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theroyalhouseofwindenburg · 1 year ago

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The Black Death: Part 4

A year has passed since David succumbed to the relentless grip of the plague. Windenburg now stands on the precipice of despair, desperately in need of assistance. More than half of its once-thriving population has perished, leaving behind haunting echoes of life. The streets are eerily silent, with the only signs of movement being the body collectors, the last living presence in a city now dominated by decay and suffering. Westsimster, once a bustling metropolis, now lies almost empty—a haunting testament to the devastating toll exacted by the merciless plague.

Within the walls of Windenburg Castle, a grim atmosphere hung heavy. King Wilhelm, seated in his office, brooded with frustration. The once-thriving farms that supplied the kingdom with grain and livestock now lay in ruin, consumed by the merciless flames of the plague. The farmers, along with their families, had succumbed to the same cruel fate. Realizing the gravity of the situation and driven by the need for a drastic solution, King Wilhelm summoned his trusted advisor, Sir Oliver Coles, to enforce his command.

In a sinister turn of desperation, King Wilhelm, confronted by the grim realities of the plague in Windenburg, resolves to hoard the meager medical supplies and resources within the castle walls. Disregarding the anguished pleas of his suffering subjects, he instructs Oliver to summon the guards and seize any remedies, tonics, and herbs meant for the common folk. Defying the Jacoban Church, Wilhelm orders the immediate closure of local apothecaries and medicinal dispensaries. A disbelieving Oliver looks to Wilhelm and exclaims, "Your Grace, you can't possibly be serious... stripping the people of their last resources will surely lead to their demise. Moreover, closing the apothecaries will anger the church; without their support, we may be in grave danger." Enraged, Wilhelm rises from his desk, slamming his fists down violently, demanding compliance, "The only thing the people in this slum of a country have brought me is agony and dread. Let the Watcher do his job and rule out the unworthy!" he shouted.

By seizing control of the limited supplies, Wilhelm selfishly secures his own survival, leaving the remainder of Windenburg to plunge into an abyss of despair. The duty of a king, sworn to protect and serve his people, morphs into a grotesque exhibition of selfishness. Consumed by paranoia, Wilhelm places his well-being above the lives of those he vowed to govern with compassion, tarnishing the very essence of his regal responsibilities.

Upon exiting the room, Oliver senses an impending danger and an unsettling fear that King Wilhelm is descending into madness. Driven by concern, he chooses to seek out the Queen in the east wing of the castle. In this secluded area, Queen Cordelia resides with her sons, Prince Wilhelm and Prince Alvin, as well as her step-daughter Augusta, their refuge from the growing chaos that has engulfed the kingdom.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the halls, prompting Cordelia and Lady Philippa, her newly appointed governess, to answer. To her surprise, it was Oliver, bearing urgent news. In a desperate plea, Oliver details the King's alarming intentions to Cordelia, imploring her to intervene and divert him from this perilous course of action. Cordelia, consumed by anger, reacts vehemently to her husband's callous plans. Unable to fathom such cruelty, she instructs Oliver to convey to the King that she and the children are departing for Bagley, seeking refuge in her brother King Henry's hunting lodge. Windenburg Castle, once a haven, has become a breeding ground for peril, and Cordelia is determined to shield her family from its encroaching darkness.

Cordelia, Augusta, and Lady Philippa ascended the stairs, seeking refuge in the upper chambers. There, Lady Philippa diligently packed their belongings, a task undertaken with urgency. Despite the impending wrath of her husband, Cordelia couldn't endure the relentless suffering any longer, determined to seek solace for herself and her children beyond the castle walls.

Within minutes, King Wilhelm arrived with his two guards, effectively blocking the stairway, a furious expression etched onto his face. "I'll have your head before I let you take my sons anywhere!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridors. Cordelia met her husband's gaze with a mix of defiance and rage. "Your kingship mirrors your parenting—absent, callous, and utterly devoid of any genuine care. Our marriage is but a charade, a reflection of your egotism and disregard for the family you've torn apart. Your rule brings nothing but suffering, and your skills as a king are as feeble as your ability to be a father. You've become the embodiment of a king without a kingdom, a ruler without a realm, and a husband without a heart." Cordelia's searing words threw Wilhelm over the top. In a fit of unbridled anger, he lunged at her, striking her hard in the face and knocking her to the floor. He then seized the pearl necklace around her neck, the one he had once made for her, and tightened his grip, choking her. "Your actions have just cost you your son!" Wilhelm bellowed before finally releasing his grip.

Augusta swiftly came to her stepmother's aid. "Guards! Collect Prince Alvin and take him to the west wing," Wilhelm commanded, his tone authoritative and cold. As he was about to exit the room, Augusta, unable to contain her disdain, muttered "Tyrant" under her breath. Wilhelm turned sharply towards her. "Augusta, much like your mother, your treasonous tongue might have consequences. It seems the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree," he declared, his voice laced with menace. Augusta, fueled by a mix of anger and despair, could no longer contain her emotions. In a fit of frustration, she confronted King Wilhelm,

"Your crown sits upon a heartless head! The plague has claimed more than our people; it's revealed the rot within your soul. A ruler who abandons his own kingdom to a fate worse than death. You're no king; you're a puppet in regal attire, dancing on the strings of your own incompetence," Augusta boldly declared. King Wilhelm, consumed by rage, violently seized Augusta and threw her against the hard stone wall, knocking down furniture in the process. Despite the physical assault, Augusta met his gaze defiantly. "You can hurt me all you want, but you will always be who you are. My mother's blood stains your hands, and no amount of power can wash away the darkness that shrouds your soul. You are not a king; you are a tyrant, a betrayer of the very realm you claim to rule."

Wilhelm yanked Augusta up from the ground, pressing her forcefully against the wall with an intensity of loathing in his eyes. "You are nothing, an incessant stain from the moment you entered this world. A mistake I regret not correcting sooner. I should have fed you to the wolves when your mother died. The only reason you survived is because of Cordelia's misguided pity."

He then turned to his guards, his voice echoing through the chamber, "Seize her!" he yelled, The guards promptly approached Augusta, binding her wrists as commanded. With a malicious tone, Wilhelm declared, "Let's see how grateful you feel after a few nights in the dungeon." Wilhelm then ordered his son, Prince Wilhelm, to follow him out as well. The young boy stood from his seat in a rage after witnessing the brutal argument. "I'm not going anywhere with you!" the boy shouted at his father.

"You're no father to us, just a king in title. Your crown is a mere disguise for the monster within. Mother deserves better, and so do we. You're not a protector; you're the source of our torment. the kingdom crumbles not from external enemies, but from the decay within your own heart," the boy boldly declared. "Your insolence knows no bounds, child. You speak of torment, yet fail to recognize the privilege and protection my rule affords. Your Mother was well aware of the implications of this marriage, and you, in your naivety, dare to question a king. The kingdom flourishes under my guidance, and your accusations are but the pitiful cries of ungrateful offspring." Wilhelm shouted

In that moment, Cordelia threw herself at her husband's feet. "Please, Wilhelm," she begged, "Don't take my children away from me; they're all I have." Wilhelm looked down at his groveling wife in disgust, pushing her away, In swift motion, Wilhelm advanced toward his son, seizing him tightly, and headed for the door amidst the boy's desperate screams and pleas to be released. As Wilhelm left the chamber, the guard inquired, "Your Grace, Should I leave the door open or board it up?" Walking away, Wilhelm coldly commanded, "board the doors up; let her starve." The young prince's terror-filled screams echoed through the corridor upon hearing his father's heartless words.

Beneath the castle, in the dimly lit corridors leading to the dungeon, Augusta was led to her cell by one of Wilhelm's guards. As he placed her on the bed, he removed the binding from her wrists and, to her surprise, closed the heavy door behind him. With a swift motion, he took off his helmet, revealing an expression marked by the shadows of loyalty and conflict. "What your father did to you was wrong," he declared bluntly, the weight of the truth evident in his words. After a moment's pause, he added solemnly, "I want to help you. There are others who share our concerns about the king's reign." Augusta, astonished by this unexpected ally, found herself cautiously hopeful for the first time in the midst of the kingdom's turmoil.

In the dimly lit confines of the dungeon, Augusta and the guard had a conversation that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. They delved into the depths of the suffering inflicted by Wilhelm's almost 30 year reign over Windenburg. They crafted a plan to liberate Windenburg from his oppressive rule. The guard, his voice laced with determination, spoke earnestly to Augusta, "We cannot let the tyranny endure any longer. Wilhelm's reign has left a trail of suffering, and it's time to bring an end to it. I will gather a group of like-minded guards who share our concerns. Together, we'll expose his cruelty, collect evidence, and seek support from disillusioned nobles and the Jacoban Church."

As they strategized, Augusta felt a glimmer of hope in the face of the kingdom's despair. The guard continued, "Our coordinated effort will reveal Wilhelm's misdeeds, hopefully sparking a revolt within the castle. The people deserve better, and we shall strive to restore Windenburg to its former glory." With a resolute promise, he turned to Augusta, "I will return for you, and together, we will ensure that Wilhelm's days of tyranny are numbered." The dungeon, once a symbol of despair, became the birthplace of a rebellion.

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fmp10nicolasliwiak · 3 months ago

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Research: Collecting

Artists and collecting

According to this lil article, artists just like to collect things. Anything goes as long as it lasts the passage of time and can fit into a confined space, and if kept at a limit or good condition, it can represent the artists' sensibilities and the craft they make.

The Girard exhibit at the International Folk Art Museum holds a large collection of old school and folk objects as collected and owned by the Girard couple. These were collected for the sake of it as memorabilia and history, and the museum only holds 10% of the collection, with other museums around the world housing the remains of this extraordinary effort.

The writer of this article, Wendy Macnaughton, collects pieces related to photographer Dorothea Lange, from jewellery to tools she used for her photos, because...It spiritually and deeply connects with Macnaughton? I suppose? It's phrased in a way that goes beyond "I like her work and relate to it", but I guess that's a valid reason to collect things even if a bit too obsessive.

Mudlarking

A mudlarker is someone who scavenges the banks and shores of rivers for items of value, and back in the 18th and 19th century, this was a more common thing as mudlarkers would search the River Thames' foreshore for items to sell. The practice is still done today as presnted by Lara Maiklem.

Maiklem does mudlarking to collect relics of human history, and while she doesn't tend to find anything notable, mainly finding buttons and bones of animals, she does occasionally find thing like leather shoes or old rings...Though even things like corpses wash up, so searching near a river that's infamous for how polluted it is can be risky, but modern mudlarkers don't seem to mind. They just like finding historical items.

Why people collect

This one study, done by Shirley M. Mueller, looks into the phycology of collecting...Though her study starts off with her stating that during a meeting, someone suggested that OCD is a driving force for collectors...Which is certainly a take. Is it true that mental disabilities can contribute to collecting? Absolutely. But attributing it to that alone is disingenuous.

There are 4 ranks of collecting according to Mueller: Collector, Passionate collector, who only wants to collect a specific thing and will do anything to get their hands on it, Obsessive collector, who is extremely occupied with their collection to the point of avoiding parts of life and Over the Top collectors, which can get dangerously close to hoarding and needs medical interference. I think this scale is a bit ridged, but what do I know...

People collect for a variety of reasons is the real answer; whether they like how something looks or have a connection with it, as long as it's monitored, you can collect anything...

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witchnordemon · 2 years ago

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It was both a blessing and a curse that Collector struggled to read other's body language so much - if he did, he might have picked up on the subtle ways his friend slowly started to deflate as he ruminated on his thoughts. As it was, however, he continued to focus on the contents of the book presented in front of him.

He drew his attention away briefly and giggled in response to Golden Guard's mentioning of different quirks and personalities - he could personally attest to all the different Titans he had known having vastly different personalities, and even different ways of their traits manifesting - one Titan could like hoarding other eggs, another could hoard food, one could hoard sparkly things... some were secretive about it, some were demanding in wanting their offerings. No matter what, they were always so adorable doing whatever it was they did.

The idea of other creatures being dangerous sobered them up, though, and they briefly closed their eyes, recalling the various other species their own siblings had expressed having fears over, in hushed whispers where they thought the youngest couldn't possibly hear. Hopefully... hopefully their older siblings utilized these "beastkeeping spells" to pacify them peacefully; to bring them to the archives without struggle.

Golden Guard's confession of having been bitten before draws another low laugh out of the Collector. ❝ I know what that's like, ❞ He added in, ❝ a hungry Titan baby doesn't care who you are or how nice you are, he's gonna be hungry straight outta the egg! ❞

That line of thought continued to follow them through their friend's more in-depth explanation of why he liked the beasts of the Isles so much - they could absolutely relate to what he was saying. The Titans never judged the Collector, and as soon as they proved themself to be a playful force here to entertain and care for the babies, they were accepted as one of their own. It... was the most wanted and welcomed they had ever felt in their life.

❝ Fighting... spells... battle, ❞ He echoed, tapping a finger to his chin, ❝ I only ever playfought, never real fought, and never used spells to make them like me... even if it'd be way easy-peasier... ❞ his voice quivered at the last part, as he uncomfortably began to ponder his own kind's motives when he knew that just being kind to mortal beings was far more effective; a sentiment shared amongst him and now Golden Guard, ❝ so... I really think you're onto something here. ❞

They were fully prepared to tease their friend about his clear preference for griffins over snorses when he offered to show and teach them what he knew about greaselhogs, and that thought was firmly shelved for another time while they focused their attention to the totally cool new knowledge that was about to be shown to them. With rapturous attention, Collector moved and shifted around in all sort of wild ways, contorting his shadowy projection on all sides of the book to see the greaselhog diagrams from every possible angle.

They couldn't help but think - they were focusing! They were, they really wanted to learn everything about these greaselhogs, but at the same time - it was such a cool experience, getting to hear someone else talk on and on about something they truly liked and were interested in. For all Philip had done for them, he had never been willing to sit through one of Collector's information-addled rambles about interesting Titan facts and why they loved the species so much. To have someone else in their life now, who bonded in largely the same way, was... it wasn't something they had ever fully experienced before now, that was for sure.

Right on cue, almost as if reading his thoughts, Golden Guard prompted the Collector to start talking about his favorite creatures in the whole cosmos. Giddily, he shifted once more; hovering in the air not too far in front of Golden Guard, legs crossed and arms clasped under his chin.

❝ Okay, from the beginning, ❞ They started, very obviously psyched out of their mind to be given this opportunity, ❝ Titan eggs are laid by their Titan parent. They aren't very big at first, and usually there are more than one, so that way they can all keep each other warm. Otherwise, the older hatched babies usually stay curled up with them, and it's really cute, which is good, because the warmer the clutch, the sooner they can all hatch - but! ❞ they halted their frenzied, passionate rambling abruptly, raising a finger, ❝ an egg that is laid alone, or that isn't kept warm, or is kept in isolation is still okay as long as it's hidden from anything that wants to make it their dinner! It'll just take a really, really long time to finally hatch. Titans are incredible - their eggs could probably survive, like, a hundred years times a hundred if it really needed to! ❞

The way the Collector said that had Valor pausing and looking over. His expression soft. But he said nothing and returned to what he was doing soon afterwards. Still, it was . . . nice, to have someone that wanted this space just as much as he did. Someone that . . . cared about him. In a strangely different way than Lord Belos did. But of course, the Collector was both a different species and a kid - and not the lord that ruled over him - so it made sense for this to feel different.

