#children of the jacaranda tree
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Here are the fan childs of Branch x Kismet by @eugeneplace if they were in my Au.
I made this just for fun to think about them and how do I imagine the kids in Knytte Bånd, I also made hc of them in this au for more fun.
Coal, Bang, Twig and Jacaranda had their own favorite uncle, that’s why their practice with the same weapons that they used, their fathers don’t like them carrying weapons but Branch said it’s for self defense.
Coal - JD / Bang - Floyd / Twig - Bruce / Jacaranda - Clay
All the kids except Jacaranda had a knife with them, continuing this line, Randa use puffy arrows with paint for training, bc Hype didn’t want her to use pointy weapons at a young age.
Bang likes to climb trees and hide on bushes, they have goggles making reference to their dad (Boom) beast, they think it looks cool, it’s always been around Branch when it comes to bunker planning.
Coal and Twig like to go on adventures they selfs, one been the brain of the operation and the other been the executer of it, that’s why they got stuck in so much troubles along there journeys.
Kismet says that Branch like to torturing their children when they get in troubles, but he says it’s his way to make discipline with the little ones.
#traditional drawing#trolls#trolls au#trolls band together#trolls branch#trolls kismet#trolls boom#trolls hype#trolls ablaze#trolls trickee#fankid#trolls fankid
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So recently, I started watching Bluey!
In a way, that was inevitable: I was a brony back in the day (and yes that sure is a whole subject in its own right I'm not getting into right now lmao), I work in a setting where I frequently interact with children, and I'm Australian. It was just a matter of time, and when my aunt over the Christmas hollies demanded my parents and I watch 'the cricket episode', that was just the final permission I needed to do it.
So, those are three potential reasons to watch it: because kids' cartoons can be highly enjoyable and good viewing in their own right, because it'll help me better understand and relate to kids, and because it is The big cultural product coming out of my country for this entire decade probably and that's interesting.
And all of them turned out to be well-founded! It has helped me to visualise a lot better how kids work and learn and live, and it's good viewing: the animation is pretty, the music work is great (some very well-placed classical pieces alongside the Steven Universe-esque chiptunes), and it's equally capable of being sweet and funny and genuinely meaningful. There's a lot that can be said about that; the contrast with the mixed reaction to the 'darker' Avatar remake, or even just the way limitations (in this case, quick 7-minute runtimes) can breed creativity.
But it was that third reason which surprised me the most. I'd heard all the jokes about how American kids are picking up Australian slang and even accents and so forth, but I never properly prepared myself for how... it would feel, seeing my life depicted on TV like that.
It's not like Australians never get to see our country on TV. We have our own reality shows and soapies and all that, but I don't watch the latter and the former... aren't exactly depictions of ordinary everyday life. When Australia does show up in media, it's usually through satire: either Simpsons-style, or our own home-grown Kath and Kim or The Castle. And that's not a knock on either of those last two: they're pitch-perfect depictions of Australian culture and I'd highly recommend anyone who wants to understand Australian humour or social mores to watch both! It's just that they're very... self-deprecating. Which, again: Australian culture. We're like that.
But Bluey is so... beautiful.
I've always had a weird relationship to my country. I've never really fit in much with the culture; I'm too sensitive and sincere for it, and it's usually pretty obvious I think. And the environment? I just don't entirely know how to relate to it. All of our holidays are based on a calendar and geography an entire world away. Native plants and animals and the like always seemed like they Belong To the, well, native Australians. I'm not witchy, I'm not a health junkie, and I'm not super outdoorsy (though I do like a hike now and then!). My main way of interacting with my country is through just walking down the street, and marvelling at how pretty my city is, and how lovely (and/or annoying!) the birds are.
And I get that from Bluey. Something it's good at, even outside my personal connection to it I think, is depicting this certain sense of awe at the world that children can have, when everything is so new and strange and wonderful. The pilot episode features a long, zoomed-in moment of the youngest child encountering a walking leaf bug, and her whispered, thinking-out-loud amazement. 'Why would a leaf want to walk?' indeed!
And there's that: the rainbow lorikeets flocking in trees; the jacaranda flowers softly falling outside the parents' bedroom window. But also the man-made things. The green deck chairs out on the lawn, drinking white wine and cider while the dads barbeque. The sausage sizzle and pavlova. The opening presents Christmas morning and then going for a swim in the pool with your cousins.
It's romanticised up the wazoo; it boggles me a little when people complain about how big the titular character's house is, because... yeah! It's idealised! It's meant to be pretty and comfy and a little wish-fulfilmenty. That's not to say that everything is perfect, but it's larger than life; not to quote the old cliche, but it's a preschoolers' show, for gosh sake.
And for someone who has always loved the world too much and felt silly and cringy and embarrassed by it, there's something really, really lovely about finally getting to see artists direct that love at the actual world I see around me. Not exactly the same; where I live is much drier than Brisbane, for starters. But it's close enough.
This, I really feel like, is a new cultural image of Australia that will resonate in the public memory. Not Mad Max, not Steve Irwin, just a pretty, hilly city by the beach, with bright cockatoos and wandering bin chickens, shallow creeks and gumnut 'dollars', and families gathering for barbeques and friendly games of backyard cricket.
(The cricket episode really is a very good one!!)
