#GRI Standards

[jujuygrafico]

Gasnor presentó su primer Informe de Sostenibilidad

#Empresariales #medioAmbiente | #Gasnor presentó su primer #InformedeSostenibilidad

Gasnor presentó su primer Informe de Sostenibilidad, el cual reúne y da a conocer las estrategias e iniciativas que se llevaron a cabo, durante el año 2021, en el marco de su Política de Responsabilidad Corporativa y en consonancia con la Agenda 2030 de Desarrollo Sostenible; a su vez que destacan los desafíos planteados durante el presente año.Como parte del grupo Naturgy, la empresa Gasnor…

[stillness138]

isn't it wild how you can play through an entire indie game in a single day and be left with a deeper, more profound experience, story, moral or question all wrapped in a more unique and impactful art style than many triple a games nowadays. for like 8 bucks.

[smoke-under-skin]

Contemporary Family Room (Paris)

[kahvikirahvi]

Contemporary Bedroom - Bedroom

[biyuti]

Enclosed Living Room in Paris

[vilevenom]

Hello @90svn!! Thank you for your request and sweet comment ❤️

I took this request as a personal challenge, because Trollex has a whole 5 minutes of screentime in World Tour, and only maybe eight voice lines. Very hard to get a good read on a character with such a short appearance, but I did my best!

Hope you enjoy!~

To say that Clay felt overwhelmed was putting it mildly. Reuniting with his brothers had been one thing. Heck, even reintegrating the putt putt trolls with pop village had been a drain on his mental and social batteries, but he'd muddled through. However, following Viva along to royal meet and greets and council meetings was just too much. He felt out of his depths in so many ways. Sure, he'd helped co-run the golf course, and a lot of the rules and regulations that kept the place stable had been his doing, but there was just so much more to all of the other kingdoms. Not to mention the fact that he didn't really feel like the other leaders necessarily took him and Viva seriously. He was an ex-boyband member with no political background, and Viva had been unintentionally usurped as queen by her younger sister. They didn't exactly fit the standard leader stereotypes.

This latest meeting, to discuss territory laws and transportation between kingdoms had initially intrigued Clay, and when Viva all but begged him to go with her so she wouldn't be bored, he'd happily agreed. Now he sort of wished he'd stayed home. As much as he had thoughts on what was going on, absolutely no one in the room paid he or Viva much, if any, mind. They were treated more like Poppy's entourage than leaders of a subdivision of Pop trolls. Even Branch was getting asked more questions than either of them.

He was about to suggest to Viva that they leave, since no one seemed to really care what they had to say, when the door to the meeting room burst open, and the king of the techno trolls floated in, grin on his face.

"Sorry I'm late," Trollex laughed as he moved across the room to take his seat, "Last nights rave went on a bit longer than I had anticipated."

Clay rolled his eyes, sinking down further into his seat. He'd seen the techno king from afar a few times before, but he never struck Clay as the type to take anything seriously. He was always talking about the parties the techno trolls threw, never seeming to have a serious thought in his head. He figured, from here, the meeting could only go further downhill.

He, of course, hadn't been paying attention to what was being said due to his miserable ruminating, so hadn't caught that he'd been directly addressed. Not until Viva elbowed him squarely in the rub cage, anyway. He grunted, sitting himself up with a quick frown shot to his best friend, who simply grinned back at him. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said," Trollex waved his hand at Clay to get his attention, his previous grin and chipper attitude seemingly gone, "What do you think about the implication of having trolls of multiple genres potentially staying all in one place? Since regional customs and attitudes are so wildly different, it opens up a massive amount of safety concerns. Viva said you were the best troll to talk to, outside maybe Branch, about what sort of measures could be kept in place to make sure everyone stays happy and healthy."

Clay perked up as Trollex spoke, not having expected the king to ask such an insightful question, especially not to him. Perhaps his first impression of the king had been all wrong. "Well, there are a lot of different things we'd have to keep in mind for such an undertaking…"

~

Trollex, it turned out, was an incredibly insightful king. Throughout the entire meeting he lobbed questions to several of the kingdom rulers, and directed most, if not all, concerns in regards to safety to Clay. All in all, he felt pretty good when the meeting came to a close, as they had several rough documents drafted up for new inter-kingdom laws.

So, it threw Clay off a little when Trollex floated past him, wide grin on his face and headphones over his ears, flipping a glowstick between his fingers, like he hadn't just been discussing transgenre rights barely five minutes prior. He froze when the kings eyes landed on him, his shoulders unconsciously hiking up to his ears as he was approached.

"Hey, hey! Clay, my man," Trollex crowed, only lowering his volume once he pulled his headphones away from his ears, "Nice work today, yo. Usually Branch is the only one who can figure out all that nuance-y regulatory stuff."

"Yeah, well. Boring legal stuff is my jam," he said with a little laugh while throwing up a peace sign and sticking his tongue out without even realizing what he was doing. He quickly straightened up, a flush forming on his cheeks as a grin slowly spread across Trollex's face.

"Yeah, bro! Nice," Trollex laughed, reaching over to shake Clay's shoulder gently in a friendly gesture, "Live your best life, yo. Speaking of, you should come on by Techno Reef sometime soon! We've got some bangin' raves comin' up. Would love to see how you unwind."

"Haha, yeah," Clay forced a smile onto his face, giving the king a little nod.

"Sweet! I'll send word to Pop Village with dates for the next big one! It's gonna be LIT," Trollex called out, earning whoops from some of the trolls milling near the meeting hall. He laughed as he put his headphones back on, tossing Clay a glow stick as he began to bob his head in time with his music, shooting him finger guns before floating away.

Clay didn't even register when Viva appeared next to him. "Ooooh, does Mr.Clay have a date?"

"Cupcakes!" Clay dropped the glowstick in favor of slapping a hand to his chest, "Viva! Ugh…we seriously need to get you a bell, girl."

Viva simply cackled at him, poking him in the side until he couldn't hold back his laughter and swatted her away. "Well?" she prompted as she took a step back to let Clay catch his breath.

Clay sighed and bent to pick up the fallen glowstick, shrugging a bit. "Pretty sure it was a general party invitation, Viv. Not a date request."

"Well, you gotta start somewhere," Viva chirped, wrapping both of her arms around one of Clays. "What do you think about him, anyway? He totally seems right up your alley."

"What?! How?" Clay asked with a laugh, arching an eyebrow at Viva curiously.

"Oh, well, you know," Viva hummed, resting her head on Clay's shoulder, "He's a party guy, sure, but you saw him in the meeting. He seems like he really takes his responsibilities seriously. I figured you'd admire him for that."

Clay gingerly twirled the glowstick between his fingers. "Yeah. I guess that's true…"

~

"Hey! The party has arrived!"

Clay couldn't help but cringe at Trollex's shout, offering an awkward wave as the king swam over to greet the small group of pop trolls that had travelled down to Techno Reef. Clay had been the one to officially receive the invitation, surprisingly, but it had said that anyone from Pop village was welcome, so he'd asked Poppy to spread word that any troll who wanted to could go. In the end, Clay, Viva, Poppy, Branch, and a smattering of villagers had all decided to go.

"Welcome to Techno Reef! We've got glow sticks for days, and the party's always poppin'," Trollex called with a laugh, tossing a handful of glowsticks out, which gently floated down into the waiting pop trolls hands. "If ya'll would follow Leguna, she'll show you to the accommodations we've prepared for your stay."

A purple techno troll swam forward and gestured for everyone to follow her, which Clay was about to do when he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He paused and turned in surprise to find Trollex with a large grin on his face.

"I'm really glad you accepted my invitation," the king hummed, releasing Clay's arm and floating backwards slightly.

"Uh," Clay said smartly, glancing around quickly to find Viva shooting his a thumbs up while giggling with her sister, "Thanks, man. Me too. I'm real curious about your culture and it's really cool to finally get to see some of the other kingdoms."

Trollex chuckled, nodding a little as he pulled a glow bracelet off from around his own wrist, swimming forward to secure it around Clay's. "Well, if you've got any questions, you know who to come find," he said with a little wink. Clay was endlessly glad for the darkness of the water around them as his cheeks flushed, just before Trollex swam away.

"I think he likes you."

"VIVA! A BELL! Damn."

