#indelible quill

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader (part 5.5, the letter)

My Dearest Lady,

I pray that you will permit me to trespass upon your time and patience to convey the deepest sentiments of my being. As I sit here, quill in hand, I find myself overwhelmed by the enormity of my sins against you, and I scarcely know where to begin. 

It is with utmost shame and remorse that I recall my conduct towards you since our initial introduction. I have behaved with a rudeness and presumption that are wholly unbecoming of a gentleman, let alone a Duke. I shudder to think of the disdain and hurt I must have caused you with my unkind words and actions. I am acutely aware that my behavior has been unjustifiable, and I am filled with profound regret for every instance in which I have disrespected your dignity and disregarded your autonomy.

I have wrong you grievously, and the realization of my behavior now pierces me with a pain sharper than any sword. I was blind, wholly consumed by my own pride and misplaced sense of superiority. Again, my conduct has been nothing short of deplorable. 

I am unworthy of redemption, this I know. My actions have left indelible scars, and no mere words can ever hope to erase them. Yet, here I am, on my hands and knees, begging for a chance to atone for my sins. I am a man undone, crumbling under the weight of my own guilt.

I have been tormented by the memory of my cruelty and your undeserved suffering. My heart is a tempest, my soul a wasteland, lacking peace until I can make amends. I can no longer bear the weight of my guilt without seeking your forgiveness. 

Please, my lady, grant me the opportunity to atone for my transgressions. I beg of you, allow me the chance to right my wrongs. Allow me to demonstrate my remorse and my earnest desire to make things right. Your forgiveness would be a balm to my troubled heart and a chance to mend the rift I have so thoughtlessly created. I offer you my sincerest apologies as a flawed and fallible man, one who has come to realize the true value of your character and the depth of his own failings. 

If it takes a lifetime, I shall devote myself to proving my repentance, to showing you that I can be a better man, one worthy of the grace and dignity you so effortlessly embody. Your forgiveness is not something I deserve, but it is something I yearn for with every fiber of my being.

I am, and shall remain, your most humble and contrite servant,

Simon Riley, the Duke

part 5 < > part 6

[twstddream]

Prologue: Trapped in the book with Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas

It was just one of those nights. The branches of the tree outside tapping your window had lulled you into a disquieting state of mind. Grim had already long since fallen asleep, his paws occasionally smacking your face from his tossing and turning. You know what a night like this means. The sheets were wrangling you tighter and tighter in their grasp the more you twisted and rolled around. The room all at once alternated between being far too hot, scorching and searing your body from under the covers, to dropping to freezing temperatures; threatening to bathe you in unforgiving cold. It was too much. This is your punishment for staying awake. Dreaming was inevitable; your resolve would eventually break. And the cracks were starting to form.

As with any of these prophetic dreams of yours, it starts with a tug in your chest, like your very soul is being handled and hurtled across a space unconfined by the rules and logic that your world (well, your original world, anyway) follows and holds so dearly. Screaming queens, brooding lions, and silver-tongued merfolk have haunted your rest since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland. The parallels between these "historic" moments and the frenzying situations that your dear friends have endured have become a spectral guilt that haunts and befuddles you. When the next batch of dreams (and troubles) began, you opted to use these dreams as a means to tackle the next inevitable Overblot (the pattern was pretty easy to pick up on.) Plans of a coup, the poisoning of an innocent youth, and the crushing weight of grief-filled sabotage were far too great a problem for you to solve. However, a seeded feeling of rage blooms in your soul; you love your friends, old, new, and friends yet-to-be. But these struggles should never have escalated to this level, these kids should have never been made to suffer as they did. But a selfish, spiteful part of you claws its way to your throat, releasing itself as a strangled cry and harrowing thought of "But why do I have to deal with it?". You're not proud of these thoughts, but you can't fault yourself for having them. There are plenty of authority figures that could solve these larger-than-life problems, or at least prevent feelings bubbling over into concrete plans and motives. All of these possible avenues for help, and yet it's humble old you who is elected as the pointman; scouting out the (literal) charged fields of ardor and contempt for life that bleeds out as ink does from a busted quill. All of this is placed upon your crumbling shoulders, and yet you're not even allowed to dream in peace. The forceful draw of your soul slowly degrades into a weightless sensation, this indelible force delicately discarding your body and laying you parallel to the ground. What seems like water ripples below you; but you know better. The blots of ink closing in on your form and bleeding into the surface you lay on aren't the heavy force that water is. It's not nearly as sage or inspiriting. It ebbs and flows in a way that consumes all it touches, leaving nothing but a depthless emptiness that embitters all who tread near. And when the tide flows in, you're swallowed whole; pushed through the ground you thought to be a safe-haven.

 These glimpses of that past are hard to describe. It's like looking through a mirror, the surface ripples with ink as the scene changes before you, but you're also trapped. Akin to a mime trapped in their box, you're confined to these four walls, if you can even call them that; pressing your hand against these transparent walls results in a disgusting squelch, with thick gooey strings of ink connecting to your fingers and palm. A majority of it slips and splatters onto the ground (again, you're not sure what to call it) below. The texture is wet but not sticky, and of that you're thankful; you'd hate to have the frigid, thick substance cling to your hands for the remainder of the dream. Returning your attention to the scene playing before you, flashes of a decrepit town illuminated by an all-consuming moon floods your vision. Rustic lanterns line the cobblestone streets, seldom providing even a dim glow from the strange flames trapped inside. As what can be described as none other than monsters march into view and head towards what you can assume is the town plaza, tugging along a scarecrow sat atop a straw horse. From the equestrian throne the scarecrow does move, swiping an offered torch from an awestruck witch.  Brilliant flames engulf the living scarecrow, wherein an immaculately dressed… Skeleton emerges? Eh, not the strangest thing you've seen in these dreams. Time flashes forward as he slinks away from the adoring crowd vying for his attention. The apparent Mayor of this town accidentally comes to his rescue with the promise of awards for the swarming crowd. A very esteemed tradition, you suppose.

The surface to your right projects the image of this supposed king lamenting his woes; singing of his isolation among his town, the dull life this crown of his has brought him. Though, he doesn't seem to be as alone as he believes, as a yipping ghost of a dog nips at his heels, seeking to comfort its owner. A bonus to your omnipresent view of their world allows you to also spot a patchworked ragdoll watching from behind a, frankly, oversized tombstone. This Pumpkin King, Jack, you fathom a guess of his name, seems to be blind to what's in front of him. Though, that's not his fault, not at all. It seems his heart (does he even have one?) is guarded, tired of the infinite compliments and praise thrown his way. But not being noticed in the way he wishes. This ragdoll woman seems too afraid to reach out to him any farther than a simple comfort. These incredibly professional diagnoses of the situation seem far simpler than any other problem you've faced before. This Jack gentleman seems well-adjusted and- oh he just stole countless objects from the North Pole. Cool. How'd he even get there? And oh! He's studying Christmas, neat. Could've done without the theft, in your opinion. But he seems happy. Good for him.. And he just ordered the kidnapping of Santa Claus. Spectacular. Squinting your eyes shut, only one thought comes to mind 'Gods above can I please just solve the problems of a normal person for once?' And yet it seems you've angered the divine powers that be, for the box of mirrors and ink you've been trapped in for the past ten minutes starts to shake violently, throwing you off-kilter and forcing your forehead to slam into the glossy surface in front of you, shattering it upon impact. 

As with any of these prophetic dreams of yours, it ends with a hypnic jerk. But the fickle gods above were not finished with you. Because apparently the spiral hill surrounded by tombstones and the esoteric town crowded with citizens you can't even begin to describe wasn't enough. So fate bestowed upon you one last parting gift in the form of fervent devotion.

-------

The void around you is immediately illuminated by an ignited flame, your form is being cradled gently by a figure, the proximity providing a delicious warmth and a blooming sensation spouting from your chest. The soft brush of his gloved fingers trail up and down your arms as he leans in even closer to speak. His ashen-white hair tickles your cheek as he leans towards your ear, his ministrations halting, instead turning into a soft grip.

"Good evening, lovely. A kiss for this fine meeting."