#Bluey#so yes I have gotten to see a fair bit more of this relatable Australian culture through the library#but it actually only increased my desire for more I think?#this past Christmas I actually felt a bit. less interested in the winter wonderland fantasy I usually dive into#I actually found myself really wanting to see my own Christmas shown on screen#I'm a couple months late but... here it is!#I'm... more connected to the world around me now. than I was a year ago.#it's nice. :)
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This evening, I went for a stroll in an area I hadn't explored yet. The cloudy moon was ghostly and in the Celtic wisdom which my mother bestowed upon me, (though I was the only one listening!) I know it symbolises the caution to find stillness in the unknown and not make hasty decisions - wait for more information to come to light. I stumbled upon a community garden filled with flowers of strange varieties and burgeoning fruit and fat hens that stared at me obnoxiously. After wandering for a half hour or so, taking mental notes and snap shots for my own future permaculture planning that I've been envisioning for years, I was captivated by a fluttering ensemble that wafted over-shoulder so close I heard it's winged rapture reverberate in my ear, which turned out to be two butterflies in the midst of a balletic waltz, tumbling over, around and besides each other, amorously lost in a spontaneous orbit of mutual admiration. My immediate thought was: "If only I could be loved like that." Bold as they were, their time together seemed fragile, and I walked on as proscenium-arched jacarandas graciously harboured their momentary paradise. Wandering on and musing some more, I came by a tiny library the size of a doll house, the likes of which children had labouriously constructed containing an assortment of books and paraphernalia and labelled above in painted handwritten letters, "Free". I decided to peruse the generous but tatty collection, hoping for something with poems or a local guide to trees and native fauna. Immediately, I was surprised to see a copy of a recommendation from a friend from about 18 months ago, which I'd had on my "to read" list ever since: The Celestine Prophecy. I had recalled the conversation I had with her where I confided about finding someone I felt a strong, energetic pull toward and the confusion I experienced when they developed a serious connection with someone else. She recommended it for the clarity it provided around soul contracts and past lives and how the dance or "quantum entanglement" of two Souls can progress you just as powerfully and passionately in your Soul's development without an ensuing romance. It rang true because the inspiration I received from him to change my life was a profound turning point for me, one which I have only motioned forward from ever since. Something about his example, his heart’s intention to continuously evolve and self-invest in the face of the common adversities most Australian males almost never overcome for fear of social alienation from their immediate family and friends, mirrored my transformation intensely and helped me re-route toward my authentic individual purpose on Earth (outside of everyone's expectations) seriously for the first time. At that point I had only an inkling he had found a deep connection to someone; it wasn't until much later that my apprehensions were confirmed, although I was the same tangle of sadness and perplexity, missing someone I hadn't the opportunity to know but somehow felt a complete otherworldly sense of belonging to or with, or something. I don't know if I'll ever read it, to be honest, but it's message does give me the strength to let the beauty of the knowledge be mused over with sincerity and conscious appreciation for its value and fleeting cycle of life, before it passes out of view. I know my heart's song belongs to a great someone, and I am praying that his integrity and self-investment to prepare for a strong foundation for true love is as intentional and committed as mine. Though the meaningful passage of tangled magic that was this persons deep reflection has left a gentle imprint on my life that I hope will yield the same love which he discovered in a kind-natured someone, to me in due time. ~ Chantal Eva
#boy mama#motherhood#children are the future#mood board#nature#poetry#aesthetic#beautiful#feels#inspiration#law of attraction#epic#love#inspo#prose#positive#poet#poem#lit
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Our own form of courting: Chapter Five - An unmarried woman should never date a gentleman at the night.
It was a warm night and the hair on the back of Belle neck was growing ever sweatier as the pair made another turn around the garden. Jack had been invited for dinner by her father and they had sat through hours of mundane talk before asking to be excused to take a turn around the garden. "Simply a turn or two around the garden, we shall not go far." Belle said when her mother started to offer concerns over propriety. Jack was already on his feet and awkwardly holding out his arm for her to take. "The bench and back," her mother agreed with an annoyed looked.
The bench in question was a small stone thing sitting just out of eyesight of the main house. It was tucked in under a jacaranda tree in the far corner of the lawn. The ideal place for two lovers to share a kiss or two without being discovered right away. "Might we sit?” Belle asked fanning herself as they come upon it. Jack looked anxiously back towards the house, "Should we not stay in eye line of the house my Lady?".
“Sit with me Jack its far too hot to keep wandering around," Belle said starting to undo the top buttons of her dress as she sat down. She bit her lip when she noticed Jack's eyes were following her fingers, "I don’t think that look is all that appropriate Doctor Dawkins" she whispered, but in truth she was doing the same as he undid his new necktie. The clothes she had ordered arrived a day or to ago and they were perfect. When he arrived this evening, she blushed at the cut of the pants and the way the jacket and vest fit his trim waist like a glove. Belle took his necktie from him and folded it neat in her lap. With a last quick glace towards the house Jack took a sit beside her close enough that that their legs brushed against each other.
"Tell me about your childhood," Belle said taking his hands to play with his fingers, "you mentioned a while ago that you were quick, what did you mean by that?" Jack sighed and tightly linked their hands together. "My childhood was...hard." he said not looking at her trying to form the right words. Belle let them sit in silence until her found them and waited with keen interested in whatever he might say.
"Fagin tells it different each time I ask. One version is that he found me in a street in the East End and I was five and the other is that he found me wrapped in a blanket as a newborn behind a pub. I don’t know which is true, but he did find me and give me a kind of home." Belle tightened her hands in his, "Your parents?" she asked. Jack shrugged sadly and coughed to clear his throat, "No idea, I never...um" he cleared his throat again to try and stop the tears from forming in the corner of his eyes, he failed, and one escaped down his cheek. Belle wiped it away with quick fingers and they didn’t mention it.
"Fagin calls your Dodger. Is that your name? Should I be calling you that?" she asked trying to break the tenson that as sudden formed between them.
"No, my name is Jack." Jack said quickly, "I'm called Dodger because I was quick and could dodge my way out of all most anything." Belle didn’t say anything and waited for Jack to elaborate, he sighed. "I was a pickpocket, Belle; I stole for a living, and I was very good at it." Jack said finally looking at her. Belle smiled a soft smile, “I guessed as much,” She confessed with a small laugh and Jack returned it.