~

Raves were, apparently, not Clay's cup of tea. Perhaps when he was younger, before, well, everything, he would've loved a good rave. But older, serious boy Clay was not having the best of times. Branch wasn't, either, but Poppy had dragged him and Viva off almost the moment they had reached the large area that the party was taking place in (He had a feeling the sisters were conspiring against him, somehow). Which left Clay, alone, at the edge of the dance floor, awkwardly watching and wishing he could covers his ears from the loud bass. Unfortunately, the helmets the visiting pop trolls had to wear in order to even be down in the reef impeded his ability to do so.

He was debating on heading back to the rooms the techno trolls had prepared for them, when Trollex appeared out of the crowd, swimming over once he spotted Clay.

"Heyyy, Live Wire!" Trollex shouted over the music with a grin, "There you are!"

"Live Wire?" Clay echoed, arching an eyebrow at Trollex, who grinned wider, his cheeks glowing slightly.

"Yeah, man! Your rave name! Everyone's gotta have a rave name, and you've got the best hair. So, Live Wire," the king explained, swimming forward to tap at the side of Clay's helmet, where his hair was bunched up against the glass.

"I assume you're making fun of me, 'cause my hair stands up like I got electrocuted?" Clay snarked, folding his arms over his chest, not looking the least amount amused.

"What? No? Why would I make fun of you?" Trollex tilted his head like a confused cuddle pup. This gave Clay pause, dropping his arms to his sides.

"I, uhm…I guess I don't know," Clay admitted, shrugging a little. He chewed on his lip a little as Trollex gave him a contemplative look.

"Let's get out of here," the king said, just loud enough for Clay to hear, before he reached out and grabbed both of Clay's hands. With a smile he began to swim backwards, pulling Clay up along through the water after him.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Clay yelped, kicking his feet to try and keep himself from dropping back down through the water and onto the dancefloor. This pulled a delighted laugh from Trollex, who shook his head.

"Just relax. I've got you," Trollex hummed, sliding his hands down Clay's arms until he had a hold on the green trolls elbows, while shifting his position so he was half swimming beneath Clay. "You'll be okay, Live Wire. I won't let you sink."

~

Trollex let Clay's feet hit solid ground again once they'd reached what Clay could only describe as a palace; a huge building near the center of the reef, standing prominently above all the other structures of the town, with twisting spires and glowing accents that lit up the surrounding area.

"Wow," Clay murmured, admiring the architecture, while also noting that they were far enough away from the rave that he could speak at a normal volume.

"Yeah. It's pretty lucky Barb only targeted the DJ booth when she attacked. I'm not sure how well we could've reconstructed this," Trollex said, floating next to Clay with an easy smile.

"Wait…she attacked you? Like, actually?" Clay turned his head sharply towards Trollex with a frown. He'd heard plenty about Barb's world tour, but the finer details hadn't really been openly shared. He supposed it would make sense that Barb would have to attack trolls to gain what she wanted, but knowing it was enough that the techno trolls had to reconstruct buildings was a lot. Barb had been at their meeting, and no one had treated her like she'd terrorized them.

"Yeah. But it's all good. Things worked out," Trollex said with a little shrug.

"But, what if they hadn't? You would've lost all this," Clay declared, gesturing widely at te palace and surrounding buildings.

"True. But we didn't," Trollex swam in front of Clay, taking his hands in his own with a light laugh, "You can't dwell on the 'maybes' in life, bro. You just gotta focus on the here, and now, and what you can do in the moment." Clay felt his anger dissipate at Trollex's words, though he still frowned.

"'Maybes' are what keep people safe," Clay insisted, unconsciously squeezing Trollex's hands.

"Future 'maybes', totally. But past 'maybes' can't be changed. You gotta go with the flow, bro," Trollex chuckled, tugging Clay forward a bit, "But enough of that. C'mon, I'll show you around."

Clay sighed heavily and followed after Trollex, taking note of the fact that the king had only let go of one of his hands.

~

"This is all really impressive," Clay praised with an easy smile while pulling his helmet off. The last stop on the tour of the palace was a series of rooms dedicated to visiting dignitaries from other kingdoms. Much like the rooms arranged for the visiting pop trolls, these rooms had been made air tight and drained of water to allow for other genres to visit without the need for helmets.

"Thanks, man," Trollex said, taking the helmet from the green troll to set aside on a table. "We've only had a few trolls come to visit so far, so it's nice to know our efforts aren't in vain."

"I thought the whole world tour thing was a while ago?"

"Oh, yeah, it was," Trollex shrugged, floating over to a couch and patting the spot net to him in invitation to Clay, "But, we're a bit harder to get to, being underwater, an' all. Plus, as much as I'd love to extend more open invitations to other kingdoms, we haven't finished hammering out all the necessary laws to make sure everyone stays safe."

"Man," Clay said with a little laugh, flopping himself onto the seat next to the king, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just…so easily flip between being dead serious and being a party guy? How do you make sure people still take you seriously?"

Trollex watched Clay for a moment, before letting out a little breath and curling his fins beneath himself. "You're talking about the whole 'fun boy' thing, aren't you?"

Clay startled, leaning away from Trollex with wide eyes. "How'd you know about that?"

"Queen Poppy gave us a bunch of pop records when the kingdoms first started talking to each other again. There was a BroZone record in there. Which, by the way, makes for some killer mixes and spinbacks! But, uh…yeah. Not hard to put two and two together when Branch was talking about his brothers, meeting before last. Poppy also might have mentioned that I shouldn't call you 'fun' before we met," Trollex said with a light laugh.

Clay groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "Is that what this is, then?" he asked, slightly muffled, "Some sort of weird intervention to show me that I can be fun and serious, not just one or the other?"

"What? No. Man, you sure do jump to a lot of conclusions," Trollex chuckled, gently taking Clay's hands away from his face. "You just genuinely seemed like a cool troll. Is it so hard to believe I might wanna get to know you better, without any ulterior motives?"

"Yes."

That startled a burst of laughter out of Trollex, making the techno king reel back and wave his hands through the air. "Oh! Oh, man. Clay," he snorted, wiping at his eyes, "Bro. Trust me, it shouldn't be hard to believe. You really made an impression on the council with your ideas at the last meeting, and Viva told me about everything you did at the golf course. You're a really impressive troll, Live Wire."

"Oh. Well…thanks," Clay chuckled awkwardly, his cheeks flushing.

"It helps that you're real cute, too," Trollex added cheekily, shooting Clay a grin.

"I-What?!" It was Clay's turn to reel back, his back hitting the arm rest of the couch as his cheeks practically caught fire.

Trollex simply laughed, leaning his arm on the back of the couch so he was a bit more in Clay's space. "Okay, so maybe I had one ulterior motive," the king admitted, "I thought, maybe, you and Viva were a thing, but I overheard her teasing you about me."

"You had headphones on!" Clay squawked, shaking his head slightly.

"Yeah. I didn't have any music playing. Sometimes it's nice to be left alone because people think you can't hear them. Plus, I get to hear things that people might not want me to know," the king confessed with a little shrug. "But, y'know, if I'm reading you all wrong, just tell me to back off. I won't take offense."

"I…okay?"

"That was definitely a question, and not enthusiastic consent," Trollex chuckled, reaching out to gently take one of Clay's hands in his own. "You gotta say the magic word."

"Please?"

Trollex snorted. "I was looking for 'yes', or something to that effect, but I suppose that works, too." With that he leaned forward and cupped Clay's jaw in his hand, his smile turning soft. "You just do what you gotta do if this doesn't feel right, okay?"

Clay gave a little nod and let his eyes slip shut as Trollex pressed their lips together. He genuinely couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed. Was it all the way back when he'd been in BroZone? Probably. He'd always been too busy at the golf course to ever entertain the idea of getting involved with anyone. And, as much as he and Viva were teased for being in each others back pockets all the time, there really wasn't anything more than close sibling feelings between the two of them. So, as the kiss broke and Trollex shifted back, he had no real idea if it felt right or not. He did, at least, know it didn't feel wrong. He opened his eyes to find Trollex watching him intently, a nervous little smile on his face.

"Well?"

"Repeat experiments must be run in order to ensure the results are valid and consistent," Clay muttered, pulling his hand free of Trollex's in order to take the kings face in both hands and draw him in again. He smiled into the kiss at Trollex's surprised little grunt, pleased as he felt the techno king all but melt into him.

