#strolling minstrel

[maifazcomics]

Art collab me and my friends organized for Sabotage's 8th anniversary on the 4th! Credits under the cut :)

Participants:

Organizer: @maifazcomics (yous truly)

Participants: Lukas (@healthysickbastart), Spuddie (@Spuddie203), Fin (@Valtraid), @staurolith, PewPewMeowMeow, Gooberbarbarian, PeacefulPanda, @justdenys1, @alliekya, Natalia3553, JSABlixer, @captain-nobeard, @starhawk, @miszczfezorowski, @stamway, Ani (@SomeAniChick), Slashley (@SlashleyVO), Mask (@Maskavado), Ben Rhymely, Pyro (@HeyImPyro), @maifazcomics

#sea of stars #the messenger #sabotage studio #zale #valere #garl #seraï #resh'an #b'st #teaks #hortence #malkomud #rockie #melee matey #aephorul #croustallion #strolling minstrel #kunus'nuku acolyte #artificer #quizzmaster #ferryman #ninja #the shopkeeper #the prophet #emerald spirit #phobekins #pyro #wentworth #art collab #drillbat

[littlefluffbutt]

Cousin at the family picnic last night; forgot where I had put my phone so only got the last 10 seconds but you can tell how talented he is:)

#I think that's a dobro he's playing #At any rate it's his favorite thing to play #We call him the strolling minstrel #The socks with sandals are killing me lol

[hrefna-the-raven]

Simril

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Notes: a little something I had in mind thinking about the holidays approaching slowly but surely ☺️

Words: 1022

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Simril was not only an annual winter festival celebrated along the Sword Coast but also the perfect opportunity to gain new clients for a certain devil. That was until you entered his life...

The sun had set and the festivities of Simril had engulfed the entire city of Baldur's Gate with a magical aura, bringing joy and cheer to the hearts of its inhabitants. It was an evening filled with laughter, merriment, and the promise of the blessing received upon finding the lucky star on the clouded sky. As the celebrations unfolded, the city became a playground of different coloured lanterns, merry tunes and enchantment. Raphael, adorned in his typical formal attire, was casually strolling through the streets during this festive day. He would wander through the bustling streets, keeping an eye out for potential clients and his so-called business opportunities. However, on this particular Simril, fate had something else in store for him.

Unbeknownst to Raphael, someone had been observing him, studying his every move. It was you, the mysterious figure lurking with in the shadows, a mischievous smile painted across your face. Since you got to know the devil, you always thought that he was way too focused on gaining souls, signing contracts, never truly embracing the tempting pleasures of his nature. So, of course, you had devised a plan, daring and audacious as you usually were according to your devil, to capture Raphael's attention and demanded a favour from one of his more noble debtors. As you caught sight of Raphael meandering along a bustling road, you couldn't resist any longer. With a swift and confident stride, you approached him, taking his arm and leading him away from the noisy crowd.

"What in the nine hells?", Raphael cursed, slightly bewildered, yet willingly complying with your guidance, captivated by your audacity.

You guided him through a myriad of hidden passages, until you arrived at a secluded courtyard adorned with exquisite decorations. The air was filled with the delightful fragrance of heated wine and the faint echoes of a minstrel's tune. In the center, a bonfire crackled, casting captivating shadows that danced around the surroundings. With a mischievous sparkle in your eyes, you presented Raphael with a cup of warm, spiced wine.

"Join me," you whispered, your voice carrying a note of invitation, "sit with me by the fire, let the music fill the night and let us enjoy ourselves."

Intrigued, Raphael complied, settling down next to you on a cushioned seat. The bard's melodies filled the air, wrapping the courtyard in a blanket of tender notes.

"If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am, this particular courtyard belongs to one of my debtors," Raphael calmly remarked, "and that bard over there recently signed his contract with me."

You delicately sipped your wine, avoiding his piercing gaze. Uncertainty filled your mind as you pondered whether this could potentially mark your final day on this mortal plane, condemned to be dragged down to the depths of hell for your transgressions. Although, there remained a tiny glimmer of hope that you might escape punishment for borrowing two of his clients for your own purposes. As you drained the last remnants of your wine, the devil snapped his fingers, conjuring two handwritten notes that ominously hovered before you.

"I do believe that is your handwriting," he declared, his fingers gently finding your chin and tilting your head upward to examine the notes, "And my signature, which, if I may say so myself, appears rather convincingly authentic."

You hummed, eyes darting to Raphael's unreadable expression. Deep within you, a sense of fear began to rise as he stood up, reaching out to lift you from the bench. His strong fingers curled around your neck, his piercing gaze digging into the depths of your soul. Even in his human form, his aura exuded authority and danger, reminding you of who he truly was.

