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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

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Writing Prompt #5—The Last Time He Saw Her

This prompt was conceived from another random journal prompt I pulled off the internet. I won't say it now because I would hate to give any context that would ruin the surprise below but, it is clear to me there are certain emotions I like writing in. I wonder what that says about me! This is a brand new character I had started to create after Jason, my supportive husband, read my Ellius/William entry; we were playing a new video game and he named his character Aullius. "You know, like if Ellius had a brother!" It made me stupidly happy that not only was he thinking about Ellius days after he read that entry but, he loved him enough to think..."what if he had a brother." So, while his name isn't Aullius, this character was inspired by the thought. To be clear, this character is not related to Ellius but they do exist in the same world and who knows, maybe one day they'll cross paths. Then again, we can't have two beautiful men in the same story, it would just be too much of a good thing. Enjoy Aurelian here, who knows where else we'll find him.

Aurelian was a man of the sea. A man with great aspirations and a noble heart. The city from which he hailed was smaller than the rest, but its value was paramount. Telios, the only realm of its kind, placed upon the vast and unexplored sea; it served as the main importer of fish and thus caused many other cities to sign trading agreements in order to feast upon the savory salted fish and other delicacies of the sea. Aurelian was of noble blood, son to the Archduke of Telios—Cedric Swyer. The boy was raised upon the wooden deck of his father’s ships, with men as strong as the wind that howled through their sails. As a babe, Aurelian wished for nothing more than to be upon the battlefield like the knights that occasionally paraded through the streets of their city. The Teliosi had no formal knighthood, a guard perhaps, that watched the borders of their town and meandered through the streets at night on the lookout for thieves or mischievous travelers. Aurelian looked at those men and scrunched his nose, they paled in comparison to the men who visited their home, clad from head to toe in the most dazzling suits of armor, with swords as big as he! How he wished to don the tabard of his home, to fly the crest of his family upon a flag he held as he stormed the meadows of an enemy kingdom!

As he grew, Aurelian cared not for the politics of trade and often snubbed his father’s attempts at teaching him “the business.” Instead, his thirst for adventure led him to stow away on boats only to appear once the vessel had lost sight of the shores. The men aboard could not deny the use of a pair of young hands and the young man did not work against his will, he was eager to take up rope and heave the mighty blue sails open. Sometimes, Aurelian would gaze up at them, the azure hues of his eyes as stormy and deep as the waters that churned beneath them. The thickly embroidered anchor, a striking white against the darker color stood out even in the mightiest of storms. Aurelian’s young mind wandered, making up stories of how other passing vessels—the few there were, probably ran in fear of their brilliant sails! The men around him would laugh to themselves.

“Ah yes my boy, there is no greater threat upon the sea than our mighty fishing ships!” They would play into Aurelian’s imagination and only added fuel to his dreams.

Whenever Aurelian would return home, he knew what waited for him upon the docks that housed their ships. The Archduke himself would stand with arms crossed and a booted foot tapping upon the ground as he sighed and shook his head. The crew would apologize deeply, but the Archduke never blamed them—only his unruly son.

“What example are you setting for the rest of the nobility in this city hm?” His father grabbed at the back of his shirt, carrying him like a feral cat at the nape of his neck. “For your sister!” He would carry on. The youngest Swyer, the beautiful Amelia, looked so much like Aurelian they could have been twins if not for the difference in age. In the privacy of their own chambers, Amelia would question her brother endlessly.

“What sorts of fish did you see? Were there any storms? How about pirates!” The young girl craved the open waters as much as her brother after hearing how emphatically he spoke about them. It was as if he was privy to some magical land, she had yet to be invited to. Amelia would sit before him, nodding in excitement as he described another fishing vessel they had passed, with gorgeous burgundy sails and a golden lion emblazoned upon them. “Hilyon!” She exclaimed, only for her brother to laugh.

“Yes, of course! Oh, what I would not give to have been born there. Fishing ships and a prestigious knighthood.”

“You could be a knight and a fisherman!” Amelia clapped her hands, feeding off the energy between them as they laughed and dreamed until they fell asleep before the roaring fireplace.

Their talks often went in such a way after Aurelian was dragged back home after one of his grand adventures. One morning, when he was plotting another escape, he warned Amelia of his plans—something he did not often do but, he needed help in distracting his father. With each passing day, he grew more and more strict, watchful of Aurelian’s every move. Enthusiastic to be involved, Amelia bowed her head in and listened to his instructions. By midday, Aurelian’s plan was set into action, and away he flew toward the docks the moment his father’s attention was elsewhere, with his sister. Just as his feet were about to hit the familiar creaking planks of the harbor, he was stopped. The person who spoke with him was not altogether known but the features of their face were reminiscent. Aurelian stood, anxious to leave but he participated in the idle chat. It was just another fellow looking to get word to the Archduke about…something…a new type of fishhook? Aurelian was not paying attention, his eyes followed the blue sails that began to move; it was not the wind that shook them no, they were leaving!

“So sorry, please excuse me, sir!” The young boy exclaimed as he took off, feet thundering upon the docks as he tried to make for the ship before it swam out too far. Aurelian almost jumped out into the water but, they were too far gone already. “Gah!” Aurelian slapped his thigh and leaned forward, hands resting on either leg as he panted and hung his head.

“Aurelian!” His head popped up at the faraway voice. “Brother!” Aurelian beheld the sight of Amelia upon the boat, waving her arms and dancing in a circle as she giggled. That laugh echoed over the waters, sloshing up against the pier with the waves and sinking into Aurelian’s heart.

“Amelia!” Aurelian was not sure what seized him, but his throat was tight and his chest heavy. “Come back here right now!” He screamed, praying that the breeze carried his words to her.

“I’m going on an adventure to see the Hilyon ships! To brave the storms!” The young one was found shortly by one of the crew, but the ship was too large to turn with ease. It would set them back in time and they would miss the ideal conditions for their trip. Amelia would stay aboard. Aurelian sunk to his knees, sitting back upon his heels as he watched the ship fade away, a sickening feeling crawling up his spine.

The boy would have waited there for days if not for his father. The Archduke appeared at dusk.

“I’ve been looking all over for you Aurelian,” he sighed, exasperated. “Is your sister not with you? She has been missing all day!” When he received no response and saw the way Aurelian sat, solid, unmoving, the Archduke followed his gaze out to sea. The sky. It was dark, not simply because the sun was beginning to set, black clouds had formed and begun to swell with the tide. “Aurelian,” his father breathed, beginning to realize—hoping he was wrong. “Aurelian!” The Archduke grabbed his son’s shoulders, pulled up to his feet, and clutched his shirt at the front. “Tell me where Amelia is!”

Aurelian could not find the words. Tears welled in his eyes and his lips hung open in fear. Rain began to drip down, the sky opening seam by seam. The Archduke pulled Aurelian into his chest and held him tightly as he gazed out to sea.

That was the last time he saw her.

The Teliosi ship never returned. Days later another ship was sent out and after days of searching, a single torn sail was recovered along with the floating remnants of wood, splintered and broken. Aurelian and his father both waited at the harbor and when the men returned and placed the pieces of wood, wrapped within the ragged sail into Cedric Swyer’s arms, they both stood silently. His father never said a word, never blamed Aurelian but he felt the heaviness of his own influence. Guilt crushed him into the dirt and ate at his bones.

Aurelian would not sail again, not until the sting of loss left him. As he stood there, staring at the sea as if she might be kind or playing a joke upon them—he knew the ache would never leave, with each passing day it would seep further into his bones until it consumed him. Perhaps that was the future he deserved, his eternal punishment.

#creativewriting #writing #Author #thesolitarystripe #writing prompt #medieval fantasy #me writing

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whathappensnexts-blog · 4 years

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Chapter 1, part 1 of 2.

***Warning. In this story there is use of drugs. This was written purely for entertainment purposes and all and any use of drugs is highly discouraged. ***

We were chilling in the park when we got a message on our phones. “Where are you? Come here now.” The others have gone to a party in which me and Finn had no interest in participating. We just wanted to hung out in a quiet place and smoke some grass. Little did we know that our peace was about to be shattered. “Hey the others are leaving and they want us to meet them. Shall we?” I said in an uninterested tone. “Why not? Maybe we can chill together” he replied in the same manner. We passed by the beach in which less than a week ago we had eaten acid.

There we were me, Finn and Tom a guy we knew that also wanted to try some LSD. That bastard had invited a whole bunch of people to watch us trip. I didn’t like it but I didn’t let it get under my skin either. The thing with acid is to not get nervous. Otherwise you are risking a psychotic meltdown from which you may never return. I’ve seen it happening. It actually happened to Finn that night.

It went down like this. Forty minutes after we ate the tab, we thought that it wasn’t working. Then when I turned around my head, I saw with my peripheral vision a pink-green-gray shadow at the side of some buildings in the distance. Where they real or not? We couldn’t decide. A few minutes later on Tom was laughing and saying “Dude…I don’t know…man…” Finn had curiosity painted all over his face. He was trying to understand whether or not what he was feeling was real. I felt everything getting more mellow. It seemed like everything was breathing, even empty space. Everything had an inner gentle movement, like the movement of a calm sea. I remember smiling to Finn. “Oh my God…You are shining!” he said. Yeah.

We were well under the influence now. Me, Finn and another two guys stood up and we started going towards a public stage a few meters next to us. The games of light and shadow made the sand under our feet seem like a sea of human skulls. Not in a frightening way though. There was no fear at all. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Go through it. Don’t take it seriously. Tom shouted at us. He came closer. I didn’t understand what he said and to whom. I only knew that he wasn’t talking to me so I didn’t really care. As he turned to leave and go back with the others it was like time and space warped around him. In just two steps he had covered an impossible distance. How could this happen? Never mind that now. We turned around to the opposite direction and headed to the stage. It was late and there were no other people. The street lights made everything appear golden. The stage was inviting us to sit there right under the golden light, elevated two inches above time and space. We rolled a joint. Someone did at least.

After a while we headed back to the others. Two new people had arrived. That idiot Tom called two more idiots. We were fine with the rest but these two did not fit with us. They needed to go. They lingered on for a needlessly long time. The conversation was going in circles. Damn. They knew we were on acid and they were saying something about how well they knew psychedelics. They had this look on their faces so common in people nowadays. The look of confident know-it-alls, so certain that they were much better than you without even caring to evaluate you. No politeness in these people. They didn’t even seem familiar with the concept that someone might be better than them at least in one aspect. Ridiculous. They had this confident look in their faces but I could clearly see that behind their eyes there was nothing but rocks. Not dirt to be cultivated, to accept and nurture and give birth to new things. Just rocks. Try forming a bit more complicated sentences and they’ll look you like an alien. What a terrible way to live.

I offered them some weed and, in a bit, they were gone. Finn had gone paranoid after that pointless, looping conversation. He was pacing nervously up and down, with his fist on his chin and looking down towards the floor. Every five minutes he would look at us and say “Did you hear me? Was I talking right now?” He wasn’t. poor man he was on bad trip now. He wanted to return home. One friend of us escorted him back to his place.

We were sitting behind the stage now, me, Tom, another guy and two girls. I liked the one with the long, curly golden hair. She had smoked a ton of weed and she looked like a flower girl from the sixties. She made me feel like a hippie. The other girl was a redhead and she was completely drunk on the cheapest red wine possible. She was in a worse condition than us. I was actually beginning to sober up. She was climbing and jumping and dancing on benches. She lost her balance once or twice. Jesus. Here I was on acid and supposedly in need of supervision and now it was me who had to do the supervising. Good responsible people.

The other two guys had left for a while and left me alone with the girls. I don’t remember what we were saying but I knew the redhead was talking nonsense. Drunk dreamy bubbly nonsense which I accidentally destroyed. Why did I have to talk? Why not let her bubble on? Maybe because I was a bit bummed the others left me.

When the others returned and we entered the car she started sobbing. Poor girl. I felt bad. She had taken what I said too seriously or I took what she said too lightly. She was also surely affected by the wine and at this point probably her stomach as well. Cheap wine is not good for the organs. We arrived at McDonald’s and then we went to eat by a church. We thought now that the acid had completely worn off. Although a cat was looking at as strangely.

A bit later the others left. Now it was me and Tom. It was around 5 o’clock in the morning. We headed back to the beach, to the rear end of the stage. We sat down and we looked at the sky. And then it hit us. A last punch from the acid hit us right in the face. The street lights where now turned off. The sky had a deep dark emerald green color. The clouds looked alive and I could feel the distance between me and them and them and the sky. I could understand the empty space behind them. It was like I was looking at the sky through crystal clear water. The stars were connected with each other with a thin shiny silver-blue thread, like a spider’s web. And the moon looked like a hole, a light at the end of a tunnel, an exit out of this giant egg that was the celestial sphere and that we were inside it. All of this came together under a big question mark that always seemed to linger on. What happens next?

Some old people started coming out of the sea. We hadn’t noticed them going in and the sun had not shone his first rays on this land yet. It was darkness all around, in the end of October and these really old people where coming out of the sea. We weren’t sure if they were real. I think they were. Good for them. “What is this the zombie apocalypse? Let’s get out of here.” They were the first unfamiliar faces we’ve seen in quite some hours now. We went to take a ride with the first morning tram. It was around six o’clock now.

As we were on the station to take the tram, another old man approached us. He started talking to us. He was a fisherman and he was talking about fisherman gangs and good spots to fish. He had crazy eyes though he did not appear crazy overall. He was coherent. But I had the feeling that his mind was not completely his own. But then again whose is? The fact that people agree on one kind of madness doesn’t make them less mad.

At that time, we decided to call Finn. Poor man he hadn’t slept a bit. How could he? The shadows of his room appeared to be demons. No, he needed to be with us now. So, we met a few stations later on the wave breaker. It was morning now the sun was rising and the sky was… the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I am unable to convey the filling of the colors I saw. I am not sure they were totally real. The majority of the sky was yellow. A bright, strong, vibrant, rich yellow, the yellowest and truest yellow you could ever imagine. It was like the heart of the sun, the heart of honesty. A very strong color, gentle but with unmistakable authority, the color of the sun god. Around it some gentle pinks and oranges very alive as well. It was like the night has just opened her eyes and was slowly becoming a bright new day.

#writing #story #gonzo journalism #young writers #adventure #literature

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mankai-onlyfans · 4 years

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Mankai Method Acting 6/1

Character Profiles

Spring Troupe: 🧜‍♂️ Mermaids

Citron --- Luca

• Luca is an inquisitive young merman, always bursting with questions about the human world. When he and his friends get stranded in the land above thanks to a passing fishing boat, he feels like it's his destiny, and that this may be his one chance to learn all about humans.

Masumi Usui --- Droll

• Droll is Luca's older brother, and is very overprotective. He listens to the rumors among merfolk and views the human world as nothing but danger. He's terrified when he and his brother are pulled up to the surface in a fishing boat, and he'll do anything to get him and Luca safely back home.