"Have you ever been to the East End?" Jack asked and before Belle could reply his answered his own question, "Of course you haven’t why would you have been." He stood abruptly and started to pace. “Life in the East is horrid, filled with hunger and sickness. I watched adults and children alike die in the streets from hunger, just in the gutter and their bodies were swept away with the morning clean. Its been twenty years since I have been there, but I doubt it has changed much! People will still be starving and woman little more then girls will be selling themselves on the streets for scraps and the boys will be risking their hands and necks to steal from the pockets of the passing elite. Not knowing if you were able to eat that day or have somewhere to sleep. Fagin was good for one thing he always made sure that we have food and blanket, but I wasn’t just a pickpocket Belle, that was my life. It was who I was. But I swear to you, our children’s lives will be different, I’ll make sure if it” Jack said firmly taking his seat next to her again.
Belle smiled and moved closer to him wrapping her arm around his, “Children?” she asked happily, “You have thought of our children?” Jack leaned down to place a kiss against her hair, “Of course I have. If you wanted them so, would I,” he said his lips brushing over the softness of her hair. “I only want them with you” she said softly leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his neck. They sat for a few more minutes in each other’s embrace until they heard the door to the veranda open and her sister call out to them to come back inside.
#fanfiction#pentopaper23#fanfic#fan fiction#ao3 fanfic#dodgerfox#jack x belle#jack dawkins#lady belle fox#the artful dodger#the artful dodger fanfiction#the artful dodger fanfic#artful dodger#artful dodger fanfiction#dodgerfox fanfiction#dodgerfox fanfic#belle fox#belle x jack#cross posted on ao3
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20 questions for Fic Writers
I was tagged by the ever wonderful @londonfoginacup and @reminiscingintherain thank you so much!!
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
94, though I think one is a collab and one is a translation. But 90+
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
I am gonna do some math here and take off the translation because that adds 220k to my wordcount and that doesn't feel fair, lol. So that leaves 1.243.681 words. Minus about 12k that I didn't write lol, that's still a lot.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Currently just 1D but I am talking about writing a Lestappen fic so I might branch out!
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
a game that I'm destined to lose [1449 kudos, but it's from 2012]
midnight doesn't last forever [1190 kudos, but it's from 2013]
you've set my soul to dreaming [1162 kudos]
room for your love underneath this tree [1151 kudos]
some things fade (some never do) [1047 kudos]
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Um. Theoretically yes. Realistically, I haven't caught up since March and the number in my inbox is too high to look at.
6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I usually write HEA but I guess the one that I remember with more of an ambiguous ending is and there's no one to blame except then Sus made me write a follow up so I guess it has a happy ending now.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
All of them? I mean, I put the characters through some serious angst, but after that, they all get their very deserved happy ending.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not that I know of. If I do, it's not in my face.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Occasionally. I write either quirky smut, or I write stuff for wankersday, because the only smut I write is stuff that doesn't involve other people directly apparently.
10. Do you write crossovers? What the craziest one you’ve written?
Not really, but I have a HP AU I should write at one point.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Yep! Someone tried to sell TNFIF online on Amazon. With a really ugly cover. Thankfully writing Tumblr came together and sent in so many bad reviews that the seller took it down.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yes, a few!!
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
I've done a round robin a few years ago, which wasn't really my style. I've started writing an advent fic with @evilovesyou but we never got around to finishing it. I will hopefully write a fic with @chaotic-bells soon!
14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?
For as much Larry as I write, my first true love was Ziam.
15. What’s a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
I am stubborn enough to believe I will finish all my WIPs. Eventually.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Emotions, I think. I've made people cry, so that's nice!
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Mostly I think I struggle not to make everything too in depth. A 5k fic probably doesn't need 3k of worldbuilding.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
I've come across it a lot in Lestappen fics and I don't mind it as long as the translation is right behind it, and as long as it's not google translated stuff (or as long as it's google translated stuff in a language I don't know).
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Possibly Gilmore Girls. I've written for a ton of fandoms, though I've been a 1D only writer since 2012.
20. Favorite fic you’ve written?
That's like asking me to choose between my non existent children. If I have a favourite, I can't say it out loud. (But it's this one, for all it brought me)
I'm not sure who hasn't been tagged at this point, so I am gonna tag @jacaranda-bloom and @beardyboyzx and anyone in the @1dcreatorclubhouse who wants to do it!
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Books read and movies watched in 2023 (July to December):
Bolded verdicts (Yes!/Yes/Eh/No/NO) are links to more in-depth reviews!