When they pulled apart the second time, Clay took note of the dumbstruck expression on Trollex's face, feeling a little curl of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach for putting the look on the kings face.

"One more? To, uh, make sure the results are consistent?" Trollex asked, his cheeks glowing a faint pink as he leaned in again.

"Just to make sure," Clay easily agreed, tugging Trollex closer so the techno king was half in his lap as their lips met again.

~

Clay smirked as he fixed his hair and adjusted his romper as he glanced back at Trollex, who looked like a ragdoll on the couch, one arm over his face and one fin flopped onto the floor.

"Live Wire is a perfect nickname for you," Trollex sighed, sitting up as Clay picked up his helmet. Slowly he rose from his seat and floated over to the green troll, resting a hand on the top of the helmet. "I hope…I really hope this wasn't a one time thing?"

Clay blinked, a bit taken aback by the question. "It isn't?"

"I mean," Trollex floated backwards, twisting his fingers together in front of himself nervously, "If you wanted it to be, that…that's cool. I just…I know we don't know each other super well yet or anything, but I really like you, Clay. And I'd really like to get to know you better. I know you've got all your responsibility with the pop trolls and Viva and stuff, but…I'd like to see you again. I'd like to see you more."

"Oh," Clay breathed, oddly somewhat startled that anyone would want to see him again, let along a King. "You mean that?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't."

"Okay. Okay! Yeah," Clay nodded, shifting the helmet in his hands to rest on his hip so he could reach out and take Trollex's hand. "Next time, you come to ours. You can stay with me."

Trollex's face lit up in a giddy grin, his cheeks flushing bright pink at Clay's words. "Already looking forward to it."

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Vote Amber Gris <3

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

Ibex (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight):

Ibex is the confident, ambitious, and charming (manipulative) candidate for the Divine mech Righteousness. He wears a red suit and a floral scent, and always looks extremely put together and sexy.

Ah, the classic choice between literally who? and one of the hottest men ever described

Ibex literally menaces the entire cast of COUNTER/Weight and remains a sexy bastard the ENTIRE TIMEA He is the TIME PROVEN STANDARD of an Austin Walker Boyfriend Character. Do it for Austin Walker.

Ibex's character was created to fulfill the description "seductress." He haunts the narrative. He's incredibly good at schemes. His whole shtick is that he's the one guy who didn't die young piloting a cool mech. The other characters hate him so much but in like a hot begrudging way. The person who plays him said the following which is so fucking funny:

[mooselybased]

Kela sai, guppies! Our first hypothetical Adventure Zone moveset for Ethersea is none other than Amber Gris! Let's dive in, shall we?

Amber has little to no ranged combat ability, but what she lacks in range she more than makes up for in her ability to combo. Most of her standard attacks are quite quick, moderately powerful, and often able to be strung together pretty fluidly.

Amber's neutral special allows her to summon an astral arm for a while before it fades away. Summoning the arm does minimal damage and knockback, but as long as it's around, Amber's standard moves that involve punching will have increased damage. Up to two arms can be summoned.

Amber's down special is, naturally, a VIBE CHECK! She does a quick sucker punch with minimal range and knockback but good damage, which is greatly increased by any additional astral arms currently summoned. However, all astral arms are immediately dispelled after using this move.

Amber's side special causes her vapor suit to briefly activate around her. Again, this has a small hitbox, and doesn't do much damage, but can push opponents a decent distance, and will reflect projectiles.

Amber's up special has her pull a blink shark from nowhere. The blink shark then teleports both of them straight up, after which Amber chucks the shark straight down. The teleportation bursts do a lil damage but naturally the bulk of the hit is in the plummeting shark.

For her finale, Amber leaps to the top of the screen. Below her, a coral portal appears and Amber lets loose a flurry of blows with her astral arms, which are magnified to gigantic size. She releases a number of punches, which can be slightly aimed, before returning to the stage.

[passivenovember]

You know what? 

Necromancy for Dummies, Harringrove Week Day Two!

--

So, yeah.

It had been ten years since his last real relationship. A decade since Nancy Wheeler dumped him at Tina's Halloween party and Steve had heard opinions from everyone in his life about his refusal to move on.

Dustin thought there was no time limit on heartbreak. Told Steve he shouldn't be ashamed of taking time for himself, of taking a breather to work through his abandonment issues.

It made Steve feel good to have it reaffirmed, like he was getting a gold star for standard participation.

Robin, on the other hand, was of the belief that Steve should fuck anything with a pulse. Given that the thing could consent. She preached constantly about the therapy of the blowjob (both giving and receiving) and Steve thought it was a little odd for a lesbian to condone pegging like that but who was he to judge?

At least she was supportive, if a little brash, but he'd rather hear it from her than his Nonna, anyway. .

Dustin always rolled his eyes and repeated, insistently; that Steve should do what made him feel comfortable, not adhere to peer pressure or goading at the hands of a certain crowd favorite lesbian, and for a decade Steve had agreed.

It was his life. His lack of love, his mental breakdown, and Steve would experience it any way he saw fit.

Dustin was ecstatic. Told Steve he was proud of him--inspired, even, that sex and relationships weren't the hottest topic on his mind, but.

Dustin couldn't have been more wrong.

Steve thought about love constantly. Thought about holding hands and baking cookies on rainy Saturday mornings with someone who saw beyond what Steve presented to the world, and as the weeks turned into months that turned into years, it became impossible to ignore the aching in his chest to be completed.

He was good at hiding it. The want. The need for connection.

And sure, it was a primitive construct that everyone needed someone. Sure, it wasn't an actual necessity and Steve knew his worth as an individual wasn't defined by his access to a romantic partner and yada-yada-ya, but.

Then Nancy and Jonathan got Married.

And Dustin got Married.

And Mike and El moved in together.

And everyone was moving forward with their lives, even his Nonna, who had started dating new men every Saturday night after the death of his grandpappy Ralph.

And, maybe, Steve started to feel like a loser.

Just a little.

Like he was defective and unloveable and he tried not to mope his way through life, as a rule.

At least he still had Robin--the last single girls, the two of them.

But then, two weeks before Halloween, Robin got engaged and Steve didn't know what to do.

--

“You know that weird little friend of yours is getting married.”

”I know, Nonna.”

”The lesbian.” Which. Steve didn’t know why she kept calling Robin that. As if the two of them weren’t thick as thieves, best friends who played bag gammon together and smoked pot to quell Nonna's rising blood pressure. “And I don’t hold anything against the homosexuals, Stevie—“

”I know.”

She kept right on talking. Swallowing smoke, cough rattling the receiver against Steve’s head. “Hell, even I had my adventures back in the day.”

And. Yeah, Steve pushed his food to the side, suddenly overcome with queasiness.

“Did I ever tell you about Margot?” She asked. He could feel a story coming on.

”Nonna, I really don’t—“

”Breast’s like candy apples, for Christ-sake--"

"Please stop." He begged. Steve could barely handle the stories about grandpappy Ralph. 

"Alright Stevie, I get it. Once a woman turns fifty she stops being human. You know, for a witch you have incredibly narrow views of sexuality." Nonna leaned away from the phone, the tiny plastic tops of her hair rollers rattling when she yelled at Bride, her asshole cat.

Steve bristled. "I don't have--"

"You're kind of a prude, honey bunch." She was mostly kidding. Steve had spent the majority of his childhood learning the difference and he could tell that Nonna was grinning, somewhere on the other end of the line. "I blame your father." She said.

And they always did. He was mortal, practically puritan by the way he ruled over Steve's childhood with an iron fist.

"Can we talk about something else?"

"What, like how Robin is worried about you?"

Steve nearly dropped the mug in his hand. "You talk about me?"

"Of course we do." 

He was mortified. Nonna didn't seem to notice, chuckling as she poked and prodded. "What else would we talk about? Besides candy apple breasts, of course."

"Oh my god, Just." Steve groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Stop it. I swear to God I'm gonna--"

"God?" She chuckled again, that raspy smoker's laugh reaching through the phone to pull a smile out from Steve's chest. "Honey, if God were real don't you think he'd take pity on the desperate?"

He opened his mouth to argue--

And then closed it again because she was right. As usual. 

