#Green Chartreuse Glass

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

FEATURING THE MOST REFINED SHADE OF GREEN YOU'VE EVER SEEN -- "...THE PUREST OF CLASSICAL FORMS..."

PIC(S) INFO: Mega spotlight on the contemporary glass work of American glass blower Dante Marioni (son of Paul Marioni), titled "Chartreuse Trio," and "Chartreuse Pair," undated.

“Dante Marioni burst onto the international glass scene at the age of 19 with a signature style that has been described as the purest of classical forms executed in glass by an American glassblower. His amphoras, vases, and ewers are derived from Greek and Etruscan prototypes, yet they are imaginatively and sometimes whimsically reinterpreted. His impossibly elongated, sinuous shapes are made with bright and saturated contrasting colors.”

– CORNING GLASS MUSEUM

Source: https://dantemarioni.com/portfolio-item/chart-pair-title (Dante Marioni 2x).

[squishsquishy]

>> houseofsylas

[hannahs-quirky-moments]

🌿 Chartreuse 🌿

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word Alternatives: Colours

BLACK atramentous, charcoal, coal, crow, darksomeness, denigration, duskiness, ebony, funereal, jet, inkiness, melanism, melanotic, midnight, niello, obsidian, pitch, raven, sable, singe, sloe, smirch, smoke, sombrous, soot, swarthiness, swartness, tar

BLUE aquamarine, azure, berylline, cerulean, cerulescent, cyan, cyanosis, cyanotic, electric blue, ice-blue, indigo, lividity, midnight, navy, Oxford blue, pavonian, pavonine, peacock blue, robin's egg blue, royal blue, sapphire, turquoise, ultramarine

BROWN adust, auburn, beige, biscuit, braise, bay, bronze, brune, brunette, buff, burnt umber, burnt sienna, caramel, castaneous, chestnut, chocolate, cinnamon, cocoa, coffee, drab, dun, embrown, fawn, grege, hazel, henna, infuscation, khaki, mushroom, ochre, paper bag, pumpernickel, raw sienna, raw umber, roan, rubiginous, rufous, russet, rust, scorch, seal, sepia, sorrel, suntan, sunburn, tan, taupe, toast, umber, walnut

GRAY ashiness, canescence, cinereous, cineritious, dullness, ecru, fuscous, glaucescence, greige, grisaille, gunmetal, hoar, iron, lead, mousiness, oyster, pewter, slatiness, smokiness, steel, taupe

GREEN aerugo, aestival, avocado, beryl, chartreuse, chloremia, chlorophyll, chlorosis, chlorotic, emerald, foliaged, glaucescence, grass, greensickness, ivy, jade, loden green, holly, olivaceous, olive, patina, patinate, pea-green, smaragdine, springlike, verdancy, verdantness, verdigris, verdure, vernal, virescence, viridescence, viridity

ORANGE apricot, cantaloupe, carotene, carroty, ochreous, ochroid, pumpkin, saffron, tangerine, terracotta, Titian

PINK carnation, coral, coralline, flesh-pink, incarnadine, peach, primrose, roseate, rosy, salmon

PURPLE amethystine, aubergine, bruise, empurple, fuchsia, lavender, lilac, lividity, magenta, mauve, mulberry, orchid, pansy, plum, puce, purpure, purpureous, raisin, violaceous, violet

RED beet, blowzy, cardinal, carmine, carnation, carnelian, cerise, cherry, copper, crimson, damask, encrimson, erubescence, erythema, erythematous, erythrism, erythroderma, ferruginous, fire, floridity, floridness, flushing, gules, hectic, henna, incarnadine, infrared, laky, lateritious, lobster, lurid, magenta, mantling, maroon, miniate, port, puce, raddle, rose, rosiness, rouge, rubefaction, rubicundity, rubor, rubricity, ruby, ruddiness, rufescence, rufosity, russet, rust, sanguine, scarlet, stammel, vermeil, vermilion, vinaceous

YELLOW aureateness, auric, aurify, banana, begild, bilious, biliousness, cadmium, canary, chartreuse, citreous, citrine, citron, engild, fallowness, flavescent, flaxen, fulvous, gildedness, gilt, goldenness, honey, icteric, icterus, jaundice, lemon, lutescent, luteous, luteolous, mustard, ochroid, old gold, primrose yellow, saffron, sallowness, sandy, straw, sulfur, topaz, xanthism, xanthochroism, xanthoderma

WHITE achromatic, alabaster, albescent, albinic, besnow, blanch, bleach, bone, calcimine, chalk, cream, cretaceous, eggshell, etiolate, ghastly, ivory, lactescent, lily, lime, milk, pearl, sheet, swan, sheep, fleece, flour, foam, marmoreal, niveous, paper, pearl, phantom, silver, snow, driven snow, tallow, teeth, wax, wool

VARIEGATION (diversity of colors) spectrum, rainbow, iris, chameleon, leopard, jaguar, cheetah, ocelot, zebra, barber pole, candy cane, Dalmatian, firedog, peacock, butterfly, mother-of-pearl, nacre, tortoise shell, opal, kaleidoscope, stained glass, serpentine, calico cat, marble, mackerel sky, confetti, crazy quilt, patchwork quilt, shot silk, moire, watered silk, marbled paper, Joseph's coat, harlequin, tapestry; bar code, checkerboard

variegation, multicolor; parti-color; medley or mixture of colors, spectrum, rainbow of colors, riot of color; polychrome, polychromatism; dichromatism, trichromatism; dichroism, trichroism

iridescence, iridization, irisation, opalescence, nacreousness, pearliness, chatoyancy, play of colors or light; light show; moire pattern, tabby; burelé or burelage

spottiness, maculation, freckliness, speckliness, mottledness, mottlement, dappleness, dappledness, stippledness, spottedness, dottedness; fleck, speck, speckle; freckle; spot, dot, polka dot, macula, macule, blotch, splotch, patch, splash; mottle, dapple; brindle; stipple, stippling, pointillism, pointillage

check, checker, checks, checking, checkerboard, chessboard; plaid, tartan; checker-work, variegated pattern, harlequin, colors in patches, crazy-work, patchwork; parquet, parquetry, marquetry, mosaic, tesserae, tessellation; crazy-paving; hound's tooth; inlay, damascene

stripe, striping, candy-stripe, pinstripe; barber pole; streak, streaking; striation, striature, stria; striola, striga; crack, craze, crackle, reticulation; bar, band, belt, list

mottled, motley; pied, piebald, skewbald, pinto; dappled, dapple; calico; marbled; clouded; salt-and-pepper

Source: The Concise Roget's International Thesaurus, Revised & Updated (6th Edition) More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Why do leaves turn colors before they fall off the tree

The color a leaf turns is an indicator to how the leaf died:

Red- Old age

Orange- Mafia hit

Yellow- Vehicular manslaughter (non-alcohol-related)

Brown- Eaten by bugs

Tan- Syphilis

White- Consumed by fungi

Black- Burned for heresy

Crosshatched black and white- A Gorey death of ennui

Purple- Poisoned by the Queen of Thorns

Beet-Leaf Chartreuse- Said "Beet Chartreuse" three times

Clear- That was not a leaf, the tree was learning glass blowing

Green- Electrocution and/or drug overdose

Candy vermilion with gold glitter- Pride

[the-font-bandit]

Whoops not done with Veilguard cocktails I guess. Looks like I'm making some for the factions in general, too.