Guilt twisted around in his gut again. No, no, no no no it's fine. This wasn't enchanting. Lord Belos only ever warned him about witches and demons. Nothing about weird star children. The only bad thing he was doing was just being back here in the first place.

. . . He wondered why these rooms were off limits anyway. If his uncle didn't actually know the Collector was back here, then that must mean there were other secrets he was keeping. He wondered what they w- No. No no no that was such a bad thought process to go down. Getting curious never led to anything good, especially when it came to Lord Belos. The Collector was not included in whatever Lord Belos didn't want anyone to see, so the Collector was the only thing he'd pay any mind to when here.

He really shouldn't be here in the first place.

The Collector's reaction to the snorse pictures snapped him from his thoughts, though, and he couldn't manage to hide his small laugh. "Yeah! There are so many different kinds of animals, and they all have their own quirks and personalities and-" He stopped himself before he could start ranting about them, taking a breath to calm himself down. "They are dangerous, though. You have to be careful with them. That's why there's a whole coven of beastkeeping spells. If you want to get close to them you've gotta have ways to protect yourself, and knowledge on what works best with what creatures."

His gaze softened. "I couldn't tell you how many times I've gotten bitten or stung while I was first learning, but it's worth it." The movement of the beetle in the jar falling to the layers of leaves on the bottom after reaching too far for its next branch caught his attention. Valor smiled at it as it began to climb back up. "They don't judge you, you know? Most of them are just looking for food or to protect themselves or their family. Their desires are very simple. They're nicer to be around than people, and if you treat them well, show yourself you're not only not a threat but also a resource for them, then they'll accept you as one of their own. I like doing that better than brute-forcing the spells. Yeah, sure, it takes more time and energy overall, but when it comes to an actual fight? It's much less difficult to get them to do what you want when they already like you. Which makes it easier to fight overall."

He shook his head. "Sorry. I'm, uh . . . not supposed to get attached. You're compromised in battle if a creature you're attached to gets injured and that's bad. Besides, they are demons, too, so . . ." He looked away, rubbing at his arm. He knew Belos didn't like him thinking of them as anything other than a means to an end, as tools, like how he used the members of the Lord's Coven as tools. But he couldn't help it. Even when he was hurt for it.

"I like to see them both," Valor retorted. "Griffins are just easier to ride. But I do like to see them both."

"Oh!" His ears perked up at the mention of the greaselhogs and he turned the pages of his field guide until he got to them. Speaking about them with as much fervor as he did any other beast he got to show him. And continued from there showing his favorite beasts that the field guide listed for hours.

Until he realized how much time had passed and said, "Okay, okay, your turn. Tell me more about titans."

#// sorry my reply got long too lol #i hope i gave enough (of my own headcanons lmfao) at the end there for Valor to reply/ask questions off of #namely that most titans are laid in clutches and if theyre incubated they hatch faaaaaiirrly quickly #as opposed to king who was alone with no clutchmates or older siblings or parents #he was easily in that egg for hundreds if not thousands of years!#which is craaaazy as a survival tactic. collie was right titans really are incredible #☾⋆⁺₊⋆ {verse} trapped beneath these bones #☾⋆⁺₊⋆ {valor} first friend in forever #goldenbeastkeeper #☾⋆⁺₊⋆ {IC} in(terstellar) character

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moemoemammon · 4 years ago

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What about the boys with claws, fangs, traits from their animal avatars that they have and use? Instincts that they have? We know Mammon loves gold but does he hoard anything shiny? Are Levi and Asmo poisonous? I love any monster ideas!

Demon Instincts! (lowkey toxic)

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

pspspsps monsterf*ckers come get y'all juice

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Lucifer doesn't flaunt his abilities openly, but in a subtle way that draws attention to his perfection. But the only person he wants to attract is you.

He won't stoop so low as to use underhanded tactics, but his pride simply won't allow you to go around without properly acknowledging his brilliance.

He constantly calls you into his space to make sure you soak it all up, and it feeds his ego like no tomorrow. And if you say something about it? Bliss.

Something about his aura demands your attention. When he enters the room, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle and stand up, and it feels like the air becomes colder.

And that tone of his that whips any demon back in line? It's a literal power he uses over lesser demons. Sparingly, of course. But he's so intimidating that it's hard to even tell when he's using it- (He also finds out pretty quickly that it doesn't work on you >:( )

Mammon

You'd think Mammon was the inventor of the concept of hoarding, with all of his habits. He calls himself a collector, but acquiring more and more stuff for literal eons isn't exactly 'collecting' at that point.

Has an entire closet dedicated to stashing his stuff. I like to think Mammon's got some kinda spacial magic that lets him use that closet as a lil pocket dimension specifically for throwing things into

Anything that seems even remotely valuable is Mammon's go to. And 'valuable' means anything that's prized by ANYONE. If you've got a lucky rock, he'll be tempted to snag it. He sells most things for money, but stuff that's really precious are the things he keeps. Just wait till you find out how many of your things he's got-

Picture an endless sea of riches and junk, and only he can tell the difference between the two. Probably forgets it exists sometimes tho-

Also growls when angry (this is canon). Angry Mammon sitting on his sofa, surrounded by the spoils of his Akuzon splurging, growling at anyone who dares step close to his treasure trove... Oh yeah, MC's in that pile somewhere, too.

Levi

His self depreciation knows no bounds and he can't live up to the pedestal he's put his brothers on, but there IS one thing he knows he can do without much trouble:

Keep you in his room.

Now it's not like he's trapping you or anything, but Levi is a master manipulator with the way he puts himself down and coerces you into pitying him. Don't you wanna stay with him...? No, of course you wouldn't want to stay with a yucky otaku...

His brothers swear he's got a jealous glint in his eye every time he sees you anywhere else but his room. But all you see are his pleading reptilian eyes that almost suck you in... like they're begging you to pity him.

Quite literally toxic. Boy's got a slime fish man coat on his skin, and long exposure isn't too good for your fragile human body.

Satan

As the Avatar of Wrath, revenge is his favorite thing. It's the reason he harasses Lucifer so much, and whoever else has caught his negative attention. Also nobody can convince me that this man isn't a cat.

He can be HELLA cruel, and watches his enemies squirm. He lures them in with that false smile of his, just to make them wish they'd never met him.

Satan can barely resist the strong desire he has to torment and harass those around him, especially the ones he deems weaker.

A big part of his life is centered around keeping himself calm and collected, so he rarely has a chance to go apeshit. But there always that nagging desire to give in and cause mischief. Good thing it's mostly tame, huh?

I fully believe he's constantly on the verge of going into an untamable frenzy and that's why his brothers are kinda wary of him-

Asmo

The snuggly, cute, and oh so affectionate Asmodeus tries to be more subtle about the way his instincts show. Specifically, his possessive side.

Naturally has a sweet scent, and it's quite literally addicting. It adds to his allure when paired with those demon eyes of his, but it's such a shame that it doesn't work on you! Boo..~

He's not shy when it comes to marking the object of his affection, and he LOVES leaving his scent behind. Any sort of sho of 'ownership' does it for him.

Why do you think he likes buying you clothes and sharing his perfumes with you? It's because seeing you walk around with something he gave you is a clear sign that he's been there.

He always wants you in his space, and vise versa. Asmo's desire to claim you completely rival the possessiveness Mammon has over you.

Beel

Beel doesn't always know his own strength, and this is especially the case when it comes to his bare instincts.

His strength matches his emotions, so when he's super happy? Crushing hugs. Angry as hell? You already know he destroys things in an fit of rage.

Satiating his hunger is one of the keys to his happiness, and he projects that onto you too. Have you eaten? You must be hungry. Come eat with him. He wants to make sure you're fed. Hungry hungry himbo

STRONG urge to protect the people he cares about. Like he'll go borderline feral if he even has an inkling that someone's in danger. And when he's in a mood, it's hard for you to pry yourself out of his big ol arms.

literally eats his enemies

Belphie

His clinginess knows no bounds and only intensifies when he's feeding into his instincts. He won't let you go anywhere, and either slowly follows you around, or holds onto you

It's pretty endearing from the outside looking in, but everything in Belphie wants to drag you down to his level, so he can always keep you close.

Do you REALLY need to go out today? Just do it tomorrow. Or use your pact and order someone else to do it.

His words have a drowsy effect that seeps into your head, and it's definitely a power that he may or may not abuse to get what he wants. But you're probably immune to it, being the wonderful MC and all.

Also has the habit of literally cocooning you in blankets so you can't leave his bed. It's like he's turning you into a personal comfort object.

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kitkat1003 · 5 years ago

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Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

Being King isn’t easy. Being kind to those who’ve hurt you when you’re King is much, much harder.

Or: After the Wishing Star, and after Yakko is made King,-with co-rulers Wakko and Dot-he is put in charge of weeding out Salazar’s supporters from the kingdom. That means confronting people he’d rather not.

Warnings: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Dark thoughts and themes.

@asilcorner :)

From rags to riches, one might say. Yakko remembers, after the wishing star, when they were told that they were of royal blood. He knew it already, knew that they were special, because he remembers the castle walls. Remembers the crack just beneath one brick that he’d feel when he ran down the hallway and let his fingers skid across its surface. Remembers the royal colors. Remembers his parents’ smiling faces that mirror the portrait that is all that is left of them.

Remembers fire, and screaming, and his parents finding a secure closet and locking them in there, shushing Dot as she cried, placing a kiss on each of their heads, faces smiling and yet looking so sad.

Take care of your little siblings, they’d said. They need you. We love you.

And Yakko had only remembered that last part, for a long time, and had stuck to it.

He sometimes remembers Salazar’s guards, ripping him and his siblings from the closet, the blood on stone as they were dragged, screaming, to the throne room. How he’d clutched Wakko and Dot close, curling his body around them like a shield as they wailed, shushing them and trembling as Salazar looked down upon them as if they were less than nothing, dried blood caked under his fingernails, with familiar black fur, before throwing them in a carriage and having them taken far, far away from Home.

He had kept his siblings away from danger at the orphanage, from unruly orphans or cruel adoptees, and then he did odd jobs to pay for food when the orphanage shut down. No one would adopt them, no one wanted to take in three children at once, and they all refused to be separated.

Yakko had, once, entertained the idea of letting a couple who only wanted two children take Wakko and Dot, because then at least they would have a home. He decided against it when he realized that would mean he wouldn’t be able to be sure that they were okay.

And the orphanage had closed down, and Yakko had dealt with it. He’d let Dot and Wakko play and be kids-though they never did, not really, too busy making the house clean and making sure Yakko came home to a warm meal and bed after work-while he did the work.

And then Dot got sick. And then the economy dried up, as the tax collector took more and more from the people, and Yakko couldn’t get a penny. They saved, he sold what meager things he had. Cut off the extra fabric and turned his overalls into pants-they were the last thing he had from Mom and Dad, but they told him to take care of his siblings, and dammit he’s doing his best-, used the extra pieces to fix Wakko’s hat when it tore and he cried, and sold the rest for scarves, because it’s getting cold. His glove tears, and he desperately wants to buy a new one, because it’s a cardinal sin to have a glove like his, but there’s no room in the budget. So he deals. Dot is sick, Wakko can’t handle not having food for too long-he nearly died not eating enough, and it wasn’t just starvation, so Yakko makes sure Wakko gets bigger portions and deals with the hunger pangs in the dead of night when they’re asleep and can’t hear him groan-Yakko can deal with a ripped glove. It’s fine.

And Dot gets worse, and Wakko leaves. Goes off on an adventure to get money. Works for a year to get a penny, a hay penny that is just enough to make Dot well, and Plotz, the tax payer, makes up taxes and takes it to add to his pile, and Dot suffers more.

And Yakko had nearly broke, when Wakko left. Because he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t know Wakko was safe, could only make promises that felt like lies to Dot and hope, and hope, that Wakko was fine and happy and healthy. They don’t have enough money for postage, can’t send letter, so Yakko doesn’t hear from his brother for a year, and it’s all for naught in the end, because of cruelty he should have known to expect.

And Wakko blames himself, too. Yakko has to hear his younger brother apologize for not working more, for not bringing more money home after a year’s worth of work, and Yakko’s heart aches. The cheer he tries to impart in his younger sibling then doesn’t stick, and the despair clings as he comes home and sees Wakko playing on the strings of a makeshift harp.

And then the wishing star happens. His siblings almost die more than once, he thinks he’s lost them both too many times, and it is a miracle that everything goes right, that Dot gets better and they have money and food and soon a castle and kingdom.

Yakko asks, one day, what exactly Wakko wished for. Because despite the fact that Wakko showed off the two hay pennies, they never actually heard what it was that Wakko wished for.

“I wished that everyone would get what they deserved. What they needed,” Wakko had told him. “Figured that was vague enough to give me plenty, and the townsfolk deserved something too. They were hurting just like us, that’s why they tried to beat us there.”

Yakko marvels at the empathy within a single child, but he loves his brother more than life itself, and the truth only cements that fact further.

But now he’s King, and now, while Dot and Wakko decide what paintings and random knickknacks to get rid of from Salazar’s time, he has to go through all of the people who enforced Salazar’s laws and make sure they won’t start an uprising. Brain is an advisor, and he’s quite harsh. He says that Yakko should lock them up, Yakko wants to the let them try and take the new home from him, see what happens, now that he has a taste of something better than abandoned orphanages and stale meals.

They settle on making the guard and any who worked for Salazar to swear loyalty to the Warners-however awkward the process is-and have more trusted people put in battalions with those less trustworthy to try and stymie an uprising.

His authority is shaky, and he and his co-rulers are young and inexperienced. But they have lived through enough to have knowledge of what the people need, and with the true rulers on the throne the other countries are opening up trade routes, so prosperity is returning to the Kingdom.

So long as their people are happy, and everyone is taken care of, Yakko can almost believe they’ll be okay.

But now he sees Plotz, kneeling in front of him as the next person to be judged by him, and he wants, so, so terribly, to be a cruel King. He can feel the distaste, not just from him, but from Brain, of the cruel tax collector hanging in the air, and he can see Plotz sweat.

He thinks, good. Let him sweat, let him feel fear when he looks at the kid who he was all than happy to take money from, now as his King.