Tsuzuru Minagi --- Sef

• Sef is Zul's twin brother, and they're great friends with Luca and Droll. The two of them are dukes of the merfolk monarchy, and Sef finds everything out of the ordinary to be nothing more than a lighthearted adventure. He tends to skate by on his looks, charming anyone who stands in his way of having fun.

Itaru Chigasaki --- Zul

• Zul is Sef's twin brother, and they're both great friends with Luca and Droll. Zul takes more of an interest in learning than Sef does, always paying attention to the merfolk elders lessons on astronomy and plant life. He's soft spoken, and very observant. A valuable asset in their journey to the human world.

Sakuya Sakuma --- Maki

• Maki is a human fisherman, who happens to scoop up four mermen during one of his trips. He rescues the mermen from the rest of his fishing buddies curious stares, helping them safely to stay in his house on the harbor. He learns that the mermen can't return home until the next full moon, and he's incredibly curious to learn more about the underwater world from them in the meantime.

Summer Troupe: 🔮 Witches

Muku Sakisaka --- Belvir

• Deep in the heart of the great woods, Belvir is searching for a cure to bring to his ailing grandmother. He's heard that powerful witches live in these woods, but he's not sure what signs he should be looking for... when he stumbles upon a whole coven, he realizes he may have gotten more magic than he bargained for.

Yuki Rurikawa --- Zenza

• Zenza is a clumsy witch, but very earnest. Her specialty is potions, and she has a recipe for absolutely every occasion. She can be naive at times, but she has the biggest heart, and is often protected by the others. She quickly grows close with Belvir, and serves as his guide to learning magic.

Misumi Ikaruga --- Joolin

• Joolin is the most powerful of the witches, but her temper can get the better of her. She strikes a deal with Belvir that if he agrees to work under them in their magic shop, then they'll provide him with the pricey medicine he requires for his grandmother, free of charge. She's never trained a mortal in the ways of magic, and is surprised at how adept Belvir is at each new challenge they throw his way.

Kazunari Miyoshi --- Servila

• Servila is wily and cunning. Though not as powerful as Joolin, she still manages to hold her own thanks to her silver tongue and sly smile. It was her idea to offer a deal to Belvir, though no one knows if she had ulterior motives for wanting to keep a mortal in their midst...

Tenma Sumeragi --- Quill

• Quill is the witches' familiar, a lazy cat boy who knows a fair bit about magic. He often assists Zenza in her potion making. He finds the presence of Belvir to be a nuisance to his predictable and comfortable life, but eventually he starts to warm up to him.

Autumn Troupe: 🐺 Werewolves

Juza Hyodo --- Dew

• Dewey Decker was a normal guy, just looking for a few thrills. When he sneaks into an old abandoned house on the night of a full moon, the last thing he expects to find is a werewolf. Before he knows it, he's been transformed into a beast, savage and ruthless, incredibly strong with much keener senses. Thankfully, he's not alone, and is quickly adopted by the pack of the werewolf that turned him, but no one said learning to harness his new powers would be easy.

Banri Settsu --- Rife

• The werewolf that transformed Dew. He's known among the clan for always landing into trouble, and somehow always finding a way out of it. His dumb luck is usually to thank, as he doesn't have much in the way of brains. He feels awful for dragging Dew into this new life, and has to work at earning the guy's trust once they become pack mates.

Taichi Nanao --- Keen

• The youngest pup of the wolf pack, he's scrappy, determined, and eager to prove himself. Very likeable, and the best at blending in with humans. He's Dew's first friend among the pack. Keen embraces life as a werewolf with no regrets, enjoying every day, and treating it like an adventure. But Dew can't help wondering what Keen's life was like before the change, and why he's so reluctant to talk about it.

Omi Fushimi --- Claw

• The leader of the wolf pack. As the bulkiest contender, he took over after Scathe stepped down as leader, but he feels like he has big shoes to fill, and that he's not quite able to fill them. Half his raids have ended in disaster, thinning their pack down to four, and the guilt is slowly starting to eat at him. He wishes he could talk to Scathe and get some guidance, but he's always met with snarls and stony silences. Why can't things be like they were before?

Sakyo Furuichi --- Scathe

• Scathe is a sharp-tongued, standoffish beast. He was once Claw's best friend, but they've since drifted apart. The reasons for this are unknown, but Dew suspects it might be rooted in misunderstanding. However, when their clan becomes the target of monster hunters, Scathe is forced to reconcile with his pack mates, reopening old wounds and bitter memories...

Winter Troupe: 🧛‍♂️ Vampires

Azuma Yukishiro --- Stephan

• Unexpected houseguests. Two words that make Stephan's blood freeze. Well, if he had any left in his body, that is. It's hard trying to impress relatives normally, but when you're a vampire the expectations are infinitely higher. With his wealthy cousins dropping by all of a sudden, he's already in a tizzy, but then a beautiful stranger appears at his door, asking for shelter for the night. Can he keep his two lives separate, and prevent his new guest from getting bitten?

Hisoka Mikage --- Julienne

• A beautiful stranger. Angelic features and a soft voice, Julienne is without a doubt the prettiest boy Stephan has ever seen. Julienne claims to be on the run for his life after being wrongly accused of a crime, and simply needs a place to spend the night. Little does he know that he's stepped out of being a fugitive and into a den of vampires.

Tsumugi Tsukioka --- Sachro

• Sachro admires the beautiful things is life. Particularly the beautiful stranger that lands itself on Stephan's doorstep. He's determined to get a taste of the human stranger, and is continuously foiled by Stephan, who always seems to have a convenient reason to delay the feeding. A player by nature, he has no trouble charming men and women alike into letting him feed from them.

Tasuku Takato --- Bosch

• A dreamy sort of fellow, Bosch has always got his head in the clouds. He's often kept in line by his two brothers, but is polite and charming, despite his ditzy nature. He shows compassion for Julienne when he arrives, though his brothers' attitudes quickly infect him into believing Julienne is their next meal. He goes along with just about all of Sachro's schemes.

Homare Arisugawa--- Miroche

• Stoic and calculating, Miroche has the final say, as the eldest of the Bramburn siblings. He and his brothers decided to drop in on their cousin Stephan, who's considered the black sheep of the family, to check in and see how well he's living among humans. If they find anything amiss, then Stephan's inheritance could be on the line. A wandering human seems like the perfect welcome present to smooth things over, if they can ever get a taste of him...

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Please send in any questions you have for these characters today (6/1) and our actors will respond in character, as part of our 100 followers celebration! 🎉

#a3!#a3! ask blog #a3! memes #a3! crack #a3! headcanons #a3! aus #// i forgot to tag this rip #// i got way too into these sry skdkjddkks #// is this too much i feel like this is too much

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myassbrokethefall · 5 years

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For the trope mash-up thing: 2 + 6 + Philip/Elizabeth Jennings

2. Royal AU6. Bookshop AU

I have NEVER written Americans fic (I leave that to my extremely talented pal @h0ldthiscat), and when I first got this I wasn’t sure I could see them in an AU! But now this is the one I can see the most clearly.

Philip is the oldest son and heir to the throne, but he’s not very interested in ruling. He’s supposed to be doing stuff like boning up on his country’s history and memorizing the names of various diplomats, but he finds it all so boring. When he’s not Doing Sports ™ in the countryside with his little brothers and sisters (whose lives seem so much simpler than his) or chatting with the servants (who all indulge him and are very fond of him but also have to get back to their duties and sometimes hide when they see him coming for that reason), all he wants to do is read – but not histories or instructional books, novels. If he could sit under a tree all day and lose himself in some pulpy 800-page novel about…well, literally any topic, as long as it isn’t about taxes or who’s allied with whom or the imports and exports of whatever, he would.

You see where this is going. Sometimes Philip puts on one of his many disguises (he doesn’t enjoy being recognized) and walks around the city, and one day he comes across an out-of-the-way bookshop that he’s never been in. The proprietress, while not the warmest person he’s ever met, has an encyclopedic knowledge of the contents of her shop and is able to give him exacting recommendations. (“I read this book once, it was…I remember it had a green cover,” Philip says. “It was about a fisherman and his daughter and there was a cat in it. I read it when I was a kid. It was a calico cat, and there was an illustration of it and I had never seen a calico cat before and – ” The proprietress is already pulling the book off the shelf. She gets this a lot. The current edition does not have a green cover. Philip stays up all night reading it and reliving childhood memories.)

He goes back to the shop as often as he can, for more book recommendations (the proprietress, Elizabeth, is basically a one-woman Amazon algorithm but with more accuracy and less creepy data mining) but also just to talk. Elizabeth is an extremely competent businesswoman and makes a nice tidy living off of her shop by putting in the hours day after day, making contacts in the book-buying industry, being strategic about pricing, and always knowing what a customer needs (be it a sentimental novel about a fisherman and a little girl and a cat, or a reference book on an esoteric topic. If she doesn’t have it, she can get it). She is so good at what she does, and would be good at basically anything she did, and she does NOT understand when Philip eventually confesses that he doesn’t really want to be the king, affairs of state bore him to tears, he loves his country and all that but he’d rather just do banquets and fairs and stuff and show everybody a good time and just, you know, chill, man. There’s a a kind of stalemate (a “cold war,” if you will) with the neighboring kingdom and he is always hearing about how devious they are and how they will take advantage of any perceived weakness in Philip’s country. Philip confesses that he’s thought of just going over there, knocking on the door of the castle, and being all like, I brought a barrel of ale from my country! Let’s just hang out and talk about this stuff.

Elizabeth is slightly horrified by this naiveté, though she doesn’t say so because, in spite of herself, she has come to really like Philip (to really, REALLY like Philip, to be honest, and look forward to his visits more than she would like to admit). He is genuinely kindhearted, and she thinks that’s a good thing (and a rare thing) in a future king. However, in her heart she’s not sure how effective a ruler he’ll be, although she knows he’ll be a merciful one. In her darker moments she even worries for the future of the country, because she’s afraid that the finer points of overseeing an entire kingdom will be too much for him, and that he will be taken advantage of by more cynical people. (To be frank, his disinterest in wielding the power that is just being handed to him and working his butt off to make things happen and improve people’s lives is completely foreign to her. She is active in her community but she’s just a bookseller and she’s limited in the impact she can have, especially when no one around her is as driven as she is.)

Anyway, reader, we all know what’s gonna happen here: Philip the Reluctant Heir to the Throne and Elizabeth the Humble but Industrious Bookseller get theyselves married. Philip’s parents are unsure at first, but Elizabeth wins them over with her strong personality and, if we’re being honest, her ability to read people and become a bit of what they are looking for. They bless the marriage and Elizabeth gets to work preparing to be queen.

She sets that kingdom the hell to RIGHTS, implementing public works projects, improving education standards, holding open meetings with the citizens where she listens to their concerns but tolerates no bullshit. She sometimes comes off as ruthless – and in private she has lots of choice things to say about some of their ministers and their allies and even the citizens, to say nothing of their foes – but Philip softens her (as well as being uniquely able to mitigate the streak of power-hungriness that sometimes flares up in her). And one day they do go over to the neighboring kingdom with a nice barrel of ale and some stew that is the specialty of their culture, and Philip and the king play some sports and crack open a few cold ones while Elizabeth and the queen watch their men affectionately and then get down to the business of negotiation, staying up late into the night and exchanging some choice words (the countries’ philosophies of government are very different, just for starters), but ultimately once and for all hammering out a peace treaty that is fair to everyone.

The bookstore stays in the family; Elizabeth hires people to run it in her absence and then all their kids work there as teenagers. Literacy is one of Philip and Elizabeth’s major causes and the bookstore serves as a central point for that. One of their sons eventually becomes the minister of education and moves into the apartment above the shop with his husband (a prince from the neighboring kingdom, now a firm ally) to run it in perpetuity.

Nobody has to kill anybody, and there’s a big family dinner every Sunday where everyone has all the stew they want.

#the americans #fanfic #sorta #mine #this is not a story it's a story about a story!#that's why it's so boring lol #fake writing fake writing #Anonymous

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everythingisbetterwithpirates · 6 years

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The Wanker Job

{ Late to the landing party. Fashionably late. }

{ Contains mentions of death, masturbation and a lil sadism. }

XII

An old man with a big, bushy beard drags a large sack across a dimly lit living room. It was the light coming from the lamp posts outside that brought any semblance of space other than darkness. While he appears to be thin in appearance, the weight of the sack proves to be a conquered field. That is, until he approached the window. The one behind a mounted spyglass that had been pushed to the side and redirected. Now, a finely crafted silk cloth draped over it's length, displaying the sewn figures of trees and white rose gardens. The scenery takes a second breath of life when it reveals fauna among the flora. Two in particular jump out due to it's folded edges and positioning. That of a scorpion. It stung the nearby rat.

The balding head shook, ruffling the simple brown robes as he kept pulling and tugging with a strained huff until he reached the window. There, the sack was positioned against the wall much like one would sit on the floor and with one's back against it. A gloved hand rose to the bushy, brown and fuzzy curls running down his chin. The old man with withered green eyes then moved the edge of the curtain aside.

He glanced to the street down below, spotting a passing Stormwind City guard with a long, black ponytail peaking out from the back of his helmet. The guard passed, and four minutes and thirty seconds later, the curtains were pushed all the way open. Same as the window. It was now that the sack's weight almost got the best of him --- but after a few more pulls and adjustments, half of the sack hung out of the open window.

And then it was dropped. The sack fell from the four story building and bounced on the street below with a gruesome thud and a few cracks. The old man then looked to the corner, towards the tunnel leading to the canals, and there he found another Stormwind City guard rounding the corner. This one lacked a ponytail but had an intense and sharp gray stare through the slit of his helmet.

Without a word, the dutiful guard picked up the sack from the ground and moved to the cart waiting behind a line of barrels. When his capable hands were free again, sack loaded on to the hand pulled cart that already housed several bags of potatoes, the guard turned around and swept over the street with his gaze, watching for others.

Margharette sits up on a tree in a corner of the Dwarven District. Potent Shadows conceal her form from view. In the darkness of night, this was innately strengthened, for it meant she could pull from her surroundings with more ease, seamlessly blending into the textured bark and fluttering leaves. A group of four men swayed their way across the street, getting louder and louder with their boisterous levels of drunkenness. They are coming from the direction of a nearby tavern. Marge makes a note f their passing it on her journal, marking it as a rogue element to be careful of.

Just as they entered the tunnel on the other end of the street, the stealthy gatherer turned to the tall building. From a window on the fourth story, a man took a peek through his spyglass. A small line was traced near the bottom corner of her page, joining a dozen more already there.

The sound of a moving cart pulled her attention away soon after. It shifted back to the ground. A man was dragging a loaded hand-cart. They appeared to be potato sacks. Margharette made a note of this as well. It wasn't long before the flicker of a candle went out inside the target's apartment. She lingered in place and about forty minutes later, a guard with a long, black ponytail rounded the corner, exiting the tunnel. Another line was drawn. This one on the top corner. He made his round and took a right after moving past the building. Five minutes later, another uniformed guard came from the same tunnel. But unlike the one before, this one turned left after the right. His gaze was tired and harsh with no discerning hairstyle. Marge wrote down a name and continued to watch, knowing those gray eyes anywhere.