His voice is boy-ish, yet oozing with the conviction and confidence of royalty. His lips purse themselves against the tip of your ear, giving you a gentle kiss. And in a flash he pulls his face away from yours, but still hovers over your frame. This stranger seems as open as a book, as his face pinches from a self-imposed question, his furrowed brow tightens above his sunglasses. It seems straightforward; he seems straightforward, but something lurks behind those round sunglasses of his, something that tells you to run. But it's those same spectacles that draw you in, surrendering yourself to his delicate hold. Soaking in this gentle affection can't be so bad, right? Basking in a hug this tender from a stranger couldn't possibly be wrong, could it?

 Rash. Foolhardy. Sympathetic. Those are the words you'd use to describe the hugs and holds you've received from the denizens of NRC. Affection to placate you, but mostly to soothe the giver. The hugs from your friends, your close friends, are few and far between. You can't fault them for shying away from showing affection, especially to someone considered just a friend by most. It's been so long since you've been held just for the sake of being held, cradled with a gentle care only because someone wishes to. And perhaps that slight romanticization of basic needs being met is what leads you to deflate in this complete strangers' grasp. What you'd do for some head scritches right about now…

His voice breaks the relaxed silence.

"Tell me, do you happen to know of Halloween?"

Of course you do. NRC loves Halloween. Your home-world loved Halloween. You love Halloween. Yet in spite of the truth, your body mechanically shakes its head into the man's chest.

His barely-there hold grows manic, he's desperate and clawing at you, digging his slender fingers and pointed nails into your shoulder. Your breath staggers as he draws blood through your shirt. The sound of tearing leather and sensation of blood dripping down his hand must be what snaps him out of this manic state. He slowly retracts his hands from you, making a show of his retreating bloodied gloves, conveying a silent promise. You find you miss the warmth.

"... You don't? Ah, we can't have that."

"Halloween means terror,"  he continues, skeletal gloved hands flying to cup his own cheeks.

"Halloween means admiration." With hands climbing down to grasp at his chest he gives a large smirk, allowing you a glimpse of his missing teeth. Cute.

"Halloween means nightmares." Once again he matches his words with a display; this time raising his hands high, and flexing his fingers, mimicking a clawed hand. His smirk somehow grew, his face squeezing to what must be uncomfortable lengths . Unclenching his fingers, he extends not just his arm, but his whole body towards you, beckoning you to take his outstretched hand. After a moment passes with no response from your end, his manic grin softens to something smaller, something affable. Though you wish you could see his eyes. His arm and hand stays invited to you, but the pressure to accept has lessened considerably.

"Until this night has run its course, I shall teach you…" the boy looks through you, beyond your corporeal form and gazes adoringly into the blackness behind you.

"This is Halloween." The words tumble from his lips, but he doesn't seem to notice that he's speaking at all.

"This too is Halloween.." Whatever has a hold on his mind takes over his body as well, as he broadens his arms outwards, palms facing upwards and shoulders held taut; the spitting image of a prophet.

"Yes, this is…" at once he advances towards you, catching you in his arms and holding you impossibly tight. His arms easily wrap around your neck, and he grips the opposite wrist with his hands, securing you further into his clutch. He pulls his arms and elbows in such a way that your neck must be craned up to feel comfortable. Just as he wanted; as his round sunglasses slid down his nose enough to reveal his eyes. The beautiful orange entranced your whole being, sparks flying and flickering in those eyes of his, reminding you of the concealed flames hidden inside a Jack O Lantern. The closeness of his face doesn't bother you, even as the tip of his nose pokes the bridge of yours, and even as the whisper of his breath dances on your lips.

"It must be…" Ever closer he leans, his rounded sunglasses fogging from the excited breath exhaled between you two.

"This is Halloween!" The blink of his eyes sends you tumbling backwards and downwards as the solid ground beneath the both of you dissipates. His grip on you loosened from the surprise, only able to barely graze your fingertips as you fell at an accelerated pace. That small touch however, felt like an eternity. A silent promise conveyed to see you again. You know he wants to meet again, the terror and worry in his eyes directed towards you says it all. With his eyes finally disclosed to you, he becomes as easy to read as a book.

Yes. You will meet again. This is Halloween, afterall. And Halloween promises horror. Halloween promises devotion. Halloween promises miracles.

Folding your hands and pressing them to your chest, you feel yourself being to smile. It's simply meant to be.

[deny-the-issue]

Rainbow Drabble Challenge

Orange

GIF by gameofthronesdaily

Red <- previous chapter, next chapter -> Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo

Overall Summary: This is a short love story about Otto Hightower being a sexy bastard. There WILL be a happy ending. The reader is mid to late twenties in age.

Chapter Summary: You offer to paint Ser Otto's portrait and he tests you.

AO3 link

Rainbow drabble challenge

[spinster!reader] [Otto Hightower x f!reader] [Masturbation] [fluff] [893 words]

The evening has barely started when you close the heavy book in your lap. The pages slam shut indelicately, interrupting Otto Hightower’s concentration, just as you knew it would. He looks at you with the scorn of a thousand swords but says nothing. 

“My apologies, my lord. My mind is elsewhere.”

“Then perhaps your time is best spent elsewhere,” he replies curtly, every word perfectly enunciated and slowly spoken.

His words have little effect on you. You are accustomed to his cold demeanor by now. He shows no softness with anyone but his daughter, but you suspect he cares for you all the same. Who else would send you a sweet gift of strawberries than the man you spend most evenings with?

“Before I go, may I ask?” You inquire innocently, hands tracing the book’s ornate leather cover gently to soothe your rising nerves. 

Otto’s eyes follow the movement intently before placing his quill neatly on his desk—a silent signal for you to continue. 

“A portrait would compliment a man of your station well, my lord. Yet I see none here.”

“My station is not lofty enough for such frivolous gestures,” his words bite, tone laced with poison. 

“Forgive me, my lord,” you bow your head, knowing silence was the better option but choosing to go on. “Is your name not recorded in the historical texts of Oldtown as the Hand of the King?” 

“It is,” he confirms, tone cooling into indifference but his continued glare makes your skin prickle. 

“I would be honored to paint your portrait, my lord, if you would allow it.”

He scoffs, a cruel smile painting his face in the orange glow of the evening fire. “I would trust only the royal painters to fulfill such a task”

“It is true—I am not recognized in any formal capacity for my arts, but I am quite skilled. I would not shame you, my lord.”

“Show me,” he commands simply, although it is clear from his spiteful tone that he thinks little of your arts. 

You pull a notebook hidden in your dress folds and flip to a clean page, eager to prove yourself. He does not need to know how much you’ve practiced. How many pages did you rip from the binding of this very notebook before coming here today? Hidden under a loose floorboard, now only to be gazed upon when you are overcome with desire. 

Glancing up from your quick beginning lines, you find him scratching away at the letter again, and your shoulders relax. You normally seek his piercing attention, but, at this moment, it would guarantee your failure.  There is no room for nervous hands and fleeting thoughts. 

It has to be perfect. 

Your intense focus renders the world silent; there is only you, the paper, and the most regal man you’ve ever seen, poised in relaxed concentration over his work. 

While you are toiling away, losing yourself in the minute details of his face, time passes unnoticed. 

It is the clearing of Otto Hightower’s throat that rips you from this busy trance. When your gaze finds him, you have to blink the fatigue away. The fire is low, painting the room in an enchanting amber hue. How much time has passed, you wonder? 

Ser Otto’s exhausted face and burnt-out candles say you’ve overstayed your welcome. 

You straighten from your crumpled posture, a blush creeping into your face as you carefully rip the paper from your notebook. Rising slowly on weak legs, your heart pounds in your chest. It takes just two steps to arrive at his desk, yet they seem the length of the throne room. 

You nervously place the sketch in his outstretched hand, breath hitching as his hand brushes yours.  

It was the faintest of touches, yet the most significant in your life, causing the heat in your face to also settle between your thighs, hot as dragon fire. Even so, it fails to distract you from the knife-edge of his approval or disdain. 

After a spell of tense silence, Ser Otto sighs heavily, shifting in his chair as he offers you the paper with a curt nod. You cannot hide the joy blossoming in your heart, and smile warmly when you bid him goodnight. 

Blessed by the man himself, this sketch lives in your nightstand drawer, unlike the others. It lights a fire in your soul, one that keeps you awake far into the night. Your fingertips dance over your nightgown, the temptation of the forbidden too much to bear. 