“Thaddeus Plotz,” He says. “Plotzy,” He amends, grinning. It feels strained. The bored and relaxed air in the throne room vanishes into something still and tense, and his grip on the throne’s armrest tightens-he has fixed gloves now, but he still expects to see a flash of black when he looks down at his hands. Nothing here feels real, yet. He expects to wake up in a shack, to the sound of Dot’s worsening cough, and this man is part of the reason for it.

“Y-Your majesty,” Plotz says. Not repentant, but nervous. Flattering. The fact that he thinks he can say sweet things and get away with what he’s done makes Yakko’s blood boil.

“I know you will swear your loyalty to the crown,” Yakko starts. “Because you will follow anyone you know is more powerful than you to make sure you stay safe and comfortable. That isn’t the issue here,” Brain raises a brow, and he looks as if he wants to speak, but he takes one look at Yakko’s face and decides against it.

“Do you know what you did, to our town?” he asks, because he wants to know what Plotz would have to say. “When you bled us dry to feed yourself? That’s almost forgivable,” Plotz opens his mouth to say something, but Yakko raises a hand. “You had to take taxes, it’s the law, and Salazar was not a kind King. Whether or not you took joy out of it is irrelevant. I could forgive you, even, for trying to kill us, because it was under Salazar’s orders, and I saw how he would punish you. See, the only thing that makes me reticent to let you off scott free is...a hay penny.”

Plotz looks pale. Good.

“Wakko worked for a year to get that penny. A year. While you sat and ate good food in a warm house, as my sister slowly got worse and worse, Wakko worked for a single hay penny. He came back with it to pay for the operation that would save Dot’s life. And, the moment you heard of it, you made up taxes to take it from him,” And Yakko remembers the despair, how the whole town deflated. Remembers hearing Dot cough and wondering if he should try for a heist, to steal it back, because she wouldn’t make it otherwise.

“Tell me, Plotzy, did you know what that hay penny was for?” he asks. Plotz shakes his head. “Would you have cared? Hardly. Would you have cared when I laid my sister to rest? When I buried her, because she never got better? Because you took the money we needed to make her better? Would you have cared then?”

He gets no reply, for a moment.

“I-um-your Majesty-I,” Plotz stammers out, but the fury that Yakko has felt for years comes to a head then and there.

“I could have you executed in the town square, and no one would feel bad for you. You’re a cruel person, you only care for yourself, and you would have let the whole town die if it meant you had a warm house and plenty of money to hoard,” He spits the words with vitriol.

Plotz flinches.

He can see the guards are shocked, as is the Brain. Before now, Yakko had just sort of waved off the people who had been tasked with enforcing the laws of the old King. And, well, before now, Yakko hadn’t felt anything because no one who’d entered had been personally cruel to them. To his family.

He wrestles with the desire to make Plotz suffer. He’s the King, he could. No one would blame him, either. It might even discourage dissenters of his rule to try anything, to see what Yakko will do to those who are bad to his people, his family. And yet, he can’t find it in himself to.

“But, hey, the past is the past, huh? That’s what this whole shindig is about,” The abrupt change of tone is startling to everyone, but Yakko moves on as if it’s nothing. “You’re fired from your position, obviously. You will be stripped of all of the riches you took from the townspeople,” He continues, and then winks. “Save for a single hay penny. Seem fair?”

“Y-yes-of course, your majesty. Thank you for your ever gracious mercy,” Plotz bows low enough that his nose brushes the floor, trembling, and Yakko rolls his eyes.

Plotz is escorted out.

“That’s enough for today. I’m done,” He gets up, and the crown feels heavy on his head somehow, heavier than normal, and he walks to his room, face planting onto the bed with a sigh.

He needs a nap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up when he feels the bed dip with the weight of his two siblings. Flipping himself over, he puts on his best smile and sets his hands behind his head.

“Hey sibs, how was your day?” he asks, and they grin at him.

“We got to blow up a bunch of stuff,” Wakko says.

“All worthless. Not stuff that could be sold. Just Salazar’s royal portraits and other nonsense,” Dot assures him, as if she could already tell his train of thought. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the explosion.”

“Guess talking to all those guards really knocked me off of my feet,” Yakko replies with a shrug, and Dot gives him a look.

“Was it the guards or was it Plotz?” She sees straight through him, and the question stings.

“Brain mentioned it,” Wakko says. “I don’t get why you were that mad.”

“He stole the hay penny,” Yakko says, through gritted teeth. “He took the money you worked a year for, the money we were gonna use for Dot’s operation,” Just saying it brings back the fury, and his expression goes dark.

“Well, yeah, but I shouldn’t have let everyone know about it, or at least brought more than one back. My bad,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious

“And that’s the issue! You blame yourself! Wakko, you went out at the age of 12 and worked for a year, you have no reason to be guilty,” Yakko sits up and stares right into Wakko’s eyes, dead serious as he points to Wakko.

“Exactly. Plotz was clearly just looking for another bit of money to take from us,” Dot agrees. Yakko turns away, looking down at his hands, clenching them into fists so they won’t shake.

“I wanted him to die,” Yakko admits. “I wanted him to be as terrified as I was, when I thought you were going to die, and there would be nothing I could do to stop it,” Because it wasn’t fair, and it still isn’t, because even though he’s got everything he could ever want it doesn’t erase the years shivering in the cold because the wind would tear through the old planks of wood, the years of small serving sizes and pinching pennies and then pinching those pinches, for the most he could get from near nothing. And Plotz made that worse, without a care in the world.

“But you’re better than that,” Dot leans against him, smiling up at him, and Yakko sighs, wrapping arm around hers and Wakko’s shoulders .

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yakko says with a dramatic sigh, hugging them close. It’s easier to forget they were hurt when they’re like this, happy and loved and safe.

“You’re gonna be the best King ever,” Wakko’s as sincere as one can be, and when he looks up Yakko looks shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised! If you can deal with that type of anger at 14, just imagine how good you’ll be at making decisions ten years from now!” Dot adds.

“And we’ll be here the whole time,” Wakko continues. “Helping you out the whole way,” Yakko feels like his heart could burst, and he laughs.

“How’d I get so lucky with you two?” he asks, and Dot scoffs.

“Hey, you raised us!” She shoots back. “This is all on you!”

And it is, Yakko knows. The kingdom, the happiness of his people, it’s all on him, even as a 14 year old. He doesn’t know how to handle it, all the responsibility. He barely handled raising two kids.

He wonders if Mom and Dad would be proud. When Dot was dying, he dreamed of their glares and disappointment, and no matter how many times he apologized, he was always a failure, and the dream would turn to blood and fire and he’d wake up with a silent scream on his lips, shaking. But now, he thinks they might be proud, and it makes him smile more sincere than he has in years.

And his siblings are still here, beside him, and for once he can be sure they aren’t going anywhere, because they’re happy and healthy and safe. And they’re only like that because Yakko did his best, and made it work, and had them helping him, too, just like they will be until the end of time.

And suddenly the weight doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Now, if only the crown would fit.

It’s fine, though. He’s got plenty of time to grow into it.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #wakko's wish

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a-long-walk-in-the-forest · 4 years ago

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Sasuke’s saturn degree exploration

This post is about his saturn which is likely in 3rd decan cancer.

23-24

It denotes a strong, masterly character of great endurance, stability and daring; ambitious of honor and capable of withstanding his enemies while achieving greatness and fame for himself. It is a degree of MASTERY.

The native’s soaring ambition is fanned by great qualities and as great failings; it takes but little help by other astrologic factors to have that ambition satisfied even beyond expectations. This degree grants ,an inborn prestige, admirable courage and untiring industriousness, but a snake-like hypocrisy as well, a tendency to cool-blooded, ruthless scheming, a mean way of cowering and cringing until the desired aim and the attending distinctions are in sight. Such vices are hard to sublimate into virtues. The native’s religious spirit would offer a chance, although exactly the contrary-namely, perversion of that outer intolerant and hypocritical formalism-might be expected. But the importance of the other factors and their marshalling, can never be overstressed. There will be no lack of enemies, whom the native will not fear. He may instead go out of his own way to bargain with them, if this can lift him but one step higher. As soon as he has the whole flight of steps behind himself, he will have them all under his heels and will rule over them all as a tyrant.

Music; denotes the seer; a charming person who may use his gifts for a good cause; a good critical writer; he can blend truth with imagination to make his works interesting; literature; has the audacity to be different; gastric ulcer; blood vessels.

24-25

It indicates a person of much independence of spirit, self-willed and daring. Such is capable of carrying out designs conceived by himself without the aid or companionship of others. He may be a pioneer; it is certain he is venturesome and self- reliant; and where such qualities may have influence, he will succeed and be singular in honor as in action. The native will be somewhat estranged from his kindred; taciturn and self- contained; but will make his mark in some field of work requiring independence of spirit, courage and perseverance. It is a degree of SELF-RELIANCE

The strongest man is the one who stands most alone. Ibsen, An Enemy of the People A high-spirited being, full of noble purposes and setting his aims high, cherishing freedom above all earthly things and driving this love so far as to stray away from his kind into silence and seclusion. If other stars help, this will not prevent his doing great works likely to exert a deep influence on his neighbors and to leave a mark in history. The secret of his success is his unshakable self-confidence supported by a fiery will. Under less favorable influences his daring may become a reckless love of adventure, his zest for work wild and fickle fanaticism, his lofty aspirations selfish ambitions. Travel will play some role in his life. Concurrent emergence of suitable factors might make him into a pioneer.

Literature; gift of healing; musical ability; art; denotes the seer; a degree of “darkness”; independent; capable of carrying out his own ideas; fired with great aspirations, his influence will be felt in far places; afflictions threaten trouble with and danger through liquids, water, gas, poisons or dog bites; rising; said to inspire admiration for the canine species; proud and easily angered; petulant; duodenal ulcer; digestive organs. .

28-29

It indicates a person of docile and tractable nature, combined with a certain subtlety of mind and high order of intelligence. One who will be held in restraint by others, or whose freedom will be taken by the hand of Fate and the force of circumstances. Although thus held in check, the native will be subject to dangers of an unknown character from secret enemies and jealous foes, and will be in peril of an untimely end. It is a degree of forced RESTRAINT.

Where there are pointers of honesty and decency, this degree bestows a superior intelligence and a sense for business. Unfavorably aspected, it will produce a low cunning leading to unscrupulous doings, cheating, and even theft. Strange as it may seem, the native tends by nature to be shy, yielding, self-conscious, and close. Such a pliancy will remarkably relieve the educator’s task, provided he can see through his pupil, but will increase the danger of evil as well. Should other astrologic factors concur, an unhappy end might be foreseen: jail, death sentence, violent death and the like. The ambushes of men and fate are, in any event, to be feared.

An interesting person but sometimes unreliable and uncertain, conscious awareness of hair, often acts on inspiration or impulse; last 2 degree of Cancer not favorable for Neptune unless there are good aspects (Mars favorable to this Neptune; energy for the work denoted); spleen.

29-30

It denotes a person of much intelligence, ardent spirits, somewhat willful and daring nature; having a great love of freedom, contempt for public opinion, and much self-reliance. The mind is quick and alert, but somewhat untamable and willful, and the emotions are apt to run away with the reason. There is, however, a good deal of intuitive judgment in the native, and this degree gives a keen sense of justice, a warm passionate nature, strong will, little self-restraint and much insight into human character. It is a degree of FREEDOM.

As are all over-compensated half-wits, the native is firmly persuaded that other people’s opinions count for nothing. As far as he is personally concerned, no-one can deny him a certain ready wit, a certain insight and a degree of psychological penetration, or the sense of justice. But unless very favorably aspected elsewhere, he cannot be expected to be modest and to harbor any feelings of human brotherhood. His force does not lie in his thought, but in his will power, which, if backed by other good aspects elsewhere, can really be above average. He will disdainfully reject help and shun dependence, plunge boldly into action and engage single handed in fierce struggles-and will still succeed best in that very field any logical mind would deem the least congenial to him, namely, government career. He might take to the sea and have to stand the hardest ordeals and face the worst dangers in his career, which, in the light of abstract reasoning, would seem to fit him to a tee.

Avid collectors; botanists and foresters; hoarding or miserliness (or a spendthrift); sometimes physical misfortunes the native cannot avoid; not favorable for Neptune unless well aspected; clairvoyance; bronchitis; twelfth dorsal vertebrae.

#sasuke #sasuke uchiha #sasuke astrology #degree exploration #n-astro

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glen-communist · 4 years ago

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Consider the Sunflower for a Long Moment

This is another essay I wrote for a college creative writing class. The concept for this essay is based on the essay "Joyas Voladoras" by Brian Doyle, which can be found here: https://theamericanscholar.org/joyas-volardores/#.Xw3pLS2z1p8

There are around 70 species of sunflowers; the most common of which is known as Helianthus annuus. The tallest sunflower ever grown was 30 ft, despite the average of taller sunflowers being around 10-15 ft. Smaller, or dwarf, sunflowers average around 1-2 ft. The notorious color of their heads ranges from vibrant, sun yellow to warm, blood red. All species of sunflower originate in the Western hemisphere, originally being cultivated by natives in the Americas. Young sunflower heads follow the movement of the sun throughout the day. Starting in the East and moving West. This continual stream of sunlight is essential to sunflower growth. Adult sunflowers always face Eastward, no longer moving with the sun. They watch the morning sun rise and are content until the next day, now that they no longer require the gift of sunlight for growth. Hidden within the head of the sunflower is the Fibonacci sequence – a sequence of numbers where each number is the sum of the previous two numbers. If you were to count the clockwise and counterclockwise seed spirals on the sunflower’s face, you would likely find that they are a pair of numbers in the Fibonacci sequence. Perhaps the reason sunflowers are considered so beautiful is the mathematical perfection of their faces.

The sunflower has always been a cultural symbol and muse. In early civilizations of the Americas, sunflowers were worshiped as a symbol for the sun and life. Today, they are praised as one of the most beautiful species of flowers. Sunflowers have sparked creative masterpieces by world famous painter, Vincent Van Gogh. The sunflower is often used as a symbol for Green politics and political parties. Sunflowers are also the symbol of The Vegan Society. There are entire communities of sunflower growers, all hoping to grow the tallest or most magnificent. The sunflower holds a lot of spiritual and personal significance to people. For myself, the sunflower conjures up memories of my mother in her kitchen covered in sunflower decor, or my best friend brushing her beautiful yellow hair, revealing our matching sunflower tattoos, mine on my back and hers on her arm. It could be the happy yellow color that is associated with sunflowers or the resemblance of the sun and life that causes sunflowers evoke a powerful feeling in most people, typically happiness.

