#albeit covered in googly eyes

[thatgirlwithasquid]

twomp week : day 3

i’ve been kinda wanting to cosplay argos for a while cause my hair works well enough to be him, so i’m taking this opportunity to use the genderbend prompt to dress up as him!

i had to do so much faffing around with edits to make my hoodie blue (surprise! the closest i own is actually dark green) and also make my irises white (the idea of putting contacts in my eyes icks me out too much)

but anyway! i think i look ok as a fem!argos and i had fun doing it, even if just for a couple of photos. i also did a couple of sketches based on some of the other pictures i took:

[gomzdrawfr]

So

hi look at my(Price and Raven's) son...lil Sparrow!!!!!!

some rambles below:

okay so [rubs hand together excitedly]

Sparrow is Magpie's lil brother!! they're about 4 years apart :3

Magpie is the exact copy of Raven, but she behaves like Price

Sparrow is the exact copy of Price, down to the messy hair and all, but he behaves more like Raven, except cranking up the shyness level

he's very skittish around others, so visitors are a big no no, gotto be one at a time

Price is ecstatic, and maybe a bit too excited which may have scared Sparrow a bit (Price sulked for a week)

Clung to Raven until he was roughly 8 months old (already a moma's boy), always holding her pinkie whenever he's with her

Gets extremely defensive of Raven too despite his shyness, one time standing in front of Raven proudly before a raccoon albeit he was all teary and jittery (Raven made sure to get him the finest toy that week, and oh feed him so much food - he's spoiled by Raven!!)

Despite his shyness, he's a very curious lad, big googly brown eyes that never fail to soften anyone's heart

Likes to ask Price and Raven about their prime years, holding the photos and medals with amazement (Price always tears up)

Speaking of, Sparrow tries to be like his dad, wanna be more confident and strong like his papa, so he often follow Price's talking pattern and secretly practice under the cover with his stuff animals (again, Price tears up once more)

Unfortunately, does not like fishing (Price is once again crying but for different reason)

Fortunately, really like knitting for some reason (neither Price or Raven liked doing that, they suspect it may have been Gaz's influence)

oh yes! Gaz and Soap takes turn to babysit Sparrow, Soap always tries to coax Sparrow with his shenanigan, and Gaz likes to help Sparrow with his homework

((angst ahead))

Sparrow is scared shitless of Ghost, rightfully so, because Ghost is big af, the first time they met Sparrow burst into tears immediately

Ghost, felt really bad, so he refrained from visiting, but does visit Magpie

Another reason was...Sparrow reminded him of Tommy a bit, so he was also kinda fumbling

Price tries to encourage Ghost to visit sometimes, but Ghost refused repeatedly, and then stopped visiting Magpie too

Sparrow inherently felt bad, he knew Ghost wasn't a bad guy, but he's also young and haven't seen anyone that size

((angst end, back to happy))

it took some time and convincing, but Sparrow eventually steel himself to meet Ghost

Was unexpected too, Ghost came over to drop Magpie, and wanted to go back but Sparrow holds his jeans gingerly, "we have pudding, Uncle Simon..."

Suffice to say, with a bit of sweetness and patience, they got along well

Ghost always always crouches and make himself look smaller around Sparrow, hushed tone and gentle

Although Magpie always pulling and grumbling around, saying Simon wasn't that gentle with her ((Magpie and Ghost are best friend and lil rowdy))

Sparrow knitted a small skeleton skull for Ghost as a gift, all shy about it too "Pa said you liked skulls..." (Ghost did in fact cry, but it came out as a weird choking noise and Sparrow panicked - they are okay!! more pudding to save the day))

im thinking up more hc and ideas!! but these are what I have so far ehe

[punisheye]

(April fool's) — As if waiting for Wolfwood to awake in the morning (he was) , Vash jerks his head dramatically , perfectly timed to his companion's arrival. Clearing his throat he addresses Wolfwood with a serious and sophisticated , " Hello. "

Instead of familiar tinted shades, upon his face lies glasses with massive googly eyes jiggling left and right. All of Wolfwood's belongings seem to have received a similar treatment, as they too were covered in cartoonishly large eyes — from shoes, to jacket, and even the punisher.

" It's awfully bright today... " and to Vash's credit , he does his best to keep a face of neutrality , but the subtle quiver at the corner of his lips ultimately gives up an ulterior motive. — He's snickering too , albeit quietly to himself , as he slides over a pair of sunglasses with predictably , two googly eyes.

It was another night of going to bed late, sleeping like the dead, then waking up too early. Whatever the hell Vash had done, Wolfwood slept through the entire thing, and his sleep-addled brain upon waking up could not process whatever the hell was going on with all of his clothes. Not even his cross was safe.

He takes an annoyed drag of his dying cigarette and then squashes it in the ashtray beside the bed, glaring at the massive googly eyes staring back at him from the Punisher.

Well.

Time to go meet the culprit.

Vash is waiting out in the hall and the idiot is doing his best to not burst out laughing. Wolfwood stares at him, squinting, watching the quiver of his lips.

"Spikey, you..."

He catches the sunglasses and holds them up to his face. His brows furrow. He looks back at Vash, then the sunglasses, and he looks like he might go to berate Vash, or smack him over the head, or something, but...

After a drawn out period of silence, Wolfwood starts snickering, too, his nose crinkling up. He does reach over to yank none-too-gently on Vash's ear, though.

"Ya fuckin' dumbass."

[timextoxhajima]

12 Days Of Christmas: Ravens

Part of a collaboration project under 12 Days Of Christmas hosted by yours truly.

Member: Younghoon

Genre: christmas fluff, ion know

Word Count: 1.6k

The sanitizer scent of the airport was inviting you into a gentle slumber due to the jetlag. Younghoon had dragged you halfway across the planet in a bid to spend Christmas with you, because you had been so busy with school that you barely had time to spend with him. 

Whilst it was unlikely of him to initiate a holiday overseas for just the two of you, it didn’t come unexpected. It had been something the two of you wanted to do for a long time anyway. 

But your groggy sight can only offer you so much of the male sitting opposite you in the empty waiting lounge for the plane. Younghoon was staring blankly at the planes outside the window, the blue pullover looking so snug around his shoulders. You’ve always been told that you were lucky for having such a good-looking friend but you’ve always felt luckier that he was even your friend. 

Most people had placed him on a pedestal without thinking twice about how well he takes care of people, especially when he cares for you. You haven’t been friends with Younghoon for an extremely long time, if you counted the years, it’d be about five or six, give or take. 

Out the corner of your eye, you catch some other youngsters your age enter the waiting lounge for the plane, and the two girls just could not remove their eyes off him. 

A smug smile creeps on your lips when you open your chat messages with Younghoon, coyly sending him a text. 

You: Still got that charm, don’t you?

Younghoon’s trance is broken when the vibration shakes him out of it, and he flashes you a quick glance before turning to them. It’s not surprising that they look a little shier when he looks to them, offering a small bow of his head. 

Pulling your hoodie over your head, Younghoon grabs his jacket and duffel bag, walking over to you and taking a seat down next to you.

“The heartbreak they will suffer when they think I’m your girlfriend,” You pull out a book and flip through to the page you stopped at. 

Younghoon grips his phone and passport in his hands between his knees, leaning over to you. “Had they not made those googly eyes at me, I wouldn’t be so worried about you being upset.”

A frown creeps onto your face, a sneer of disgust showing up on your lips. The book has lost your attention. “Me? Upset? Over your fangirls? Pfft.”

Younghoon’s scent is stained all over the hoodie you were wearing, and whatever piece of clothing of his that’s on you, it’d be way larger than fitting for you. Pulling the sleeves over your fingers, Younghoon picks up the book from your lap, flipping through the pages.

If you could count the number of people who had assumed you were dating, you’d need more than a pair of hands. The first day you met Younghoon, his dumbass had been trying to feed a Raven sitting right outside an elderly care centre. Your grandfather had just been admitted due to a home incident, so walking out of a building filled with people struggling to stay alive and then running into someone who had no clue how dangerous Ravens can get was an entertaining episode in its own.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Younghoon’s bright doe eyes look up at you with the breadcrumbs still in his palm. The raven was cocking its head to the side, dark pearls for eyes staring at him.

“Ah, well,” Younghoon drizzles the breadcrumbs on the grass, allowing the raven to start pecking on it as he stands up. Your eyes follow his face so when he reaches the height he’s at, it intimidates you for a good few seconds. “It’s a friendly one. The nurses here feed it occasionally too.”

“Huh,” You shove your hands into your pockets. “Most ravens aren’t fans of humans.”

Younghoon smiles, then pushes his coat aside to reveal his uniform and the nametag he had on. The sight of the uniform catches you off-guard -- he is a freshman at the same school as you.

And just like that, five years had passed since without warning. 

On the plane back home, it’s a quiet, peaceful ride. Younghoon isn’t a fan of words, and you appreciated it. He probably wouldn’t open his mouth to say anything stupid to waste your time (unless he’s intentionally feeling particularly annoying on some days). So it’s comforting when he wraps you in his arms with the armrest between the two seats pushed upwards, and his attention is on his screen while yours are on your book. 

The jetlag returns to haunt your lids, making them heavier than you’d like them to be. The constant whirring of the plane in the background was also coaxing you to drift off into your slumber, and you miss the moment that Younghoon gently removes the book from your hands to stuff it inside the compartment below the screen. 