Books (fiction):
The Starless Sea (Erin Morgenstern): No
The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (Zoraida Córdova): Yes
Brave New World (Aldous Huxley): No
The Association of Small Bombs (Karan Mahajan): No
Pond (Claire-Louise Bennett): NO
Heaven (Mieko Kawakami): No
The Verifiers (Jane Pek): No
The Old Capital (Yasunari Kawabata): No
Falling Man (Don DeLillo): No
A Free Life (Ha Jin): Yes
People of the Book (Geraldine Brooks): No
The Spectacular (Fiona Davis): No
Klara and the Sun (Kazuo Ishiguro): Yes
Children of the Jacaranda Tree (Sahar Delijani): No
This Place: 150 Years Retold (anthology): Yes
Books (nonfiction):
The Forgetting River (Doreen Carvajal): Eh
Valiant Women: The Extraordinary American Servicewomen Who Helped Win World War II (Lena S. Andrews): Yes
Mozart's Starling (Lyanda Lynn Haupt): Yes
Poetic Form & Poetic Meter (Paul Fussell): No
Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry (David Mason & John Frederick Nims): No
A Poetry Handbook (Mary Oliver): Yes
We Should Not Be Friends (Will Schwalbe): No
Seen from All Sides (Sydney Lea): No
Books (poetry):
Afterworlds (Gwendolyn MacEwen): Eh
Sailing Alone Around the Room (Billy Collins): Yes
Be With (Forrest Gander): No
Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems (William Carlos Williams): Yes
Horoscopes For the Dead (Billy Collins): No
The Wild Iris (Louise Gluck): Eh
Moon Crossing Bridge (Tess Gallagher): Yes
Who Shall Know Them? (Faye Kicknosway): Yes
Great Blue (Brendan Galvin): No
Collected Poems (Basil Bunting): Eh
Paterson (William Carlos Williams): No
Selected Poems (Donald Justice): No
Dear Ghosts, (Tess Gallagher): No
The Death of Sitting Bear (N. Scott Momaday): No
Evidence (Mary Oliver): No
What Have I Ever Lost by Dying? (Robert Bly): Yes
Blessing the Boats (Lucille Clifton): Yes
Source (Mark Doty): No
Tell Me (Kim Addonizio): Eh
Zoo (Ogden Nash): No
Alive Together: New and Selected Poems (Lisel Mueller): No
“A” (Louis Zukovsky): NO
Flying at Night (Ted Kooser): Yes
The Man in the Black Coat Turns (Robert Bly): Yes
This Tree Will Be Here for a Thousand Years (Robert Bly): No
Nine Horses (Billy Collins): Yes
Arabian Love Poems (Nizar Kabbani): Yes
Delights & Shadows (Ted Kooser): Yes
This Great Unknowing (Denise Levertov): Yes
Young of the Year (Sydney Lea): No
Pursuit of a Wound (Sydney Lea): No
The Life Around Us (Denise Levertov): No
Red List Blue (Lizzy Fox): No
It Seems Like A Mighty Long Time (Angela Jackson): No
Some Ether (Nick Flynn): Yes
Divide These (Saskia Hamilton): No
The Simple Truth (Philip Levine): No
Saving Daylight (Jim Harrison): Eh
Midnight Salvage (Adrienne Rich): No
The Trouble with Poetry and Other Poems (Billy Collins): Eh
My Brother Running (Wesley McNair): Eh
Whale Day (Billy Collins): Eh
Talking Dirty to the Gods (Yusek Komunyakaa): No
A New Selected Poems (Galway Kinnell): No
The Dolphin (Robert Lowell): No
Star Route (George Longenecker): No
Brute (Emily Skaja): Eh
No Witnesses (Paul Monette): Yes!
Blood, Tin, Straw (Sharon Olds): No
Town Life (Jay Parini): No
Dead Men's Praise (Jacqueline Osherow): No
Stag's Leap (Sharon Olds): No
Sleeping with the Dictionary (Harryette Mullen): No
Looking for the Parade (Joan Murray): No
Sparrow (Carol Muske-Dukes): Yes
You can't Get There from Here (Ogden Nash): No
Carver: a Life in Poems (Marilyn Nelson): Yes
The House of Blue Light (David Kirby): No
Ariel (Sylvia Plath): No
Caribou (Charles Wright): No
The Collected Verse of Theodore Roethke: No
Letters from Maine (Mary Sarton): No
Diasporic (Patty Seyburn): Eh
The Five Stages of Grief (Linda Pastan): Yes!
Not One Man’s Work (Leland Kinsey): Yes
Wise Poison (David Rivard): Yes
The Continuous Life (Mark Strand): Eh
On the Bus with Rosa Parks (Rita Dove): Yes
Fuel (Naomi Shihab Nye): Yes
Ludie’s Life (Cyntha Rylant): Yes
Wise Poison (David Rivard): Yes
My Name on His Tongue (Laila Halaby): Yes
Messenger (Ellen Bryant Voigt): Yes!
Unfortunately, it was Paradise: Selected Poems (Mahmoud Darwish): Eh
The Collected Poetry of James Wright: No
The Unlovely Child (Norman Williams): No
The New Young American Poets (anthology, 2000): Yes
The Black Maria (Aracelis Girmay): Yes!
Night Sky with Exit Wounds (Ocean Vuong): Yes!
Thoughts of Her. (Casey Conte): NO
Standing Female Nude (Carol Ann Duffy): Yes!
The Tradition (Jericho Brown): Yes
Girls That Never Die (Safia Elhillo): No
Repair (C. K. Williams): No
The Big Smoke (Adrian Matejka): Yes
American Wake (Kerrin McCadden): Eh
Collected Poems (Jane Kenyon): No
E-mails from Scheherazad (Mohja Kahf): Yes!
I Had a Brother Once (Adam Mansbach): No
Holding Company (Major Jackson): No
Hunting Down the Monk (Adrie Kusserow): No
Happy Life (David Budbill): No
Prelude to Bruise (Saeed Jones): No
Wade in the Water (Tracy K. Smith): Eh
Penury (Myung Me Kim): Yes!
Commons (Myung Mi Kim): Yes!
The Final Voicemails (Max Ritvo): No
Pieces of Air in the Epic (Brenda Hillman): No
Gone (Fanny Howe): No
A Vermonter's Heritage: Listening to the Trees (Rick Bessette): No!
Roget's Illusion (Linda Bierds): No
First Hand (Linda Bierds): No
The Other Side (Julia Alvarez): No
Pig Dreams: Scenes from the life of Sylvia (Denise Levertov): Yes
Movies:
Winter Evening in Gagra (1985, Karen Shakhnazarov): Yes
My Tender and Affectionate Beast (A Hunting Accident) [1978, Emil Loteanu]: No
Fate of a Man (1959, Sergei Bondarchuk): Eh
Ordinary Fascism (aka Triumph Over Violence) (1965, Mikhail Romm): Yes
The Most Charming and Attractive (1985, Gerald Bezhanov): Yes
Gals/The Girls (1961, Boris Bednyj): Yes
Drunken Angel (1948, Akira Kurosawa): Yes
Stray Dog (1949, Akira Kurosawa): No
Viy (1967, Konstantin Yershov/Georgi Kropachyov): No
Battleship Potemkin (1925, Sergei Eisenstein): Yes
Amarcord (1973, Federico Fellini): Yes!
