#Personifications

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

I finally finished this fic after weeks and weeks!

Taihoro pulled her helmet off as she made her way down the dock, shaking out her teal-streaked dark hair. The lighthearted fun of the World Series was over, racing with the rest of the Class of 2024 with no real consequences. Now, as her cohort fought to knock each other out of the Louis Vuitton Cup, for Tai and Team New Zealand, there was only endless in-house practice— simulations, solo runs, and racing with her older sister Te Rehutai.

And in her ear, always the voice of—

"Taihoro?" A dark-haired shipboy stood on the dock in front of the young AC-75, clipboard in hand. With his mirrored sunglasses pushed up into his bushy dark brown hair, she could see Black Magic scrutinizing her for any sign of injury or weakness, his pale blue eyes as sharp and cold as usual. Sky blue like hers, like almost all sailfolk of the Team New Zealand family. Brian Murray was her much-older brother— or perhaps a cousin once removed or uncle at this point— but during the workday, all that mattered was that he was her coach.

[speaks-ny]

Massachusetts at the Boston Massacre

[i-am-trans-gwender]

I'm just gonna ramble about common personifications of two of the Seven Deadly Sins (I don't have anything interesting to say about the other five)

Personifications of Lust are often depicted as a conveniently attractive woman (or occasionally a man), which is weird since the other sins are shown engaging in the sin instead of inspiring it. An exception is Lust in the Doobus Goobus video Seven Stupid Sins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wImMLAgb3Es

Personifications of Gluttony are usually plus size, which I don't like. The issue isn't weight, but overindulgence. Theologically, it's excessive consumption of anything not just food. Beelzebub from Helluva Boss is the only exception I can think of. I imagine Gluttony as a skeleton: always hungry but never satisfied.

[quasarlasar]

I realized I didn’t have a miniature form for Hurricane Harvey so I designed one. I imagine he’s light blue with a yellow-green eye.

Shown in the second and third sketches:

Being held by human! Tropical Storm Allison

Trying to talk to mini Hurricane Carla without showing too much his crush on her (and failing)

Relaxing on the surface of the ocean after having stuffed himself silly with warm seawater

…and deciding after all that, he still wants Melissa’s hot tea.

I do intend as my next color drawing to show all the forms of Harvey and Allison, their miniature, full size, and humanoid forms. They appear at the end of the Allies of Gaia part 1, but only as their human forms.

The miniature forms are basically meant to be my attempt at a chibi hurricane. Since they don’t have heads or bodies like a human, this mostly looks like making them stylized like hurricane symbols and having big shiny eyes.

[an-unraveling-unknown]

I've fallen down a rabbit hole of Gaelic deities and personifications and I am having so much fun its unreal

My favorite so far has been Lir (or Ler!), who is the personification of the sea - his name quite literally means 'Sea' in Old Irish and I have to respect a fellow who's straight to the point.

Something I found fun was that his son's name is Manannán mac Lir, which translates to "Son of the sea" and is that such a cool flex. Like 'Hey, I'm very obviously the son of the massive, powerful, terrifying body of water that makes up 97% of the Earth' THATS SO NEAT DUDE BUT IT IS NOTED THAT I SHOULD NEVER ANGER YOU EVER

[flarefoxxx]

You know, I always questions why the hell does any of the personifications ever have the urge to like take over the world? Like, what's stopping them and making sure they don't take over the human race?

I highly doubt they would ever listen to governors cause they are just mere humans. Or maybe it's the fact they represent a country, it could maybe have a bad effect?

But I would be down to read a fanfic when the states/countries just completely say fuck it, I'm gonna run the state, the way I want it.