Steve was, well and truly, desperate in every sense of the word. He sighed and got up from the couch to pour himself another cup of coffee, his third for the night--sleep was out of the question.

Nonna took his silence as an opportunity to clear the air. "Robin also said you're her best man."

"Mediocre is more accurate, I dunno about Best--"

"And you know it's tradition for the best man to have a date, right Stevie?" Nonna paused, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. "It's bad luck for him not to."

Steve snorted. "You definitely just made that up. Right now. On the phone." He could practically see the swipe of her manicured hand in his minds eye.

Could feel her taking a swig of gin, blotting her mouth with a napkin as she said, "Details. The point is, honey bunch--the homosexuals are getting married. Hell, Nancy's been married for three years to that patient stoner boy." The distant flick of a lighter filtered through the receiver. "What was his name again?"

"Jonathan," Steve said around a slice of pizza.

"Yup, that's the one. And even that scrawny kid with the law degree--"

"Mike," He scrubbed a hand across his face. Nonna tried to remember the names, but. In her words: there were too many fuckers to take seriously.

She snapped her fingers at the realization. Smug little shit.

"Uh-huh, even Harvard has a live in partner. Point is: they can get married. All of them in their nerdy, scrawny, pale faced glory. And if they can somehow find love, why can't you?"

Steve felt his checks go pink with embarrassment. Here he was, gobbling pizza in his living room though no one was around to see it, and.

There were about a trillion and one answers to that question.

Why can’t you.

As a rule, Steve tried not to mope his way through life. That's not to say that there weren't things to complain about--Steve kept an itemized list in his sock drawer, for Christ’s-sake, and liked to pull it out for a refresher when things were moving a little too well.

He was so uncool. The absolute lamest, whenever shit got hopeful.

For starters, he was twenty eight and still afraid of the dark. Call it the result of phantom trauma, call it good sense--he had to use the tiny flashlight on his phone when moving about his house after the sun fell from the sky.

Setting appointments over the phone was his worst night mare. He let the trash get smelly before taking it out to the bin and spiders took up entire rooms when they made an appearance in Steve's apartment. He slept in front of the T.V. most nights because his bed felt too big and too empty but perhaps the worse thing of all--dweebiness and general child like wonder aside--was that his Nonna had started to notice.

And Nonna was a powerful witch, but she wouldn’t be able to pick up on a rotting corpse if it was dead in her living room

Steve shrugged, remembering again that no one could see him. "There aren't any hopefuls on my list."

"None at all?" Nonna said in disbelief. "Come now. My grandson is strapping--handsome and smart and a wiz with potions and brews." Nonna fell silent for a moment, the soft puff-puff-puff of her cigarette reaching through the atmosphere like limbs from a tree.

Finally; "We could always find you a love spell, slip an elixir into someone's tea. Someone you fancy."

Steve snorted. "Right, because that'll do wonders in quelling the rumors that I'm a stage five clinger."

"Who's saying that?" Nonna demanded. "Give me a lock of their hair and I'll make sure they stop saying anything."

And Steve knew she would.

Nonna had hexed three kids for stealing his lunchbox in the fifth grade for a whole lot less, and he had no doubt she'd do it again.

Still. He was reluctant to spill the metaphorical beans. "Just, kids in high school,” Steve clarifies. “When I was with Nancy--"

"Doll, that was ten years ago. Ten years." Nonna said, her smoky voice cresting the height of annoyance. "Besides, clinginess is just another term for loving selflessly and fearlessly, even when it's inconvenient."

She lit another cigarette. "What would Nancy Wheeler know about that?"

--

There were rules that came with being a witch. An etiquette, you could say, specifics that sucked all the fun out of having unlimited power. In many cases witches weren't exposed to higher magicks--either for lack of skill or self-control.

Steve's family colored outside the lines, so to speak. 

Nonna believed that there was no such thing as white or black Magick--just spells.

Just desire and intent and power. Truckloads of it, all waiting at the tips of his fingers if he knew where to look, and Steve never got in trouble for following his gut instinct. Not when he turned Tommy H. into a frog, not when he used magick to cheat on tests, and certainly not when he hexed people who deserved it.

Thus a culture of independence emerged around the young witch. A steely belief that there was no right or wrong, only his will.

His design.

You could say that was the first mistake.

--

The first time Steve reanimated a corpse was the day his lizard died.

Corncob was his familiar, which made it immensely difficult to wrap his head around the possibility of death. Steve's mother said it was a bad omen, that he hadn't properly sorted his intent before casting and thus the energies had taken something from him as payment.

Nonna said it was just the way of life.

All God's creatures pass on, Stevie. God notwithstanding.

But it was a fact he refused to accept. Steve didn't eat for days after Corncob's passing, refraining from drinking water, even, as he figured out what to do.

No right.

No wrong.

Only his will.

So Steve broke into the attic. Wrapped himself in a corner stacked with books and manuscripts on darker subjects, read until it felt like his eyes were melting out of his skull. 

There among the cobwebs Steve got his answer; necromancy.

The world felt slippery in his mouth. Steve knew it was mostly forbidden, especially for younger witches, but the thick, leather bound volumes had said it was rather simple to reach through the veil and breathe life into those one couldn’t bare to part with.

To bend the rules to fit his will, Steve was desperate; familiars weren't supposed to leave their masters, and he missed his friend dearly.

So, a life for a life.

That was the price, the books said. Steve made sure to iron out his intent this time.

He planned for days; gathered supplies under the guise of mischief--simple spells like making someone's hair fall out--until the moon was waxing and he convinced his mother to let him cast during the witching hour--his first of many. The incantation was to be said right as the clock struck midnight. Thrice thine and thrice mine, and thrice again to make up nine--

Steve sliced his palm and let an offering of blood feed the energy of the night.

Come morning corncob was eating flies like nothing had happened. Talking, like always, like before. The books said sometimes the soul got trapped in the in-between, but. Steve didn't notice a difference and Nonna didn't ask questions.

She told him he was powerful.

She told him it was rare that a witch of his age had the fortitude to reach into the veil, and he should be proud that he had been given such a precious, valuable skill.

Nonna told him that death was his gift.

You could say that was the second mistake.

--

Steve couldn't get the conversation with Nonna out of his head.

Robin was getting married and he was desperate. Single and restless, undesirable and frumpy--a whole list of things--stuck in a big Scooby-doo house with manuscripts on Wichcraft and Embalming that definitely were no help in getting him laid. 

After Nonna turned in for the night Steve poured himself a glass of wine, which he drank over a book on potions.

He poured himself another to make it through an embalming session; the corpse had started to smell and it was gravely unpleasant.

Steve took a shower and drank another to help him fall asleep.

It didn't work.

He poured a fourth glass of merlot and sat in front of the fireplace with the bottle cradled to his chest.

It was true. 

Everyone in Steve's orbit had moved on. Found love and success beyond running a Mortuary and Steve had thought about returning his gift so many times. Apparently botany and hearth witches were hot on the ticket of romance; everyone wanted flowers and tea cakes from their lover but the gift of death--helping spirits cross over, providing relief to grieving families, reaching into the veil in his search for lost spirits--while practical in use, was too weird for many.

For most. Of the people Steve had dated, at least. 

No mater what, witch or mortal, the same complaints always arose; Embalming fluid is not a valid form of cologne! Reanimating dead opossums on the side of the road is Creepy and Gross when they start following us around, asking for food! Conversations with dead people are not appropriate when I take you to meet my parents!

All the attributes Steve possessed weren't high on most people's lists when looking for a suitor. It's not like there were many witches running around, and even then.

Necromancy could be frightening. 

What with the vengeful spirts and the gaping hellmouths ready to swallow unsuspecting mortals, but Steve's gift was useful. And valuable. He felt whole and helpful and good when he could help people process complicated topics like death and he felt.

Powerful.

So powerful when he could fix it for them; bring back a child who had died too soon, or a man who had passed before the birth of his son. The kind of rush he received--Steve was taught never to fear power but to take it. Wield it. Forge his own path, create his own story--

"I should build a boyfriend." Steve said suddenly. 

As wine dribbled down his chin, Corncob awoke from his terrarium in the corner, cocking his head to the side like ‘Pussy won't.’

"Pussy will, you fucking dick." Steve rose on shaky feet and pulled his manuscripts from the book case. Leafing through them recklessly even as the words slipped around the page, he ached to find the answer. Five glasses of wine would serve him well tonight. 