By the time you’re awake, the plane was bustling with activity because it was breakfast. Home time or not, you couldn’t even decide. All you knew was that you couldn’t eat a grain of rice even if you tried. 

“Are you okay? The stewardess is coming over soon, what are you feeling?” Younghoon helps you sit up in your seat, brushing your hair out from your eyes. He hands you the little menu booklet, leaning over into you and resting his head on your shoulder. 

“The roasted chicken thigh looks good, but I know you’re more of a chicken salad and pasta person.”

The words look hazy to you, something doesn’t feel right. 

“Hoon, I’m not feeling all that great. D’you mind if you get me the salad, and you can have the chicken and pasta?”

“What?” He removes himself off your shoulder and presses his hand to your forehead. “Are you okay? You don’t have a fever though. Are you feeling nauseous?”

No, but I kinda feel like I wanna die. 

Younghoon reaches for his bag under the seat, pulls out some medication and then calls for some water. 

The days that Younghoon chooses to be a kind, caring friend are the days you enjoy the most. Albeit your health would be at risk because this side of Younghoon isn’t specially a regular sight, but you know he can be the most thoughtful person you’d ever meet, even if you don’t see it often. 

The food comes after he orders, neatly rearranging the food on your pull-out tray and leaving you with more medication in case you needed it. You can feel the digestive juices in your stomach gurgling, so at least you know your shit-whack of an appetite hasn’t given up on you. 

The rest of the flight is then spent drifting in and out of drowsiness, because the medication that Younghoon had you eat was sleep-inducing. There was a pang of guilt because you were well aware that he was for you and yet there was nothing you could’ve done about it.

Then the plane jerks a little due to turbulence, jolting you out of your sleep. The plane was in complete darkness, forcing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. 

Thanks to the light from the back of the cabin, you could roughly make out the reflection in Younghoon’s screen. There he was, resting his head against yours, with most of his blanket covering you even when you already had your own. the sight makes your heart flutter, forcing you into an internal panic mode. 

No. Why now? We’ve been friends for so long, if feelings were supposed to come, they would’ve a long time ago, right?

Younghoon shifts a little, nose scrunching up and his fringe tumbling over his brows and over his eyes. His cheek was flat against the crown of your head, and a light squeeze under the blanket makes you aware of your arm linked in his. 

You continue watching your reflections in the screen, admiring how peaceful he looked while he was asleep. His breath was gently tapping against your hair as he exhaled, and you could feel his shoulder under your cheek heave gently with every breath he took. 

The cabin was decorated in some Christmas ornaments, the gold and silver glitter shimmering in the reflection of the screen and in the corners of your eye. The sleepiness is about to claim you again, then Younghoon’s fingers interlocking with yours under the blanket captures your awareness again.

“What are you looking at?” 

He’s looking at you through the reflection now, eyes sparkling like two stars in the black screen. 

“Um, just the Christmas decorations.”

You can feel his Adam’s Apple shift when he gulps away a dry throat, expecting him to release you or move off you --

But he doesn’t.

His eyes are closed when he licks his lips. “But are you feeling better?”

“Somewhat. Thank you for the medication.”

His laughter comes out in the form of a sharp exhale through his nostrils. “How could I have forgotten it when I know you have motion sickness?”

A smile claims your lips. “I appreciate it. I’ll buy you a meal or some sorts when we get back home.”

Younghoon hums in slight response, then a pause. “If you want to return this favour, I have a better idea.”

“What is it?”

“Stop being so busy with school for once and go out on a date with me.”

[undertaker1827]

Hi can you do Undertaker with William half-sister and unlike her brother loves a good laugh and scaring others? Ps I love your blog ❤

Ooo yes of course!! Sorry this took so long and thank you!!

Masterlist

-

The first time you met Undertaker, you had met William in the human world whilst he was on a reaping trip. You had watched from the shadows, hardly able to keep a straight face as your stoic half-brother produced a business card and handed it over to a demon, begrudgingly bowing as he did so. The demon discarded it immediately and you made your presence known as William stepped back, right on the head of a red-headed colleague. As the other reaper started muttering about how terrible having to apologise to a demon was, you simply couldn’t keep your laughter in check any longer. You staggered forward, striking green eyes lined with tears as you clapped a hand on your brother’s arm, ignoring the dirty side glance he gave you. However, you did notice the briefest glint of surprise cross the demon’s features when the other reaper made no move to step away from you. Given that you also had no desire to talk to him, you left soon after William did, only to run straight into a horse and carriage.

As soon as the driver jumped down to stand tall in front of you, you knew immediately he was a reaper. You told him as much, albeit quietly, lest anyone was around. He let out a cackle followed by a wicked grin.

“Usually takes ‘em longer than that,” he started, voice gradually dropping in timbre and loosing the slightly raspy, lilting tone it had originally. “Who might you be then, hm?” You gave him your name and he returned the favour, pointing out he was aware that you too were a reaper. That sparked a long conversation, during which you accompanied Undertaker to his finally destination, which turned out to be where you had just come from. The body of the woman in red needed to be collected, her soul having already been taken. Evidently, Undertaker knew everything that had come to pass - how exactly, you weren’t sure - and from the moment you cracked a joke at William’s expense and had both collapsed in laughter, you just seemed to get on really well.

Given the family relation, you often saw William when he was on business in the human world where you resided and you also spent more and more time with Undertaker, making run-ins with the demon butler and his earl annoyingly frequent. You ribbed Ciel endlessly over his height, joining the mortician in turning everything into a joke and insisting on being present for Undertaker’s ‘payments’, laughing just as quickly and almost as much as he did. You started being seen together so often that the mortician’s regulars would ask what had happened if you weren’t there.

Something else you quickly picked up from Undertaker was the art of terrifying people half to death. The other reaper had done it to you every time you went to his parlour in the beginning, and whilst you couldn’t prevent yourself from screaming whenever he did, no matter how much you came to expect it, it certainly didn’t stop you from pranking him in return. You copied his habit of hiding in coffins, jumping out whenever he entered the room and receiving a decent black eye the first time when his reflexes kicked in and he lashed out by accident, thinking you were an intruder. However, deterred you were not, and a full out prank war escalated from then on.

Replacing sugar with salt and swapping normal pepper for cayenne was only the beginning. More elaborate designs included buckets of flour and treacle, containers of variously dyed water replacing ink pots and sticking false covers onto the books lining the shop walls and then mixing up their order as well. The last one took you eons, but it was worth it to hear Undertaker’s confused muttering from the next room when he went to get a book for the earl to help him solve London’s latest string of murders only to arrive with a recipe collection detailing the pros and cons of frying in oil. You also stuck googly eyes on all of the items currently in your fridge at the time and one of his funniest to date was when he rushed into the kitchen, not-so-fake blood running down his face and over one eye to announce he had been assaulted (“Ah-salt-ed, get it, love?!”) whilst brandishing a salt pot at you.

On the rare occasion that William dared to enter the shop with both of you in it, usually something to do with the earl’s demon, he made his opinion on your pranking escapades quite clear. He couldn’t wrap his head around how two fully grown beings such as yourselves could act so childishly and you poking fun at him for it only made the situation worse. One time, your half-brother hit you so hard over the back of the head that you thought you would get a concussion. Undertaker, of course, was no help whatsoever, tears streaming down his face and quite literally in a heap on the floor.

It did the job and shut you up long enough for William to get his point across, but from then on and in retaliation, you ensured to center as many pranks as possible on William.

In your collective opinion, the best one you had managed was your most recent. William has been utterly exhausted from work, having not slept in about three days straight and running on nothing other than far too much caffeine. He’s intended to quickly speak to you over some small matter then leave. By what can only be described as a miracle, you and Undertaker had convinced him to stay for tea, under the pretence of trying to balance out his coffee intake, and he’d taken off his jacket. Which you promptly stole whilst your accomplice distracted him. When he left, your brother was too tired to do much as notice the slight smell coming from it, but even if he had you doubted he would have thought twice about it.

The next time you saw him it was the middle of the following night and he was beyond furious. He flew into the parlour, startling you both from the extended hug you had been sharing and all but throwing said item of clothing in your faces. Immediately, you started laughing, as in the half dark of the front room, the clashing pink and green glow in the dark paint you had covered the jacket in showed up almost perfectly and of course you knew full well that William did most of his reaping in the human world at night. Even with the decidedly painful consequences of your choice, the thought of your ever serious half brother actually wearing it, complete with a smiley face daubed brilliantly across the back, made it worth it a hundred times over.

Simultaneously, your prank war with Undertaker was still going on, in spite of your half-brother’s ever increasing complaints. Once, you even managed to draw a smirk from Sebastian Michælis, to the horror of the earl, who insisted they leave immediately. You and the mortician had giggled like schoolgirls for hours after that one. You ended up with quite the reputation as pranksters, in both the human and reapers worlds, much to your collective delight.

[wafflewarriors]

Never Fear (The Winchesters Are Here)

Chemical Attraction

Dean flashed you a cheesy grin. "You did good out there tonight. Proud of you." His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but he still seemed mostly sober.

He was checking out the group of women up at the front of the bar, who wore more revealing clothing than you dared.

You envied their confidence. Sometimes you wished you had the grit to do that stuff.

Dean didn't fake reluctance to leave you or Sam. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. When he finished his drink, he made his move, leaving the table, and you and Sam with it.