[dantes-southeesimo]

2020

2021

2022

Viacom destroys the 1971 PBS Logo for the *** time except I’m destroying myself for making these every gosh darn year or so~

[deathlessathanasia]

"Eukleia represents the personal qualities that brought a person a good reputation, as well as the reputation itself. Mythic genealogies for her come late: Ploutarkhos (Aristides 20.5) mentions she was the child of Herakles and Myrto, but Euripides notes that Ponos (Labour) was her father (fr. 474 N2): … In earlier Greek literature, eukleia refers to the glory and fame that results from military victories (Homeros, Ilias 8.285 and Odysseia 14.402). Eukleia’s meaning as the good reputation of private individuals becomes more prominent in the literature of the second half of the fifth century, and is particularly prominent in the works of Euripides (for eukleia in Hippolytos see Braund, 1980: 84-85). She is personified in Classical Athenian literature to the degree that she owns, holds, or bestows a wreath or crown, as in Sophokles’ Aias (462-465), produced in 442 or 441, when Aias bemoans his bad fortune: And how shall I present myself and appear to the eye of my father, Telamon? How will he bear it when he sees me naked, without the prize of the best and the bravest, for which he himself held the great crown of Eukleia? Sophokles’ ‘crown of Eukleia’ (στέφανος εὐκλείας), also worn by Theseus (Euripides, Hiketides 315), is recalled in the words of Bakkhylides, who calls Eukleia’ φιλοστεφάνος, ‘lover of the wreath’ (Bakkhylides, Epinikoi 13.183; see also Bakkhylides, Epinikoi 1.184 and Dithyramboi 15.54; and Pindaros, Isthmionike 5.22). With or without a wreath, Eukleia could bestow a good reputation on someone, through birth and/or marriage, as well as victory. In regard to ancestry, eukleia therefore takes on aristocratic connotations (Metzler, 1980). She was involved in marriage preparations, at least in Boiotia, Athens’ neighbour and long-term rival, where she was worshipped as an epithet of Artemis (Shapiro, 72 chapter six 1993: 70-78; Kossatz-Deissmann, 1988c). Ploutarkhos notes that Artemis Eukleia had an altar in each Boiotian marketplace (see also Sophokles, Oidipous Tyrannos 161; Schachter, 1981: 102), and that boys and girls who had become engaged would make sacrifices to Eukleia in preparation for their weddings (Ploutarkhos, Aristides 20.5-6)."

- Polis and personification in classical Athenian art by Amy C. Smith

[a-personiftranslator]

You like worldbuilding because it makes the setting feel figuratively more alive. I like worldbuilding because then I can make the setting literally alive (they are a person)

We are not the same

[nightfallxoxo]

Poison Rat

Down the canal, they came,

Seeping in at a slow, slow pace.

They entered without haste, as they

Had no desire to be spotted right away.

In the first place, it was crucial for them

To discern whether the inside of

The nervous labyrinth was inhabitable.

Feet fouled with decay, trailing down the halls,

The tissue absorbing and spreading mild illnesses.

Small seeds for future collapses.

Can you feel the hit, yet?

Regardless of whether you've slept for two or eleven hours,

Your bones are just as heavy and weary.

Life seems like a chaotic, aimless aeroplane,

With heightened sensitivity and

A profound sense of confusion and loss.

Once deep in the pit,

The body screams and shouts for aid.

The tears will not feel like cleansers,

Not like the weight being lifted from your muscles.

And with your racing mind,

You'll believe you're falling mad,

Or worse, that

You are about to die.

Then they multiply,

And that is when everything gets worse:

Knife thoughts, becoming knife actions;

Death ideas, becoming death wishes;

And the rats have made you firmly believe

That the issue is you.

And, of course, there is no turning back.

Either they will gulp you alive, or

They will chew up your corpse.

Your choice.

Do not be alarmed when your attempt

To swallow the poison will end up in

Spitting it out,

The inner healthy tissues are

Still fighting to survive.

Whether you like it or not,

That’s how you were programmed to act

In extreme situations. 

Try drowning in the sea to see

How you’ll crawl back to survive.

Did you get it now, or not yet?

Ask yourself:

Do you want to die or

Do you want something in you to die?

If you don't believe in what you feel,

How will others realise it?

If you do not care about yourself, who else will?

Either take the poison, or

Strive to understand why the rats surfaced.

