#time to listen to the mountain goats while i draw again
Text
heard infection au is popular nowadays..... here r my ocs >_<
the blorbos
#mlp#mlp infection au#my ocs#making this w a friend and maximizing our joint slay by constructing the most angsty and noir equestria zombie plague au to exist#we have so many other ponies but these 2 rotate in my mind#time to listen to the mountain goats while i draw again#my art#tw gore
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mountain Goats fans how are we feeling
Jenny 2... I will put all my analysis about what these things mean under the cut. I would also like to note that after i took these screenshots the 11th (pirate ship sunset) just... disappeared? The post was gone for a fair bit but then came back. may have been a glitch. or maybe a ghost ship.
Here's what I'm getting story-wise:
Someone rode away on their custom Kawasaki with a stinger on the back, leaving the speaker there at the curb so they had to take a bus. But they never saw them again, no one did. Flaky yellow paint of the Kawasaki.. staying up late thinking about how the relationship ended. Time passes and it's winter and they have search parties out for this person. The person crashed while on their bike. And then the speaker realizes it. And the person is dead the end
Now in terms of allusions to the song Jenny:
"You roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch style house": the house in the first image reasonably fits that description. "Our house faced west": based on the shadows here, the house DOES face either east or west because of the direction that the sun rises.
"on a new Kawasaki, all yellow and black, fresh out of the showroom.": It's the same bike! But, based on the line in the third post, "flaky yellow paint," some time has passed.
"the big orange sun" we see in the 11th image, where the pirate ship sails into the sunset. the image also alludes to "you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon," and "the pirate's life for me!"
post 10 is interesting because it too draws from the pirate's life line, but the imagery is different, and definitely connects/foreshadows the graveyard image. Here is an excerpt from the wikipedia page for jolly rogers: When the pirates' intended victim was within range, the Jolly Roger would be raised, often simultaneously with a warning shot. The flag was probably intended as communication of the pirates' identity, which may have given target ships an opportunity to decide to surrender without a fight.
Miscellaneous:
image 7, with the grecian vase imagery is reminding me of spent gladiator.
i have no idea what the fuck the water tower means.
image 12 depicts a music staff with some notes on it. i know nothing about music but i do know the internet does so i am currently trying to reconstruct it with a program. update mmaybe will follor?
other songs:
According to what John Darnielle has said in hit podcast "i only listen to the mountain goats," Jenny has appeared in 2 or 3 other songs.
"She calls on the phone in Night Light" and "she calls on the phone in Straight Six" and was the sender of postcards in Source Decay. He says, "She is defined by an absence, she has yet to speak. She's in the song Jenny; the other two songs she's in, she's already gone. …She's not there when things are going well, and she's not remembered when things are going well. Jenny is an emblem of more difficult times for people, of wilder times. But also times that they're pretty clearly romanticizing, right, that they're also remembering as the time when they were on a motorcycle with no responsibilities, livin' the pirate's life."
Of course I'm going to listen to those three songs <3
Night light: "Jenny calls from Montana/ She's only passing through / Probably never see her again in this life I guess" oh but we WILL see her again... And then never again. "I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead / And then the room went dark" and "Plug a night light in / Leave the porch light on" remind me of the bedside clock and the gas station.
Holy shit Straight Six. I didn't realize this was on Jam Eater Blues until I went to its page on the wiki, but- this is significant cause on their linktree, "stream jam eater blues" is at the top and i was confused cause they also released a bunch of other shit. this is foreshadowing...
Anyways significant moments of Straight Six:
"Dull powder blue paint job / earl scheib special" this could either be the auto station (#2) or the fact that the speaker's car has an earl scheib special paint job (had to research this), which maybe he got from the same auto shop. This song talks a lot about a car. "Rabbit skull hanging from the rear-view" "And I glide down the streets of this city / All night, uptight" "There's a crack in the windshield eighteen inches long / Evaporating snow forming crystals on the chrome" it's hard to tell from the drawing of the van whether there is a crack on the windshield or whether it's just stylized, but..this does intrigue me. And when I heard them mention SNOW immediately after... when the caption to the van post says "searching in the snow".......
Source Decay also mentions driving and cars a lot. Couldn't find anything more significant than what the other songs have though.
If anyone has any other thoughts to share or disagrees or like I missed something- PLEase share i am so eager to hear/talk about this!
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
Who wants some tidbits about OCs that I never talk about because my Tumblr profile has slowly been getting murdered thanks to hiatus
[REDACTED]/KREATUR/WESEN
- Spawned from the one (1) time I drew GL!Ranboo as a creature (because why not) while listening to ‘Bloody Mary’ on a five-hour loop and the idea that came from it went so far off course from canon that it went from an AU to an original story idea
- (In my defense I drew him when I was only 20 minutes into the first episode. I barely had any idea what I was getting into at the time so of course my creative drive was going to derail)
- (My brain needs to stop dragging people up when I’m 30 seconds into their source (iykyk))
- ANYWAY.
- Wesen’s real name has been lost to time. He’s not that old, he just doesn’t remember his name due to being punished whenever he tried to correct his captor on what it was
- His captor called him Kreatur ("Creature"; "die Kreatur - creature, creation, wretch, minion") to dehumanize and objectify him. This drove him insane for obvious reasons so he somehow got his hands on a German dictionary and fought to change his name to Wesen ("das Wesen [German] being, nature, essence, creature, character, entity") instead. Because if you’re gonna call him a creature you could at least be nice about it
- His captor let it go and he’s gone by Wesen for years since.
- Wesen’s also a walking bomb! He has a kill switch built in to the base of his skull that can also be used to give him a headache ranging from “oh owie” to “my brain is pressing against my skull and I am in agony”. If his captor cranks it all the way up his head will explode. It’s supposed to stop any act of rebellion and is therefore a literal explosive leash.
- He’s not aware of its existence and his captor gives him a headache severe enough to make him pass out from the pain if any of his fellow prisoners draw attention to it, so he won’t know it exists until it’s too late.
- It likely might’ve been put on him since he killed two people when a team tried to catch him. Maybe they should’ve left him alone, then.
- Wesen isn’t human. Avery (a fellow prisoner) calls him a canine, and she’s half right. He’s a dog-like bipedal creature with white fur covered in black spots
- I’ll get around to drawing him one day. He’s on the planned roster for Art Fight.
- He wouldn’t hurt a fly, most of the time. He’s sort of a doormat. That said, he’s not totally innocent and he does have blood on his hands--not all of it unintentional, either. His captor holds this above his head as a reason why they can’t let him go.
- He’s a lot smarter than he acts. Turns out he’s playing dumb, since—as he’ll later tell Avery—it’s saved his life over and over again.
- He’s masculine-leaning agender.
BELPHALAGOR
- Goes by “Bel”. Also masculine-leaning, but more genderfluid than agender.
- Belphalagor is a bipedal goat who swears he’s average height and everyone else is just a tallass. They use Wesen as its “proof” of this, but Wesen’s barely an inch over average height (5′ 9″)
- Whereas Bel herself is 3-4 feet tall.
- Bel is made of ink, sort of. He has flesh, but their blood is black, smells strongly of something not natural and is poison to ingest (as some more feral enemies will find out). It obviously wasn’t born this way but tends to dodge the question as to how this came to be.
- She’s stuck in a suit most of the time, but prefer wearing dresses. The once time he gets a chance to they jump on it.
- Bel’s eyes are closed 90% of the time, rendering them blind. It heavily depends on Wesen to guide her around.
- Something happens later on that reveals why he prefers to keep their eyes closed as much as possible.
- (he/they/it/she pronouns. Bugger’s collecting the things.)
[REDACTED]/AVERY
- Avery is the must humanoid of the bunch. This is because unlike the other two she’s not a canine creature or Mountain Goat stolen, experimented on, then stolen again. She’s a human that got kidnapped and freed herself when they tried turning her into a bird woman. (These people really like amalgamating animals with the weirdest shit.)
- She acts like your typical action woman cliche—no-nonsense, only sane person in the group, tragic backstory, “I don’t need a man”—but she’s not immune to being silly. She slowly drops her guard the more time she spends around idiots 1 and 2 (affectionate).
- They’re both fools but they’re HER fools and she loves them. (The sentiment is returned ten-fold once she drops the “I’m too good for you” act.)
- She’s a bit of a fool too, though she won’t admit it.
- She has a plague doctor mask pretty much fused to her face. A modern-day one, based off a crow. She can take it off, but it’s very painful and what’s underneath isn’t pretty.
- Her hair is pretty short and growing...Weird. It’s all spikey and feathered. She’s kept it short as much as she could until she can find someone to reverse this bloody bird transfusion.
- She’s also got feathers growing out of her arms. It’s painfully slow, but they’re becoming more noticeable as time goes on.
- She and Bel butt heads often over who should do what in what context. Sometimes they fight for so long that by the time they’ve worked it out Wesen’s solved the problem already.
- She and Wesen didn’t exactly hit it off immediately. She was a bit patronizing towards him; treating him like a dog or very slow human. Once she learns that he’s not that fucking dim, though, they bond very quickly.
- She’s the only cisgender one of the group. Bel calls her the “token female” despite also using she/her pronouns (likely just to piss off Avery, who always takes the bait).
- Avery’s name was given to be a play on “aviary”. She can’t stand it, but she doesn’t remember her old name so she’s currently stuck with it.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
so. finally feeling okay with talking about this thing that's been happening to me.
my brain has changed a lot lately. maybe not actually, literally, changed, but that's what it feels like. and that, in turn, has altered my relationship with listening to the mountain goats. would like to clarify at this point that i still love them/their music deeply and will run this blog as long as i physically can! i love them how you love a lifeline, but also how you love your child. unconditionally, with pride and joy and strength. their music has helped me through so much. you all know that.
but, i can't deny the changes; it'd be silly to do so. i've learned from being a sentimental little creature that holding on to stuff too hard just crushes it, and trying to freeze emotions in time is just a disappointment. life itself is built on entropy. humans wouldn't exist without the fundamental fluctuating and unknowable nature of the universe. so i'm going to talk about it, because that's all i know how to do. for now. i've been working on some drawings, too.
i made a post a while back about how when i was a kid, i was suspicious of everyone and everything. my world was made of magic and fear. listening to in the hidden places brought this memory back to me with fury, but that was that. it stayed a memory.
until, of course, it didn't.
it's hard for me to gather enough info in my current state. my head feels fuzzy whenever i try to concentrate or actually think, and there's a blank spot where things used to go. if you imagine my head is a computer, and my memories are photos, i keep clicking on the photos folder and sometimes the files are there, and sometimes they just. aren't. for this reason, and the childhood trauma which trained me to disbelieve my own experiences, i don't feel comfortable doing any sort of self diagnosis. i don't know what's going on with me, other than that from my point of view it looks a lot like psychosis. my world has become scary again, a different kind of scary from my severe anxiety disorder scary. My severe anxiety disorder tells me that if i go outside, i might get shot. my possible psychosis tells me that if i go outside, the scientists studying me will watch me, like they always do. they will watch me closely. it's the garbage man and the guy in a suit coming home from work. it's the lady with the kid. it's the kid. it's them, and they're all coming for me. they'll watch and find out who i am, where i live, how i operate. why they don't already know is a mystery to me, the vaguely rational and clear thinking human. but they will. and they will kill me in my sleep. so i don't go outside, and i don't sleep. i coax myself into going to bed by listening to car seat headrest (teens of style and twin fantasy (mirror to mirror))and reminding myself over and over again how much it sucked that day i didn't sleep for 38 hours.
and that's a change, because if this weren't what it is, that band name right there would be the mountain goats. this would be a thankful post, talking about how whatever album it was was singing me lullabyes every night. i'm trying not to feel bad about that.
and i think this is because right now, car seat headrest is what i need: staticky, lulling, but violently emotional and cathartic. the mountain goats requires a certain amount of my head to be functional: decoding symbolism, memories of all the things i've read about the song, the more clear instrumentation that forces me to be in its space. the very specific moods each of the albums have, and to a lesser extent, each of the songs too. the mountain goats demands i am living, am currently alive and entering the world of The Mountain Goats; i feel like a walking corpse or maybe the terminator right now. whatever i am, i'm not human and i'm not alive. i suspect listening to the mountain goats will become easy again, maybe once i have a therapist to help me sort it all out, or maybe on days when my head is clearer (there have been a few, blissful days when i work at my old supersonic speeds).
after all, life is change. this too shall pass.
and i predict when it gets easy to listen to the mountain goats once more, i will love them more than ever. i can't help but see myself/my current reality in the narrators to many, many of their songs (in the same way that i always have, also, in different ways than ever before): if you see light, heretic pride, cry for judas, younger, dark in here, the slow parts on death metal albums... the list could go on. Maybe it will. maybe when i'm better, even just a little better and i can remember even a little bit of anything, i'll make a playlist (tell me if that would be interesting for you all).
there's a line off of romans 10:9 that has stuck with me since i first heard the song, but it seems particularly relevant now, so i guess i'll end this post with that. thanks for reading, if you made it to the end. i know this is a beast to read; it was a beast to write too
Wake and rise and face the day and try to stop the day from staring back at me/Busy hours for joyful hearts and maybe later head out to the pharmacy... won't take the medication but it's good to have around, a kind and loving God won't let my small ship run aground!
#not a first line#tmg#the mountain goats#john darnielle#this was inspired by jenny lawson's book broken#it is so good i highly recommended it#personal#but totally okay to reblog. go crazy#it's a shame there's no punctuation mark that denotes absolute terror
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
I was feeling angsty this morning so I listened to the Tallahassee album by the Mountain Goats. When it got to the infamous “No Children”, I came up with an idea for an Unsleeping City: Chapter 1 animatic. That song gets used a lot for animatics and honestly it fits almost any self-destructive character perfectly. If I had any skill in drawing or videos I’d make it but instead I’ll just write fucking long post going shot by shot of the imaginary animatic.
The animatic would focus on Sofia and Kugrash because their relationship is one of my favorites from all of the Dimension 20 season.
I hope that our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
There would be a title card and then go straight to a shot of Sofia cutting the lady’s hair from when we first meet her. The shot shows Sofia from the back, and then we see the micro-bangs accident.
I hope we come out with a fail-safe plot
To piss off the dumb few that forgave us
Bruce Kugrich is leaving his office with Grabiela Sinclair turning in tho the Fury of Anger, having just realized what Bruce had done.
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
Sofia throws a rock at a tree to scare the dear in her backyard away. She has a bottle of hard liquor in her hand.
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it's already too late
Bruce having the spell cast on him, and Kugrash looking down at his paws for the first time.
And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
Someday burns down
And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
And I never come back to this town again
This entire stanza is just about Sofia. We see several shots of her burning down her house and the making its way to NYC, where Ricky catches a whiff and then swims ALL THE WAY TO STATEN ISLAND. We see the invisible servant, her lighting a match, the house on fire.
In my life, I hope I lie
And tell everyone you were a good wife
We see a young David Kugrich holding a #1 Dad mug and throwing it on the ground.
And I hope you die
I hope we both die
Sofia talking to Isabella Infierno on the sidewalk with the David’s Bridal bag. We get a close up of Sofia crying, then a smiling Infierno.
I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Sofia is fighting a stranger in an alley. Then we see her at a bar, one of her bloody fists in a bucket of ice while the she drinks a Mike’s Hard with the other.
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
Close-ups of all the Heroes of New York, all of them in a proud stance except for the last two of Sofia and Kugrash looking down in shame/sadness.
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
Kugrash running around in the sewers when he first became a rat. See him afraid, in danger, mad at himself.
And I hope you blink before I do
And I hope I never get sober
Kugrash and Sofia walking from bar to bar together. We see Sofia, obviously drunk, taking a shot while chemically detangling Kugrash’s fur. Kugrash is doing his dance.
And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way
Just Kugrash, baby. We see him at David’s house, holding up the letter he found while crying. The last few lines of the letter are visible. Bruce is pushing between a young Wally and David to get to the door of their house or apartment.
I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
Sofia and Kugrash are at Sofia’s home. Kugrash is in her room on the bed, just staring at the ceiling. The next shot is of Sofia on the couch, also staring up. We are suddenly at the fight against the American Dream. Sofia reaches out to Kugrash, who is starting to fly away. They grab each others hands but are pulled apart due to the wind and force of the storm.
And I hope you die
I hope we both die
The battle is still going on, but Sofia is holding Kugrash in her arms as he becomes one with the universe/fades away. The Everything Bagel is in his limp arm with a bite taken out. Sofia covers him with her body, weeping.
It’s kinda all over the place, narrative-wise but I think it fits the characters that way. When I originally came up with this idea it was just about Sofia and Dale but the more I thought about the song it made me realize that it was more about her and Kugrash, the short journey they went on together.
#the unsleeping city#sophie and kugrash#sophia bicicleta#sophie bikes#kugrash#bruce kugrich#dimension 20#The Mountain Goats#no children
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
PREMONITIONS.
you’re making my job harder than it’s supposed to be.