THE MOURN WATCH

A deathly (and deadly boozy) cocktail with the floral whisper of Shroud's Kiss blossoms and ritual funeral herbs.

1-1/2 oz (45ml) green Chartreuse

3/4 oz (22ml) london dry gin

1/2 oz (15ml) elderflower liqueur (St. Germain or other brand)

1-1/2 oz (45ml) fresh lime juice

4 dashes orange bitters

A handful of drops absinthe for glass rinse

Optional: Brandied cocktail cherry for garnish (not a bright red maraschino, but the rich, dark kind)

Combine gin, elderflower liqueur, chartreuse, and lime juice in a cocktail shaker.

Add ice.

Shake well.

Rinse a chilled coupe glass with the absinthe by swirling it around inside the glass. Discard or drink the remaining few drops.

Strain the shaker contents into the glass.

Garnish with the cocktail cherry

----------

This one is a spirit-forward doozy, you're definitely going to want to chill the glass and drink it cold as the grave.

(I'm so sorry this one includes some pricey and/or hard-to-find ingredients in the US, mainly the Chartreuse, but it was just too perfect not to include).

EDIT: Adding a note based on a rec from @smoreofbabylon that Dolin Génépy can possibly be substituted for Chartreuse here. Thanks!

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b.) - part two

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: lavender haze - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and Bradley go on a date. they say the wrong things --or right things-- and surprise each other as they get to know each other better. warnings: language, so much unresolved tension, mentions of character deaths, fluffy heartfelt stuff, but also like sexy stuff 👀 notes: i had so much fun writing this! special shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse who had to deal with my annoying thots at all hours. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always. happy reading! <3

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Subject: Guest Attendance Confirmation From: management@annabels.co.uk

Dear Madam,

Thank you for confirming your information regarding your upcoming visit to Annabel’s.

It is our pleasure to host you for your dinner reservation on the 23rd of March, 2023, as a guest of our member Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. We hope that you have a wonderful experience dining and entertaining at the Club with us.

In order to ensure your positive and memorable experience with us, we kindly ask all members and guests to be aware of a few key rules of the Club:

DRESS CODE. We encourage individuality and style in your smart attire. After 6PM, gentlemen are required to wear jackets. Read the full dress code guidelines here.

PHONE & PHOTOGRAPHY. As a Private Members’ Club, we kindly ask Members and Guests to refrain from taking photographs within the Club’s premises. Posting content to your social media from your visit to the Club is not permitted. Phones must be kept on silent at all times and are only permitted for use in limited areas of the Club.

For guidance, read the Rules & Bylaws of the Club here.

If you require further information or assistance, please do not hesitate to reach out through this email address or by phone at +44 20 7946 0011.

Thank you and see you soon.

Best wishes, Maude Adams Floor Manager.

***

You’re not sure why you’re bracing for something to go wrong.

The restaurant is rife with opulence, with rich chartreuse and bronze walls and Japanese-style paintings over classic British architecture. Bradley booked a little corner booth just off the fireplace, the privacy still granting a nice view of the grandiose bar across the room. He pulled up your chair and told you that you look beautiful—a good three or four times, and it feels just as genuine as the first. With your show and his training the next day, you both had to pass on the booze and settle with some green tea to go with your food. Conversation flows effortlessly, exploring easy topics like your shared love of old movies, the Venn diagram of your music tastes, the novelty of the sport that he plays…

“Okay, but how did you get into soccer—I mean, football?” You smile sheepishly as you correct yourself. “Sorry. Wouldn’t wanna get maimed to death by the locals.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” And then he takes a deep breath as his finger toys with the condensation on the side of his glass. “It’s… uh, my dad, actually. He bought me a soccer ball for Christmas when I was like 2 and… it’s most of the memories I had with him, playing kickabout in the backyard.”

“Oh?”

He smiles—diplomatically, all things considered. “He died when I was 4.”

Your face falls. Fuck. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…”

“Nah, don’t be. It was a long time ago. And I feel like he’s with me every time I step on the pitch.” Bradley nods, ever so reassuring. He’s had enough ‘I’m sorry’s’ for every time his dad comes up in conversation, and he doesn’t want you to feel obliged to do the same.

“But hey, I think it’s wonderful… that he’s right there in spirit with you every game.” You smile back, trying to save this slip-up in conversation. “And I bet your mom’s really proud of you, right?”

To his own surprise, he chuckles. It really is true that tragedy plus time equals comedy. “I mean, I like to think so.” He notices your questioning look, and realizes he needs to let you in on the joke too. “My mom died when I was 17. Cancer. I moved out here and lived with my godfather. Got scouted for Arsenal.”

And there it is.

You’ve been so worried about all the external factors going wrong, that you didn’t consider that the faulty one might be you. 

The clinks of plates and cutleries suddenly become so loud. The subtle piano playing over the speakers sound garbled, like you’re underwater. And the salmon sashimi in your mouth tastes like lead now. How the fuck does lightning manage to strike twice?! 

“I’m sorry, I…” and now you can’t even muster up a proper apology, because what do you even say?! The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a lame excuse, “I… thought it was a good idea not to Google you.”

His heart catches at the sight of you, all wide-eyed and dumbstruck. You wouldn’t believe it if he told you, but he thinks he might have just fallen in love with you there. Foot in mouth and all.

But you… you think you must’ve looked so stupid right now. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, no, no. It’s alright!” Bradley quickly interjects, that twinkle of amusement in his eyes still lingers. “I appreciate it, actually. I’ll take awkward moments with you over anything else you can Google about me.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Of course. I mean… it’s not like you killed them, did you?”

There’s a split second of silence, when you meet his playful gaze, and his mouth pulls into a grin over your petrified look, and then… the tension simply melts away in a sigh of tentative laughs. The garbled underwater music has come up to the surface, the dining noises dissipates, and everything turns back to normal… ish.

“Anyway, what about yourself? How did you get into… all of this?”

“Oh, it’s all I’ve ever known, really. Pretty sure I sang before I knew how to talk. I was always pestering my mom about ballet and piano lessons and living room concerts… I was that kid, you know?”

The image makes him smile, and it sends butterflies to your stomach. “Your mom must’ve been thrilled.”

“Eh.” You shrug flippantly, and that non-answer is enough of an answer for Bradley. “But she knew I was stubborn as hell, and she’s better off letting me tire myself out than trying to stop me, so…”

“But you didn’t.”

You shake your head. “By 5, I was on Broadway—”

His jaw falls open, and he looks at you like grew a new head. “I’m sorry. Five years old?”

You raise your hand in defense, not wanting to oversell yourself. “To be fair, though, it was mostly luck. My mom was working in the theater company and they needed a kid, so I volunteered to stand in—I mean, naturally,” you roll your eyes at yourself, “And they liked me. So they put me on. But I didn’t have to do anything but pretend to be asleep while the adult cast carried me around.”

“Still. That’s more than most people can say. You continued doing it afterwards, right?”

“Mm-hm. Stage, commercials, TV, the occasional movies… anything I could get my hands on.”