You’ve come to terms with living the rest of your life alone. It is your wish to live free unless the right match comes along. As the years passed, the hope of dual happiness faded and you set on attaining a full life despite the loneliness. 

You know the ways of pleasure. From sneaking books to traveling hidden passageways to peek into brothels, you learned of the art of sex. There is nothing quite like the euphoric spasming rush that takes over your mind and body–and tonight’s put all others to shame as you cry out Ser Otto’s name through hand-covered lips. 

The following day you spend a hefty sum on the royal paints needed for a painting of this caliber, eager to begin. 

You want only the best for Ser Otto, even if your affections can never be spoken aloud.  

[noirpalette]

Caravaggio. (1605). San Gerolamo, <<Saint Jerome Writing>>.

"Saint Jerome Writing" is a captivating masterpiece crafted by the renowned Italian Baroque artist, Caravaggio. The painting, completed in the early 17th century, portrays the revered figure of Saint Jerome in a profoundly introspective moment of deep contemplation and devotion.

At the heart of the composition, the aged and bearded Saint Jerome is seated at a simple wooden desk, dressed in the traditional red robes of a cardinal. Bathed in a soft, warm light that emanates from an unseen source, Caravaggio skillfully accentuates the textures of the saint's wrinkled skin and coarse beard. The play of light and shadow adds a mesmerizing realism to the scene, highlighting the artist's unparalleled mastery of chiaroscuro.

Saint Jerome's face exudes a sense of profound focus, as his deep-set eyes intently scan the pages before him. With his left hand grasping a quill pen and his right hand gently cradling a large open book, the saint appears fully absorbed in his scholarly task of translating the scriptures.

Around him, the sparse and dimly lit setting hints at a contemplative atmosphere. An array of ancient scrolls, a crucifix, and a human skull, symbolizing mortality and reflection, lie scattered across the desk, underscoring the theme of the passage of time and the transience of earthly life.

Caravaggio's unparalleled attention to detail and extraordinary ability to evoke emotions through dramatic lighting and composition make "Saint Jerome Writing" a quintessential example of Baroque art. The painting not only captures the essence of Saint Jerome's scholarly pursuits but also transcends its religious subject to invite viewers into a moment of profound meditation on the human condition.

As one of Caravaggio's most iconic works, "Saint Jerome Writing" stands as a testament to the artist's groundbreaking artistic vision and the timeless allure of his masterful brushwork, leaving an indelible impression on art lovers and historians alike for generations to come.

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

Autumn and Emily

in the crisp embrace of autumn's blaze where whispers of leaves confess to the breeze resides a kinship, a dance in dusk's haze betwixt Emily's quill and all of nature's decrees

each line she wove, a tapestry of decay a portrait painted with hues of russet and gold mirrored in fall's tapestry, night, and day a dance with Death, a story yet untold

Emily, a poetess in shadows gone mad an essence steeped in mystery not jailed embracing the chill, she knew her fate was had with words, she whispered secrets, unveiled

as autumn's breath whispers tales of end Death, a gentleman, in ghastly attire strolls through the forest, a spectral friend where leaves take flight, consumed by pyre

he, the suitor to nature's waning grace an escort to realms beyond mortal gaze like Emily's quill, he leaves an indelible trace in verses and seasons, in enigmatic haze

Autumn and Emily, a timeless affair drenched in melancholy, yet fiercely alive their souls forever bound, beyond mortal care in an embrace with Death, they thrive

in twilight's embrace, they find their solace a dance of words, a ballet of leaves sensual, poignant, a symbiotic promise Death whispers softly, Emily's heart believes

[feeshies]

New York court in 1941: this is a case where a cab driver was held at gunpoint, and accidentally hit a pedestrian as he tried to speed away from his attackers. Please write about this case in a normal way. Someday, law students will have to read this opinion for class.

Justice Carlin writing for the opinion of Coardas v. Peerless Transporation Co.:

This case presents the ordinary man—that problem child of the law—in a most bizarre setting. As a lowly chauffeur in defendant's employ he became in a trice the protagonist in a breach-bating drama with a denouement almost tragic.

[T]hey induced him to relinquish his possessions by a strong argument ad hominem couched in the convincing cant of the criminal and pressed at the point of a most persuasive pistol.

The chauffeur in reluctant acquiescence proceeded about fifteen feet, when his hair, like unto the quills of the fretful porcupine, was made to stand on end by the hue and cry of the man despoiled accompanied by a clamourous concourse of the law-abiding which paced him as he ran;

To hold thus under the facts adduced herein would be tantamount to a repeal by implication of the primal law of nature written in indelible characters upon the fleshy tablets of sentient creation by the Almighty Law-giver, ‘the supernal Judge who sits on high’.

There are those who stem the turbulent current for bubble fame, or who bridge the yawning chasm with a leap for the leap's sake or who ‘outstare the sternest eyes that look outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey’ to win a fair lady and these are the admiration of the generality of men

[spottedenchants]

attempt 9: a curiosity

friend, companion, apple to your orange, you…

love him. you love him. it would be… simplistic, at this point, to ignore the thread of indelible connection so blistering and brumal and trussed taut between you that it can incidentally be shortnamed as ‘love’. but that bafflingly frigid tether, intangible yet tangled, it is not alone on the loom housed in your ribs.

so, then. one thing at a time.

why must this all be so hard?

the feeling in your chest is called ‘love’, so you think. that’s nice; you can stake that claim. 

several many leaved vines climb the post, curl, further readying themselves to bloom.

pleased, you leave them be.

keeping your trowel, you stay working your garden, weeding and pruning with gifted gloves and a sunhat.

somewhere, a flock of birds sing.

through which plot of thought do you dig?

you do care, dearly, both for and about him.

in sickness, in heath. in similar pains of flesh and heart and mind. in differing joys spun by memory and present time. in presence. in absence.

by choice. as always, by choice.

and he cares for you- about you, too. so do they all and you them. what a delight it is, to miss and be sorely missed in return. it’s a rich life that they’ve offered, that you’ve accepted; succulent, well-prepared, modest yet fulfilling. you have a family, no had to be had, but now you’re entrenched in one anew.

you are ready for any surprise.

so you do let him love you.

it’s a lovely thing, to trust so deep, a willingness that catches in your bared teeth like greens. unbecoming, evidence of preference. something you can readily, excitedly laugh through with the ease of sincerity.

you’ve watched; you’ve learned; and my, how your face can ache; sweet-orange tang attacks the hinge of your jaw, a fair price to pay for making many smiles from a lone rind. a delicious grin bitter only in literal flavor, their potluck love quite suits your acquired tastes.

what is it that sets him apart?

you bask in his touch. indulgent, heat. thrilling, pressure. together, honey, metamorphic in your veins your nerves your lungs; you’ve never known a warmth quite like this- but so it goes in all instances; so it goes for all else. nothing but everything is new, amusing, enthralling, so what distinguishes one known novelty from the next? each heartcount tick, each stutter of air… once again you’ve passed a desperate second; you’ve come to learn how to breathe.

you lie in your truth, floating for a quiet moment, before cracking a new joke, oh so silly.

and he holds your heart with a laugh, sweet as a siren song. 

success.

still, your mind swims.

you no longer shy from his stare. bright, ever so clever, he knew too much to stay, too little to flee, and what did that say about you? why would a backturned mirror care for another’s face once it chips, spiders, shatters against the seams of its own razor-veined web of damned lies?

dawn golden low in the sky, a spring-soaked harvest of hope once pled; fragments, too, can catch light.

in over your head and drowning, before, you thought no. no, never- never.

but now…

sky-wide and welcoming, shining in kind crescents, an outstretched hand smeared with rich earth…

yes.

now you can brave the sun’s gaze-

a sunrise, he cannot stay, not forever.

neither can you, nor the rest.

this is how the story goes; you have both set aside your glue-tack bones, your signatures left with half-folds; you’ve set alight your twine and spines, all in favor of sharing quills and the same metered pool of life’s ink. covers discarded, unbound sheaves await, your stack assumed higher than all- a generous supposition.

tabled and unnamed together, hands indivisible alive, you both write each, new, page.

fond days, long nights; sun and shadow stretch in cat tallies and clockwork candles, accompaniment to the dancing beats of your hearts.

contentment glows, bringing unaddressed concepts to light; you face a dog-eared inquiry head-on:

are you in love with him? are you in love with him?