LISTEN ON SPOTIFY.
a playlist for trinity hopper, tracklist & annotations under the cut
I. PREMONITIONS / VAULTS
let’s take it right back to where it all began
but we never look back
no we only look forward
to all the new shame and waste of what we gain
still we never look back
no we only look forward
II. LEMON GLOW / BEACH HOUSE
read my fortune too
tell me what you see
cross it like a T
it’s all the same to me
this game i play
i do it every day
then promise i’ll be fine
bear it every time
III. FIREWORKS / MITSKI
i will go jogging routinely
calmly and rhythmically run
and when i find that a knife’s sticking out of my side
i’ll pull it out without questioning why
IV. NOTHING BUT TROUBLE / PHANTOGRAM
do you ever have the feeling that you’ve constantly been dreaming
this is life?
everyone i know is not around
and lucy’s still been crawling underground
V. DEAR WORLD, / NINE INCH NAILS
dear world,
i can hardly recognize you anymore
and yet i remain certain
there is an answer in you
i feel like i have lived so long sometimes
run out of things to try to do
i can’t concentrate my way out
VI. DUST / M|O|O|N
[instrumental]
VII. PARIS IS BURNING / ST. VINCENT
they say, “i’m on your side
when nobody is, ‘cause nobody is
come sit right here
and sleep while i slip poison in your ear”
VIII. COPY OF A / NINE INCH NAILS
i am little pieces, little pieces, little pieces
pieces that were picked up on the way
imprinted with a purpose, with a purpose, with a purpose
a purpose that's become quite clear today
IX. IN BINARY / LAMB
telegraphs
along the road
feeding one to one
sending thoughts
in binary
till all the power's gone
X. THE GOOD SOLDIER / NINE INCH NAILS
gun fire in the street
where we used to meet
echoes out a beat and the bass goes
bomb right over my head
step over the dead
remember what you said, you know, the part about
“life is just a waking dream”
well, i know what you mean
but that ain't how it seems right here, right now
how can this be real?
i can barely feel anymore
XI. SATELLITE MIND / METRIC
i’m not suicidal, i just can’t get out of bed
i drift into a deep fog
lost where i forgot to hold it
i can feel you most when i’m alone
i can feel your ghost when i’m alone
XII. TIME TRAVEL / BLOUSE
i was in the future yesterday
but now i’m in the past
and it keeps taking me back
like a decision that won’t become itself
XIII. PAIN / BOY HARSHER
pain
breaks the rhythm
breaks the rhythm
breaks the rhythm
XIV. SUFFER WELL / DEPECHE MODE
an angel led me when i was blind
i said, “take me back, i’ve changed my mind”
and now i believe
from the blackest room, i was torn
you called my name, a love was born
so i believe
XV. 1940 (AMPLIVE REMIX) / THE SUBMARINES
something's wrong when you regret
things that haven't happened yet
but it's a glorious day when morning comes
without that feeling of alarm
XVI. THE OUTSIDER / MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS
these people are weird in here
and they’re giving me the fear
just because you know my name
doesn’t mean you know my game
i look myself in the face
and whisper “i’m in the wrong place”
is there more to lose than gain
if i go on my own again
XVII. LIFESPAN / VAULTS
oh, you took what you wanted to take
and yet you never wanted nothing from me
oh, you took what you wanted to take
and yet you never wanted nothing from me
XVIII. <DEMONS> / KIM PETRAS
[instrumental]
XIX. THE SPACE IN BETWEEN / HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS
arms entwined in a final pose
narrative drawing to a close
still remain the things we couldn’t kill
in your eyes i can see it still
how we choose the framing of the scene
hate begins to spill across the screen
XX. HEEL TURN 2 / THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
drift down into the new, dark light
without any reservations
you found my breaking point
congratulations!
spent too much of my life now trying to play fair
throw my better self overboard
shoot at him when he comes up for air
come unhinged, get revenge
i don't want to die in here
i don't want to die in here
XXI. SIMMER / HAYLEY WILLIAMS
rage is a quiet thing
ooh, you think that you’ve tamed it
but it’s just lying in wait
rage, is it in our veins?
feel it in my face when
when i least expect i
give in
XXII. DEMON SEED / NINE INCH NAILS
it keeps growing
and i can feel it breathe
i have been trying
to behave myself
it keeps growing
and I can feel it breathe
i have been trying
to tolerate you
XXIII. GHOSTS / LADYTRON
at the first hour of the springtime
made you a prince with a thousand enemies
now i see you from the corner
clock strikes and i know you will be drinking alone
XXIV. BLACK OUT DAYS / PHANTOGRAM
hide the sun
i will leave your face out of my mind
you should save your eyes
a thousand voices howling in my head
XXV. FACE THE FIRE / BOY HARSHER
i've been having fun:
my eyes are closed
i'm on the run
hate inside my heart
it washes over
every thought
XXVI. WELCOME OBLIVION / HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS
you know what you have done?
welcome oblivion
and this has just begun
welcome oblivion
XXVII. BAD DREAMS / PHANTOGRAM
to changing me
(and i believe this happened once before)
to changing me
(and i predict the world will be all gone)
to changing me
(and i can see the same things that you see)
to changing me
(‘cause i predict the world)
XXVIII. ME, I’M NOT / NINE INCH NAILS
i can swallow it down, keep it all inside
i define myself by how well i hide
i feel it coming apart, well
at least i tried
i can win this war
by knowing not to fight
if i take it all back
some way, somehow
if i knew back then what i know right now
XXIX. HOURGLASS / S U R V I V E
[instrumental]
XXX. FUR LINED / HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS
everything
everything is echoing
this is really happening
again and again and again
XXXI. BAD FRIDAY / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING
(oooh) could this be the millionth warning?
(oooh) does this mean i'm gonna get out?
(oooh) could somebody gimme an answer?
(oooh) that shapeshifter coming for me
XXXII. PARIS / M|O|O|N
[instrumental]
XXXIII. SEND ME A VISION / BOY HARSHER
send me a vision
so at least i know
send me a vision
so i'm not alone
XXXIV. LOADED GUN / LIGHTNING DUST
we’ve all been waiting to find what we need
we’ve all been waiting to find
our situations all align
our situations all align, yea
XXXV. BLINDNESS / METRIC
send us a blindfold, send us a blade
tell the survivors help is on the way
i was a blind fool, never complained
all the survivors singing in the rain
i was the one with the world at my feet
got us a battle, leave it up to me
XXXVI. EYES ON FIRE / BLUE FOUNDATION
i’m taking it slow
feeding my flame
shuffling the cards of your game
and just in time
in the right place
suddenly i will play my ace
XXXVII. HEAD DOWN / NINE INCH NAILS
hey you, what you running from?
all your hate, what you've become
bet you didn't think, it would happen to you
all used up half way through
and this is not my face and this is not my life
and there is not a single thing here, i can recognize
and this is all a dream and none of you are real
and i'll give anything, you know, i'll give anything
XXXVIII. ICE AGE / HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS
i know that everything we did will come around
i take the thought of you and burn it to the ground
sometimes i’m waiting for this ice age to arrive
sometimes the hate in me is keeping me alive
XXXIX. ARTIFICE / SOHN
is it over?
did the last thread come undone?
'cause i told you
i didn’t wanna hurt no one
but the faces are all the same
XL. TRAINING MONTAGE / THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
i'm doing this for revenge!
i'm doing this to try and stay true!
i'm doing this for the ones
they had to leave behind
i'm doing this for you
#plylsts#refactoring#fave tracks: the good soldier + heel turn 2 + face the fire + fur lined#updated 06.19.2022
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Life is constantly putting up new obstacles for you to tackle, so how can you honor our Earth every day?
I'm here to help with that by sharing a list of 15 ways to honor Earth and be closer to nature whether you be in quarantine, an urban area, winter, or whatever situation you may find yourself in.
❁ Summer Jar ❁
I'm going to start off this list with a personal tradition, a summer jar or flower jar. What I do is I collect flowers (mostly just petals) and dry them right before summer starts transitioning out into autumn. I put all of these now dried petals and flowers into a small jar (with a lid). Now you are left with a jar full of color and life to get you through the winter. When spring comes around and flowers are blooming once again I spread them in my yard and leave the jar open until the end of summer.
❁ Your Alter ❁
An alter is a great way to honor the Earth. You can have something to symbolize each element, flowers you've collected, crystals, and so much more. I like to keep something that symbolizes the area I'm from, for me it's a fossil my dad found at his work. So much of witchcraft and paganism is nature based so adding in extra Earth elements isn't hard, Google for more Earthy alter ideas!
❁ Nature Walks ❁
Not everyone lives in an area around the woods or forest but that doesn't mean you can't take nature walks. If you live in an urban area go to a park, it's still nature even if it is outlined in tall office buildings. Even walking down the street notice dandelions in cracks of the sidewalk or birds hopping by, make sure the thank the Earth for making room for you to live. While in a social distancing situation that has sprung up these past few months you can still take a nature walk as long as you are not too close to people. Don't forget that just because you are socially distancing doesn't mean you can't be friendly, wave to neighbors as you pass just don't get too close. If you have access to a car go on a drive down the back rounds, it's a family favorite at my house.
❁ Meditation ❁
Meditating is something everyone can do! Grounding exercises are great, you can envision roots extending from your body into the Earth below you. I personally like to envision myself walking through the woods or in a creek when I need to clear my mind.
❁ Gardening ❁
A garden one of the best ways to connect with nature. There is so much symbolism you can put in your garden too, like specific flowers or color schemes for deities. You can grow herbs for your craft and cooking, fruits, veggies, or even just flowers. Gardens don't have to be very big, you could even go to a community garden. Gardening can also bring you closer to family if you fo it together or it can be a way to get some alone time. Gardening can also be a way to give back to Earth and the people around you, I'm sure your neighbors would love to be gifted from fresh produce!
❁ House Plants ❁
If you can't have a garden house plants are a great alternative. Plus, they won't be affected by weather outside. Some plants like spider plants are really good air purifiers, other plants like aloe have magick and medical uses. If you are worried about pets like your super cute cat you can try and find places the animal doesn't go like a bathroom. Don't forget to make sure a plant isn't toxic to pets before you buy it, just in case. House plants are a wonderful way to bring a little bit of Earth inside with you. Bonus points if you name your plants or talk to them.
❁ Crafts ❁
Making crafts with natural materials is so much fun! Going out to collect the supplies is half the fun. Crafting can be done so many different ways and in so many different mediums. Whether you like photography, drawing, painting, pottery, wood carving, metal working, or what ever else may float your goat the element of Earth can easily be added in. The internet if filled with countless crafts you can try to honor Earth if you want guidance or have artist block!
❁ Decor ❁
Decorating your room (or other space) with the earth element even works if you are broom closeted! You can spruce up your life and be more spiritual. You can decorate your place with earthy crafts, environmentally friendly products, crystals, a plant, a wooden sign, framed pictures, etc. Anything with those #EarthVibes!
❁ Clothes and Beauty ❁
What better way to honor Earth than use cruelty free products. You can check labels to see if your beauty and other self care products are not tested on animals, vegan, organic, contain micro plastics, and other things harmful to the environment. As for clothing I find it great to go to thrift stores for "new clothes" as well as donating my old clothes that either don't fit or I don't wear anymore. It can be great to support local stores rather than big name brands like American Eagle and it is way less expensive. Your clothes, jewelry, and makeup can even have an Earth theme to them. Brown and green tones are super earthy along with some rusty oranges. It doesn't need to be floral to be earthy!
❁ Food ❁
I am personally not a vegetarian or vegan but I am conscious of what I eat. I grow some of my own vegetables and I have a strawberry patch (witch is great for making jam). I try to eat organic or locally sources foods. If you live in a rural area try to get to know your local farmers. When you take food from the Earth you should always give back.
❁ Feathered Friends ❁
A family fun activity to get to know your Earth better is to go out and try to find some bird nests. Never get too close or disturb the nests or birds in any way, keep a respectful distance. It can be fun to keep an eye out and watch as the little babies grow. You could even go the extra mile and build (or buy if you aren't crafty) a bird box.
❁ Open the Windows ❁
Opening the windows is always wonderful. Houses and apartments can get stuffy so why not let Mother Nature give you fresh air. Opening windows gives opportunity to look and listen to the sounds of the Earth. Nothing is better than a breeze blowing through an open window.
❁ Cleanse Thyself ❁
I don't mean to break out the sage, I'm talking about a good old bath. Cleansing baths are great, you can add herbs, oils, scents, have candles, meditate, the whole shebang. But, if you are like me you only have a stand up shower then you can still have a good cleansing. Just envision all of the negative energies flowing down the drain. You can also save water (and money for new witchy supplies) by turning the water off while washing your hair, etc.
❁ Get Educated ❁
Learning about the natural history and features of your area can be really important. I love to study the geology of the mountains I'm from. You can learn about native flora and fauna and even what to do about invasive species. Education is a powerful weapon and and a tool of creation. The best way to get an understanding of the earth element is to learn about it. You can watch documentaries, read books, (credible) online articles, you can even talk to local people about the world around you. Part of learning about the earth could even be researching relevant deities.
❁ The 3 R's❁
Reduce, reuse, recycle: words we hear all the time but probably don't put enough thought into. Part of taking care of the earth is to keep it clean and not use to many of it's resources. This is such a broad category, you can reuse old containers to keep your witchy supplies in, cut back on the use of plastic and one use items, and recycle your trash so it can be made into new items. You can check out your local recycling place it there isn't a truck that picks it up on your street. There are so many ways to reduce your carbon footprint and reuse old products that seem usless. Check out upcycling, there are tons of trendy things you can do!
This is a repost of a post I made on the Pagan & Witch Amino a while ago
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
OK. commentary on my satg playlist. For reasons
lol it wont let me hyperlink but. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0w9pMZtOvP0plqdxT665q7?si=wEFnvdh3Rjaa0p2UX251mQ&dl_branch=1 Plug
1. PIEDMONT (DESTROY BOYS)
Looks like I'm late for the party
Everyone knows the attire but me
Glass walls separate us
Catch a glimpse into different books
On different shelves
i.e. teen crisis where u want desperately to live the same life as ppl on the street but also can’t imagine anything worse
2. SWEET ADELINE (ELLIOTT SMITH)
It's a picture-perfect evening and I'm staring down the sun
Fully loaded, deaf and dumb and done
Waiting for sedation to disconnect my head
Or any situation where I'm better off than dead
i.e. she’s alive! is that worse or better. also jfc, you fucking hate hospitals
3. ALAMEDA (ELLIOTT SMITH)
You walk down Alameda
Shuffling your deck of trick cards over everyone
Like some precious only son
Face down, bow to the champion
also
Walk down Alameda
Brushing off the nightmares you wish
Could plague me when I'm awake
And now you see your first mistake
Was thinking that you could relate
For one or two minutes she liked you
But the fix is in
i.e. oops it’s two elliotts in a row, sorry. just. about the connection you can form with someone given just a short period of time, and how sometimes it gets ruined by, like, a werewolf. pretty similar to sweet adeline. mx weisglass gets two songs. plus “precious only son” 😬 “shuffling your deck of trick cards” 😬
4. CAN I PLAY WITH MADNESS (IRON MAIDEN)
Give me the sense to wonder
To wonder if I'm free
Give me a sense of wonder
To know I can be me
Give me the strength to hold my head up
Spit back in their face
i.e. for Me mostly because i think the whiplash from elliott to maiden is kinda funny. also the gerry VS twisty animosity, in over-the-top wizardy terms. sometimes you are full of hate and that’s OK 😬
5. ICU (PHOEBE BRIDGERS)
If you're a work of art
I'm standing too close
I can see the brush strokes
I hate your mom
I hate it when she opens her mouth
It's amazing to me
How much you can say
When you don't know
What you're talking about
and
I'll climb through the window again
But right now it feels good not to stand
Then I'll leave it wide open
Let the dystopian morning light pour in
i.e. we’re back in london…and, well, yeah. also, song title! we’re still in sacramento, actually, spiritually, at this point in the story
6. CRY FOR JUDAS (THE MOUNTAIN GOATS)
Feel the storm every night
Hope it passes by
Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
Unfurl the black velvet altar cloth
Draw a white chalk Baphomet
Mistreat your altar boys long enough and this is what you get
i.e. crew. i think about him
7. IRIS (THE GOO GOO DOLLS)
And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
And sooner or later, it's over
I just don't wanna miss you tonight
plus
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
i.e. OK. OK. OK. yeah, OK. damn right all you can taste is this moment…yeah OK. SONGS5
8. KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS (MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE)
It's been 8 bitter years since I've been seeing your face
And you're walking away
And I will die in this place
to
It's been 10 fucking years since I've been seeing your face round here
And you're walking away
And I will drown in the fear
i.e. ah…the lyrical differences in the chorus…yes…also i love how raucous this song is despite what it’s about. it’s got satg energy!!! “seeing your face”, of course, is not literal 😬
9. ENCHANTING GHOST (SUFJAN STEVENS)
Don't carry on carrying efforts, oh no, oh oh oh oh
Somewhere there's a room for each of us to grow
And if it pleases you to leave me, just go, oh oh oh oh
Stopping you would stifle your enchanting ghost
and
Did you cut your hands on me?
Are my edges sharp? Am I a pest to feed?
i.e. 😬😬😬
10. PAUL (BIG THIEF)
In the blossom of the months
I was sure that I'd get driven off with thought
So I swallowed all of it
As I realized there was no one
Who could kiss away my shit
and PARTICULARLY
Well Paul, I know you said
That you'd take me any way I came or went
But I'll push you from my brain
See, you're gentle baby
I couldn't stay, I'd only bring you pain
i.e. HARROWING TERRITORY!!!
11. PITSELEH (ELLIOTT SMITH)
I'll tell you why I
Don't wanna know where you are
I gotta joke I've been dying to tell you
i.e. sorry. a lot of elliott smith on this playlist. thems the breaks
12. OPHELIA (THE LUMINEERS)
Oh, Ophelia
You've been on my mind girl like a drug
Oh, Ophelia
Heaven help a fool who falls in love
i.e. callbacks to SONGS5…! and more pain
13. CLOUDS (BORNS)
I forget all my dreams
I forget everyones name I meet
I forget about time and space
But I can't stop thinking 'bout your face
i.e. tfw your memory’s shit and also you just threw yourself into the sky and you’re still not over it. yowch!
14. ARCADE (DUNCAN LAWRENCE)
Oh, oh-oh-oh oh
Oh, oh-oh-oh, oh
All I know, all I know
Loving you is a losing game
i.e. sorry i heard this song first in a c#tradora edit and i have never recovered.