The younger Winchester smiled at you awkwardly. You could tell he wanted to leave as well—he and some girl at the bar had been making googly eyes at each other since he walked in—but was conflicted on leaving you.

"Sam," you said impatiently. "That girl has been giving you the eyes since we walked in. And don't think I don't see you sending them back. If you don't get up now, I'll push you over there."

You were glad that women weren't assuming you and Sam—or Dean—were together; it made everything much less complicated. Both of the Winchesters were way out of your league. You were more likely the sister they never had.

He was a little surprised, and a little amused by your attitude. "Oh, really?"

"Don't test me," you joked.

He laughed, collecting his jacket and walking away.

Your deluding smile fell from your face once you were alone. Bars were usually their choice of festivity, but they mostly just made you uncomfortable.

You were now alone, as both of the boys hit on some chicks and snuck off to get laid. You were used to it. It wasn’t your ideal celebration, but if it made them happy, you'd bear it. You supposed they just assumed your interests matched theirs. Even if all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.

Anyway, the faster the Winchesters both left with broads, the faster you could leave. It was just that simple.

You sipped your whiskey that Dean had paid for. It was strong, and hard to swallow, but in small portions it was tolerable. You appreciated the gift, even if it wasn't your preferred drink. Dean had a big heart, and you wouldn’t ruin your sweet moments with him because you were feeling picky.

You let your mind wander to a darker place.

You were still coming to terms with hunter life. And from what you've gathered, it was cruel, unfair, and thankless.

The Winchesters didn’t sugarcoat it, either. Everything that society looked down upon—the suspiciously cult-ish tattoos, borderline or over-the-line alcoholism (a line you were uncertain where Dean fell), and cheap clothing with leather jackets—was a signature of a hunter’s life. Not to mention the trigger-happy hands, suspicious glares, and their off-putting, dark looks.

It opened your eyes.

That "gothic" girl you saw in your neighborhood? That might have looked like a satanic tattoo, but it was actually an anti-possession tattoo that she got because she was terrified of the demons that wanted to kill her. And those knives in her pocket and backpack? That was for her safety, and probably yours, too.

Or that shady alcoholic up the street? Werewolves brutally murdered his friends, and he has to live with the survivor's guilt. He drinks while obsessively researching how to hunt them down. Though he'll likely die of a failing liver before ever taking on the pack.

The point was…

Looks weren’t always transparent.

And, well, you were everything hunters weren't.

Your pain tolerance was pathetic, for one. Tattoos? Big nope. You hated all things needles, and despite tattoos looking cool, you liked to avoid pain, thanks.

Second, your wardrobe. As if that wasn't blatantly obvious.

And, last, you were a hopeless lightweight. A few shots and you were tipsy. Dean thought it was hilarious.

Still, you drank your whiskey, feeling guilty that you hated it.

You were tired. It was dark out, and you could already feel the whiskey in your system. You just wanted to go home.

So the last thing you expected that night was for a guy to hit on you. You, feeling unlike yourself—and very drunk—warily flirted back.

He was charming. Thing was, with your buzzing vision, all you noticed were his eyes and handsome smile. You didn’t notice the more important things, like, say… the roofies dissolving in your drink.

Too bad you hadn’t—because you wouldn't have let him breathe down your neck like he had been… or breathe at all, for that matter.

Your words slurred, and you leaned into him when he stood. "Hey, hey, h-hey, mister. Wheeere ya' goin' off to?"

You were smashed.

You didn’t feel too hot, either. You were practically dangling off his shoulders as he helped you from your chair, and your stomach churned. "I don' feel so guud…" you slurred, keeling over to vomit on the pavement. Huh. You were outside?

You made out two shapes that looked dubiously like him. Albeit one may have very well been a trash can. "Yeeuur kindouf prr...retty."

He snickered, though you weren't sure what was so funny. "Just let it sink in," he said. "It's okay, babe."

What was he talking about? You frowned, troubled. "Doe… don'ttt… calmeh that."

There was only a muddy sense of direction. You fizzled in and out of consciousness, and your memory escaped you.

You were completely at this man's mercy.

///

You woke up feeling like hell. The lights… the sounds…it was all too loud.

Your head felt like a crushed soda can. You turned—inch by inch—trying to get a view of the entire room, tied up—which, yeah, was a big red flag—and leaned awkwardly against the wall. When you finally saw behind you, you met the eyes of multiple other women in your same predicament.

The previous evening was a haze. Your mind was still catching up with the present, much less the past.

Something in the shadows of the room moved, and you watched as two figures loomed over an unconscious woman covered in dark, bloody bites around her neck and chest.

"Vamps," you spat. But it came more like "vamffptss" through your gag with a few lisp-y expletives.

They spun around, smiling to themselves. A vampire crouched down to your level, taunting you, "Ah, so there is more to her than a pretty face! Who would have known? Are you a hunter, babe?"

A memory clicked as he said that. You might say it rang a bell—an alarm bell, anyway—but you couldn't place it. His voice was bouncing around in your head and it was hard to focus.

"Sssgrew you."

He stood, gave you a smirk, and drove his foot into your abdomen. Hard.

"Wow. I mean, you were a little feisty at the bar, but I never would have envisioned you'd have so much kick." He winked at you, then turned back to his goonies. "Alright. Ship 'em. Mark the pretty ones. They'll be worth more."

You puffed, still recovering from the harsh blow, as a skinny redhead yanked you up by the ropes. He was watching you like one looks in a microwave at their meal.

You thrashed. It was a weak move, hardly knocking him back on his heels, but it was also a minor triumph.

Then said vampire punched your throat, and all smugness disappeared.

The lead vamp turned to see the commotion and erupted, "Are you kidding me? Christ—get the gag off her, will you?!" When the others looked at him in alarm and skepticism, he barked, "She’s no use to us dead! Do you want her suffocating?"

Carrot Top worked the gag from your aching jaw, and you just laid there, winded, like a dead dog.

The Lead Vamp grabbed the shirt collar of your redhead attacker. "Hey, maybe don't punch 'em in the throat next time. They're gonna squirm a little—it's what they do. So ignore it."

"Yessir'."

"Good. And, hey, guys—bag the ugly ones. I got a client for them."

You coughed, propping yourself up by the elbow. You were concerned. Am I ugly?

The redhead vamp kicked you down by your arm, hissing, "Not you. We got a special guy for you. Likes the fighters."

You were so tired and weak and helpless. Couldn't do anything but lay there. You could only watch as the other vamps manhandled poor, terrified women.

"Leeches," you said, earning you a foot to the face.

"Do yourself a favor and shut up."

It was hard to not comply. As your head lolled, you spat blood at his feet. You would not go down easy.

He hauled you up, and his punch cracked like a whip.

You stared at his bloody knuckles, feeling your own arms twitch. The ropes were loose. You wondered briefly if you could even run—

Another strike had your vision swimming with stars.

"Hey. I got a question—huff—" You said, taking the punches like a champ and distracting him. "Has anyone ever told you—uff—that you look like—guh—Strawberry Shortcake?"

The ropes worked off your wrists and when he swung, you ducked—or fell, more like—away from his swing. Breathless, you pulled yourself to your feet to run.

The adrenaline was really the only thing keeping you going. Thing was, adrenaline didn't give you accuracy, it just gave you strength. And little that strength was.

And, woah, was the ground spinning. You gagged as you watched the hallway sway. You were not in any shape to run, but you sure as hell tried to. You stumbled down the hallway, your knees giving out multiple times before you couldn’t pick yourself up again.

The vamp's yell echoed down the hallway. "You're not a hunter anymore, little lamb! You're the hunted!" It probably wouldn't take much for him to follow the sound of your hummingbird heart.

That was enough encouragement to get anyone on their toes. Even someone who was shaking like a leaf.

Whatever roofie they'd given you, it was enhanced. Everything was so hot and bright and loud. You wished the world could just be quiet. Your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your teeth.

You clambered to the exit, reaching for the doors to push them open.

Just then, a hand pitched you backward, pulling down on your shoulder. You yelled out, petrified.

"It's me, it's just me," Dean whispered quickly, easing you through the door, around the corner, and to where Baby was parked.

Your heart was still jack hammering in your chest as he pulled you in for a hug. You were high as a kite on adrenaline.

"Been looking all over for you." The pitch in his voice was more stressed than usual. You were like a little sister to him.

You leaned into his embrace. It was warm and solid and safe. And it was exactly what you needed to ground yourself.

"He drugged me," you blurted. "He drugged me. I couldn’t—he just—"

He paled. "Did he touch you?" When you paused, his expression darkened. "I'll rip his lungs out. I'll kill every single one of them. I'll—"

"He didn't touch me," you interrupted. "Not like that." You rested your forehead against his chest.

"Thank god."

"But I think they would've." You practically melted as he smoothed your hair down. "They're human trafficking. Selling women as blood bags."

Dean turned to Sam, who was leaned up against the Impala, and nodded at him. Sam took that as his cue to go ahead without Dean. "I got Sammy on it right now. You sure you're alright?"

His arms around you were the only thing keeping you standing. "Just tired. And my head really hurts." Gunshots went off behind you, and you flinched. Your ears were still sensitive.

"Sounds like nothing a little sleep can't fix." Dean patted your back and opened the back of the Impala.