"My little mouse", Raphael sighed, unable to hide a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I can't decide whether to be angry or proud of your audacious escapades."

"I'd prefer the latter", you offered, attempting to conceal your mounting anxiety, "after all it was all in favour of you relaxing for once."

"I bet you do, little mouse", the devil laughed, his mind lingering on the last part of your statement.

As the fire flickered, casting a warm glow on your face, he suddenly was all to aware of how effortlessly you succeeded at wiggling your way into his heart. He couldn't deny that he had grown rather fond of you, for reasons that would forever elude him, you had chosen to stick by his side and help him without any contract or asking anything in return. The memories of how he huffed in sheer disbelief as you claimed that you simply liked him were still as fresh as the day they were forged. No mortal had ever demonstrated such unwavering loyalty, not to him nor, he would stake his wretched soul on it, to any other devil in the infernal realms. And yet here you were, going through all the trouble and danger to ensure he would have one evening to enjoy himself. Raphael leaned in, pressing his lips on yours in a tender kiss, muffling your surprised gasp. To hell with all that meant being a devil, his mind urged him. Under the spell of the enchanting atmosphere, Raphael allowed himself to embrace his humanity, if only for this night. He resolved that there was more to existence than the relentless pursuit of souls—at least for this fleeting moment.

A wistful smile formed on your lips as you broke the kiss, your eyes sparkling with pure happiness and Raphael couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His little mouse, a potential client who became his unlikely ally and, if he'd had any say in the matter, would become even more in the days to come. You suddenly jumped away, looking up to the sky, gasping as your hands found his, fingers intertwining with his.

"I found my lucky star", you giggled, "do devils have a lucky star?"

"No", Raphael chuckled, "but I have a suspicion that this particular one just might", he whispered, a faint smile playing on his lips as he kept his eyes locked on your silhouette.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #fluff #Raphael fluff #simril #festivities

[metmuseum]

Three Young Women Masquerading as Komuso (Strolling Minstrel). ca. 1778. Credit line: The Howard Mansfield Collection, Purchase, Rogers Fund, 1936 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/56741

#aesthetic #art #abstract art #art museum #art history #The Metropolitan Museum of Art #museum #museum photography #museum aesthetic #dark academia

[gribbo]

realistically i don't think that silk would remember astarion's controversial court rulings + ensuing gory murder from the ye olde evening news of yore (town crier in the marketplace). it all happened two centuries ago and he was probably on ye olde tour (traveling from place to place as a strolling minstrel) at the time. but i keep thinking that it would be funny if astarion's face rang some vaguely unsettling bell

#while he's quietly trying to figure out if the grand duke's son went missing seven years ago because he was abducted by aliens #oc tag #silk

[greyias]

The Continuing Adventures of my Dumbass Minstrel Paladin

I keep forgetting to record or even get screenshots of some of the more hilarious shenanigans Aravyn and the Tadpole Gang are getting up to. So last night after spending an hour gleefully running all over the map to make Gale infinitely recast "Speak with the Dead" on all of the glowing corpses with our new shiny necklace loot we got from the chapel, I realized I hadn't gotten a trigger for a quest I remembered from early access regarding mean druid lady being suspiciously mean and after referencing some ancient texts (see: walkthroughs), I realized I needed to head back to the grove to do some poking around.

After spending like fifteen minutes poking around rooms, eventually I started throwing up dancing light cantrips at all of the dark corners. And eventually doing this I find the little dark hole that leads back to a hidden area where there's a chest marked in red.

Just imagine, you're a xenophobic druid who is ready to cut yourself off from the outside world forever, and this stupid paladin who talked your homicidal new boss lady out from letting some kid get eaten by a snake is now going around to all of the dark corners of your comfy dark underground hidey hole muttering to herself and throwing up sparkles in all of the shadows. Nothing suspicious there. She's just lighting up the world. It's what Sylvanus would want, I suppose.

Well, going into sneak mode reveals that the angry elf druid guy who keeps telling me to get lost is looking right at the chest, and so that's a problem. What's the Tadpole Gang to do? My paladin has a negative on stealth checks, and I don't know if stealing will technically break her oath, but if I'm staying true to character she probably wouldn't like it. But, clearly the group needs a distraction that will get everyone's attention in one area, so that an enterprising sneakthief can go pick the lock on that chest and take a little peekaboo.

It's time for a Mini-Heist

"Surely this won't work," I tell myself, and get the group gathered just in between all of the NPCs in the grove, toggle party mode, and position my rogueiest vampire suspiciously near where he needs to be.