15. WARS (OF MONSTERS AND MEN)
Yeah, I love you on the weekends
But I'm careless and I'm wicked
Yeah, I love you on the weekends
It's a cruel war
I still have pieces of you stuck on me
Pieces of you stuck on me
Yeah, I love you on the weekends
It's a cruel war
i.e. PIECES OF YOU STUCK ON ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is the only song of the new omam i’ve heard. i never got around to listening to it. but this one slaps
16. MONTERO (LIL NAS X)
Lookin' at the table, all I see is weed and white
Baby, you livin' the life, but baby, you ain't livin' right
Cocaine and drinkin' with your friends
You live in the dark, boy, I cannot pretend
AND
A sign of the times every time that I speak
A dime and a nine, it was mine every week
What a time, an incline, God was shinin' on me
Now I can't leave
And now I'm actin' hella elite
AND ESPECIALLY
I want that jet lag from fuckin' and flyin'
i.e. God i love this song. re: avatarhood. YOU CAN’T LEAVE!!! not saying it’s like being a celebrity, but it’s like being a celebrity. dual perspectives here with G + his morality regarding the person he loves being, uh, evil? (you live in the dark / i cannot pretend) and M + debt he owes to his god, erosion of his own morals. also, SHEER F*CKING VIBES
17. GEYSER (MITSKI)
You're my number one
You're the one I want
And you've turned down
Every hand that has beckoned me to come
i.e. love songs that serve double as to your god and to your lover
18. THAT’S WHAT I LIKE (BRUNO MARS)
Jump in the Cadillac
(Girl, let's put some miles on it)
Anything you want
(Just to put a smile on it)
You deserve it baby, you deserve it all
i.e. this song is here because i say so. a real “sorry it’s been seven years let me make it up to you” vibe
19. RUN AWAY WITH ME (SUFJAN STEVENS)
And I say, love
Come run away with me
Sweet, falling remedy
Come run away with me
i.e. more grand ridiculous propositions. more to come. but they’re born out of a real frustration with the situation at hand! it sucks! also, “falling remedy”,
20. LET’S GET MARRIED (BLEACHERS)
I'm gonna get right for you, honey
I'll take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah
I know it's hard enough to love me
But I woke up in a safe house singing, "Honey, let's get married"
i.e. bro.
21. I WILL (MITSKI)
And while you sleep
I'll be scared
So by the time you wake
I'll be brave
i.e. a lot of these here are self explanatory..
22. ME & MY DOG (BOYGENIUS)
I had a fever
Until I met you
Now you make me cool
also
I never said I'd be all right
Just thought I could hold myself together
But I couldn't breathe, I went outside
Don't know why I thought it'd be any better
I'm fine now, it doesn't matter
i.e. title is significant. and yeah. just. recovery’s tricky
23. I FOUND (AMBER RUN)
And I've moved further than I thought I could
But I missed you more than I thought I would
i.e. this is like a staple song for like. basically. any pairing. but i’m pathetic and it gets me every time. there’s something about it. not sure if i’m going to leave it on this playlist but. hm. yeah
OK that’s a wrap. highly likely i’ll put more songs on this as i go
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
[ID: the image appears to be a sunset, but there are clouds and mountains fading in and out on both side of the horizon. on the left of the setting sun, it says: "tomorrow comes anyway" / end ID]
TOMORROW COMES ANYWAY
[a playlist for rainy days, with described day-dreams for each song under the cut]
Smile — Mikko Ekko
you are in a bar, or a bedroom, or a field, or maybe a car.
your best friends are there, and you are tired. your night is supposed to be over. this song comes up on the radio, and after the first lines, someone looks up. slowly, you all start singing. ‘the worst is yet to come’ you scream, from the top of your lungs, and though it may not be true, part of you believes it. ‘the future is forever, so smile,” you say, and you believe that, too.
your friends smile back.
A Complete List of Fears Ages 5-28 (aprox) — The Yellow Dress
you have just finished reading your favorite book for the first time, and- you know that weird, soft burst of energy that hits when words line up your life in such a way that the keyhole of the worst door in your heart lines up with the sky? and you think that perhaps this time you can open it and let light in? that’s what you are feeling right now.
the song says there’s gonna be another day, and maybe, if you weren't feeling like this. you'd object, say: are you sure? does it matter?
right now, you leave it at that. for once, it feels like it's enough.
Don’t Stop — Fleetwood Mac
you are on a couch, about to fall asleep. someone is holding you, or maybe you are holding someone. it’s been a bad night, but not the worst you have had.
at some point, your friend starts moving their thumb up and down, caressing your skin. maybe their hand is on your cheek, maybe it’s on your arm, maybe on your leg. you won’t remember in the morning, but you will often think back to how warm it felt. when people ask you "if you could go back to a peaceful memory, where would you go?" you always answer with this.
Float On — Modest Mouse
you are alone in a park, laying on the grass. it’s spring, and you can feel it in the air. there are children laughing, and people talking, but not so many that it’s annoying.
you feel safe. you sing along to the words, eyes shut, hands closed into fists. nothing bad will happen to me today, you think, and nothing will. you write about it in your diary when you come home at night, even though there’s not much to say. you circle the date and the month, and draw a lopsided heart right beside it. you add the name of the song, Float On, to make sure you'll remember why.
World Spins Madly On — The Weepies
something bad happened. you are in a waiting room, or in a bedroom, or maybe in a bus. a person you love sits beside you, and they are listening to music. they hand you one of their headphones, as if to say ‘want to listen along for a while?’
you do. this song is playing. the person you love sings it quietly, and they have a beautiful voice.
it’s comforting. it doesn’t solve anything, but you are not looking for solutions.
'thank you,' you say, and they take your hand into theirs.
Can’t Go Back Now — The Weepies
you are at a party with a lot of people from your past. some of them you have forgotten, or your affection for them has faded, but none of them is a bad person. none of them truly hurt you.
at some point, during a quiet moment, this song plays in the background. there’s only two people who know the lyrics: you, and a friend that you used to care about tremendously. you haven’t talked to them in ages, but you lock eyes as you sing along, and it feels meaningful. it feels true.
you hope they are okay. you don’t know if you’ll have the courage to ask them, but even if you don’t, you think that this is enough. you both love each other, even after all those years.
Almost Made It — Racoon
something important and yet forgettable in the sum of your life went wrong. you lost a good job opportunity, but you have not-terrible alternatives. you came fourth place to a contest that has prices for the first three. you were turned down by someone you hoped would like you back. you failed a difficult exam. anything on that note.
someone brings you home, and this song comes on the radio. they know the lyrics, you don’t. when the songs start, it’s so on the nose that you both end up laughing. but then the person with you gets so fucking into it, and starts performing it like it’s a concert or something. it’s funny. sincerely so.
you ask them “can you stay with me? at least for this afternoon” and they say yes. of course.
Epitaph For My Heart — The Magnetic Fields
you just broke up with someone you love, or lost a friend, and you are with a good stranger.
you met them in a pub, or maybe online, or in class or at work. you don’t know them well, but they are attractive, and they make you feel comfortable, and they respect all your boundaries.
wherever you are, this song comes on. “oh, this is one of my favorites,” they tell you.
if you like dancing, then you are dancing with them when this happens. if you don’t, you are sitting somewhere, and they sway in place, mouthing along to the words.
what matters is: they are very charismatic. you start moving/dancing/singing, too, and discover that you can be charismatic, too.
you like the music. at some point, you forget what the words say.
I Have Made Mistakes — Oh Hellos
you are about to fall asleep, and faint music is playing from your phone. you are having trouble calming yourself down, but then this song plays.
it has been a very, very tiring day. for the first time since you woke up, you let yourself acknowledge it. you feel like you should be proud of yourself, and you are right to think so.
before the song is over, you fall asleep. you won't have nightmares, and you'll dream of butterflies.
Never Quite Free — Mountain Goats
you are on a train, or maybe on a bus. perhaps you are walking, or looking outside the window of a plane.
you are going home, but it’s a new kind of home. something that you are just starting to build, that still feels like a discovery every time you step into it.
sometimes it’s hard to remember that healing isn’t linear, and so part of you wonders if it will still be home, when you wake up sweating in the middle of the night, thinking that you don’t belong, that there’s some price you must pay to exist wherever you are.
but this song is here to tell you: yeah. yeah, it still is home. it doesn’t have to feel like that all the time, but it’ll wait for you, patiently, with open arms, when you are ready to call it refuge again.
This Too Shall Pass — Danny Schmidt
you hear this song live. it’s a group of people singing it on the side of a street. there’s four of them, and they all—they all believe this. they all believe in what the song says. you don’t know why you can tell, but you can.
it feels magical. people stop beside you, and—god, you think you all believe this, too.
and so you are standing there, in a place that you know well, with people you don’t recognise, and you feel life moving around you, and know, deep inside your heart, that this too, whatever this is, shall pass.
Ghost Of Corporate Future — Regina Spektor
you are washing the dishes after dinner, or doing something equally as tedious, and put music on to distract yourself. this song is what plays last, when you are almost done.
it’s a Saturday, and it has been a hard day cause you never feel like you have enough energy to do something you enjoy. as the song plays, though, you remember about a movie you have been wanting to watch for ages, and, for some reason, you feel suddenly excited. you want to see it, and you know you have people to talk about it with. slowly, you realise that you can’t wait to.
your smile grows as the song ends, and you rush to your room to get your computer and watch the movie.
(turns out, it’s very good. a new favorite. you live-blog it to your friends, and your jokes make them laugh)
Not The End Of The World (Even as We Know It) — Faded Paper Figures
the people you love most sit in front of you on a table. some of them are cooking, and those that are cooking put on this song to sing it.
it’s the only one they all know the words to.
they perform it like they are in a theater and you and your other friends are the audience. they make quite a mess, screaming the lyrics in each other’s faces with everything fragile still held loosely in their hands.
you look at them in awe.
eventually, you get up to hug them. one of them kisses your cheek, and hugs you so tightly they raise your feet from the ground, or maybe they shake your shoulders playfully. do something, anything that makes you feel alive.
you have a whole night ahead of you. you know it'll be beautiful.
No Brakes — Pigeon Pit
two people who are in love with each other are arguing about music. one of them says you have to listen to this song, okay? it’s so good. the other keeps arguing that they just don’t like the genre, okay?
it goes on for a while, and it’s endearing. eventually, the first person puts on this song. the other tries so bad to hate it, but when the music comes to an end, and the singer says I’m going to wake up tomorrow, whatever it takes they smile. it's a wide smile, open and sunny, and it's one that simply can't go unnoticed.
their partner screams in victory, then rushes to hug them. see!!! they say, i knew you’d like it!!!
then they turn towards you. what did i say? they go, i told you this was gonna be a success!
and you know what? they did. they did tell you, and you are happy for them. you high-five them, and their partner laughs.
This Year — The Mountain Goats
it’s new year’s eve. not a particularly good one, but not a terrible one, either.
you remember how everyone talks about this song, you remember the singer saying that around new year’s, much more people seem to listen to it. you wonder: who else is blasting it in their apartment right now? even if they are alone, and maybe especially if they are?
there must be more than you can visualise, sitting on their couch with their tv on mute and their phone opened on this one song.
some of them must be good people. you are not in this together, not really, cause you can’t reach them, but you are not in this entirely alone, either. not in a way that matters. not in a way that counts.
we are all going to make it through this year, you think. we have to.
I Know The End — Phoebe Bridgers
it’s today, or tomorrow, or ten years from now, and you are scared, but not in a way that hurts.
you are scared as background noise, cause you can’t tell, can’t know what will happen now.
and maybe the end is here, maybe something is about to fall, and there’s not much you can do about it.
you listen to this song, though, wherever you are now or will be in the future, and you think you like the music. you like that someone sat down and wrote it.
it’s not enough, but you make it be. just for now. just for a while.
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)
4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99
I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡
uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨
4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?
hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between
and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)
6 - do you keep plants?
honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )
7 - do you name your plants?
yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj
9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?
oh god oh dude you have n o idea
i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time
12 - whats your favourite planet?
oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)
19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?
okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it
22 - are you a morning person?
n o
i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful
but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am
23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?
except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest
28 - sunrise or sunset?
i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock
but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose
33 - whats your fave pastry?
and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj
either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding
34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?
awwww this is cute
okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes
46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of
what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*
47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?
huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)
52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?
the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj
but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too
as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about
59 - whats your favourite myth?
i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks
but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example
60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?
o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius
some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it
63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?
okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again
66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?
either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition
or something purple (maybe not belladonna)
83 - whats some of your favourite album art?
god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that
“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too
also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say
and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)
87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?
this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):
- the princess bride
- inception
- night at the museum
- SPIRITED AWAY
- forrest gump
- truman show
- E.T. (i cried okay)
- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)
- parasite
and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good
93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?
honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short
also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form
99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them
this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:
- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)
- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)
- tears and rain by james blunt
- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie
- almost home by mxmtoon
- anything by hozier really but shrike especially
- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)
- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)
- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers
- autoclave by the mountain goats
oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
xxii. men who know their secret safe
She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta.
"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."
Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.
Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.
Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience.
"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."
"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."
Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe.
"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."
"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."
"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof."
"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.
"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."
The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.
“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”
“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door.
One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon.
Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.
The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.
She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.
The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.
A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch.
She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth.
So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.
She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition.
“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”
“I’ll be coming with you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”
“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”
“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”
“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”
“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”
“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”
“Mm.”
“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”
“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”
“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”
“Commander Heuloix-”
“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”
“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”
“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”
“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”
“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”
Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day...
Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.
The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.
“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”
“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”
Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.
Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.
“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”
“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice.
"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”
“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.
The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip.
“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”
“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”
To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands.
“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”
“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”
Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.
“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”
“Indeed.”
“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”
Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.
At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”
“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”
“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”
She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel.
“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”
She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead.
The morning wore on.
~*~
Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud.
The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.
“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud.
Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.
She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything.
Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.
Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.
He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old.
And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.
Might as well be him.
Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks.
It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.
At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself.
His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.
Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.
But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due.
Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him.
As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.
But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.
Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too.
With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.
He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.
The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule.
Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.
Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.
Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.
Best tread carefully, he thought.
He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.
They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.
Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”
One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.
The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.
“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”
Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”
The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.
“Why?”
Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”
“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”
“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.”
“You won’t-”
“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”
The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.
"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"
"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."
An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.
“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”
And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate.
With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Somos Familia Ch 38 Birthday Eve
Tomorrow is my birthday, so now I can relax knowing I got this GD chapter out! Hallelujah!
------
“Hola, Coco.” Miguel said happily, leaning in to give his sister a kiss on the cheek.
Coco smiled as she tilted her head to accept it. “How are you, Miguel?”
“Good, now that school is out.”
“Are you excited about your birthday tomorrow?”
“No.”
With a small sigh Coco shook her head and pointed a thumb to the back of the house. “Well go on to your little club meeting then. I’ll ring Papá and tell him you’re over here. You know how he worries.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“Don’t forget the Cokes!”
“Gracias, Coco!” Miguel grabbed two ice cold bottles out of the refrigerator and raced to Victoria’s bedroom upstairs, taking two steps at a time.
Over the years Coco’s house had become a sort of safe haven for Miguel to spend his free time. Yes, he had friends at school that he could hang out with, but nothing compared to how stress-free, homey and normal Coco’s house was. A spacious yet modest colonial style home built near the town’s border, it was the perfect place where Miguel could relax and actually be himself with no fear of his love of music being discovered by his parents.
Never really understanding his father’s unwavering stand on having no music listened to or played in his vicinity, Miguel was forced to keep his passions to himself until his older sister took pity on him and let him listen to dozens of records from her own private collection. He was also joined by his niece Victoria, and their shared secret hobby had led them to becoming each other’s best friend.
His smile faded as he reached the door when he saw another little girl standing in a huff in front of it, her face blotchy from having been crying, and she threw him a hard glare. With a stomp of her foot, she pointed at the door. “Tío, make her open up!”
“You’re not coming in here, Elena!” Victoria’s angry voice called out from the other side. “Get out of the way so Miguel can get through!”
Elena whined and hopped up and down. “Why does he get to come in and not me?!”
“Because he didn’t feed my tutu to your stupid goat!”
“Diego is not stupid! And I didn’t feed it to him, you just left it out!” Hands on her hips, she smiled smugly. “Besides you deserve it. If Abuelito knew that you were dancing he’d be mad at you. Maybe even hate you!”
Not liking how that line in particular made him feel, as well as not wanting to waste anymore time, Miguel held one of the Cokes out to Elena. “Here Elenita. Have a Coke.”
As her eyes settled on the bottle, Elena gasped in delight and reached for it. “Gracias tío!” Tilting it back and taking three large, refreshing gulps, she sighed in satisfaction. “Ahh, delicio-”
*SLAM!*
“HEY!”
Locking the door behind him as Miguel managed to zip inside, Victoria laughed and leaned against it while Elena kicked and yelled from the other side. She was already clad in her leotard and pointe shoes, but sans tutu of course. She nodded approvingly at Miguel. “Very clever Miguel. I’m impressed.”
Miguel chuckled and set the remaining bottle down. “Not that clever. Now we have to share one.”
“I know what you’re doing in there!” Elena screamed at them. “You’re dancing and playing music! Abuelito hates music! I’m gonna tell on you!”
“That’s only when Abuelito’s around, estupida! Mamá says we can do whatever we want with music as long as he’s not here, so you’re not allowed to tell!” Victoria crossed her arms and smiled smugly. “You’re just jealous because your legs are too short and fat to even walk, let alone try to dance.”
There was a moment of silence, before the sound of quick footfalls flying down the hallway and the piercing cry of “Mamá!” echoing off the walls let them know that they were finally alone. For now.
Miguel pulled his guitar out from underneath Victoria’s wardrobe, smiling reverently and brushing his fingers lightly against the crudely drawn skull on the stock. It was an old thing, the wood worn and splintering slightly along the edges despite how much gold paint he had slathered all over it. Limited artistic abilities aside he was quite pleased with how much he made it to look like Ernesto de la Cruz’s famous golden guitar. He just needed to get a Sharpie or something to draw in the final details. It wasn’t the best guitar in the world, but he was too scared to buy a brand new one. The fear of Papá somehow finding out kept him from doing so.
It could be worse though. It could have been a guitar made from scraps, screws and nails.
“So what do you want me to play?” Miguel asked as he tuned the strings to perfection. “Lago de los Cisnes again? Ooh, or maybe El Cascanueces because it’s almost the holidays. I’ve been working on the Russian dance if you’re up to the challenge.”
There was a time where Miguel wasn’t exactly fond of playing classical ballet songs for Victoria to dance to, considering it boring and her dancing to be prissy and goofy. That was until Victoria angrily challenged him to try it himself. He arrogantly agreed, and his one attempt to stand en pointe resulted in a dislocated big toe and a nail split down the middle. He had to lie to his parents about it too, saying that a horse had stepped on his foot. Now he treated Victoria’s dancing with the awe and pride that it deserved. And the songs were good practice for his plucking anyway.