Bradley studies you with this look of awe—not an unusual reaction, he’s sure; it’s a pretty impressive feat. But he also catches a lost sense of melancholy in the way you say it, and he can’t help but ask, “Did you have a childhood at all?”

And your heart catches. That’s something nobody ever asked you before… “What do you mean?”

He pauses, realizing he may have inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject with this line of questioning. So he tries again more carefully. “I just meant… you’ve been working most of your life. Did you ever just get to be a kid?”

“I…” you trail off, considering your answer. You want to say yes, of course you did, but the little sting in your throat makes you question yourself: did you?

And with the soft look in his eyes, you know he knows the real answer to that. Both of you do.

It’s alarming how disarming he can be, and you would hate it… except you don’t. At least not enough to make you run off. “I guess, being in that kind of environment, I didn’t really know how to be a kid…? If that makes any sense.”

Bradley nods, understanding. He’s not entirely sure how to respond, but he wants to be empathetic.

“I went to school and made friends for a while, but…” Normally this would be an uphill point in your story, but tonight… this part is tinged with distant sorrow. “I got a record deal when I was 15, and suddenly I was living in LA and working in the studio or going on tours and… I just wasn’t a kid anymore.”

It breaks his heart, the thought of a childhood lost on you like that. “Wow. You really have lived a life, haven’t you?” He can’t resist but reaches out for your hand. 

The touch makes your heart catch, and it feels overwhelming. It feels like you’re gonna burst, so you chicken out with a lame joke. “Haven’t slept in 22 years.”

Bradley can’t help but smile at that, squeezing your hand three times in comfort. And just like that, the bubble bursts and the world continues on its axis once again. He finishes his last slice of tuna tataki and washes it down with his konacha.

“You know, for how much you’ve done since you started out, I thought you’d be more… Hollywood.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Hollywood?”

“Okay, that came out wrong,” he admits bashfully. “I just… you’re very down-to-earth. And real. I guess I expected more, like, an attitude?”

“Oh? I can have an attitude…” you smirk coyly over your tea, “...if you can handle it.”

Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of him. It’s insane how easily you switch from being sweet and vulnerable, to flirty and borderline devilish. But he wasn’t born yesterday, and he knows he’s well-equipped to handle this back-and-forth.

“I think you’d be surprised by what I can handle.”

Oh, here comes the fun part. “Is that right?”

He nods, leaning into you a little bit from across the table. “I think you’d find a lot about me surprising.”

If the whiff of his Tom Ford Black Orchid catches you off-guard, you don’t show it. Instead, you mirror his body language, propping your chin on your knuckles for good measure. “Like what?”

God, he really wants to kiss you… but it’s way too soon, and he doesn’t know how you feel about public displays of affection. “Like… I’m a pretty decent cook. And I like reading.”

“An athlete who can read? My, my…” you smirk teasingly.

Bradley laughs. He walked right into that one. But he’s not ready to admit defeat yet. Instead, he makes use of that bedroom voice girls like so much to push the point further. “That’s right. I know how to use the washing machine, too.”

You bite your lower lip and sigh, shuddering a little from his low rasp but definitely playing up the dramatics. “You do? Mmh…” 

Jesus. If that’s you faking it, he can’t wait to make you all wet and needy for real. “And you wanna know the best part?”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, the lustful tension is real. “Yeah?”

He leans in just a little closer, head tilting as if he’s moving in for a kiss. Maybe if he throws it out there… “I can put together Ikea furniture.” 

You throw your head back and feigns a quiet but dramatic moan for your one-man audience. “Oh my gosh, I think I just came in my pants a little.”

Fuck. He really wants to make you come now. With his fingers, his tongue, his cock—

Your gaze drops to his mouth, the stupid 80’s pornstache you’ve never been into before this, the soft inviting lips underneath. The ball is in your court now, and you know he would kiss you earnestly if you close the distance…

But you burst out laughing instead. Bradley releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, although your bright laughter doesn’t deter him from thinking dirty thoughts about you. If anything, it just makes you ten times hotter in his eyes.

“Well played. That was a good one,” Bradley concedes, his face turning just a little bit pink.

“We should probably stop before the staff kicks us out for having too much fun,” you lean back into your seat, looking around the restaurant, making sure no one is listening. Squeezing his hand three times as the next course arrives… not entirely putting the kiss off of the table either.

Bradley recommends the vanilla mille crepe to close the meal, and you come up with the idea of sharing a slice. The dessert arrives, a lush little golden brown thing with thin layers of cream in between, so simple and so intricate at the same time. He lets you take the first bite—insists upon it, actually. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

That, and he wants to watch your face twist in pleasure again. Eyes fluttering closed, chest falling in a sigh, lips parted ever so slightly... God, he can’t wait to be the one responsible for it.

“Amazing, right?” He beams at you, very pleased with himself.

“Mm, it truly is,” you hum in agreement, watching him take a bite. It gives you a naughty idea… “It’s so amazing, I might just hijack this whole thing.” You jokingly pull the plate a little closer to you.

Bradley playfully holds the plate back, looking faux offended. “Hey! Come on. You know I’m a little bit stronger than you, right?”

“Please. That’s never stopped me before.” 

“Really?”

“I have my ways…” your finger reaches out just enough to touch his, just slightly.

Between that and your eyes darkening in mischief, Bradley fights hard not to turn into goo under your slightest touch. He bites the inside of his cheek to contain himself. “You’re really making me earn this, aren’t you?”

“Why? Girls never gave you a hard time before, Mr. Big Time Football Man?”

He laughs. “No. But you’re probably the only one giving me this hard a time for a bite of dessert.”

“Is that all we’re playing for? A bite of dessert?” you smirk, egging him on.

“What else do you think we’re playing for here?” He takes a second bite, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

You take another bite and lick the cream off of your fork. “I don’t know. A bite of… something else?”

Ah. So we are interested. Bradley is unfazed as he gently warns you, “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

“Good. I was hoping you would.”

The tension rises as reality sinks in. You both want to fuck, and looking at the trajectory of the evening, there’s a good chance you will. And it sobers you the hell up, pulling you both straighter in your seats. Sharing the slice of cake in quiet civility. Keeping a completely respectable distance, as if worried you don’t trust yourself not to climb over the table and kiss him senseless. 

But the game… oh, the game is on.

“I don’t know about you, but… I was thinking maybe a few bites, though.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yeah. I intend to explore every part of this… dessert.”

You stop chewing for a moment. There’s something so hot about how he says it so casually. “That’s… very optimistic of you.”

“Not optimistic enough to decide if kissing you out here was a good idea,” he admits sheepishly.

“Why is that?”

Bradley shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

He’s right, of course. He didn’t choose an ultra-exclusive, members-only establishment with a no-phone policy just for kicks. He sees the security detail that follows you around, lurking at a safe distance—from back at the club. And tonight, you’re traveling light with just two bodyguards, each strategically posted near you and the exit, but it’s still more than he’s ever encountered. There’s no way you would risk a first kiss in public, no matter how discreet the place is. No matter how much you like him.

And you like him a whole lot.

“Tell you what…” you put the fork down as quietly as you can. This is the moment of truth. “I’ll let you kiss me all you want back at my hotel, hm?”

Bradley’s eyes light up instantly. He takes a moment, not so much to consider his options, but to process what’s about to happen. “I would like that very much, yes.”