‘you just know’, so they say. then- you aren’t if you don’t? just as you’ve opened your eyes to the spectrum of hues this wide world can offer, this is where black and white still rule? strange to say, but how much simpler this all was in your only birthland. bonds may last lifetimes, beyond; states of being weigh different from actions, the deepest stitches all threaded with choice.

maybe you’ve just missed a punchline. some grand cosmic joke. you’ve always had a particular sense of humor.

this answer is not satisfying.

[temaylibrary]

Hello, Thelen! Professor Bergamot's class were enjoying conjuring some blocks, and the Professor left some notes under the access key "rosemary". Could you pull those out for me?

Good afternoon, miss Aster! I am always pleased when you come by the archives. Most of your requests are much more interesting than the ones I usually service. "Thelen, tell me the history of agricultural progress in Milkthistle." "Thelen, tell me everything about spell component replacements." You always bring more interesting questions!

Let's see.

...

Rosemary is, indeed, an access key. This seems to be for something that was just recently added to the information I protect! You're the first to access it, miss Aster. It's... a pair of handwritten letters. Here they are, but please do not smudge them.

Letter the First

To Cosmo,

I trust this letter finds you on the mend and under the attentive care of skilled healers. It is with both concern and relief that I write to you today, for the incident we faced was perilous, but your decisive action, as always, displayed a commitment to the greater good.

Your utilization of Baleful Teleport, however, has left its indelible mark not only upon the fabric of our reality but upon your own well-being. The cost of wielding such power is steep, and I hope that your body and spirit find strength in their ongoing struggle for equilibrium.

While your affinity for the arcane may sometimes override sound judgment, know that your resilience is a testament to your character. In these moments of adversity, one must find solace not only in magic but also in the support of comrades, and I am pleased to note that your fortitude has not wavered.

I do not doubt the competence of the healers who attend to you, but permit me to remind you of the importance of their instructions. Rehabilitation demands patience and discipline, qualities not to be taken lightly. I expect nothing less from a colleague of your stature.

Rest assured, I shall keep a diligent eye on your progress from afar, as my obligations to the Guild and the Academy permit. There is much work to be done in the wake of our encounter with Empty, and I am confident that you will emerge from this trial with renewed vigor, ready to contribute once again to our shared cause.

Until the time we can stand shoulder to shoulder once more in the halls of study and research, I bid you a swift and thorough recovery.

With earnest regard,

Artimus Cognac

And, here's the second letter!

Letter the Second

Dearest Cosmo,

I extend to thee a salutation, albeit in this curious and shadowed manner, as shadows oft bear witness to enigmas and ephemeral truths. My quill, once inured to the auras of libraries now indulges in a narrative quite extraordinary. Pray, indulge this epistolary artifice as I, Morris Jessup, a monk ensconced in both contemplation and darkness, lay forth this missive.

That which unfolded, that clash of astral fates, is shrouded in symbolism as twilight ensconces the day. Enzo, once the embodiment of light's ardor, did by fate's design become ensnared by the labyrinthine echoes of Empty's mournful cadence. A chalice of irony, perhaps, to witness a knight's armor cloaked in the sorrows of cosmic void.

In this tableau of ethereal confrontation, Abrecan, sentinel of divine grace, and Artimus Cognac, a mistress of arcane knowledge, embarked upon their celestial dance, but alas, succumbed, as any sonnet met by twilight's reprieve. And Tearing Paper, ever elusive as an ode's refrain, saw the inkwell of fortune runneth dry. Thus, in this realm of phantasmal lyricism, a melodic dirge did resonate.

As the protagonist beseeched the primordial forces to harmonize, a requiem of power inscrutable cast its spell. This, I muse, is a page unscripted in any odes of yore. Bereft of their corporeal semblance, the entity known as Empty sought a symphony dire, conjuring forth "Black Void," a resonance heralding the desolation of aeons.

Yet, Cosmo, thou who art a conjurer of fate, unfurled a stanza unwritten, a prose untold. "Bergamot's Baleful Teleport," an incantation shrouded in whispers akin to those verses of the forbidden tome "Ebon Enigma," was unveiled. In casting Enzo as the central theme, thou didst rend asunder a canvas colored by forbidden mystique. That interlude, whilst divergent from the sonnets of lore, did hold the promise of tranquility.

Yet, as stars traverse their cyclic courses, thy orchestration of this grand tapestry didst bear an indelible imprint. A tapestry of affliction and illumination, its threads interwoven with symphonic dissonance and elegiac refrains. The burns upon thy back, they are the etchings of this legacy, the inkwell of power's price inscribed upon thy vessel.

Cosmo, I beseech thee to cast thy gaze into the chalice of healing, as one seeks solace in words unspoken, for thy convalescence shall give rise to verses anew. The journey of convalescence, akin to that of a knight-errant traversing through the Canticles of Ethereal Enigma, shall weave tales of endurance and triumph over spectral adversity.

May this epistle stand as both rhapsody and remembrance, echoing through the corridors of night.

With the ink of camaraderie, Morris Jessup

...

That's everything under this key, though there do seem to be other similar records in the same collection under separate access keys as well. Does this help with your research?

[theenchantedecho]

If Gilderoy was a cocktail, which cocktail would he be, and why?

Ask Rita: The Daily Prophet’s Exclusive Wizarding World Gossip Column

By: Rita Skeeter

Today’s Question: “If Gilderoy Lockhart were a cocktail, which cocktail would he be, and why?”

Well, well, dear readers, don’t we have an interesting question on our hands today? Our subject of discussion is none other than the enchantingly charming, recent Hogwarts graduate, and burgeoning author, Gilderoy Lockhart.

If our young Mr. Lockhart were a cocktail, he would surely be a splendidly colourful and flamboyantly delightful, Aviation.

The Aviation, much like Gilderoy, exudes a certain inimitable charisma that is just as intriguing as his debut novel, ‘Holidays with Hags’. A delectable mix of gin, maraschino liqueur, crème de violette, and lemon juice, the Aviation embodies a captivation akin to the piercing, ethereal blue of Lockhart’s gaze and the magnetism of his devilishly charming persona.

The gin base of the Aviation stands as a testament to Gilderoy’s dynamic adaptability. Just as gin moulds itself to blend seamlessly with its companion flavours, so does our young wizard, who seemingly has a knack for curating his storylines to keep his readers riveted. It is murmured that Gilderoy has successfully found his way into exclusive social circles, with an adroitness that many might find astonishing in such a young soul.

Maraschino liqueur, dear readers, mirrors Lockhart’s flamboyance - a delightful dash of sweetness that stands out, just like his apparent theatrical nature that leaves an indelible imprint on anyone fortunate enough to cross his path.

The crème de violette in our cocktail serves to enchant, much like our Mr. Lockhart. Its understated violet hue and delicate floral undertones are much like the charming innocence that our young author portrays, concealing the strong, determined spirit lurking beneath.

A touch of lemon juice to finish off the Aviation mirrors the surprising zest of Lockhart’s ambition, as sharp and invigorating as a Hogwarts’ defence against the dark arts class. It’s this exact unanticipated spark, this intriguing ambition, that paints Gilderoy’s image with captivating, unforgettable strokes.

Thus, the cocktail analogue of our delightfully aspirational, Gilderoy Lockhart, is none other than the Aviation - an alluring fusion of charisma, theatricality, and an undercurrent of intriguing complexity. But dear readers, a word of advice - just like an Aviation, approach with intrigue but always remember to sip cautiously, you never quite know what surprises await.

So until our quills meet parchment again, remember to relish the magical spectacle of our world, keep your eyes wide and your senses keener. Remain bewitched, remain entranced, but above all, remain insatiably curious!

@magicalmeee

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Things We Carry by Stacy Julin

SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/things-we-carry-by-stacy-julin/

Things We Carry is a collection of poems that explore vivid memories, and treasured things that are lost and kept in this world. The writer also wonders about the future, and how she yearns for good things for her children. She wishes not to burden them with things of the past. It is the tender love and joy of life, the weight of the heart, and the ache of the still unknown to come.