"I can't believe I never thought of this before." He stared at Corncob. "Why didn't you think of this before?"

The lizard stared at him, glassy eyes quizzical. ‘Don't look at me, I'll have none of your necromancy.’

"You choose now to harness a sense of mortality?" Steve tossed the first manuscript to the side and propped open a second, biting his lip as he scanned the index for his favorite passage.

‘What are you searching for?’

"The Abi-Dalzim passage." Steve lamented distantly. They knew it well, had employed it when the Markson twins died of cancer before their fifth birthday.

Corncob wasn't on board with it that time, even though the children's mother had stopped eating.

Corncob was never on board with anything.

He was a terrible familiar. ‘Is that really a good idea?’ The lizard reasoned.

Steve closed the second manuscript and opened the Demonomicon. Volatile energies worked best, sometimes. "Every idea is a good one."

Corncob's tongue flicked out to lick his eyeball. ‘We haven't exhausted our other options.’

And that.

That was laughable. "I haven't had a partner in over ten years, Corny." The light from his lamp flickered once. "If I was capable of meeting one the usual way I'd be married with kids by now.”

‘What's that round friend of yours always saying?’ Corncob feigned interest. “’Self worth is not determined by outside factors...’”

Steve couldn't believe he was taking advice from a lizard, Goblin or otherwise. "You eat arachnids for a living. Hardly one to judge."

‘Something could go wrong.’ Corncob lamented. ‘The air. It worries.’

Steve opened a third manuscript. "Worries how?"

Corncob fell silent. Thoughtfully brooding as Steve copied the specifics from the Abi-Dalzim passage.

A graven image.

A list of attributes.

A lock of human hair, and. An orb of Thesula.

‘We don't have access to a spirt orb.’ Corncob concluded. As if that would somehow stand in the way. ‘They're extremely difficult to locate--’

"Difficult but not impossible." Steve pocketed the list and shrugged on a coat. Fall in Hawkins was brutal, the leaves paving a way from unrelenting cold. "I'll go see Keith. He always has the hook ups."

‘You despise Keith.’

Steve shrugged. "I despise you as well, but here we are.”

Corncob stared at him thoughtfully. ‘You are a powerful and kind master. Perhaps love will find you.’

Steve was almost moved.

Almost touched, to his very core, but he had grown tired of sleeping in this house alone. Had grown weary of filling out dating profile after dating profile only to be rejected for oozing outside a rigid set of standards, and.

Why wait?

The last of the single girls was leaving him. Marrying the mortal love of her life and Steve didn't see a reason to show up to the wedding without a date, when he could build one for free.

Why leave it to fate when Steve had the power?

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, and perhaps not." He held open the lapel of his jacket, exposing the pocket Corncob lived in when they ran errands together. "Now are you coming or what."

The lizard sighed. Big and dramatic and so bratty that Steve almost regretted bringing him back to life.

‘Alright, have it your way,’ the lizard told him, ‘But I'm going to complain the entire time.’

--

Keith was insufferable and not just because he was a vengeance demon.

They had done business together countless times. Keith always came to Steve whenever he needed payment from a recently deceased customer and Steve kept Keith’s Cart of Mysteries in business by purchasing all of his stolen goods. 

The guy had everything loaded into the back of his Dodge Neon; from enchanted rabbits feet to vials of blood from the holy lands, Steve's least favorite underwordling was the hottest ticket in Hawkins for any and everything Dark Arts.

And he was an asshole.

A stingy, self righteous asshole who just so happened to have exactly what Steve needed and of course was choosing tonight to be difficult.

On a full moon.

During the height of the witching hour.

"How do I know you won't break it?" Keith snatched the orb to his chest, eyebrows drawn in a grimace.

Steve so didn't have time for this shit. "What?" He was freezing, hugging his arms to his chest. "It's made of solid glass, you're telling me this thing is--"

"Yes. Thesula's are fragile. Practically shatter when placed in the wrong hands, and this is my only one 'til Tuesday, so." Keith polished the thing on the lapel of his jacket, just to be an even bigger dick. "How do I know you'll use it correctly?"

Steve blinked. "Because my incantation requires a--"

"Do you even know a Thesula's intended purpose?" Keith preened. "To retrieve souls from the veil. Any ol' soul you want or happen by and Thesula will call it fourth, no hidden fees and no take backs. Easy peasy."

Keith blew a raspberry and Steve? He wanted to scream. "Just sell it to me."

"Ask nicely."

"No." Steve concluded. Absolutely not. He gestured to the sky, eyebrows lifting in mock humor. "Kinda running on a clock, here, so--"

"What're you using it for?" Keith leaned against the trunk of his car.

"Like fuck I'm telling you."

The vengeance demon grinned. “If you want my orb bad enough you will."

And.

Shit.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Robin's getting married."

Keith immediately brightened. The two of them were friends, though Steve didn't really understand why. Vengeance demons could turn on you at the drop of a hat but he assumed the guy liked Robin's wit. Her spunk, maybe, and she was the spunkiest witch by far.

"Oh, Mazel Tov." Keith told him.

Steve held out his hand. "Yup, I'll pass along the message, so--"

Keith smirked. "Riddle me this." He tossed the Thesula in the air, catching it with a rough crack to his palm. "A satanic necromancer owns a morgue and comes downtown in search of a sprit orb. He finds one, thank his lucky stars, and discloses that his best friend is getting married."

"I don't uh." Steve was humiliated. "I don't think--"

"This warlock has a knack for raising the dead. Solving the inconvenient issue of mortality, the whole town knows it. Hell, the whole world knows it, I mean." Keith whistled, low and hard as he pocketed the orb again. "Guy's a big wig. But he has trouble with romance."

The vengeance demon stared at him. "What are you planning to do."

And Steve was desperate.

He sucked his teeth. "I'm building a--"

"You're building yourself a boyfriend." Keith said hysterically, like it was the funniest thing on Earth, and.

In a way it was.

He tossed the Thesula to Steve without warning, laughing harder when he nearly dropped it on the ground.

"Fuck," Steve winced. It was lighter than he had expected, glowing bright blue in the palm of his hand. "What's that mean?"

Keith looked away from packing his stuff, pushing the hair out of his eyes with another whistle.

"Means the God's are guiding you on your journey," the demon said casually.

Like the whole thing was casual.

Steve felt every bit like King Arthur as he fumbled for his wallet.

Keith stopped him. "Free of charge."

Which.

"Nice try," Steve chuckled. He fished a couple hundreds from his wallet, handing them over with a wink. "I'll be sure to credit you."

"Nah, no way." Keith pocketed the money with a vigorous shake of his head. "When your little boy toy goes wacko and eats half the town I don't want it getting out that I'm the one who made it happen."

Steve slid the orb into his pocket, forcing Corncob to shuffle in his perch. "Thanks again."

Keith waved dismissively, returning to the pile of garbage he was trying to fit in his trunk.

"Oh, and Steve!"

He turned around, confused.

Keith grinned. "Give him a smooch for me."

--

Steve had thought a lot about what he wanted in a boyfriend. Who he'd like to come home to after a long day and it was easy to envision the man he was going to create.

A being who was smart and strong, beautiful in the sense that it was insulting. Kind in a way that wasn't overt--sweet in a way that complimented himself and as he sat down to sketch an image Steve knew exactly what he was going for.

He made a point in outlining his desires.

Thought for hours about his intention--true love, someone to share his life with--and the orb glowed blue.

The Gods were smiling down on him and Steve tried not to let it go to his head as the the clock struck three. He situated himself in the embalming room. Lit candles, laid out his supplies for the evening and began.

On a metal slab he had fashioned a man made of clay.

The shape was vaguely human. Shorter than Steve but stockier around the middle--beefier.

Corncob chortled. ‘Twink.’

"Shut up," Steve mumbled. The lizard quieted instantly as Steve pressed the orb through the center of its chest, watching as the bluish hue lit the clay man from the inside. "His essence consume." Steve said.

Corncob swallowed, movement palpable in the thick air.

"Ready?"

As we'll ever be, I suppose.

Steve spoke in a loud, clear voice.

--

He awoke in bed. Sunlight streaming through the open window, birds singing--the whole nine yards. Steve tossed a pillow over his head and burrowed deeper under the covers because fuck this.