Several more guards passed, but none that she could write names for. With dawn fast approaching, Margharette climbed down from the tree and began her way home, hoping to make it before the sun did. Where she had once been nesting, a cat now nested.

There was a shimmer near a tree on a corner of the Dwarven District. It was early morning. Almost still night. Cloaked in Shadows and with a big bag of snacks and other goodies, Margharette climbed said tree. She found what would become her nest for the next two to three days. It could go no further than the fourth, or else she'd miss her ride at dawn on the fifth. Her destination had a name, but the woman only hoped for four words in specific. In sequence and all together.

'A whole new world~'

Once comfortable, Margharette pulled a journal from her bag. A pencil soon followed. Between the branches and leaves high in the air, she began to take notes about the area. Numbers in place of letters encrypted her information with a cipher she knew by heart. Now, it was used to notate the four story building across from her. To it's left, the road led to the tavern, fountain, bank and auction house. To the right, the short tunnel leading to the canals, towards the docks.

She was too high to be stumbled into by passing folk and too concealed to be seen. The added limbs and subsequent flora was a bonus. And as the city began to wake, she leaned back and watch the day go by. As it progressed, lines appeared on the corners of her pages. She was counting how many times a particular thing was seen. On the bottom corner, the count of how many times her target looked through his window. At the top, the count of how many guards passed by. And when the bulgy-eyed, brown haired target stepped outside and headed to the nearby tavern right at lunch time, Margharette took note of this too.

VII

A chunky man dragging a cart loaded with potato sacks along the street reeked of fish. His beard was trimmed and his hair wildly curly. A dirty blonde for a dirty man. Though he was easy to mistake as big and round, strong muscles lay under the tanned skin that almost hid his freckles. It was for this very reason that pulling the cart was childsplay to him. Potatoes bounced in their sacks, space allowing for more if provided. He pushed his curls aside after he reached his destination, the cart being placed behind a line of barrels along the edge of the street in the Dwarven District. Across from the four story building at the corner. A little more pushing and a grunt later and the fisherman sighed with satisfaction and made his way through the tunnel, unaware that Margharette was watching from the top of a tree.

Twenty minutes later, and a wrinkled, lanky man exited the building. He was heading for the tavern around suppertime as expected. Knowing he would return in an hour or so, Margharette looked over the street and calculated her best route considering the innocents still going about their business. A second after that, she climbed down and made her way across, keeping a sharp focus on the trick keeping her form concealed. Marge reached her destination and stood to the side before she slowly began to open the building's front door. She peeked into it through the inch wide gap. So far, the coast was clear. The door creaked some when she widened the gap by several more inches. Just enough to let her slither in. Once inside, Marge began to make her way up the dimly lit stairway.

The third floor proved to be more difficult than the first and the second. There, an agitated and wide man was stomping his way out of his apartment and heading down the stairs. Unable to get to the spacious corner on time, Margharette held her breath and pressed her back against the wall. With one foot on one step and the other on the one beneath it, she had to improvise and strike a rather awkward pose in order to flatten herself. Hopefully, it would be enough to give the angry man the room he needed to make it out without discovering the snake in the garden.

He did, but not without pausing several steps down the road and rubbing his hairy right arm. Goosebumps riddled his skin. And while he did turn to look, the man found nothing and promptly took off, muttering something about a warm drink and a wench. The moment he finally turned to walk away, Margharette resumed her climb. Within seconds, she stood at her target's front door. A handle tool kit was fished from one of her back pockets, her form shimmering when she began to pick the lock. The fateful click of the passage opening made Marge take a deep and encouraging breath. She glanced over her shoulders and listened to the stairs. Nothing. The toolkit was put away and there was another glimmer on her darkened form. An empty and large sack cracked into view before it was flung forward, door opened with a light nudge of her boot.

Margharette readied herself for the triggering of boobytraps, but there was only the silent thud of the balled up bag landing on the floor. Her head poked inside and studied the darkening room from under the frame. Nobody there. No sounds. No barking dogs. It was empty. A sigh of relief cut the tension holding her body in place and allowed her to step inside when the door was closed and locked behind her. Her concealment then began to falter, reigns pulled back tightly.

She was revealed with a long braid tucked into her black shirt and sleeveless vest. Pants just as dark dressed the lower half. Trusted and simple black boots matches the rest of the ordinary and monochromatic ensemble. Margharette picked up the bag from the floor. Filtered moonlight caught a small edge of the simple kitchen knife clipped to her belt, right over looped rope. On the other side, a six short revolver securely fastened to a holster.

Margharette began to look around the home, rounding the corners and doors with care. The living room and kitchen exposed very little. Shelves were not stocked with food. By the window facing the shop across. a mounted spyglass sat. It was a pinned drawing that brought her attention to the right. She curiously approached, finding three stick figures. A big one and two smaller ones. The latter had dresses drawn over their little stick bodies. One blue and one pink, respectively.

Then came her study of an office where several plans, scrolls and books were housed. Through a quick search, Marge was able to pick up on common themes and topics such as blacksmithing. Weapon design and construction. Then there were the books. While some were spiritual, a lot consisted of animals. Particularly, rats.

Gloved hands traced a line along one of the spines before she exited the office and made her way to the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary there. And so she moved to the bedroom. Ordinary as well. And mostly barren. A table with some folded sheets on it. A chest on the foot of the bed and then there was the bed itself. Margharette tried to open the chest, happily surprised to find it unlocked. Inside, several changes of clothing and a weapon hid. She picked it up, recognizing it was loaded, and returned it to it's hiding spot.

Margharette then rolled the empty sacrificial sack and crawled under the bed. It was used as a pillow after she drew her knife and settled in for the long wait. Keeping track of time did not come as difficult as finding a happy thought with which to occupy her mind and maintain sanity during the upcoming hours of silence. But soon enough, Marge did just that.

Dawn was but twenty minutes away when Margharette quietly entered her seaside cabin on top of a rolling hill. The door was closed and locked behind her before she tip-toed any further. Purple, blue and golden clothing made up her casual ensemble. By the door, a staff with a crown of books, pages and runes floated. The sound of a page flipping made her pause halfway across the room. Margharette stared at it --- and somehow, she felt it stare right back. But when it settled down, Marge turned her narrowed gaze away and focused on making it to the orc sized mirror beside her best, where someone slept.

The night clung to the cabin, obscuring most features from view. But what Margharette did see was the slumbering body of a Kaldorei with silver hair. A deep breath replaced a shot of rum in her quest for courage, feet quietly shuffling in order to bring her closer to the mirror. Still, the man did not seem to wake. An ungloved and scarred hand rose and ran a line over the top of the mirror's frame. Several clicks ensued when she found and pressed the hidden button.

And where she would have heard the sound of stone grating against stone, there was only silence. A quiet and practical modification now that her home was being shared. Tonight was it's final test. The Kaldorei rolled over after the clocks, making Margharette freeze and hold her breath with anticipation as she readied to open the door.

With a snore, the silver haired and shirtless man rolled some more, but he did not appear to wake. Margharette counted to ten in her head before daring to move again. She was convinced that he was fully awake but respecting her privacy. The door was opened and she ventured into her lightless office. Once she began to walk down the stairs, she started to count her steps instead.

Eight steps later, she stood in front of her desk, the flicker of a lighter exposing mahogany wood. A lamp was brought to life, revealing neatly stacked files, books and a few small, closed boxes. Margharette shook the lighter away and carried the lamp to the other side of the room. It was there that the Red Sea splashed ashore. A map of the city and it's surroundings, but not the geographical type. It was here that Marge mapped it's people. The players of the game called Life and Death/ But most importantly, how they all connected. That was where the red string came in handy. Some threads were thicker than others. Some were so far out, they were dots. Standing alone. Rogue elements.

Margharette stared at the wall, each nail holding the strings labeled with either a picture, a sketch, names or whatever she could use to identify them. Having gathered her information for the upcoming job, she began to plot. The map provided an easy to follow visualization in order to better predict how far the ripples would travel. What it was likely to rattle. What it may consume. The lamp was placed on a table after a thorough and up close inspection of the board which spilled over to the walls and ceiling.

A brief glance to the dark stairs over her shoulder later, Marge pulled a slim journal from one of her vest's huge side pockets and began to run over her list of possible inventory. Her attention evenly divided between this and the Red Sea. Outside, the first rays of light stroked over the edges of the sky.

Margharette weighed her pros and cons of having to go into it without another night of recon, the debate not lasting for as long as anticipated. She had already agreed to take the job. Once the word was given, it could not be easily taken back. Now, she was on a shorter time limit than the fortnight provided. The woman had a ride to catch if she was going to keep all of her employers happy. Two weeks became four days.

Satisfied with her decision, Margharette placed her journal on the desk and blew out the lamp. The stairs did not feel as dark anymore, but the cabin was still shielded from direct contact. The first step into ascension was taken, head dragging along with the rest of her tired form. Not enough coffee and too much thinking was likely the cause. But it was on her last step that Margharette received a heavy dose of wake-the-fuck-up.

There were long, thick and elvens legs in the way. Her gaze snapped up, finding the brilliant glow of Uzothan's stare bearing down on her. The fright brought a surge of adrenaline strong enough to make her gasp in surprise. Her reaction was met with a smug grin. No words were said. Margharette was quickly swept off her feet and carried into the bed where she bounced in place, secured to the pillow by a strong but gentle hold. A few tickles and giggles later, and she finally closed her eyes, welcoming a sweet slumber.

VIII

Margharette opened her eyes with disbelief, finding nothing but the darkness of night to greet her. There was also the matter of her current position to take into account. Under a bed and holding a knife. She had been readying to spring when a shake and a rump unnerved her paranoid senses. When moans and groans followed, Marge rolled her eyes and bit her tongue.

Laughter threatened to give away her position. It was why she bit down harder the longer it went on for. Margharette found the situation far more humorous than she should. Hilariously so. Not because she thought he sounded awkward. She didn't. The woman also didn't find it offensive either. Just something people did for pleasure -- and pleasure was nothing to be ashamed of.

It was morbid humor and the test of patience that greatly amused her. The clock had been ticking ever since she broke into this apartment. And now, it appeared she might have to pick up the slack for a few minutes. That much, Margharette was certain she could do. It was with this confidence that Marge forced her humor to disperse and waited for him to finish. It would be his last after all. Her grip on the knife loosened some as she played a song in her head. Patiently, she made it through six minutes and twenty nine seconds of grunts and shakes from the bed above.

By the seventh minute, Margharette had already sharpened her gaze and began her silent slithering to the surface. He had returned to a relaxed position after cleaning up. And though she gave him a moment to relish the bliss, she was now intent on ruining it. The woman lingered over the side of the bed after making her way out. Blue eyes swept over it's surface.

Face up. Arms on sides. Eyes closed.

That train of thought made her coil before she sprung into action, jumping over the bed and pinning the man in place. Her knees held his arms down by the wrists, ass in the air like she just didn't care. A hand sank over his mouth, silencing the startled prey. It also helped to support her weight. The other held the knife to his throat, reinforcing her goal -- which was to subdue him. "Hello there!" Margharette whispered with enthusiasm, happily staring at the horrified man.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

BAM. BAM.

Margharette narrowed her gaze, staring down at a sobbing man with bulging eyes. Steve. His name was Steve. That much she had learned. Now, she'd learn if he would try to break free or remain under her command for a little while longer. There was an angry man beating on the door and he was intent on coming home.

"Let me in, you treacherous wench!" He billowed through the door, knuckles rasping on the door in between beatings. Marge stared Steve down. Steve was staring back, a snot bubble blooming. It burst soon after, as if struck by the sound of the angry drunk trying to break down the door. She sighed with annoyance, still counting down the minutes until showtime. It wasn't the knife that she gripped tightly, but the pillow beside his head.

"You will shoo him away and not say a damn thing, understood?" To press her point further, Margharette leaned down until the tip of her nose grazed his. Another tip also prodded him. It was the end of the kitchen knife sinking into the small cut on the side of his neck. Steve whimpered his way through a nod. Marge ten used the pillow to clean and wipe away the tears from his face rather than kill him with it. A leg swung over before Marge dragged him out of bed by the arm.

The knife was now pressed on the crook between the arm and the shoulder -- right up his armpit. Margharette led him to the rocking front door, positioning herself behind it. A foot was firmly placed, three inches behind it, meant to stop the door from opening any further than that. "Nice and easy. Deep breath." She quietly whispered to Steve before her free leg slid back, body soon following. Half-extended arms held the man in place.

"You have the wrong floor again, Mikael." Steve nervously stuttered after opening the door. Drunk Mikael swayed back but recovered, shaking his head with disbelief. "Youuuu... are no wench..." Mikael slurred, attempting to focus his blurred vision.

"ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH MY WIFE?!" Mikael roared, wobbling forward and using the door and the frame to catch himself. Slobber ran down his shaven chin. Margharette grit her teeth as she fought to hold her ground under the growing weight of the intoxicated neighbor.

"Mikael, your wife is downstairs. Where you live." Steve pressed his point harder, big eyes rolling to his side in hopes of calling for help. Mikael stared at the space around him, trying to decide which Steve was the real one amongst the three or four. His response came in the form of a loud and stinky belch. The scent of old bear and cheese filled the doorway. Margharette's nose wrinkled, same as Steve's . "Ah. Yeh. We toss pig tomorrow." were Mikael's following words before he turned and began to stumble his way home. Marge nudged her head to the side, giving Steve's arm a quick squeeze. The boot acting as a door stopper began to retreat when the man began to close the door. And that was when everything almost fell apart. Again.

Margharette felt the sting of his elbow striking across her cheek. It wasn't enough to make her topple, but she wobbled, with only one foot still on the floor. Her head turned, the knife held against his armpit sliding to the side by a few inches. Steve, in his glorious moment of courage, used this brief window of opportunity and followed up with a hard punch to her side, right over the ribs.

The knife fell to the floor just as Marge stumbled back. Steve pushed past her, the wave of courage crashing and stinging his eyes with panicked tears again. His punching had twitched with pain. He began to make his way to the bedroom, but Margharette was soon quick on his heels, having been able to shake off the stun. There was a gun in that room, and letting him reach said gun was going to be very bad news for her -- or so Marge reasoned. She now endured the pain, reaching for the rope clipped to her belt and unrolling it. Agile feet brought her to her destination. Steve made it all the way to the bedroom's doorway when looping rope wrapped around his neck.

Opposite ends were held with either hand as she noosed the man and pulled back. Hard. Steve's dream of reaching his weapon before she reached him was shattered. A shocked and breathless grunt burst when he took a step back, hands reaching for the rope. But Margharette only tightened her grip and turned around. The rope was given a bit of slack, giving Steve another glimpse of a better tomorrow. One were he was still alive. A glint caught in his eye as he stepped forward, seeking escape from the noose. It was a glint Margharette was happy to snuff out by getting down to one knee and fiercely pulling on the rope again.