Charade (1963, Stanley Donen): No
Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa): Yes!
Barton Fink (1991, Coen Brothers): No
Kidnapping, Caucasian Style (1967, Leonid Gaidai): No
Unbelievable Adventures of Italians in Russia (1974, Eldar Ryazanov & Franco Prosperi): Yes
By the White Sea (2022, Aleksandr Zachinyayev): Yes
Ivan’s Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky): Yes!
The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed): Yes!
The Kitchen in Paris (2014, Dmitriy Dyachenko): No
Optimistic Tragedy (1963, Samson Samsonov): Eh
White Moss (2014, Vladimir Tumayev): Yes
Oppenheimer (2023, Christopher Nolan): Yes!
Scarlet Sails (1961, Alexandr Ptushko): Yes
We'll Live Till Monday (1968, Stanislav Rostotsky): Yes
Vladivostok (2021, Anton Bormatov): No
Ballad of a Soldier (1959, Grigory Chukhray): Yes
The Theme (1979, Gleb Panfilov): Yes
A Haunting in Venice (2023, Kenneth Branagh): Yes
Barbie (2023, Greta Gerwig): Yes
Is It Easy To Be Young? (1986, Juris Podnieks): Yes
Badlands (1973), Terrence Malick: Yes
Satyricon (1969, Federico Fellini): No
Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog): Yes
Fitzcarraldo (1982, Werner Herzog): No
The Illusionist (2006, Neil Burger): Yes
The Duchess (2008, Saul Dibb): Yes
Pride & Prejudice (2005, Joe Wright): Yes!
Emma (1996, Douglas McGrath): No
And here’s Part 1 of my 2023 list!
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Literary Witches: A Celebration of Magical Women Writers
As Writing Prompts~
wife, sister, virgin, whore
an incantation, a naming, a blessing, a curse
weavers, potters, cooks, and healers
flip to any page; follow your wyrd
conjurer of hurricanes, zombies, and tall tales
with each story, the basket gains an apple
alchymist of monsters, children, the living and the dead
a terrible baby, their very arrival a murder
even the freshest thing is mixed with rot
a painful tale about the creation of life and what happens to shunned, abandoned children
shaman of dew, hummingbirds, and mushroom language
could not read or write and lived in poverty on the mountains
healer and oral poet
hermit of hospitals, belonging, and lost souls
"You think you're the only one who doesn't belong?"
at least some creatures can find a home
receiving two hundred electroshock treatments and narrowly escaping a lobotomy
grand dame of trickery, murder, and teatime
"Most unpleasant."
a consolatory apricot biscuit
sibyl of masks, extraterrestrial eggs, and twisted fantasies
smashes the crystal ball on the ground
what remains--glass shards and a black, sticky substance
the room is clean and the crystal ball intact
madame of roses, geometry, and repetition
grow feathers, slink into worms, shrink into dragonflies--anything to get out
undine of introspection, opulent dreams, and voyages
some collect seashells, others chart the sun's movement
some keep house, make lace, pursue lovers
dakini of holy ecstasy, the dark one, and ankle bells
poison becomes ashamed
miraculously escaped their poisoning attempts twice
fantasma of silence, death, and lilacs
a bird of blue bones drops a piece of paper
the paper unfolds into a palace
step in through the door
the music hollows
cursed to hear it forever
give in, eat the bird whole
storyteller of rattlesnakes, turquoise, and the sacred desert
the drought has gone on too long
spider's silk holding all things together shines with the light
high priestess of scholars, volcanoes, and eros
a grim jewel of astronomical price
fondles their muscles over coffee and toast
sorceress of islands, venom, and histories
the soup boils down to a thick black sludge
soothsayer of utopias, creeping women, and evil wallpaper
the unseen fairy
the people must realize the changes for themselves
the disastrous, sexist "rest cure" prescribed for postpartum depression
sorceress of names, houses, and solitude
sometimes the mango is perfectly juicy, sometimes underripe, sometimes too sweet, or bruised
cigar in hand, walk into the jacaranda trees, hanging black bras off the branches
'Use this to climb out,' read the notes tied on with ribbon
guardian of the waters, the porcelain, and the lexicon
they love these puddles
they will not survive this one
wolf child fight their way to the bank of the river; they survive
after a lifelong struggle with mental illness
fairy godparent of bloody tales, the circus, and mirror
"Not another one."
doll in a red riding habit
and a bleeding wolf escapes from under the cloth
dark drops of blood sink into the soil and the roses bloom a deeper, more delicious red
sumptuous tapestries depicting sexual, violent scenes
ornamented with symbols and adjectives
warrior witch of otherness, bodies electric, and sisterhood
the sword is for slaying ghosts and demons along the way
lava filling their wounds
the coroner writes
populated with mothers, children, sisters, anger, cancer, the erotic, unicorns, snails eating dead snakes, witches, fire, and the importance of refusing silence
specter of windows, flies, and the unexpected
travels freely between the afterworld and this world
a white dress kneeling in the flowerbeds
rebel of sensual love, green gardens, and perfume
they never speak of it, but each man is haunted by his vision
withered leaves, wilted geraniums and lilacs
write explicitly about sexuality
siren of the lyre, honey, and ruins
the rest of the words are illegible
how seriously each child puts those wings on in the mirror
seer of peacocks, weird country people, and glass eyes
pray to see humanity clearly
the doors creak open
cosmic traveler of crows, horses, and survival
joy lies down in a field
the music is a spell
courageously survived an oppressive childhood, teenage pregnancy, and domestic abuse
koldunya of winter, endurance, and willows
the sodden papers become bandages for the wounded
rations of potatoes, cabbage, and milk
queen of miracles, generations, and memory
fury of motherhood, marriage, and the moon
dismembers mannequins with ferocious, precise claws
terrified into the thrill of living
enchantress of bitter love, treachery, and jewels
summons a moonbeam into a locked room
climb down to find an underground chamber
"I am the ruler of this prison."