Sunflowers are not perfect. They are likely to droop given the top-heavy structure of their bodies. They are also prone to wilting if they are not well watered. Most sunflower enthusiasts support their sunflowers with stakes and poles to attempt to keep them upright. But, when they are fully mature and seeding, they will naturally droop over to drop their seeds, and the life cycle will continue on, again. It can be difficult and tedious to start growing sunflowers, and there are countless websites offering advice and support on the task. Sunflowers need to have six to eight hours of direct sunlight per day. They need nutrient rich, somewhat alkaline soil that is a least 60 degrees. The seeds should be planted no more than an inch deep and about six inches apart. Once the sunflower has started to grow, they should be watered deeply but infrequently with at least several gallons of water per plant. If the sunflower is particularly tall, it may need to be supported by a stake to keep it from prematurely drooping under its own weight. However, drooping is inevitable when the sunflowers reach full maturity, or the season ends. Perhaps it is fitting that a flower so closely associated with the sun would droop down towards the ground in its death.

Drooping is a common phenomenon in the life cycle of all flora. If a picky flora is not in its ideal conditions for survival, it will likely droop down, shrivel up, and die off. This is particularly common within flora that was cut from its roots to be put on display or propagated. A single drooping rose, or a bouquet of drooping flowers is used to symbolize the end of love or life in artwork and literature. However, this sign of an ending cycle is not always negative. When a sunflower droops down in nature, it is spreading its seeds onto the ground and into the air to be carried off. The end of one cycle means the beginning of another. Despite their tendency to droop and die, we still keep flora in our homes for their beauty and fragrance. It is not enough to keep a garden outside. Beautiful bouquets of flowers are given to loved ones on anniversaries and holidays. We even replicate flora through plastic plants, so we can enjoy the beauty without the hassle of taking care of them. However, there are also collectors of dead flora; those that keep dead flowers pressed in books or hanging up on the wall as a beautiful, yet sad reminder of the natural life cycle.

Dying in the case of flora means repeating the life cycle or becoming a symbol of beauty or the passage of time. Dying for fauna means something different. Nature has a way of keeping balance between fauna. The natural food chain is in place to promote prosperity at all levels of life. Natural selection guarantees that only the strong and smart genes survive in a species. The gazelle caught by the lion on the African plains, or the species of bird starving to death due to a malformation of its beak are examples of this natural order. Dying for fauna means feeling pain. An injured coyote yelping after stumbling across a metal human trap. A freshly caught fish frantically flopping about suffocating on a dock. This pain is natural; human beings are not the only reason fauna feel pain, but they may be the source of that pain for most.

Now consider the fauna that have adapted to survive with humans the same way that flora have. Just as sunflowers are widely grown for human pleasure, pets are able to live side-by-side with humans exchanging companionship for survival. While your dog’s cousin - the wolf - is fighting for food and shelter in the wilderness, your pup is begging for tummy scratches and treats. The stray cat in the alley that refuses to be tamed by humans will likely die before the domesticated pet cat that puts up with some human attention every now and again. It is possible for fauna to live in harmony with humans, and even die without pain. The pet dog that gets diagnosed with cancer can be harmlessly put down by the local vet, instead of struggling through its last days suffering in pain. These faunae lucky enough to live beside humans can circumvent the food chain altogether. Unless of course in a vain attempt at escaping to freedom, the pet dog gets lost to starve or the pet cat gets scooped up by a circling eagle.

However, not every fauna is successful at using humans for their survival. There are over 14,000 animal shelters in the United States that take in abandoned and surrendered pets. Humans replace living houseplants with plastic ones for the same reason they may surrender their pet to a shelter, taking care of another life can be a hassle. Although, this is not the case for every pet. In most situations, owners move away, grow old, or can no longer afford to provide for their animal companion. Yet, we still hear about cases of animal abuse and neglect. There are television shows dedicated to rescuing abandoned and abused pets from their owners or lack thereof. A pet dog chained outside on a blazing hot day without shade or water is in danger of dehydration or heatstroke. Large numbers of pet cats that are hoarded to a point of starvation or unsanitary living conditions are likely to be ill and distressed. Animal abuse and neglect, whether intentional or a product of mental distress, impacts nearly one million pets in the United States each year. Not watering your sunflower garden is not nearly as dangerous as not caring for your pets, but both scenarios often end with the same consequence of neglect, death.

Despite their inevitable demise, we still keep flora and fauna in our homes. As human beings, we willingly bring in potted plants and adopt pets knowing that their life cycles will likely end before ours. We subject ourselves to this loss. But we also subject ourselves to their lives. Watching a sunflower blossom, grow, and bloom is just satisfying enough to be content with their loss. Pets can bring so much joy, companionship, and comfort into our lives, but they too will pass away, eventually. The necessary yet temporary happiness that beloved plants and pets provide is enough to keep us satisfied, but not forever. Humans are always looking for companionship. It is a lifelong pursuit for most people to find a partner, to find love. Even if a person’s life is full of plants and pets, they will likely be searching for more human connections. This desire for companionship with other humans causes pain, too. Heartbreak is not just reserved for the loss of a beloved pet. Heartbreak comes with rejection, breakups, lost relationships, and lost friendships. Yet, we keep searching for our people. Despite the pain that we suffer along the way, human beings are always putting themselves out there in the lifelong search for companionship and, even, love. We will always bring pets and houseplants into our lives knowing that we will outlive them for the same reason that we keep going on dates and joining new groups; humans don’t want to be alone.

#personal #writing #creative #nonfiction #sunflower #sunflowers #flora and fauna #life and death #existential #human beings

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outroshooky · 6 years ago

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think you’re so criminal | kth

⇢ genre: drabble (artthief!au) (smut, crack)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 2.0k

⇢ prompt: “right, so i’ve ruined an iconic historical painting with my cum. See kim taehyung, this is why you don’t edge me.”

⇢ warnings: smut (dirty talk, mild exhibitionism, oral sex [f receiving], a mention of cumplay), there’s some foul language and mentions of dick sucking; don’t read this if you don’t like innuendos, jimin being sleazy, or law-breaking; the fourth wall is also broken like three times

⇢ a/n: i’ve had this prompt sitting in my wips folder since last october. thank you @pvrpletae for this one; without you, your burning love for kth, and our questionable text conversations, this drabble would not exist. also, thanks to bad guy and billie eilish for the rough inspiration for this fic

For all of your years of artnapping, absolutely nothing could have possibly prepared you for tonight’s break-in.

I should note that it wasn’t like you didn’t have experience with this. While most folks your age were casually sipping cheap wine at a bar on a lazy Friday night, you could probably be found plotting a break-in to some rich collector’s home who’d taken from the poor to keep for the rich. You liked to think of your occupation as vigilante work; others called it downright illegal. Maybe you’re both right.

It was a family business that got you started, a long-lost connection to a great uncle on your father’s side who’d shown you the ropes, and the rest was history. We won’t talk about how your parents feel about the whole enterprise, but they certainly did appreciate the Monet painting you’d brought home for them for Christmas- even if they wouldn’t hang it up in the foyer. It would’ve pulled the whole living room together if they’d mounted it above the fireplace like your wonderful boyfriend, also known as their unofficially adopted son, had suggested.

Miraculously, your parents had no clue that you’d been partners with the notably infamous Kim Taehyung for longer than you’d worked on your own. Partners was once a generous term- you met when each of you pulled a knife on the other in the basement of the Louvre, Rembrandt in hand- but over time envy morphed into a mutual respect, a tenuous thread of friendship spun into colorful wool that blossomed into its own thick congenial quilt. You knew each other inside and out, and while many in this particular industry opted to fly solo, you took a generous amount of comfort in knowing that no matter what, there was always someone watching your back.

Your parents adored Taehyung with every ounce of warmth in their souls. He could do no wrong in their view, his own puppy-dog almond eyes and the fair bit of innocence that sparkled in them so irresistibly endearing not only to you, but to them, too. You supposed you couldn’t blame them; the first time you saw him, you assumed he was some sort of lost schoolboy in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is, until he’d almost broken your ribs with a well-placed kick and delicately introduced himself as the Nightstalker. At least he apologized afterward.

Needless to say, with all of this in mind, you’d seen plenty in your time doing creative enterprising deals on the black market. You’d nearly gotten your finger cut off when the heavy frame of a Matisse fought back; Taehyung had lost his favorite beret to the hands of the feds; and you’d both, on one occasion, spent fifteen hours in a cramped janitor’s closet that reeked of cat shit. Ironically enough, the latter happened to occur on the same day you met Taehyung. Alas, that’s a story for another fic.

Anyways, there’s one little detail I forgot to mention that might be relevant. You had, in fact, been dating Taehyung for three years, had known him prior for about half that. And yes, you absolutely had fucked in the middle of a heist.

At least once.

But not more than four times.

It wasn’t like you had planned it. It was one of those things that just sort of happened on its own; nobody was home and the getaway car was late, so Taehyung suggested that he kill time with his head between your thighs. If someone had told your earlier self that you’d be getting off in the dusty attic of the museum you had freshly robbed to merely kill time, you wouldn’t have believed them, but there you were, going on your three year anniversary, sucking his dick an hour later in the comfort of your own home as a thank-you present.

And tonight, apparently, was heading down the same route.

It was a simple break-in, one that you’d done before, from some guy (last name Kim, first name Seokjin) who had a penchant for hoarding works of art that deserved to be appreciated in the public eye. You’d deemed yourselves knights of valor, taking not only the O’Keeffe and the tiny little Pollock shoved recklessly in a dusty corner, but pocketing a miniature Rodin that Taehyung spotted on the bedside table. It was all too easy- change your locks, folks!- and thus, you were left with time to kill before Jimin pulled up in an inconspicuous white worker’s van.

Blame the fairly suggestive Hayes painting Seokjin had perched over his king-size bed, which happened to be draped with red silk sheets. He was a man of taste in more than one category, it seemed, and as Taehyung had hinted at, it would be a pity not to, ah- christen not only the now-bare walls as your own, but the neatly made head of the house.

Blood rushed in your ears as Taehyung made it quick, a few sloppy strokes of his tongue making you squirm and hiss. “S-swear to god, Taehyung, we’re gonna get caught-”

“If you keep being loud, we will, babygirl.”

“Are we c-completely su- fuck- sure the housekeeper is g-gone for the evening?”

Taehyung withdrew slightly and hummed, tracing his fingers through the slick. “I thought we decided Seokjin and the housekeeper are fucking each other. That’s why the sheets are red. Don’t think we didn’t spot the matching sheets in the carriage-house bedroom half an hour ago.”

You exhaled unsteadily, feeling completely wrecked under the power of your boyfriend’s lips and tongue. “That doesn’t mean they might not still be here.”

Taehyung’s eyebrow quirked between the apex of your thighs. “I wonder what thrills you more, federal handcuffs on your wrists or the look on Kim’s face when he sees you on your back and smells you all over his sheets.” His eyes narrow, the pleased look of the devil incarnate marring his handsome features. “Bet you’d love either option.”

“Don’t you have better things to do with that tongue than run them off about my worries?” You retorted. It was a weak insult, but an effective one.

Taehyung drove you to the brink of near-insanity, wanting to drag this wonderfully fucked-up act as long as humanly possible without the risk of genuine danger. However, the twice-repeated honk of a car outside meant Jimin had made his way into position, and you were running out of time.

“Tae, baby-”

“Fuck,” he panted, speeding up. “Be a good girl, come on babygirl. Cum all over my tongue, you’ve done so well for me, baby. Cum, now.”

At the same moment that it hit you, a dazzling euphoria of white that sparked and sputtered behind closed eyelids, a horn just under the windowsill honked one long blast.

You were about to have company, and if the panic in Taehyung’s eyes was anything to go by, you’d overstayed your welcome.

His neglected, throbbing boner would have to wait.

“Isn’t he not supposed to be home yet? I thought he was in Germany!” You whispered as you scrambled off the bed with a mind still foggy from your orgasm. You stumbled to find your various articles of clothing scattered about the feet of the furniture.

“For another four days, he was!” Taehyung retorted in a slightly louder whisper. Next to you, he ripped at the corners of the bed, furiously wrapping the stolen artworks in the silk sheets themselves.

“What do we do?” You murmured, fingers hurriedly finding the clasp of your pants.

Two levels below, the front door creaked open and footsteps resounded in the massive, marble-floored foyer.

“Taehyung, we have to go,” you urged in low tones, tripping into your left sneaker.

“I know, just-” The traces of sex had drained from his voice, replaced by daunting panic. “Help me with these, please.”

Footsteps resounded on the stairs, thumping closer and closer, and you didn’t even have time to process the fear before your feet were moving and you made your way to the window, following close behind Taehyung. Your boyfriend took care to lower the last two stolen paintings to a waiting Jimin before he himself took one last glance back at the bedroom and saluted. “It was fun desecrating you!”

The bedroom door creaked open just as Taehyung began to ease himself off the sill.

“Go!” You hissed, practically shoving your boyfriend out the window before you followed, clutching the Pollock tightly to your chest.

You hit the ground and rolled, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as you stumbled and threw yourself into Jimin’s van as his foot slammed the gas pedal down. The engine revved hard, peeled rubber burning black on the uneven cobblestone of the narrow city streets. Taehyung wrenched the door closed and held on just a second longer, eyes on the dark figure that had appeared at the window you had slipped out of a mere seconds before. You panted, air wheezing in and out of your lungs erratically as you regained your senses. In the darkness of the van, it was impossible to read Taehyung’s feelings until he spoke.

“Well, that was an adventure.”

“Taehyung.”

“It certainly was the most risque of our trips; I mean, it beat out the time we fucked in a chur-”

“Taehyung.”

“What?”

In the frantic struggle to finish wrapping your stolen goods and lower them via silk sling to the waiting hired help below, you had realized, in a stunning moment of clarity, that Taehyung had not taken the time to wipe his fingers clean before touching your prizes. His tongue may be experienced, but his idea of how to preserve a historical masterpiece was not. “Did you, by any chance, wipe your hands before you picked up the artwork?”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating. “Was I supposed to?”

“Oh my god.” You collapsed back into the seat, running a hand through your messy hair. “Right, so I’ve ruined an iconic historical painting with my cum. See Kim Taehyung, this is why you don’t edge me.”

“It could’ve been worse; I only touched the frame.”

“The four-hundred-and-ninety-year-old frame?” You gaped at him. “Do you really want to be searching up what pussy juice does to a Da Vinci at one in the morning?”

Taehyung shrugged. “It’s nothing a little lemon juice, magnesium, and a rag won’t take off.”

“And how do you know that for certain?”

In the rearview mirror, Taehyung and Jimin locked eyes, and Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it again. Mild horror seeped into your bones.

“Have either of you actually had to remove semen from a historical object before?”

Jimin wisely stayed silent.

Taehyung gently withdrew the statue from his pocket, turning it over to inspect its cracks and crevices. “All I’m saying is, The Girl isn’t the only one with pearly-”

“You are disgusting,” you declared, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is coming from the one who probably left her panties in the house of the collector she just robbed.”

The car went momentarily quiet, the mild horror rotting in your bones suddenly turning a freezing cold. “Taehyung…?”

He opted not to reply, and his hesitance was all you needed.

“Fuck!”

“Hey, look at it this way,” Jimin peeped from the front seat. “At least you’ll have something to tell your parents over Christmas dinner.”