You crawled in and fell asleep before Dean could even pull out of the parking lot.

"Let's get you home," he breathed.

[silvertongued-trickster-arch]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS

APHRODITE .     laughter loving. sweet smiles. dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair. sees the world as a runway. unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles. in love with love. stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers. doves.revolution in their kiss. delighting in the waves. flirtatious winks. strolling along the beach. staring wistfully from a balcony. this is how to be a heartbreaker. wants to be adored. gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO .      glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organized music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

ARES .      armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world for the ones they love. fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS .      keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. disheveled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA .     discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger .armour that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colors. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

DEMETER .      soil covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS .      drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth.being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines.inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS .      the calloused hands of someone who knows labour. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

HERA .      resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under fuck it. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

HERMES .      devil - may - care smile. always up - to - date on the latest technology. will steal your french fries. does it for the vine. shitposter. puts googly eyes on everything. meme hoarder. long drives on the highway. ma and pop diners. spontaneous road trips. folded maps. fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop. shooting hoops on the basketball court. chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations. goes jogging in the morning. mixes redbull with coffee. menace on april fool ’ s. hoodies and sneakers.    

POSEIDON .     storm with skin. colourful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse ’ s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever - changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS .     thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning. un - natural charisma. eloquence. badass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lenny face. nightmare- filled nights. proud arm around their lover ’ s waist. high - rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.

TAGGED BY : STOLEN (albeit with permission) FROM : @mysticmastered  TAGGING : steal it too!

[faintblueivy]

A Cup Full Of Smiles - Chapter 1 - An Ordinary Day

Hello guys! This is my submission for Borusara Fanfiction Week for day 2. The prompt is - Coffee! So here am I presenting you with my new Coffee Shop AU! But it is just a debut to what is to come, but I won’t be able to give you updates before I end up finishing my other multichapter fics – ‘Is she beautiful?’ and ‘Matters of the Heart’. Sorry about that.

This fanfiction is based on my amazing friend @ionica01’s BNHA fanfiction (for Todomomo ship) called a cup of magic. If you’re interested then go ahead and give it a read. I promise you won’t be disappointed!

Finally let’s come to the Fanfiction! Hope you enjoy it!

Summary- Sarada tried her best to convince herself that this cafe has only become a part of her routine because of its cozy homelike atmosphere, definitely not for a blond haired, blue eyed boy who personified sunshine itself. Well, maybe it is really his fault after all.

…

A Cup Full Of Smiles

Chapter 1

An ordinary day

The strong aroma of rich coffee wafts through the streets, attracting people towards it like a moth to the flame. A large board of beautifully carved framework saying ‘A Cup Full Of Smiles’ is highlighted with pink and blue lights. 

The inside scene of the building is alive with all the smiles and giggles, clearly giving a meaning to the name of the cafe. All sorts of people occupy the seats, ranging from retired civilians to lively youngsters. And all of those people were clearly enjoying their time here.

Boruto whirled around the tables with an amazing swiftness, hands balancing trays of coffees, shakes and pastries. A bright never faltering smile was curled upon his lips and his blue eyes shined with warmth that all of his customers adored.

A cup full of smiles - was a cafe run by all male Baristas. And you can obviously guess that it must have been pretty popular among ladies. After all, where can you get young, hot and handsome men serving you with a smile on their faces? Though a cup full of smiles was pretty famous among males as well because of the friendly and welcoming attitude of the staff.

Boruto made sure that everyone coming to a cup full of smiles was provided with the best service irrespective of the gender. They were all his customers and he deeply adores being able to bring smile on the faces of people.

The love he has for a cup full of smiles is unparalleled.

And for the grand success of his quest, he was supported by an amazing staff putting everything they had to make this cafe a place to call home for him and also for their own selves. Yes, they were eccentric and a little rough around the edges but they were a part of the family of a cup full of smiles and Boruto unarguably cherished each and every one of them.

The way he adored every member of the staff, similarly the dedication that the staff poured into managing and running a cup full of smiles also stemmed from their fondness towards their employer. The way Boruto knew each of them personally, they too always observed him and his little quirks.

That is why it did not escape other’s notice that despite the brilliant smile, how often his eyes would roam to the gates every now and then. When the door bells chimed, every time, he would look up and grin which only dampened in the eyes a little when he would realize that it’s not her.

She was definitely running late today.

A few orders are given and taken when Boruto is called out by Inojin.

“Boruto! Your girlfriend is here!”

A tinge of red covers his cheeks when he hisses, “Dammit! Inojin, you know, she’s my customer - not my girlfriend.” Even though, his words are supposed to contain semblance to scolding, his tone is laced with happiness.

He immediately takes up the vacant counter left by Inojin as she approaches. Boruto gives her a signature smile but his blue eyes are shinier, brighter. She couldn’t help but return it.

"The usual?” He asks as he turns to prepare her coffee.

She leans over the counter and smiles, “Yes, and a double chocolate cake, please.”

Even though his back is towards her, he could not help but chuckle, “Hard day at work?”

She wonders how he knows her so much. Maybe the fact that he’s known her all their life helps.

“Yes. The presentation went smooth but the dealers we had this time were extremely nitpicking. It was annoying.”

“Hm…looks like you’ve had a rough day, huh? You’re tired. Go to your seat. I’ll bring your order in a bit.” He says as he pours the adequate amount of steaming milk in her coffee.

“Nah, I’ll stay here. I wanna talk to you.” Her voice is tired and her posture is lethargic, and he doesn’t like it..

“Don’t argue Sarada.” He says sternly even though the warm fuzzy feeling in his heart is hard to ignore, “Go to your seat and I’ll be there. Then, we can talk as much as you want.”

It was rare for him to get this serious but Sarada liked it. So, she follows his orders and saunters over the farthest chair on the other side corner of the cafe. It was funny how he would always refer to this particular table as her seat. But she cannot argue because this is the only seat in the entire cafe that she really enjoys to sit at.

It was an unspoken rule that even when the cafe was at its busiest peak, no one really occupies it, as if it was solely reserved for her. Knowing him, it probably was. This particular spot allowed her to observe the entire café without interruptions and it also provided a lot of privacy. Her eyes flicked across all the customers and found herself shaking her head at a group of googly eyed teenager girls appreciating the baristas roaming around and performing their jobs. Well, it wasn’t exactly a rare situation to see.

Then there was rowdy group of young boys at another corner. One of the center table was occupied by an old day smiling fondly at a child by her side who was happily enjoying his big piece of rainbow cake. Another table held a young couple on a date. And then, a young man was busy scribbling something on the last corner surrounded by lots of scattered papers and a large size cup of hot chocolate. Observing so many people here made her heart warm. It’s weird to say but noticing different customers was oddly relaxing and in some way, it makes her understand Boruto a little more.

Sarada looked up, her eyes automatically resting upon a working Boruto. Seeing him smile and put his all in for his passion was definitely a heartwarming and inspirational sight.  

…

“Sarada!” the call of her name from a familiar voice made her turn head. Mitsuki approached her, carrying an empty tray and smiling his usual smile.

“Mitsuki! How are you?” She grinned at her friend.

“I’m good. But looks like you had some troubles.”

Sarada laughed at his blunt observation. “Yeah, I had a little troubles but nothing to worry about.”

“Hm, I’m glad. Hope your meeting went well.” He said.

“Of course! You know I would never settle for something less than perfect.”

He laughed, “Definitely. Though, your delay was causing him to get antsy. I think he was just a hair breadth away from barging into your office to grab you.”

“Oi! Mitsuki! Stop ratting out on me, will ya? And can ya please grab the counter? I’ll take my break now.” Boruto pouted as he carried a tray of her caramel Macchiato and an extra-large size of double chocolate cake and something else too. Sandwiches?   

Mitsuki nodded and gave her a parting wave and left as Boruto slid into the chair in front of her.

Sarada pointed at the plate of Sandwiches and poked him, “I didn’t order that.”

“I know, but you haven’t had your dinner, right?” He asked while placing the tray for her.

Sometimes, she gets overwhelmed with his habit of looking after her. There was a time when he was dubbed as the reckless one out of them. But now, it’s as if the tables have turned. She doesn’t understand how he manages to read her like an open book with a simple glance, albeit, she can do the same…but he is a type of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. Dedicated to his cause to a fault, capable of making friends easily, always smiling and trying to cheer everyone up, willing to risk everything to help his friends. To her, he was sort of predictable.   

But she was slightly different. Yes, she was a woman focused on her goals but making friends along the way like nothing was just not her forte. She was far from unsociable but still she always had a hard time opening up to new people. Suppressing her emotions and putting up the logical front, that is how her brain works. So, knowing her like that should be difficult, right? But Boruto made it look so easy. Though because it was him, she didn’t mind being readable and vulnerable.

She took a bite of the sandwich and softly smiled. They were mild flavored…just like how she liked. Her hand then immediately went to her coffee as soon as the warm creamy liquid came in contact with her taste buds, she sighed in bliss. The coffee was so Boruto. No, it was so her.

Made by him…just for her.

Perfect.

Or maybe better than perfect.

She placed the coffee back on the table but her mouth watered at the sight of the chocolate cake.

It looked so damn good.