locked up in the bedroom for six months
witch of villages, domestic horrors, and omens
rabid cats, poisoned beetles, blood-tipped needles
the ice cream section of the twenty-four-hour grocery store at three a.m.
doesn't need help finding anything
marries the ordinary with the supernatural
sower of strange seeds, species, and the future
mutating with violent need for food, power, and sex
covertly tosses seeds kept in pockets into the neighbors' yards
watcher of the moors, fantasy, and cruel romance
brushed the carpets and took walks in the hills
death of tuberculosis at thirty
#literary witches: a celebration of magical women writers#source: Taisia Kitaiskaia#writing prompts#word prompts#sentence starters#theme prompts#GIMME
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Good Fortune & A New Beginning
Written for the Netflix and Chill event for Bangtan Writers HQ
Characters/pairings: Yoongi x fem oc (first person POV)
AU Type: Coffee - Neighbor
Theme: First Introduction
Word Count: 2k
Thank you to @abitjess for beta reading
Shout out to @rec-me-bts for my beautiful banner and divider! I gave you literally nothing and you made magic. thank you so so much.
I love my quiet neighborhood. There’s really no noise aside from the few kids I hear after school and on weekends. Everyone knows each other and we all look out for one another. It took a few months for me to adjust to the culture but everyone was so kind and patient, helping me adjust. All but my immediate neighbor. He always seemed a bit grumpy with me…only me. I’ll get to him later.
The neighborhood has the most beautiful landscaping you could imagine. The parking lot is lined with vibrant fragrant plants. There is a three mile walking path lined with flowering trees of all colors. The colors vary from lavish lilacs, blush pinks, milky whites, and a fiery orange; as if someone was trying to grow a rainbow. The path is surrounded by thick luscious green grass, perfect for sitting to read or stretch. This is my favorite place to be. Every morning before work, I’ll jog or walk the path to get my blood flowing. After work, it’s the perfect place to unwind; watching families play around and fill the air with laughter, smelling the floral fragrances, or listening to the birds singing melodic songs. Most nights I read or practice yoga until the sun dips below the horizon and nature paints the silky smooth sky like a kaleidoscope.
The first day I moved in, it felt like I was in a different world; a kind and relaxed world. Everyone introduced themselves and grabbed a box, following me into my apartment. It was very odd at first but it felt good. An older gentleman went to grab a heavier box when Mr. Grumpy came out of nowhere and said, “Uncle! Don’t. I got this one.” How sweet, right? Wrong. It was the last box and he decided to leave it outside my door. I nicely asked, “Would you mind putting that in the bedroom?” His response…”Guess you shouldn’t have packed it so heavy.”
Not a great first interaction.
I watched him for weeks while I doodled with chalk with the neighbor children, ate grilled food family style with the adults, and gave my backstory to all the inquiring elders. The kids were gathering flowers from the trees along the path and bringing them to each adult, then throwing them up in the air and letting them rain down. When they did this to Mr. Grumpy, he proceeded to give them a botany lesson.
“You know all these different colored flowers have meanings,” he stated while separating the colors.
“Like what, Uncle!?” The children were intrigued and swarmed him to hear more.
“The white plumeria means new beginnings, the red poinciana is for confidence, and the purple… these have a longer story but I’ll just say, if one lands on your head it’s good fortune. These are for wisdom and good luck.” The kids were all talking at once, repeating everything they just learned. He smiled at them and I suddenly noticed how handsome he was.
“What was the name for the purple one?” I asked.
“That one is from the Jacaranda tree.” He barely looked at me when he responded.
He was so smiley and polite to everyone…everyone except me. I knew everyone’s name and basically their ancestral origin, but nothing about him.
One night I thought I would be slick and bake some chocolate chip cookies stuffed with oreos. They are heavy as a brick and sweeter than sugarcane, but delicious nonetheless. After making my rounds around the complex, I knocked on his door.
“Yeah?” he said while opening the door to just a crack.
“Hi! I’m Miji, your new neighbor.”
Stone cold, no reaction.
“Umm, so I made these cookies…it’s chocolate chip stuffed with an oreo. They’re great with milk or ice cream…”
“That sounds like diabetes.”
“Oh.” I was so stunned, nothing else would come out. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before someone was coming out of their door.
“Oh Miji! The cookie was so good, thank you dear,” the older woman looks at my hands, “Yoongi, why haven’t you taken it yet? Be a good neighbor and accept her treat.”
“Yes, Auntie. Since you said it was good.” He opens the door wider and holds his hand out watching the older woman descend down the staircase.
“I hope you like it…Yoongi was it?” he sighs as if I just cursed him. “Is that really your Aunt?”
“How long have you been here?” he sneers.
“Just a few weeks.”
“And you haven’t heard anyone call others auntie and uncle…what do the neighbor children call you?”
“Oh yeah… they do call me auntie, but I just thought they were confused.”
“It’s just the culture.”
“That’s so sweet!”
“Sure…okay…goodnight,” he begins to shut the door.
“Wait. Will you be at the cookout this weekend? I feel like I know everyone but you.”
He raises one eyebrow, “Why do you need to know me?”
“I mean I don’t need to but–”
“Kay. Night.” and the door shuts. I was genuinely trying to introduce myself and get to know him like all the others but he was not interested.