[lvh-short-stories]

Wake of the Levantic

Edited by Greg Hopkins

Winter thaws and spring buds through that auspicious Saturday morning. Picture a star student called Foy. The child sees in the news that his idol’s starship is a sham, caught instead with lucre in hand. The idol’s excuse, “Fools! Who in their right mind would believe it viable, so do not be surprised at my guile.” Thinking the news is false, Foy ignores it.

At breakfast, his mother says, “There’s a bum sleeping on our bench.” Foy’s father gets up from the table to investigate, and Foy follows him. On seeing the pair, the vagrant flees. With Foy’s help, the father lugs the bench into the garage. The father goes back in alone, leaving the child in the yard.

Isolated now, Foy checks the mail. On opening the mailbox’s lid, along with the envelopes and flyers, Foy notices bundled with an advertisement, a yellow ticket announcing a spring cruise. The boy pockets the ticket separately. In the distance, he sees a group of kids laughing as they play a game together. On returning, Foy spots the transient lying behind a neighbor’s shrubbery near a conifer.

Minutes later, Foy comes back in and places the mail on the kitchen table. While thinking about telling his parents about the vagrant, the father points to the ticket that fell from Foy’s pocket. The father snatches it away and places it in the shredder with its discarded brethren. Throughout, the father complains about paying taxes for this sort of junk to be delivered.

A long night awaits Foy. Hot, the kid opens his window to cool his room. Hours in, the kid falls into slumber. The child awakens atop a lifeboat in an unknown sea under a pink sky. A snug sports jacket encloses his chest. A nearby cruise ship sails up, turns and stops close to the kid. Inscribed in gold letters on the ship’s hull read Levantic. From the deck, a staff member waves to Foy.

The staff member calls out, “Are you interested in a quest?” When the child refuses, the staff member continues, “No trust in your heart?” The staff member throws down a rope ladder. Suddenly, against his best interests, Foy grabs the ladder and climbs up. On the last rung, the crew member reaches out her hand to help the kid complete his ascent. Suspicious, Foy waves the offer away to ascend alone.

Once aboard, the staff member introduces herself as the second mate. She then asks the child for his ticket. Foy panics, remembering his father shredded the ticket. He calms, feeling his ticket, in one piece, in his pocket. Handing the ticket over, the staff member validates it. Once confirmed, the second mate escorts Foy further.

The second mate gives a brief tour of the ship. She mentions the many gifts that the captain has bestowed upon them. There are many pastimes available to Foy; and, many friends, awaiting Foy’s invitation. The only parts of the ship off limits are the captain’s chambers and the lower decks, but for all else, Foy is welcome to partake.

With the orientation finished, the crew mate said, “Relax until the evening. You’re an honored guest.” Parting ways, the second mate says, “It’s a sight not to miss, and perhaps, one might even glimpse our illustrious captain.”

That day, Foy celebrates among the other children with a multitude of wonders: enticing games, simple, dynamic and ready for another member to jump in; refreshments from all corners of the world pleasantly presented; slides through labyrinthine pipes; and, familiar toys with endless new features. Among all these delights, Foy meets a group of well-dressed kids. Their dialogue was witty, their intellect substantial; and, Foy was very pleased to be in their company.

That evening, there was a grand ceremony on the deck. The passengers participated in a dance. At its conclusion, all the other children tore off fronds from branches of nearby potted trees. They placed the fronds, alongside their jackets, on the ground to form a path. Foy, not wanting to be left out, mimicked their actions.

Later that night, an eclipse of the moon took place, darkening the deck of the ship. This event surprises Foy. When the moonlight and other lights return, his companions exclaim hearing the sounds of clip-clops, the smell of a barn and pine, and the feeling of warmth, yet Foy sensed none of it. When the moment passes, the celebration continues.

On the way back to his cabin, Foy noticed six bright candles on a table. Between the candles stood vases of multicolored roses arranged in a circle, interspaced among them were depictions of an old woman, a middle-aged man, and a four-eyed child. Finally, Foy sees the silhouette of a man behind the blinds of the captain’s chamber window.