Fuck all of it, until--

Something was laying next to him in bed.

Something warm and solid, a thick wall of muscle shifting closer and closer still; "You are done sleeping, now?"

Steve peeked out from behind his pillowcase.

Blue eyes the color of high noon stared right back at him. Blonde ringlets spread across the bed tickled Steve's neck as his creation smiled, plush pink lips curving with secret warmth. His eyelashes practically touched Steve's from where they were pressed together, and. Holy shit.

Holy fuck, he was beautiful.

So beautiful it hurt, and. 

The clay man pried the pillow from Steve's hands and sat up, his muscular shoulders catching the sunlight in a frilly of sculpted ridges. He blinked his pretty blue eyes, taking in the bedroom as he turned to watch Steve fall apart against the mattress.

Steve swallowed. "You. Um. Gorgeous. Very, um. Hot." Nice. Very smooth.

The man smiled, soft and sweet. "Thank you.”

Which.

Steve scrambled into a sitting position, back hitting the headboard with a painful Crack.

"You can talk?"

"I learned how, hearing your thoughts," The clay man said, blue eyes rolling to look at the ceiling. "You made me in your image."

Steve snorted. He gestured to the guy's whole thing; the muscles and the long blond hair and those pecks, Jesus Christ.

"No, um. I wish." Steve chuckled.

The clay man grinned wider at that, eyes sparkling like Steve was something special.

Something beautiful.

He sat on his knees, the silk blanket falling in a heap around him and--

"Holy shit, you're." Steve covered his eyes. "You're naked um. Do you--"

The man started climbing up the mattress.

Holy fuck.

Steve could feel the bounce of it, the jostling of his weight as he settled on Steve's thighs with a coo, and.

Holy--god, in heaven--

Steve was instantly hard when the man tugged at his wrists. When blondie pulled Steve's hands away to show his face.

Steve peeked at him through one eye. "Do you want some? Clothes, or."

The man was watching him. Just staring, eyes wide and cheeks pink as Steve tripped over himself to get a grip. He brushed his fingers over Steve's mouth softly. Pressing to make him stop, to shut him up.

"You are good." The man said.

"Huh?" Steve wished he had the vocabulary to understand this moment because it felt heavy.

Massive, as the Man's fingers moved to cup his jaw. To tilt his face toward the light.

His brow furrowed around the thought. He parted Steve's lips with his thumb, eyes glued to the tender pink muscle of Steve's tongue as he muttered, "Let me kiss you."

And.

Steve tried to speak around the finger in his mouth. "I don't--"

The man inhaled at the feeling of Steve's tongue sliding over the pad of his finger. He shushed him, hinging Steve's jaw open with more force than necessary.

Steve thought distantly that he liked it.

"Let me taste you." The man said.

Holy fuck.

Holy-- "I don't even know your name." Steve whimpered pathetically. Because it was important to him. That this creature, this man, had an identity.

A personhood.

The man frowned. "I am yours." He leaned forward to mouth at Steve's neck, as if to prove it.

He only succeeded in making Steve think with his dick.

"Right, but I could, uh." He moaned softly at the sweet drag of teeth against his throat. "I could be yours, too--"

"You are mine."

"Yeah, that's um. That's alright with me, no complaints here, it's just--" Lips on his chest. His stomach. His thighs. Steve couldn't think straight.

He yelped when the man licked at the cotton of his boxers.

Right over his cock, teeth hot and breath warm, and--

Steve pulled him up by his shoulders.

The man frowned, hurt flickering and cracking on his face like candle light. "Do you not want me to claim you?"

Holy fuck.

Steve swallowed. "No, I. God, I want." The man leaned in again, eyes hungry on Steve's mouth. He stopped him with a gentle hand to the chest. "I have to get through this part, okay? Will you. Could you listen to me for a moment?"

The man nodded, sitting back on his ankles to reveal a thick, pink head trapped between the skin of his legs.

Steve forced himself to press on.

"It's important to me that you have a name. Because you aren't mine." His face fell. Steve grasped at him, desperate. "I mean you are. We belong to each other. As equals. You can live here, with me, if that's what you want. And I can help you see the world. I don't own you. That's what I'm saying."

"Maybe I want to be owned."

And Steve hadn't expected that.

"You're ten hours old, you have a lot to learn." He swallowed thickly, ignoring the ache between his legs.

"Did you not create me so I could be of service?" The man asked.

And. "Yeah, so I wouldn't be alone."

It was pathetic, admitting it out loud. Steve felt tears swamp his vision--he bit his cheek to make them go away. "I wanted to prove that someone could love me. My friend's getting married and I didn't want to show up without a date, and." Steve looked up, into those pretty blue eyes and felt like the worst kind of person. "Shit, this was a bad idea. I was being selfish."

The man shook his head. "It is not selfish to crave love and companionship."

"I don't want to take advantage of you," Steve said thickly. "I never should have--"

"You do not have to worry about that." He leaned forward and placed a hand on Steve's chest. "Your heart is pure. Clean."

As if that explained it all. Steve watched him, tracking the movement of those eyes across his face.

"I was made in that image," The man concluded.

Steve hung his head.

It was true, what they said about him. Steve was power hungry, pathetic, clingy. The worst of the worst and add God Complex to that list; you could create a clone of the worst person alive. Steve wanted desperately to disappear as a gentle hand moved his face toward the light once more.

The man smiled. "You are kind and fair and good. Let me be yours. Please."

"It wouldn't be right."

"I am giving myself to you because I love you." Those lips said. Steve relished the sweet slide of skin over skin as the man climbed into his lap. "What will it take for you to give yourself to me?"

Steve sighed. Opened his mouth to accept gentle, sloppy kisses from a gentle creature.

Steve pulled away. "We could start with names? I'm Steve," He said, reaching out a hand. The man kissed his knuckles.

"Who should I be?"

Steve shrugged. "Anything you like."

He allowed himself to be lowered to the mattress. Allowed the man to suck and kiss at his neck until, with a breath as soft as summer air;

"You can call me Billy."

[sam-glade]

Happy STS, Sam! Has writing a character ever inspired you to try something new? (Like you know a character loves birch beer which you've never had so you go out and buy some? Or they knit so you try to learn?) How'd it go?

Happy STS, Vee!

Ha. You have no idea.

When it comes to crafts, it's usually the other way round. I dabbled with a lot of hobbies, trying things out, so now when I need to give a character some task to occupy them, I draw on what I've tried in the past.

Other things that I was inspired to do, which I've never done before, because of writing - worldbuilding more than character though - is making a trip to a particular section of the national museum (photos of historical garments do NOT convey how shiny they are) or spending a day at the local university's library, figuring out how to gain access to the reading room and navigate the collections.

But the biggest thing is COOKING. Now, cooking is the one constant hobby that I never get tired of. Spending 2-3 hours on Saturday and Sunday each preparing dinner is standard for me and my spouse. And while we cook dishes from a variety of cuisines, one thing that was definitely prompted by my writing, was digging up centuries-old recipes and trying them out. Fortunately, we had a lot of equipment already, like cast iron skillets and pans, and a fire pit to outdoors. Also, where we live, home cooking is fairly common, so things like very specific grades of flour or various dairy products or lard are really easy to get. That includes things like roasts or cutlets in gravy.

Two most recent examples are:

coffee sweetened with honey (sugar is hard to come by in the setting of Days of Dusk). I like it. The aroma of honey doesn't overpower the smell of coffee by any means, but it is there in the background and it makes coffee so much richer

apple pies and tarts made with reinette gris apples. It's a variety of apples that keep coming up in my reading, both in recipes and classical fiction, I'm pretty sure it was described as early as mid-19th century, and it STILL EXISTS. It's a late variety, so it's usually sold in January-February, but I haven't seen it as readily available as this year - it must has been particularly good for apples, so I must have eaten at least 4 kg of it over the course of a month. They're medium-sized apples, fairly hard, with matte green-grey skin which feels a little rough. Perfect for pies and jams.

Pictures under cut.