Grabbing a fork and slicing through the soft dessert, she put it into her mouth and moaned in delight. The spongy cake layered with chocolate filling and then covered with delicious ganache made her grin at the explosion of sweet-bitter taste. A trace of coffee could be detected but rather than covering the taste of chocolate…it simply enhanced it.

As she took alternating bites of her sandwich and cake, she noticed Boruto taking a sip of her coffee. He closed his eyes and hummed softly as if analyzing the taste and picking apart every measurement of every ingredient involved. After a lot of thinking and two other sips, he put it down in front of her and grinned proudly.

“It’s good!”

She tilted her head to show her approval and pushed the plate of cake at his direction and the fork too. He took a bite and nodded but pushed it back towards her.

“It’s fine but too sweet for me.” 

She laughed knowing that despite the fact that the café specialized in confections, Boruto had always loved spicy food, or maybe he’s just developed an aversion to them, tasting them all the damn time. Sometime, she would feel jealous of him for it.

Another difference between them.

It might have been flustering to other people to share food with each other the way they do but Boruto never feels embarrassed. They had practically been sharing spoons since birth. It was nothing to be awkward about. And they were both glad about it.

As the closing time of the café approached, it became more and more vacant. And by the time the clock struck ten, all of the seats were empty except for the ones they occupied.

Sarada was about to pull out some bills for the payment when Boruto chuckled, “It’s on the house.”

Sarada smirked and shook her head. “You cannot always say ‘it’s on the house every time I order something, silly’. You do it almost five times a week!”

He cutely pouted at her words and made denial, “I don’t do that ‘always’. And anyway, a cup full of smiles belongs to you as much as it belongs to me.”

His words freeze her. He simply runs to his staff to help them with the chores leaving her behind still sitting on the table to contemplate. Yes, this is not the first time he has said that. But every time these words escape his mouth, it overwhelms her beyond belief.

A cup full of smiles was Boruto’s dream. His biggest accomplishment ever. Its success was a fruit of his hard labor and one tracked mind. If there is someone who is aware of all the struggles that Boruto had to face to bring a cup full of smiles to life, then it was her.

A cup full of smiles represented his triumph over his insecurities, fears and demons. It was a reason of his smile and the fact that he was willing to share it with her left her breathless.  

A cup full of smiles belongs to you as much as it belongs to me.

His words echo in her head again and again and her eyes begin to shine.

After a few moments pass, she lifts herself off from the chair and grabs a broom to sweep off the floor. Nobody stops her. As they make preparations for the next day, a part of Sarada is overflowing with happiness at being able to contribute something for this café.

Her café.

His café.

Their café.

A cup full of smiles.

Sometime later they step out in the cold night. The doors are locked securely and parting greetings are made. As Boruto and Sarada walk down the road side by side a comfortable silence engulfs the two best friends. Her long midnight locks sway with the wind, as if celebrating their freedom from the confines of her bun – the hairstyle she keeps for work.

A warm touch brushes against her palm which makes her look at man beside her. His boyish charm blazes through with the grin he offers her. The slight blush on his cheeks make her smile as she curls her index finger around his. This gesture from her seems to embolden him and instantly, his large hand has her smaller one in a soft grip.

Side by side, they head to home.

And somewhere along the path she makes a realization.

‘A cup full of smiles’ is her home as well.

So, this is not your typical ‘I saw you in my coffee shop and fell in love with you.’ I’m sorry if you were expecting that. But this fanfiction is going to hold a much deeper symbolism and plot. Hope you don’t mind.

Although, I REALLY WANT TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS FOR THIS FIC! Please. I wrote it with a lot of heart. So, please let me know your views!

Thank you! See you again!

P.S. And my master post will be containing all of my submissions for the week, please visit it when if you haven’t read them.

[junowyear3]

Arcadia: The other life of video games

My notes on this book I took out from the library, this will be a long post since I had two and a half pages of notes:

Arcadia: the other life of video games. Govette Brewster Art Gallery. This book explores the impact of computer gaming and digital aesthetics on contemporary art and visual culture. Describes videogames as “perfect venues for escapist fantasy” and on a more negative approach “black holes for squandered time”- I like this because it’s tapping into my concurrent research on Intoxication. 

Language of video-games consist of: shifting viewpoints, complex spatial dynamics, interactive potential and possibilities, deep structure of gaming and narrative, genre boundaries, social codes. Adapting formal syntax of games, characters, spatial environments “Limitless notion of space”- in the process, are pointing out limits of current representational paradigms. Eye of God games.

Ricky Swallow’s ‘Evolution in order of appearance’, 1999. Uses biology to invert the promise of technology. His work is ironically aware of the way that adaptive strategies of evolutionary biology are rehearsed in game theory. Survival of the fittest concept: “A highly networked, self organising player population is given the tools to customise and extend games, create new levels, modifications and characters. What emerges is a decentralized culture that rapidly learns, adapts and selects for best practices.”- J.C Herz ‘Gaming the system; multi-player worlds online’ in Games On: the history and culture of videogames.

Juian Opie’s ‘Fiona’: Computer animated portrait with a ‘finite lexico’n of facial expressions displayed in succession according to a determined algorithm. She is used as a “vehicle for projected character traits”, have associations projected onto her. (Cover page of this book)

(Above Left) Sean Kerr’s ‘Bruce (the watcher)’, 2003:

Googly animated eyes built from scratch through a string of code. Surveillance cameras in the room acting as motion sensors, feeding the co-ordinates of the viewer walking through the room to the TV displays. The eyes move accordingly to the motion picked up by the co-ordinates, following the viewer around the room. The computer also reads aloud comments from previous gallery visits in an automated voice. 

(Above Right) Feng Mengbo’s ‘Ah_Q’ film:

Mengbo’s work is a tangible example of the moment when players project themselves into game-space. Development of a psychology and identity into a game. The avatar constituting as a digital-double. Blank-slate quality providing ample opportunity for the seeding of an imaginary identity. “His work represents the split second (decision) at login when aliases are adopted.”

Mengbo was (allegedly) the first artist to be digitally cloned and is available for download on the internet. His work ‘Ah_Q’ 2003 is the video documentation of his avatar in gameplay. The work is a modification on the computer game ‘Quake III Arena.’

Endorses fantasy as fertile territory for making work. Recording nuances of bloody events in digital clarity. Described as a modern spatter movie, gory to the point of banal numbness. Blurs the line between cinema and game industries. 

(Above Left) Hye Rim Lee’s TOKI:

“TOKI exists somewhere between dream and fantasy, between conscious and sub-conscious reality. TOKI’s world asks us to consider the boundaries between reality and fantasy in a world where more and more of us live in the virtual as much as the real” - Artist Statement, 2003.

TOKI is described as a human-like cyborg bunny, a digital creation story, a trajectory of character along a virtual production line. A kind of evolution, albeit for a super-feminine, aestheticized heroine. Wire frame appeal. “Join-the-dot” level of accuracy in the construction of the character, transparent way of construction (I want to implicate this in my work too.)

“By presenting incomplete cyborgs, I question the myth of technological perfection and by association, our modern obsession with transformation.” Perfect, super-human beauty as the new superhero quality. TOKI as a mass-produced readymade image. Anime style image transformed into an inflatable doll as merchandise, a special edition of 1000 dolls were created, becoming a complicit part of a mass cultural identity, reflecting a collective rather than individualistic identity. An implied world of over-production where individual life is dispensable. 

(Above Right) Danish Superflex collective with ‘Counter-Strike’:

Interested in the spaces of video arcades and internet cafes. ‘Counter-Strike’, a live, multi-player computer game. Hosting an event of this. Installation of the game runs alongside self-service video documentaries on self-organization and co-operative social strategies. An evaluation of individual and collective skills.

Using game as a didactic tool. Installation designed to attune users to the power of collective co-operation and teamwork in pursuit of a common goal. Self-organised clans that vie for dominance, testifying that the game is strongly social and dependent on this co-operative team action.

Alteration to the game environment, add characters, change spaces using open-source code. This intersection of open software and online social dynamics propel the evolution of gaming software into new territory.

(Above Left) Dan Arps, ‘Impending Doom’, 2003:

“This work is colonized by forms referencing architecturally to satellite spy stations and utopian biosphere structures; and computer generated biomorphic forms from science-fiction cinema, films that posit a formless and unseen energy that is at once everywhere and nowhere beyond comprehension and infinitely dangerous” - Artist Statement, 2003.

This work maps the spaces of first-person shooting game ‘Doom’ (1994) as an imperfect scale model. Replication of first-person navigation within a constructed space, shifting space rendered in static form. Deploys a system of expanding and contracting spaces to cope with the complex spatial dynamics of a game-world. Oscillates between virtual and actual space. Plotting the work in relation to game-space, limiting to the x, y, z co-ordinates dominant in virtual spaces. Described as an alternative mapping of space.

(Above Right) Pierre Joseph and philosopher Mehdi Belhaj-Kacem, ‘No Ghost just a shell’ project:

Trickster Theory (2002) as part of the ‘No ghost just a shell’ project. Working with Annlee’s (the avatar) default characteristics, a recitation of a French essay. Described as a long paragraph essay, monotone, lack of fluctuation in speech. On mediation on creation, collective action and convergence of art and games. 

The Annlee project sparks debate on the status of the ready-made art object, status of an individual art maker, intellectual property rights and copyright legislation. The project asserts a host of shifts in current representation and paradigms, one where games are on par with art.