After a month of getting settled in my new place, I decided it was time to explore the three miles of planted rainbow. I felt like a child walking and running, taking pictures of the flower trees from any and every angle. My gallery was filled with dozens of pictures of each color glowing from the sun. Two miles down, I saw him running towards me. I took my earbud out and waved to say hello but he just kept going, not even making eye contact. What is his problem with me? I continue my run and admiration of nature’s flourishing beauty. I took my time getting back and as I was walking up the stairs, he was coming out of his apartment.
“Going to work?” I asked. He nods, glaring at me with irritation. “Have a great day!”
I never met him before, never talked to him, and hardly have been in the space adjacent to him long enough for him to hate me already. Trying to be nice became a chore with him, so I declared that day to be the last time I tried to make a good impression.
The weekend comes and I’m baking again. This time brookies! Brownie mixed with chocolate chip cookie. I had the windows open, music playing, and drinking my third can of hard seltzer. I finished mixing the two doughs and put the pan in the oven. As soon as the oven door closes, there’s a knock at my door. Thinking it’s probably the kids from downstairs, I opened the door with a huge smile.
“Are you trying to piss people off?”
Yoongi to the rescue to kill my vibe and my buzz. “What do you mean?”
“Turn your music down. It’s ridiculously loud.”
“Are you kidding? It’s not even that loud.”
He looks at the source, “It’s literally on the wall between us. I can hear it as if it’s on my own tv.” I’m sick of him.
“Not a problem, Sir. I will rearrange my living space to accommodate your needs.” I start to close the door but he puts his hand on it, stopping me.
“You don’t have to be rude–”
“Me?! Be rude?! You’re one to talk! I haven’t done anything to you, yet you look at me like I’m a thorn in your eye!”
“Thorn in my side.”
“What?”
“The saying is ‘thorn in my side’ not ‘thorn in my eye’.”
“Whatever…you knew what I meant.” Was that a smile? Did he just smile at me? “What’s so funny?”
“You’re cute. Please keep it down though, I have to work late and I’m trying to take a nap.”
“Okay…” and that was when everything changed. He nodded at me on the path when we passed each other. He said good morning or evening when we were coming or going from our apartments. The ice really broke when I was playing with the kids in my apartment, they had left the door open. I was learning the latest viral dance from them when he peeked in while opening his door. One of the kids saw him and begged for him to come as well.
“Uncle, uncle! Come learn with auntie. She needs extra help!”
I burst out laughing, “Hey! I’m not that bad!”
He smiled, “Maybe another time, uncle’s gotta get some rest.”
“Okay kiddos, let’s go outside now so the music isn’t so loud. Who wants to do Yoga while the sun sets?” The kids cheered and started running out.
“Miji,” he called, “thanks.” There was that handsome smile again.
“No problem Yoongi, don’t want to disturb your beauty sleep,” I replied, giving him a wink.
One morning, we ended up walking out at the same time to start our run. Not to invade his space, I smiled and nodded with my earbuds in and started my jog. I was looking up at the trees when I saw the most beautiful birds and butterflies fluttering about. I had to try to capture the sight for my ever growing gallery of nature. I had enough pictures to publish my own national geographic at that point. Down low there were white butterflies along with the orange and black monarchs and at the tree tops were radiant green birds gliding from branch to branch.
“They’re beautiful, yeah?” Yoongi says, cordially.
“Yes! I’m amazed every day I’m out here. I can’t get enough.”
“I can tell.”
“I’m sure you’re used to it.”
“I take for granted how much beauty there is…this is the first time in a while I’ve stopped to enjoy the view.”
“You should see my photo gallery.” I laughed.
“Enjoy the rest of your run,” he grinned.
“Yeah…you too.” I couldn’t help but wonder, were we friends now? I felt like he was finally coming around to me. I grew fond of him and his casual conversation.
I didn’t see him for a week and asked the elderly woman across the way if everything was okay. She told me that Yoongi frequently went on business trips and would be away for weeks at a time. A few nights later, in lotus pose under a Jacaranda tree, I had just tucked my phone away from snapping pictures, when a familiar voice appeared.
“So how many sunset pictures do you have?”
“Hey stranger. I do have quite the collection.”
“I’m not interrupting am I?”
“Not at all. Care to join?”
“Yoga? No thanks. But I’ll sit here with my camera.”
“You like photography too? Or just sunsets?”
“Both.”
“I never see you out here at night.”
“I see you all the time.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Kinda hard not to,” he says shyly, running his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t tell me I have a secret admirer…” I joked.
“Not so secret anymore.”
“You're serious? Then why were you so mean to me before?”
“Mean?”
“Yeah! So mean, I nicknamed you Mr. Grumpy…” he laughed, and I found it adorable.
“I guess I just didn’t know what to do with my feelings.”
“Your…feelings?”
He grabs my hands and pulls me up to him, our faces now extremely close together.
“Yeah…you’re gorgeous and I wanted to kiss you the minute I saw you. I wasn’t sure how to deal with that. I’ve never felt that before and it scared me a little. Especially since I didn’t know anything about you.”
I was dazed. Suddenly, I knew no words.
“Miji, can I kiss you?” he asked so sweetly, placing his hand on my face and gently brushing his thumb across my cheek bone. With our eyes locked, staring into each others’ souls, I nodded my head yes.
His lips were doughy, covering mine completely. My arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, getting comfortable in the moment. He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on mine.
“I’m sorry I was mean to you. I promise I’m not like that at all.”
“I can forgive you under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Kiss me again.”
“I could get used to this,” he said through that handsome smile I was so fond of.
“I could very well be in love with you.”
And there, under the Jacaranda tree, where we were surrounded by petals of confidence and good fortune, the sky turned into a blaze of color, and we declared a confession leading us to a new beginning.
Thanks for reading! (✿◠‿◠)
#bangtanwritershq#bangtanwhq#bts fanfic#yoongi x you#yoongi fluff#bts yoongi#yoongi fanfic#bangtan yoongi#yoongi drabble#moonleeai writes sometimes#bts#bts imagines#bts fluff#bts x reader
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Kilimanjaro.