Steve stumbled, falling right on the crouched and anchored Margharette with his back pressed against her own. Feet flailed but never regained their footing. The rope had been twisted once on the back of his neck, opposite ends extending over her shoulders and pulled towards the floor.

Margharette continued to twist and pull, big and blue eyes staring at the floor intently. Toes curled in her boots as the man began to spasm, desperately gasping for air. She kept her body in it's defensive position even though she was being nothing other than offensive. This was to keep her limbs away from his reaching and flailing own by staying out of their range. Marge weathered the tempest coming from the man who so dearly wanted to live. Her eyes closed when a tingling sensation ran along her spine. Then another. One by one, they turned into two, spreading across her form with both potency and speed. Everything bounced and echoed under her skin. The heavy boom of Shadows was the drop of a sick and twisted beat.

And then came the last breath. It connected the dozens of bouncing thrills and unified them under a single banner.

Peace.

For now the threat had been eliminated. Victory forged through conquest. Silence blanketed the soul as it's hymn. Steve's arms lost their fighting spirit before, but now they loosely fell over his sides. Margharette held her position for a little while longer. She reached into her vest after maneuvering the two ends of the rope over one of her shoulders, keeping a hold with her other hand. A chained pocket watch was pulled from a pocket, studied with slight worry.

However, it was revealed that she still had ten minutes until she could make like a tree and leave. Steve was coming along for the ride. Margharette allowed herself twenty more seconds of peace and bliss before her mind drifted into dark and dangerous places.

III

Margharette sat on her kitchen table. Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, but the seaside cabin and it's occupants were wide awake. A steaming cup of coffee in a saucer sat near a potted cactus before her, accompanied by some moonberries. A couple of mangoes and some half eaten pastries. She had woken up from a nightmare, soothed by Uzothan's warm embrace.They came before any job of this nature.

Fears and worries were discussed, for Margharette could not shake off the nagging sensation that something was off. The origin could not be discerned, but she managed to narrow down the suspects. Between her target, Mister Reigns and her upcoming voyage, Marge began to imagine possible ends to possible means with possible purposes. One after the other, she chased down every train of thought until it's destination was made clear.

Now, she mulled over said thoughts while the Kaldorei mauled his breakfast. Margharette watched him with a smile, taking a sip and a bite between changes of imaginary scenery. She made an important note of the fact that she has yet another reason to succeed in her dangerous endeavors.

Eventually, her gaze drifted to the silk cloth laying on the other side of the kitchen table. Candlelight revealed the sewn scenery, but her gaze focused on the owl perched on the leafy tree, just above the rat being stung.

Margharette sought to complete one of the objectives on the list, and with only about six minutes to spare, the woman was quick about it. The mounted spyglass was turned on it's side, no longer targeting the building across. A gloved hand reached deeply into her vest. Carefully, a folded piece of silk cloth was drawn. It was unfolded, revealing the picturesque scene and placed over the long body of the spyglass. The scorpion stinging the rat was centered with the point of the glass' mount, sides folded back in order to bring the scene to the forefront. With a sigh of relief, Margharette took a step back and studied her work before she hastily took off again.

The empty sack still hiding under the bed was rescued. Margharette also took one of Steve's unused sheets along. But it wasn't until the bed was straightened and the would-be lethal weapon fluffed that she exited the bedroom and dashed across the living room to the office, having hopped over the corpse yet again.

While the large sack had been dropped next to the man formerly known as alive, the clean sheet was taken with her to the small office. There, she tied it's corners with knots, leaving but one undone and creating a whole new bag for a whole new load. It served as storage for her stolen goods. Tonight, the merchandise was papers, scrolls, blueprints and books. As many as she could fit in there. The room looked vastly more barren by the time she was finished with it. The makeshift bag was a lot heavier now.

Margharette tied the final corner and dashed to the living room. There, she collected her knife and holstered back to her side. The noose was also uncurled from the corpse's neck, joining the weapon by her side. Marge ripped the stick figure drawing from the wall, stuffing it into one of her pockets. It was the empty sack that gained her attention next. She had a bit of difficulty at first, but her persistence paid off when she managed to bag Steve. The sack was tight around his form but still had enough room at the top to be closed by it's built in heavy string. A final shake was given to settle the body in place before she straightened her form and huffed.

Margharette looked at her pocket watch again. With only a minute to spare, she began to focus on her weaving skills. More specifically, her recent ventures into magics regarding illusions. Some of it was already there. The rest, she had to navigate her way through. Thankfully, her scuffle had not taken her out of the race just yet. Stored energy was drawn from the beautiful purple stoned necklace hiding under her shirt, fueling the spell-weaving at work. Within moments, Margharette's slender form began to melt into another. One with wrinkled skin, a bushy beard and simple brown robes.

Margharette smiled as she looked through one of the side facing windows in a small and humble apartment near the corner of Old Town, facing the watchtower protected by the canals. A young mother with bright, red curls sat under a tree nudged between stones. She was playing a round of peek-a-boo. The child was pleased with every reveal, but when the mother dramatically displayed her fright after the child attempted to mimic her movements, the giggling took a bouncy and infectious turn.

"Miss Grimwald! It's good to see you again!" The frail voice from her side made Margharette turn away from the serene scene, only to find another. Her smile widened. "Mrs. Jackson. I see you are as ready as ever." And she was. The elder woman leaning on a cane was dressed to impress. An equally old garment adorned her short and hunched figure with faded shades of green and blue. The details along the seams had suffered time's passing, but the intricate patterns of braids were as tightly woven as they day they were crafted.”Apologies for letting myself in. I didn’t want to make you walk more than you have to.” Marge added. Blushed reds and puns colored the old woman's face. "Oh, thank you, dear. Uh. Please -- sit!"

Marge nodded and guided the old woman to the kitchen table, acting as her second cane. She was helped into her seat as a question was posed. "How is Frank?" Mrs. Jackson asked with a wrinkle of her nose. The cane was leaned against the table. "A bit temperamental these days -- but I am hopeful for a bloom very soon." Margharette calmly responded as she refilled the half empty glass of water on the table with a nearby pitches. Beside it, a piece of cloth Mrs. Jackson had been sewing a pattern into, interrupted by the Professional's visit.

"That's good. Temperamental is good." Mrs. Jackson replied before picking up her needle and thread. Margharette placed the pitcher on the table close to the old woman and nodded. "Agreed, though I hope Jay doesn't share this trait in a couple of moments. I need to talk to him." Marge responded with an apologetic smile.

"Is he in trouble again?" The old woman with bright white curls asked with worry.

"No. No. None at all. I promise to make it brief." Margharette softly answered, placing her hands over her chest, palms pressed against each other in a pleading manner.

Mrs. Jackson nodded and offered the woman a smile. Margharette dipped her head with respect and thanked the old woman before she made her way out of the kitchen and into the short hall. Out of three doors, Marge picked the first to the right. There was no knock. Only the silent opening and closing of said door.

Once inside, Margharette made her way to the small bed on which a handsome man of dark brown hair lay asleep. Piece of armor neatly sat by the wall, over tables and hooks. The Stormwind City tabard was draped over the back of a chair. Marge sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the pale man's shoulder and giving it a gentle shake. "Jaybird~ Wake up~" she half sang in a gentle, quiet voice.

A cute, button nose wiggled as arms began to stretch. A yawn and a roll later, Jay opened his eyes and focused on the figure looming over him. When Margharette's features finally registered, the naked man jumped back with a startle, pulling his blanket over his chest and clutching it tightly. "M-Miss Grimwald." he breathlessly exclaimed, the treble of fear rocking his shoulders. "What's going on? Is Mamaw.." Jay's words trailed off, gaze looking over the room with worry.

"Mamaw is fine. She is in the kitchen, sewing. Everything else is as it should be. Settle down. I am here to talk, not to collect." Margharette calmly explained, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and guiding back to the comfort of his pillow. Jay hesitated to go along at first, staring at the woman with panicked eyes. They soon began to soften as yet another yawn managed to interrupt the thrill. Jay nodded and exhaled with slight relief. "Thank you, Jay. Now. I understand you work the night shift now and require sleep during the day, so I will try to keep it brief. At some point in your shift, tomorrow night, not tonight..."

Margharette fished a folded piece of paper from her breast pocket and placed it over his covered stomach. "... at precisely the time and place it says there, someone is going to drop a bag from a building. I need you to pick up that sack and put it on a cart behind the barrels. You'll know them when you see them." Marge now dug into her pant's pocket, three pieces of gold joining the piece of paper over the sheets.

"Three more will be given upon completion by the person. And I will send over a few dresses for Mrs. Jackson. Her visits to the clinic have been most pleasant -- yet we cannot escape from natural causes. But you and I can certainly make her last days pleasant and comfortable." Margharette smiled brightly, head tilting to the side and hands folded over crossed knees. Jay looked between the items given and the patiently waiting woman. A few moments later, he nodded. "How bad is this one?" Jay asked with innocent curiosity.

Margharette chuckled softly. "He's a real wanker." She happily lied, unaware of how badly these words would come back to bite her.

XIII

The big, bushy beard ruffled in the wake of a cool, night breeze. After tossing the sack over the window and giving the apartment a quick glance, the brown robed old man climbed out the window and closed it behind him. A bit difficult to perform while carrying a sack of stolen goods, but after a bit of teetering, it was done. His descent was fast, focused on letting gravity do most of the work by finding flat and wide enough surfaces on which to gracefully land. A few risky moves later, and the old man finally landed on firm ground. The sheet-turned-bag over his shoulder was moved aside. It was almost dragged as he made his way across the street and to the awaiting guard.

Uniformed Jay held out his hand, shifting uncomfortable in place. Dull, green eyes locked on the guard's own for a brief moment before the surprise bag was thrown into the cart, landing over the top half of the larger sack. The old man reached into his robes carefully, or else the robes would shimmer and Margharette would give herself away. But the spell endured the light turbulence.

A frail, gloved hand reached forward, placing three gold coils in Jay's gauntlet. The patrolman nodded and wordlessly carried on with the rest of his route. And so did the old man. Once the body in a sack was mostly hidden beneath smaller sacks of potatoes, he gripped the front facing handles of the cart and began to make his way around the barrels. The brown robed form was slouched and slow paced. He made his way into the tunnel leading to the exit route. At the other end, another appeared. It was yet another old man. He was missing his left arm. And as he walked past, the sad and desperate expression in his eyes caught her breath. Still, the man with the cart moved along with his business.

The chatter of leaves dancing in the wind sent a pleasant chill down Margharette's back. She was nesting on a tree, watching the corner of the Dwarven District with interest. But said interest diverted to the two books over her lap during the paused in flow. Two slim journals were there. One blue and the other leather bound. Though she was concealed from the world, a cat laid and purred by her resting feet.

While counting passerby's, she also ran over dirty numbers. The Hudson Shipping Company made it's fortune in both the legal and the illegal kind of trade. It was part of her job description to keep the latter's books balanced -- and so she did. Margharette always did enjoy her work more when performed outside of her office. Everything was neatly organized and coded. A few words for drugs. Others for weapons. Then there was everything in between. Before and after. These seemed to be no limits so long as it could be fit into a crate and shipped. That she could work for more than one person simultaneously was an opportunity she was not about to slack on.

On the corner of the leather journal, Margharette struck a short line when her target took yet another peek through the window when he returned home after dining at the nearby tavern. Beneath her, two people approached the planter surrounding her nest. It wasn't until the focal point of her spying retreated that she turned to investigate. An old man with a missing arm was helping a younger but wounded man make it to the corner of the planter where he was then seated.

The young man's head was mostly bandaged. Only one half of his angular face was visible. He had one crutch. The old man had been using his only arm to act as the second. Injuries appeared to be numerous, but it was his incoherent mumbling that struck her the hardest. Something about the world breaking. Though the old man sought to calm his bewildered son, nothing he did or said could combat the broken state of the wounded soldier.

Margharette's heart sank, touched by the gravity of the situation. She paused her work, flooded by question. Nonsensical, trivial and deep queries all came together, igniting the flame of a moral debate. These came more often than she cared to admit. Marge heard the young man's name, writing it on the leather journal. After the old man caught his breath again, he guided the blinded soldier to his feet and made their way down the street. She returned to the blue book, finishing the last page and carrying on with the rest of her work.

Margharette pinned an ugly as sin man down on the bed, holding a good old fashioned kitchen knife against his throat. The kind that could be found in any ordinary home. Her knees kept his hands from moving. "Shhssh. There, there..." Marge whispered in a cool and sweet tone. The gloved hand over his mouth relieved some of the pressure but did not relinquished it's oppressive stance in full. Blue eyes were intently bearing down on his matching own, demanding his full and undivided attention.

"I am going to move my hand away and you are going to take a deep breath. There will be no pointless screaming." She continued before pressing the tip of her knife against the side of the man's neck. The flat end for the most part. A detail carefully hidden from his view with a downward tilt of the weapon. Margharette wasn't about to complicate her life with a heavy mess. "You are just going to breathe and answer some questions. Nod if you understand."

His expression wrinkled even through the shaky nod. The man's fear was palatable, forcing her to swallow the lump in her throat. Sinister Shadows rippled across and beyond her form in protest of this submission.

"Thank you. Once you are ready, tell me your name." Marge calmly whispered, uncovering his mouth and moving her hand to the pillow beneath his head. He did as instructed, taking a deep breath and finding his voice.

"S-Steve." He nervously whispered.

"Steve~" she repeated. "Alright then. Steve. I am Margharette, and my first question is, why are you spying on Mister Reigns?"

"I don't know that guy!" Steve immediately replied, earning a raised brow.

His promptness was met with a harsh shake. The knife pressed harder, free hand reaching for the top of his head in order to grab hold of his hair and rough him up some. "The Kul tiran across the street. The one that sits in the room your spyglass points at, Steve. Why were you watching?" Margharette's untroubled tone was quite the jump from her threatening movements, hair pulled further back towards the end.

Steve began to sob, choking on his own watering eyes. He pleaded for her to stop. Margharette's high-in-the-air ass shook a bit when his arms began to move, but so far, her pin held.

"Please, don't! I have a family. I'm all my little girls have left!" Steve cried, actual tears streaming down reddened cheeks.

Margharette recalled the drawing nailed to the wall in his living room. Two dresses. One blue. One pink. And in between, a lone, tall stick man. She took a deep breath through her nose and let go of his hair, debating on how hard to push him and by which mean. The pillow was pulled out from under him, held beside his flattered head. Knife was lifted as well, showing him the obvious turn of the blade. Moonlight caught the metal and helped it reflect an image. That of a snot bubble growing over half of his nose. But now, it was clearly the sharp edge that pressed against his neck, nicking the skin by the tip by centimeter but exposing the red inside. Steve squirmed. Marge smiled. And outside, a cat watched the street from the top of a roof.