Stacy Julin’s work has been published in Oyster River Pages, Pirene’s Fountain, Sky Island Journal, Southern Quill, Word Fountain, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, A Pebble Thrown in Water, published by Tiger’s Eye Press, and Visiting Ghosts and Ground from Finishing Line Press (which was published under the name Stacy W. Dixon). She lives with her family at the base of the beautiful Wasatch Mountains.

PRAISE FOR Things We Carry by Stacy Julin

In poet Stacy Julin’s Things We Carry deceptively spare and simple language resonates with deep #emotion and #complexity. The theme of what stays with us is visited through experiences at all stages of #life. The young speaker who has just given birth in “Inheritance,” intuiting the trauma handed down by generations, wonders what she can give her child of herself that is not too heavy to bear, is small “enough not to cast / a shadow.” Females in this collection have feared and / or experienced a beloved’s betrayal, despite seeking charms to prevent them. But like betrayal, many experiences are indelible, like a child’s first encounter with a war veteran missing limbs. The speaker herself recognizes just how much of existence is out of one’s control, for if “not for God / and penicillin” her own life would have ended almost before it began. And Loneliness itself, with a capital L, can come to stay and wrap around’s one grief for a long time. These poems are concise gems full of authenticity and vulnerability that speak honestly of the foibles and gifts all we humans possess. Ultimately, Things We Carry is a gentle yet powerful collection.

–Lana Hechtman Ayers, author of When All Else Fails

Stacy Julin’s “Things We Carry” is rife with observations about complexities of family life. The speaker sees the world through an introspective lens; there is nothing safe or easy about these poems, Those broken walls/were never strong enough/to keep a life within them,/or keep the wild out. The poems are understated reflections on the ordinary and imperfect, meditations about our interconnectedness, and the realization that nothing and no one lasts: I’m holding onto ground./ Trying to plant a piece / of you. And through it all, Julin focuses her gaze on what is learned through loss—how the passage of time makes us aware of our fragility, how family treasures anchor us to each other and to memories, how we need time to daydream and create, and space to appreciate the beauty and wonders of the world: the earth-blown glass,/coating the smallest details/of a tree in wintertime.

–Ami Kaye, Editor, Glass Lyre Press

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #life

[sciencestyled]

Blockchain, Bacon, and Bewilderment: The Unexpected Journey of John Locke

As I sat in my study, quill in hand and parchment spread before me, I found myself contemplating the profound intricacies of society, governance, and the nature of man. My thoughts, as they often did, wandered through the labyrinth of human understanding, when suddenly, the smell of sizzling bacon wafted through the air, rudely interrupting my reverie.

Now, you might wonder, dear reader, how the aroma of breakfast could possibly lead to an essay on blockchain technology. Well, let me regale you with the curious sequence of events that transpired.

It all began one foggy morning when I decided to take a respite from my usual contemplations and venture into the kitchen. My dear friend, Sir Roger Bacon, known not for his culinary prowess but for his ceaseless quest for knowledge, was attempting to cook breakfast. As you can imagine, the scene was a delightful chaos—bacon burning, eggs precariously perched on the edge of the skillet, and Sir Roger himself, covered in flour, muttering something about alchemical reactions and the transformation of base ingredients.

"John," he exclaimed upon seeing me, "do you know that the key to perfect bacon lies in the precise control of heat and timing? Much like the principles of alchemy!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Roger, your bacon is less a testament to alchemy and more a proof of chaos theory," I replied, rescuing the charred remnants from the pan.

As we sat down to enjoy our imperfect breakfast, Sir Roger's words lingered in my mind. The idea of control, precision, and transformation struck a chord. It was then that Sir Roger, in his boundless curiosity, began to speak of a newfangled concept he had encountered in his readings—a digital phenomenon called "blockchain."

"Imagine," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "a ledger that records transactions in an immutable chain, decentralized and transparent. It is as if every person in a village had a copy of the same record book, and no single book could be altered without the consensus of all."

His description, though laced with the usual dramatic flair, intrigued me. A system that promised transparency and trust without the need for a central authority? It echoed the very principles I had long espoused in my writings on governance and the social contract.

Fueled by a combination of curiosity and burnt bacon, I delved into the study of this "blockchain." I discovered that it was indeed a fascinating blend of cryptographic ingenuity and decentralized philosophy. The more I learned, the more I saw parallels with my own work—how blockchain's immutable ledger resembled the indelible rights of man, and how its decentralized nature mirrored the ideal of a society governed by the collective will rather than the whims of a despot.

In the weeks that followed, my study became a veritable hub of activity. Scrolls of ancient texts lay side by side with diagrams of digital ledgers, and my quill danced across the parchment as I sought to distill my newfound understanding into words. Sir Roger, ever the enthusiastic collaborator, often burst into the room with fresh insights or, more often, more burnt bacon.

One particularly memorable evening, as we pored over a particularly complex passage about cryptographic hashing, Sir Roger exclaimed, "John, this is it! The ultimate marriage of philosophy and technology! You must write about this!"

And so, dear reader, it was that a philosopher, a would-be alchemist, and a series of kitchen disasters led to the creation of an essay on blockchain technology. The immutable ledger of liberty, as I have come to call it, is not just a marvel of modern innovation but a testament to the enduring quest for a society built on trust, transparency, and the inalienable rights of man.

Thus, with a heart full of curiosity and a belly full of slightly overcooked breakfast, I present to you my essay on blockchain technology. May it inspire you to explore the intersections of the old and the new, the philosophical and the technological, and perhaps even to ponder the profound questions of our time—preferably over a plate of perfectly cooked bacon.

[whatiscalligraphy]

Calligraphy History Overview: Tracing the Origins

Calligraphy History Overview: Ancient Beginnings and Global Spread

Discover the captivating journey of calligraphy through the ages. From its ancient origins to its modern-day revival, this art form has left an indelible mark on cultures around the world. Join us as we explore the origins of calligraphy, its influence on different civilizations, and its continued relevance in the digital age. Throughout history, calligraphy has been a visual expression of human creativity and communication. Let's delve into the rich tapestry of calligraphy, starting with its ancient beginnings. Key Takeaways: - Calligraphy has a diverse history, originating from various civilizations such as ancient China, Egypt, and Rome. - Chinese calligraphy played a significant role in influencing other Asian cultures, including Japan and Korea. - Western calligraphy developed alongside the use of the Latin alphabet and became closely tied to religious texts. - Modern calligraphy embraces individuality, breaking free from traditional rules and exploring new techniques like faux calligraphy and hand lettering. - Calligraphy requires specific tools and materials, such as ink brushes and smooth writing surfaces, to achieve desired results.

Ancient Calligraphy Origins: The Beginnings of Beautiful Writing

Calligraphy, the art of beautiful writing, has its origins in ancient civilizations. Let's take a closer look at the early development of calligraphy, starting with some of the earliest forms of written communication. In ancient China, calligraphy began with the carving of characters on bones and tortoise shells. Over time, these characters evolved into the intricate strokes and brushwork that we associate with Chinese calligraphy today. Similarly, in Egypt, hieroglyphics were meticulously painted and used to convey both words and images. The ancient Aramaic and Hebrew book hands also showed significant calligraphic qualities. The Romans, known for their advancements in many fields, also made their mark on calligraphy. They used reed or quill pens to write on long rolls of paper, and their calligraphy can be seen in monumental inscriptions and on manuscripts. Greek hands on papyrus scrolls also displayed calligraphic elements. Ancient Calligraphy Origins: Key Points - Calligraphy's origins can be traced back to ancient civilizations such as China, Egypt, and Rome. - Chinese calligraphy started with characters carved on bones and tortoise shells. - Egyptian hieroglyphics and ancient Aramaic and Hebrew book hands also exhibited calligraphic qualities. - Romans used reed or quill pens to write on long rolls of paper, and Greek hands on papyrus scrolls featured calligraphic elements. Table: Ancient Calligraphy Origins Civilization Form of Calligraphy Ancient China Characters carved on bones and tortoise shells Egypt Meticulously painted hieroglyphics Ancient Aramaic and Hebrew Book hands with calligraphic qualities Rome Reed or quill pen calligraphy on paper Greece Calligraphic elements in hands written on papyrus scrolls