“Park Jimin, I am not telling my parents about how my most expensive pair of lingerie was left in the home of collector Kim Seokjin, whose new acquisitions coincidentally went missing the same night!”

“I mean, if it was a good fuck…”

You smacked Taehyung’s arm as he whined in protest.

“You two are so cute,” Jimin teased. “Like an old married couple.”

“If old married couples like to break into houses together and give head while stealing the art, you’d be spot on.”

Taehyung opened his mouth and you silenced him with a glare. He mouthed something at you and you rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’ll still suck your dick when we get home!”

#bts #taehyung #bts smut #bts crack #kpop smut #kpop crack #taehyung smut #taehyung crack #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #drabble #outroshooky

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yivohn · 5 years ago

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once again, thieves guild headcanons

because val tries to keep a low profile as the dragonborn for some time, her connections to the guild aren’t known for a long while. as more is found out about her, eventually she stops trying to pretend she isn’t affiliated with them, and it pretty quickly becomes a well known fact that the dragonborn is not only affiliated with the thieves guild, but is a high ranking member herself. this naturally lends quite a lot of clout to the guild, given how well respected and powerful she is at this point.

it also helps a lot with cementing their status and reputation. of course, at that point they’re already well along with establishing themselves in skyrim once more, but even so... you’re much less likely to think of them all as street rats once you know the dragonborn -- as credible, as powerful, as likeable as she is -- is in with them.

val does use her dragonborn status to her advantage in every way possible. whether it’s in combat or in politics. anything to further the guild.

more on her being akin to gallus bc i was talking with autumn about that yesterday-----

both of them share a deep passion for excitement, adventure, and danger. adventerous was probably what most people knew gallus best as, and val is just like him in that respect. she’s always down for a new adventure, and is almost always pining to get out there on bigger heists for better loot.

they’re both deeply empathetic people. gallus was the shoulder everyone tended to lean on, and for good reason. as val becomes an integral part of the guild, eventually pretty much everyone has, at one point, let her try to help them. gallus was more likely to offer words of wisdom though, whereas val will try to help with a problem rather directly.

cheerful! so cheerful. gallus was always smiling. val is always smiling. they are both just rays of sunshine, both of them always down for a good joke or some playful banter.

both of them have dimples that show when they smile.

they would have been very close friends. everyone knows it. even val knows it, and she wishes she could have had more time to speak to him-- perhaps about his life and his time in the guild rather than about nocturnal’s affairs.

when she finally takes over as guildmaster... the guild becomes a lot more focused on genuine heists. adventures to unknown locations, delving into dangerous ruins of nordic and dwemer descent alike, with danger lurking at every corner-- to call her something of a collector would not be uncommon. as she leads, she slowly grows a hoard of collections of artifacts and weapons and wonders, all safely locked away in the guild’s vault.

occasionally she can use some of these artifacts for leverage with certain political parties. some parties are very much interested in the types of artifacts the thieves guild keeps.

she ‘donates’ stuff she’s collected from her dragonborn adventures to the guild as well. val’s stuff is the guild’s stuff, basically. so... wanna know what she has? so fucking much. so many dragon claws. stones of barenziah. more obscure artifacts-- weapons from crypts like red eagle’s fury, bloodscythe and soulrender and the deathbrand armor set, the gauldur artifacts from the bow to the blade to the amulet. even more rare things such as the dwarven black bow of fate. seriously. So. Many. Rare Things. with so, so many stories behind everything as well.

#HC. * 𝘚𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘈𝘋 𝘈 𝘍𝘌𝘙𝘈𝘓 𝘎𝘈𝘡𝘌 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘈𝘕 𝘜𝘕𝘛𝘈𝘔𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘐𝘔𝘈𝘓.

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momo-de-avis · 6 years ago

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Hi! Just wondering about your opinion that if the Catholic Church sold its art&treasures it would no longer be there for the world to enjoy and would fall into private hands&be hoarded away (many saying the church should sell rn) I've often sat in cathedrals like Notre Dame and marveled at what palaces were built for the masses to enjoy. Like a little luxury for all of us, even the least of us. I know you are an art historian and wondered what you thought of this. : ) hope you are well : )

Thank you anon! I hope you are well too!!

To be frank, this is actually a legal question. And as such, it varies from country to country.

The Notre Dame, for example, is not owned by the Catholic church. I think France has very similar laws in this respect to my country, and what that means is: the monument, itself, is a National Treasure or National Monument (I don’t know the correct definition, but what it means is: it’s a building highly classified, of not just historical interest to the country, but in heritage as well, and as such is prioritized above others).

In my country, for example, if I am not mistaken, churches that are not classified as National Monuments do not belong to the church entirely (they are allowed financial compensation from the Vatican, which should be employed in restoration, but then priests… you know), but if they aren’t, then the State has to stay away from it. This is because our Constitution states the separation of Church and State, and it’s a double-edged sword: if you wonder why stuff like the infamous restoration of that Jesus painting by Dona Cecilia happened, it’s because the church it’s the sole holder of the building and every artefact inside of it. Stuff like that actually happened several times over in our country: because there is no legal classification of the building, nor the artefacts inside of it—thus no legal protection from the State—priests do what the fuck they want and hire retired 80-year-old painters to slap some plastic paint on an 18th century mural (I wish I was kidding but this shit actually happened).

Again, I don’t know how it goes in other countries, but in Portugal, since the law defines ‘culture’ as something that belongs to everyone, everyone is allowed—and motivated to—act if they see a certain building decaying or believe it to be in danger. This is actually something a lot of people don’t know, and instead take it to facebook, but as a citizen, you can walk into your local city hall and present a form of petition (I sincerely forgot what paperwork this involves) requestion for the monument in question to be classified as ‘in danger’. As soon as that classification happens, the withholder of the monument will be inquired, and if anything happens to it, the owner will be fined.

So, what I mean to say is: the actual Catholic church actually doesn’t own lot of the churches out there classified as Monuments. One thing that also helps to preserve these monuments and to maintain them as public property—actually, now that I think of it, I think it completely forbids governments from selling a monument to a private owner—is if they are classified by Unesco. If it’s got a Unesco stamp of approval, it’s public and cannot be private, I believe (though correct me if I am wrong).

When it comes to privately owning art, however… I am for the opinion that art belongs to everyone, and though you are entitled to own art privately, you have to keep in mind that it is not yours, but everyone’s, and thus SHOULD allow for the art you possess to be viewed by the public. I don’t mean display it in a museum, but work towards images and information of the artwork you own to be made public and accessible to everyone. I say this because portuguese art history is a nightmare. You have an insane amount of incredible artists from the 19th century, and the vast majority of their works, you can’t even find an image.

See, I teach art history, and it’s absolute hell for me. I remember telling my students, super frustrated, that I couldn’t find a single picture of more than 2 or 3 paintings by Aurélia de Sousa. And what is more frustrating is that, the more you progress through history, the less resources you find. Portuguese Neo-Realism is inexistent. If you google it, this is what you get:

The most important painting, the one that set the movement, isn’t even on the first few pages. Now would you believe if I told you we actually have an entire museum dedicated to neo-realism? Would you believe if I told you it was one of the most important artistic movements in the end of second world war, and an incredible voice against fascism at a time? Probably not, because we don’t really have anything out there to be seen.

This happens because, since our market is tiny and absolute shit, most things that exist are privately owned—usually, heirs of the painters or people who bought it in auctions for pennies—in other words, people you have to wait to die out to actually see the paintings. And there’s something incredibly cruel there. I teach this shit and I have nothing to teach, no tools to teach my students, because these private owners of art refuse to share—and I mean refuse. Aurélia de Sousa, for example, was a passionate photographer, which is something people don’t know. Why? Because the man who owns her photos, for years, refused to let anyone even touch them. This raises another issue as well: if you refuse to let anyone get close, then you suck because art needs to be preserved. 19th century photos in particular wither away. With everything, happens.

With that in mind, there’s also the issue of how these privately owned artworks are preserved. Paintings, if you don’t know, cannot be exposed to natural light, especially sunlight—particularly older paintings. Photos and film have to be preserved at a particularly cold temperature. Wood has to be constantly polished, but because of how old it is, it requires the right technique and materials. Same with silver, gold, etc. Of course, a museum, a cathedral, or what have you, they all have teams at ready for that sort of conservation—but when a private owner acquires a piece of art that isn’t legally classified in any way, they can very well be responsible for its distruction.

We’ve had two very important works burn because of that. First, this painting by Vieira Portuense, who is the only other name we have to have defined neo-classicism (it was short-lived here, we were to busy having a civil war or fending off the french). It’s an emblematic painting for its time, because it’s an embryonic moment of transition between neo-classicism and romanticism. But it’s gone, because the house it was in burned down. Another one I don’t remember the name, but it was Josefa d’Óbidos—the first female painter to have her own workshop here in Portugal. Again, a flood caused a short-circuit which caused for the house to burn down, and the painting was lost.

If a painting (and I think other artefacts as well) is classified in some way (National Treasure, National Interest and uhhhh…. there’s a third one I forgot D:), the owner IS forced to keep it preserved. He is forced to clean it and restore it. If he damages in any way, he is fined and the painting can be confiscated from him. Same for buildings that are classified as anything below National Monument. But if it happens to be a work of art that isn’t classified in any way, legally speaking… Well, if it disappears, it’s gone, and the owner just loses a painting.

So it’s an incredibly delicate issue. On the one hand, privately owning art is necessary for artists, and I speak of both galleries and auction houses. It keeps the flow of the art economy going (though the art world is RIDICULOUS INFLATED economically speaking, but that’s a whole other conversation) and the market value of artists that are alive and, well, need to eat, is raised every time they sell something. Also, a country’s art market increases if they manage to sell more of their art alongside international artists (why Portugal fucking sucks in that respect), so that in itself is of great interest to artists who are alive and practicing, as well as for the country itself.

But on the other hand, it’s really a double-edged sword. Because I still maintain that art belongs to everyone, and no matter how many artworks you own, you have to keep that in mind. I had the chance to work for art collector who was very conscious about this: he lent his art constantly without charging anything and he kept his every artwork so well preserved he actually had restore works after lending them to museums. Now if everyone had that conscience, the world would be a better place.

So I put it this way to sort of generalize it, because I don’t believe, for one second, the church is exempt from this in any way. In Europe, they detain a great part of many country’s heritage. In our own country, they hold like half of our shit. But again: double-edged sword.

You said something that is very accurate: churches like the Notre Dame were built for the masses. They were built for everyone, because it is the House of God where everyone is accepted and welcomed. Yes, it initially had a purpose, bore a function that doesn’t serve entirely anymore (though mass is still held in it, the fact that it is today a touristic attraction has shifted the church’s initial purpose, so to speak). So to think that the Catholic Church would close it down, or simply decide that suddenly they couldn’t allow people inside because they own it goes against not just (in our case) the legal definition of cultural object, it goes against the very principle of catholicism—something they turn around easily by opening its doors free of charge during mass. There is a huge debate in my country every like, two summers, because some cathedrals you have to pay to get inside—and something about that isn’t right. If you have to pay to enter, that means the building in itself is important enough that it’s classified as something, at the very least National Monument, but by charging money to get inside, you’re already breaking the very definition of cultural object, legally speaking: everyone is allowed to experience culture. This is a serious debate that happens every so often, and reason why it’s moved certain parties to try and end this shit of pay-to-enter churches, which is maddening to me (supposedly, they say, it’s to tame touristic masses a bit, but we all know that ain’t it).

What’s graver, as I said, is the case of small parishes that happen to own ancient artefacts like statues from the 18th century. Because priests aren’t educated on the matter, they think, oh this is a pretty little nativity scene! And hire some old dude to paint over a fresco. The example I mentioned above, where this happened?

This is what it looked like before:

this is after:

Yeah. I mean, I laugh every time cause it is fucking funny, but you gotta do it not to cry lmao

So like, for me, if we are going to entrust the Catholic church with artefacts and monuments—not necessarily sell them, you can legally lend them, like a legal guardian sort of agreement (I’m sorry, there’s a correct legal term for this but I don’t know it, the shit about law is that you have to address things with the right word)—you gotta force these fuckers to respect what they own. Force them to have restorations made, to clean their shit, to maintain their possessions. Force them to make an effort into bringing awareness to the existence of these things. For the love of God, FORCE THESE PEOPLE TO MAKE AN INVENTORY. Bitch, HIRE ME, I’LL DO YOUR INVENTORY FOR YOU.

And bring these artworks into the world. Create a website. Make pictures of these artworks publically available, free of charge, so that people can look at it, study and it and have free access to it. Have you ever walked into a museum and got told you aren’t allowed to photograph the works inside? I’ll tell you that’s bogus. Sure, flash damages the work, but no flash causes no harm. When a museum does that, I can guarantee you it’s one of two things: one, the artwork you are forbidden from photographing is privately owned by some Elongated Muskrat who thinks they’re above everyone else because LoOk aT mE I oWn ArT, and two: the museum is telling you to buy a catalogue.

What museums usually tend to not understand is that the free circulation of images of their artworks is actually what brings MORE people to their museum. Like, this is a fucking proven fact—that’s why they sell postcards, prints and tote bags with their paintings on it. Case in point? London: you think they give a shit if you take up-close photos of their paintings in Tate Britain? I know they don’t cause I was the idiot photographing paint drips on a goddamn William Holman Hunt. And you don’t even pay to get inside. But do you remember what artworks are inside the Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid—aside from the Guernica? Yeah, which one has a strict policy in not photographing their paintings, you ask? Well.

So, tl;dr: if you’re gonna own art, make it available to the public, whether by putting it in a museum or making information about it—including pictures—accessible to all, and the government should be all over your ass annually to make sure you’re not damaging the artworks, otherwise lose custody of the baby and pay a fine. If you’re not gonna abide by these principles, then I am of the opinion that you don’t truly know the real worth of what you’re in possession of, and therefore shouldn’t be allowed to have it. AND THAT MEANS YOU TOO, VATICAN. Fuck your parishes, hire me. There’s a bunch of qualified people to do the job for you, you guys are just lazy and are keeping the Vatican’s money in your pockets.

#damn this got long sorry anon #Anonymous

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hereliesbitches--me · 6 years ago

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📂📂📂📂 for her fallout verse?

Send “📂“ for a random headcanon!! (Always accepting)

- Despite what people think ( though, likely don’t care about ) , not all mirelurk colonies are the same. They don’t all just get along, and recognize each other through a certain pattern of movement and even scents. Rosie can recognize her colony and communicate with them through a series of clicking and imitation gestures like snapping her hands like claws, walking around in a certain pattern, and swaying. She knows her colony’s look, scent, and gestures that identifies her with them (After all, whats safer protection than living with a colony of giant acid spitting crabs??)