Video games subvert art at the Govett-Brewster:

https://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/CU0305/S00033.htm?from-mobile=bottom-link-01

[bloodxhound]

JUSTICE.

 Personal favors never held so much credence, though, previously, none had been as reliable as  Ray to keep his word.  It was not an industry standard to expect many that their words could be trusted, in, and out of court. Even now, it feels comfortably warmer in the room to hear the encouragement, and no joke to upset after, though his walking pace pauses, like waiting for a pebble to fall on his head.  it’s a perfect distraction to guide the little attorney to his desk by using the mug as formal bait.

“ You guys even have a cat? I thought the blue abomination was enough,  though I feel bad saying anything about Gumshoe’s hard work.” He lingers long enough to look at the dark drink, and then patter around curiously, fingers raised slightly as he is in search of something to add to the dark brew. “ Lemme see here-bup-ph” He murmurs quietly, until he can display the screen to Ray proudly; an artistic closeup of a calico cat’s face, wide, green eyes that are  utterly consumed with something off-camera,  begging to get a piece.

“Sure, that’s not intimidating. I think I’ll schedule it for a less active part of the day, if that’s all the same to you.” Another photo, the feline sprawled out, belly up with pink paws to the air, kneading the air, presumably. They are lovingly taken photos, though the ones between are quickly swiped through, until a wary thought leads him to pull his screen out of sight. “ He’s a stray- showed up to my apartment door and, he’s just never left. Gives me a reason to come home at a reasonable time, if I’m honest.”

         𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 that his hand stalls in its endeavor to provide himself with another sip from his coffee but hearing the other’s nonchalant judgement of what has, over the years, morphed into the poster child of the LAPD. “Hey, hey, hey,” he chides, tone too lax to be taken as anything more than mock offense. “That’s our mascot you’re talkin’ ‘bout here.” Irrespective of his own thoughts on its design, the blue badger has proven himself to be appealing enough to have persisted over a decade; enough to spawn an entire franchise even, complete with overprized merchandise and a theme park dedicated to it. “The lil’ guy’s real popular, y’know. You never been to Gatewater Land?” Finally he manages another sip, putting the cup down on his desk afterwards. “But to answer your question—there’s no cats here. Just the K-nines. The fleabag I was talkin’ ‘bout is mine an’ Godot’s actually. I’ll introduce you.” Not before he’s looked at Justice’s pictures though.

          No question about it; that cat must be the younger man’s pride and joy. A small albeit genuine smile tugs at his lips, turning into a knowing one when he notices the growing hesitancy the further he ventures down his camera roll until the phone is not so subtly withdrawn from his sight. Generously, the detective spares him a comment. On that matter anyway. “Aw, c’mon. Why so coy? I’m sure ev’ryone would be thrilled to match strength with you. Competition can be one hell of a motivator.” He pulls his phone out as well, uttering a faint, unbelieving snort. “Uh-huh. I’m sure your cat wouldn’t object to you livin’ a little. Just a thought.” After a few inputs, he makes good on his earlier word, proffering a few pictures of his cat in return. “Allow me — this is fleabag.” The first photo shows a well-fed, white birman, sitting on a couch table, face fully covered in googly eyes ( like some faux eldritch being ). “Cute, ain’t she.”

[achrafchachi]

Easy April Fools Pranks

Here may be a sort of a number of the funniest April fools pranks we’ve heard of – just in time for April Fool’s Day. If your spouse or boyfriend doesn’t handle jokes alright, there are a couple of mild and tame ideas. But if you’re married to a prankster like I'm, you would possibly want to travel all out! We shared a couple of favorite April Fools Jokes within the video below, but confirm you read all the thanks to the comments because our readers have

 added some pranks of their own that had us cracking up!!! (Please add a number of your prank ideas too – we’d like to see them!) Funniest April Fools Jokes For Your Spouse Or Boyfriend My husband and that I like to play funny, yet harmless, jokes on one another so we are an enormous fan of this holiday. we've compiled an inventory of the funniest pranks we could find that aren’t mean or destructive, so everyone will enjoy an honest laugh. Without further ado, here are a number of the funniest April Fools jokes we came up with to play on your significant other: April Fools Pranks To Play On Your Spouse reception Place Poppers Under the restroom Seat – you recognize those little white “firecracker” type things that are available the lovable little boxes? I bet you wouldn’t think they were so cute after sitting down for an explosive moment in the restroom. Simply place them on the rim of the restroom underneath the rest room seat so once they sit down, they get an explosive surprise! Special Outfit – Tell your husband that you simply are headed to bed which you're putting something “special” on for him. If he thinks what I feel he might think, he won’t be too far behind you! Be hiding under the covers in footy pajamas, or something ridiculous which will have you ever both laughing for years to return. Hidden toilet tissue Roll Edge – Everyone hates it once you can’t seem to seek out the sting of the restroom paper once you got to use it. to form it next to impossible to seek out, spray it down with a touch hairspray. albeit you’re ready to find the string, it’ll be so sticky you won’t want to use it. See the video above to ascertain how we did it. Drawer Switch – Move your husband or wife’s drawers around so that they can’t find what he's trying to find within the morning! Funny April Fools Food Pranks Food – If you're getting to do a food-related joke, I like to recommend doing it about midnight (so the very start of April Fool’s). That way they're NOT expecting it in the least. This helped me gain tons of enemies in college and a few disgusted looks from my family. Here are a few of my favorite food pranks to play on my spouse. If you’re unsure of the way to set these up, watch the video above and we’ll show you ways to tug these pranks off flawlessly! Chocolate covered cotton balls – rather than a delicious treat, they're going to have cotton stringing from their teeth Toothpaste Oreo’s – replace the delicious filling with toothpaste. That blink of an eye it takes for his or her mind to register there’s something wrong with their favorite cookie is priceless! Healthy Cheetos – Replace the cheesy chips in their bag of Cheetos with a couple of baby carrots Best April Fools Phone & Text Jokes Put His Car Up purchasable – OK, this one is my ABSOLUTE favorite. I did this to my husband last year and he was getting calls all day. Post a billboard on an area classifieds website together with his car “for sale” and advertise it with a ridiculously low number. I used to be a touch extra mean and took an image of his car with a purchasable check in the window and posted it on social media asking all my friends to turn it. Mess together with his Phone – Change his ringtone to something lame or obnoxious or promiscuous then call him while he's at work. Or set random alerts/messages to travel off all day. Auto-Correct Madness – In Microsoft Word on their laptop, use the Autocorrect feature to “correct” a commonly used word like “the” by automatically inserting “April Fools’!” you'll also do that together with his iPhone by fixing a keyboard shortcut. (My husband did this on behalf of me a couple of months ago!) whenever I texted the word “and” it came up with “I have the simplest husband ever!” unsure the way to set this abreast of their phone, watch the video above to ascertain the way to roll in the hay. Safe For Work April Fools Jokes Car Switch – Find your husband or wife’s vehicle at work then move it to a different spot. Or, if he/she has keys to your car, switch out his for yours then park it in another stall. Put Googly Eyes On His Lunch – This one is completely harmless, but googly eyes always seem to bring a smile Send a Message – Send him off to figure with a loving little pat on the bum, and confirm to go away a fun sticker or note attached without him knowing. It might be something like “I haven't any clue this is often here. Applaud whenever you see me” or something random and silly which will have him wondering what’s happening

[actutrends]

Orlando Magic arena host Cori Yarckin just wants you to smile

ORLANDO, FL – AUGUST 11: Mike Conley of the Utah Jazz speaks with the media during the Boys Jr. NBA Global Championship on August 11, 2019 at the ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex in Orlando, Florida. NOTE TO USER: User expressly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and/or using this photograph, user is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. Mandatory Copyright Notice: Copyright 2019 NBAE (Photo by David Dow/NBAE via Getty Images)

Cori Yarckin brings a lifetime of experience singing and performing to the Orlando Magic game operations team, working on making every night a special one for their fans.

The fuzzy mascots of abstract origins — one red, the other blue — hunch forward as Cori Yarckin goes through the steps one more time before the buzzer sounds. She has their rapt attention, even if there’s no way of knowing if they understand. “G-Wiz” and “Freddy Fever” tower, googly-eyed and expressionless, over the 4-foot-11 Yarckin. When the horn blares, she springs like a housecat on four-inch heels, her voice clear over the arena’s sound system. The listless crowd half-turns to Yarckin and her bumbling entourage, then returns to looking bored.

That is until she raises her voice, just as she has done for concertgoers and television audiences and celebrity judges, and asks the question guaranteed to raise the spirits of even the dourest attendee. “Who…wants…a…free…t-shirt?” she yells each word on pitch, the last syllable held with a smile as the cheers rain down.

Yarckin is at the Jr. NBA Global Championship in Orlando. The event, in just its second year, is open to the public but the playing field consists of teenagers from the U.S. and around the world that most basketball fans have never heard of. The sparse crowd largely consists of those friends and family fortunate enough to attend. “I always have energy,” says Yarckin when asked if the quiet audience is a challenge to work with. “But when you yell, ‘Make some noise!’ and it’s crickets out there, it’s disappointing. You always want to feel like you’re doing a good job.”

She presumably is, just as she has for the Orlando Magic since 2013. Still, it’s a recurring concern for Yarckin, that things go smoothly and that she’ll keep getting the call for opportunities like this. Her efforts might get lost in the endless cacophony of a live sporting event. But Yarckin has long heard those cheers as a singer or entertainer or something in between. They may rain down for her or that size x-large souvenir but it doesn’t matter as long as the job, any job, is a good one.