Then Aravyn starts strumming away -- and lo and behold--

Gathers a crowd. Literally everyone stops what they're doing to come gather around and in the distance I hear them all cheering her on and complimenting the tune. "That's a great song!" says Kagha who moments before was sneering at us. Apparently, she's a lover of music. THE WOLF even comes over and starts listening, I think it's a possibility the rats even stopped scurrying around to listen.

There is cheering going off in the distance as Astarion quickly and effortlessly picks the lock on Kagha's chest and loots all of the contents. Then casually saunters back to the rest of the group as the NPCs are still happily bopping along to Ari's rendition of "Bard Dance".

She finishes her song, Kagha starts throwing gold at her feet. An NPC literally just paid me to rob her 🤣 We quickly pick up our three hard earned gold (look look it's not important however much Astarion has in his pocketses okay), and the party shuffles on out where everyone is still chanting their ritual and quickly go off to the secluded area just beyond the chanting circle to look at the evidence and continue their quest, having successfully completed their tiny heist.

And now I'm imagining now imagining this scene where Astarion throws his arms around his pal(adin)'s shoulder and is like "Look at all these dour faces. Darling, why don't you perform that utterly delightful ditty you couldn't stop playing around the fire at camp last night. I'm sure it would raise everyone's spirits", and then casually strolls off as she starts plucking at strings and the crowd begins gathering, then whistling along with the tune as he walks back up and congratulates everyone on the impromptu concert and then quickly steering his party back outside. "Man, that outsider sparkle-making Paladin sure is a bitch," says Marcoryl, who keeps complaining about not killing a small tiefling child (so you know his opinion is to be trusted), "but she sure can play a lute."

#grey's bg3 tag #bg3 posting #bg3 spoilers #oc: aravyn #i'm now just imagining astarion just using ari's love for music and performing so he can be his best rogue self #and because she sucks at perception and insight checks #she's like 'yeah this track he just really loves my music and wants to encourage me' #while at night he and lae'zel's long suffering gazes meet over the campfire while she conducts singalongs #wondering when their suffering will end #when i realized later that i was basically just glitter blasting all of the dark corners with my dancing light cantrip #i had a good snicker #also i learned later after the harpy rock concert #that passing the performance checks for alfira's quest gave aravyn proficiency in musical instruments #so i don't really have to dip her into bard or use a feat now if i don't want to #but honestly bardic inspiration and the pool of level 1 bard spells looks mighty tempting #as does jack of all trades at level 2 #long post #ari's og campaign

[unclevladscorner]

The Writblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch Event: Sword of the Voivode

Cyril Valentin believed he'd left his old life fully behind when he ran away to live freely as a New Man. When a former suitor attempts to murder the entire ruling family of Vodomeria- including Cyril- he must choose whether to return to the safety of self imposed exile or journey home to face both his would-be murderer along with his estranged family. Cyril undertakes the journey into the heart of his homeland with his lover Daumantas- an ogre with secrets of his own. Dodging agents of the rival house Zhupensken, the two men have their fledgling romance tested as they navigate a realm in disarray as well as the secrets they've been keeping from one another. Cyril must find peace with his past as the Dueling Princess of Vodomeria and face the men who saw him as a prize to be won in order to restore peace to the realm.

Trigger warnings- Poisoning, transphobia, sexual content, sex assault mention (brief, non graphic), violence

Once his trading stall was erected, the oxen put out to pasture, and his campsite set, Daumantas and Cyril wearily made their way back into town just after the sunset. They made straight for The Drunken Whale. The place bustled with activity, thanks to a Felis bard sitting and singing songs at the bar. Dark gray fur covered his body and sleek feline features. His clothes were very fine for a traveling minstrel and his singing talent certainly paid for the fine cloth. Cyril couldn’t make out the words the bard warbled over the noise of the crowd at first. He could feel his hair standing on end when he recognized the melody-The Ballad of the Dueling Princess. Just as quickly as he’d walked in, Cyril spun on his heel and marched out. He nearly collided with Daumantas who’d been following closely behind him. He marched down the dusty lane towards another-any other- establishment in town. Cyril could hear Daumantas struggling to keep up as he rushed away. He caught Cyril’s arm and tugged gently to slow him. “What’s got you so upset?” “Let go of me, Daumantas.” Cyril���s whole body stiffened when Daumantas seized him in spite of the other man’s gentleness. Daumantas loosened his grip and Cyril’s arm slid free from his hand. They both stopped in the middle of the dirt lane. “It was that stupid song!” Cyril growled between clenched teeth. His stomach churned. He rubbed his hot face with his hands. “I hate that fucking song.” “…Why?” Daumantas asked gently, confused at his companion’s sudden outburst.