“Alright, then. Shall we?” you smile brightly, flagging the waiter for the check.

“Uh, yeah. Totally. We shall,” he stammers a little, recovering fast enough to snatch the check and slips his credit card in the tab. Barely addressing the waiter as they walk back to the till.

It all happens so fast, and you whine in complaint. “Oh, come on!”

“What, was I supposed to let you pay or something?”

“You were supposed to let me pretend to fight for it, at least…” you huff.

He smiles in amusement. You are so adorable, it makes his heart fucking swell. “Okay. Next time I’ll let you pretend. I’ll even give you a little pushback for good measure, how about that?”

“Perfect.”

“Now, let’s go back to your hotel and… I don’t know, pretend you have to try really hard to resist my charms.”

“Yeah, okay.” You chuckle in agreement. This is really happening. Wow. And just as the excitement sets in, another point of concern pops up in your head, like a really annoying notification. “Did you drive here or…?”

He nods. “You wanna take my car?”

“No, I got a car waiting for me…” you smile apologetically, glancing at her bodyguard. There’s no way they’re gonna let you jump into some guy’s car. “And there’s gonna be paps out front…” Here comes the tricky part. “Would you… mind if we… go separately and meet up at my hotel?”

Oh. Bradley’s face falls a little upon realizing that he can’t just walk out the door with you. He sees how this works. You don’t want the media to jump on this first date, and it’s actually a smart move. Besides, what’s a few more minutes to a whole night of complete privacy? “Sure, no problem.”

You nod tentatively. Well, that was surprisingly easy… “And just to be clear, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just… this whole thing can be a circus, and I don’t want you to deal with anything you didn’t sign up for.”

He smiles at you. Bless you for being so thoughtful, but it does make him wonder if other people have had trouble with it. But maybe that’s a question for another time. “Hey, I totally understand. We’ll just meet up at the hotel and leave it at that.”

“I’ll text you, okay?”

You squeeze his hand gently before you get up, making your way out of the restaurant. Powering through the camera flashes as soon as you walk out of the front door. Giddy because you know something these vultures don’t.

Meanwhile, Bradley sits. Waits. For one minute, and two, and three. Looking at people walking in and out, wondering how inconspicuous he would be if he walks out now.

And then…

His phone buzzes.

[kittenintheden]

Professionals

*boops fingers together and bats eyes @ u*

Rating: E Word Count: 1,650 Content: 18+, roleplay, sex work, biting, blood kink, oral sex, PIV sex

---

Sharess' Caress is busy tonight. A woman stands near the bar, perusing the evening's johns and janes, giving them mental scores based on personality, appearance, and style. She sips her drink, eyes lidded, and turns away a four, then a six, then a seven. She can afford to be picky.

She's making smalltalk with the barkeep when she feels light fingers brush the back of her arms. She sighs and plasters on a smile, expecting another modest offering, but she's met with a full-stop ten. In looks and style, at least. If the personality matches...

"Hello, lovely thing," he purrs, his voice sending a tingle up her spine. "Don't you look delicious. I'm called Astarion. And you are?"

"Very interested in what someone like you is doing in a place like this," she says playfully, lifting her glass to her lips for a sip. The liquor inside stings just right. "But you may call me Lily."

He grins, seductive and predatory, and places a satchel of gold on the bar. "Five hundred gold says I can call you whatever I like, I think. I’ll be honest. I’m a connoisseur, and there are occasions when I’d like to partake in… top-shelf talent. I believe you fit the bill, if my instincts are correct. And they usually are." He tilts his head to the side, daring her to say no.

She gives him a hard look up and down, finally meeting his ruby eyes. She sets her glass on the bar and uses two fingers to nudge the coin purse toward the barkeep. "We've a high-rolling customer," she says to them. They give her a knowing smirk, look over the john, then accept the bag.

"The Chartreuse Room is free," the barkeep says, going back to their mixing.

"After you," Astarion says, gesturing to her to take the lead. She does. As they ascend the stairs, he ghosts his fingers against her lower back. Gentlemanly, one might think, if one’s unfamiliar with the different ways people touch. She is not unfamiliar.

The Chartreuse Room is, predictably, quite green. Bottles of liquor line a shelf on the nearest wall beside a small bar. Lily walks around, trailing her fingertips over the polished wood and leans onto the surface, letting her cleavage rise up enticingly over the top of her corset as she gives him a coy look.

"Could I make you a drink?" she says. She reaches out and teases the neck of the nearest bottle suggestively.

Astarion moves toward her, already undoing the buttons of his beautifully embroidered jacket. He smiles, showing off too-sharp canines. "I didn't come here for a drink, pet. Not of that, anyway."

She shrugs. "Thought I'd offer, nonetheless." She pushes off the bar and approaches, letting her shoulders rustle the strings of glass beads hanging from the ceiling so they tinkle together. She stops in front of him, admiring his bare chest before raising her gaze to his face.

"And what would you like?" she says lowly.

He shrugs off his jacket and undercoat. "Honestly? I'd like to bite. Hard enough to break skin." As he speaks, his timbre drops seductively. Almost like he’s trying to seduce her.

Cheeky man. Cheeky man with expensive taste. She can work with that.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Well. That's not one I get often. But, for such a generous patron, I'll allow it."

"Good," he says. Then he's on her, fast as lightning, a hand on one side of her neck and his sharp teeth piercing through the opposite, a jolt of cold radiating through her nervous system. She gasps and grips onto him, surprised, but in seconds she's relaxing into it, eyes going half-lidded as pleasant numbness spreads. Before she goes weak in the knees from blood loss instead of lust, he pulls away, licking her off his teeth.

Blood play. Unusual, but not her first time.

"You are... fantastic," he breathes, dropping his chin and looking at her from under his brows like he wants to consume her another way. "Now... on the bed, on your stomach."

"Yes, saer," she says, swaying on her feet a moment before walking toward the low, round bed, covered in cushions of varying shades of green. She takes her time, lowering herself to all fours and stretching forward like a cat, her back in a deep arch with her arse in the air before she brings it down. Once she's in place, she hears the beads tinkle as he comes closer, then feels the weight of him on the mattress as he puts his knees on either side of her legs.

He leans down over her, not quite touching, and puts his mouth to her ear. "Call me darling," he says. “And I’ll call you whatever strikes me.” Then she feels his fingers at the sides of her hips, undoing the laces keeping her shorts on her body.

"Anything you like if you keep doing that, darling," she says.

He disrobes her from the waist down, pulling every article of clothing from her with aching slowness. Lily bites her lip, desperate to turn and see his pretty face again, but he paid his fee and he's calling the shots. She feels his weight shift lower, his dexterous hands spreading her open and angling her hips, and then she feels his tongue run along her. Instantly, she arches her back with a groan.

"I think that's supposed to be my job," she gasps, pressing her face to the silken sheets and biting her lip as he continues to work her like an expert. "I feel like I should be paying you. Darling."

He chuckles against her most tender of places, giving her another long draw from behind. "Hush. Let me enjoy my night."

She’s certainly not going to argue. A john who gives back? What a rare treat this is.