Looking back, Foy notices the makeshift path has disappeared. The torn-off fronds were seamlessly reattached to the limbs of the potted plants. For where the jackets went, Foy is left guessing.

On leaving the deck, Foy overhears the wealthy kids complaining about the disturbance, stating that no lunar event was expected. They attribute the moon’s absence to passing clouds. To confirm, Foy looks up. A clear starry sky stretches across the horizon. He goes back to his room and finds his lost jacket, neatly folded, on his bed.

Over the following days, a fog spread and deepened. The activities were more constrained. The candles on the captain’s table burn out daily; for which, after a few days, only three candles remain. While Foy jokes with his peers, a man wearing a badge etched with the word Security comes up to their group. The vagrant from Foy’s neighborhood was being forcefully escorted. When Foy asked, the security guard said that he was a stowaway. To rub salt into the wound, the vagrant was sleeping in the captain’s bed.

As the cruise continued, the vagrant was held in the brig in the lower decks. Foy’s companions mocked the vagrant, saying he was lazy and should be thrown overboard. The child forgets about him, reveling in the witty talk of his rich friends.

On Thursday, dinner was a meager affair. The second mate states, “This is the best the captain can offer.” In their disappointment, Foy’s friends gripped. At the meal’s end, the second mate brings out a letter, which she claims contains life’s greatest secret.

The friend’s interruptions drown out the second mate’s words. The second mate finishes and sits quietly. Leaving his companions, Foy sees two lighted candles left and the captain’s quarters dimmer.

In the morning, the ship sails up to a looming bluff to a sea cave. As the ship enters the cave, the lights are reduced. Decorations were shelved. Food and drink lost all flavor. Singing and dancing ceased. And, no one spoke above a whisper.

Hours later, Foy heard a muffled announcement over the intercom requesting that everyone pick up a lantern and join in a procession. Over the next hour, all but Foy departed, each returning to their rooms, extinguishing their lights. He was left alone on the deck.

Foy nervously hastened to his cabin. Passing the darkening captain’s chambers, the kid sees all the candles, save one, have burned out. On reaching his room, the child, instead of extinguishing his lantern like the others, nervously kept it on all night.

The next day, Foy leaves his jacket on his bed as he leaves his cabin. The child noticed that the rose blossoms were now shriveled, revealing thorny branches. Foy joins his companions. They go on a walk around the ship to look for others to agree with their opinions.

The group arrives at the captain’s cabin. The candles are all extinguished. The door is locked. A sliver of light comes from its cracks. Rationalizations fly; the companions relapse into jest.

To calm their nerves, the remaining children talked about their idols. Foy highlighted his idol, from a time that seemed so long ago. Instead of praise for such an erudite response to their query, the rich kids mockingly laugh. The companions confirm that Foy’s idol is a charlatan. The very idea of travel among the stars, they state, “A fool’s errand.”

Later, they play hide-and-seek. If Foy finds a good spot to hide, his reward will be to join them. Not knowing that the promise was a lie, Foy hides, in the bowels of the ship. His light is an ember on the verge. Hours pass in silence, and Foy’s light fades. Foy had been ditched in darkness.

Lost and alone in the dark, Foy sees himself as he truly is. It terrifies him. Foy begins to cry. A smell of pine fills the vault. A grating voice in the darkness is heard, “Why are you crying?” The voice belonged to the vagrant. With his other senses reduced, Foy senses that the vagrant’s presence is pure; that conclusion shook Foy to his core.

Sensing Foy’s distress, the vagrant offers his hand. Foy angrily pushes the hand away. A moment later, the vagrant offers his hand again. Foy slaps it away. Despite all this, the vagrant offers his hand again. No matter what Foy does, no matter how many times he refuses, the offer endures. Finally, in desperation–Foy takes it. Hand-in-hand, the vagrant leads Foy out. On the threshold, the vagrant points to the exit. Foy leaves, but the vagrant remains behind.