Cyril’s face screwed up in a scowl. “Because it’s about me.”

They ate in relative silence that evening at the Golden Oak. Cyril liked to come here when the Drunken Whale was much too busy for him to enjoy. Daumantas stuck to polite conversation through dinner. Cyril tried to perk up, but his mood fell hard with the sound of that song and he had a hard time recovering. The last thing Cyril wanted was to think about the past and that damn song pushed a lot of uncomfortable memories to the front of his mind. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?” Daumantas asked quietly as they strolled leisurely through the streets back towards the edge of town. Cyril took Daumantas’s hand and squeezed in response.

#Writblr Garden #Pumpkin Pitch

[ansawritespyre]

The Beginning

“Celeste…” The Lone Minstrel looked at his other half, wanting. Desperately wishing for things to be different. “Tariq.” She wouldn’t even look his way. It was as was ordained, while the Rites commenced. Their sacrifice was ordained by the stars. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her. It was not always thus. Celeste and the Lone Minstrel were once a happy couple. But being involved in the higher ups’ affairs within the Commonwealth, it was not meant to be long before they were entangled into something, and entangled did they become.

***********************************************************

It was a breezy, summery winter day. An odd day, to mark the odd events to transpire. Celeste had gone out for stroll, as she was wont to do. A lovely day in the middle of winter deserved a good breather outside. Tariq was due for another courtly gathering that night, and planned to enjoy more rehearsal with his fellow quartet. Those plans never came to fruition, of course. There were summons to be heeded, sent in the form of a messenger runner. A very important runner, evidenced by the plumage of the sash and the emblem of the wax seal on the message.

Tariq, my dear friend, There have been many a meeting in which you expressed interest in becoming more involved with matters of the state. It is due time for you to join us. Celeste will also be invited with a missive. This is an urgent matter, Silin will beckon you to the correct rooms.

Tariq sighed. He had been looking forward to the dances tonight. Looking over to who he presumed to be Silin, the messenger runner, he saluted him and said, “Lead the way. Do keep in mind I am but a minstrel, and do not have your capacity for speed.” The young man grinned cheekily. “Alrighty, I’ll make sure you can keep up.” Now, he wished he had ignored the note, for all the folly that would have been, and gone to the rehearsal.

******************************************************

Celeste greeted Tariq as he entered through the walled gates. She was accompanied by her own messenger, who stuck out her tongue at Silin. Silin did the same in turn. Tariq suppressed a smile. It was nice to see youths who were carefree instead of stuck in a stuffy concert hall, or a ballroom. All of them started walking into the palace area, where Tariq was musing about what could possibly be transpiring for sudden change in station. “This will be your meeting place!” announced Silin with a flourish. Tariq almost bumped into the young man, lost as he was within his musings. “Well met,” Celeste said, flicking a coin to each messenger. “Appreciation to your services.” The girl caught it with ease, while Silin fumbled his, catching it an inch from the ground. They both nodded in appreciation and ran off. Tariq chuckled slightly as he heard the girl teasing Silin for his clumsiness. “Oh, to be carefree as that again,” he said to Celeste. She nodded, a smile gracing her face as well. “Onward?” she said, placing a hand on the wooden door. “Together,” he answered, placing his hand on top of hers. They pushed the door open as one.

#pyre #supergiant #pyrethegame #fanfiction

[velvet4510]

I think it’s so fun to imagine what Sam and Rosie’s children were like.

We know a lot about Elanor. We know Goldilocks married Faramir Took. We know Frodo, as the eldest son, inherited Bag End. But the rest is really up to us.

Sam definitely taught them all to read and write, in Westron and maybe even in Sindarin too. And they all grew up with the stories from the Red Book.

Talk to me in the notes! What are YOUR personal headcanons about the Gardner children???

I’ll list my own headcanons of their occupations:

Elanor was a poet who wrote in both Westron and Sindarin, as well as a historian on the cultures of all the Free peoples but especially Elves; she also became fluent in Sindarin.

Frodo was elected Mayor after Sam retired and was just as talented a gardener as his dad.

Rose was an artist whose paintings were hung around Bag End, given away as mathoms, and sold as gifts; she also was dedicated to finding the Entwives, and one day, on a stroll through the woods with her future husband, she finally found one.

Merry took over the mills formerly owned by the Sandymans.

Pippin became a carpenter.

Goldilocks was a homebody as the Thain’s wife, and a passionate cook who always helped the servants in the kitchen.

Hamfast worked in forestry because he was so inspired by the tale of the Ents. He co-founded a business with Rose’s husband.