“Not yet Miguel. First… I have to give you these.” Victoria placed a box in front of him, a small yet pleased smile on her face. “Feliz cumpleaños, Tío.”
With a roll of his eyes, Miguel took the lid off the box. “C’mon, Victoria. Why couldn’t you just wait to give it to me to-… morrow?...”
“Because Abuelito would throw a fit if I gave it to you in front of him.”
“Leather wrist bands!” Miguel cheered happily, throwing the box to the side and slipping the brown leather over his hands. “Just like the ones Tío Nesto used to wear! They actually look like the ones he wore in El Camino a Casa!”
Victoria nodded proudly. “Yep! I worked really hard on them to make it look exact.”
Miguel looked up at her in wonder as he finished fastening the buttons tight. “You made these?”
“Uh huh. I used leftover leather from the old workshop after the museum tour guide finished the shoe demonstration. I’m very good at weaving leather, who would have thought?”
The old workshop, along with the entire Rivera household, had finally run its course. After years of hemming and hawing Héctor had finally conceded that it was time to move into a bigger, safer house for his growing family. Not as flashy as any of Ernesto’s mansions, it was still an enormous complex with enough bedrooms for all the guests that were coming to Miguel’s birthday celebration. With high security walls, a lush garden full of both lovely flowers and fresh vegetables, and a five-car garage with the latest models inside, it was a house that truly showed off the Rivera’s wealth.
The old house had been turned into the Rivera Shoe museum, showcasing it as the origin of Imelda’s business as well as a small monument to the history of the family. There were demonstrations on basic shoe repair with workshops on cutting and sewing leather for tourists to enjoy, a gift shop to buy Rivera souvenirs as well as the usual fittings for their own custom-made shoes that they could order.
That was only during the weekdays. On the weekends it was closed to everyone but the family, and it was also where they would be having Miguel’s birthday party and where the ofrenda would be set up: So Leti could visit her real home.
But over the years the actual holiday came second to Miguel’s birthday. His father put all his time and energy into giving his youngest the best birthday a child could ask for: Mountains of food, games, presents and all his friends at school would come over and have the time of their lives.
Miguel had loved it.
At first.
But as he grew older his father’s exuberance over his birthday became more and more embarrassing. It was his main focus on all the days leading up to it, and on the day of the party he became unbearably chipper and happy. Never mind the fact that Miguel would soon be turning twelve years old. Papá always acted like he was celebrating a five year old’s birthday. And despite the pleas from his friends parents Papá insisted that he celebrate his birthday on the day of, refusing to move it to another day so the families could also celebrate Dia de Muertos. Also since every party had no music for entertainment they became increasingly boring for all who came.
So eventually his friends stopped coming to his birthday parties, and it just became a family get together. Miguel would have rather just not celebrate at all, but Papá wouldn’t let him. He insisted that Miguel celebrate his birthday, but the boy knew by now that it wasn’t for his sake.
Papá needed to celebrate his birthday. To have something joyous to focus on, so as not to think about the daughter he had tragically lost, nor the day that his best friend and brother had been gruesomely ripped away from him. His birthday was a blessing to his father: the one good thing about Dia de Muertos.
And so Miguel endured it. But as he flexed his wrists and admired the exquisite craftsmanship of his sobrina, it made it feel like it would be easier to do so this year.
“Gracias, Victoria. They’re great! I feel just like Tío Nesto now!”
“De nada, Miguel.” Victoria smiled warmly. “And yes, I would like to try the Russian Dance. Your tempo has been poor lately, I’d hate to see if those wrist bands somehow make it worse.”
“Ha! Yeah right, just try to keep up!” Miguel laughed, and broke out with a loud flourish of his guitar.
----
“Well I hope you enjoyed your little nap, Héctor.” Vicente grumbled as he and his supposed boss walked down the streets of Santa Cecilia, both munching on street food. “It’s not like quarterly report meetings are that important to your financial wellbeing as well as the thousands of people who work under you. And the board was even willing to come all the way to Santa Cecilia just so it wouldn’t upset your holiday plans.”
Héctor waved him off. “Ah, Chente, I’m just a figurehead for the company. You’re the one who should care about these things, not me. I’m like the uh… I’m the King George to your Neville Chamberlain!”
“It’s Churchill now.”
“Whatever. The point is you take care of the important stuff while I force a grin and wish the shareholders a happy holidays once a year.” Héctor grumbled, taking a huge bite of a tortilla filled to the brim with garlic, onions and fried chapulines. “Mmm… Oh yeah, last batch of the season is always the best… Besides I caught some of it. Especially when old man Tapia suggested we shut down some of the soup kitchens. Can you believe it?! That viejo looks like he’s never missed a meal in his life! He has no idea what it’s like to starve or do a hard day’s work for your food. Do you know what my first job was ever?”
“Catching grasshoppers when you were four years old.”
“Catching grasshoppers when I was!-… Oh, I told you that one, huh?” Héctor mumbled. “Well no matter. My grandchildren are coming in from America for the celebration tomorrow. They’ll appreciate my stories!”
Vicente smiled. “Ah, I haven’t gotten to see the newest one yet. It��s nice that they get to experience an authentic celebration for Dia de M-”
“Miguel’s birthday!” Héctor cut in quickly, his grin stretching a little wider than normal. “Si, it’s nice they get to see celebrate their tío’s birthday. All kids love parties, right?”
Vicente winced a little, nervously thumbing through the work papers in his hand. “… Right. Still I love this time of year. I remember being so excited to get to stay up all night for the festivals in my hometown when I was little. Helping my Papá decorate the ofrenda, sampling all the dishes my Mamá and my sisters cooked. The stories. I’m sure your grandchildren will love it. It’s always exciting to experience it the first time with your family when you’re little.”
“Wouldn’t know.” Héctor grumbled around a mouthful of tortilla, his earlier mirth gone. Vicente could tell he was trying to shoot down this conversation flat. “My parents dumped me in the orphanage when I was a baby, and the nuns thought Dia de Muertos was too pagan to celebrate. Didn’t really join in on the festivities until I moved out with E-…” Héctor paused, a flicker of pain in his eyes, before he forcefully swallowed down a too dry bite. “Until I had a family of my own.”
“Ay, Dios mio, speaking of families! Sorry Héctor I forgot.” Flicking through the pages he pulled out a couple of sheets. “I had this under miscellaneous since it had nothing to do with this morning’s meeting, but a certain Señor Domingo Cavallero approached me with this last evening while I was in the market.”
Héctor stared at the papers and groaned in disgust as he took them. “Domingo Cavallero? What does he want?”
Ever since the late elder Cavallero had brutally lost his position of the town’s mayor and the source of his embezzlement was taken from him, the whole family’s wealth had been steadily decreasing over the years. So set in their old ways they had kept up their lavish lifestyle until the pooled funds had trickled down into a puddle. What was once a proud and dignified family now lay on the very brink of heading off to the poor house. Héctor remembered quite clearly ever since he was a little boy the way Domingo had sneered in disgust at him every so often when their paths happened to cross. Now the former mayor’s son was coming to him?
“It seems that he and his son Ignacio are trying to build a hotel nearby. A family venture, he said, though it’s clear it’s a desperate attempt to reclaim their past wealth. I’m assuming they’ve scrounged up whatever money they’ve got left over to fund it but it’s not enough. They are humbly asking for a donation from you to make their dream come true… Or, rather, as humble as they are capable. I spent two minutes with the man and his son, and it was two minutes too many.”
“’El Dorado.’” Héctor read the description. “Hmph, very original… ‘A glorious extravaganza that combines superb customer service, gourmet meals delivered right to your room, and an astounding décor guaranteed to amaze and excite every guest.’”
“Sí. They’ve included blueprints and an artist’s rendering of the place to further incite you.”
Flipping to the next page, Héctor’s eyes widened as he looked at the illustrated drawing of what looked like the main lobby: Everything was gold. Gold furniture, gold wallpaper, gold plants. The wet bar, the piano in the lounge. Carpet, drapery, every single item nearly the exact same shade of gold. Not one other color to balance it out, not even a white or a brown. Just gold and gold alone.
“…This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve been told Ignacio came up with the theme himself.”
“That’s not saying much. How much are they asking me to contribute?”
“Oh, roughly seventy five percent.”
“Seventy-five?!” Héctor sputtered, folding the sheets in half and flinging them back to Vicente as if holding them anymore would burn his skin. “Why don’t I just pay for the whole damn thing myself?! Anyone with half a brain cell can tell that that… thing… wouldn’t last even half a year. Well, you can tell them that I am simply not interested in putting my time and effort into a lost cause.”
“Wh-?... Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”
Héctor looked over to see Vicente with his face in his hand in frustration, and grimaced. “What, you think I should pay money for this basura?”
Vicente looked up. “Huh? Oh, no, I agree. It’s an eye sore. I’m sorry Héctor, but something’s just come up. I need to go to the cemetery for a minute, I’ll meet you at the house for lunch. Adios!”
Héctor blinked, just now noticing that they were in front of the town’s cemetery. As he watched Vicente head straight towards Ern-… The biggest mausoleum in the center of it all, he immediately turned heel and walked away as quickly as he could. All he needed to do was wind through some off the path streets, far away from the plaza, and he would be home. It would take longer, but that was okay. All the more time to plan for Miguel’s birthday surprise tomorrow. Héctor smiled, he was so excited to see Miguel’s face light up when he told him the big news. And he would have to thank Chente afterwards, he gave him the idea after all! He couldn’t w-
“Arf!”
“Gyah!”
Looking down Héctor sighed in relief when he just saw Dante, once again, sneak up on him and scare the living daylights out of him. And he wasn’t so sure if it was purely unintentional on the dog’s part either. “Hola Dante. You’re looking… remarkably well these days, especially for a twenty-year-old dog. No arthritis, vision loss, anything?… Sometimes I think you won’t die until you take me with you, the way you keep scaring me.”
Dante yipped again and gently tugged on Héctor’s pants leg, pulling him back towards the road to the plaza, but Héctor shook free of him. “Stop it Dante. If you’re going to the plaza you can bother someone else there. Because I’m not going. Now go on.”
Ignoring the whine of the dog behind him, Héctor made his way home. He had a party to organize, after all. And a surprise.
---------------
Walking up the path towards the mausoleum, glancing around to see if there was no one else within earshot to hear them, Vicente approached the man standing at the front gate glaring inside. Wrapped up in a thick poncho and wrinkled baggy pants, he held a cigar to the side before bringing it in for a thick puff. His wild sandy brown hair, thin patchy facial hair and piercing golden eyes made him look like he was a dirty vagabond no different from the ones lounging out in the street of the slums. No one would ever be able to tell that he was actually the head of the entire art department for Rivera de la Cruz productions with several prestigious awards to his name.
Especially not the way he was pouting childishly at the painting of Ernesto de la Cruz mounted high above his crypt and his shiny golden guitar.
“Javier, what are you doing back here?” Vicente asked tiredly.
“Just looking at the artistic travesty that has the power to make every true artist unfortunate to lay eyes on it retch in disgust.” Javier blew out a thick cloud of smoke, sneering all the while. “Look at it. Any child with a broken crayon could have made a better likeness of Señor de la Cruz.”
“Javi, how many times must we do this?”
Javier ignored him, continuing bitterly. “The background is such a slash and slop of blurs that it gives true focus on the face. That ugly horrid face that looks nothing like the man himself. Such cold, dead, expressionless eyes. You can feel it sucking your soul out.”
“Javi-”
“And that chin cleft. Is it a cleft, or did a psychopath just cut into him with a rusty knife? Might as well have given him a Glasgow grin while we’re at it.”
“Javi!”
“The person who made this painting should be drawn and quartered in front of the entire artistic community in order to avenge the death of art itself!”
Pinching his nose as he felt the pain of a headache coming, Vicente growled out. “Javier, Javi, mi amor… For the millionth time, and I don’t know why I have to keep saying this… YOU painted it!”
“All the more reason why I’m allowed to critique it.” Javier smiled widely in a way he knew always made his lover’s inside squirm. Seeing him flush slightly Javier drew his attention back to the painting. “I can’t believe I used to think that this was my masterpiece. You’d think I was the one on drugs at the time, not the other way around... Heh, though I was tempted to add a few white sprinkles on there. Ha ha!... But seriously this thing is un pedazo de mierda.”
Vicente sighed. “Look, if it bothers you so much maybe you can retouch it a little? Or we can put in another painting.”
Javier whirled around, eyes blazing fire and cheeks burning red. “And sully the greatest contribution to society I have ever made?! Commissioned by Ernesto de la Cruz himself, Mi obra maestra, mon pièce de résistance?! Are you loco?!”
Vicente stared blankly at him, then turned to leave. “I give up. I’m going to the house for lunch. Stay here and starve or come and eat, I don’t care anymore.”
“Ooh, comida!” Hopping down the stairs and running up next to Vicente, he flicked the head of his burnt off cigar up into the air, not caring when it landed in an offering dish of one of the graves with a clang. “Gonna get me some carnitaaas~…”
Fighting back a smile, Vicente pretended to glare at him. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’m hopeless?” Javier chuckled haughtily as he attempted to smooth down his flyaway hair. “No, I’m an artist. I live in the now, paint what’s in my heart, love it and then despise it years down the road. It’s part of the package deal, you’ve known that for a long time. No, you are the one that’s hopeless.”
“Me?”
“Sí, tonto.” Javier said. “This hopeless idea of yours: Getting Héctor Rivera to take his little coddled son under his wing and to pursue music with Rivera de la Cruz Productions. The same man who practically hisses like a cat at the mere sound of even a maraca shaken by a baby? Yes, I do think it’s hopeless. Childish even. A fool’s dream.”
“I think it’s a good idea!” Vicente said grouchily, shoving Javier slightly to the side. “And Héctor has always known that Miguel is nothing like his brother in terms of interests. So, while Mateo works with his mother and follows in her footsteps, literally in their case, heh… then Miguel will follow in his father’s! This will give Miguel an opportunity to branch out on his own and eventually and pursue his musical dreams. Maybe a record producer, or a talent agent. He’ll be surrounded by music. I think it will be a nice birthday present for him from his father. And since it was my idea then technically it’s my present to the boy.”
Javier hummed a little at that, worried. “I don’t know… Are you sure you convinced him properly?”
Vicente huffed. “Please, Javi. If I can convince Pedro Infante to record a cover album of the best of de la Cruz at half his normal pay rate, then I can convince Héctor to let Miguel work in the music industry. Trust me, when this all falls into place, you will be bowing down to me in awe and praise.”
“Ooh, that would be a nice change of pace, eh? Usually it’s the other way around.” Javier smiled widely again, enough to wipe Vicente’s smirk off his reddened face, and was shoved away again with more force.
-------
“Mija, I’m coming in.”
“Is Elena with you?”
“Sí.”
“She’s not allowed in, Mamá! I’ve forbidden her!”
“Too bad, I’m overriding you. Come unlock the door. Now.”
With a loud, drawn out groan Victoria unlocked the door and opened it for her mother to come in. Julio was also with her, holding onto Elena’s tiny hand as the little girl sniffled and glared daggers at her older sister. Victoria stuck her tongue out at her, which Elena paid in kind with a full-blown raspberry. Before a full-blown slap fight could break out Coco flicked both girls on the forehead. “Stop it.”
“She fed my tutu to Diego, Mamá!”
“She called me short and fat!”
“No, I said your legs were-”
“I said stop!” Coco said loudly, and when both girls quieted down she stood over them with her arms crossed. “Now, what do I always say when you two fight over silly things like this?”
The two sisters, still glaring at each other, said through gritted teeth “‘Be nice to your sister, because she’s the only one you’ve got’.”
“That’s right.” Coco said. “You’ll never know how precious she is to you until, somehow, she’s gone for good.”
Both girls immediately looked at their mother with wide eyes before ducking their heads in shame, while Julio gently took his wife’s hand for support. “We’re sorry Mamá.”
Miguel had never known his older sister Leti. Despite all the stories he had heard about her over the years, she was a practical stranger to him. He knew how she had acted with Coco and Matty, but the feeling that he had never had his own relationship with her gave him a weird empty feeling in his chest. He didn’t know how her voice sounded, how she laughed, any of her own special quirks and tics. And yet there was a longing deep within him to know what she was like, so strange to long for something that he never had. He knew, however, that his pain was several times less than the ones who actually knew her.
To break up to sudden tension, Miguel set aside his guitar and grinned. “I guess I’m lucky that my brother and sister are too old to fight with. Older than dirt-OW!”
“I’m not too old to flick you too, gordito.” Coco smirked as Miguel rubbed his stinging forehead. “Now Miguel I know you’re never especially thrilled when it’s your birthday, but I think this year will be different.” Coco said, an excited grin threatening to burst out. “Because I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
Before Coco could elaborate, Elena bounced up and down happily and squealed. “I think I know! Tia Rosita is pregnant again, right?!”
Miguel blinked, completely unsurprised. “Oh, is she?”
Julio snorted derisively and crossed his arms. “That’s not a surprise. That’s becoming an annual holiday itself.”
“Julio!” Coco hissed, glaring at her husband. “That’s not true!”
“She's right, Papá.” Victoria smirked. “Osvaldo and Facunito are only nine and a half months apart.”
“Victoria! Both of you!” Coco sighed in exasperation. “No, Rosita is not pregnant!... I think… Well, she might b- I don’t know! That’s not what the surprise is anyway! This is the surprise!”
A pink sheet of paper was thrust into Miguel’s face, and it took a second for him to focus on what was on it. Decorated with black painted skulls and dancing skeletons, the words ‘Dia De Muertos Talent Show’ stood out in big bold letters. Taking it from his sister’s hands, Miguel looked at it in confusion for just a moment before a creeping sense of understanding and hope started to well within. “The talent show? You mean… I get to go see it?”
“No.”
Miguel sputtered. “Wh-?! What gives Coco?!”
“You’re not going to see it hermanito, you’re going to be in it! I signed you up as the first act and you’re going to play in front of the whole town! Now everyone can finally see how talented you truly are!” Coco cried out, smiling widely and grabbing her astonished little brother into a huge bear hug. “Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!”