"Now, now, Steve. It is a simple question. And I will give you one last chance. Why were you spying on Reigns?" Margharette whispered after a brief but calm mental debate. "If you tell me, this can finally be over and we can all go home." She added with her earlier dash of sweetness in her tone. The hope was to give him hope and persuade him to speak. An empty promise given with a dead stare, for the decision had already been made.

Steve sniffled, the bubble momentarily collapsing before it was given another breath of life. "I-I was paid to. I don't know their names, but they paid me to watch and report. Please! I don't know anything more." He pleaded yet again.

Margharette stared at him for thoughtful moments, the stench of lies nowhere to be found in his words. They also evened the field a little. This man was only doing his job and now, she'd do hers. Marge was about to begin lifting her weapon of choice, a smothering pillow, when there was a clumsy bang on the front door.

XIV

Margharette sat by a lit lamp hanging from a pole, dressed in a purple shirt covered by a black and blue vest. Pants and boots completed the casual ensemble. The pole was part of the small fishing vessel sailing hours away from the city, far beyond it's horizon. She was trying to make sense of one of the weapon designs found in Steve's office, turning it this way and that way but nagged by a flaw she could not point at. In the dark and turbulent waters before her, sharks feasted on a meal.

"Why didn't you burn this one?" Thomas, the thirty something year old with dirty blonde hair asked. This was his boat. A bulky boat for a bulky man. The day previous, after visiting a guard, Margharette paid Thomas a visit as well. It wasn't the first time nor was it the last. But the man had a point. It was unusual not to dispose of a body in what they came to call Trash Island, a minute massing of dirt, sand and rock with a hidden burning pit.

"I've not the time. We have to meet with another ship in a couple of hours." Marge replied, placing the blueprint in a bag by her feet and reaching into a pocket. Once she lit a cigar and indulged in several puffs, the woman turned towards the water. She watched the splash and thrash of animals as they ripped. "This will be his final contribution. To feed a family since he could not feed his own." Margharette added with an amused tone.

"You're a monster." Thomas blurted, realizing the position he put himself in and quickly seeking to rectify it somehow. "Respectfully, Miss Grimwald."

Margharette's smile widened before she turned towards Thomas. "Yes. I am aware of what I am capable of. I am also aware that I enjoy morbid humor. But I promise, I'm still mostly human." She quipped with a teasing wink, taking another couple of puffs from her cigar and turning to watch the glory of mother nature for a little while longer, knowing that soon, she would be headed to an entirely different land where she could find herself in Steve's shoes.

Too many unknown pieces in unfamiliar territory. Her excitement coexisted with her fears, mingling and creating something new entirely. Something that could hardly be contained, but she managed. It wasn't until the sharks settled, leaving no recognizable pieces of Steve in this world that the pair sailed even further.

Margharette was off to discover a whole new world, hoping to bring quite a few valuable pieces back. Whether they were riches or less tangible valuables remained to be seen. She wondered what manner of folk she’d meet -- and what kinds of monsters.

____________________________________________

/cue music

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{ To read story in chronological order, follow the roman numerals.}

Mentions

@mister-reigns

@braxtonhudson

And shoutout for all the others involved that don’t have a tumblr <3

#ic story #murder #hudson shipping company #amateur writing #non-linear #criminal #story #writing #storyboard #non-linear timeline #oc #margharette grimwald #underboss #working girl #road to kul tiras

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whieldonflyfishing · 4 years

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How to Fly Fish Stillwater

STILLWATER TROUT FISHING

One of the amazing places for learners to get introductions is stock Stillwater. The springs are probably the best time to fish in these sort of places and the best time to practice the sport. We are now telling you the Lake fly fishing for trout beginning guidelines.

No matter if you're new in the business or you're someone who wants to come back from a long break of fly fishing. These are my ultimate list of choices, including how to fish wet flies and how to fish dry flies both.

Find out the best location.

It will never be your time wasted when you give your moments to the research about your next purpose. The best sources you can use our social media and the available online reports about fishing games. To be very honest, I have found out that the better the services of games and consistency in sport, the better you'll find them engaging on social platforms. Also, you have to look even deeper and look at the positive vibes from visiting people.

When you are fishing in the best-stocked venues and places, you'll be having a better experience of fishing every time. Most popular venues are likely to have more fish turnover and will be restocked regularly.

Also, the more fishermen there on the site, you can see them doing their experiments, asking your related questions and learning from them. Most of the fishermen love to share their methods of fishing with their hearts. Also, you can spot a tackle shop to buy a killer fly they suggested to you.

Our most favourite fly is Ar orange Head woolly starter with which we recommend to use it with manly built commercial puddles with rainbow and brook trout alternatively. We use this pattern because it's a larger size. A very amazing attraction bigger (contrasts of orange head) and a smaller (black woolly bugger). It seems a universal fly pattern that especially adores rainbow trout at the start of the cold spring season(start of the season on the commercial reservoir of trout).

Also, at the start of autumn seasons until the surface of the stream freezes. (Half time of the trout, fishing seasons on still water.) As the names say it all (starter), we prefer to follow this sequence of fishing to locate the occurrence and activities of the fishes on water locality.

Prefer Clearwater puddle

It will be boasting much confidence of the fisherman when they notice the pattern of fishes on every cast. That's why we always recommend a clear water puddle. It also gives this choice to play willingly with different flies to tie and depth without having the worry of Fish watching the fly. The clear pool will be making you the visible closeness of fishes to the bank and depth of the water.

You are also able to see the contours, weed beds, etc. And obviously, all will be helping you locate the fish colonies. When you finally get some practice to work, then you fish smaller flies such as buzzers, which can be attentive to fishes and any worm.

Our other very favourite and amazing for Stillwater rainbow fishing is AR HOT HEAD YELLOW KILLER, especially at the start of this season. This pattern is amazing for the first time chase, just after the water surfaces freeze on the dams. When in clean and cold water, hypnotizes the trout to strike over. Great fly, and when you're hunting for freshly stocked fishes, they always pay a serious responsibility to simple extraordinary flies of the same kind. In the big size, we utilize the hot yellow lure as the point flies.

But just because we don't like fishing with the large and bright shaded lure, we reduce the size and move this fly to the position of excellent Dropper fly. It stimulates the Fish, which is a low attentive natural fly on the point. Schedules like gold head lure with a black marabou tail and a body of peacock spectra dubbing (spring months) or a white gold head ambush with chartreuse thorax in the cat's whiskers style ( cold months of autumn ) the whole pattern is revised by the slow to medium paced figure to eight utilizing slow and intermediate or subsurface hoverfly line.

Want to know about the complete killer of big trout who, it's no one, then AR FISH FRY BOOBY STREAMER. They roam around the bottom of the coast, looking for more meat. This fly is comparatively bigger and light coloured small fish patterns made for targeted fishing for fry feeders (An English term for the large trout fly fishing from reservoirs who take fry Fish in fall).

The pattern of big trout focusing on the flocks of smaller fishes in the other natural areas works well on still water in the planned wishing on large rainbow trout. We used this pattern around four or five months ago, but time was responsible for the many very big Rainbow and their surroundings Rainbow for fly fishing for trout which are reserving a very long time very inactive but in most of the time occurrence in Dams tends to stick to the bank fairly better than to open water.

Rods

No matter if you want to lay down the dry flies with finesse or sending pennants to the far places, the family of sonic products are always here to comfort you with the best uncompromising versatility with a balancing of power and feel.Happily crisp And very light weighted.

The sonic products always stand out with powerful performances and taper designs to give you the fishing application of dry fly, streamers, nymphing and floating the lines of sinking. Built on kinetic technology blanks, they have excellent tracking qualities because they're naturally responsive in hands. It's ready to be used for any purpose the day has in store.

We coloured it in a juniper shaft colours with hardwood insert (anodized aluminum matte slate on the but t model warriors.) The threads of charcoal wrap around that mix with the black spaces. The elegant design by sonic sports can look perfect in most of the flying fish atmosphere. It is made in the USA and made in the premium rod bag and tube. We have seen every stop to create a family of rods suitable for any kind of angler in any location.

Features to look for

Connecticut technology

Black coloured like juniper

Wrapped with Charcoal primary thread with gunmetal trims wraps

Fuji ceramic stripper guides

Tiptop hard chromed snake guides

Benefits

helps in many application

Componentry and black premium

Lighter weight and more efficient.

Recommendation

Sage igniter single-handed fly rods.

There are conditions that demand different tools or things to handle the stress right. Head wing strong? Is Fish far? Weighted rigs? Are sink tips heavy? The igniters have been tuned to tackle the most technicals of conditions. Not a single rod for daily fishers, the igniters are well equipped with very high line velocity tapers to carry the massive amount of distances with wind cutting achievements. Very suitable for streamer fishing and heavy sink tips or turnover the low conditions covering the big water. If you are bringing your will, you will be served by,

features

Connecticut Technology

Chipotle blank colour

Cayenne wrapping of threads with trim wraps gunmetals.

Stripper guide of Fuji ceramic.

Tiptop and hard-chromed snake guide

Freshwater 4-6 kilograms

Cocobolo wood insert with gunmetal anodized aluminum up-locking reel seat

Floor grade snub-nosed half wells handle of corks.

Saltwater around 6-10 kilogram

Incorporated hidden hook keeper in reel seat

Flor grade full wells cork handle with EVA fighting butt

Laser-etched line weight on slide band

Dark rod bag with Titanium logo and chipotle colour model tag

Black powder-coated aluminum rod tube with a medallion of sage

Orvis fly fishing videos for new clear water series.

Single and duo hand rods. The new collection of Orvis new clear water rod series is not a cosmetic facelift but a detailed overhaul from the bottom up by their rod designer.

But they can't change our values. It is the best fly rod you can ever have for the fortune.

The consequence of up-gradation is performance and glances in a detailed series that is suitable to every fisher from small addiction to Skagit tossing two handlers. Each and every road has been designed by the purpose-built profile and action to deal with the kind of fishing the rod has been used for.

From the medium litigations action small stream rods to medium-fast freshwater rods and fast action big game rods.

The blanks have white accents with black chrome

A very fast identifier on the blank

A ceramic insert with a full chrome snake and a stripping guide.

Seats of full black nickel aluminum

Rods with butts for fighting to have composite tips for vitality

Rods are bi-handed, having blended on the tip of the foregrip

Having a grey rod tube

Guarantee of silver Jubilee

formulated in Vermont.

Floaters

Versatility is the main reason why we become so devoted to the floating line. We can cover up to 25 inches to the five feet shallowness or less than it..During the end of springs and starting of hot weather when the parklands trout focus on the rising chironomid pupa, these happen most of the time daily. Another significant reason for ensuring is that a floating line is in your kit bag and very crucial for the strike indicator presentations.

Strike indicators have been seen massively on the lakes. The domain of those imitating chironomid pupa and larva once utilized strike indicator method whenever fly fishing for trout is targeting the other sources of food like leeches, baitfish, damsel nymph, acids, and nymphs of a dragonfly. The strike pointer facilities for controlling two keys exhibition elements(depths and revived speed) fly representation any Stillwater forage item can be prosperously cancelled below the pointer.

These floating lines are to be the truly amazing choice of casting and reviving weighted techniques. By analyzing the leader inches, the time of the sink weighed off pattern and retrieval speed. This is now possible and in access to reach 20 feet deep. If you want to do this, do with standard 9-15 foot leaders with fluorocarbon tippet. The density is varying up to tapered leader causes it to worsen in an arc.

Accordingly, leaders have to be 25% longer than the depth of the water. For instance, if you want to reach 16 feet down, that will be requiring a 19-foot leader. Retrieve speeds should be comparatively slow to moderate any fast-paced and will fly climb up out of the 1-3 foot zone, from the forage from where the bottom of the trout.

In the months of autumn, the best Lake flies for trout actively roam the shallow stocks up for the long winter season coming. A couple of floating lines with a 12-foot leader and very proportional leech or minnow pattern works magic.

Clear intermediate

Clear intermediate lines are crucial for still water. Many of the still water fly fishers fly fishing on the Lake are too stuck to the direct or indirect nature as it gives it the elements of stealth. Benefits are seen when paired up with cleared water conditions. Very obvious moderate lines are very favourable, showing equipment for parklands trout, which is foraging shoreline margins and weed perimeters in search of a pontoon boat or float tube. A clear intermediate is most favourite to search equal to the shore or to have weed pockets and openings.

Fast sinker

The very last and very important type V density compensated line in my parklands fly lines trifecta. The type V lines allow you to explore deeper into a clear intermediate line that would take longer to hit. If the trout is active and much aggressive with more efficiency to catch minnow or leech patterns moved at a very slow-paced or predator such as bobby, fast sinking cords are best proved. Time is never wasted waiting for the lines to plunge before the commencement of the retriever.

A type called V is also a very good choice for those who are interested in searching as it will not be paddling along shoreline structure or over the beds of expensive weeds.

Conclusion

Hopefully, these tricks and tips will make you understand more about fly fishing in lakes, and if any of you are reading, this will be up in the dry fly fish method. It would be a treat for us and for the sport.

from Whieldon Fly Fishing - The Fly Fishing Diaries https://ift.tt/2NN1lwY via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Whieldon Fly Fishing - The Fly Fishing Diaries

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meganhodgkinsonfalmouth · 4 years

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Self-Evaluation.

The intention for my current work was to create a large life-size sculpture made from plaster. It would take the form of a leopard. The catlike figure, rendered in patterns resembling bacteria cells that looked as though it was made from white coral. It was full of holes meaning it had none of the distinctive features or details associated with big cats, such as eyes, teeth and fur. I planned for the leopard to be gazing down from an elevated position at a box, similar in size and proportion to the animal itself. The box would be made from plywood and its exterior would have been completely white, to match the white space of the room this work would be situated in. I wanted my audience to discover a slit in the box where they could view its interior. This would display an explosion of colour and life. I hoped for the inside of the box to look like a mystical utopia of coral-like forms crawling around the insides and spreading like bacteria. My reference for this work is the magical forest land from James Cameron’s (2009) movie ‘Avatar’. My concept was to breakdown current stereotypical ideas and prejudices of bacteria by glamorising their gruesome form into something regal. This is why I chose a leopard. Mental health is a very important subject to me. I chose a white box to demonstrate the idea that we never really know what's going on inside someone else. We all have our own individual struggles. I wanted to propose the idea that beauty comes from within and that the exterior does not define everything there is to know about a person. I also have a personal connection to making a statuesque mythical creature. One of my vivid significant memories of my late father is that he loved his sandstone gargoyles in the garden and I wanted to recreate these weathered beings as a tribute to him on a personal level to make him proud. A leopard is also covered in camouflage and this is what my father, who was a fisherman, used to wear all the time. A leopard is known as a symbol for trusting your instincts to lead you in the correct direction. I wanted my creation to be inviting and an interactive experience. People would be invited to stroke, rub and touch the work. It would be a like a massage having the texture of a shell.