Daisy was a talented minstrel, always composing and singing her own tunes.

Primrose was a tomboy and became a roper alongside her husband.

Bilbo worked for the Quick Post and also owned a bakery with his wife.

Ruby was a midwife.

Robin was a Shirriff like his namesake.

Tom was a merchant, constantly traveling between Gondor and the Shire.

#lotr #jrr tolkien #lotr books #lord of the rings #samwise gamgee #rosie cotton #elanor gardner #frodo gardner #goldilocks gardner #faramir took #lotr theories #lotr headcanons #samfro

[vieranbow]

"Oh, Remke!" Clarity! Clarity! Meiko had so much to worry about, but upon seeing her fellow Viera, it was like all the puzzle pieces slotted into place in her brain. It wasn't the big, important puzzle, but it was one that mattered nonetheless! She bounded over to the kitchen area and gave a wave, excited words already spilling out in a jumble, "Have you ever made coffee biscuits? Or, rather, do you have a recipe for them? They're like wee...wee..."

She tried to describe what she had seen with words. Couldn't for whatever reason, instead trying to make the approximate size by forming a circle with her hands.

"About this size, yeah? And -- sweet, but not too sweat? And... uh, taste like...coffee. But not th'bitter part! I think." Her brow pinched as she reviewed all she had said, trying to recall if there were any more details she knew. Ah! The reason! "I've friends in th'First who love 'em but can't afford t'keep buyin' them themselves. And you're my go-to for anythin' that tastes good!"

This seemed to happen fairly consistently. This, or at a stroll, but almost always with some new excitement did one enter the Rising Stones. The Minstrel who so regularly lingered seemed prepared, too, until he realized who it was, seeking whom.

Still a matter of note, certainly, yet it was nothing new.

Remke was already cataloguing ingredients in her mind, surprise settled.

"Well," she proposed, "To be certain, I would need to try some of these biscuits myself. Recipes may vary broadly from one to the next." She smiled at the woman across from her, features softened with affection and amusement. "Perhaps you could bring me some? To sample?"

#meiko; #| he ships them

[ladyswillmart]

"Well I find it very exciting," Arlen said, vibrating faintly with the aforementioned. "How can you not be practically ready to fly out of the seat of your trousers? 'tis Rivendell. Rivendell! Where all the elves go! To grow out their golden hair! So it may blow in the breeze while they pose heroically in the middle of the forest with a bow and arrow! Eh wot?"

Hivallion shrugged. He already knew that the hobbit held some rather odd beliefs regarding what elves like to do. "I s'ppose some do, yes," he agreed, diffidently.

"Oi, Hivallion! Do you know any elf songs, then? Maybe you could sing one while we stroll around town?" A terribly earnest grin stretched across Arlen's face, cheek to fat rosy cheek. "Help us get into the Elf Mood, eh wot? I bet you're real good at it."

Hivallion shrunk further into his mantle. Arlen's instincts were spot on as usual; indeed he had a lovely singing voice but the prospect of somebody actually hearing it ranked perilously high on his list of Things That Would Definitively Mortify Hivallion Pellithorn To Death, Right To Death, It Would.

Ashen-faced, he took a hard gulp of that fresh Rivendell air (which did not help him get into the Elf Mood either, for the record), subconsciously picking up his pace the way spiders might do when in proximity of a hand-wielded slipper. "Nah. You're the minstrel, are you not? Why not sing a nice Hobbit Song for everyone instead?" he said. "I'm sure the fine people here are sick of hearing the same old ballads."

"You think so, eh?"

"Positive. Why not that one you just penned about Bingo Boffin's Water Wings?" Hivallion considered. "It probably won't get us thrown out of town..."

#lotro #the elf mood #we took a bus here #well to be specific it was a moose #for a field trip to the last homely house you see

[high-pot-in-noose]

One day, I WILL be able to afford a fully-levered pixie harp, and when that day comes, I will at last assume my final form as a strolling minstrel.

#rambles

[goddessofwisdom18]

And while I eat, she rubs my feet And strolling minstrels play But I'd rather be in my library Reading science books all day

Modern Anneliese from Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper 💗📚👑

#erika's next :) #princess anneliese #anneliese #barbie #barbie as the princess and the pauper #princess and the pauper #anneliese x erika #anneliese x julian #childhood nostalgia #early 2000s #barbie movies #artblr #artists on tumblr #patp #barbie patp #patp anneliese #kidcore #softcore #barbie art #barbie fanart #princess annalise #patp annalise #tagging both spellings of her name #bc i know none of us remember how to spell their names lmao #i still can never remember which way its spelled i keep having to look at the barbie wiki #procreate #illustration #digital art #my art