Miguel gaped in awe as his sister let him go, looking at the poster, then his guitar on the bed, then to Coco. Slowly a grin formed on his face and he laughed out loud. “Really?! I’m going to play in the talent show?! I can’t believe it!”
“I want to see that!” Victoria added happily. “That’s so exciting!”
“Gracias, Coco! Gracias gracias gracias-”
“No!” Elena shouted, causing everyone to look at her. The poor girl looked both angry and a little afraid as she clutched her mother’s skirt tightly and tugged it frantically. “No he can’t! It’s one thing to play in the house, but in front of people?! Abuelito will be mad for sure!”
Victoria groaned. “Ay Mamá, why did you have to show Miguel’s secret present in front of el lengua larga? She’ll blab for sure.”
“I won’t blab if he doesn’t go!” Elena cried, and hurried over to Miguel’s guitar. Clumsily she lifted it and placed the large instrument behind her back, as if thinking that if it was out of sight then it was out of mind. “Please don’t perform tío! If you go on stage you’ll be hurt or even killed. Just like Ernesto de la Cruz!”
“That was an accident Elenita. It had nothing to do with music.” Miguel said dismissively. “And what’s so bad about wanting to be like Ernesto de la Cruz? We all used to know him, you didn’t. He was the greatest of all time.”
“You want to end up like him too?! Smooshed flat, and the only thing left of you would be a picture on the ofrenda?!”
Miguel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I don’t care if I’m on some stupid ofrenda.”
While everyone else in the room winced at Miguel casual disregard for tradition, Elena gasped so long and hard, her eyes and mouth wide with pure horror, it was almost comical. Turning to look at the guitar in her hands, her brow furrowed, and her face scrunched up in absolute hatred and disgust. Lifting the guitar as high as she could go, and with a warlike cry, the brought it to the ground!
*thunk*
….
*thunk*
Coco sighed. “Elena, what are you doing?”
Straining as hard as she could, Elena brought the guitar down again and again. “Mmph!... Trying to- uuff!... break the- nnyah!... guitar!” She tried and tried again, but the instrument was both too sturdy and too cumbersome to maneuver properly, and she lacked both the strength and the force to damage it even a little. The guitar simply made some light twangy sounds as the strings were slightly squeezed and brushed against, almost as if the instrument was just as annoyed as everyone else by what was happening.
“Stop it Elena. You’re going to scratch it!”
“It’s already scratched Miguel. One more won’t hurt it.”
“Callate…”
Huffing with exertion now and sweating, Elena started to struggle with the large object. “I can do it… Haa… haa… I can do it! Gah! Tío, help.”
“No, I’m not gonna help you smash my guitar!” Miguel yelled angrily, swiping the guitar away from her. “I’m playing in the plaza tomorrow for my birthday. Your Mamá gave it to me as a present, and I’m gonna enjoy it! Period!”
“But-!”
“Elena…” Julio said sternly, getting his daughter’s attention. “You won’t say anything to your Abuelito about this, alright? I know you’re afraid of what he might say, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And he won’t know if you don’t say anything. Claro?”
“But-!”
“You must always listen to your parents. Please don’t ruin this for Miguel, okay?”
Elena looked at her parents, then her sister, Miguel, and back to her parents. As her face reddened more and more and her cheeks puffed up to the point of bursting, she fled the room in tears and ran down the hallway wailing. Coco sighed as he watched her daughter run off then patted Miguel on the back. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright.”
“What if she’s right though?” Miguel asked softly, holding the flyer tightly to his chest as if he was afraid that even that could be taken away from him at any second. “What if Papá finds out? Or Mamá? They would never let me go.”
“We won’t let them find out, we promise.” Coco said gently. “Matty, Victoria and I will be there to cheer you on, while Julio will distract them long enough for you to perform.”
“Th-that’s right!” Julio nodded and laughed nervously. “I mean-… I-I can do that! I can… Lie… to my father-in-law and my mo-… It shouldn’t be too hard, right? I can- Sí, I can do that!”
“Sounds like you’ll need all the help you can get, Julio.” A voice suddenly popped up. “And should I be concerned about Elena flailing about on the couch downstairs? She looked like she was starting to turn blue.”
The four turned and smiled to see Wanda standing in the doorway, dressed in a fancy travel suit and holding a suitcase in one hand. Holding onto her other hand was a small boy, smiling shyly and wearing an adorable cowboy outfit complete with tiny Rivera boots. The small ten gallon hat couldn’t hide the dark wavy curls of his hair poking out from underneath and his face was a little dirt smudged. He carried a brightly wrapped birthday present in his other arm and held it out to Miguel. “Happy birthday, Uncle Miguel.”
“Charlie!” Victoria cried out and enveloped the small boy into a big hug, his round face smooshed against her shoulder. “Charlie, mi primo favorito! Oh Charlie, you look so cute! What are you dressed as?”
Charlie smiled sweetly up at Victoria. “The Lone Ranger. I got a plastic gun and bows and arrows in my bag, too. Can we play?”
“We can later.” Miguel said, taking the present from his nephew and knocking on the top of his hardened cowboy hat. “Thank you for the present, Carlos.”
The little boy’s smile faded and he gave an adorable pout. “My name is Charlie.”
“Not here. In Mexico you’re Carlos.”
“Basta, Miguel!” Victoria snapped, and gave Charlie another hug. “Oh, I missed you so much Charlie. You are my most favorite primo ever. So sweet and cute.”
“What about Dahlia?” Miguel asked. “And Margarita? And Anselmo? And Osvaldo, Facunito, and Amapola?”
“I don’t see him every single day of my life, and he doesn’t drive me crazy as soon as he enters the room.” Victoria said. “That’s what makes him my favorite.” Behind her Julio nodded silently in agreement with a shudder, and Coco swatted him with a glare.
“Matthew has already told me the game plan for tomorrow, Miguel.” Wanda said as she placed Charlie’s suitcase full of toys down and began to unpack it for him. “But if this is going to work then Julio, Coco and I should talk about how we’re going to keep your father from guessing what’s happening. Don’t you worry.”
“Gracias, Wanda.” Miguel said, walking over to hug her in gratitude. “Your Spanish has gotten really good by the way.”
Wanda returned the hug and smiled proudly. “Of course it has. That’s what happens after long term exposure, being outrageously intelligent and having the internal drive to learn new things. I mean seriously, did you have any doubts in my ability to learn it?”
“Sí.” “Yes.” “Sorry.” “I, uh-... Sí…”
Wanda huffed irritably at the slight, but brushed it off and bent down to her son to speak in English. “Now you be careful when you play, alright? Your arm is still a little weak, so be extra gentle. No cops and robbers or anything like that, alright?”
“Okay, Mommy.”
“Oh that’s right!” Victoria said, bending down to look the little boy in the eye. “You broke your arm a few months ago! I was so sorry to hear that. Elena even cried when she heard.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Miguel asked. “Did it hurt? What happened?”
Gripping his left arm slightly, Charlie grinned as if he was telling a funny joke. “Daddy is the one who broke my arm.”
“WHAT?!”
“Matty broke your arm?!”
As the two children gasped and shouted at what they heard, both Coco and Julio winced as they looked at Wanda with pity. Wanda placed her hands over her mouth and sighed sadly, shaking her head wearily. “Charlie, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Miguel shook his head. “Man, you must have gotten into big trouble if Matty broke your arm-OW!” He rubbed his shoulder where Victoria had socked him hard, but before he could say anything Charlie continued.
“He didn’t mean to.” Charlie said softly. “Mommy says something scared him and he was trying to protect me, but did it too hard. Daddy was very sorry, he cried for a long time. I didn’t know grown-up men cried! My arm was in this itchy cast for a long time and Daddy let me eat ice cream for breakfast every day after that!” Charlie’s smile faded at that, and a slightly nauseous grimace passed over him. “I don’t like ice cream any more…”
“Guys listen.” Wanda said to the two older children in a serious tone. “I don’t want you to let Matthew know that you know about this, all right? It is a very sensitive subject that he feels terrible about, I don’t want him to feel any worse. It’s in the past and we’re moving forward.”
“Is Matty all right?” Miguel asked softly.
“He’s fine.” Wanda said assuredly, holding her son closely. “We’re all going to be fine. Just like tomorrow is going to be fine. Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”
-----
Héctor smiled as he held the whining baby high above his head, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes until she dissolved into giggles. Lowering her down he blew loud raspberries onto each cheek until she squealed before giving her a kiss on the forehead. It was such a treat to see his granddaughter Clara again, not having seen her since shortly after her birth. Living in the United States prevented him from seeing her and Charlie regularly, so he relished the opportunity to see and hold her while she was still so small. He was also happy to see that after five months her eyes still had the same lovely shade of blue as her mother’s, his only grandchild to have different colored eyes. As the baby quieted down again, he nodded to his son. “Keep going mijo.”
Matty nodded somberly, downing his cup of coffee and handing it over for Imelda to refill. He nervously fidgeted with the polished knob of his cane, a necessity for his damaged leg, and shook his head with intense remorse.
“It was an old truck backfiring.” Matty said quietly. “It was so loud and sudden, especially on a quiet street. We were just walking to the park, talking amongst ourselves, and then ‘bang!’… Dios, it took just a millisecond. At that moment I wasn’t in Houston anymore, I swear all I could see was smoke and all I could smell was mud and decay and-…I just reacted.”
“The next thing I knew Charlie was underneath me, and he was screaming… I was frozen, just watching my son scream in pain, until Wanda was shouting ‘Get off of him Matt! Get off of him!’… Wanda rode with him in the ambulance, and she took the baby too, because I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t touch him for days, I just felt so sick with what I had done to my little boy. Not even five years old and I had broken his arm. I tackled my son, trying to protect him by reflex, and I broke his pinche arm. Dios, Wanda was holding our newborn daughter at the time, if it had been them that I-!”
“Shh…” Imelda hushed him, rubbing his white knuckled grip on his cane until his fingers loosened. “But you didn’t. They’re both fine, and so is Charlie. They all know that you didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Matty nodded shakily, smiling at his mother in thanks. “Yeah… Yeah, I know. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that, but my therapist says that line of thinking is normal for someone with my condition. I’m trying to get better-”
“You’re seeing a shrink?” Héctor asked, his brow furrowing to show his confusion and slight aversion to the very idea. “But why? Everything turned out alright, Charlie’s arm is better. It’s fine.”
“No, Papá, it’s not fine. In fact, it hasn’t been fine for a very long time for me.” Matty said. “Over the years a lot of things have bothered me. Certain smells trigger images in my mind, I can’t stand the sound of fireworks, even low flying planes make me freeze up and panic. I’ve been dealing with it for years by simply avoiding it, like not accompanying my family for Fourth of July picnics or other situations where these triggers might occur. But this last incident made me realize that I can’t avoid the unpredictable.”
Héctor still looked uncertain as Matty spoke, but Imelda nodded encouragingly for him to continue.
“Wanda recommended a therapist from the hospital she works at. He’s good, Papá. He diagnosed me with shell-shock, something that a lot of former soldiers get so it’s not just me. But that's not all. He says my triggers go all the way back to Leti’s death, how it still affects my emotions and my interactions with my family to this day. I’m sure you all already know about that, but I didn’t really see it until he spelled it out for me. That I sometimes hurt them, and you guys, unintentionally. That I’m somewhat, well… emotionally stunted. But he’s been helping me a great deal. I feel like I’m making progress so far.”
“That’s wonderful, mijo.” Imelda said, leaning over to kiss his cheek and grimacing at the scratchiness of it. “Maybe your therapist can convince you to shave as well.”
“I can’t.” Matty laughed, running his fingers down his goatee and grateful for the well-intentioned nagging to lighten the mood. “Last time I did Charlie cried for a whole day; thought I was a stranger instead of his Daddy. I’d hate to do that to Clara as well.”
Héctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, then turned his attention back to the baby in his arms. “Sí, well good for you mijo. If you think that’s what you need then I’m happy for you. And this little girl is happy too. Aren’t you, cileita? Look at Abuelito. Ay, que lindaaa…”
As Héctor babbled and cooed at the baby, he didn’t notice that Matty and Imelda exchanged worried glances at each other. He continued until Matty cleared his own throat to get his attention, and his smile faded when he saw the two of them staring intently at him. “What?”
Standing up and walking with the aid of the cane, Matty reached out an arm and gently took his daughter out of Héctor’s hold. “Um, Papá… What I just told you about my struggles… Didn’t that seem at all, I don’t know… Familiar to you in any way?”
Héctor blinked dumbly at that, starting to not like how Imelda was starting to look sad as she stared at him. “No?”
Matty huffed out a sigh. “Come on, Papá. You must see where I’m coming from: Triggers that upset you, make you angry and in turn upset everyone around you? Avoidance of certain stimuli, to the point of outright banning it? Do you understand?”
“Oh… Oh!” Héctor laughed out, relieved. “Oh, I understand what you’re saying now. The music thing. Listen, it’s just not my kind of thing anymore. I know I owe a great deal to it, that the whole family does, but it’s time to move on. There’s more to our business than music, you know. There’s the hospitals, the schools, the canning factories, and of course the shoe business that you have turned into an empire all by yourself, my clever boy. Did I hear that they’re going to be on almost every athlete’s feet in the Olympics next year?”
“Please don’t change the subject, Papá.” Matty said in exasperation. “It’s not like you don’t care for music anymore Papá. You can’t stand it. You’re afraid of it.”
Héctor smiled, again a little too widely, and patted his son’s shoulder. “You think that- Ay yi yi, such a sweet boy, thinking about your Papá like that. Well you don’t have to worry about me, Matty.”
“Papá, you don’t listen to music. You don’t want anyone to listen to music. You’re avoiding it because it’s a trigger! And the thing about triggers is sometimes you can’t avoid them. If you don’t prepare yourself you could end up hurting yourself or worse: someone you love!”
“I don’t have what you have, Mateo. That, uh-… shell-shock, right? No, I don’t have it. I’m not a soldier, this is completely different.”
“It doesn’t always have to be about fighting in a war Papá.” Matty explained. “It can be caused by a very traumatic event that you witness. And I can’t think of anything more traumatic than watching your best friend-”
“I do not… have… shell shock!” Héctor snapped, pointing a finger to both his son and his wife. “We don’t need music, we’ve gone nine years without it, and we’re fine. I don’t avoid it, I just don’t like it anymore. I’m not like you, alright?! I don’t need help! I don’t need a shrink! I’m not crazy!”
“Héctor!”
At his wife’s hissing voice Héctor stopped his tirade in shock. Clara was crying in her father’s arms, deeply disturbed that the sweet old man who had held her before was now loud and scary. And Matty looked at his father, jaw clenched and eyes downcast. His throat bobbed a few times and Héctor saw his lips tremble a little before he looked up to glare at his father.
“You think… I’m crazy, Papá?”
“No!” Héctor gasped, placing his hands gently on his son. “Oh no, not you mijo, no… You’re uh… a special case. You have a condition, si? Happens to soldiers all the time, like you said right? If it makes you feel better than I’m all for it! You go to your shrink, and-”
“It’s therapist, Héctor.” Imelda said harshly, glaring at him as she moved to stand next to her son. “Not shrink. You say it like it’s a disease.”
Héctor sagged, not looking either of them in the eye anymore. “Therapist, right…”
Not liking how the fun visit with his son and granddaughter had turned so toxic and claustrophobic so fast, Héctor inched his way out the door to make a hasty retreat. “Listen, I think we need to just forget about this, so I’ll just leave for a while. I’m gonna go to the house- I mean… the museum. Get it all ready for the party tomorrow. That’s why you’re here, right Matty? Gotta make it a special day for your brother! Okay, I’ll see you later!”
As they both watched Héctor race towards the garage in an effort to get as far away and as fast as possible, Matty soothed his daughter back into an easy slumber and mumbled softly. “I’m here for my sister too… Guess he’s avoiding that as well…”
“I’m so sorry, Mateo.” Imelda hugged her son close and rubbed his back. “He didn’t mean to upset you. I know you tried to help, but he needs to want to be helped, claro?”
“He’s only getting worse Mamá.”
Imelda shook her head. “He’s not usually this bad. He has his good days more than his bad. It’s just that this time of year is so hard on him, you understand right? It was a terrible day for all of us, but even more so for your father. It nearly destroyed him.”
“I just wanted to help him. Help all of us… At least I tried.”
“Yes you did. It will be alright, mijo.” She smoothed back his hair and took the sleeping baby from his arms to give her a kiss. “Let’s change the subject, sí? I want to know all about your plans for Helsinki next year! How many pairs of shoes are we talking about?”
Matty smiled softly at his mother, letting her drag him into a boring, yet calming, conversation about shoes once again to soothe the pain of his father’s words. As he and Imelda talked about the Olympics next year, the upcoming winter catalogue, the demand to not smoke in the kitchen, and the vague plans of expanding to include a clothing line in the upcoming future, things seemed to fall back into a relative peace. There was still hurt there in Héctor’s heart, but nothing they couldn’t overcome as a family.
Things couldn’t possibly get any worse, right?
-----
As Victoria put away her pointe shoes into it’s shoe box she looked up to see Miguel staring at the contest poster.
Again.
For probably the billionth time within the last hour.
Her Mamá’s surprise had really put a damper on their little practice session, and soon even Charlie had grown bored with the lack of guitar playing from his tío and had gone off to play with Elena instead. Miguel just sat and stared at the poster with that dumb grin on his face, tracing the letters and illustrations with reverence like he did with all his other de la Cruz memorabilia.
But even if she felt like she didn’t get enough practice in, Victoria found that she didn’t really mind it in the slightest. She could see Miguel already going through the performance in his head, his eyes closing momentarily as if basking in applause that only he could hear. Then he’d continue to look at the poster and the process would repeat.
It was dumb, but Victoria was glad. It was about time Miguel was excited about something for his birthday. She couldn’t wait to see the performance herself. And maybe, hopefully, this would be a stepping stone for her. Maybe she would one day get to perform on stage, maybe even get a real teacher. Share a stage with her ballet idols. It was exciting to think about, but for now she would just be happy for Miguel.
“So, musico…” Victoria hummed, smiling when Miguel dumbly broke free from his trance to look at her. “What are you going to play tomorrow?”