Rosie finds it highly offensive when people think she can just jump in with any colony and that all mirelurk are the same. They are all individual groups. Rosie got Charisma but it takes time and she’s gotta charm the right wasteland monster to save her tail (aka. Charm the Queen = how she accidentally got adopted into her colony) .Also offensive to think she speaks cat because she is half cat. Most cat assholes and they fight cuz they harass her dogs.

- Rosie has an absolutely ungodly fixation with shiny things and will do crazy things to get it. She’s a little thief and if it catches her attention, she will go to the extremes to nab it. This often gets her into major trouble, but shiny is shiny!! You liekly know she’s camped out in a spot if you come across a bunker with a mass amount of random shiny objects all piled together– items she collected, but couldn’t take when she had to leave that spot. Ironically, once she has it, she eventually loses interest and just hoards it. Hence why she has no problem leaving it behind after a while, taking only what has value enough to trade or still kept her attention. She just an irrational lil collector. Even her dogs Judge her when she gets weird with her pile. All her armor is also 80% stolen (from both living and dead)

She can be brought out by nice and interesting shiny thinks. And items that chime and ring, literally like a cat. Someone hold her back or she falling for it. She’s literally only alive by sheer luck and instinct. Trained gunner brain vs impulsive animal brain.

- When it comes to her two hounds, Rosie has had Sergeant, the German Shepard, since she was a young girl. She got him while he was a puppy , when she was still a little girl among the Gunners. It was a gift to her from the head gunner to her, when they found a stray puppy lost while they were on a job. He brought it back to Rosie, and she took him with her when Nova dragged her along to the raiders. Its the reason Sergeant is a lot like a military dog because they taught him commands, how to run supplies, to how to be a defensive attack dog for little Rosie. Because of the events that happened while with the raider group, Sergeant gets viciously aggressive if someone tries to forcefully get between him and Rosie, or when you try to force him into a cage or into a separate room. Dog turns from cool and collected to an absolute feral mad dog, and he’s honestly Rosie’s biggest comfort dogo. He’s grown with her, he’s a rather old dog. Rosie’s other mutant hound, Major, was found besides the body of a dead super mutant who Rosie can only assume was his master. Left out in the open, poor dog looked like he was starving, but refused to leave the side of its decaying super mutant, even going so far as to defend the body from other wasteland creatures that tried to get it. He had been covered in wounds from those fights, looked close to death, and Rosie with her natural instinct wanted to help the dog. Using her Charisma she’s able to pacify the mutant, offer him food to occupy him, and used her own scare supplies to clean up and bandage his wounds. She camped out in the same area and kept up the routine for a good week before the hound would fully trust her, and once he did Rosie wanted to take him along with her. She dug up a nice hole and hulled the decaying super mutant piece by piece into the hole, then buried it. Once buried, Major seemed to have finally made his peace, and happily went along with Rosie. Major is much younger than Sergeant, and Rosie estimates he’s only a few years old( aka. A puppy) despite being literally as big as she is and twice her weight. He’s more for intimidation and muscle, and alerts both Rosie and Sergeant of danger when they’re all sleeping together in a pile.

- Because of her experiences, Rosie has never really formed any kind of real or intimate relationships. she’s in her early 20s but literally the only companions she’s ever had has been with her dogs. She can charm people, she can flirt and talk a big game to aid with her thievery-- but to actually go all the way? For someone to actually show interest in her?Rosie.exe shuts down. She freezes and doesn’t know what to do and loses confidence if she doesn’t have a full thought out plan. She’s had crushes but has never actually tried to pursue anyone.

She wears gunner goggles because she thinks she looks cool and they protect her eyes, but she also wonders if that turns people away from liking her. She a sensitive crazy cat thing!!

#toheavyn #:answered:#:headcanons:#!!! THANK U FOR THIS #i miss the fallout fandom so much #In other words: she is more cat than person #Hope Deacon and them can LAUGJ #this is sort like a bunch of backstory pieces I never get to write --#:V: Wasteland Wanderer:

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lynnafred · 6 years ago

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A Quest - A Short Story

Last year, I wrote a short story on my old blog that I’d called “A Favor” based on a prompt from @merigreenleaf. Then December hit, Tumblr decided my blog was no longer worthy, and forced me to abandon nine years of shitty memes and audio posts and here I am. But there were shorts on there that I liked, dammit, so I’m posting them again. So, for no particular reason than because I like the way it came out, I (re)present: A Quest. Instead of breaking it into parts, I’ve decided to post the whole story here for ease.

A Quest (Light Swearing, no other warnings, First Person POV, 4970 words total)

“I need a favor.”

I rolled over in my bed to face where the voice had come from. However, I refused to open my eyes to see who the requester was. “Are you shitting me?” It was well past three in the morning, and I had a massive hangover. I was in no condition to be doing anyone any favors.

“I understand that it’s late, but this errand is of the utmost importance.”

With a sigh, I cracked one eye open. It was the town blacksmith. Of course it was. I’m sure that I know her name, but my mind was too foggy and my desires too minimal to be bothered to remember it. “And what is this favor of the ‘utmost importance’ on this fine day at three am?” I tried not to be sarcastic, but it was hard not to be.

“There is an item that my wife desires, called ‘That.’ She speaks of it often, always wishing that it was in my possession,” the blacksmith explained. “If you were to find me ‘That,’ I would compensate you for your time.”

“Seriously? It’s called ‘That?’ Are you running out of names?”

HEY, NO METAGAMING. THIS IS MY FIRST CAMPAIGN AND YOU SAID YOU’D BE NICE. SO FUCK OFF, IT’S CALLED THAT.

“Ugh, this sucks,” I muttered. I considered my options. I could indulge the blacksmith, or I could tell her to stuff herself, roll back over, and go back to sleep until the innkeeper threw me out. I groaned, audibly, before swinging my feet over the edge of the bed. I hated being a Paladin. “Fine, fine. I’ll find you ‘That,’ but this compensation had better be worth my time.” I put on my armor as I spoke. “Do you have an idea of there I’ll be able to find ‘That?’ Or am I left on my own to figure it out?”

The blacksmith’s eyes lit up at my words. “Oh, kind paladin, thank you for your help. I’ve heard that there is an item collector in the next town. Rumors have been circulating that he has ‘That’ in his possession.”

Great. A three am excursion to the next town. Luckily for me, the next town wasn’t more than a few hours’ walk. If I worked quickly, I’d be able to get there and back within the same day and still be able to rest before I continued my journey. I still had an adventuring party to assemble and a dragon to slay.

The early morning air was brisk. I could feel the cold through my armor, and that only made me wish that I could go back to the inn and sleep until a more reasonable hour. Regardless, I promised I’d find her the item. So, I made the trek as fast as my feet could carry me, trying my best to avoid any confrontations with marauders and goblins as I went.

The sun was rising over the treetops by the time I made it to the neighboring town of Selkirk. Even though it was still relatively early, there were plenty of people out and about in the market. I looked over the market as I walked, gawking at the items that some of the vendors were selling. Figures, all the best products show up first thing in the morning when I don’t have the money to purchase them.

It didn’t matter, I wasn’t here for sightseeing or shopping, I was here to find the item collector. At the end of the main road, I found the place I was looking for. Walking inside, it looked more like a pawn shop than the house of a man who hoarded collectables.

“I’m looking for an item,” I announced as I walked inside.

The shopkeeper, an older man, totally ignored me.

WHAT’S YOUR DAMAGE? CAN’T YOU MANAGE A ‘GOOD MORNING,’ AT LEAST?

“I just want to get this over with so my character can go back to bed. I can’t heal unless I rest for a full eight hours.”

YOU WOULDN’T HEAL ANYWAY. YOUR CHARACTER WASN’T RESTING, YOU PASSED OUT FROM DRINKING TOO MUCH ALE. THEY’RE NOT THE SAME.

I shrugged. Touche. “Uh, good morning,” I said. “I’m looking for an item.”

The shopkeeper turned around to look at me this time. “Ah, welcome. Good morning.” The man smiled. He was missing a tooth that caused him to whistle as he breathed. “As you can see, I have many items here.”

I straightened my posture and tried to ignore the sharp sound that accompanied every sound that started with an ‘S.’ “This may be harder to find than most, but I’ve been told that it’s in your possession. I’m looking for a legendary item called ‘That.’”

“Ah, yes, I do have the item you seek,” the shopkeeper said. His eyes sparkled as he spoke. “However, ‘That’ is an item worth far more than any amount of coin could buy. I’d be willing to trade for it, though, if you were to provide me with ‘This’ in return.”

I crossed my arms. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. This couldn’t be happening to me.

“I assure you, I do not jest. If you want ‘That,’ I will require ‘This’ in trade.”

I rolled my eyes as I asked, “And do you know where ‘This’ would be located?”

“For twenty silver, I can tell you where ‘This’ might be.”

“This is bullshit!” I yelled.

YOU’RE MORE THAN WELCOME TO LOOK FOR IT YOURSELF IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SPEND THE TWENTY SILVER.

The booming voice of the Dungeon Master (that only I could hear, apparently,) had a point. Paying twenty silver could take days - weeks! - off of my quest for ‘This.’ I begrudgingly slid a satchel with the requested amount of coins across the table. “Fine, here’s your twenty silver. Now where can I find ‘This?’”

“The last time ‘This’ was seen was a day’s journey from here, alongside the flooded streambed.”

I gritted my teeth. This was the absolute worst. “Very well, I’ll seek out ‘This.’ But I require ‘That’ in return.”

The shopkeeper smiled. “Of course. I won’t trade ‘That’ for anything other than ‘This.’ Save travels, Paladin.” With that, he turned his back to me. I was no longer worth his time if I didn’t have ‘This’ or coin to spend. With a huff, I exited the shop and went back into the busy town.

The day had turned out to be fairly warm, for autumn. The town market still bustled with activity, but the only thing that I could focus on was getting out of here and getting to the flooded streambed before anyone else could find the item I needed. Without ‘This’ I’d never get my hands on ‘That’ unless I resulted to drastic measures. Like killing the shopkeeper. Even then, I had no idea what I was looking for. I wouldn’t know what ‘That’ looked like if it bit me in the ass.

So instead, I found myself trudging through the woods, looking for the streambed. Townspeople that I’d spoken to were of little help, but I was able to glean that the stream bed was pretty distinctive. A day’s journey, though, was pretty intense. I could only hope that there was little danger in the woods ahead of me. If I wasn’t able to rest, then my exhaustion would get the better of me.

At sunset, I built myself a small fire near a rock outcropping and decided to wait until morning to continue my journey. These woods got eerily quiet at night, and darker than most I’d traveled through. They made me nervous, and as a result, I didn’t sleep well.

Exhausted, I made sure the embers of my fire were extinguished before making my way to where the townsfolk had insisted the flooded streambed was. Ahead of me, down a small hill, I saw what I could only assume is what the townsfolk had talked about. There was no stream, but instead a small vernal pool where a good deal of the spring rains had collected. Dancing near the shores of the pool was a goblin. I drew my claymore and approached it with caution.

“Halt, goblin!” I called as I approached it. The last thing I needed was a goblin horde to attack.

The goblin stopped its dance and looked at me, caution plaguing its features. “I am no normal goblin, human,” it spat. “Stay back.”

In its hand, I noticed a small spherical object. “The item you keep. Is that -”

The goblin hid the item behind its back. “Not ‘That!’ This is ‘This.’”

My stomach sank. The goblin had gotten to it before me. “Give me ‘This!’”

“‘This’ is mine!” the goblin growled. “Finders keepers!”

“I need ‘This’ to trade for ‘That!’” I yelled. “Give it to me!”

The goblin hissed at me and clutched ‘This’ close to its chest. “No! If you want ‘This’ then I need a lock of hair from the silver-haired maiden.”

I cocked an eyebrow. A maiden? This was way more my speed. “Silver-haired maiden?”

The goblin eagerly nodded. “Yes, the silver-haired maiden. She lives in the woods over there.” The goblin gestured to where it meant. “Her beauty is captivating, but you mustn’t succumb to her charms, human.”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. A lock of hair from the silver-haired maiden for ‘This.’ You have a deal.”

The goblin nodded. “Good. I will be in hiding but will emerge when I hear your footfalls. Come back with the lock of hair, human,” it instructed before running away down the streambed.

The woods the goblin spoke of weren’t too far. In only an hour’s walk, I came to a large clearing in the forest, decorated in all of autumn’s colors. In the middle was a large boulder, and on top of it, the maiden that I sought.

Her hair glittered in the afternoon sunlight with an ethereal glow. Resisting her charms was going to be far harder than I thought. I took a tentative step into her space as I called, “Excuse me, maiden, may I have a moment of your time?”

WHY ARE YOU SUCH A DICK TO EVERYONE ELSE BUT KIND TO THE MAIDEN?

“Have you seen her? She’s beautiful, look at her. Maybe I can relieve her of her status as a maiden for a lock of her hair.”

YOU’RE DISGUSTING AND THINKING WITH YOUR DICK. I DON’T GET WHAT CHERYL SEES IN YOU.

The maiden turned her attention towards me, beckoning me over with a wave. “For you? I may be able to spare a moment.”

I stepped further into the meadow, cautious of any traps. “I’ve come looking for something, my lady.”

The maiden’s voice was even toned, but tinted with curiosity. She smiled as she spoke, “And what might that be? I may not be of much assistance.”

“A simple lock of the maiden’s hair.”

Her face fell and she looked at me, blank-faced. “A lock of my hair?”

I nodded, the metal on my helmet clinking as I did so. “Yes, my lady, I’m in need of a lock of your hair. Would it please you to do so?”

The maiden, perched atop a boulder, furrowed her brow in concentration. “I accept, but will require something in return.”

Of course she does. “Anything, my lady.” Probably not the best thing to reply. But she was beautiful. In spite of the goblin’s words, I was definitely captivated by her beauty.

“I require an apple.”

I paused mid eyeroll. “Wait. An apple? Is that all you require?”

The maiden nodded. “Yes, an apple.” Her smile was warm, but something deadly glinted in her blue eyes. “The sweetest apples are found in a valley high in the mountains to the east, guarded from the deadly frosts around them by a spirit who resides in a deep blue lake. I require an apple from those mountain hills, for that is the only way I will be able to taste one. I cannot leave these woods.”

I nodded. “As you wish, my lady. An apple from the mountains in the east.”

She smiled. “Thank you, kind traveler.”

I was able to hitch a ride with a traveling merchant to take me most of the way to the mountains in the east. The journey was long, a few days, but the merchant kept me company and allowed me to sleep while he minded his shop during the day as long as I guided the cart at night and protected him from beasts and attackers. For the first time in my journey, someone hadn’t asked something impossible of me.

He regaled me with stories of the spirit in the mountains that I was headed to, a young child who guarded over the apple trees I sought. He urged me to be cautious in my ascent, and as thanks for protecting him from danger, gave me a fleece-lined doublet before sending me on my way. He said that he hoped that the doublet would help me shrug off the cold that I was going to experience in my journey up the mountain cliffs.