Photo by John Parra/WireImage for NARAS – Miami

She began writing music in high school and fronted a band. They were good, she insists, feeding off her boundless energy, playing shows that can still be found as grainy footage on YouTube. “And if you remember it, I was really big on MySpace,” she says through nervous laughter about the social media site that still exists, albeit very differently from when it was once the largest of its kind. She was one of the top unsigned artists on the site, one of everybody’s “Top Friends,” and even appeared on MTV’s Total Request Live, when the network’s programming included more music than shows about pregnant teens and Jersey shores.

She had all but retired from music when she decided to return home to Orlando and tried out for the Magic, the team she grew up following, as a dancer. She was older than the average woman trying out, but she had grown up dancing, too, and had friends at college that were Magic dancers. She auditioned, partly out of boredom and partly because she wanted to see if she could make it, all the while believing she never would. Somehow, she did.

She caught a break when the team wanted to use dancers as in-arena hosts, and so Yarckin joined a four-person rotation that worked in both capacities for the Magic. The next season, after auditioning as a dancer again, that rotation was down to two. Before trying out a third time, she realized she didn’t want to dance anymore, had seen it as just another stop on her nomadic résumé. “Plus, my body couldn’t take it,” says Yarckin, still as petite and thin as she was seven years ago. “I didn’t want to wear half tops anymore.” She asked around with some Magic staffers to see if the hosting position could be available separately from the dancing role. “It just so happened — maybe Magic-ally — that it did,” she says with a wink. “It’s been awesome.”

The work isn’t full-time, so Yarckin still hosts events around the city, concerts and festivals. Sometimes, she gets to sing a little, all eyes on her belting out rock-n-roll covers that best fit her vocal range. She has to book these gigs months in advance, not knowing if there’ll be a conflict with the NBA schedule that isn’t released until just weeks before the regular season begins. But the Magic have been understanding if she needs to take a game off here or there and Yarckin insists they can handle it without her. “But I’m not recommending it or anything,” she laughs.

One gets the sense that Yarckin likes to keep her options open, anxious about the day when she won’t have any to choose from. Much like the athletes that work for the same team she does, there’s a shelf-life to being an entertainer. She hates to talk about her age, says she won’t ever tell it as she describes a career that has accomplished much, if not long-lasting success.

Yarckin looks down sheepishly as she talks about those videos that can be found on YouTube. It’s hard to pin down if the embarrassment is real or contrived, and downplays their quality because technology was so limited back then. But there she is, color-streaked hair flowing over a bedazzled denim jacket, the lights shining on her as she beams onstage. She’s good, or at least that’s how it appears to me. But at least in this regard, she might not have been good enough.

There are pangs of missed opportunity that fuel her underlying doubt. Yarckin talks about her time on MySpace and wonders if things would have been different today when social media influencers are legion. “I was kind of one of the firsts, y’know?”

Photo by Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images

After her singing career stalled, she dabbled for a cable network, a bundle of energy in front of the camera at red-carpet events, press junkets, and movie premiers. She had moved to Los Angeles to be a singer but found herself doing a job she didn’t like. She mentions a saying, one about doing something for 10 years just to master it but she didn’t want to devote a decade to something she clearly didn’t enjoy. “LA was cool but it’s a hard place to live. I just woke up one day and said, ‘I’m done.’” She decided to move to Orlando — “Not exactly the ‘Land of Opportunity’” for an entertainer — almost eight years ago.

Before she came back home, perhaps to stay, she got an opportunity to be on a televised singing competition. She looks down again as she mentions the show’s name, expecting me to recall it with perfect clarity, and acts with feigned disappointment when I do not. She was mentored by Gloria Estefan, Yarckin says proudly, and explains that she had never considered trying out for competitions because she thought she wasn’t good enough. The experience was terrifying, of having to sing “in front of millions of people,” but she brings up another piece of paraphrased advice, of facing your fears head-on because when you come out the other side you can look back and say you survived. “And, yeah, I didn’t win, but that’s okay because I sang in key, I didn’t forget the words, I didn’t fall down. And I think I looked pretty good!” she says with a laugh, “That was a good way to end my music career. I feel good about myself,” she says almost believably.

She talks about current television shows about songwriting and about how great it would be for other performers to sing her songs, all those words she’s been writing off-and-on for nearly two decades. And there’s her work for the Magic, which she absolutely loves doing. She gets to offer creative input on the in-arena competitions — “activations” she clarifies — and is part of a great team, that includes the Stuff, the Dragon, the “best mascot in the world.” Sometimes she even gets noticed as she walks through the Amway Center. She has opportunities in the sports world, she notes, like the Jr. NBA and the All-Star game, which she has worked for the past two years.

Almost on cue, a NBA executive, the man responsible for hiring Yarckin for league tournaments and events, struts by the interview. He notices the recorder in my hand and says firmly, “Cori’s the best! She’s my go-to!” as she lowers her eyes and laughs. They talk shop, lament the small crowd, and take turns sounding confident that things will get better. “But things are going so much more smoothly this year,” says Yarckin before adding, slowly, “Don’t you think?”

Photo by Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images

In August, she talks optimistically about the upcoming season. She thinks of herself as a part of the team, refers to the Magic as “we.” They both made the playoffs last year, for the first time since she joined the team. Yarckin is looking forward to building off that momentum. She loved that energy, that feeling of a city on the verge of something exciting and bigger. The coolest job in the world, she says, would be that much cooler if we were always winning. It’s why her dream job, she says, is to be Kelly Ripa.

She likes Ripa because she’s fun and quirky. She doesn’t take herself too seriously, says Yarckin, and it’s hard to tell if she’s talking about herself or the diminutive talk show host that serves as her inspiration. But Yarckin does take her job seriously, believes truly that the team makes memories for people. “I have the power to pull out a person and bring them to the court and make it extra special for them,” she says. Every game could be a child’s birthday, or someone’s first basketball game, or a couple’s first date.

“We call them legendary moments.  That’s our goal. We always want you to leave with a smile on your face,” she says through a gleaming one of her own. “Or at least a free t-shirt.”

The post Orlando Magic arena host Cori Yarckin just wants you to smile appeared first on Actu Trends.

[theincorrigiblemagpie]

Prithvi Vallabh (Episode 4) - The Thirstiest Binch in Malwa

January 28, 2018

Today’s history lesson is that Holi started out as a puranik tradition of worshipping Kamdeva and Prithvi Vallabh’s established ‘rangotsav’ was one of the most spectacular festivals of the period. I mean...sure, Sony. Whatever. We’ll pretend like there aren’t hundreds of different origin points for the modern festival of Holi depending on which region/community/sect one is looking at. Sure.

Returning to the actual story, Prithvi is making googly eyes at the angry looking stranger arriving in a boat while Rasnidhi is all “wyd rajkumar, get a grip on your boner, we in public, we gotta greet random Arab storytellers.”

The ever-annoying Parimal has also arrived with Mrinal and her soldiers and are walking up the pier when someone bumps into one of the Mongol arsonists and draws the attention of some security nearby. Malwa is xenophobic AF because they immediately start running after Mrinal’s group who are forced to blow their cover and run away, leaving Parimal behind. They run through the outskirts until finally confronted by the 3 men who were after them. These random soldiers are no match for Mrinal and her soldiers and they easily overpower and kill them.

Prithvi, in the meantime, has made it down to the pier but misses the escaping group by seconds and is fruitlessly looking for the hot woman he saw from far away. He finally gives the game away to Rasnidhi who is more excited than Prithvi is about Prithvi possibly getting laid. He basically says “why tf did you not tell me your weird public boner was over a woman that you finally deign attractive enough to sleep with and not your own imagination?’”and sends Prithvi off to look for Mystery Woman.

The Mystery Woman in question is convening over a map of the capital and planning to set off the bombs in key spots to scare people and cause max confusion and minimum death. I assume so, at least, because the instruction is to blow up the least crowded spots, not most. Mrinal plans to use that distraction to sneak into the palace and kill Sinhadant. I have no input on this except this rather anachronistic shot of them poring over the map is cool.

Back in Manyakhet, a drunk Jakkala (Tailap’s wife) confronts Tailap who has lied to her about going to inspect the barracks. He is actually going on a hunt with Kosha who is tired of never going on a date outside. Jakkala knows the truth and asks him and he doesn’t deny it. Fuck, I actually feel bad for Jakkala here. Yeah, I’m not onboard with her casteist slutshaming of Kosha but her anger and resentment itself is legitimate.

I was reading someone’s dismissal of Jakkala’s pain on IF with a “don’t thrust modern morality upon a different era-- it was the done thing for kings to take mistresses and even have multiple wives at that time.” Sure, but the main problem is this isn’t a historical documentary. Clearly, within the world-building of this show, Tailap taking up with Kosha is not okay. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so secretive about it. He knows Mrinal would not approve and he knows he’s being unfair to Jakkala. Heck, the very existence of the kotha is a bit of a question mark in Manyakhet. Basically, the woman playing Jakkala is a pretty solid actor in this cast of more flimsy than not actors, and Tailap doesn’t endear himself to me AT ALL.

Jakkala drunkenly begs him to not leave her but ofc he does.