[cestdanslatete]

Elle qui me demande "Et quand est-ce que tu te refais une couleur ?" (ndlr : mes racines grises refont surface (un non-événement pour moi, à la base)), c'est la même dynamique que mon père qui me demandait "et tes bagues, quand est-ce qu'on te les retire ?" à chaque fois qu'il me revoyait. Et encore… les bagues, c'est évident qu'on va me les enlever, un jour. Mais mes cheveux… c'est si dingue de se dire qu'on peut dealer avec ses cheveux gris ? Toujours ce double standard ("les hommes, ça leur va bien"), ces projections & insécurités que les gens balancent sur vous, même quand ce n'est pas sollicité.

[operation-priority]

Tankiste during Vehicle Maintenance

This is an impression of a French tank crewman working on their vehicle during maintenance time. Any 'free time' the tank crews had was in the form of vehicle maintenance and ensuring that their vehicle was fully operational for the next fight. While the workshop section within a company was tasked with larger repairs, it was up to the crews to maintain their vehicle in a fit-to-fight state. For this task the crews were issued tank working overalls (modern terminology would call this a coverall) to be worn over the standard light blue uniform. These were either commandeered from the civilian realm or old regulation models, which would result in several different appearances of the same style garment. Some would be one piece like the one depicted here, while others were of a two piece style. Colors also varied, from white, to off-white, to tan, to cachou, and dark blue. After the war in 1919 it was codified that the dark blue variants were to become the regulation model because these would show the least amount of vehicle oil and other debris. This particular variant is in a cachou color and features a left breast pocket, Equipements Militaires buttons, and a standing collar. Two EM buttons on the front of the chest allowed for the placement of a rank tab, denoting the rank of Corporal. The civilian black beret would often be worn during maintenance, as well as the Ceinturon Modèle 1903 modifié 1914 without any gear looped on it. The patches of light blue wool on the coveralls are repair patches due to usage rips throughout the uniform.

The display photos show a Boîte à Munitions (Ammunition Box) which of course would carry the crew's ammunition supply. On the top of the box is five Cartouche de 8 mm Modèle 1886 à balle D for the Renault FT's 8 mm Hotchkiss Modèle 1914 Heavy Machine Gun as well as one Cartouche à Obus en fonte Modèle 1888 which was the most common 37 mm round for the Renault FT's Puteaux 37 SA Modèle 1918 cannon. In the background is a periscope painted in Gris Artillerie and while not issued to tank crews, this type of periscope was an incredibly common sight within the trenches. Beside the ammunition create is a brass Pyrene Fire Extinguisher. These models came standard in tanks out of the factory with every Renault FT equipped with one Pyrene Fire Extinguisher underneath the driver's seat.

The second display photo depicts a Renault FT section maneuver on a small target per doctrine scribed on a chalkboard slate. Many household items like these would be commandeered and pressed into service within the French Army. Behind this is a photograph of Renault FT during the 1919 Bastille Day Parade. This parade would be extensively photographed and many other pictures would feature these Renault FTs moving through the Arc de Triomphe and down the parade route. Further back is a fully intact post-war Renault FT souvenir inkwell. These were very popular inkwells that often made appearances on the more enthusiastic AS officer's desk. While these two items are post-war pieces, both provide a glimpse into how important the AS and the Renault FT was in bringing final victory to the French Army and shows some ways they were celebrated post-war. Finally, behind these pieces is a regulation pair of glasses with its matching case. Regulation glasses could be purchased by the soldiers in military bazaars along with other various small kit items tailored to soldiers.

[arsenic-the-fae]

Heya!

I wrote a free verse poem in my fral class today and think it's pretty cool :)

(I have to translate it to English, so it might sound a lil funky)

It talks about my experience of theater and assimilating to neurotypical life, then finding a queer space where I felt welcome

Masks

All of my hobbies are ones where I pretend to be someone else

People like to tell me this says something about me

I agree with their observations

I play a marketeer, a waiter, a goblin

I can be an enchantress, an evil soldier, and a theif

I wear the mask of my desires

When I enter the stage, or sit at the table, I am no longer restricted by the expectations of society

I am not expected to conform to the expectations of others

I use hundreds of costumes, and millions of personalities

I wear the mask of my desires

I leave the stage

I am surrounded by support and friends

My classmates and our crew

I am filled with joy, it feels real and welcoming

I don't need a mask

Then I leave the theater

Strangers surround me

I've spoiled the moment of euphoria

I begin to drown in regular life

Work, responsibilities, the standard life

I become a worker for society

I wear the mask of their desires

It's not normal to jump with joy, to infuse your life with magic

They tell me to stop, that I am a stranger if I do that

They make me what they want

For me to wear their mask

I hate these masks

We are meant to be different and beautiful

I go to a masquerade

There is hundreds of masks of every color, shape and size

They are beautiful

I pass a mirror and see my own mask

The gray has cracked, and beneath I see rainbows and feathers

I see sequins and music

I am beautiful

I wear my own mask

Bonus: the original French version

(It's my second language so it may not have the best grammar)

Les Masques

Tous mes loisirs sont les choses ou je jou comme un autre personne

Les personnes m'ont dis que ca dit quelque chose à propos de moi

Je suis d'accord avec cet observation

Je joue un marketeur, un serveur, un magicien, un lutin.

Je pouvais être un chanteur magique, un soldat maléfique,  un voleur

Je porte un masque de mes desires

Quand j’entre l'étage, ou le table, je n’ont pas besoin d’etre restricter par les expectations de société

C’est pas expecter de conformer a les expectations des autres

J'utilise les centains de costumes, les milliers de personnalités

Je porte un masque de mes desires

Je quitte l'étage

Je suis entouré du support et les amis

Mes camarades de classe, notre équipe d'étage,

Le joi m’en remplis, c’est vrai et accueillant

Je n’ont pas besoin d’un masque

Je quitte le théâtre

Les étrangers m'entourent

Je gâche le moment d’euphorie

Je commence à noyer en le vie standarde

Le travaille, les responsibilities, la vie

Je devenir un travailleur pour le societe

Je porte le masque de leurs désires

C’est pas normale de saute avec joi, d’enfuse le magique en ton vie

Ils me dit d’arrete, que je suis un etranger si je fait ca

Ils me forment a ce qu’ils veulent

D’avoir les masques identiques

Je deteste les masques comme ca

Les masques devrait être différent et beau

J’entre un bal masquer

Il y a des centains de masques de chaque couleur, taille, et forme

Ils sont beaus

Je passe un miroire et voire mon masque

Le gris est craquer, et dessous je vois les couleurs et les plumes

Je vois les paillettes et la musique

C’est beau

Je porte ma propre masque

[raichett]

2 prompts (you don’t have to do both I just couldn’t decide which cause I liked both of these fics lol)

cosmic cat-astrophe: how does Jellie settle into life aboard the Monopoly with Scar and Grian?

or

it’s not quite narnia: how is the Vex king taking to the new (cute) human gatekeeper?

Went with the first prompt as I have another asker after more "Well It's Not Quite Narnia, But -"

This flash fic can be found as the second chapter in my fic Cosmic Cat-astrophe on AO3.

–

NEST

Jellie, despite looking very much like a slightly-too-large domestic cat, is not, in fact, a cat. Like, at all. Scar knew this, of course – the sight of her eating that giant rock snake thing whole is kind of hard to forget – but sometime between bringing her on board the Monopoly and now, he’d managed to get comfortable enough that the sight before him is throwing him a little.

“I think it’s a nest,” Grian remarks, poking at the edge of it. Jellie, curled proudly in the centre, rumbles a sound that’s a bit too growly to be a purr, but is pretty much the same thing. Not aggressive, at any rate.

“I liked this waistcoat,” Scar says, sadly, tugging at the edge of a rich red velvet number he’s had for years, now twisted and entwined in the nest made of clothes Jellie has built in the back of one of the storerooms. It doesn’t pull free, and Scar gives it up when Jellie’s eyes flash, unwilling to make her unhappy.

“Yeah, well. I don’t think you’re getting it back.” Grian reaches out and strokes Jellie’s soft head. “You had us hunting for weeks for our missing things,” he accuses her. “We would have gotten you fabrics and stuff at the last spaceport if we knew you wanted them.”

Jellie butts her head up into his palm, kneading her little claws – black, not pale like an Earth cat – into the nest contentedly. She leans down to bite at one of the sleeves in the bottom of the nest, pulling it up and across her front paws, burying her nose in it.

“Is it the scent?” Scar wonders. “Like, she wants our things ‘cause they’re ours?”