And he wasn’t kidding. Scaling the mountain was hard work. There were hardly any paths once I reached about a third of the way up the mountain, and skeletons and wolves were everywhere. As much as I’d wished the merchant had gifted me with potions, the doublet kept me from getting cold, even as the temperatures around me continued to fall.

It wasn’t only the temperatures that fell, either. The higher up the mountain I went, the more intense the snowfall became, until I was climbing up sheer mountainsides in a blizzard. I hoped that I found the valley before my hands slipped and sent me to my death.

A cave provided me with the shelter I needed to make a warm fire and sleep for a few hours before starting on my way again. As exhausted and injured as I was from all the fighting, I was eager to meet the spirit in the mountain valley, to see if it was anything like the merchant’s stories.

Finally, after what seemed like days, I found the valley. Snow blew through the valley and obscured the apple trees a bit, but there was no mistaking the blue lake in its center. I steeled myself and took my first step towards the lake. It almost felt sacrilegious to set foot in such a pristine area of the world.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to think that. I wasn’t even halfway to the lake yet when I felt the earth move beneath my feet. The snow subsided and the wind died down as I saw it. The spirit rose from the lake, water of the purest blue pouring off of its form as it rose. “Human, why do you disturb this valley?”

I rested my hand on the hilt of my claymore, preparing for a fight if these negotiations failed. This looked like no child I’d ever seen before. “I have journeyed from far in the west, seeking the sweetest apple that grows under your protection.”

The spirit’s voice boomed, sending shockwaves from its place, as it spoke to me. “For whom is this apple meant?”

“A silver-haired maiden, bound to the deep forests of Aboyne.”

“These apples are not for mere mortals,” the spirit thundered.

My eyes shone. “This is no mere mortal,” I replied. “This maiden is fair and beautiful. An apple from this valley is the only thing she has ever asked of me.” Not a lie, it was the only thing that she’s asked of me.

“Very well,” the spirit said finally. “There is a scholar at the base of this mountain, in the town of Kinross. Tell him I desire a vanilla pod from his orchids.”

“Vanilla? Vanilla only grows in tropical areas, it’s not going to be found in a temperate town on the base of a snowy mountain.”

I DON’T REMEMBER ASKING YOU YOUR OPINION ON QUEST ITEMS, MIKE.

“I’m a fucking botanist! You can’t tell me to get a plant based item and not have me scrutinize it!”

I DIDN’T HEAR YOU BITCHING ABOUT MOUNTAIN APPLES.

“Because that’s almost plausible! Depending on the depth of the valley and the lake, the thermal heat of the body of water -”

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE VANILLA.

“Jesus, so touchy, alright.” I turned my attention from the sky back to the spirit. “Very well, I’ll get you your vanilla. May I ask you why you need it?”

The spirit gazed at me, its face unable to hide its disdain. “No,” it said before vanishing in a flash of water. From the empty air, its voice was barely an echo. “Do not return here unless you have what I seek.”

I looked around me and sighed. Getting out of here was going to suck. Getting off the mountain was going to suck harder.

It took me another two days to get down from the snowy mountain valley, but I was relieved to feel the comparative warmth of the autumn air in the quiet town. I passed the traveling merchant on my way into town, who gave me a knowing smile on his way past. He knew that his doublet had save my life. There was no need for me to say it again.

I trudged through the town, greeting the remaining townsfolk as I went. Merchants tried to get me to purchase what was left of their daily wares, but I was too tired and too broke to think about getting anything for now. A group of particularly chatty kids pointed me in the direction of the scholar’s library. I hoped that the scholar was still there, because it was nearing sunset. Many people were heading back to their homes for the night.

I wrenched open the door to the scholar’s library. “Good evening!” I called.

The place was completely dark. I looked around me for a lamp, and upon finding it, used a small burst of fire magic to ignite it. Long shadows were cast from its glow across the room.

“Turn that off this instant!” a voice screamed from the corner. “This experiment is light sensitive!”

I quickly put the lamp out. “You could have replied to me when I called for someone!” I spat. “Are you the scholar?”

“The only scholar in the village!” the man, a high elf, replied. “Now what do you need, now that you’ve ruined my experiment?”

“I’m looking for a pod of your vanilla for the spirit in the mountains.”

The scholar clicked his tongue. “Again? I’m starting to think making a deal with her was a mistake. Very well, I’ll give you a pod of vanilla for her if you will buy me some coffee from the grocer up the road.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee. I’ve been up for days without rest, and I need some coffee in order to keep up this pace.”

“Perhaps you should just rest, then?”

“I’ll rest when my experiments are complete!” the elf yelled. He tossed me a small satchel. “This should be enough to buy the coffee, as well as some extra for your trouble.”

I caught the satchel and slipped it into my pocket. It felt light, but I took his word for it anyway. “You have my gratitude.”

“And you have my coin. Now go get me that coffee.”

I ran out of the scholar’s library as fast as my feet could carry me without tripping myself and headed to the grocer’s stall. The grocer, a portly woman of middle age, smiled upon my approach. “Coffee for the scholar?”

I nodded. “Please tell me you have some?”

The woman’s smile grew even larger. “For him? I always have some!” She flashed me a gesture to tell me to wait as she dug through the saddlebags on her horse. “There you go, my dear,” she said. “The strongest coffee I have, ground yesterday in my mill on the farm.”

I pulled out the satchel the scholar gave me. “How much?”

“He usually gives me a gemstone,” she replied. “His gemstones are worth more than my whole farm, but I’m the only one who’s figured out how to grow coffee.” She winked at me.

I looked in the satchel the scholar had given me. Inside were three rubies, a diamond, and an emerald. I gave the woman the diamond without any hesitation. “For you,” I said as I handed it to her.

Her face fell as she took it. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “This is too nice a gemstone.”

I couldn’t hide my grin. “No, no,” I replied. “You’ve done me a great service. I can at least give you this.”

ARE YOU SURE YOU SHOULD HAVE GIVEN HER THE DIAMOND? THERE WAS ONLY ONE DIAMOND.

“Fuck off, Rebecca,” I replied as I ran back to the scholar’s library. “The woman is a saint and deserves a life of luxury and comfort, I’ll find another diamond.”

YEAH, OKAY, WHATEVER. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT WHEN YOU FIND YOURSELF IN NEED OF A DIAMOND.

The scholar greeted me at the door, taking the coffee from me and eating the grounds by the handful. I rolled my eyes. Why were elves always like this? “For you, the best pod of vanilla that my orchids have produced,” he said as he handed me the pod. “Now go, before the spirit gets angry.”

I trudged my way back up the mountain and announced myself when I got to the banks of the spirit’s lake.

Its voice was a rippling whisper over the valley. “Toss the offering into my spring, human.”

I did as I was told and tossed the vanilla pod into the deep blue lake. “As you wish.”

With a flash of light, the spirit appeared before me again, this time in the form of a small child. The temperature seemed to have gone up, as well, because I found myself uncomfortable in the relative heat of the valley. “Thank you for your offering, human,” it said, its voice light like that of the Fey. “For you, the sweetest, largest apple off of my trees for a silver-haired maiden.”

The spirit produced a large apple, cold to the touch, into my hands. I slid it into an empty bag at my hips, not willing to risk it getting ruined on my long journey back to the woods where the maiden resided.

As one last favor to me, the spirit used its magic to deposit me immediately back outside the woods where the silver-haired maiden resided. She still sat at the top of her boulder, her hair still illuminated by the sun, and smiled at me when she saw my approach. For the first time since I’d met her, she slid off the rock and met me at its base.

“For you, my lady,” I said with a bow as I held the apple out to her.

She smiled as she took it into her own hands. “It’s everything that I’d hoped it would be,” she smiled. “As promised, you may take a lock of my hair.”

I took my dagger out of my satchel and gingerly took a small lock of hair from her. Her hair felt like silk to the touch. Along with being the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life, she also had the most beautiful hair. “Thank you, my lady,” I replied finally as I slid the lock of hair into the pouch where the apple had been not moments before.

“May the gods bring you glory, Paladin,” she responded. I shuddered when she ran her hand down my cheek, but not from attraction or arousal. My blood ran cold when she touched me, fear settling in the pit of my stomach. I needed to get out of these woods, and fast. She smiled down at the apple.

I turned away from her to make my journey back to the goblin when I heard her bite into the apple and laugh. Against my better judgement, I looked behind me, hoping to catch a glimpse of her enjoying the gift I’d brought her. Left in her place, though, was a ring of gently glowing flowers and the apple, as perfect and unblemished as it had been when I’d brought it.

I ran out of the woods without another look back.

I was tired and out of breath by the time I’d gotten back to the vernal pool where I’d met the goblin. Not seeing it, I decided to start heading back to the village. It had promised to find me, and I was going to take it at its word.

It peeked out from the rocky outcropping where I’d made my camp, what seemed like forever ago. “Human!” It greeted me. “Welcome. You have the hair?”

I nodded, still struggling to catch my breath.

“Sit, sit,” it offered as it lit a fire. “The sun sets soon and these woods are not safe at night.

So that’s where my initial feeling of dread came from. I took the offered seat and fished in my satchel for the hair. Upon brandishing it to the goblin, it grinned. “You managed it!”

I laughed and handed it the hair. “It wasn’t easy, I assure you.”

The goblin devoured the hair before I could stop it. In a flash of smoke, a dwarf sat where the goblin had just been.

CONGRATS, MIKE. YOU JUST FREED YOUR GIRLFRIEND FROM HER CURSE AND SHE CAN JOIN THE CAMPAIGN AGAIN.

“What the fuck.”

CHERYL, COME JOIN THE CAMPAIGN! MIKE JUST FREED YOU! AND GRAB ME ANOTHER SLICE OF PIZZA!

“Thank you, friend!” the dwarf roared with laughter. She gave me a firm slap on the back that knocked the wind out of my lungs, like I hadn’t just caught my breath. “You are a true friend to dwarvenkind.”

The dwarf sat by the fire with me as she braided her beard. “The silver haired maiden lured me into her trap with her charm. Turned me into a goblin and left me for dead in these woods.” She caught sight of my blank stare and laughed, deep and rumbling. “It seems that only your ignorance of this place protected you, human. Tonight, we stay here, but from tomorrow I will accompany you on your journey to repay my debt.”

The next morning, Cheryl Ryngwyn and I headed back to town to meet with the pawnbroker. His shop was as cluttered as the last time we’d met, but he smiled when he saw us enter the shop. “Greetings, Paladin! I see you’ve made a friend in your quest.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I’d been through too much the past week. Between the Fey masquerading as a maiden and the knowledge that my girlfriend has been playing D&D with her friends as a bearded dwarven woman, I was suspicious of everything I came into contact with. “Indeed. I have ‘This,’ so now it’s time to hand over ‘That,’ as promised.”

The pawnbroker smiled. “Of course. ‘That’ for ‘This’ as promised.” He reached behind the counter and produced a small disc. I took it from him as Ryngwyn handed him ‘This.’ The man behind the counter smiled. “Thank you, travelers. ‘This’ is going to look good among my personal collection. ‘That’ might be more valuable, but ‘This’ is truly a treasure.”

I looked down at the item that he had given us. “This is a copy of Shrek 2.”

DAMMIT, MIKE, I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MINIFIGURES AND PROPS FOR EVERYTHING YET. WHY ARE YOU BEING SO CRITICAL?

“I’m not trying to be critical, I was just hoping that it would be more impressive than Shrek 2.”

Beside me, Ryngwyn laughed.

WELL IT’S NOT, SO THE LEGENDARY ITEM ‘THAT’ IS A DVD COPY OF SHREK 2, OKAY? YOU CAN BRING THE PROPS NEXT TIME.

Ryngwyn and I shared a look before we left, hurrying back down the beaten dirt road to the town I’d started in. We paused halfway there to eat a portion of our rations before continuing on our way. We nearly collapsed from exhaustion when we arrived at the blacksmith’s house.

I knocked on the door and waited for the blacksmith to answer. It was late, but if she could bother me at three am to go on a goose hunt, she could surface at midnight to answer her door. Eventually, she cracked the door open and looked at us with suspicion. “Paladin? Have you returned with what I seek?”

I held Shrek 2 in front of me. “Yes, I have… ‘That’ …in my posession. Do you have the payment you promised?”

The blacksmith nodded. “Yes, I do.” She invite us in and motioned to a table. “I’m prepared to offer you the best claymore that I have ever forged in exchange for ‘That.’ It’s been enchanted with holy magic, making it particularly effective against evil creatures.” The blacksmith looked at it fondly. “I’m sure it will help you on your journey, Paladin.”

I smiled and handed the blacksmith ‘That.’ Her calloused hands brushed against mine. “Thank you, this is an extraordinary weapon.” I picked the weapon up and gave it a preliminary swing to get a feel for the weapon. For something so big, it was well balanced. “This is an offer I’ll gladly accept.”

The blacksmith smiled and clutched ‘That’ close to her. “I’m glad you’re fond of the trade. Thank you, Paladin.”

As we turned to leave, I cast a look over to Ryngwyn and smiled. “Tavern?”

The dwarf laughed and slapped me on the back. “Let’s just pick up some adventurers so we can slay that dragon, alright? We can celebrate at the tavern once we’re done.”

#A Quest #short stories #Lynnafred writes #writeblr #imported from old-lynnafred

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boopathi021 · 2 years ago

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NFT Trading Cards: New Collection Mode?

One-of-a-kind items always attract the attention of collectors, and they are willing to pay top dollar for their collection, whether it’s paintings, baseball cards, postage stamps, antique cards, and rare currency. Now, with the development of blockchain technology, these projects are entering the digital realm.

On several different blockchain networks, items such as paintings, baseball cards, postage stamps, antique cards, and rare currencies are referred to as “unique digital assets,” or non-fungible tokens (NFTs). The introduction of blockchain technology means that the authenticity and ownership of these items can be easily verified, especially as scarcity plays a vital role in asset valuation.

In March, Britain’s most iconic street artist, Banksy, destroyed a £70,000 artwork “Morons” (Idiots) at an undisclosed location in Brooklyn, New York. A piece of work was made into NFT, because he believes that digital art form will be the future of the industry. The connotation of this 70,000-pound work is designed to mock collectors for buying expensive artists, and the NFT was eventually collected and stored for nearly $400,000.

As Anita Moore, CEO of Blind Boxes, an NFT digital artwork platform, said, through the concepts of decentralization and authenticity verification, NFT changes the way people think about ownership and value.

What are NFT trading cards?

NFT trading cards are a virtual representation of underlying assets. Since all information is stored through the blockchain, NFT trading cards can be endowed with immutability and public verification of ownership. Even if the physical version is lost or destroyed, as long as the NFT exists, then You can always “survive” on the blockchain.

People can create tokens on Ethereum, or other smart contract blockchains, and use these tokens to represent virtual representations of these NFT trading cards. These tokens are “non-fungible” and can contain NFT transactions. Card metadata, such as transaction card images, can all be stored, viewed, and transferred through an NFT-enabled wallet.