Chinese Calligraphy Influence: The Spread of the Art Form

Chinese calligraphy has had a profound influence on the development of calligraphy in neighboring cultures such as Japan and Korea. The art form's influence can be observed in various aspects, including the use of Chinese ink brushes and writing on silk. Japanese calligraphy, known as "shodo," was heavily influenced by Chinese calligraphy. The Japanese adopted Chinese characters and writing techniques, incorporating them into their own unique styles. The emphasis on brushwork and the aesthetic principles of simplicity and elegance are hallmarks of both Chinese and Japanese calligraphy. Korean calligraphy, or "seoye," also draws inspiration from Chinese calligraphy. Korean calligraphers developed their own distinct scripts and styles while maintaining the fundamental principles of Chinese calligraphy. The influence of Chinese calligraphy can be seen in the use of brush and ink, as well as the importance placed on balance and harmony in the composition of characters. Chinese Calligraphy Influence Japanese Calligraphy Korean Calligraphy Use of Chinese ink brushes Adoption of Chinese characters and writing techniques Development of unique scripts and styles Writing on silk Emphasis on brushwork and aesthetic principles Importance placed on balance and harmony The influence of Chinese calligraphy extends beyond Japan and Korea, reaching other cultures as well. Chinese calligraphy has inspired artists and calligraphers around the world, who have incorporated elements of Chinese calligraphy into their own artistic practices. The exchange of calligraphic traditions has enriched the art form and contributed to its evolution, demonstrating the enduring impact of Chinese calligraphy on the global stage.

Western Calligraphy History: The Role of Latin Script

Western calligraphy has a rich history that centers around the use of the Latin alphabet. The development of calligraphy in the Western world can be traced back to the ancient Romans. They wrote using reed or quill pens on long rolls of paper, creating elegant and precise script known as Roman calligraphy. Calligraphy in Western societies also played an essential role in the Christian faith. Monks and scribes used calligraphy to copy and preserve sacred texts, such as the Bible. These intricate manuscripts, adorned with beautifully calligraphed letters, showcased the reverence and devotion of the Christian community. The Christian use of calligraphy further popularized the art form and elevated its status. Over time, calligraphy in the Western world saw advancements in writing instruments. Steel nibs replaced feather quills, providing more durability and ease of use. This innovation led to the development of Copperplate calligraphy, where calligraphic strokes were engraved on metal plates for printing purposes. The introduction of steel nibs and Copperplate calligraphy contributed to the widespread adoption and practice of calligraphy in Europe and beyond. Through the influence of the Latin script, Western calligraphy has become an integral part of art, literature, and religious practices. Its evolution and adaptation over the centuries showcase the enduring beauty and significance of calligraphy in Western culture. Table: Comparison of Western Calligraphy Styles Calligraphy Style Description Roman Calligraphy The oldest form of Western calligraphy, characterized by its use of reed or quill pens and long, flowing strokes. Carolingian Calligraphy A style developed during the reign of Charlemagne, known for its clear and legible script. Gothic Calligraphy A decorative and elaborate script commonly used in medieval Europe for religious texts and manuscripts. Copperplate Calligraphy A style developed in the 18th century, characterized by its engraved calligraphic strokes and elegant flourishes. Modern Calligraphy A contemporary style that blends traditional calligraphy techniques with a more freeform and expressive approach. Quote: "The art of calligraphy in the Western world has been shaped by the use of the Latin alphabet and its role in religious practices. From the meticulous script of Roman calligraphy to the decorative flourishes of Copperplate, Western calligraphy showcases the beauty and precision of the written word."

Modern Calligraphy: Breaking the Rules and Embracing Individuality

Modern calligraphy offers a departure from the strict traditional rules of the art form, allowing for greater freedom and individual expression. While traditional calligraphy adheres to specific guidelines and techniques, modern calligraphy encourages artists to explore variations and experiment with new styles. One popular trend in modern calligraphy is faux calligraphy, which uses techniques to imitate the appearance of traditional calligraphy without the need for specialized tools or extensive training. With faux calligraphy, anyone can create beautiful lettering by simply adding thickness to the downstrokes of their handwriting. This accessible approach to calligraphy has made it a favorite among beginners and casual enthusiasts. Another contemporary style gaining popularity is hand lettering, which blends calligraphy with illustration. Hand lettering allows artists to combine beautiful letterforms with intricate designs, creating visually stunning compositions. It is a versatile style that can be used in various applications, such as greeting cards, signage, and branding. Brush lettering is another modern calligraphy style that utilizes brush pens to achieve fluid and expressive letterforms. The flexible bristles of the brush pen allow for a wide range of strokes, from thick to thin, resulting in dynamic and visually captivating lettering. Brush lettering is often used in artistic projects, such as posters, artworks, and decorative designs. Modern calligraphy embraces the idea that there are no strict rules in art, allowing artists to push boundaries and discover their own unique style. Whether through faux calligraphy, hand lettering, or brush lettering, modern calligraphy provides a platform for self-expression and creativity, making it an exciting and evolving art form in the digital age. The Evolution of Calligraphy Styles The shift towards modern calligraphy reflects the changing times and evolving tastes of artists and enthusiasts. While traditional calligraphy styles continue to be revered and practiced, the emergence of modern calligraphy has opened up new possibilities and expanded the boundaries of the art form. Traditional Calligraphy Modern Calligraphy Strict adherence to traditional rules Emphasis on individuality and creativity Focus on technique and precision Exploration of variations and experimentation Limited accessibility and exclusivity Wide accessibility and inclusivity Preservation of historical styles and traditions Integration of contemporary influences and trends "Modern calligraphy allows for personal expression and provides a platform for artists to experiment and innovate. It breaks away from the rigidity of traditional calligraphy, encouraging individuals to explore their own unique style and find their creative voice." - Calligraphy enthusiast With its emphasis on individuality and creativity, modern calligraphy has gained a strong following and continues to inspire artists around the world. As the art form evolves, it will be fascinating to witness the new and innovative styles that emerge, pushing the boundaries of calligraphy and keeping the tradition alive while embracing the spirit of contemporary expression.

The Significance of Calligraphy Tools and Materials

Tools and materials are essential to the practice of calligraphy, as they play a crucial role in achieving desired outcomes and maintaining the integrity of the art form. From writing surfaces to quill pens and ink brushes, each element contributes to the precision and beauty of calligraphic works. The writing surface acts as a foundation for calligraphy, providing a smooth and receptive medium for ink. Paper, parchment, and silk are commonly used surfaces that allow for precise strokes and controlled ink flow. The choice of writing material depends on the desired effect and the specific calligraphic style being pursued. "The tools of the trade can greatly influence the outcome of a calligraphic work. The choice of pen or brush, the quality of the ink, and the type of writing surface all contribute to the overall aesthetic and execution of the piece." - Calligraphy Master Quill pens and ink brushes are the primary instruments used in calligraphy. Quill pens, traditionally made from the feathers of birds such as geese or swans, allow for precise control of the ink flow and the creation of delicate, thin lines. Ink brushes, on the other hand, offer versatility in stroke width and texture, allowing for a range of expressive possibilities. The importance of tools and materials in calligraphy cannot be understated. They not only facilitate the creation of beautiful letterforms but also enable calligraphers to express their creativity and unique style. The right tools and materials are essential for achieving the desired effects and ensuring the longevity of calligraphic works. Calligraphy Tools Importance Quill Pens Provide precise control and delicate lines Ink Brushes Offer versatility and expressive possibilities Writing Surfaces Smooth and receptive mediums for ink

Calligraphy in Society and Religion: From the Service of God to Individual Expression