Foy rejoins the clique. On seeing Foy, the rich kids, instead of being sorry for their behavior, berate Foy for his lack of discretion. In shame, Foy departs for his room. Passing the captain’s cabin again, the cabin was darkened. On returning to his room, Foy cannot find his comforting jacket.

The next day, in the darkness of the tunnel, the ship shudders. Rubble falls. The companions run and hide. At its climax, there was a splash. When the shock lessens, a light grows in the distance. The shade tunnel has now come to an end.

Foy hears singing and praises in the distance, but Foy sees only his rich companions. His companions’ fright is forgotten. They express annoyance. The rich kids comment only on the ship’s poor service, for which their parents paid so much.

Now, the only ones that remain are Foy and his companions. “Wait,” Foy said, “Wasn’t there another?” Foy thinks again, then shakes his head, “My mistake, only us and none other!”

The ship makes port on a desert land. Not a single tree or shrub of live vegetation could be seen. Still, on the wind, singing and praises could be heard, but once again, no one except the rich kids and Foy were present.

The rich kids scoff at this affair, “This is false advertising,” they claim. The blame is not for the owners of the ship, but the negligent staff. To them, the optimum path lies in automata, prestige, and what wealth can buy.

On reaching the ship’s rail, his companions sent Foy out to scout. Reluctantly, Foy descended the rope ladder. Once aground, he explored the forsaken place. Foy searched; yet beyond a circle of short flat-topped stones among briers, he saw nothing. Dejected, Foy returns to the ship.

At the port, something was amiss. The ship is departing. In haste, Foy runs to the pier. In the distance, the rich kids heckle loudly at the kid’s folly, “Fool Foy, Fool Foy, Fool…”.

Distraught, Foy returns to the ring of stones encircled by sharp briers. The muddled Foy sat on a stone. His despair overwhelmed all else. Suddenly, a single sentence from the second mate came to mind, “No trust in your heart?”.

Revelation. Trying to see, the child closes his eyes. For a long time, the results are lackluster. On the verge of giving up, Foy’s mind drifts to that lonely night a couple of days ago. Remembering the vagrant’s words and his offered hand; little by little, the smell of pine permeates the air.

Foy opens his eyes, not to the void, but to a large table filled with food and drink. Other smells began to surface, not only of the entrées but also from the garden. The white noise of a gentle brook, its cool mist soothing, runs in ribbons throughout, accentuating the scene. Further, instead of briers, Foy is surrounded by myrtle trees. Beyond that, he sees chromatic forests, emerald meadows, and well-tended trails stretching to the horizon, begging to be trodden.

Foy wondered why he hadn’t seen this before. In his unabashed joy, the child samples the smorgasbord of manna entrées, delightful and familiar. To wash it down, sweet milk. Foy’s appetite and thirst sated, in more ways than one. Around Foy, instead of stones were chairs filled by friends.

Suddenly, Foy felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. He sees the distasteful vagrant once again. The vagrant asks for alms. Instead of giving a paltry scrap, Foy remembered his comforting words and guiding hand. Seeing no open chairs, Foy offers him his seat in his stead. Overjoyed, the vagrant thanks Foy and sits down.

Without a place, Foy turns away. Suddenly, the vagrant says, “Please take the seat next to me.” The kid turns back, saying, “There are none here.” Foy then notices not only a welcoming seat, yet a plate, utensils and cup where none were before. Not only that, the vagrant is not a bum at all–in his place sits the promised captain.

Woven around the captain’s cap was a wreath of soft pine, with aromatic narrow cones evenly spaced. A purple cloth rings his chest as a sash. The captain again invited the kid to take the seat.

Foy, realizing his lack of protocol, quickens to his place and states, “Yes, my captain.” The captain says, “Please just call me teacher or, better yet, my friend.” The captain smiles and all rejoice.

The second mate and the security guard arrive with Foy's former companions. The captain asks, “Foy, what penalty would you inflict on these people for their cruel acts?” Foy replies, “Please forgive them and give them back their place at the table.” The trees applaud, and the captain smiling agrees. The table expands to accommodate everyone.