With an excited grin, Miguel looked at the poster again and nodded to himself. Confidently. Assuredly. “Definitely Remember Me!”
Victoria sighed. “Why did I even ask?”
#somos familia#coco fanfiction#miguel rivera#Hector Rivera#mama coco#mama imelda#pixar coco#coco pixar#why did it take so long to write this?#because it was mostly exposition for what's to come#and that always sucks
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Healing through the Himalayas
I was unnerved at the thought of these mountains, aging near 50 million years old, full of history and wealth. There above lies rigid peaks and soaring heights, strong waters and vivid sharp-edged granite building the homes of the wild. The comprehension of beauty is influenced by comparison, however, there’s not a damn thing on the planet deserving enough to be compared to the Himalayas. They’re alive and awake, growing every day, shaped and shifted by avalanches and tremors and growing rivers fed by melting glaciers and the snow leopards, one of the only carnivores of the Himalayas, lies present yet silent, symbolic and representative to the creator of nature. There’s something alive here, hidden in plain sight, echoing out and drawing me closer. Something I feel I can reach yet is impossible to touch. Something I so long to search for, whatever it may be.
I reached for the benefit of the beauty of nature over the fear of the unknown. Unable to sleep, I drifted between anxious shakes and these visions of eagles gliding along the soaring heights of the mountain range, Himalayan mountain sheep grazing in herds leaping between dry bushes and through the in-betweens, I saw a blurred vision of my father. Maybe the unearthliness and historic existence measure the markings of spirit within the Himalayas. I’ve always liked to believe that there’s an existential energy out there that lies between Earth and the resting world. One that holds the past souls but prevails in the present. One that doesn’t speak a human language but communicates well. Perhaps a world we still find ourselves in. Perhaps this alerting energy that bellows in nature.
The awareness and truth of suffering, the first of buddha’s teachings lie known across the land of the Himalayas and have fallen upon my lap, left to assimilate.
I packed his ashes into a locket and I arrived late at night in a slow, small airport. There were crowds of taxi drivers yelling across the fence. I walked, exhaustedly, as they followed the travelers and me out to the parking lot. I hopped into a jeep with a quiet older gentleman who spoke little English. Too tired to put effort into a conversation, I watched the dirt roads ahead of us full of potholes. I paid most of my attention to avoid hitting my head against the windows until I arrived at the hostel. I fell asleep quickly on the top floor that had windows wrapping around the entire building that would once allow the sun to wake me as it rose.
In the morning, I lied awaiting the rest of the city to slowly waken as I craved the chance for a warm cup of tea. I stared out the window as the sun rose above Swayambhu, a temple full of greedy monkeys, one that embodies 365 steps to achieve its beauty. While the beauty lies in every corner through Nepal, it seems we had much walking to do to reach the most beautiful parts of the country.
An eye rub and groan across the room was noticed in the corner of my eye as I watched crows fly from building to building. He greets himself, a Tibetan man, 25 years old that did not know english very well spoke with me through google translate. He welcomed me to Kathmandu and stumbled across his words as he asked if I’d like to join him for breakfast. He guided me along to a restaurant through tall buildings, often a bit lopsided and accompanying cracks. The streets were hung with prayer flags and tourist shops were opening their doors. Namaste. Namaste. Namaste as we walked down the road. When he had finally reached the restaurant, no bigger than the average American sized bathroom, built by plastic chairs and wobbly tables. I enjoyed a rice meal and some tea and a slow conversation over google translate before he headed off to work that day. He asked me what I wanted to do that day and I pointed at Swayambhu. I hopped into a taxi and began the steps up 365 stairs. I followed the monkeys, soaked in the sun above the city with my eyes closed and welcomed the vibration of prayer wheels as they were spun by tourists and locals. I was here, accompanied by reason and purpose. Time was no longer a ticking clock, but a gift on this pursuit of searching and understanding this echo that led me to Nepal. I had no intention of leaving this place quickly. Many know how fascinated with leaving I had become. I had always wanted to leave. Run, in fact. But here, I don’t want to leave here.
The second noble truth: determining the cause of suffering. Desire and ignorance lying at the root.
After growing tired of the smog of the city, it was time to climb. I packed my bag with 2 pants, 2 shirts, a water purifier, a sleeping bag, some hiking boots, and a couple of layers to keep me warm through the next two weeks. It was enough and there are places in the world where you constantly feel like what you have isn’t enough. It feels good to strip down to the necessities of humankind. No one to compare riches and debts to. What matters from here is faith in yourself, trust in nature and to continue putting one foot in front of the other.
The trek began with a few hours walking through rice fields. It was colorful and quiet. I walked behind my Nepali guide who had curly hair and a passion for mountains. They were his home after all. He was shy and between the sounds of footsteps jumping over puddles and cattle grazing nearby, the habitual warming questions were soliloquized between. After all, I am spending the next two weeks with this man. I must get to know him and find the reason these mountains echo to him, what his reason is for climbing them for a living despite their obvious beauty. Perhaps for my own desire for clarity. I found out that he’s scared of dogs and swings, loves smoking weed and thought the phrase “Why not, coconut?!” was hilarious. We hopped around the trail until we finally reached the village we were staying at for the night. We shared some raksi, a traditional Nepali liquor, accompanied by dal baht, a traditional rice dish, that I fell in love with. And we laughed and laughed as the raski settled in and stared at the stars until our eyes grew heavy. I fell asleep to the sound of the Ngadi or “river” and the high pitch noise of the crickets.
Again, I rose with the sun, purified some water from the tap and walked alongside the river. This time for 8 hours to the town of Chamche. We took a stop at the base of this massive waterfall to cool down. In an attempt to get closer, I stepped on a grass patch that was not supported. I fell down the side of the cliff, completely burring myself with mud and grass. The mist was blinding being this close to the falls but I screamed and lifted my hand as high as the dirt allowed and was pulled up with nothing but a few scrapes, a sore foot and ankle, some leeches and a whole lot of luck. Upon arrival to Chamche, eating another serving of dal baht, he had the decency to ask me if I’m tired after walking 8 hours with a sore foot and ankle and I honestly didn’t know if he was serious or not but he looked at me waiting in silence for an answer. The day was best described by the words I wrote in my journal: I am climbing these mountains with a goddamn mountain goat.
I woke up to a throbbing foot and cramping calves. 5 hours today. I can do this. I ate lunch under an apple tree and dropped my sunglasses in the toilet or let’s say a full ‘hole in the ground’. Lovely. He said repeatedly “Bistārī, Bistārī” or “slowly, slowly.” He was right and he probably saw my frustration and felt it through my silence. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be a race. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be easy. If they were, no one would do it. I finally grew the courage to ask him why he does it. He said it’s in his Nepali blood. And they’re beautiful. He wants to own a tour company one day. And through his rambles, he eventually began to tell me how he started climbing mountains with his brother who passed away in a motorcycle accident two years ago. This was his connection and his dedication to his passing. I didn’t have words to respond and to break the silence, he pointed to the left of us and said: “that’s Annapurna 2.” I counted the rest of my steps with the Nepali words he taught me, “Ēka, du'ī, tīna, cāra, pām̐ca, cha..” and he corrected me as I went on with my mispronunciation.
I stayed up later than usual that night, despite how exhausted I was. It’s been a wave of emotions. This traveling is. Within a mountain lies the heavyweight of awareness due to the lack of distractions. Hours and hours of walking with nothing but your thoughts are the most draining part of it all. The conquerable part of it lies within a sufferer who climbs them anyway and does the difficult achievement of simply surviving.
Today, I fluctuated between ‘why am I doing this’ to ‘I’m so happy I’m doing this’. Today, I sat in a cafe and grew annoyed by a group of Israeli hikers complain about how they found a worm in their pasta. Today, I rolled my eyes to a couple of Americans moan about how they don’t have a private “bathroom.” Now despite being in the middle of the mountains on a trek that will reach near 17,000 feet, I have found myself more irritated with these people than I have with the fact that I have pulled hairs out of the past 3 meals I’ve eaten. Contemplation over whether to be disgusted or impressed with myself began. Is the lack of toilet paper I’ve used in the past few months of traveling impressing or? Is the cracking sounds that my socks make as I put them on in the morning disgusting? What about how comfortable I became peeing on the side of a road or trail? I’d say it’s impressive but I will leave that for each individual to decide.
The next few days, I spent plenty of hours practicing more Nepali, laid in the grass to watch the eagles fly in circles above, hiked up to lake Tilicho lake, the highest lake in the world to listen to ice crack and fall into the lake, and played an indefinite amount of card games with other trekkers. Oh, and ate all the dal baht I could possibly eat.
And when it was finally time to summit, we woke at 4 am before the sun, to a snowstorm and all I heard were the words, “Bistārī” or “Lagabhaga”. Almost. And my god, I have never hated a word more. When I reached the top and saw the tip of the Nepal flag, I walked as close as I could before I eventually collapsed to my knees. 17,769 feet. I cried after over a week of wondering if I’ll make it, if it’s worth it and constantly questioning why the hell I was doing it.
And it was for this. For the historic human instinct of healing through nature. The feeling of confronting the reflection in the walls of the mountains and the spirits that lay between them. For my dad. For the first time the entire trek, my backpack had felt like nothing and my foot had stopped throbbing. To be humbled and disciplined. To become more human. Enamored by the mountain range, my attitude changed. For so long I carried this feeling of defeat or numbness that I reconciled as avoidance and throughout the trail, there was nothing I could use to hide from myself.
I looked at my guide as he twirled and looked up at the mountains around us. “For you, my brother” he whispered. I hugged him and clenched my locket. We both laughed and fell into the piles of snow as we danced and yelled. All this mountain range was before we started was something beautiful that led to the sky and I looked up and thanked them for becoming so much more than that.
An end of suffering.
#me#nepal#yall I'm not even gonna lie#i could have written a book about this experiece#it was hard to put it into the length of a blog post#but here it goes
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey @neothebean, remember that horrible fanfic? Well the author finally updated!
Author’s Note: The ending of last chapter has been retconned slightly. It has been two years! :3 Sue me.
Miu took a bite out her half of Hart’s sandwich as she listened to him talk the bizarre abandon courtyard at the school. She was about to take her second bite, as Hart mumbled something about a poor attempt at drawing a parallel from an alternate dimension, when she sensed it. Someone was climbing the stairs! Are we even suppose to be up here?! Miu questioned if this dork got her in trouble on her first day as she sprang to her feet.
A boy wearing a red plaid shirt, a jean vest, that looks it was once a jacket, and motorcycle boots came crashing through the door. To Miu’s surprise, she know him. He was on the Bergard High School’s wrestling team during their freshmen year... that is until he was kicked off for cheating. She couldn’t remember his name though.
“Figured you’d take the lost pup up here, Carhagh.” he said with a proud snarl. Hart slowly rose to his feet, he was obviously trying to stay his normal calm and cheery self, but Miu was able to see the worry underneath. “Oh, hi Perry!” Hart said has he finally stood up and placed his hands behind his neck. “Pecarry...” Miu mumbles to herself now remembering. “IT’S PERRY!” Pecarry screams with a flourish of his hands. An expression crossed Pecarry’s face that looks like cold water just trickled down his back, Miu guess he realized he shouldn’t be yelling and drawing attention to them.
“I’m here to welcome you, lost pup,” Pecarry said, much quieter then his earlier speaking voice, as he cracked his knuckles. Miu wasn’t scared; her father had taught her self defense and she was able to beat him in wrestling even with him using illegal moves. Well she wasn’t scared until Hart got between them, urging them not to fight. A sudden sharp intense filled Miu’s head and she feel to her knees, Pecarry had used the distraction to throw a rock at her.
Perry advanced on his prey, despite Hart’s pleas. “Out of the way, Carhagh!” But Hart did not get out the way, in fact he got more in the way and pushed him. “Oh so you want to adopt the bitch, huh? We’ll see about that.” Perry grabbed Hart by the deer shirt and dragged him to the edge of the roof and dangled him over the side, over the abandon courtyard.
Miu’s senses were starting to return to her. She could hear a mocking filled voice, demanding what someone wanted to do with her... her? Her Miu? With her vision starting to unblur, she realized the sight before her. Rage began bubbling within her. Hart had nothing to do with this. Before she could even think she was already right behind Pecarry. She grabbed him and pulled him, and Hart, to the ground, away from the edge. Miu found herself on top of Pecarry, raining blows down. She felt someone grab her left arm, without missing the tempo of her punches her right arm swung and found purchase on the one who would dare stop her.
“...Miu...” The quietness, shock, disbelief, and pleading nature at which her name was called gave her pause. The red haze was lifting from her eyes. She looked at Hart, her fist still pressed against his stomach, pain plainly showed on his face. Hart’s hand found the top of Miu’s fist, “...Stop...” Miu glanced at Pecarry, when did she even get on top of him? She had broken his noise. The white haired girl turned back to Hart, who shot her a pain filled smile. Miu recoiled from Hart’s touch, what had she done? She was on her feet and running before she finished asking herself that question. Miu still didn’t have an answer by the time she finished running all the way to her bed.
((Meta Author Note: I had actually plotted out a Pecarry confrontation on the roof, complete with Hart being dangled and Miu saving him, for the first one of these, but I ran out of the time I set for myself. Doubt it would have turned out like this though haha))
Chapter 2: The Lost Goat
A young girl of about eight got off the school bus and waved good bye to her new friends. Her head turned this way and that, clearly looking for something, but with a shrug it was clear the brown haired girl didn’t find it. Hima was sure her sister would be waiting for her, but perhaps she had to use the bathroom? So she made the small walk home, alone.
When she finally reached her door, after pausing to look at an ant hill and some flowers, and contemplating if she should take a very interesting rock or to leave it for others to enjoy (she left it), she found it locked. She was so happy her mother agreed with Miu when she argued that Hima should get her own key. Letting herself in, she noticed Miu’s shoes were by the door. A quest to find Miu it was! But quietly, in case she was asleep.
Through the open plains, past the firy volcano, and into the cave, Hima checked to see if Miu was at watering hole like she thought she might be. Miu-less. Perhaps upstairs? She retraced her steps and climbed the arduous mountains and head into the caves to the left. No Miu here. Only the Wolf’s Den left to check. As Hima approached she heard it... crying. If Miu was crying so openly, even if she thought she was home alone, it must be something really bad. Hima slowly pushed open Miu’s door.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Miu sat in her bed, knees to her chest, crying as she never had before. What happened to her? Why did she do what she did? It was like her body went on auto-pilot and she lost herself. ...And then there was Hart... Pecarry deserved his broken nose, but Hart... sure she kinda wanted to, lightly, punch him in the arm for being so... annoying? She still wasn’t sure exactly how he made her feel, but whatever it was, he didn’t deserve this. His face when she came to her senses... How can she ever face him again? After being so kind to her, this is how she repays him? ... Also how can she face him again, literally? Her first day at a new school and she was already involved in attacking two people, was in an area she probably wasn’t suppose to be in to begin with, and skipped her after lunch classes. She would be lucky to see him again... or maybe it was lucky that she most likely won’t. The white hair girl felt a pang in her stomach as she thought that. What was tha..!! Miu did have time to contemplate the pang as she saw her door move and Hima appearing a moment later.
Sign. If it had been anyone else she would have been mortified, but she always felt like she could be herself around Hima. Miu dried her eyes on her bed sheet as Hima climbed into bed with her and began speaking. The words washed over Miu, calming here, grounding her. Sometimes, Hima seemed like such an old soul that Miu wondered if she was really her sister and not some mystical spirit that decided to settle down with her family.
“...the scary lady wanted to keep her, but the agent father and daughter insisted that they help get her home.” Hima said. “Is this the same goat person that visited the bunny people?” Miu interrupted. Hima looked at Miu, “Yes, her name is Stick. Now where was I..” Miu looked at the clock, it was already so late... dinner would be ready soon. Any moment now the phone would ring to inform her parents of what she did. Dinner came and went without a single call. It was already past twelve-thirty by the time Miu decided she needed to stop staring at the clock and get some sleep. Closing her eyes and leaned back into her pillow, her thoughts drifted to the goat person from her sister’s stories, Stick, far from home and in strange lands, the unknown never seemed to bother her. She didn’t know what tomorrow ... or today, she guessed, was going to bring, but as sleep overtook her she had the feeling that she was going to get through it.
Chapter 3: Getting Through It
Miu stood before the steps of the school, head held high and ready to accept her fate... at least on the outside, on the inside she was curled in a ball, mind racing trying to figure out how she could get out of this situation. With each step her heart quickened. Soon she joined her heart at the door, with a quicker inner sigh she pushed through, and standing right there was the principle. Step by step Miu progressed, ready for the blow she knew would come. “Miss Tazino,” Miu felt her blood run cold, “Try not to lose track of time today,” the principle said with a slight smile. A slight sure was all Miu was able to get out, completely stunned she made her way to her first class, not even hearing the slight jeers aimed at her.
“Miu! Hey Miu!” And then there was Hart, she wished she wasn’t there then. “Hey Hart, about yesterday...” Miu started, but Hart cut her off. “We can talk about it later. I know you didn’t mean to get all crazy violent, and that you feel bad about, so that means you are willing to work on your angry problems! Don’t worry about it” A large smile shot across Hart’s face as he placed his hands behind his head. Miu searched his soul orbs. She didn’t understand what made him tick, nor tock for that matter. “Also don’t worry about getting in trouble, Perry is always getting in a fight and he never tells anyone with whom, and I hid in a bathroom till after school and told the principle I lost track of time... she seemed to have expected that. I still need to copy the notes I missed from my friend, Brush, but I should have them by third period. See you then! Have a good class!”
Miu was speechless. Wha... what just happened... She realized how much of an idiot she must be looking like just standing in the middle of the hall and quickly rushed into her classroom. Spotting her, very tired looking, teacher at her desk, Miu goes over to find out what she was responsible for. Taking the desk the teacher pointed out, unpacks, and pulls out a book to read while waiting for class to start.
The bell rings. Miu puts her book away and starts taking notes. About three minutes into class, her desk is kicked from behind. Thinking nothing of this, Miu continues absorbing her lesson, but then thirty seconds later, another kick jostled her desk. Again and again, nearly clockwork, every half a minute her desk would be hit, and just like clockwork, tick by tick her annoyance was raised. She didn’t dare look back, knowing if she did the chance of her making a scene was too great. No, she bottled it up and hope whoever was doing it would get bored. They did not.
