.

Now that you mention it — Hank I mean … well, I’m sorry is all. I was going to say something earlier. Hank was like an uncle to me. Real talk.

The Mick did not acknowledge Dandy’s attempt at contrition. Even if it rang surprisingly true, Hank’s being like an uncle to him. Hell, he was like an uncle to us all. 

K. But I still don’t fully buy this out-of-the-goodness-of-my-heart bullshit. What’s your angle? Wait, wait … don’t fucking tell me. Fuuck, dude. Is this about you finally doing that thing … fucking Spontaneous Fermentation, right? Holy shit … it is, isn’t it? Back on your Belgian bullshit. You’re crazy for that one, Michael. I mean that’s some truly out there stuff. You do you, though, you know what I mean? But for real though, how long are we talking … grain-to-glass? Three years? Even with the whole wild yeast, au natural thing — which don’t get me wrong, it plays, from a branding standpoint— just, it doesn’t scale, is all I’m saying. Brewer to brewer. 

Maybe. But then don’t things have a way of balancing themselves out in the end?

No, I don’t believe they do. 

Kitty reckoned this to be the first true thing Jaime had said, apart from the thing about Hank being like an uncle, which had also resonated with her.

I don’t get you, Michael. Why do you practice brewing, I mean. What’s your Why? Like do you have an exit? An end game? A liquidity event? Maybe you are just Johnny fucking Appleseed, punching a clock — and best of fucking luck with that — but still, I know you’re no fucking dummy, and you’ve been around enough to know in this Beer Shit you’re growing or you’re dying. If you want a dependable career and a steady income, go sell software with those mooks out there. 

Here Jaime was referring to his customer base. Zeke often wondered what it was all these people did when they weren’t hanging out in breweries, drinking six-dollar beers on a Sunday afternoon. Lawyers and doctors were his best guesses. Or maybe they worked at the bank. He couldn’t quite figure. His dad installed drywall, and someday so would he, at least he’d always assumed. Now here he was, the second person in his family to go to college and the first to drop out. A Social Media and Events Coordinator. Sitting in a room where there was no drywall to speak of. 

The Mick answered honestly. 

I don’t know why I make beer, Jim. Just lucky, I guess. Maybe because by now I don’t know how to do anything else. At least not nothing that pays. 

He wasn’t being modest. Really, the Mick didn’t know how to do very much. Brewing was the only steady gig he’d ever had. (Previously he had held down a summer job as a caddie at a local country club, the members of which were rich dickheads to a fucking man. He would entertain himself by performing subtle acts of civil disobedience, such as giving his players too short of yardages on their approach shots.) Jaime on the other hand was a serial career switcher. He was cagey about his pre-beer days, but word was he’d tried his hand at the dramatic arts. Acting. Beside booking a local television commercial for a regional chain of furniture warehouses though, he’d mostly had to settle for print work. When Wade and Winona first heard tell of his male modeling past they took a short intermission from watching Internet videos of hockey fights and dash cam-POV car wrecks to dig up a cheeky, black-and-white photo spread of the then James Dean Delano (the Dean was a bit of a show biz fib … Jaime bore no relation to the late teen icon — his real middle name was Drury, after his maternal grandmother’s maiden). In the picture, a sexy lady was using a vacuum to suck off his t-shirt. She’ll Be Happier … when he helps around the house. Whether or not it rose to meet the standards of irony, the campaign had been intended as a playfully feminist twist on the sexist practice of advertising home goods to housewives in the postwar suburban boom period. Maybe it goes without saying that the reference was lost on the Mick, he who had always happily done the vacuuming in his household. Every couple Sundays he’d get thermo nuclear-stoned, crank up his noise-canceling headphones to eleven and fucking regulate. As chores went, it was one of his most favourite. Ma’am, I assure you, he’d kid to Kitty, holding up the hose. This thing sucks.  

Okay, I see you. I didn’t choose this life, this life chose me, type of thing. Respect, Mick. You know we should collab on something. For Hank.

Wait, what about you? Why do you make beer?

Against her better judgement, Kitty asked Jaime, although she had been genuinely curious. Accompanied by a look that said, well obviously, what else could it be, he responded: 

For the benefit of all mankind. 

Upon hearing this, Kitty legit peed her pants.

[qwencks-writers-block]

“Wow, this looks expensive,” exclaims the froglike girl. She holds up a golden necklace with a large, angular pendant embedded with vivid green gems.

Peppermint boy mumbles something about not having a point of reference while Kacchan lets out a choking noise. “Where did you find that?”She points behind her at the green alcove. Now that Izuku looks a little closer, there’s a wooden hook, presumably where the necklace used to be hung. He turns to his own alcove and notices for the first time a silver knife, with rubies the size of his fingernail embedded in the hilt. It appears to be more for decoration than any practical use, albeit very expensive-looking, as the froglike girl said.