[janenatron]

a work in progress i’m posting to force myself to finish the rest. enjoy

A young minstrel opened his eyes. Lashes parting, light crackling through - it was like the sun itself had made its way inside his eyelids. He shrunk under the shrieking and squawking of birds, screeching of wind, and the commotion of leaves on leaves battling each other against the draft. It wasn't until he could feel the slicing blades of grass on his cheek that he’d begun to cry. Whirlpools, twisting and pulling, spinning his head like a pinwheel on a freezing, stormy day, he could feel himself being sucked deeply into new, foreign lands. Trees grew so rapidly in his mind that roots tore through its soil, and the plates of the earth beneath him shifted; mountains towered above the clouds, sending raging boulders in a landslide down steep rugged terrain; they wailed as they hit the ground.

The minstrel tried to understand. He cried, so much he’d almost convinced himself his cheeks had become one with the tears, that his face mended into rushing water, and would turn into a resource for the angry grass.

Just then, the light started to dim. He was no longer blinded by the sun’s aggression, or deafened by nature’s grief. Slowly developed was his ability to see. He was overwhelmed by infinite saturation: deep greens and cold blues, intense grays and whites. Blobs of color molded and morphed into shapes: the light, swaying grass that whispered to joyous dancing leaves; mountains miles high with gallant, intimidating boulders rested non threateningly upon them; a tree hung lazily over his head. In it, he could see a nest, which an attentive yellow bird fluttered quietly into. The sun caressed his face in small specks of light peeking between the branches.

Next came his smell. He breathed in the dry heat of the surrounding underbrush, inhaled wafts of sweet cinnamon tree sap. But what was it, he wondered, that smelled so familiar? It was like the warmth of a childhood blanket, the notice of a mother’s call. It smelled like comfort and sleep, like the peace of a cat’s purr. He felt drawn to it. He felt that if he didn’t choose to go, the universe would pick him up by the waist and take him there.

He sat up and examined his surroundings, searching for the source of the smell. Over yonder, he noticed a dirt path winding through the grass into the distance. He sloppily crawled to a stand, but quickly collapsed beneath himself. Inconveniently, he’d decided all fours were good enough, and pulled along the dirt trail after the welcoming aroma. As he crept closer, the boy got a better look at the homely estate. Sunlight gleamed on the dancing water of a small pond beside vibrant green gardens, bursting with the jovial sway of purples, blues, and pinks, all flagrantly smiling through their petaled faces. Smoke billowed righteously from the mouth of a bricked chimney. The dirt path was softly paved around the curvature of the building, and as he creeped around a corner he beheld the sight of a woman.

She strolled the gardens; the young little minstrel was drawn to her instantly. He was shocked by her glow, as if he was witnessing the stars and the sun walk the Earth - and the tune she hummed was disrupted by a rash gasp from the minstrel's throat. The woman looked his way, and his heartbeat resembled that of a hummingbird.

“Well, well,” she acknowledged pleasantly. Lightly, she strode to him, and the minstrel was convinced she walked on the air. Her dress lingered behind her. Is she afloat? he wondered, Or simply heavenly?

“Young one,” she started, cupping his cheek, “so soon?”

He gave a confused expression in response.

Her smile warmed. She traced his face with her fingertips, as if admiring artwork. “Get up,” she directed.

Remembering his failed attempt to walk the first time, the minstrel tensed. He tried again: he wobbled and wavered, and he made it halfway, but just couldn’t do it. He flopped back to the ground like a newborn fawn.

“I can't.” he murmured.

“You’re not ready. That’s okay." With her arm, the woman gestured behind her to present him with a variety of gallant steeds, all diverse in color, size and shape. The builds of their faces each told a different story. The minstrel was almost overwhelmed by the number of options.

“That one!” he declared. His finger pointed to a tall, slender-legged stallion. Its mane was long and smooth, resting over the shape of its shoulder, dipping into its chest. It stood confidently, showing no care to hide its authoritative disposition. Its strength was not threatening. On the contrary, it felt protective and safe. With a muscular build, it had a commanding, yet dependable presence that the minstrel wanted to be near.

And so, with a beckoning call and a grip of the minstrel’s sides, the woman effortlessly lifted him onto the dappled gray of the horse’s back. They fit together perfectly.

“Come,” she waved.

A vast, golden field. The grass, now dry, still granted a bucolic sway under warm and mellow breezes. One could hear the crunch of each step of the stallion’s hooves, and the rustle of the soft, crowded blades as they brushed against the woman’s torso. The sun shone distantly as the evening neared, yawning and stretching over the great valley. The tall mountains were now lowly peaking hills, rolling over each other, as if sculpted by waves of the ocean.