His hands draw her closer until he's drowning in her, until he shouldn't be able to breathe, and he lavishes her in a way she knows no other customer down below would ever. As her pleasure builds, she squirms against the mattress and he puts a firm palm on her lower back to hold her still, humming every now and again, the sensation making her shiver and cry out.

"Darling," she pants. "Darling, darling, darling."

Finally, she can tell his collected exterior is beginning to crack. At every cry of the pet name, he goes a touch sloppy. As her peak comes closer, he begins to murmur and pant against her as if sensing her heightened arousal, as if it drives him mad. Finally, she screams into the sheets as she comes harder than she has in recent memory, his mouth relentless until she can barely stand it. She doesn’t even have to act. Not a bit.

Astarion rolls her over, his chest heaving and his chin covered in her slick, and crawls over top.

Her head lolls as she gazes up at him in adoration. "What now, darling?" she whispers.

He goes up on his knees to undo his own laces, his arousal clear and present against the material of his fine trousers. He keeps his eyes on her.

"Now I make love to you like you're the only person who matters, Tav," he says, voice like gravel, and she melts clear into the bed. Whoever Tav is, they must be very lucky, indeed.

He's naked and beautiful, lowering himself over her, kissing her deeply. She accepts, circling his tongue with hers, tasting her cunt and her blood and her passion on him. One by one, he unhooks the buttons keeping her corset on her body and tosses it aside.

Briefly, she wonders how she ever managed to score this big. His hand, cooler than it should be, palms her breast firmly and then he's inside her and she moans like a wanton… well, whore.

Astarion kisses her neck, gentle on her sore spot, and sighs out his own pleasure. "You are perfect," he says. "The only one in the entire place I could ever... oh, you make me lose my mind. Tav. Tav."

She wraps her legs high on his waist, seeking better connection, and he angles himself to draw over the place near her entrance, the one that lights her up, and she clings to him like he's life itself. The range of motion in his hips is absolutely maddening in the very best way. He’s fucking her better than anyone else ever could and she uses every single technique in her book to give it back to him.

They rock and thrust against each other. He kisses her. She kisses back. They climb, and climb, and climb together, reaching for the sky.

Toward the end, his facade fully breaks to pieces and he sobs tiny breaths into her ear.

"Darling," she gasps. "Love me, darling."

"I love you," he says. "Always you."

Their mouths press together in open ecstasy as they come one after another, bursting into delicious, whole-body pleasure.

Astarion all but collapses on top of her, her legs spread wide to accommodate him. She gasps in several deep breaths, coming back to earth. Then she breaks into giggles.

"Stop that," he grumbles at her. "I'm a paying customer."

"Oh, that was good," she says, wiping the corner of her eye. "That was a good one. We have to do that again."

He sits up on an elbow, staring at her bleary-eyed. "How many asked before me?" he says.

"At least three," she says.

"Should've been much more than that," he says. "You're top-shelf merchandise."

She cuffs him upside the head. "Well, someone didn't let the scene go on very long, did he."

"We have the room until morning?" he asks, avoiding her accusation.

"So the barkeep told me when I asked."

"Well. Better make it worth five hundred gold, then, shouldn't we?"

[beckpoppinscosplay]

Day 3 of 'Dragon Age: Veilguard' cocktails

Emmrich’s Gentleman Botanist

recipe and tasting notes under the cut

in an ice packed shaker

1 oz white rum 1 oz cloosterbitter (but anything in the green chartreuse family would work) .5 oz midori .25 oz luxardo maraschino 2 oz fresh pineapple juice (yes i juiced chunks of pineapple, regular out of a bottle is fine) half a lime, squeezed and just chuck the whole bugger in there to get knocked around

put 1 oz of hibiscus rich syrup (homemade with hibiscus tea with a 2 parts sugar to one part tea ratio) in the bottom of a coupe.

GENTLY pour in your shaken cocktail over the back of a spoon to the side of the glass to keep the syrup undisturbed to make a pretty layer of burgundy under the necromancy green of the drink.

Garnish with a lovely pineapple wedge.

I wanted to explore the space of a tiki cocktails like the zombie. Every tiki bar since the dawn of time has had a plastic skull behind the bar and I want to celebrate that. I wanted to make the presentation a little more elegant with it being shaken instead of blended and I avoided canned juices and mixes. In game I love the little friendship banter with Neve about Emmrich trying pineapple for the first time and how delighted he was so I had to use that as the main fruit. His love of plants also came in with the cloosterbitter (an herbal booze made by a religious order) and instead of going with grenadine I made a hibiscus tea syrup which adds a very easy to drink herbal note. Rose can hit or miss with people but everyone likes hibiscus and it has such a pretty deep bloody color.

Before mixing in the syrup, the cocktail has a real fishbowl cocktail punch, not too sweet, not too sickly, but you know you are about to get tipsy. The Midori and the Cloosterbitter really balance each other out and get you the fanciest rich grandma hard candy. Once you take a bar pick and knock your pineapple wedge in and give it a stir to get the syrup mixed in it really blooms. It Instantly becomes a fantasy version of a zinger sweet tea. The boozy edge vanishes and it becomes DANGEROUS, I could drink 10 of these no problem and promptly parish.

[nessatwene-art]

TPP Prime team BIOS

Emilia Ocasio - Prime age: 25-38. Current age: 42. Poten type: Manipulate- Uses raw energy manifestations to fight. Core color - Blue

TPP squad's charismatic and talented leader. She's lively and pretty darn spunky, Emilia takes what she does with a lot of heart and cares about her family, friends and the city she grew up in. Though it puts the weight of the world on her shoulder. She can be a hot-headed sometimes she figuring out what it means to be a good leader among many aspects of her adult life. Currently she's playing the worlds hardest game of Carmen sandiago

Jaylen (Jay) D. Franklin - Prime age: 28-41. Current age: 45. Poten type: Manipulate- produces powerful energy shock waves. Core color - Green

Jay was the second in command and the easiest dude to get along with. He's a close family friend and close friend to Emilia since she was young (He dated her sister but it didn't work out lol) So she's like a little sister to him. After the team disbanded he opened a record store that the go-to place for many people. He's happy to tell the stories from his past to the kids but does his best to stay out of hunting business to protect him and and his family.

Gadiel Marques - Prime age: 26-39. Current age: 43. Poten type: Elemental- Fire. Core color - yellow

Team pretty boy who use to have gorgeous long hair (sorry not picture ;.;) , now is a humble family convince store owner in of Center city who has a confusing but cozy sense of fashion. He can be a little eccentric at times but is pretty laid-back, sarcastic, and pragmatic when it warrants it.

Charlotte (Lottie) Rockwall - Prime age: 22-35. Current age: 39. Poten type: Materialize- gun blaster. Core Color - "Chartreuse"

Lottie is a real cutie with a Atlanta accent. team's weapon specialist and sharpshooter. will not hesitant to sprint after you in high heels. Currently she's a well traveled and fashion critic writing blogs and making videos. You might see her riding down the street on her green moped.

Eira Drake - Prime age: 25-38. Current age: 42. Poten type: Ice. Core color - blue (like an icy blue)

Hot, brooding one with a cool sports motorcycle. Eira tends to keep to herself and needed a chance to warm up to Emilia because she didn't quite trust her as leader yet. But Eira is Emilia worth rival as they have many similar skills. since the over saturation Eira's hair began to turn icy white as a strange side effect. Currently Eira works as a hired gun and is working a very weird job at the moment of watching over this rich guys son named Blake who likes to call her Elsa. Pays a lot of money. Eira also has a crazy romance going on with a chemistry teacher named Ellie who is much more than she seems.