This term, I made complete use of the mold making facilities I wanted to try out all sorts of mediums to create weird and wonderful abstract forms that resembled bacteria. I explored this theme by making oddly textured blobs with an amorphous shape and I added beauty to them with crazy colour combinations (the more outrageous the better). I created large screen prints of cells. The images were made from reacting chemicals and capturing the reactions and bubbles on a sheet of paper. The outcome looked like an image from a microscope. I also made three-dimensional resin crystals that looked like clear glass bacteria that you could hold in your hands. One of my ideas that I never got to complete was to make my bacteria forms into squeezy stress balls that were filled with jellied balls consisting of different dimensions of spheres to look like a miniature universe in your hands. I wanted to play around with perspective and make people's minds wonder to places they have not before. I experimented a lot with texture and colour, my two main factors to making my work. I experimented as much as possible from modelling clay around recycled objects to look as if bacteria were growing into the material to creating the giant leopard structure from plaster, metal and wood. Before university shut down, I had many works in progress left in the workshops that I was unable to access. Therefore, I had to create work that I was able to make at home. I made what I would have created in the workshops which consisted of similar sculptures but with different materials. I couldn’t make more resin crystals so I created identical ones out of foam, PVA glue and acrylic paint.

Throughout the project, I have been investigating ideas to experiment with how our brains react to visual stimuli. I wanted my work to be playful and to have a positive atmosphere for the viewer, where they could escape real life momentarily. I began this year producing explosive, abstract paintings, before then choosing to focus more on the creation of my 3D blobs. From there, I further developed my work by beginning to sculpt pieces that increasingly took on the forms of real animals. My final piece idea stemmed from playing around with clay, creating repetitive textures on its surface that could be used to produce a tactile experience. The shapes I made were to have no identity and one had a tail, inspiring me to look at animals and creatures as well as natural forms, such as shells. I decided to challenge myself and I knew I wanted to have a stand out sculpture for my degree show. I wanted something big and powerful, this was a huge risk and I'd have to spend as much time in the workshops as was available, but I knew this is what I wanted to do. I got past the hardest stage, constructing the armature of the body, taking the precise measurements of its skeleton and positioning it so that it would be stable on its own. I created a few practice pieces. One of these was made from clay that, when dried, caused the sculpture to lean forwards. Meanwhile, white clay would be too expensive, so plaster became my best option. This was more of a challenge than a normal sculpture because it had to have a sturdy skeleton as the plaster would become heavy very quickly. However, I could not use too much paper to form lightweight padding around the animal's skeletal frame. This was on account of the deep holes I would have to drill into it, which would risk exposing the leopard’s paper padding if it came too close to the surface. Furthermore, the structure would have to be strong enough to withstand a heavy mass on top of it and not break, crack or be pulled down with gravity. I got to the point of transporting it home, however, I wasn’t able to complete it at home with no access to a ventilator or tools such as sanders and drills or space to work in.

Ever since I found Dan Lam I have fallen in love with her work. She is what first inspired me to create a piece of work that confuses the viewer as it exhibits both contradictory qualities of beauty and grotesqueness, on account of its theme being the glamorisation of bacteria. She creates this concept by making slime-like sculptures, adding feminine and iridescent colours which render the sculpture no longer repulsive but captivating. Lam also makes alien creatures that have no identity and encourages viewers to make their own mind up on what they are viewing. Her work is what inspired me to create mythical dream-like sculptures. After my dissertation on Yayoi Kusama I became very fascinated with her obsessive practice that utilised polka dots which made me think how everything in the world is made up of something smaller, like bacteria cells. She creates work simply from dots taking over a space, oozing and crawling with repeated circles in abundance. Kusuma inspired my admiration for a simple shape and how it can be made to transform into a reoccurring pattern, making something simple become complex.

The Rorschach test has been a big influence on my artwork as it encourages a viewer to use their imagination when looking at the art presented to them. The test is dependent on the audience participating, who are free to interpret any image in any way they want. It does not purposefully present literal or realistic imagery, which makes it intriguing to look at. This is the reaction I want for my own artwork. Abstraction is a distinctive feature of my work. I investigate this, by looking into the forms of bacteria that produce a dreamlike world. Bacteria links to both death and life which are part of an unending cycle. I wanted my viewer to experience something surreal. I give bacteria an enchanting vibe to look at death in a light-hearted way. The super bright colours of my work are important because, after looking at the effects of colour on the human mind, I want my work to be explosive and full of life, on account of the importance of aesthetics bringing out positive changes in mood.

To keep myself on track, I made a timeline so I knew how long I had left until the deadline. There were only so many hours the workshops would be open for, so I could only work limited hours with the technicians’ support and facilities. I planned each week with realistic expectations of my final piece progression, mapping what I could get done. As a whole, the leopard would take at least a month to create. This plan was going to be challenging but I knew that everything was going to be finished for the exhibition. I made sure I was in university every day and this represented not only a piece of artwork, this was more to me, it was a tribute to my father. I wanted to produce the very best outcome I could. When us students were sent home to finish our degrees in isolation, I made up a small studio space with my housemates. I had group critiques with the two third year illustration students I was living with in lockdown. Hearing someone else's opinion on my work helped me to better understand how I could improve it and, as students, we motivated each other to treat the house studio as a workspace.

A lot of my work was locked away in the studio due to COVID-19. I had six finished molds of sea life inspired sculptures in the casting workshop, ready for me to fill them with resin, creating crystal bacteria. I was unable to finish my work as it was impossible without the facilities. If circumstances were different and there wasn’t a pandemic, I would have been able to finish my 80cm plaster leopard and have a box filled with a precious crystal cave inside. It would have been a lot more immersive due to its large size. I wanted my work to be interactive and the viewers reaction to be part of it. I intended for it to be a stand out piece and for it to bring joy to the families that would see it.

In the future I plan to focus on making and selling animal-like sculptures. I am also interested in prop making for film sets and technical roles including art fabrication. I am open to anything and excited as to where the next part of my journey will take me as a graduate.

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tanuki-kimono · 7 years

Photo

Japanese folk tales #41 - A Fox’s Tail

Find my tales tagged here or visit my blog for both english and french versions.

Wish me to cover a special youkai or subject? Contact me, I’ll try to accommodate ^^❤️

Once upon a time, there was a mischievous fox who lived near a remote hamlet. Lurking in the woods by day, descending to the village at night, the beast took the greatest pleasure tormenting farmers and woodsmen.

He kept stealing food and hiding tools… but also loved to terrify small children with whispers in the dark. More often than not, frightened cries would rose. And the fox’s laugh would ring in the air:

– Oh come on, don’t take it bad kid! That was just a joke!

Villagers had tried many things to catch him. They had dug deep pits, set nasty snares, raised high fences. But alas, the clever animal kept evading them.

In the end, they had all but resigned to simply live along with this pestering creature, shrugging his not-so-funny tricks off.

One day, a wandering samurai came passing. It was a tough man, all broad shoulders and strong arms. When he overheard farmers complaining about the fox’s pranks, he stood tall, flexed proudly, and said with a booming voice:

– Fear not good people! I’ll get you rid of that sly beast!

And on that note, before the villagers could stop him, he headed towards the forest.

The samurai was not exactly a subtle man. He strolled stomping over mossy stumps, rustling thick ferns. Of course, with all this noise, the fox didn’t show up. And soon his patience ran thin:

– I know you’re here! Show yourself coward!

For hours, the warrior walked the woods, more and more somber as day flew by. Finally, as he had halted near a bubbling creek to refresh himself, a tiny voice startled him.

A small girl was shyly standing near the water, nervously playing with her hands:

– Mr samurai… I- have lost my way… C-could you help me back to the village, please?

Big tears were building up in her eyes.

The man stood up and smiled:

– Of course! I have lost my day anyway, that fox will not show up today…

And he extended his calloused hand.

Yet, when the girl took it, he grabbed the back of her kimono in a tight grip:

– Got you, beast!

The girl’s eyes grew wide for a moment. Then, she slowly grinned, and winked impishly:

– So you think!

With a puff, she vanished into thin air. In the samurai’s hand only remained a ragged kimono which had seen better days.

Seething, the warrior took off running. Only to stumble upon a soft looking old man:

– My my, where are you going in such a hurry?

The samurai roared:

– You won’t trick me twice!

He unsheathed his sword and, with a swift strike, pierced the old man’s heart.

But, no blood appeared. The fox in disguise only sighted forcefully, rolled his eyes and teased:

– You’re not very bright, ain’t you?

And with a puff and a mocking laugh, the animal turned into an old woman. The samurai struck her down without mercy. A stern monk took her place, then a plump merchant, then a beautiful courtesan, then a thin fisherman.

The warrior kept striking relentlessly, again and again. Until finally, exhausted by all those magic tricks, fox showed it’s true form, his russet fur shining brightly in the late afternoon sun.

Out of breath, ears down, he pleaded:

– All right, all right, I surrender! I swear I won’t harass the villagers again!

Panting, the samurai grunted:

– That just another ploy of yours!

And he lunged at the fox. Beast and man rolled on the ground, in an indistinct ball of arms and paws and fur and hair.

The fox had nearly managed to escape when the samurai quickly caught him by the tail. With a yelp, the animal tried to vanish in a puff once more, without success: his magic had not returned yet.

As the fox resisted with all his might, claws gripping the forest floor, the samurai pulled harder and harder. And suddenly, the fox’s tail went off with a loud popping sound.

Without further ado, the animal disappeared into the woods, running for his life.

The samurai, who had fallen down with the momentum, barked out a laugh as he looked at the bushy tail he was still holding tight:

– That will teach you well!

With a bright smile on has face, he returned to the village. Proud with himself, he bragged:

– See that tail? That fox will never torment you again!

Yet, instead of cheers, all the farmers whispered, throwing him quizzical looks. Finally a braver one stuttered:

– Hum, Mr Samurai? What tail are you talking about?

And sure enough, when the fierce warrior counter checked, he found his hand was only holding a big juicy radish.

In the air, the fox’s laugh rang: the master trickster had struck again.

Notes:

I have covered kitsune (magical foxes) in several other tales. This one depicts a “wild fox” (yako or nogitsune) which are foxes not sworn to the benevolent kami Inari. Those creatures are playfully mischievous, but also sometimes downright malicious and dangerous.

The tails of kitsune are probably their most famous feature. Folkore says foxes grew tails as they aged, the more tails the more potent the kitsune is, the kyubi (nine tailed fox) being the most powerful of all. In some traditions, kitsune draw their magic from their tail, which is why cutting it is thought to prevent them from using their powers. It is similar to the nekomata/bakeneko motifs and explains why some superstitious would cut their cat tails.

Today’s story shows quite well a moral which is kinda unsettling for Westerners. In the end, the “bad” fox is still on the loose and it’s implied that no one will truly be able to do something against it. It is a motif often found in Asian stories: humans are not the center of the world but merely part of it. And there are some things they will never be able to change!

[pictures sources: 1 / 2 / 3]

#japanese folk tales #tale #japan #kitsune #fox #kyubi #samurai #katana #nogitsune #yakoshi #inari #nekomata #bakeneko

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galliumcoyote · 4 years

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○➴○ LITTLE PHANTS AND THE HOLE IN THE TABLE○➴○

The people on the tabletop, who call themselves the Hawaen, like all people, have myths and legends born of curiosity and interest. Installment no. 4

It was the Little Phants that made the hole in the Table, and the Little Phants who were made by the son of Akarimraei La Soos. They called him Kaesom, the village, but the little creature he found under the sage brush and the weeds called him Kaeso, papa Kae.

Kaesom’s father was a fisherman, angry and stubborn and filled with fire and rage. Kaesom was not. Kaesom was like his mother, Ammiate rest her soul, soft and quiet and concerned with little, wild things, like ants and bees and birds. But, unlike her, he was alive, having survived his birth, and for this, Akarimraei resented him. Akarimraei also, in addition resented dogs, and cats, and most manner of living things. He would get drunk off the fermented apples and yeast he brewed under his porch, and would make friends by selling it by the bottle on festival days. He was the clever mind who orchestrated the first one, a lover of music and whiskey, to celebrate his wife's, Jume,, Jume, pregnancy. Akarimraei filled a barrel full of his home made liquor, and rolled it into the village square.

It was there that his friend the craftsman arranged a table, upon which Akarimraei and Jume filled with sweets and fish, and foods of all kinds. More barrels, each easier after the last with the help of the village, a small place near the upper right corner of the Table, which at that point seemed to stretch on forever. The merrymen of the village made the first drums, from goathide and hollowed tree trunks. They continued after Kaesom’s birth, though he never attended. First, his father claimed it was because he was an infant, then, because he was a child, then, finally, because he had no worth or worldly experience.

But, Kaesom would complain, how was he to gain experience if he was not allowed to leave the house, save for fishing trips? Or to tend the garden? Or to stare wistfully at the neighbor's dogs, and be scolded for sneaking them bones and savory parts?

Eagerly, Kaesom wanted his father’s approval. He would sneak out, in the dead of night, silence the dogs across the way with fish steaks and garlic, and journey down to the river side. There, he would pick flowers he found beautiful, fish for salmon, and when the sun started to rise, and he was decently satisfied with his bounty, he would sneak back into bed, and present them to his father in the morning. Akarimraei was not an idiot, as much as he was made a fool from grief, and knew his son had to have disobeyed him to do so. Kaesom was not thanked, and was instead whooped and sent to his room. But Kaesom was twice as stubborn as his father. The next attempt was made of butterflies and the rarest flowers and fruits he could find. After that was homemade bread, then a turtle twice his size, then the tooth of the boy of one of Akarimraei’s least liked neighbors. A bird’s nest, Red Crane Eggs, Rose Boa hatchlings, a stolen Owl Horse foal. No, no, and especially, no.

The worst offense, Kaesom thought, was on the day he brought home a small feline. A Longbear cub, discarded for being too small and toothless. It was with great pride that Kaesom presented his prize, embellishing the tale of him finding the creature alone in the woods to say that he’d slain the mother himself, and that he was big and strong. Fed up with his child disobeying him, Akarimraei snatched the cub from the boy’s hands, and broke its neck.

The empty barrels from Akarimraei’s festive living and the old now unused fishing lines from his previous profession found one another one evening. They tangled and broke, making a mess and paste teeming with alcohol and bacteria. They rolled down the hill from the house, picking up stones, sticks, twigs, bugs, worms, anything and everything. They, resting at the bottom of the hill, set about to bring an end to Akarimraei, the son of Soos. In the morning, mewing from the bushes caught Kaesom’s attention as he made his way back into his father’s house. A feeling, squirming around in Kaesom’s gut. He wasn’t sure what it was that struck him when he saw the pitiful little thing, but he felt his stomach pinch, and he found his heart melting. His father, he thought, would not feel the same, and so he set to hide the little beast. He fashioned a bed from his covers and his quilt, softened the bottom of the bed box with leaves and stuffing. These things were expensive, but he would claim he knew not what happened to them.

Kaesom didn’t know what the little thing ate, for it was the first of its kind that’d ever seen. It would only eat large leaves that fell from the top canopy, and this was no problem when the creature was small. As it grew, however, it became more and more hungry, more and more energetic. The monster was loud and clingy and filled with a hunger like that of the wilddogs, but Kaesom supposed it made sense. He was getting big! Big, and grey. Little tusks poked out from under its long, prehensile nose, and the boy found it funny. It reminded him of Brohan, and for that, he named it Phanroahn.