People can create, buy, and sell NFT trading cards on many platforms, some of the largest trading platforms currently include OpenSea, SuperRare, etc.

As an investment target, the digital collection industry is growing rapidly Trading cards, in essence, are very similar to artwork.

As a unique digital collectible, the pace of digital trading cards entering the digital field is accelerating, and has become a brand new investment category. Not only that, but even outside of the cryptocurrency space, trading card sales have been booming.

Nick Rose, founder and CEO of the NFT platform Ethernity Chain, believes that more and more celebrities and influential industry figures are beginning to support NFT tokens, which also gives real value to this emerging asset. explain:

legendary football player Pele , thus creating actual potential value for NFT.”There are many other examples of successful startups in the field of NFT collections, such as the price of the Mint Condition Card on the NFT trading platform StockX, which jumped from $280 a year ago to the current average price of $775. A trading card for American football superstar Tom Brady recently sold for $1.3 million on the StockX platform, as the card is so rare that only 100 were issued during his rookie season.

Many traditional investors have begun moving into riskier asset classes such as cryptocurrencies and blockchain businesses. However, when asked about the latest NFT trend, Radek Zagórowicz, CEO of blockchain gaming platform Hoard Exchange, warned that blindly following the “hype” could be very dangerous:

Some projects may just use NFT as a gimmick or as a promotional strategy, rather than exploring its true value. Investment One has to be very careful.” In order to curb the new crown virus epidemic, many countries had to choose to close their cities. This measure resulted in the dismissal of millions of people and also had a negative impact on economic growth. In this case, countries such as the United States, Brazil, Germany and Japan have slashed interest rates and bought government bonds, resulting in investors becoming less and less attractive to traditional financial products.

At the same time, the monetary quantitative easing implemented by the Federal Reserve has also raised concerns about future hyperinflation, making traditional investors move away from stocks and fiat currencies and turn to precious metals and cryptocurrencies, of which they are most interested in NFT.

Mainstream artists and companies began to test the water NFT So far, NBA Top Shot has attracted more than 230,000 NBA fans to join, and they are all eager to own NFTs of NBA stars’ “highlight moments”. On the other hand, Major League Baseball MLB and its players have also announced a partnership with local trading card manufacturer Topps to launch a new NFT trading card.

At the end of March, Dapper Labs, the NBA Top Shot development team, announced the completion of a $305 million financing round, with investors including Coatue Management, basketball superstar Michael Jordan, and Kevin Durant participating. Coatue is a $1 billion investment firm with stakes in companies like Airtable and Instacart. These investment institutions are interested in Dapper Labs mainly because the recent NFT boom has attracted market attention, and NBA Top Shot is currently one of the NFT platforms with the largest number of users. According to The Information, Dapper Labs’ latest round of financing has not yet been completed. If more investors join in the future, its valuation is expected to further increase.

YouTube star Logan Paul also joined the “NFT craze,” earning more than $5 million by selling 3,000 NFTs, including Pokemon trading cards. On the other hand, the market’s demand for NFT is partly driven by games. For example, Pokemon trading cards can be directly added to the game, and the valuation of three first-version NFT kits has reached $40,000.

Develop your Own Nft Matketplace here : Nft Matketplace Development Company

A growing number of artists, celebrities, and major sports organizations are also jumping on the NFT trading card bandwagon as a way to reach new audiences, but many believe NFTs are only just beginning to reveal their true potential. John Wu, president of decentralized application development platform Ava Labs, explained:

True asset ownership is not the end

In fact, in the physical world, the collectible trading card industry has existed for a long time, and the reason why it has not developed and expanded is likely to be related to the immature authentication and storage models-blockchain technology can provide solutions for these problems plan. More importantly, as the scarcity value of trading cards can be fully reflected, blockchain technology has begun to bring changes to the entire collection market.

Although some people have made a fortune by participating in the emerging market of NFT, it should be noted that this industry does have high risks. In 2020, the physical sports star trading card and memorabilia market is estimated to be worth just over $5.4 billion, compared to the $2.6 billion market cap of Dapper Labs alone, a digital trading card company (one said the post-money valuation has risen to 7.5 billion), but its total sales are “only” about 230 million US dollars (data as of the end of February 2021).

From a numerical point of view, the current NFT market does have a lot of room for development, and NFT does contain valuable assets that can promote the further development of the market. In addition, although NFT is “unique”, it does not mean that the corresponding content of NFT is also unique. NFT is just a digital certificate and authenticity certificate for collectibles, but in reality, some people don’t really care whether they need to have a so-called “Certificate of Authenticity”, but many people need such “proof”. Just like Bitcoin, although you may not need a real physical coin to “prove” the existence of Bitcoin, you need at least a wallet that can store Bitcoin in order to “prove” the ownership of the assets you hold.

#NFT Trading #NFT Trading Cards #Nft Matketplace Development Company

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tigerstrikesasteroidnetwork · 4 years ago

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GVL / Big Body Play

Andrea Vail, Duck Pond, detail

Big Body Play June 7 - September 10 Fine Arts Center Sheffield Wood Gallery

Tiger Strikes Asteroid Greenville (TSA GVL) and the Fine Arts Center (FAC) are excited to present their summer exhibition, BIG BODY PLAY, on exhibition from June 7th through September 10th at the FAC’s Sheffield Wood Gallery. Visits to the gallery are by appointment only - Monday - Thursday, 10am -4pm. Sign up for an appointment by using the following link. A closing reception will be held on Friday, September 10th from 6-8pm including artist presentations and performance from 6:30-7.

BIG BODY PLAY is an exhibition that uses humor and imagination to explore the banality of the everyday. This show uses playful colors and materials, on plush, oversized forms to celebrate boredom, experimentation, and absurdity. Addressing themes of the body, pop culture, nostalgia, and domesticity, this collection of soft sculptures highlights the fascination these artists have with their materials and their love of “playing” in the studio. These works push scale while using current material culture as inspiration - these objects tell personal narratives, make punny jokes, and address our need for recreation and distraction.

Featuring work by:

Amelia Briggs

Amelia Briggs is a visual artist currently based in Nashville, TN. Her work has been exhibited internationally and throughout the US including recent and upcoming exhibitions in Paris, France; London, UK; Florence, Italy; Denver, CO; New Orleans, LA; and New York, NY. Briggs has worked for David Lusk Gallery since 2012 and served as the Director for the past four years. In May 2021 she will be stepping down in order to pursue her work as an artist full time. In June Briggs will release a series of mirrors with Exhibition A and her work is included in the current issue of New American Paintings.

Andrea Vail

Andrea Vail investigates contemporary American society and its objects -- specifically home goods deemed stylistically obsolete, or unattractive by the standards of 21st century mainstream culture. Hinged on textile traditions and techniques, her practice materializes as tapestry, woven sculpture, and collaborative exchange. Vail’s nationally exhibited work has received awards from Arts and Science Council; North Carolina Arts Council; HappeningsCLT Visual Artist Grant; CultureWORKS; and residencies with Goodyear Arts, McColl Center for Art + Innovation, and Elsewhere Museum. She is a graduate of Virginia Commonwealth University (MFA) and UNC-Charlotte (BFA). Vail lives and works in Western North Carolina.

Vail’s collaborative projects include: Bridging (Central Piedmont, Charlotte, NC), a large-scale fabric installation patterned with student- and staff-sourced imagery, Signalling Hello (Elsewhere Museum, Greensboro, NC), a process-based greeting initiative, COLLECTING_PILE, an interactive art work which involves the community as both content and collaborator; Friendge, an ongoing global invitation to collaborate; Woven Community (Richmond, VA), a citywide weaving event ; and Gathering Clouds (Richmond, VA) at Anderson Gallery.

Coorain

Born in Australia, Coorain studied at Georgia State University, earning an MFA in Photography, and Tufts University and the School of Museum of Fine Arts, receiving a BA in Philosophy and a BFA in Fine Arts respectively. Coorain currently resides and gardens in Atlanta, with plenty of chickens and carnivorous plants.

Jaime Bull

Jaime Bull builds a cast of sparkly clad forms that embody a strong, sexy, dangerous female presence. She is a collector and uses found, repurposed materials in her work to reference the body with a feminist perspective. Spending her time dumpster diving at the recycling center or scouring Goodwill to amass second-hand tube tops and sequined prom dresses, Bull’s sculptures have the rhinestone aesthetic of a bedazzled jean jacket or a Mardi Gras float. She examines and questions our relationship with the environment by highlighting a preoccupation with hoarding mass quantities of “stuff."

Bull received her MFA in Drawing and Painting from the University of Georgia, Athens in 2013. She is a recipient of the Willson Center for the Arts research grant for her thesis work Lady Beasts: An Investigation of Womanliness. She has exhibited in Atlanta with Whitespace, Camayuhs, Hathaway Gallery and at the Airport in Terminal E. Regionally, she has shown work at the Zuckerman Museum of Art, University of North Georgia, Auburn University, Albany Museum and the COOP Gallery in Nashville. Most recently, her sculptures were featured in a two woman show with artist Melissa Brown (Brooklyn, NY), entitled Fountain, at the Lamar Dodd School of Art. She is a Vermont Studio School Fellow, attended a two-month residency at the Bernheim Arboretum in Louisville, KY and was an Atlanta Contemporary Art Center Studio Artist in Residence from 2016-2019. She was featured in and on the cover of the 219th edition of Ambit Magazine, London. She currently lives in Athens, Ga and teaches at the University of Georgia.

Kat Sánchez Stanfield

Katrina Sánchez is an interdisciplinary Panamanian-American artist based in Charlotte, NC. Working with fibers and mixed materials Kat creates vibrant and tactile works that explore ideas of joy, play, community, healing and renewal. Katrina received a BFA in Fibers from the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, is a recipient of the NC Arts and Science Council Artist Support Grant and is an alumni artist-in-residence of Goodyear Arts. She has exhibited work at Bedford Gallery (CA), Abigail Ogilvy Gallery (MA), Max I. Jackson Gallery at Queens University of Charlotte and Gallery C3 (NC).

Madison Creech

Madison Creech was the 2018-19 Fountainhead Fellow in the Department of Craft and Material Studies at Virginia Commonwealth University. She holds an MFA in fibers from Arizona State University and a BFA and BS in textile, merchandising, and fashion design from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. She has served as faculty associate at Arizona State University, instructing surface design and served as the 2016-18 Brown Visiting Teacher-Scholar at Stetson University teaching digital art and textile art courses. Creech has held residencies at Metro Community College Prototype Lab in Omaha, Nebraska, Houston Center for Contemporary Craft in Texas, and Techshop in Chandler, Arizona. Her work has been widely exhibited across the country, and she has been the recipient of a number of distinguished awards, including the Juror's Award from the Surface Design Association's Explorations exhibition, the Rudy Turk Award for History in American Craft from ASU, and the Mary Beason Bishop and Francis Sumner Merit Scholarship from the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts. She is currently a co-director of Fresh As Fruit Gallery in DeLand.

Matthew Creech

Matthew Creech received his Associate of Arts Degree from Cape Fear Community College in 2006. Creech has been included in a range of various exhibitions including, “This Must Be the Place” at Robert Hillestad Textile Gallery in Lincoln, NE and “Now or Neverland Urban Uproar” at the Miami Urban Contemporary Experience in Miami, FL. Alongside this body of work, Creech will be releasing a book, working within the same genre of off the wall humor and topics dealing with death and behind closed door secrets. Creech currently resides and works in Wilmington, NC.

Mindy Sue Wittock

Mindy Sue Wittock is an artist and mother who works out of her home studio in Cedarburg, Wisconsin. She makes soft sculpture that explores the intersection of childhood memory and experiences in motherhood. Wittock has an MFA from Arizona State University with a concentration in fibers. She has previously worked as an associate lecturer of art at the University of Wisconsin Fond du Lac and the University of Wisconsin Green Bay. Wittock has an extensive exhibition record and has taught many textile-based workshops. She survives on coffee and enjoys watching vintage television shows, listening to 80’s music, and going on adventures with her husband, daughter, and pup. Mindy Sue Wittock is also a co-founder of The Wondermakers Collective with the incredible illustrator and coffee drinker Jenna Freimuth. They work together to build beautiful, layered embroideries, pen palling them back and forth from Wisconsin to Minnesota.

Natalie Baxter

Natalie Baxter (b. 1985, Lexington, Kentucky) explores concepts of place-identity, nostalgic americana, and gender stereotypes through sculptures that playfully push controversial issues. Natalie received her MFA from the University of Kentucky in 2012 and a BA in Fine Art from the University of the South in Sewanee, TN in 2007. Her work has been exhibited in galleries and museums internationally with recent shows at Intersect SOFA Chicago with Elijah Wheat Showroom (Newburgh, NY), Birmingham Museum of Art (Birmingham, AL), Spring/Break Art Show with Gloria’s (New York, NY), Material Art Fair with Beverly’s (Mexico City, MX), Institute 193 (Lexington, KY), Yale University (New Haven, CT), and Brandeis University (Waltham, MA). She has been an artist in residency at the Wassaic Project, a fellowship recipient at the Vermont Studio Center, and twice awarded the Queens Art Fund Grant. Press for Baxter’s work includes, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, Hyperallergic, The Guardian, and Bomb Magazine. She is currently a resident at The Wassaic Project in Wassaic, NY.

Tiger Strikes Asteroid Greenville is the newest part of the Tiger Strikes Asteroid network of artist-run spaces and joins locations Philadelphia, New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. They are a platform for artists that is curated and organized by a group of artist-volunteers. Their mission is to create the physical, mental, and emotional space for artists to show their work, meet, and exchange ideas on their own terms. TSA GVL will specifically focus on connecting the art communities in Greenville and the greater Southeast to the global art world. TSA was founded in 2009 in Philadelphia and is a 501c3 non-profit organization.

The Fine Arts Center (FAC) of Greenville County School District was established in August of 1974 as the first pre-professional arts school in the state of South Carolina for gifted and talented high school students in the Fine, Visual, and Performing Arts. Since its opening, thousands of students have chosen to become members of this unique community in which individual talent and expression are nourished in a supportive environment and stimulated by instructors who are themselves highly regarded professionals in their fields. The Fine Arts Center offers the highest level of instruction in Architecture, Creative Writing, Dance (Ballet and Modern), Digital Filmmaking, Music (Chamber Strings, Jazz, Voice, Winds/Brass/Percussion), Theatre (Performance and Design/Production), and Visual Arts.

For more information please contact TSA GVL at [email protected] and FAC at [email protected]

By Appointment Only

Gallery Hours: June 7th - September 10th Monday - Thursday 10am - 4pm

FINE ART CENTER Sheffield Wood Gallery 102 Pine Knoll Drive Greenville, SC 29609

#bigbodyplay #tigerstrikesasteroid #tiger strikes asteroid

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