The minstrel watched the woman walk before him and the stallion. He examined her hair as it bounced lightly within her movement. With every blink, she appeared to him differently. Her hair became a different length, a new color. Her skin took on a new pigment with every second he stared, and, on occasion, she even appeared to him as a man.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Who am I?” the woman parroted. She turned to speak as they walked. “Who are you?”

“I'm a boy.”

“No. I asked: who are you?”

He began to get frustrated. “A kid.”

“Then that is who I am,” she replied. “I'm just a boy, and a kid.”

The minstrel frowned at her slicingly. She smiled in return. “You are not your material aspects. You are much more than that. You are you.”

“And who is that?”

“There’s no real answer. The self can hardly be properly described in words. Who you are is an experience, a feeling, and a sight to be seen. You’d best not bother trying to help the world understand you, if the world is not willing to discover you itself.”

He decided not to think on that. Instead, he asked: “Why am I here?”

The wind sang, and he could feel it play in his hair. He felt the touch of the flurry as it danced up his back and slid off of his shoulders. He felt the beat of his heart in his chest as it circulated every drop of warmth, of life, throughout his form, and it was then that he noticed his own qualia. The sensation of breathing as the air chilled, the feel of the stallion under his legs - was any of it real? His feet were so far away. His head bobbled if he did not hold it up. He looked ahead. In the distance, he saw more hills, no different from the others. However, they’d given him a feeling. A strange, foreboding sense. He could feel them reaching out for him with wintry, cold arms, ready to snatch him up and away from the sunny paradise he’d found himself in.

He looked back at the woman. She was facing him now, walking backward. “You have a song,” she doted, “you are meant to share it with others like you, and others unlike you.”

“Why share a song with others when I can hum my tunes with you?”

She sighed. In jarring synchrony, the world sighed with her half-heartedly. The boy was curious if she’d had this conversation before. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to ask her if he had any choice in it all. He wanted to ask if trying to stay would be betting on a losing horse. He even considered asking if she’d go with him. Instead, he pondered the thoughts alone in his head. Not because he was afraid, but because it’d occurred to him that his mind was his own. With limitless potential, he could have thought anything without anyone else knowing. Now that he’d realized it, the minstrel started to think up all kinds of things. He imagined that circus elephants on bright red balls and tigers jumping through hoops paraded around him. Ballerinas did pirouettes on top of flaming stages. Rocket ships blasted into the sky. Dragons soared among the clouds, roaring their fiery breath over forests. He imagined that he was in a blanket, and the woman held a storybook, reading him quietly to sleep.

#Spotify #writers on tumblr #storytime #story writer #life and death #love #hatred #understanding #narrative #original poem #writing #poetry #meaning #humanity #spirituality #author #written by me #philosophy

[gtunesmiff]

At Evening on the Banks of the Chattahoochee

I Oft when the sun along the west His farewell splendor throws, Imparting to the wounded breast The spirit of repose My mind reverts to former themes, To joys of other days When love illumined all my dreams. And hope inspired my lays.

II I would not for the world bereave Fond Memory of those times. When seated here at summer eve. I poured my early rhymes To one whose smiles and tears proclaimed The triumph of my art, And plainly told, the minstrel reigned The monarch of her hear

III Enriched with every mental grace, And every moral worth, She was the gem of her bright race, A paragon on earth; So luminous with love and lore, So little dimmed by shade, Her beauty threw a light before Her footsteps as she strayed.

IV But all the loveliness that played Around her once, hath fled; She sleepeth in the valley's shade, A dweller with the dead; And I am here with ruined mind. Left lingering on the strand, To pour my music to the wind, My tears upon the sand.

V I grieve to think she hears no more The songs she loved so well That all the strains I now may pour Of evenings in the dell, Must fall as silently to her, As evening's mild decline Unheeded as the dewy tear That Nature weeps with mine.

VI Oh, if thou canst thy slumbers break, My dear departed one, Now at thy minstrel's call awake, And bless his evening song-- The last, perchance, his failing art May o'er these waters send-- The last before his breaking heart Shall songs and sorrows end.

VII I fain would let thee know, blest shade, Though years have sadly flown, My love with time has not decayed-- My heart is still thine own; And till the sun of life shall set, All thine it must remain, As warmly as when first we met, Until we meet again.

VIII If I have sought the festal hall, My sorrows to beguile, Or struck my harp at lady's call, In praise of beauty's smile Oh, still thou didst my thoughts control Amid the smiling throng; Thou wert the idol of my soul, The spirit of my song.