When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the teacher was the first one out of the door. Miu swung her head to look behind her to see a bored looking girl with dark hair, except for a streak of firetruck, packing her bag. She paid no mind to the girl in front of her staring daggers in her direction, and started to get up.
“Why did you keep kicking my desk all class?” Miu demanded. “Oh, was I?” she replied with a tone that said she knew what she did and dared Miu to do something about it. With gritted teeth, “Yes, you were.Please don’t do it again,” Miu manged to say. “Sorry about that,” without a trace of being sorry, “I was trying to think of a new cheer routine for next week when we beat you red-eyed puppies next week. I guess I got carried away.” She paused for a second to study Miu’s face before flipping her hair and exiting the class to join two girls who were waiting at the door for her.
Miu realized who the kicker was now: Cari, Cheerleader Captain of Bergard. A powerful enemy to have on the High School battlefield, but she wasn’t expecting to have nothing but enemies coming to this school.
She made it through her second class of the day without incident. When she was done talking to her third teacher and turned to find a seat, Hart was already flagging her down to sit next to him. With a large internal sigh and a small external eye roll, Miu made her way to the seat next to Hart. “Hey! How were your first two classes?” Hart greeted her with a lazy smile; Miu replied with a shrug.
“Brush missed class do to football practice, so I had to ask Mouse...” Hart’s expression darkened for just a moment, but it was enough for Miu to catch. He then offers her a notebook, “Anyway, here are all the notes you should need. Feel free to take a few days to copy it.” She accepted it, noting the cover was filled with stickers of animals, mainly deer and otters. Her expression must have changed because Hart chimed in, “Oh those just represent people I like. A little silly I know...” Hart trails off into one of his big grins that she ... “Okay class, please open your books to page 123, today we will be studying...” Saved by the bell.
Chapter 4: It’s Better Than Without A Light
And so she got through it. A couple of weeks go by without much incident, other than an ever more antagonizing Cari and mean glares from Pecarry, Just school stuff and Hart’s enigma iron-willed attempt at being her friend. She meet Hart’s friend, Brush, who was the quarter back for the Bergard’s football team. He seemed okay the few times she meet him, except he always seemed like he didn’t want to be around her. Which was fine with her, she didn’t need friends, if only Hart would feel the same way. ...And she meet Mouse, Miu would have gladly taken a hundred Cari’s over a single Mouse.
At lunch, Miu’s phone goes off, “Now open your eyes, put yourself together. Now you should accept this, it is over. Now keep your eyes on this confusion. C’mon, yes, you should watch this transformation,” she checks said phone. It was a text from her father reminding her to pick up her sister at school at 4:00. She looked up to see Hart’s questioning face, “Oh that was my dad...” “No, not that, that is none of my business. Was your ringtone from The World Ends With You?” Hart interrupted. “Yeah it is, Transformation.” replied Miu.
Quicker then she has ever seen Hart move, he pulled out his Nintendo Switch. “Have you played the final remix version? It has co-op, would you want to play during lunch?” Miu only got an, “Um, sure.” before she had a joycon in her hand. “Remind me later,” Hart requested,” to show you an amazing easy-listening cover of Calling by Secondhand Sharks.”
That was lunch for the next couple of weeks. They would talk and found out more about each other. “So you mentioned your dad earlier, what does he do? My mum is a cop and my da is in construction,” Hart asked. “My mother manages some sort of coding project from home, she is still getting set up at our new house,” Miu hesitated, “and my father works at Phoenix.” Hart turns to look at Miu, “Phoenix? That research place a few miles out of town?” “Yeah, he is part of the staff there. In fact that is the reason why I changed schools, he wanted to live a few minutes closer to work.” Hart was quiet for the rest of the day.
Chapter 5: Fuzzy
Miu was sick; she had been for a week. It was Friday again, she had felt well enough to go to school that morning, but her mother insisted she stay home and fully recover. Besides you might still be infectious, she had told her, I will not have the school asking why I let a sick child go to school. So in her room Miu stayed, trying to keep her mind off the mountain of school work she was sure had accumulated during the week. If only she could have gone to school today so she could tackle it over the weekend...
Ding-dong. Blinking, Miu’s eyes fluttered open, must have fallen asleep. What time was it? Judging from the light it was about mid-afternoon, glancing at her clock she confirmed this as it was 3:33. Did Hima forget lose her key? No, she reminded herself, her sister was going to be sleeping over at a new friend’s house tonight. She could hear voices downstairs, her mothers and one that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quit place with the distance and her still being sleepy. She heard the door close, but their conversation did not. Miu sat up slightly in bed as she heard her mother climb the stairs.
With a soft knock, Yumari slowly opened the door, “Oh good, you are awake. There is a boy named Hart here to see you,” she paused and raised a single eyebrow as her daughter suddenly sprang fully into a sitting position at the mention of Hart, “He says he brought over your school assignments. Should I send him up?” With a small smile on her face, placed by watching her daughter’s vigorous nod, Yumari left to fetch Hart.
In an even gentler voice than normal, “Hey there Miu! I brought over this weeks school work. How are you feeling? Are you okay?” With a huff, “Do not talk to me as if I were a wounded animal! I am perfectly fine, I just had a little stomach bug,” but gentler, “But thank you for bringing my assignments... Did the principal ask you to deliver them?” “No, I asked if I could bring them. I know you were stressed about having to make up work when you transferred. I wanted to bring it over after just three days, but was told that you or parents slash guardians had to request it. I guess after a couple more days of nagging them about it, they decided it was simpler this way,” Hart smiled widely as he pulled out a folder and his notebook and handed them to Miu, “The folder has all the worksheets and assignments in it and the notebook has... well notes. haha” Trying, and failing, to repress a smile, Miu thanked him.
Miu was flipping through the loose pages in the folder, giving them a quick scan to see what was required of her, when Hart said, “Hey, um, you said you were feeling better, if you are up for it, and if you think your mom would be okay with it, would you want to play some The World Ends With You? We are super close to the end!” With a smile, Miu closed the folder and put it and the notebook on her nightstand and made a grabby hand motion at Hart.
They played for a little over an hour, Yumari “casually” checking on them a couple of times. When they finally beat it, Hart noticed the time, “Oh bother! I need to get going! I had told my Ma I was going to come over but I didn’t expect to stay this late. ... Hey Miu, thanks. I really missed you this past week...” Miu stared into his blue(?? What color are his eyes? The wiki is down and I am too lazy to get up to get the book. Someone tell me down in the comments) orbs, the windows to his kind, gentle soul. She started to feel lightheaded... her mother was right, she hadn’t fully recovered from her illness. “Yeah.. I missed you too.” With that Hart was gone, she heard him talking to her mother downstairs, and the door opening and closing.
She sat there for a couple of minutes, afraid to move, in case the sickness flares up again. Eventually she grabs the folder and notebook and starts going through them again. After getting a good idea on what she needs to do, she starts turning to the section for this past week’s science notes.. but she doesn’t get to them. She stops. There on the divider between sections, amongst the other stickers was a fuzzy white wolf sticker. She sat there, just looking at it. Then, gently, she reached out and gave it a little pat and smiled.
#neothebean#Happy Birthday!#... or maybe unhappy birthday? because this is probably a punishment...#It takes a good writer to write enjoyably bad and I am a bad writer...#I also used up most of the bad fanfic tropes I know last time.#but I do think I got Miu to be further away from in-character aligned#Anyway I do hope you find some enjoyment out of this#Will there be more? Will I ever read back past the last sentence I just wrote? Will I do any research ever?#Will characters sound different from each other? Will there be a plot? Did I even attend a high school? Or interact with another human being#The answer to all this and more is: probably not
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
To be Her O.A.O. (one-and-only)
written by: @noneyabidnes
Rating: Mature (in future chapters)
Prompt 73: Katniss marries Gale before he’s sent to fight WWII. Gale sends home his buddy Peeta to break the news to his wife and family that he’s fallen in love with someone else in Europe and is staying there after the war… Peeta is under the impression Katniss is a cold woman that only married his friend out of obligation but finds out the other side of the story soon enough. [submitted by @alliswell21]
Tags: era-appropriate derogatory terms for Axis powers, amputation, angst
A/N: I got permission from @alliswell21 to shift from Europe to the Pacific Theater of Operations, since I geek out over that side of WWII history (my Pop was in some of the places mentioned in this story.) This was intended as a one-shot. I didn’t want to commit to chapters, but it’s spiraled out of control and now I can’t stop myself. I’ll cross-post it on ffnet (ryebrewster) and hopefully will find some closure. If you find some of the language awkward or somewhat un-PC, I was attempting to be era and region appropriate, but it’s hard to write an Appalachian and a Philly accent without both coming across pretty hick. Guess I never listened to myself talk before. -rye
–//–//–//–//–//–//–//–
Chapter 1
At the moment, I can’t believe this road ever ends. It rolls away from me, ever higher, ever rockier, taunting me with each uneven step I take. Foolish me had thought I would just hitch a ride. I should have guessed from the name that it would be a ‘road less traveled by.’ Rocky Ridge doesn’t exactly sound welcoming, but Gale had always made it sound like the closest a man could get to heaven. At least, until he met a certain honey-tongued Polynesian girl whose hips swayed like the island breezes. Then heaven made a quick detour to places on her that we best not discuss in public and I definitely won’t be discussing whenever I find the end of this infernal road.
I pause, resting on a particularly large boulder off the side of the narrow road. Hard to believe any car could make it up the path. Certainly not my Dad’s old Tudor, scraping its fenders on each slight turn to avoid the next large rock too heavy to move, and barely jeepable given how narrow. Briefly my inability to drive doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but then the throbbing in my left leg reminds me that walking isn’t a great alternative either. I’m still getting the hang of my prosthetic, despite all the weeks (oh God, it’s been months, hasn’t it) spent in rehab in San Diego.
Gazing around me, I can begin to see what Gale always beat his gums about. These forests are beautiful, and so peaceful. Such a shift from the tropical forests in which we stewed. The proximity of my memory is enough to shake me from enjoying the moment. The color green took on such an ugly connotation during the war. Sitting on this boulder, I feel like I want to reclaim the hue and give it back its fresh and lovely place in my mental palate, but I do wonder if there will ever be a time when I won’t associate lush forests with machine-gun fire and jungle rot.
As the leaves flutter in the breeze, I catch a brief glimpse of metal roof in the distance. Finally, I may be making progress. Once more I pull the wrinkled and cracked photo from my pocket. Katniss. Her scowl hasn’t changed since he first handed me the image three years ago. At the time, it was to boast about the girl waiting back home. When he handed it to me again five months ago, it was to beg me to explain to her. To get her forgiveness, if not her blessing, for him not coming home. I hope the lump of cash in my rucksack would help to secure it, but her scowl challenges me each time I look at it. He’d said she was an easy woman to love, but an impossible one to live with. I can only imagine how she’ll feel about a crippled stranger appearing on her doorstep.
Righting myself again, I’ve renewed hope that the distance isn’t much farther. It’s as I round another bend that I hear the arrow whizzing past and striking a tree several feet to my left. My gaze slides to my right as I’m reminded that I’ve no firearm.
“I don’t miss twice,” the voice growls from the foliage. It’s feminine and angry, a combination I’ve been warned about but didn’t think I would confront quite so soon.
“I don’t intend to be aimed at twice.”
“Could hear you coming from a mile away. What business you got up Rocky Ridge?”
“Gale sent me.”
I can hear the air sucked out of her lungs despite the distance. The silence stretches on before she quietly emerges, her bow lowered at her side. Immediately I know it’s her. I’ve stared at her picture long enough that I would know those high cheekbones and quicksilver eyes anywhere. Her braid is loose with fly-aways and her neck shows the proof of a battle with some clawed creature. For a moment my memory jumps back to Philadelphia and the unfortunate circumstances of my own childhood, but I think these scratches aren’t human. Katniss clearly is of the forest, part dryad, part fairy, Artemis herself standing before me, at home in nature in a way I’ve never been.
“Gale? Is he…?” she breathes out, fear seeping into the short syllables.
“He’s alive.” It’s all she needs to hear for now. Her head drops and she lets out another long breath.
“I guess you’ll be wanting something to drink. Doesn’t look like you packed for the hike.”
“I am a bit parched. My canteen dried up two clicks ago. You’d think I’d be better at rationing, but I had no idea the road was this long.”
“Clicks? You talk funny. Where you from?”
“Philadelphia, ma’am, but clicks is how we measure distance in the Marines. Kilometers. Gale never mentioned you guys live so far out of town.”
She just nods, turning her back to me and heading off through the greenery, on a path only she sees. I follow her on the assumption that it must be a short-cut to the house, not because I’m keen to test my prosthetic out over the exposed roots and downed branches.
“I can’t walk as fast as you, ma’am. The Japs took my leg along with a bunch of my friends.”
She stops and slowly turns back to face me. “And you walked all this way? Why didn’t you catch a ride in town?”
“I didn’t realize no one would be coming out this way. Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia. There’s always traffic everywhere you look. Never occurred to me that I might walk out of town and never pass another car.”
“I can walk slower. I’m not getting any hunting done with you making all that racket. My sister’ll check your leg when we get up there, then I can give you a ride back.”
“I did come to speak to you.”
She nods again, turning away from whatever I might have to say. Silence descends upon us. Normally I would fill it, but I’m struggling enough just to stay upright, that I don’t bother to engage her, and I figure her for the quiet type anyway. She’s alert, taking in the sounds of the forest around us, and I find myself remembering following Gale in much the same way through the mountains of Okinawa, the resemblance both eerie and comforting.
After longer than my leg would prefer, a clearing opens up before us with a handful of houses and barns dotted across the ridge. Sheep and goats graze below me in a field while a couple horses stand in the shadow of the closest barn. It appears to have seen better days, needing a fresh coat of paint, but it’s obvious that someone has been attempting repairs on it from the ladder propped against the side leading to relatively fresh boards. She catches me staring at it as she turns around to check my progress.
“We had a bit of a storm a couple weeks back. Some branches took out an old window. Took forever to clean up all the glass, but at least none of the goats ate any.”
I take it that she performed the repair herself, a fact that would surprise me if she were any of the women I grew up around, but seems perfectly normal given what I’ve already learned of her. I search the hillside for any sign of a man, young or old, and come up empty.
“Do Gale’s brothers help you out at all?”
Her eyes narrow at me, clearly not suspecting I had knowledge of the younger boys. Her scowl settles as she explains, “Rory’s taken up working for the lumber yard in town and he takes Vick down with him. Vick runs deliveries for the grocery. They both pull their weight around here. We all do.”
She’s offended, that much is clear. “I would never doubt that you do, ma’am. From everything Gale told me, you’re all a well-oiled machine up here. I just don’t think he knew the boys had taken up jobs while he was gone. I think he hoped his pay was enough to keep you all afloat, along with your hunting of course.”
Her scowl deepens as she steps closer to me. “You say he’s alive but you keep talkin’ bout him in the past tense. You gonna tell me what you’re doin here, soldier? You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”
I can’t help but stumble back at the intensity of her ire. It draws her attention to my leg, still unstable on the steep ground. Her face softens briefly before the scowl returns. “Let’s get you inside and off that leg.”
The house is just a handful of rooms lumped together with a porch across the front. It’s clear at a glance that as space was needed, they just built on with whatever materials were available, but there’s a pride that’s been taken in the appearance nonetheless. Flowers bloom along the front of the porch and herbs hang drying from the rafters. Two rockers with flowered cushions are tucked against the house, sheltered equally from the sun and any rain that might roll through.
As we step through the door the only light filtering through comes from a handful of windows of varying sizes. Gauze curtains blow gently at the open panes, reminding me of mosquito nets. I shake the memory off before it drags me down, instead turning my attention to the closest chair quickly being vacated by a young woman with delicate features similar to Katniss’s.
“Prim, let him sit. He’s a bad leg. Might need you to look at it. Walked all the way up here.”
“Why didn’t he ask Haymitch for a ride? Not like the man has anything better to do.” The young woman I’m guessing is Prim glances at me with equal parts scowl and concern as she makes room for me to sit.
“Not from around ‘ere, so he doesn’t know Haymitch from Adam,” Katniss offers. “Says he knows Gale.”
Prim halts in her movements as she takes me in. I’m dressed in my civvies and my hair has grown out a bit from my time in San Diego, but the duffle on my shoulder gives me away.
“You were with him? Is he okay? Where is he?”
It strikes me this is the first time the question has been asked and the unspoken one that follows. Why isn’t he here instead?
Katniss slams a tea kettle down on the fire box in the corner, breaking the tension with the clatter. “Prim, can you grab some of the tea from over there? I’m steep up some sweet tea quick while you check him out. Then I can give Mister—” she cuts off, realizing she still hasn’t asked my name.
“Mellark,” I supply, rising out of my seat to stand at attention. “Corporal Peeta Mellark, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marines. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hawthorne, Miss Everdeen.” I nod to each in turn. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer it up sooner. I was with Gale for a good chunk of my tour. We made it through Guam and Okinawa together. Even ended up side-by-side on the USS Hope being ferried back to Tongatapu after our artillery backfired. I promise you, he’s alive Mrs. Hawthorne.”
She had turned back to face the kettle, but with my final announcement, I can see her shoulders have risen to her ears.
“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles quietly, and I strain forward to hear her.
“Katniss,” Prim begins to scold.
“No, Miss Everdeen, it’s okay. Actually, it makes the rest of what I have to say easier.”
Katniss turns and I can see for the first time that tears line her eyes, just waiting to fall.
“He’s not coming back, is he Corporal?” she whispers, as though saying it too loud will make it true.
I shake my head slowly, wishing all of this had gone differently. “He doesn’t want a divorce. He figured you’d prefer it that way. But no, he’s not going to coming back to Virginia.”
“So there’s not another woman?”
I glance at Prim, unsure of how much Katniss wants me to reveal in front of the younger woman, but it’s clear the two are close.