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPYfKSBPNHE Calligraphy has played a significant role in both societal and religious contexts throughout history. In Western societies, calligraphy held a religious significance, with calligraphers often being in service to religious institutions. The intricate and meticulous craftsmanship required for calligraphy made it a suitable art form for copying sacred texts and conveying the divine word. In the Far East, calligraphers were recognized as artists in their own right, with their works being highly esteemed and celebrated. Calligraphy in these cultures was not solely limited to religious texts but was also used to depict various aspects of life, literature, and philosophy. Calligraphers in these regions were able to express their individuality through their unique styles and interpretations of the art form. "Calligraphy is not just a means of writing; it is an expression of one's soul and spiritual journey." - Master calligrapher Zhang Zhengyao While historically calligraphy has been male-dominated, women have also made significant contributions to the field. Their talents and dedication have helped shape the art form and have challenged traditional gender roles. Today, the position of the calligrapher in society varies across cultures. In some regions, calligraphers are revered and hold esteemed positions, while in others, the role of the calligrapher may be less understood or valued. Role in Society and Religious Calligraphy Calligraphy not only holds cultural and historical significance but also bridges the gap between the spiritual and the tangible. It has the power to convey meaning beyond words, evoking emotions and capturing the essence of a message. The position of the calligrapher in society reflects the attitude towards calligraphy and its role in preserving cultural and historical heritage. Throughout centuries, calligraphy has served as a medium of communication, a tool for artistic expression, and a method of preserving cultural and religious traditions. Today, calligraphy continues to thrive, with artists exploring new ways to incorporate this ancient art form into contemporary contexts. Role of Calligraphy in Society Religious Calligraphy Individuality in Calligraphy Position of Calligrapher in Society Preserves cultural heritage Expresses devotion and spirituality Allows for personal style and interpretation Varies across cultures Communicates important messages Conveys sacred texts and teachings Encourages artistic exploration Can be highly esteemed or less understood Promotes artistic traditions Embodies the divine word Reflects the calligrapher's personality May challenge traditional gender roles As calligraphy continues to captivate and inspire, its significance in society and religion remains deeply rooted. From the service of God to individual expression, calligraphy has transcended time and cultural boundaries, shaping the way we communicate, express ourselves, and appreciate the beauty of the written word.

The Beauty of Calligraphy: From Writing to Visual Expression

Calligraphy is not just about writing; it is a form of visual expression that transforms words into art. The meticulous strokes and elegant compositions of calligraphy make it a truly beautiful form of writing. Through pictorial expressions and creative arrangements of letters, calligraphy goes beyond its practical purpose and becomes a work of art in its own right. Traditional calligraphy is characterized by its focus on technique and form, but it also incorporates visual execution that adds depth and meaning to the words being written. The placement of each stroke, the balance of negative space, and the overall composition contribute to the visual impact of the calligraphic piece. This attention to detail creates a harmonious and visually captivating result. "Calligraphy is a skill that requires not only mastery of the pen but also an understanding of aesthetics. It is the balance between precision and artistic expression that gives calligraphy its unique beauty." In calligraphy, text pictures and calligrams are created, where the visual representation of the letters enhances the meaning of the text. Text pictures are formed by arranging letters in a way that creates a recognizable image, while calligrams use the form of the letters themselves to depict an object or concept. These creative applications of calligraphy add an expressive and artistic element to the written word. Whether it is the intricate brushstrokes of Chinese calligraphy, the flowing curves of Arabic script, or the precise lines of Roman lettering, calligraphy captivates with its sheer beauty. The fusion of form and meaning in calligraphy makes it a timeless art form that continues to inspire and delight people around the world. Table: Examples of Beautiful Calligraphy Styles Chinese Calligraphy Arabic Calligraphy Western Calligraphy Japanese Calligraphy Korean Calligraphy

The Revival of Calligraphy: A Renewed Interest in the Art Form

Calligraphy, once considered a traditional art form, has experienced a remarkable revival in recent years. With the advent of the digital age, contemporary calligraphy has embraced new possibilities for expression and creativity. Read the full article

[movieholicaarav]

The Write Way: A Journey Through the Evolution and Impact of Pens

Pens, those seemingly simple writing tools, have left an indelible mark on human history, evolving from humble beginnings to become essential instruments of communication, creativity, and self-expression. From the ancient quills of antiquity to the sleek, modern designs of today, pens have undergone a remarkable transformation, adapting to changing technologies and societal needs while retaining their fundamental purpose. In this article, we'll explore the fascinating history of pens, their diverse forms and functions, and the significant role of pen branding in shaping consumer perceptions and preferences.

From Quills to Clicks: Tracing the Evolution of Pens

The history of pens is a tale of innovation and ingenuity, spanning centuries of human endeavor. Ancient civilizations used rudimentary writing implements such as reeds, feathers, and styluses to inscribe messages on various surfaces. The invention of the fountain pen in the 19th century marked a significant milestone, offering a more convenient and reliable alternative to quill pens. Subsequent advancements, including the introduction of ballpoint pens and rollerball pens, further revolutionized writing, making pens accessible to people from all walks of life.

The Power of Penmanship: Navigating the Digital Age

In an era dominated by digital devices and screens, pens continue to hold a special place in our hearts and hands. The act of writing with a pen offers a tactile experience that engages the senses and stimulates creativity. Whether jotting down notes in a meeting, sketching in a sketchbook, or expressing thoughts in a journal, pens provide a tangible connection to our thoughts, ideas, and emotions. Studies have shown that handwriting can improve cognitive function, memory retention, and creative expression, highlighting the enduring relevance of pens in the digital age.

Pen Branding: Making a Mark in the Market

Pen branding plays a pivotal role in shaping consumer perceptions and driving purchasing decisions. Through strategic logo placement, color schemes, and packaging design, pen brands seek to create a distinct identity and evoke a desired emotional response from consumers. Premium pen brands often emphasize craftsmanship, quality materials, and attention to detail, positioning their products as luxury items worthy of investment. In contrast, budget-friendly pen brands may focus on affordability, durability, and practicality, appealing to a broader audience of consumers. Effective pen branding is essential for building brand recognition, loyalty, and trust among consumers in a competitive market landscape.

Innovation and Adaptation: The Future of Pens

As technology continues to advance, pens are evolving to meet the changing needs and preferences of consumers. Smart pens equipped with digital features, such as Bluetooth connectivity and pressure sensitivity, offer new possibilities for capturing, storing, and sharing handwritten notes and drawings. Sustainable pens made from eco-friendly materials are gaining popularity as consumers become more environmentally conscious. Pen branding will continue to play a crucial role in differentiating products in an increasingly competitive market, with brands leveraging innovation, sustainability, and design to attract and retain customers.

Conclusion: The Write Choice

Pens have transcended their humble origins to become indispensable tools of communication, creativity, and self-expression. Whether used for practical purposes or as instruments of artistic expression, pens offer a timeless means of connecting with ourselves and the world around us. As pen brands continue to innovate and adapt to meet the needs of modern consumers, the future of pens looks promising and full of possibilities. So, the next time you pick up a pen, take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship, design, and branding behind this timeless tool of expression and connection.

[orphicliteraryclub]

Chaucer to Shakespeare: Impact on English Literature

📚 Exploring the Evolution of English Literature: Chaucer to Shakespeare 🎭 Greetings, fellow literature enthusiasts! 📖 Today, let's embark on a journey through time and dive into the remarkable impact that Geoffrey Chaucer and William Shakespeare have had on the English literary landscape. 🌍✨ 🖋️ Chaucer's Canterbury Tales marked a pivotal moment in the Middle English era, offering a vivid snapshot of medieval society. The diverse characters and their stories painted a tapestry of human experiences, reflecting the complexity of the human soul. As we unravel these tales, we uncover insights into the cultural, social, and linguistic shifts of the time. 🏰🌄 🎭 Fast forward to the Renaissance period, where the indelible quill of William Shakespeare brought forth masterpieces that continue to resonate today. From the poetic brilliance of "Romeo and Juliet" to the profound introspection of "Hamlet," his plays delved into human nature, morality, and the eternal battle between light and darkness. Through his words, Shakespeare captured the human experience in ways that transcend time. ⏳🌟 🤝 Personally, I've often found solace in Chaucer's wit and Shakespeare's intricate language. Their works have been a source of inspiration, reminding me that despite the temporal and cultural gaps, emotions and dreams unite us across generations. 🤔📝 In the ever-evolving literature industry, Chaucer and Shakespeare serve as beacons of literary excellence. Their influence can be felt in modern narratives, and the themes they explored remain relevant in our complex world. 📚💡 #LiteraryLegends #ChaucerToShakespeare #EnglishLiteratureJourney #TimelessTales #InspiredByWords