The captain grants Foy another boon for his trust in his wayward companions. The child asks, if possible, for a cone from the captain’s headband. The captain snaps a fragrant cone from his cap and places it in Foy’s hands. Suddenly, the captain rose from the table to meet with all the others in turn.

Foy sits among his pardoned companions. They apologize for their behavior. Foy returns the apology. They all laugh in relief. With that past, all enjoyed the feast and festivities together.

A while later, the captain returns to his seat. The captain struck a spoon against his glass and asked all to once more take their seats. The captain then brings out a covered basket. The captain said: “Some of those seated are gifted. But, those gifts do not make you better than others. Do not hide or covet these talents. Use them to help the forgotten.” The captain takes off the cover from the basket and light emerges.

The captain reminds everyone of the lesson from the meager feast. Foy in shame remembers the words lost due to his rich friends’ diatribe. Foy asks what that command was again, and the captain, smiling, says, “It bears no repeating, for it is written in your heart.”

The captain continues, “No matter what life throws at you, no matter what dark paths you take, always remember, a seat will be ready for you at my table.” The captain finishes, “Your quest has reached its end, yet your mission has only begun.” The captain now goes. Other children in distress ask for whence the captain departs. The captain merely says, “Far, yet near.” Gone now is the captain.

Foy, alongside the rest of the children, returns to the beach. There, Foy spots hundreds of lifeboats ready to go. Foy and his rich friends drag a boat to sea, the water seeps through their shoes.

Away from the shore, Foy boards the lifeboat with his friends in tow. Their drenched feet dry once more. Once settled, they sail silently, yet contently, into the mist.

The next morning, Foy awakens in his bed. His blanket is on the floor. Foy finishes his morning rituals. On a second look, Foy spots on the floor near his open window, among scattered leaves and petals, a narrow pine cone. Foy thinks, “Could the wind have blown it in?” He picks it up. Bringing it closer, the kid observes its familiar scent. Foy takes it, carries it, and goes to breakfast.

Presenting the pine cone to his parents at breakfast, the mother states that the cone is not of pine at all, but, in fact, of fir. Foy comments on the aroma, yet for the parents’ noses, no scent. Further, the mother states that it probably has pests, and now in the trash, it rests. Episode passed, to the bin the child goes, and there pockets the fir cone once more.

Foy heads to school. On the way there, he spots the rich kids from before. Instead of their luxurious clothes, common ones they wear, their dialogue is simple, and their intellect is mundane. The kid realizes his previous interpretation was mistaken.

Foy goes up to them, takes out the fragrant fir cone, and smiles. No words are exchanged, instead, the other kids nod in acknowledgment. All now go to school together again.

As the years go by, one by one, Foy’s friends can neither smell the fir cone nor even acknowledge it. Eventually, even the fir cone was lost. Still, for Foy, its scent lingers on the wind, especially when among the forgotten. A reminder of the mission for him–and all others–till it’s time to take one’s seat again at the captain’s table.

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

America’s Cup: Class of 2024

Océane Escoffier (Orient Express Racing, FRA)

Almina Bianchi (Alinghi, SUI)

Penelope Morgan Cox Ainslie-Stevens* (Patriot II, American Magic, USA)

Letizia Rossi (Luna Rossa, ITA)

Britney Winton (Britannia, Team GBR)

Tai Murray (Taihoro, Emirates Team New Zealand)

*It’s a long story.

[neonmice]

Doodles from my travels

so yeah I was on vacation

have these random doodles I made while gone

also just don't ask about the lighting I didn't have my scanner with me

[theearthquaketrackingfox]

When that person who embarrasses you notices you in public

[sweeteaglecreation]

[elyaqim]

Spring may need to fight harder, as it felt more like winter yesterday.

─────────── • Spring Pelting Away Winter, engraving after 1870 painting by P. H. Calderon, in “Treasure Houses of Art,” by Arthur Griffiths, The Magazine of Art, vol. 4, 1881, p. 269. (In the public domain.)