“Maybe.” Grian scratches behind Jellie’s ears. “But this is definitely a nest – she’s not a bird, though. I think some mammals make nests; mice and the like.”

“Gri, I don’t think Jellie can be called a mammal,” Scar replies, lightly teasing, watching Jellie yawn at the scratches and expose teeth that really aren’t quite… right. “In fact, I distinctly remember lots of tentacles. You know, I don’t think it really matters; she’s got a nest and that’s that. We’ll just have to go clothes shopping when we meet up with Scott and Jimmy again.”

“Oh, goodness, Scott and Jimmy,” Grian groans. “This is going to be one heck of a tale. Okay, okay – Jellie? In the next few days we’re going to meet up with a couple of friends of ours, and I’m going to need you not to eat them. I know Jimmy looks tasty, and he squeals a lot, but he’s not prey, okay? You got that?”

Jellie mrrows in response. Scar rubs the underside of her fluffy chin with one finger, watching as she leans into him, her eyes slipping closed, as close to blissed out as a cat – or cat-like being – can get. “I think that’s the best we’re gonna get,” he says.

“Jimmy’s gonna freak out no matter what,” Grian sighs. “They were talking about getting a cat – a real one – next time they ended up near Earth. He loves them – they both do.”

“Perfect!” Scar beams. “Jellie can make a friend. You know, I’m still pretty sure she came with us because she was lonely on that asteroid. The giant space rock snake things were not the best conversationalists, she tells me.”

Grian rolls his eyes. “If she starts actually telling you anything, I would be – something. Don’t know what, but something.”

“You’ll be the first to know if Jellie starts revealing eldritch knowledge,” Scar promises. “But until then, I think I should go get her dinner. She’s developed a liking for toast and scrambled egg. She’s becoming a lady of culture.”

“Toast and scrambled egg is culture?” Grian asks, sceptically. “It’s just standard breakfast food.”

“When we next get the chance I’m seeing if she likes salmon, too,” Scar says. “Then it really will be cultured.”

“Change the eggs from scrambled to poached and you’re on the right track,” Grian retorts. He stands up from his kneel on the floor next to Jellie’s nest, popping his back and rolling his shoulders. “Happy to hear she’s expanded from eating all of our raw meat, though.”

“Variety is the spice of life.” Scar stands up, too, slower than Grian and more carefully. His knees ache something fierce and he thinks longingly of the painkillers in the medicine box back in their quarters. “Stay here and take a nap, Jellie,” he coos down at her. “We’ll see you later.” It’s likely, at least: Jellie has grown fond of sleeping at the end of their bed.

She purrs at them in agreement, low and growly and content, and Scar and Grian leave her to her nap.

[katenepveu]

I went to the Met yesterday—as I already noted regarding the bowl with feet and ladle with legs—and I am going to attempt to force Tumblr's post editor to do my will so that I can upload pictures here rather than futz with my own webhost.

This will be long, so if you don't want to see Van Gogh paintings, contemporary art, and various bits and pieces, don't hit "Expand."

First is the exhibit Van Gogh's Cypresses, which I'm afraid closes tomorrow. I did not take a picture of The Starry Night because it's one of the most famous paintings in the world and I didn't think my camera phone was going to add anything to the discussion. However, I regret that slightly now because standard photographs don't do the thickness of the paint justice, so that was really interesting to see up close. (It's on loan from MoMA, which has a virtual exhibition about it that may give an idea of its dimensionality; I'll look later or I'll never finish this.) It was also interesting to be looking at it in the context of cypresses, specifically; I'd never really focused much on the foregrounded trees because the stars are so overwhelming, but the exhibition's referring to the trees as "flamelike" made me notice the reddish parts of the trees, which seemed a lot more vivid in person.

It was also interesting to see The Starry Night just after Field with Poppies, as the exhibition notes that Van Gogh "classed this work with The Starry Night 'as exaggerations from the point of view of the arrangement,' dependent on 'lines [that] are contorted,'" because to me it doesn't seem nearly as exaggerated.

The similarities with the work on the other side of The Starry Night, Wheat Field with Cypresses, was a lot easier to see. It was painted the same month, and the exhibition calls it a "stunning daytime rejoinder."

Interestingly, the above was painted outdoors (in plein air); he later made a "definitive version" in his studio, and I personally think the thinner paint made it much less interesting, for all that the colors are brighter.

Speaking of thick paint and working in plein air, there was next Cypresses, also painted the same month as The Starry Night and the first Wheat Field; the glare on my picture below is both bad and possibly gives a suggestion of how three-dimensional it is. The exhibition says that there are "scores of pebbles and vegetal matter embedded in the paint surface," which I tried to find in the close-up also below, but couldn't identify with any certainty.

Finally for things I particularly liked in this exhibition, my picture of Two Poplars in the Alpilles near Saint-Rémy may have a bit of glare, but the linked picture doesn't seem to convey just how eye-catching those poplars are in person.

And now for some random things!

This lizard buddy is, by process of elimination from the labels in the case, an Imperial Hand Seal by Fabergé, though sadly the Met doesn't have its own picture:

I very much liked the face of The Old Actress, by Max Beckmann:

I dug these Futurist & Cubist works, all from 1913-14: Development of a Bottle in Space, Umberto Boccioni; The Man at the Café, Juan Gris; Dancer = Propeller = Sea, Gino Severini; and Coney Island, Joseph Stella.

I didn't quite connect with all of the works in the exhibition Cecily Brown: Death and the Maid, but I did like this set, consisting of (clockwise from top left): Untitled (Vanity), ca. 2007; Gossip (after G. A. Wotherspoon), ca. 2007; Untitled (Sled), ca. 2006; Untitled (Aujourd'hui Rose), ca. 2005; and Untitled (Vanity), ca. 2007.

And wildly discontinuous in time (as in, from about 350 BC), but: look at this face! (Of God Horus Protecting King Nectanebo II, specifically.)

Two big cats in the same case: a leopard by an Edo artist from the city-state of Benin c. 1550-1680, and a lion cub carved out of quartzite that's about five thousand years old. (The Met's official picture of the leopard doesn't do the leopard's face justice, which is why I've included two views. Alas, I omitted from the second picture SteelyKid standing next to the sculpture making the same face.)

Finally, some extremely good finials from Java dating from the late 9th or early 10th century: from left to right, with a Kinnari; with lions and Makaras; and with a Makara disgorging a lion (sadly the Met's pictures are not much better than mine).

And that's all I have! Which is a lot less than usual for me in a big art museum, honestly, but I was with family.

Edit: I forgot, I stopped very very briefly in the Afrofuturist Period Room which deserved way more time than I could give it (and my pictures weren't any good, which is why I forgot), but the Met's page on the exhibition is actually useful, unlike its page on the Cecily Brown exhibition.

[exsanguinated-doves]

I've taken a break from game developing due to some personal matters which rose, but I am back. Unfortunate for everyone, am I right? XD

Anyways, I was scrolling through Can I Play That: which had great accessibility guides for game developers, especially how to broaden their audience with accessible features to make it more friendly to as much people as possible.

Game Maker's toolkit also has a wonderful tutorial playlist talking about how to implement accessibility in your game.

I am working and developing the game (Diospereō) with accessibility in mind, and I'd like to work on these key features to go along with it:

Easy to understand guidelines (helpful tutorials)

Subtitles. SUBTITLES. (Obviously there will be subtitles in the game, because there's no voice acting, but to change the size, color, display the name/who's speaking, etc etc needs to be implemented.)

Trigger warnings/content warnings for upsetting scenes beforehand (Though, the game will be like Omori, which can be quite upsetting for a lot of people already)

For colorblind people, it would not be very hard for them to play the game I'm making normally, but because the game, like Gris, also focuses a lot on color to resemble different emotions, I'm afraid it won't have enough impact with the story because I'm mostly focusing on the visuals. I'm going to go to the Battlefield route and just make the palette different colours depending on what the player would like. (Or just go with a time saving option and go with light orange and dark blue.)

Audio: everything should be able to changed, including sound effects, ambience, music, cinematic scenes.

Special Effect, AbleGamers and Microsoft's adaptive controller are all tools that people with motor disabilities can use to better optimize their gameplay experience, and I hope I can test the game with one, someday.

Full remapping of controls will be possible, because it's a standard, and also because I'm not the biggest fan of WASD.