The little beast, with its grey, stony skin, big, button eyes, and gentle but energetic disposition, grew harder and harder to conceal. Then, one day, when overlooking their hiding place from his window, Kaesom had an idea. He would drill a hole in the earth, with hopes it would be hollow, to the ocean below. Then, father could fish from home, and he wouldn't need to leave. They could spend more time together, and he could see Kaesom's potential for himself. The miniature elephant soon grew so big as to cast the house in shadow, and Kaesom thought it wise to practice away from the house.

They picked a little place away from their home, a place where the ground was soft from the river and free of grass or stone. There, Phanroahn was instructed, for he was very wise and could understand the majority of his adoptive father's commands, to pound the ground, until it cracked. He did so quickly. He was big and heavy and made of wooden bone, and the ground was thin and shook under him, anyway. A hole was bore, but Phanroahn grew hungry and tired, and asked Kaesom for food. Kaesom refused, and insisted they showed his father first. Phanroahn agreed, and waited for him to fetch his father. Ak, however, found them first. He was furious, and in his blind fury, tripped into the hole and died.

Kaesom left, both the hole and his beast, and disappeared into the forest. From the creature’s tears came the Little Phants.

#myth #tw: death #tw: abuse #tw: alcohol #long post #hawaen #people of the tabletop #not as good as the others #its an elephant #worldbuilding #lore

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shirtshoping · 4 years

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brittanyyoungblog · 6 years

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Declarations of Love: Quotes from Books, Movies, & More

Maybe it happens after running through an airport; while standing in the rain; at a big family dinner; or in front of the whole class, office, or press conference… Wherever or however it happens, we all know that moment in a book, movie, or TV show, because it’s the one we’ve been waiting for. It’s the moment everything has been building up to—the inevitable declaration of love.

The ‘I love you’ moment in books, movies, TV, and more come in many different shapes and sizes. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s sad, sometimes it melts your heart and other times it makes you tear up. (Admit it, just a little.) But it’s always romantic.

So for those of you who live for those swoon-worthy moments where one character puts it all on the line, here’s a collection of some of the best declarations of love. From the long speeches to the one-liners, you’ll find something to make you sigh and maybe even inspire your own declarations.

1. Harry’s New Years’ Eve Speech from “When Harry Met Sally”

I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

2. Henry Miller’s Intense Confession to Anaïs Nin from his August 14, 1932 love letter

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever!

3. John Thornton’s Declaration to Margaret Hale from “North and South” by Elizabeth Gaskell

‘I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you—ay—smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think—oh, Miss Hale!.. to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever I exult in existence henceforward, I may say to myself, ‘All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!’ And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one—nay, you must, you shall hear’—said he, stepping forwards with stern determination—’to one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.

4. Jerry’s Living Room Speech from “Jerry Mcguire”

Hello? Hello. I’m lookin’ for my wife. Wait. Okay… okay… okay. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen. I’m not letting you get rid of me. How about that? This used to be my specialty. You know, I was good in a living room. They’d send me in there, and I’d do it alone. And now I just… But tonight, our little project, our company had a very big night—a very, very big night. But it wasn’t complete, wasn’t nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn’t share it with you. I couldn’t hear your voice or laugh about it with you. I miss my… I miss my wife. We live in a cynical world, a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you. You complete me.

5. Darius’s Urgency from “Love Jones”

Let me tell you somethin’. This here, right now, at this very moment, is all that matters to me. I love you. That’s urgent like a motherfucker.

6. Gilbert’s Sweet Admission to Anne from “Anne of the Island” (Anne of Green Gables #3) by L.M. Montgomery

I have a dream… I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and you!

7. Noah’s Outburst by the Car from “The Notebook”

It’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be really hard. We’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day. Will you do something for me, please? Just picture your life for me? 30 years from now, 40 years from now? What’s it look like? If it’s with him, go. Go! I lost you once, I think I can do it again. If I thought that’s what you really wanted. But don’t you take the easy way out.

7. Jack Gets Honest from “Brokeback Mountain”

Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together! Fuckin’ real good life! Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Ennis! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain! Everything’s built on that! That’s all we got, boy, fuckin’ all. So I hope you know that, even if you don’t never know the rest! You count the damn few times we have been together in nearly twenty years and you measure the short fucking leash you keep me on—and then you ask me about Mexico and tell me you’ll kill me for needing somethin’ I don’t hardly never get. You have no idea how bad it gets! I’m not you… I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me Ennis, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.

8. Mr. Rochester’s Speech from “Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Brontë

I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you – and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.

9. The Hour in the Boathouse from “A Fisherman of the Inland Sea” by Ursula Le Guin

I found out I was in love with you, winter before last… I wasn’t going to say anything about it because—well, you know. If you’d felt anything like that for me, you’d have known I did. But it wasn’t both of us. So there was no good in it. But then, when you told us you’re leaving… At first I thought, all the more reason to say nothing. But then I thought, that wouldn’t be fair. To me, partly. Love has a right to be spoken. And you have a right to know that somebody loves you. That somebody has loved you, could love you. We all need to know that. Maybe it’s what we need most. So I wanted to tell you. And because I was afraid I was afraid you thought I’d kept away from you because I didn’t love you, or care about you, you know. It might have looked like that. But it wasn’t that.

10. J.D.’s Confession from “Scrubs”

Look Elliot, every year we bounce around this thing, and I never had the courage to stand up and tell you how I feel: I’m crazy about you, and I want you to know if I had the choice of hanging out with anyone in the entire world or sitting at home with you eating pizza and watching a crappy TV show, I’ll choose you every time.

11. Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Declaration from “Persuasion” by Jane Austen

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

12. Augustus’ Shout Into the Void from “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green

I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.

13. Mark Darcy’s Just as You Are from “Bridget Jones’ Diary” by Helen Fielding

I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother’s pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever’s in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences… But the thing is, um, what I’m trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are.

14. Meredith’s Choose Me Speech from “Grey’s Anatomy”

Okay, here it is. Your choice, it’s simple, her or me. And I’m sure she’s really great. But Derek, I love you. In a really, big really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your bedroom window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you… love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me.

15. Valmont’s Defense from “Dangerous Liaisons” by Christopher Hampton (based on his play that was based on the novel by Choderlos de Laclos)

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failinginvestigativejournalist · 8 years

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Dont freak out, itss just writing