IX Take, take my rhyme, 0 ladies gay, For you it freely pours; The minstrel's heart is far away It never can be yours. The music of my song may be To living beauty shed, But all the love that warms the strain I mean it for the dead

~?Mirabeau B. Lamar

Columbus Ledger - Enquirer 1978 Poem Extols Editor's Grief

"[The cottage of] Mirabeau B. Lamar and his wife, Tabitha Lamar... was so near the Chattahoochee River that the spring floods of 1829 inundated the floors. Their favorite evening stroll was the quarter mile of river bank only three blocks from their home, for which Lamar predicted a future as a promenade. Two years after his wife's death. Lamar wrote "At Evening on the Banks of the Chattahoochee," as he sat here at the spot made dear by its association with her..."

[canvas-madness-txc]

Boy That Sure Was Weird

Sliding yourself into your car, you began to think about what just happened. All you wanted to do was treat yourself. In fairness, you did get that, but a part of you felt that this was going to be a much bigger thing. Especially with those skeletons. Your mind immediately went to the taller one.

What was his deal? It's not like Sans was being inherently malicious, or reckless.

You brushed the thought off. You barely knew the guy! Who were you to judge? Besides, maybe it was a personal thing. Putting your focus back on the road, you got back to your apartment.

You didn't think about the skeleton brothers as you went about the end of your day. The thought had not reentered your mind until the next day.

It didn't matter much to you, but there some strange feelings in your SOUL. Feelings that weren't particularly positive. Confusion for one. There was an unnamed one as well. It let itself in your head without a name or face. Immediately, your mind turned to the events of the previous night. You rolled your eyes at your own thoughts. It was if your SOUL had a mind of its own. How exactly SOULs worked wasn't an answered question so you didn't think yourself wrong. Still, how foolish it was! Blaming your own emotions on some strangers you met at a restaurant after deciding to treat yourself. Leaving it at that, you went about your day.

Later, you realized that you needed to get some groceries. Fortunately for you, it wasn't too long just a walk away. You pulled out your bag, your phone and some headphones. Connecting your headphones to your phone, you put them on and headed out.

Welcome to the Renaissance

With poets, painters, and bon vivants

And merry minstrels

Who stroll the streets of London

A strummin' the lutes

In puffy pants and pointy leather boots!

Welcome to the Renaissance

Where we ooh and aah you with ambiance

We're so progressive

The latest and the greatest

We bring it to you with much ado

Welcome to the Renaissance

Where everything is new

You quietly hummed along to the first song of the soundtrack. An old thought resurfaced. Soulmates. Your soulmate. Your soulmate who has not played one song as long as this has been possible. Which is the only way you could get a clue of them. That you do not have. Sighing, you tried to think of who they might be as you searched for what you needed at the store.

"THEY'RE LISTENING TO THIS SOUNDTRACK AGAIN!? IT'S BEEN LIKE 20 TIMES IN THIS WEEK ALONE!?"

You froze. Was it really him? Turning around, lo and behold it was the same skeleton from last night! You decided to leave him be. Whatever he was complaining about was his business, not yours. You preferred to keep it that way.

"come on bro, it can't be as bad as you're making it out to be."

"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY! YOU'RE NOT THE ONE WHO HAS TO LISTEN TO THIS ALL THE TIME WITHOUT A CHOICE! NOW STOP LAZING AROUND AND HELP WITH THE GROCERIES."

"ok. ok. fine!"

"THANK YOU."

And sure enough there was Sans. You went back to your shopping. Let them bicker, it was not your problem. Still, your thought about what the other skeleton had said. Had he also been talking about soulmates? You finished up your shopping, paid and left. Walking back home, the conversation snippet you had heard had pressed into your mind. You repeated the words over in your head. It was so strange that he would complain of hearing a soundtrack his soulmate kept playing the same day you had been there. While you also were playing your music. Perhaps you and he were....

The human mind is a strange thing sometimes! You had to mentally reiterated to yourself that you did not know him just to push that idea away. Groaning at your strange thoughts you put your headphones back on.

"OH COME ON!"

You nearly fell back from shock. You pulled your headphones off your ears and tried to regain yourself. Does he always have to scream, you thought.

"lighten up chief, at least it's not just one song."

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT ANY BETTER SANS."

He whispered something else. You could only make out so much.

"...DON'T... THOSE NICKNAMES... PUBLIC..."

"alright, papyrus i get it, jeez."

They walked off. You stared at them as they left. Papyrus. Well now you know his name. You didn't know if that was good or not but chose not to think about it as much. Or so you tried to believe.

#undertale #papyrus #underfell #underfell papyrus #underfell fanfiction #my fic #ao3 fic #underfell papyrus x reader #finally it's done