The journey of English literature from the medieval genius of Chaucer to the timeless artistry of Shakespeare encapsulates the evolution of human expression. Over centuries, literary works have mirrored the shifting tides of culture, society, and language, weaving a tapestry of creative brilliance and intellectual insight. Chaucer and Shakespeare are two of the most prominent figures in English…

[spottedenchants]

attempt 8: an agreement

friend, companion, rabbit-paced to your tortoiseshell, you…

love him. you love him. it would be… unkind, at this point, to deny the thread of indelible connection so blistering and brumal and trussed taut between you that it can incidentally be shortnamed as ‘love’. but that quietly frigid tether, intangible yet tangled, it is not alone on the loom housed in your ribs.

so, then. one thing at a time.

why must this all be so hard? but- actually… does it have to be?

the feeling in your chest is called ‘love’, so you think. that’s nice; you can stake that claim. 

several many leaved vines climb the post, curl, further readying themselves to bloom.

pleased, you leave them be.

keeping your trowel, you stay working your garden, weeding and pruning with gifted gloves and a sunhat.

somewhere, a bird sings.

through which plot of thought do you dig?

you do care, dearly, both for and about him.

in sickness, in heath. in different pains of flesh and heart and mind. in the same joys spun by memory and present time. in presence. in absence.

by choice. always, always, by choice.

and he cares for you- about you, too. so do they all and you them. what a delight it is, to miss and be sorely missed in return. it’s a rich life that they’ve offered, that you’ve accepted; succulent, well-prepared, modest yet fulfilling. you have a family, no had to be had, but now you’re entrenched in one anew.

you are ready for any surprise.

so you do let him love you.

it’s a lovely thing, to trust so deep, a willingness that catches in your bared teeth like greens. unbecoming, evidence of preference. something you can readily, excitedly laugh through with the ease of sincerity.

you’ve watched; you’ve learned; and my, how your face can ache; sweet-orange tang attacks the hinge of your jaw, a fair price to pay for making many smiles from a lone rind. a delicious grin bitter only in literal flavor, their potluck love quite suits your acquired tastes.

what is it that sets him apart?

you bask in his touch. indulgent, heat. thrilling, pressure. together, honey, metamorphic in your veins your nerves your lungs; you’ve never known a warmth quite like this- but so it goes in all instances; so it goes for all else. nothing but everything is new, amusing, enthralling, so what distinguishes one known novelty from the next? each heartcount tick, each stutter of air… you’ve passed yet another desperate second; you’ve come to learn how to breathe.

you lie in your truth, floating for a quiet moment, before cracking a yet-unused joke, oh so silly.

and he keeps your heart with a laugh, sweet as a siren song. 

success.

still, your mind swims.

you no longer shy from his stare. bright, ever so clever, he knew too much to stay, too little to flee, and what did that say about you? why would a backturned mirror care for another’s face once it chips, spiders, shatters against the seams of its own razor-veined web of damned lies?

dawn golden low in the sky, a spring-soaked harvest of hope once pled; fragments, too, can catch light.

in over your head and drowning, before, you thought no. no, never- never.

but now…

sky-wide and welcoming, shining in kind crescents, an outstretched hand smeared with rich earth…

yes.

now you can brave the sun’s gaze-

a sunrise, he cannot stay, not forever.

neither can you, nor the rest.

this is how the story goes; you have both set aside your glue-tack bones, your signatures left with half-folds; you’ve set alight your twine and spines, all in favor of sharing quills and the same metered pool of life’s ink. covers discarded, unbound sheaves await, your stack assumed higher than all- a generous supposition.

tabled and unnamed together, hands indivisible alive, you both write each, new, page.

fond days, long nights; sun and shadow stretch in cat tallies and clockwork candles, accompaniment to the dancing beats of your hearts.

[stormlit]

❝ i know, ❞ she says, and isn't that the tragedy of all of this? none of them had asked for this life, none of them would have written their stories the way they had ended up, words stark on a page in indelible ink while the stains and scars from the quill litter their hands. they had been happy, once, and none of them would have chosen to ruin that. not she, not amadeo, and even marius, with all his power, had been powerless in the face of the fire and the cult. bianca is not unhappy with her life, now...but she would not say that she is joyous, either. she would not claim that it has been without its struggles, its pain.

and if she could have written it differently, she would have. not just for herself, but for all three of them. now they are oceans apart, even when she and amadeo stand in the same room. the gulf between them hurts her, physically. she can feel it squeezing her heart.

she is not the only one; amadeo may be hurting her, in a way, but she is clearly doing the same to him, teetering on the fence of what to tell him about marius as she is. bianca reaches out, her hand taking his, gently unfurling his fingers so his nails do not pierce his skin. ❝ but i stood by him. that is a choice i made. ❞ was it, though? for the longest time, bianca did not have the ability to leave the shrine without him. and in dresden...she had wanted to hold onto the shreds of a venetian life. she had wanted to matter to the only person she had left in the world.

but she did not. and it has been a long time since she's seen their maker. still, thinking of him does nothing to lessen her grief at all they have lost. all they can never be again. and yet...they are together, the two of them. bianca does not know for how long, she has no idea what their relationship is, now, with centuries between them and the old patterns, but they are here. perhaps she is doing a poor job of disguising her sadness, her heartbreak, but bianca can still be glad for that.

❝ then i look forward to seeing it. another night. tonight i am...not fit for mixed company. ❞ she is a mess. gaze drawn to amadeo's face, bathed in firelight and still as beautiful as a statue, bianca nods. ❝ i promise. and certainly not without saying goodbye. ❞ she doubts she can stay in paris forever, but they can certainly part without losing touch. without thinking the other lost forever. she didn't think she would ever see him again.

perhaps that is enough, for now. she turns to him more fully, wavering on that fence a little longer, before she moves into his space, pressing against his chest as her arms wrap around him. perhaps it's enough.

and maybe there's a part of him that believes her. but confronting who he'd become, what he'd gone through to become who he was, is a trial of discomfort that he doesn't want to put himself through. and even if he didn't give them the credit, it didn't change how the years had shaped him. and while he could admit that he had lost himself somewhere in the centuries underground, head swimming with religion and ritual that he'd only clung to because he had nothing else. but who he was now? as the master of the theatre — he'd found the closest version of himself, hadn't he?

❝ if i could have changed how it happened, i would have. ❞

he frowns to see her tears. i'm still amadeo, he wants to say, the thought prominent, barely guarded. because even under a new name, in a new life, if he wasn't, would he have wanted this reunion so badly? would her presence affect him how it used to? his heart still had near her, still ached for her to stay. just as she was bianca, but changed. he can't know what her life had been like after venice. there'd been a time where he'd wanted to give her the gift, for it to be something beautiful.

but instead, she was born of in the aftermath of hell unleashed on their home.

there's a frustration welling up inside of him ( a grief ). he'd endured marius's death once, but his death would have been easier than to hear that he'd left. that bianca had to beg for him. armand can't know if he'd have been ready to see him, to want to be faced with a vampire who thought he knew better than him ( that would disapprove of the very nature armand embraced ). but it sounded as if he hadn't tried. he tries, failingly, to hide how it feels, hand clenched so tight he can feel the sting of his nails digging into his palm, the emotion radiates off of him with power behind it, the candles in the tower, with their soft glow, flickering preternaturally.

❝ you're not him, ❞ he corrects when she said that they should have done better. his throat feels unnaturally dry, like he might choke, but he inhales a sharp breath instead and tries to focus on moving from the chair to cross to her, under control again. ❝ he made a choice. but you're here, bianca. i could never blame you for anything he's done.❞ and how could she have fought against him? even as old as they are now, he's still so much older. armand knows, even now, he doesn't touch on the power that he'd remembered their maker having centuries prior.

and for all his uncertainties about her and his coven, the theatre is a much easier topic. he tries to smile, but it comes weakly and instead he stands next to her, to stare at the fire, shoulder against hers. ❝ we are just actors putting on a show. some are seduced by it, want to believe it, but it's all fantasy. ❞ aside from the victim of the night, the victim always knew the truth. but he leaves that out for now.

❝ they'll be on their best behavior, i'm sure. ❞ an attempt to bring some lightheartedness into the conversation, ❝ i've missed you too, ❞ he pauses, ❝ promise me you won't leave too soon. ❞