Damien Lee - Prime age: 23-36. Current age: 40. Poten type: Materialize- Bow staff. Core color- Red

An asshole who has a huge crush on Emilia lol. wears those glasses because he thinks it makes him look cool. despite that he is very good at getting his hands on information. The stress from the over saturation gave him a white streak in his hair. not as cool as Eira tho lol. Since the team disbanded he's been difficult to contact. Apparently his been doing some black market unnatural trade, commiting heist etc etc with his own band of cronies. He gets caught sneaking into the Union Institute by Nick but makes a deal with him to get classified Info about the original tpp from UHA in exchange for not getting arrested.

[merakiione]

-green-

i hate it when you are beautiful.

sculpted scapulas protrude from mother’s milk skin

ivory ribs, ivory keys on a grand piano. you are but ivories.

my own ribs drown beneath congealed jelly

fit not to serve in a sunflower summer sundress

but at the gilded dinner table of a golden king

a boar with an apple in its mouth.

legs so long i could spend a lifetime studying each centimeter.

your freckles are why we call moles beauty marks

glasses fit your face like begonias in an old crone’s garden

it took me decades to find a prescription for my own

yet still i find myself viewing this backyard through blurred lenses

thick tufts of mahogany fur coat my back and shoulders

a hibernating brown bear curled in its bone-ridden cave.

synapses firing ablaze in this ridged truth-teller

speech as apt and fitting as blood painted on sibertooth fangs

and oh those phrases, dripping like honey over fried bread

i shed jealousy like a moth-bitten sweatshirt sheds lint

a looking glass and her raven-haired daughter—

moss chartreuse sage emerald fern seafoam juniper—

my god, do i hate it when you are beautiful.

[palushiemalis-fr]

dergtober -- days 20 & 22 -- Crafter and Weaver.

Cluster & Razielus

gay tundras doing crafts together.

"Clusssssttttteeeerrrr, sweeeeetttyyyy." Cluster perks his ears and feels a flush of heat in his face, Razielus steals around a corner to sidle up to him, practically making a nest in his mane. "Raz! How can I h-help?" "I need this spool of red thread to be extra iridescent." Razielus flutters his eyelashes at him and drops some rich red thread into his paws. "Again?" Cluster creases his brow, "How much more will you need, I could fix up a huge batch of dye, do you need it soon?" Raz shrugs, "Oh no, this is a personal project. Come along, I'll show you the dimensions." The main wall of Razielus' workshop is covered in a moth-eaten, tattered tapestry of the Plaguebringer rearing her head and presenting to her teeth to be cleaned by an adoring throng of equally vicious looking sprites. He hums dreamily, looking up at it with the same expression as the sprites, "This ancient treasure has lost it's beauty. I am going to restore it's splendour, I am going to need countless measures of sanguine thread and a fair few measures of glass drops in chartreuse..." Cluster pales at the sight, he's usually not squeamish, maybe it's the way the Plaguebringer's eyes are full of holes but he stares at it with a shudder. "It's uhhh..." Cluster stammers. "Yes?" Raz asks, a flicker of wryness in his eyes that Cluster couldn't hope to catch upon the feigned innocence. "It's beautiful." He says firmly, "I'll make up some dye this afternoon and we can, maybe, if you wanted to... have it, um, done by..." "Pull an all nighter and have it finished in time for the Riot of Rot?! What a grand suggestion!Oh Cluster, sweetheart, you are simply indispensable!" Razielus dashes up and kisses him on the cheek. Knowing full well what his companion had in mind but could never suggest. As Raz dashes away to collect up his plain thread, he sneakily looks back to watch his dear helper rub his cheek and sigh happily to himself. *** The sun rises and eases over the window, Cluster flutters his eyes open. He inhales the sweet scent of Starstrand toadflax from his head pillow before shaking out his mane. Out falls a handful of pins and frayed pieces of thread, he rolls over to find a crumpled sheet of pattern cut outs; whatever happened last night? On the other side of the room, Razielus is flat on his back across a blanket, mouth gaping open and sleeping soundly. He is spreadeagle beneath a beautiful, if not intimidating, hanging tapestry of the Plaguebringer and a crowd of adoring sprites. They spent the early hours in Cluster's chamber restoring it in time for a display at the Riot of Rot, despite it's menacing picture it gleams in blushing reds and fresh greens. He stretches, this is about the time of day he gets up to start cleaning his workspace and collecting herbs. Well, a little earlier than usual, but not by much. Razielus twists and twitches slightly in his sleep, prompting Cluster to pad over and drag the blanket and Raz's undistrubed body to the pillow nest. He rolls his companion onto the pile of pillows, resulting in a happy sigh from the other tundra. Cluster tucks him in, Razielus is known to sleep in and wouldn't want to make him grouchy. He does look very cute all curled up on the pillows and so he deigns to stay, curled up beside him, for just five more minutes, maybe...

[quosterswampdregs]

Looks like Nolki won the fic poll! And funny enough, I actually have a 2-year-old fic about Nolki and two normal-sized canines that I realize I NEVER posted!! So here you all go, featuring Nolki, Kyle, and Morse: A camping trip goes wayward when one of them makes a discovery...

"Kyle!! You’ll never believe what I’ve found!”

An arctic fox came jogging out of the shrouded lodgepole pine forest, shrugging off his traveling backpack in favor of a metallic water bottle to press up to his maw. Morse, exhausted from his morning run, had stirred the restless dingo from his camping tent, who peered lazily at the canopy of lush greens and yellows. A proud mountain rested over the crowns of conifers, which all leaned towards the east in a lazy stretch, before stiffening out westward. Strange winds, warm winds, too.

Kyle, equipped in a simple tee and cargo shorts, pushed himself up fully after supporting his upper weight with his forearms. The dingo uttered to himself with great disinterest—what had his friend’s tail flying with great vigor behind him, anyway?

“Why bring it up if I won’t believe it?” Yawned Kyle to Morse, “what, you found another toad in your tent? Good morning, by the way.”

“No no no, I swear it’s more interesting than that, by a long shot!”

“Wh…whhyyy, are your pants covered in dirt? The sun’s barely up and you’ve gotten yourself into something.”

“Augh!!” Morse curled his upper lip and his large ears found their gravity. Kyle gave a start as he was suddenly taken by the wrist and dragged forward by his shorter friend, who was pawing through the dense foliage from the way he came. He still had his water bottle clenched in the leading hand, using it to nudge away stems of ferns and undergrowth. “It’s just gonna be easier if I show you!”

“H-hwuh?! Hey!! Wait!”

Easier, sure, but damn, nothing could have ever prepared Kyle for what sat before him. Only after sampling mouthfuls of forest leaves and branches from being dragged by the paw by little Morse, did Kyle stare forward, aghast with curiosity. In a secondary clearing, only ten minutes of a stride away was a large, chartreuse mass sitting proudly, tucked away neatly with surrounding foliage and trees. Two caverns, both exerting waves of warmth at uneven intervals, sat side by side; caverns by the likes of which Kyle had never seen before. Whatever this was, it seemed almost alive—fleshy, hued in a mossy green tone, and leaking with some sort of liquid that slickened the pinkening walls further back.