i grew up fast (so fast) (too quick nigga) (wish i went through when i was just a bit bigger) can you tell me who the parent is uh ya the first time i drove a whip i was a fuckin kid, (96 suburban nigga) (yo yo, did you tell em why) oh ya shit my fault my mom was bleeding from her chin i dont know what from or what about, scared to death i took that drive to the ER (Medical SHIIIT) (mom got too drunk again and feel out) (wheres dad? in his room his doors locked, figures i dont expect, as i try to knock (no answer nigga) i dont blame em he removes himself from the sitiation so he dont hit her) ya i fucking grew quick, ya i fucking tryed some shit, the first time i dropped out and took some shroomies i was age 6 plus 6, thats 12 for the illiterates, actually aas a matter a fact it was fuckin pleasant as fuck as i drew back the droe and took another hit. now that i think that was the day, older brother came and gave me cig i obliged no way to say nay, i was still trippin and it was a sensational feelin, it left me stumblin and dizzy a head rush like no other i was hooked for live to the day and i dont blame him, i dont think he knew what he had started, adding to the compilation of the monsxter inside that took refuge and started, poison in his mind, the drugs altered his brain activity but he was buckled up and commited to the ride.Shit i just said in third person let me apologize to yall sometimes the ideas flow together like two fortune five mergin, these feels of hate be strong ya im hurtin, i cant blame no one, i cant choose the family i was birthed in, started sniffin ups felt my blood surgin, gotta big head but my nemisis, the evil inside myself was bigger aboutt the size of a white sturgeon, like some northern ish that canadain shit like british columbia or somethin idk, alls i can say is that BC bud out that bitch is my fav to blow, the sour D, diesel to be exact for you niggas who waana try to nit pick or correct my personal facts, let me just speak at you, all the hatin niggas tryin bring me down, bad news, i do drugs like steve from fuckin blues clues, but my rents always on time when that xshits due, any ways i side tracked speaking of tracks just lined some shit up did with speed did with need i did it with tact, im dextrous and shit i always have a unique train of thought oh shit trains again trains derailed at this point hhaaha i crack myself up sometimes with the wit in my words leh-let you in on the pun so you can join in my fun, about the lines the lines are no more you didn arrive in time i promise these raps have rhythm they have rhyme i aint spittin to waste your time, i aint spittin to catch a dime, bag or bitch, it really dont matter, niether last long but they are still my niche, come here bitch come hit this shit, this time dont have a fit, mind over matter just stick yuh nose in these rails sit down for a bit, drink some wata, go to your happy place we are gettin to old for me to have tote on yuh just from hitten lines but i put up wit it, you got that 50 thou boat on yuh, not to mention your ride, that shit is so sweet i cant decidddee which id rather seed, as in inseminate with my seaman as i play the part as a seaman workin for seimans on a marine voyage i aint like you im a higher being, i dont know whatchu talkin whatch your eyes be seein i am a divine heathan i really cant fucking believe a niggas still breathin im a florida boy born and raised, i sit the fuck back drink my beer in the shade, high as i usually am a rinny tin tin rinscotts tale \down the rintin like a shark fin poatched by commercial fisherman thrown in a bin, no regard for life the human race is so greedy, people just aint my type, say what you want i know me best and i know im right. my creative talents on the other hand be outta sight, im my own worst enemy to cross the bridge pay the fee, trollin in the hood for that g, withdrawin, shakin i drop to my knee look up to the sky ask god if he sees. hear the sound of humming, huh must be bees, or im trippin out maybe its a flash back i dont remmember. whats th-this street, tremblin think my heat skipped a bit, or a couple shakinso bad my knes begin to buckle, anxiety can be dibilatated held me back from so much in life thers no debating. unfamiliar route. made it to this bar ordered a stout got to thinking, you may ask what about, this is why i like solitude to be on my own to answer to noone to depend on myself and live it to the fullest while im yung, my mind will reel, replaying all i know every single memory, that im capable of bringing back, i compare my brain to a file cabinet, i keep it hidden like in an office towards the back. A photographic memory is a gift and a curse, ill tell you whatat, if you dont keep it in check you will end up in a herse, sure you can remember the happy shit the good things in your life but you cant fucking forget the huge hits the fucking bad bitch the one who broke your heart? dounno how to forget you but i think i know where to start, i thought it was drugs, i numbed my body with chemicals little did i know with every shot the metaphorical shovel scooped out some more dirt from the inconcievable whole i fuckin dug. my life has been weird kinda like an opriental from a flee market an awkward rug, with no real spot in the house, was always the black sheep in the fam i tryed to tip toe as quiet as a mouse, some tom and jerry shit my mistakes and regrets cbhasing me around like tom the cat from that shit, I hide in my hidey whole, disconeected from any social environmeent i often found myself cryin, but self loathin is kinda like being a a gay with some dicks hes blowin, givin a ski job pitty is the lube hatred is the tube the vessel to carry out a deed the fags not sure about, hes experimentin comparable to some situations in my life cept wont catch me with two dudes in a shower, that was just a metaphor. you feel me? im sure the haters will hop all over that verse but just fuckinh hear me. I got my shades on and these bitches special, haters they block, they keep you no fun, sticklers out of sight out of mind like spf 75 sun block, that industrial shit, factory born hear the lunch bell on the horn, an hour passes the busy bees come back to the floor to join the others to join the masses; the hoard., here the hum of the worker bees at work as they sneek rum in there flasks stuck it in to the hive got it past the queen time to catch a buzz to make this pain stop while i avoid the fuzz the narks at work, cant control it even if they wanted to stop. i dont want to hurt. this was a metaphor for the endless rut of a reality ive become accustomed to; succomed too, the low of the low. comparable to a german trench on the frontlines., my life feels like a conveyer belt, makin the same product running the same direction never really goiong any where, now thats was an analagy, keeping up? yung unsensitive how many? 0 fucks, 0 fucks giveen, 0 blights forgiven, spiteful to death and mornful for noone, nothing left inside just another no-go, malfunctioning product family be like feeling “ i feel like they robbed us” of our brother our son and our friend , dont worry fam im still with you in your hearts up to the end. im tired of our society with all its malice and fallacy, thinking to my self how sad it must be, to be washed in the brain to be hypnotized, this shits so insane.you want that shit super sized? of course nigga watchu you sayin. A glutonous society obsessed with self indulgence people actually still believe good people are in abundance. Speaking of which, fuck the people for a tec, have you looked around lately, this earth is a wreck, mark my words we headin straight for destruction, We are not being good care takers, we fuckckin actin so careless what doesdo the opeople in power really expect?? just pass it on to the next generation “ohh, its not our life time we will leave it for you” Thats a big fuck you to the generations after you undeserving self entitled fucks finallyy croak. get the fuck outa here, tell me when you sold your sold, you heartlesxs bastards would give anything for xsome more of that paper thgat rules all, the pressure you have put on everyone, no one is an exception, to support ourselves and loved ones to provide for our own and multiple other peoples nees, the urge to make money looms over our heads like a pestiliant storm cloud of angst and uncertainty, boreing a fucking whole in our moral, making peoplpe desperaate rising crime rates because people get desperate, people need to survive and they will do dam near whatever it takess to make the money they need, for whatever purpose. ill whipe my ass with it throw in your cards i will win you better fold. i have freeedom, you ask what? anominity you fuckers, i can moldd my own life i have the freedomm of choosing, i certainly dont have to wait for legislation to pass a bill which you bribed for votes to do so anyways, to do something something much worse than im capabloe of ever doing, intentionally ruining the environment and turning our planet to mars just for paper with and idea (with a “hey, take our word for it, its worth something “””WE PROMISE”””” fucks) behind it not even gold bars, fuck you niggas mark my words illl bring all you mother fuckers down, ill run you fucks out of town, you hear that sound? its a train. its my passion and my determination to take you out, maybe ill use a fuckin plane? i mean its o.k. for the CIA to do it, right? Create this ridiculously elaborote ruse this plot, thyat fucking fooled all the ignorant and brainwashed americans you have already sucked in with your cancerous propaganda, kids lost to your bullshit through social media and the fucking criteria you make teachers teach young minds, we are taught from a very young age that “ huraaahh america is number one! Terrorists bad! Environmental destruction of a planet good!” how about we help some of the third woorld countries (which you know we wouldnt have to be gunning down women and children in the streets) we could just like give them the water they need? help them gentrify there communities teach them how to develop better skills, teach them more efficient ways to take advantage of their land, maybe bring some seeds to food sources that can be grown creating a bit of self sustainability that may not be indigenous but would grow in their country?? you greedy fucks just want oil, when we have enough in our reserves in alaska/canada to last north america 500 years falsey blame others, create an imaginary war “the war on terrorism, which infact is a fucking cover a false entity, to entice patriotism to loosely keep this crumbling empire together the last attempt, the only thread left in the button holding up the pants we call america, you forgot to tell the word all that shit is just whack [ simply a meticulously pplanned and executed ploy to spur interests in the middle east, control the oil and power will return back east, return to u, Cause god knows you tax the fuck out of us for EVERYTHING especially mnother fucking gas, so we can pay for wellfare and pay for fucking solar power for rich fucks who e==inherited wealth, people who hdont know what working a day means and never will be, never had a problem, never been broke “oh shit my fucking croket set is missingg a ball” lose the pretense fuckers, you cocksuckers, arrogant low lives.. Money makes you any better then the hard working man that cover your tax breaks pay like our fucking ppolice forces (who are a bunch of ROTC drop outs with a badge and sense of power nnow being unfair and crooked taking some kind of revenge on the idea of the kids who picked on them all through out school” Motherfucker its harder to become a plumber, the learning and process is longer/more rigorous then a 6 month police academy which is fucking my lil pony world ( ith ink there is a fantasy kids show for my lil pony with their own fantasy dimension/world)compared to a military bootcamp. A doctrine instilled to stop the spread of communisim wherever and whenever it may presenet itsxelf? when is the fighting going to stop in that area of our dying earth, thjey have been fighting eachother since lifes initial birth, what whoever was in power or in charge of trading the petroleumn to us wanted to charge an extra dollar 4 dollars aBARREL instead of 3??? whaa you fucking greedy cunts,? so we invade and take control put there people on dog collars?? for wshat a dollar difference in productionfreedom of speech as you mothers suck the livlyhood from our home like a blood sucking leech, so careless, you know exactly what your doing, you just dont care it aint your problem your headin towardcs the end your death is brewin, well im the reaper of death cloaked in black i always get my man like a cold inwe can hardly co-exist and efficiently function. We are on world one love bob marley shit im getting tired of going throught the motions im all fucked up inside and shit. Early development can be a lynch pin. to either set a strong first corner stone, ceremonial placement of the first corner stone, free mason shit, corn and vegetable oil, so many customs and traditions are goin down a fuckin hill catch em rollin. Early life is so fucking critical for a young kid, childrens minds are like a sponge they are looking up to their elders they are developing mentally they consume everything around them and retain more than you know, give your kids a healthy and stimulating environment and they will let there talents grow let there talents show let there brilliance flow let there inhibitions go, gone like dust in the wind, never catch em in trouble nothing, not one sin. They will begin to get older, be super organized, super focused for school, every class haxs a folder. As you watch them grow you will feel it in your heart you will fuckin kno, atleast you did this at least you used your parental guidance for good. when you die you know youll be missed, your kid dont throw fits, not one bit, hes such a chip off the old block that was cliche as fuck haha tuck em inh for bed his forhead you kiss. I just might fucking shed a tear, I cant fight this urge to drink a beer. I cant deny this fucking fear, I must look like just like headlights shinin onm a deer, jock strap aroun d my ankles, dumbfounded, look in my eyes, perplexed, look on my face as it hits, you get a certain taste in your mouth this race is coming to a close suddenly your filled with doubht, seriously you should be care free, yuou did your duty as a parent, im jealous wish that was me, chill the fuck out go drink some fucking relaxing tea or something, sobrietyy seems to be a good mixture along with love and rationality to make a family function like a well greased machine, like a mechanisim freshly whipped down with some white lithium grease. tuned and ready to go, temped to huff the fumes and left everything go, turn your car on shut the garage door, let death grip you, dont seem to care anymore, I cant change the past and i have no regreats, will i make it to thirty? “right over here people!” “place your bets!”, ill take my tickets to my Life Show and just scalp em make some extra cash, im already absent, so detatched;incapable of feeling. even if im there aint nothing going on emotionally in there (guarantee you im smilin an nodding i really dont give 2 fucks no more”, take that money right to the plug i promote fucking drugs not hugs, or why not both? why does the saying have to be one or the other when sxometimes its both you desire the most. Take the scalpin’ money from the tickets to the play of my life, go on down to the hood, pick up some bags mis amigos habla “Drogas” los hermanos tambien, this urge is hard to fight. Its a romance [a ritual of being, so0mething un explainable i wish i was never a part of, im always metaphorically bleeding. My poker face is strong, fuck showing weakness i alwayxs thought it was to show emotuion. wrong....... but its not, it can save your life, can \get you through, throw you a life jacket, get you out of that tide you fought, that frigid water no warmer than dry eyes.. Ive always been a loose cannon, I go with the flow, not lookin back, been chillin with the old heads they were suprisxed i could hang and, back to the point haha literally or figuratively is the question... im not gonna keep you waitin or leave yall hangin, i hate cliff hangers, make me wait 45 five minutes leave me jonesin’ its slow goin like grindin that ‘crete in the hangers polishin’ that baby out and coatin with some apoxy, its a process, i just get my drugs, whate=vers around and hit bangersz til i pass out, thatsx how my life has been goingg, i feel like im in the chambers just waiting to be gassed out. Flip the fuuckin switch you fuckin pussy end all this malcontent and hate, make itt black, eternal reest at loast.. dress me up real nice maybe a sharp vest, go through the processions and go through the motions fucking burn my body bitches, i want to be in the ocean ive always felt drawn to it, like an unexplainable,, unatainable unfakeable feeling or notion. im happiest sippin a coctail right by the ocean, thats where you put me to rest... ill be pissed as fuck dont treat me like a fucking ruck; i beenn aroound, age is but a number, my knowledge is vast and profound, ya thats right bitch im fuckin educated, know more tthan you will learn in your life time and im 20 years, old get what im sayin? i dont got a big heaad im actually humble, just at my breaking point. if i was a volcanoe you would feel the rumble; the pre-emptive signs of an eruption pre-determineed in the creator’s mind he took his divine time to find a wayy to grin away the time it took to find the book i bind when al i want is to be stress free and unwind but im the opposite wound up liike the grandfather clock i wish i could stop , the wheels are in motion the gears are set to full speed the feels keep comin i got this itch; this notion, this inkling to stop minglin, stop wastin my time with u useless fuccks. i think its time, its not the end my journey, just started this epic tale of sorrow, my feelings have departed, im fuckingg frozen over colder than ice, dry ice. cant touch me im full of hate and vice, addictive personality on a suicide mission like a ffucking missionary willing to die for his faithh,. i wish man willing to be a martyr for his religion.. ya bitch i smoke stoges in the hotel room just send the bill to him if it comes to me itll end up in the fucking rubbish bin with a looggie on top coughin up brown shit to young for that talk, to young for heart disease pack and a half a day to try to keep my miind at ease, the stress is buildin im like a tickin time bomb, im so wound up like a clock rigged to blow mount vesuvius, a test nuke... the alarm is soundinn off. A bright flash like a million lightning strikes, bout to pop off.. but atleast with style got my limited eddition nikes, listen to me i soound like them, listen to me bitching like a fucking fem, bottle it up, thats what society saays, male suicide is at an all time high like two polar opposites due to wed, its never gonna work im always going to be sad im always going to hurt, no fuck it, im a lock it up and throw away the key, im gonna forget about all this shit and be a fuckin G, be hardcore like the brothhers, leave bitches cryin in the street like aall our fuckin mothers, 32 degrees ferenhiet tatted on my left pec it signifies the tempture of my heart no longer warm and red, its frozen over, it hardly beats, that shit is smaler than the grinches, i turned into what they want me to be, a danger to society, getthe fuck outa myface before i shoo,t b, I got nothing to lose, living for nothing, nada, goose eggs nigga dont give a fuck reckless, no regard for life i dont give two fucks a partridge in a ghetto street, aint no merry christmas song, i like my biches thick and dirty wearin'n some fesh tomy thongs, i use em abuse and enthuse them then ruse thm excusse them fuckin confusethem "why you so distaant all of the suden" keep the vow of silence, like a monk on a holy missio, a friar on a divine quest, sending telepathic messages look into my eyes and see, get the fuck out i was never real these feelings meant nothing to me manipulator, manipulationist making up woprds never been a relationist, the masster of his craft a ventrilliquist or a puppet master you were to blind to see, mama was right just a socio path, ya bitch tell your 7 year old child that; see how long his chipper attitude lasts, im lower than nothing, not even a worm maybe i could bbe a fucking tick suckin blood, noting left of the kid i used to be, no more self worth, i cant love you when i cant love myself, how you expect me to support you when all i do is grab a spoon andd melt all the money thaat comes my way, a junkie, bum destined for an early death and you think yous my bride to be, sorry hun you reaad me wrong, i know its hard cause bitches never know whats goin on inside my head, as i lay in bea,d staring off to somewhere, anywhere but next toyou, staring off into space thinking about my drug abuse, asking myself why, but i know the answer ready to die, but i think ill get a lapper frm one more danceer, i wanna go out in style, not som lame shit maybe go up to a mountain and stand on a cliff, look down, see wher im destined to end up as i take the safety off, finger carressing the trigger, a cool wind blows as i prepare to leave my loved ones bitter, surprised they sstayed aound thislong only ever let em down ever since i was young, never good enough always disappointing this rap comes so easily writing it like noothing, to get this off my chest as theend comes near, i shaped my own destiny i chose to die, now i chose to die here, fuk your beliefs and your faith in gods plan i took my life intomy own fucking hands, i think we all know einstiens theory of insanity, i been doin the same shit fr so long now exspectin shit to change and, i guess im insane.. i took my brilliiant, my sharp mind and put it to waste. its time to pull the inevitable, the good die young idk in this case if thats viable, im scummy i did whatever it took to get my fix to kill that pitt in my tummy. i hurt people close, i stole from my famil.y.. its time to end it, like i caqme into the world, by myself always alone, soemthing that my father toldme that really stuck, its cynical as fuck, but he was right. he said stay out of the bullshit the groggy muck. Only lookout for yourself son, ive been arounnd awhile, [people dont give a fuck about anyone else they care only for themselves, in the end at the most critical time they will always choose them instead of some one else. We are alone in this wrld and its the hard truth jut learn not to ddepend on others while you are still in your youth, ive been fucked over to many times by people i thought i was very close to. now im out to get mines me and only me you and only you, get that fucking look on ur face sorry for beeing real and telling the truth, im trying to prepare your for whats ahead, im tryig to prevent you from depending on a brutus who will fill you with lead, stab you in the back for their own personnal gain, being to trustworthy is a heroic flaw like being egotistical, wanting to help your friends to much, being aragont ect. kryptonite to super man pease dont be batman and let it be yourr bane, bane as in the villian to let you know. im back, here are my words again not my dads, ji really do miss all the relationships i had, havent spoken to my dad in years tookk one for theteam stayed with mama dukese inj the ssplit to save faace, foir my innocent younger brothers. you know what shes also my motheer, shes not capable of surviving alone i didnt think i would abandon her ever i thought id never do that, i stuck with her out of evveryone, a family oof six she looked out for me in times of strife wish i could give her one last kiss, just shot my last 20 and i fucin missed, absesses dont matte any more i bet this 45 shoots true time for the finale, no way i can miss, as the curtains close on my young life one last thought people really took to me, like white on rice, women were drawn to me the mystery i had them enticced, June baby as a cancer i am hard to understand i met a chick once who had a spot in my liifes bnd, she knew me we had a connection so much love we were never disrespectin im glad i could atleast i could teach hersome shit before she ripped my beeating heart out of my chest and stepped on it. Loved hermore than life and i still do i promised her one day i would find her and marry her, walkher down that isle say the words ido, she felt what i felt i know its tru, wasnt ready fgor commitment baby i wil alwayslove yo never orget you if i can i connect with you, like a disease i infected you i aways broght you downi was just baggage extra wait holing you down dragging around im glad youo saw through my snake charming ways saw me for who i was a bumm who couldnt change noot in a short number of days, someone so crippled by pain and grief it was beyond belief, she was the only one i wore my heart on my sleeve for , she lef me sobbinig, crrying violently without end in the door the doorway to more pain. i know she had no choice she had to live her lifee i was just in he way, i was obscuring her focus. eye on the prize isthe only way to achieve your goals and tnt them fuckin boulders, in your way, today i die babe, long time comin bet yall thought i was here to stay. baby l dontshed a tear kno i died drinkin a beer haha but nah you were my last thoughts thinking about all the time we spent getting lost in eachothers eyes and gettin so close we read eachothers thougts, illl miss or idk if ill be concious or just nothjingness, i guess ill fnd out when i finally stop being a pussy and proced with this, see ya velma ill always be your shaggy thinka bout me and dont forget what i made you see, in your self im just another memory on our shelf but let it bbe one thaat sticks we had somethingthat made ssense just clicks somethin that felt so right im really gonn miss, everythinig abnout you im sorry you couldnt trust me but i dont doubt why. i know the truth ive never denied a thing in my life, dont getme wrong everybody tells a little white lie, but you know what its a sign of intelligence not to be afraid to say idk not to lie for the hll of it. Ill see you soon in the nxt life or two i hope reincarnatiuon has a possibility of being true, godbye cruel world th ride is over it was a hell of a whirl, i leave you with absolutely nohing conntributted i was just a part o the cancer people had to live with, butnever acknowledgedd, acted ignoant to ther surroundings as daddy paid for college, i burned bright and hot and had a lot of fun, i had alot of life experienc got alot of shit done, nothing productivee of course in ssocieties eyes but i did fullfill atleast some personal goals, important things in my eyes, the curtains are almost done descending as my pittiful life is ending, but keep your pitty mother fuckers i dont want shit from any of you i dont give yoou nothin dont be so self righteous you look like a bunch of fools, greive for me or celebrate my life i guess its on you how you chhoose to rfemmeber a nobody that nobody knew, a couple feet before the curtains drop, is that? myy eyes decieving? me? no i do see that a single rose descends from the skies, i stare intently at the work of art, a rose is soo beautiful, a representation of love, from the heart, so delicate with its velvet petals, easily ruined a boket wouldve been nice, but who am i fooling, thats a beautiful thing, that was really nice. the product bubbles as i take my last hit of ice, cant takemy eyes off that rose.. its so beautiful... the gun on my forhead now, looking at each individual pedals.. dew from the early mornin forming a small puddle around that naturral phenom, that iconic organic, spectaacular symbol of sometthing real, somethin that matters, something sensual.

As the bits of his brain splatter behid him, arms spread; with grace, almost angelic.he falls off the ciff a hundred feet now for falling, weird but there was a look of peace in his eyes; on his face, maybe he wll finally find happiness.. he fell with nobility and so much grace the floor he hit, his finall restingplace, what cuold be a better box then a natural setting, a beaauty of nature, crawling all around and he will return to the earth, the mother wll take him back just as she gave birth, i thinnk this shit is over now its not my story to tell, inside voices kids no reason to yell. shhhhhhhhhhh.

dont depend dont believe the [enter here]

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