See, she’s good.

Kosha is also waiting for Tailap, fussing over some jewelry and red clothes. The madam tells her to get a grip and not build her whole life around Tailap since that relationship has no future, and to encourage some of her other admirers as well. Kosha is all, “sorry, too late, in love, going to pretend to be a bride even if I can’t get married to the king.”

I have figured out my problem with Kosha. It’s the Mastani Problem. Named after the Sanjay Leela Bhansali directed Bajirao Mastani (2015). Kosha, like Mastani, is an exceptionally badly written character with no existence outside her obsessive love for a forbidden (politically powerful) man. And while I stan Deepika Padukone and tolerated Mastani, Deepika even redeeming her to some extent in my opinion; Kosha is not played by anyone I have an existing affection for. She’s not bad tbh. Just that she’s stuck with a frustrating character.

On a side note, I wonder when red became synonymous with bridal for the first time in any part of the subcontinent. Not that they’re even pretending historical accuracy with the clothes but given Manyakhet is So Very South Indian that Tailap calls Mrinal ‘akka’ you’d think they’d have considered that bridal colours are not commonly red and gold in much of south India.

Unfortunately for Mrinal, Kallari has discovered the bodies of the 3 guards and is on their tail. From copious amounts of jewelry that Mrinal’s soldiers have left behind at the scene of the crime, he’s figured out that several intruders pretending to be tribal women have entered Malwa. Honestly, so much jewelry toh it takes a special talent to “drop.” He beefs up security everywhere and puts his soldiers on alert for suspicious looking foreigners. At an international cultural festival. This is going to go so well.

Mrinal herself is at the marketplace, watching out for Prithvi whom she plans to use to get into the palace. The faithful Sulochana informs her that Prithvi is a bit of a flirt and single at that. LOL I don’t even know how that last bit is relevant but Mrinal goes with it. She starts following Prithvi and then pretends to be lost when he looks back and sees her.

Here is Mrinal, totally not looking at Prithvi.

I am not going to judge much because this is exactly what I would do to get the attention of a cute guy (albeit, not to assassinate his father).

Prithvi notices her and gets off his horse to talk to her. And then brings his flirting A Game. He calls her “princess” saying that according to the scriptures any woman with an upright posture, a decisive pace and the turbulence of the seas in her eyes (???) is a princess. That’s...flattering. Not to be outdone, Mrinal responds saying that she IS a princess....of the kingdom of her mind and her family. Well played! For someone who hasn’t been to a coed high school while in her hormonal teens, her banter is pretty solid, if a little angry.

She tells him her name is Rukma and that she is looking for Parimal the poet whom she came to Malwa with, and that she’d heard great things about Prithvi Vallabh the legendary warrior, but here she finds him wandering the marketplace like some aashiq. Prithvi, practiced flirt, immediately smirks back with a “yeh aashiqui sabko naseeb nahi hoti, rajkumari.” FUUUUU this is the shit I came for.

He offers to take her to the kala bhavan where all the poets are and fully cops a feel lifting her up on to his horse. They walk through Bollywood streets of flowing fabric being dyed and reach the kala bhavan where Rasnidhi decides to haze her. He says the rule is that anyone visiting the kala bhavan must provide proof of their own art. Prithvi, the 5th grade negger, agrees and asks her to perform. She silently picks the veena and very reluctantly approaches it. Mrinal hasn’t played since that fateful night of her parents’ murder because it is too traumatic. So, when she starts, her fingers are rusty and she can’t tune the instrument. Ofc, Prithvi offers to tune it for her and shows off a little himself, the prat.

Mrinal begins playing the same tune she had been playing the night of her family’s murder and gets so caught up in it that she breaks a string and runs off in tears. Prithvi follows with a 10th c hanky and cheesy poetry to comfort her.

“Gira de tere paas jitne ashk hai, ghatayein;  yeh pyaas kissi ke milne se bujhegi, tere barasne se nahi”

Uffff I live for this flirty cheese.

Prithvi is all “Looks like this is some major childhood trauma; I know we met today but do you want to tell me about it?”

So, Mrinal is like “LOL whut, you have problems, my dude. I was only crying my eyes out because I embarrassed myself in front of a bhari mehfil by breaking a string on the veena.”

Mrinal is so not Online. I recommend a twitter account to deal with childhood trauma, like the rest of us noobs. Since she can’t get therapy.

Prithvi ofc can’t let it go. He’s all “are you sure it was just the string cos it sounded awfully like your heart broke too.”

PRITHVI. You are SO gauche.

He continues to push her about why she’s here in Malwa cos apparently the rangotsav cannot be reason enough. Are you admitting that your own festival is too lame for a hot woman to want to visit on its own merit?

Mrinal now says she actually wants to meet Sinhadant whose nobility is spoken of even in the far reaches of the country. Prithvi ke man mein laddoo phoot rahein hain because she wants to meet his father. He is extremely smiley and insistent on introducing them and personally escorts her to the Miss Malwa Rangotsav 950 CE competition that Sinhadant will be at (not even joking, there is a kala vadhhu contest where a woman is selected based on her looks, artistic talent and charisma, to do PR for the festival). Mrinal even raises a feminist concern about this and Prithvi is all “I assure you it is very respectable.” I AM SCREAMING. Idk why they bothered making a period drama when this plot and dialogue was basically written for a contemporary romantic drama.

Predictably, Parimal is captured as a “shady looking foreigner” and Kallari somehow magically figures out that he came from Manyakhet with some women and Mongol men in disguise. Parimal admits to it and promises to recognize them in a crowd.

Mrinal is baffled by how jobless the people in Malwa seem to be and says as much to Prithvi who lightly shades her about not keeping up with veena practice. My god, get a room.  Then some random woman puts a floral garland around Mrinal’s neck. Prithvi explains that the rangotsav is also a hooking-up festival where the belief is you can find your soulmate here. And if she does find anyone she considers to be her own, to claim possession by putting the garland around his neck. AND THEN HE INCLINES HIS HEAD SLIGHTLY IMPLYING SHE OUGHT TO GARLAND HIM.

Prithvi’s thirst is unparalleled. His father and friends are right to feel concerned about him not marrying if he talks like this all the time.

He finally goes off to set the Miss Malwa contest in motion and Mrinal tears off the garland, regrouping with Sulochana who has been shadowing her all along. (Did Sulochana witness all of Prithvi’s not-so-subtle flirting? You bet she did.) They figure out Mrinal’s exit plan and almost immediately Sinhandant appears in public for the festival.

Parimal, meanwhile, has picked out one of Mrinal’s soldiers in the crowd and alerted the Malwa soldiers.

Even as that soldier and the Mongol accomplices are caught by Kallari, they commit suicide, and the bombs go off all over, causing chaos. And from the smoke, Mrinal emerges to capture Sinhadant and drag him to a more convenient kill-spot.

Mrinal- 1 Prithvi- 0

[mirberry-blog1]

Breastfeeding and in need of an ugly Christmas sweater? Etsy has you covered

by Michelle Stein posted in Parenting It’s that time of year again: Ugly Christmas sweater season! Which means if you follow breastfeeding support pages or parenting groups, you’ll probably be seeing this gem making the rounds again on social media. This hilariously provocative sweater went viral in 2015 when it was hailed by many as the perfect holiday option for breastfeeding moms. (Because easy access and all.) It’s actually a homemade creation from the Etsy store YourSassyGrandma, which is run by Tyler and Sheri Wiseman. To date, the shop has sold over 150 of these $49.99 sweaters. “When we were creating it we hadn’t planned on it becoming the ‘international breastfeeding sweater,'” Sheri Wiseman told BabyCenter. “It was made to be a funny and sexy alternative to your standard ugly Christmas sweater.” Here’s another variation (albeit in jumper form) featuring good old Rudolph to consider for your holiday gatherings. For breastfeeding moms considering purchasing either of these quirky garments for an upcoming ugly sweater party, there are a couple of things to keep in mind. “We love that so many people are embracing it as a breastfeeding sweater, but the truth is the reindeer nose only sticks on one time without replacing the tape and the eyes could be a choking hazard,”Wiseman told BabyCenter. “If you stock up on fashion tape and make sure your baby doesn’t pop one of the googly eyes into her mouth, then hey why not?!” If nursing mamas are serious about their easy-access ugly holiday sweaters, though, this one might be a better option.  It’s sassy. It’s sexy. And it’s hilariously easy for your breastfeeding babe to access the boob. So it’s pretty much everything a nursing mom could dream of, all wrapped up in one delightfully ugly sweater. I mean, both sides are already out. So your little one can have a field day without exposing your whole midsection, if that’s something you’d like to avoid. Added bonus: Built-in dangling toys for your baby to fiddle with. You know, instead of your other nipple. Or your hair. (Ouch!) And just FYI, there’s a men’s version of this for sale. So your husband/brother/best friend can have his very own reindeer nipple buddy, too. You’re welcome. What a wonderful time to be alive. Images by YourSexyGrandma/Etsy What do you think of these ugly sweaters? Would you consider wearing something like this? Share your thoughts! Powered by WPeMatico The post Breastfeeding and in need of an ugly Christmas sweater? Etsy has you covered appeared first on Baby Based. http://174.136.57.210/~babybase/breastfeeding-and-in-need-of-an-ugly-christmas-sweater-etsy-has-you-covered/