“Um, I’m afraid to say, there is. She’s from the islands, Tongan, a sweet girl. He…” I stumble, unsure of whether I should finish the thought, knowing it might cause her more pain. “He said what was between the two of you was a partnership. That you had always said he deserved someone who loves him. She loves him plenty. He’s going to go back there, to Tongatapu, as soon as the clean-up is done in Japan and his tour is over. So, whether you get divorced or not doesn’t really change things for him. He still wants most of his pay to come here. He knows you’re looking out for his family.”
She nods at what I say and sinks into a chair by the stove. “He had stopped sending letters after Guam. I didn’t…I didn’t even know he’d been injured. Did he…? Is he okay?”
“He didn’t lose anything important, if that’s what you mean. Lost a little chunk of his ear. His hearing’s not so great, not that it ever was.” She chuckles lightly at my jab. “I’d still be out there helping with the clean-up if it wasn’t for my leg. They had to send me stateside to learn to walk again. I last saw him in Tonga when he was shipping back out.”
“And he asked you to find me.”
I nod though I know she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is out the window, toward the houses down the ridge, where I presume the rest of his family lives.
“Said he couldn’t write you a Dear Jane letter. He wants me to write him when I know you’re okay.”
She stiffens at the sentiment. “Okay? As though I’ll be perfectly fine with a complete stranger just showing up and telling me my husband has abandoned me for another woman?”
I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat, but I cough to try to dislodge it. “Pardon my forwardness ma’am, but was he ever really your husband?”
At that her eyes snap back to me. The pot behind her is obviously boiling so she stands to move it off to the side of the stove and sets about putting tea into cheesecloth. “What Gale was to me is really none your business. Seems like he must’a told you an awful lot though, you coming here like this. What’s in it for you?”
I sigh, knowing this was coming. “He saved my life on Okinawa. He realized the ordinance was about to backfire and tackled me out of the way. If he hadn’t, I would have lost a lot more than just my leg. I don’t really have a home to rush back to. I promised I’d check in on you and his family. Make sure that you understood it wasn’t anything you’d done wrong.”
The pot slams again and before I know it Katniss is out the front door. Prim watches her stomp out, but makes no move to follow her. I take my cue from the younger woman. I’m in no shape to chase Katniss across the hillside anyway. Prim shifts her gaze to me and tentatively starts asking me questions. Where am I from? Where did I fight? What was it like? Some I can answer easily, others leave me speechless. For all the rehabilitation they did for my leg in San Diego, no one ever really talked to me about how to deal with coming back home. No one talked about the nightmares we all wake from at night—or the ones that haunt us throughout the day. I fall silent eventually, when it gets to be too much, but in my focus on all her questions I haven’t noticed how she’s lifted my leg and been examining the spot where my prosthetic rubs against the stump, just below my knee.
“I’ve had miners who’ve lost hands and arms come through here. Mining means workin’ with TNT and it doesn’t always turn out s’good. I haven’t had any legs though. You’ve got your stump mighty irritated. I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it for you. You need to stay off it a coupla days to keep it from gettin’ infected. You can take my cot here in the living room. I’ve been sleepin’ in Katniss’s room most nights anyways s’as we don’t have to heat the whole house.”
She bites her bottom lip as though she’s said too much. I can’t fight the questions swirling around in my own brain.
“Did Gale ever live here?”
Her eyes widen as she takes me in.
“What did he tell you about the two of them?”
“That she’s easy to love but hard to live with.”
Prim lets out a soundless laugh. “He would say that. He thought it was love but she always knew better. They were great together—as hunting partners, as friends. When our Pa’s passed away, it was just us and two other families up here on the mountain. We had to band together to get through it all. My ma, well, she just couldn’t handle it. She was a nurse down at the clinic in town, but after…we couldn’t get her to leave the house. Gale’s Ma, she’s tougher. She buckled down and started taking care o’all us kids, but there were six o’us and only one of her. Wasn’t long before Gale and Katniss stepped up. They already knew how to hunt, had been going out in the woods together for years. Ma and I used to go out and pick herbs—we use them down at the clinic to help out people who can’t afford the expensive medicines. But I knew there were others that were edible, that we could live off of. I took Rory with me. We sold the goat and sheep’s milk down in town, though ain’t many people got a taste for it since they can get cow’s milk at the grocery for cheap. We make cheese out of it too.”
She peters out, unsure where her train of thought was going, and focuses to gently wrap my stump having already cleaned it. In a moment, the thought returns to her.
“He asked her to marry as a matter of convenience. He was shippin’ out and knew that if they were married it would be easier on his ma—and frankly I think he trusted Katniss to take care of all of us more than his ma. The woman is amazing, but she’s got a bit of a weakness for the drink, but then, most of the folks ‘round here do. They never stopped moonshinin’ ‘round these parts.”
She glances at the pot on the stove. “She never finished makin’ the tea, did she? You want something stronger? We have a little ‘shine around. Ma and I use it for our patients, but I’d say you fit the bill.”
I consider the offer before shrugging her off. I’ve never had moonshine, but there was some camp swill that would get passed around whenever we stayed too long at one post. Didn’t take much to get things to ferment in the jungle. Would rot your gut, but took the edge off the misery of sitting in a swamp day and night. And then there was the hooch at the clubs. Enough to make every Jane look like a pinup but all it took was one tale of Cupid’s Itch to scare us young GIs away from the women who hung around. Well, most of us anyway.
“I should stay sober. I don’t know what state she’s gonna be in when she gets back here and I can’t imagine she’s gonna be too pleased with you telling her I’m staying the night. I’m about the last person she wants to see.”
I find the thought makes me sad. I’ve been carrying her picture so long, there’s a part of me that feels like I know her. I’ve traced her scowl with my finger. I’ve practiced what I would say, though it didn’t come out that way. I’ve tried to imagine her smiling. Gale made it sound like an impossible feat, but I have a feeling there has to be a way to bring out that side of her—not that it’s my job to do that.
Prim’s voice cuts through my silent misery. “She’s not angry at you. She’s not even angry at him. And you seem like a nice guy. I mean, if Gale trusted you enough to send you all this way, you have to be a good guy. Usta be he’d kill anyone that came close to Katniss.” She pauses for a moment before looking me straight in the eye. “You don’t think he’ll ever come back?”
I shake my head. “I honestly can’t be sure. I don’t know that he’s thought it all through, but this girl of his is pregnant and his tour’s up in another month. He’s already gotten approval to stay in Tongatapu. They can’t live together on the base since they aren’t married, but he’ll be part of a skeleton outfit that maintains the place until the Navy decides it doesn’t need it anymore. By then, he’ll be through his commitment so he could go anywhere, but after all the things he said about him and Katniss fighting about having kids, I can’t imagine he would just take off if there’s a little one in the mix.”
“He’s like a big brother to me, y’know? After Pa died, Gale did a big part of raising us. I’m gonna miss him.”
“He talks about you guys all the time. He didn’t just carry Katniss’s picture, he carried all of yours.” I pull the well-worn photo of Katniss out of my pocket and her eyes widen in recognition.
“Why do you have that?” She snags it out of my hands.
“He gave it to me. Has your address on the back, or at least you used to be able to read it. It’s been through some things. He wanted to make sure I found her.”
“’Easy to love but hard to live with.’ That’s what he says?”
“Yep.”
“Well, she’s not going to get any easier now.”
With that, Prim straightens up and tosses the photo on the table, and begins re-organizing her supplies from cleaning my leg. My fingers itch to reach out and reclaim the picture. I’ll never admit it aloud, but that photo means something to me. The stories Gale told and the ones I’ve created in my own mind, the happy world they’ve built on this mountain despite all the hardship. I’m not ready to let that go. The door slams behind me before I find the courage to grab for it though.
“We need to go tell Hazelle,” she tosses the words at Prim, ignoring my presence completely. Prim acknowledges her but continues putting away her supplies.
“Peeta’s gonna sleep out here for a coupla nights while his leg heals up. He can’t be walkin’ on it til it’s calmed down some.”
I can feel Katniss’s glare on my cheek but can’t peel my own eyes away from my hands, still fighting to resist the urge to grab the photo.
“I could give him a ride into town so he could find a room to lay up meantime. Why’s he gotta stay here?”
Prim’s tone allows for no discussion. “He’s Gale’s best friend and he’s my patient. He ain’t gonna hurt us. You wanna kick him out on one good leg? God have mercy on your soul, big sis. It’s my bed I’m offerin’ up. He’s stayin’.”
I can feel the blush building up my neck at the insinuation that I might want anything untoward from them. Prim’s right. I would never want to take advantage. After all Gale has told me about these women, I could never, but another part of me is happy at the thought of being here—in a place that sounds more like a home than anywhere I’ve lived.
Katniss takes a step in front of me, forcing my attention up to her cold stare. “Don’t know what Gale was thinkin’ sendin’ you instead of a letter, but you best be on your Sunday behavior. I know how to skin a stag. You ain’t much of a challenge, Marine or no.”
Instinctively I know I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t fight it no matter how hard I try. “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll be a choir boy just for you.”
She smirks slightly before returning her attention to the forgotten tea. “I don’t need no choir boys ‘round here. Gale certainly ain’t one. But if you can carry a tune better’an him, that would be much appreciated.”
Prim’s smiling at me from across the room, so I know the awkwardness has passed, at least for the moment.
“And please, stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne. Ain’t nobody ever called me that. No point in startin’ now when we all know what Gale is up to.” She pauses in her work before turning back to me. “There’s a baby.”
She states it as fact. She’s not looking for confirmation, but I nod nonetheless and watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before continuing.
“Yeah, he would never abandon a kid. Posy’s the only one on this mountain that we still have to worry about and he knows Hazelle and I won’t let that little girl down.” She shakes her head, as though to remove the thought. “ So, do you sing, Corporal Mellark?”
“Peeta, it’s Peeta. And to be honest, not very well, but I can play the guitar and the harmonica okay. My talents lie more with wrestling, baking…and painting.”
“Seems like an odd combination for a Marine.”
“If any of those islands had been a giant cake, I coulda taken out the Japs with some fancy frosting tricks. Instead I was just the guy everyone came to for their camouflage. Guess I’m good at making people look like mud.”
“Don’t think that would take much talent, no offense.”
She’s poured me a glass of sweet tea and I lean forward to claim it. “No, I s’pose not when you’re surrounded by mud and can just smear it all over yourself, but the guys seemed to prefer when I did it.”
“You must have a gentle touch.” As soon as the words are out her mouth, the blush begins. “Not that…oh hell, nevermind. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
I let the chuckle rumble out of my chest. The hospital in San Diego wasn’t exactly a cheerful place with most of us still fighting phantom limbs and shell-shocked from being sent home. And it’s as I’m enjoying the first laugh I’ve had in months that I finally see it. She cracks a smile, small, secretive, and the single most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. It takes my breath away so quickly I feel light-headed. And now I can see why Gale found her so easy to love.
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
tbs art playlist dump
i want to share my playlists but a) don’t feel like making covers for all of them just yet and b) don’t wanna inundate my blog with playlist posts, but they are relevant to my art cause they help with Drawing Emotions n stuff so i’m still posting them on this blog
i’ll stick the links under the cut so i can keep adding to them, since i make them as i find more songs that fit and clicking a read more conveniently always links back to the original post, so 👌
also there are some notes bc thought processes are fun
am archives stuff
this playlist is p much just all the music that gets me in the Sad AM Archives Mood for drawing anything in like. the latter half-ish of the episodes. lyrically there isn’t a whole lot of relevance it just gets me in the right headspace for drawing The Emotions (edit: a lot of these songs have become lyrically relevant since i made this post. i’m crying all the time over every song i listen to. goddammit.)
also there is one song (not on this playlist anymore) that i put on loop for drawing specifically Helen and that’s The Mind Electric-- again, more mood relevance than lyrical relevance, though the title is. oddly accurate
honorable mention: black pear tree by the mountain goats and kaki king cause it’s not on spotify but hot damn
joan/owen
it’s just a lot of sad, pine-y love songs. honestly it’s mostly from owen’s perspective cause there’s been a lot of that lately, and as far as i can tell owen’s where most of the love was coming from in this relationship anyway
share your address- ben platt: frankly, almost all of ben platt’s music gives me strong owen vibes, with a few exceptions. this one’s just owen being super in love. that’s the whole thing.
flaws- bastille: there’s a lot about this song that’s perfect for these two but two sections in particular: “When all of your flaws and all of my flaws/Are laid out one by one/The wonderful part of the mess that we made/We pick ourselves undone” and “All of your flaws and all of my flaws/When they have been exhumed/We'll see that we need them to be who we are/Without them we'd be doomed”
the first bit because of everything with Mark, and the second bit because of the last few episodes and the whole “maybe making the mistakes we have makes us uniquely suited to do better in the future” thing
quiet light- the national: owen, post-breakup, probably. the whole thing is good, but “Between you and me/I still fall apart at the thought of your voice” is the part that convinced me to put it here.
title and registration- death cab for cutie: i had this one stuck in my head while drawing owen at one point i think, and then it kinda just. hit me how well it worked. “There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade/And now that it's gone, it's like it wasn't there at all/And here I rest where disappointment and regret collide/Lying awake at night”
better- ben platt: yeah it’s ben platt again and i can’t even point to specific lyrics it’s just the whole song. this one’s on owen’s main playlist too but it had to be here
you can do better than me- death cab for cutie: not sure about the first verse, but the rest of the song?? fuck
tompkins square park- mumford and sons: also a song that’s on owen’s main playlist, but it’s on this playlist because after am archives 15 it’s destroying me.
i don’t wanna love somebody else- a great big world: gonna let the lyrics speak for themselves: Oh, we left it all unspoken/Oh, we buried it alive/And now it's screaming in my head/Oh, I shouldn't go on hoping/Oh, that you will change your mind/And one day we could start again/Well I don't care if loneliness kills me/I don't wanna love somebody else
like. excuse me.
this whole song just straight up is his conversation with Sam in am archives 13 huh
owen
i know i’ve linked to this one before on my blog (the notes are here if you want them) but i’m sticking it in the masterpost anyway
this one exists cause a) i draw him a lot and b) there wasn’t a playlist for owen, which is a decision i respect, but also the one song we do have for him kind of. doesn’t help me draw him. i feel like it makes it harder for me to draw him? the song suits him, lyrics-wise, and i understand why it’s his song, but also there’s a lot tone-wise that just takes me out of drawing him a bit. idk why. anyway here’s a playlist
mark
i made this one cause the official mark playlist was Happy Mark Songs, which is great and i’m glad he gets happy songs, but also i very rarely draw him happy (sorry mark i swear ily) and i needed a playlist of Sad Mark Songs. side note: i probably could have added like half the radical face discography to this playlist
paint’s peeling- rilo kiley: there’s a lot about this song that fits, but one line specifically that put this song on the playlist: And, oh, I'm not going back to the assholes that made me
i hate u, i love u- gnash (ft. olivia brian): see damien’s notes on this song, i wrote those before i wrote mark’s and it’s on both playlists for the same reasons
hard of hearing- radical face: holy shit
dead ends- radical face: also holy shit
personal giants (alternate reality version)- radical face: stop me if you’ve heard this before, but: holy shit. also this is totally a mark and joan song. maybe mark and sam also. just mark looking up to all the people who have ever loved him in any way
something good can work- two door cinema club: took this one from his official playlist; i love two door cinema club so i felt like i had to
a better son/daughter- rilo kiley: added this one after episode 14 of the am archives cause i re-discovered rilo kiley like right before that episode came out and aaaaaaaaa
older- ben platt: it’s sad in a Mark Way. idk how else to describe it.
mistakes we knew we were making- straylight run: i know i say this a lot but like......... it’s the whole song. look at the lyrics and try to tell me this isn’t a mark song.
stage 4 fear of trying- frank iero: “and i found some scars in places i have never shown to anyone/i don't know why it took so long to get back home/"if you could hear the dreams i've had my dear..."/yeah i know you've heard that line before/but if i had the chance to scream all the things i've underlined”
still feel- half alive: yeah ok so this is a more upbeat one but it needed to be here. again, a lot about this song works, but like. “Trying to recognize myself when I feel I've been replaced” is the line that got it here
ok ok- half alive: the lyrics kinda work, but honestly, it just Felt Like A Mark Song to me.
damien
it’s either this playlist or, just, The Entire Bastille Discography, cause for some reason their music really suits him imo. this one and the owen one are the ones i consider closest to being complete.
bloody shirt- to kill a king: idk where to even start with this song tbh like i think the lyrics are just his entire post-safehouse arc so it’s definitely something i’ve listened to a lot while drawing him
blame- bastille: another post-safehouse one but this one very specifically links back to the Get The Hell Out conversation him and mark have; fall upon your knees, saying, "this is my body and soul here"/fall and begging, pleading, "you've got the power and control"/don't pin it all on me
reaper man- mother mother: this one’s from the Official Playlist™ and it’s here for p much the same reasons it’s on the official one, with the addition of it helps me draw him. it’s also the only one that i think does from that playlist? which isn’t me bad-mouthing the playlist, i feel like the songs definitely suit him, but again: suiting him and helping me draw him are two very different things
gold- imagine dragons: yeah again it’s just the whole damn song
look what you made me do- our last night (cover): i think lauren shippen posted about this being a damien song on either her blog or the bright sessions blog at one point? and shortly after that this cover showed up in my recommended videos so that’s how that happened
birthright- celldweller: i don’t even remember how i thought of this song while i was making the playlist given it’d been literal years since i listened to celldweller but it worked and it’s here
the hearse- matt maeson: the stripped version of this song is on owen’s playlist because it sounded kind of sad/apologetic; this one doesn’t. this one is still kinda sad but it’s angrier. it’s leaning more towards mark/damien territory; i stuck a couple of those songs on this playlist because a) i don’t draw mark/damien much and b) in the rare cases i do, the official playlist works for me
i hate u, i love u- gnash (ft. olivia brian)- another mark/damien one and also another official playlist song cause i heard it the first time and went oh shit so it’s here now
current works in progress
no links, but i have a lot of songs in mind for these ones that i just haven’t put together into playlists yet:
sam
sam/mark
joan
joan and mark
26 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
nethandrake
on semi-hiatus.
suffolkbear
You know you want it
livingcleanhomestead
Untitled
gtrobertdesign
GTRobert Design
ladyprophet
LadyProphet