A sudden ripple of air combed past the gawking canid and the vulpine, drawing leaves from trees and ferns into the dark depths before them. All of the trees leaned in as if listening in for the gossip of the woods, before relaxing and pointing back to the sky—Kyle, transfixed, watched the leaves spill out lazily against the trembling walls.

“Alright…” Kyle fixed his shark-tooth necklace against his shirt, and Morse shouldered his hexagonal gold-wire glasses further on his face, “Morse, I dunno what the hell you found, but it’s cool…”

“What did I tell you!?” The arctic fox leaped at such a statement, rushing forward to one of the two caverns. It was about five feet in height, which meant that Morse could barely stand up fully once he clambered onto the fleshy surface that sank under his weight. He kept his ears down, as pointing them caused them to brush up against the ceiling.

“No ifs or hows or alsos, you’re just…! Going in?”

“I mean, sure…!” Morse’s voice echoed by the time his tail slipped in after and snuck into one of the trembling caverns, “I wanna know what’s back here!”

Well, peer pressure had its rules, did it not? Kyle was trying his best to speak logistics, but ironically, he was muttering them out as he hoisted himself into the slick, soft, and warm cavern after his friend. It was weird, very weird; to his touch, the ground sank, and the entrance of the cavern lost its solid composure, expanding once, twice, thrice…? And relaxing. Or at least, shrinking again. Thick, clear slime accumulated on the roof of the cave, and Kyle had to hunch down on his hands and knees to avoid touching most of it. His tail dragged along the base of the area around him, and at one point, a shuddering jolt made him flatten out on his stomach, winding himself completely. 

“Yeesh, Morse, it looks like it narrows way up there!!” Kyle huffed in an attempt to catch his breath, seeing that the arctic fox crouched at a certain section with a dip, pinching off the way further—save for a one-foot-tall gap. Morse crouched, lifting his wagging tail that brushed against the slick walls, causing them to visually react and wrinkle away from the featherlight touches. Kyle stumbled uneasily while the floor began to move.

“Morse?”

“I think I could—ngh—squeeeeze in there if I really tried, looks roomy on the other side!”

Not that Kyle had any time to object before he was wiggling and thrashing, kicking his little paws as he tried to worm his way through the crevice offered by this strange cavern. Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden blast of air came from behind him, throwing him forward against his friend’s backside, who yipped with the accompaniment of a noise only comparable to a vacuum tube being shoved up to a latex balloon.

“Holy hell!!” Kyle shrieked and staggered back, watching Morse’s lower half writhe and kick with confusion. “Morse!! Morse, you good buddy?? What the—?!”

“Mmrggh! Mngghghhh!!”

“What??”

“Mmrkay!!”

“You’re good?” Kyle stammered, receiving a wagging tail in response. Talk about winds today, what on earth?! “-uhhhhh, well! Good. Lemme pull you out…”

Or at least, make an attempt to. His fur had slickened with the strange…mucus-like slime, so his grip wasn’t half the strength it could be. That, and well, telling by the thrashing and little kicks of desperation, he was pretty stuck either way. There was no way he could get him out, not like this.

“Hmm..we got rope back at camp…! I could try to pull you out that way…are you good with waiting like, twenty minutes?” He offered, receiving a noise of acknowledgment and a wagging tail. Kyle nodded—not quite sure why, given his friend couldn’t see him. “Don’t go anywhere!! Not that I think you will!”

Kyle fled from the cave, surprised by the warmth the outside world offered. As promised, he grabbed his bag from his tent, looking to the tree crowns with the two, brown mountains in the near distance.

Two? He swore there was only one before…one of them flicked, mountains don’t flick, Kyle’s ear flicked back as a natural response.

“Mnuhhh…?”

The sound was absolutely tremendous. Kyle wasn’t expecting it, but he watched in fear as flocks of birds fled from the crowns of pine trees. It was coming from whence the dingo came—a beast of some sorts? He took his defense kit with him, grabbing a stray leafy pine branch off of a tree as he bolted after it. Whatever it was, he couldn’t leave Morse stuck in a cave while that thing was roaming around.

“Hey!” He called in a deep bark, charging through the undergrowth with his pine-needle-twig in hand, “you leave my fr…?”

Nothing, just the flaring and trembling caverns before him, sat upon a row of pearly white teeth, green gums, and a tongue that slipped out past the front teeth to shove and lick against a thin but sturdy septum. The line of its septum was unmoving, allowing the skin of its nostrils to envelop the tip of its tongue, before both caverns—both nostrils, hastily flared and shrank, sniffling and snorting with massive irritation. Those weren’t caves, this was a nose that belonged to the steady, sturdy muzzle of some macro canid..! Kyle, quickly turning pink under his fur, took a few hasty steps back. If that was the case, Morse was in there!

“hhHehh..?! HhhHEH?! EHhhschhuhhw!!”

Barely having any time to react, a forceful sneeze caused Kyle to fall flat on his tail, misted over by a spray of warmth and moisture. It dispersed like a morning fog, leaving his fur standing on end.

“A-! Woah! Hey hey hey!!” Kyle attempted shakily, rushing forward to grab the Macro’s septum with both his paws. He gulped as peach-toned fur and thick whiskers led the way for the green eyes that lazily and tearfully fluttered open. “Easy big guy!! Don’t uhhh…! Don’t panic!!”

See, this wasn’t Kyle’s first encounter with macros; they tended to roam these areas, and Kyle had had a few close encounters with them…don’t ask. Or do, he just won’t tell.

“Udh…mnhHhgh??” uttered the macro, whose gaping nostrils flared to reveal poor Morse, his upper half still stuck, tail thrashing about with defiance. He had his feet planted though, which meant he had slipped out a little! His tail was wagging high, high enough to spark a light bulb in Kyle's head.

Oh, how incriminating this was, Kyle was blushing at the thought—if he could tickle the nose of this big guy, a good sneeze could set his friend free—not often would he get such an excuse to do this, but hey! When the opportunity strikes.

“Yeah, that’s my buddy. I’m gonna get him out, okay?”

He couldn’t tell if his tiny voice could even register, but Kyle stepped into the flaring nostril nonetheless. The twig in his hand was brushing feverishly along the responsive, trembling nasal walls, his tail coaxing against his inner septum with all of his strength and irritability. 

“Hehh…h-h-hHdhk! Hhuhh?”

The sound was frantic and desperate, reverberating all around him in this tunnel of irritation. With his free, remaining hand, he held onto Morse by the base of his tail, guiding it to the tissue that had him pinned and stationary. It began to loosen as the nose flexed, and he was slowly slipping out against the suction he was bound to.

“Udh..hhuh…! HhHHUH- Hh-hhHUH!!”

“Please work…” wince Kyle, who braced for impact. He grit his teeth and pinned his ears in as much of a brace he could muster.

“Huh- hHUEESHHhhuhhw!!”

With enormous force, Kyle was launched out of one of the Macro’s nostrils, his arctic fox friend in tow. The two tumbled, end over end, and Morse was the first to sit up dizzily, coated in mucus and soggy leaves.

“Get down!!” Kyle hissed, grabbing Morse by the scruff and yanking them behind the bush as the Macro hazily stood to full height, towering hundreds of feet above the trees. Runny nose, lazy eyes, and a short, tucked tail. He rubbed his nose from above, wiping his palm on his chest fur with a bit of confusion. He likely didn’t even notice them, by the tells of it, given how he quietly and begrudgingly lumbered away.

“Morse…?” Whispered Kyle, laughing to himself with an exasperated face.

“Uh-huh…?” The fox was on the ground, staring up at the sky with shock.

“Remind me to second-guess things more, if you would?”

[handeaux]

Cincinnati’s Absinthe Lovers Chased The ‘Green Fairy’ In Their Own Midwestern Way

If you were to wander into one of Cincinnati’s tonier watering holes some evening in the 1890s, you would surely not be surprised to find beer on tap and a few bottles of rectified whiskey gracing the backbar shelves. A selection of fruit cordials and liqueurs might not raise an eyebrow. But absinthe?

It’s true. Cincinnati had its devotees of “La Fee Verte,” the “Green Fairy” so beloved of habitués of the Parisian demi-monde. According to the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette [4 February 1894]:

“Absinthe is a fascinating tipple. It is drunk in various forms in all the high class saloons and cafés in Cincinnati.”

In this particular review, the Commercial Gazette suggested that this infatuation was a relatively recent phenomenon:

“Absinthe has not been observed in the Cincinnati bars for a very long time. Within the past five years, however, it has gradually but surely made its way into the favor of the man who is fastidious in his habit of ingurgitation. At first, absinthe was used by the barkeepers to give an added flavor to a whisky cocktail. ‘A little whisky with a dash of absinthe’ is now an order that a barkeeper hears frequently.”

Finding absinthe in Cincinnati may have been a novelty for the reporter, but absinthe drinkers had been imbibing this ‘fascinating tipple’ for decades by then. An 1871 advertisement for Joseph R. Peebles’ Sons grocery – then still located at Fifth and Race Streets and not yet relocated to Peebles’ Corner – offered absinthe along with anisette and chartreuse. A steamboat manifest from that same year revealed that the J.H. Groesbeck was carrying two boxes of absinthe, shipped from New Orleans to August Fix, who ran a liquor store on Walnut Street. Typically, Cincinnati got its French culture filtered through New Orleans rather than direct from Paris.

While exotic French liqueurs were easily imported to Cincinnati, it appears that the hallowed ritual of absinthe preparation was less transportable. Per the Commercial Gazette:

“The American barkeeper has never mastered the art of dripping the water into the absinthe so patiently and thoroughly that the bitter oil of the liquor is slowly brought to the surface of the tiny liquor glass, from which it is carefully gathered with a spoon.”

Cincinnati’s bonifaces preferred a simple concoction of water, absinthe and a dissolved sugar cube. The locals didn’t seem to mind, and the Commercial Gazette approved:

“In this form absinthe is extremely attractive to the palate of the experienced tippler. As a ‘pick-me-up’ after a rather industrious night of drinking, it is unsurpassed. It soothes the discordant nerves, effectually removes the ‘deep seal brown taste’ that tipplers find in their mouths in the morning, and gives a ‘tone’ to the disordered stomach that is as insidiously soothing as the soft touch of a pellet of morphia.”

Diluted with water, sweetened with sugar, absinthe may have been “soothing,” but those who drank it straight were reputed to have cast-iron throats. Al Thayer’s 1894 book, “Pickings From Lobby Chatter” describes one such human:

“I saw an actor in one of our saloons, last week, take a tumbler, fill it to the brim with absinthe, and drink it down with a relish. Eugene Brown, who was in charge of the bar, offered him a paper of tacks to wash it down with.”

Because of that formidable scratch, absinthe most often appeared in Cincinnati libations mingled with a veritable pharmacopeia of liqueurs and bitters. The Cincinnati Post [20 October 1897] described one such concoction:

“The ‘brain duster’ is a local invention, and as you would judge from its name, is the right thing to get rid of the early morning cobwebs. It is made of absinthe, sugar, lemon juice, ice and whisky.”

Another Post reporter, interviewing a local barkeeper [21 July 1883], inquired why so many of his cocktail recipes called for a dash, or more, of absinthe.

“It is a wonderful stimulant for the brain, and is valuable to counteract nervous spells after long drunks. The absinthe used in the cocktail above mentioned is a powerful stimulant imported from France. Its main ingredient is oil of wormwood. It acts directly and powerfully on the brain, and is sometimes used to overcome sleepiness. Used to excess, it produces a peculiar and incurable brain disease resembling epilepsy, and soon puts a man in the deep box.”

Although failing to import the protracted ritual of absinthe presentation, America absolutely imported absinthe’s dangerous reputation. All the while Cincinnati drinkers were chasing the Green Fairy, legislators in France and the United States were conspiring to ban the liqueur altogether and succeeded in 1914. Cincinnati newspapers blamed absinthe for any crime committed by anyone who ever drank the stuff.

While the coroner concluded that Albert Strong, a Mount Auburn salesman, died from a morphine overdose, the local newspapers implied that a nearly empty bottle of absinthe in his room revealed the source of his suicidal outlook. Similarly, Guy Means, a medical student rooming on Ninth Street must have been “frenzied by the effects of absinthe” when he rushed into a neighboring doctor’s apartment and swallowed a bottle of morphine and a bottle of potassium bromide.

John Monpetit, a French Canadian living in the West End, allegedly gave up an absinthe addiction to join the Salvation Army, but relapsed and was thrown into the insane asylum when he attempted to paint his wife red. The courts awarded Margaret Bain a divorce from Ambrose Shaw, who had lost his position with the Emery real-estate development company because of his drunkenness. According to the Enquirer [12 February 1910]:

“Absinthe was his favorite drink, she said, and he became a slave to it.”

It wasn’t only the lowlifes and the bohemians who liked their absinthe. The Enquirer [5 March 1895] reported on a very formal dinner at the St. Nicholas Hotel for ex-Congressman Bellamy Storer. As the after-dinner speechifying began, cigars were lit and absinthe passed around in “frosted glass.”

Still, most local barkeeps followed the lead of Cincinnati Reds pitcher Jack Sutthoff who tended bar at a West End establishment during the off-season. A gang of Sutthoff’s pals showed up one evening, having conspired to order the most outrageously complicated beverages they could imagine, several involving absinthe. Sutthoff stared them down and issued an ultimatum:

“You guys’ll drink beer or whisky straight or you don’t drink.”

[rainlith]

what color is your aura?

J a d e

islands, sketchbooks, rainy windows, pendants, puzzle pieces, tree frogs, sea glass. your essence is jade: you are withdrawn and observant, like a sailing ship watching others pass. you struggle between giving too much and too little; it is a hard thing to be both authentic and loved. your sensitivity makes you gentle to others, you are the spirit. you are the philosopher. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of seafoam, teal, blue, and green, who share your thoughtfulness and creativity. you are also drawn to the purposeful chartreuse and fire, who will help you grow and connect to the world around you. however, you may struggle to get along with the ambitious personalities of wine and terracotta who push too hard.

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