As a child I called it “my mountain”. I was born in its foothills. I spent the first three years of my life growing up in its shadow, and called it my mountain.
I am a child of East Africa. I was born in Machame, lived in Gulu, and spent my childhood in Naivasha. Three different countries that shaped who I am today. When I’m asked where I’m from, I say East Africa. I may be American by birth, but my heart lives in Africa.
I am a child of sun and warmth. Of towering mountains and escarpments, and the vast wide Rift Valley. Of monsoon rains, and long hot dry seasons. Of savannah grasses that transform from parched yellow and brown to vibrant green under grey clouds that release their burdens in violent, torrential downpours. Of acacia trees with their deadly thorns, of the brilliant riotous colours of hibiscus and bougainvillea and jacaranda. The wild scream of African fish eagles swooping down over the surface of Lake Naivasha, and the deceptive calm of lumbering hippos who congregate in the shallows.
There is another side of Africa. It’s the darker side, of poverty and violence, brutal wars and political unrest, children begging in the streets and corruption that allows a small few to become wealthy while their country suffers from famine and sickness. And this too is a part of me. One does not spend their childhood surrounded by these things, and not be affected by them.
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My Name? Oh, it's Van...
Van Cruz
Full name: Vance (Van) Manuel Cruz
Age: 28 years old
Birthday: November 13th
Sexual orientation: Demisexual (Male Leaning)
Pronouns: He/They
Familiar: Jali, the tabby cat
Personality:
Likes: Learning new things by reading, cloudy days, waking up in time to see everyone's morning commute, his eggs over easy and still runny, going to work early so he can come home earlier, freshly ironed clothes, going on coffee runs for his family or workplace, bagels and sweets, lazy afternoons with a good book, slow folkloric music to relax to, buffet restaurants, when the circus comes to town, playing baseball in the park, the dentist, provaleta, rollerskating, organizing documents, doing his friends' taxes, dressing up for Halloween, children, birdwatching, taking walks on the forest trails, painting his nails, playing billiards with his friends, jewelry, playing guitar, shopping in Maeth's retail district, the color purple, helping Marcos in the garage even if he doesn't know anything about automobiles, going to the cinema theater, picnics by Lover's Lake, bow ties, being a guest to parties and gatherings, waiting in line if he's with his friends, visiting the bakery to talk to the owners, long journeys, buying cute and useless bobbles at the antique store.
Dislikes: Hot days, working outdoors in the heat, arrogant or brash men, working long days with no breaks, when people get him expensive gifts he feels like he doesn't deserve, not having fresh produce in the house, having laundry to do on a rainy day, letting his home repairs pile up, neckties that are too long or too short, having too strict of a schedule, wearing suspenders, hosting things at his house, talking about his father or family in general, killing bugs, mowing his grass because it makes his nose runny, the color black, spending a long time in the bath because he gets wrinkly.
Abilities: Van has picked up a few trades here and there and has picked up the reputation of a "do it yourself" type of man. Back in Villa Noche, he's done his fair share of handiwork for pipes, roofs, fences, wagons, and all sorts of other things. He's had to work hard for all his book smarts, but he's incredibly intelligent and dedicated to learning. He becomes a library assistant in Maeth to further his knowledge. He's good at baseball, the most popular sport in Villa Noche. He can cook and bake okay, nothing exceptional. He really likes studying animals, specifically birds.
Favourite food: Ham & cheese empanadas. Provoleta
Favourite drink: Black coffee and Modelos
Favourite flower: The blooms of the Jacaranda tree
Appearance:
Height: 6'0 or 183 cm.
Weight: 140 lbs or 63 kg
Hair: Van has dusty brown hair, thick and silky. It's pretty easy to comb through and almost never tangles. He used to keep it short growing up, but since his decision to leave Villa Noche, he has been growing it long. It's to his shoulders now. He often keeps it back in a ribbon or a satin scrunchy. He likes to experiment with different hairstyles, but most of the time he likes a simple ponytail or his hair down by his shoulders. He has quite a few grey hairs that he's gathered over the years from stress, but now he's just convinced he's greying early. He hopes he doesn't bald too soon.
Eyes: Van has big, deep-set eyes, much like a squirrel. They're chocolate, just light enough to differentiate the iris from the pupil. They glow like maple syrup in the sun. He's got a distinct pair of long, dark lashes, and the skin around his eyes wrinkles when he smiles.
General description: Van is a soft-spoken and empathetic young man. He has a passion for learning both skills and learning about others. He has a host of bad habits he's been trying to unlearn, often struggling with interpersonal relationships between friends who aren't like-minded to him. He's polite and gentle, and he loves to keep in the company of others. Van is very generous and it shows in his everyday life. He is an excellent employee and a caring friend as he will go to great lengths to do more than what is asked of him for people he feels like deserve it.
Van is tall and lanky, sometimes incredibly awkward. He's grown to be more comfortable with himself but still has an awkward walk and a small stammer that stems from his low self-confidence. Van has long skinny legs and thin arms. For a man of many trades, he has quite delicate hands and he likes to keep his nails short. Van has a host of freckles all over his body, lightly washed over his face, but a more intense brown all over his back and arms. Van has thick brows and easily grows a beard, however, he likes to keep it shaved completely or, at the most, keeps a small mustache and stubble.
Van has a large aquiline nose with a distinct bump which is naturally the most distinguishing part of his face. Van's face is defined by high cheekbones and a naturally contoured jaw. His chin is pointed, and he does have a small cleft in the middle. Van has dimples when he smiles, making for a soft, more friendly appearance. Overall, Van is very handsome and his combination of features is quite unique.
Fashion sense: Van isn't overly particular about clothes. He's used to living in a very cold, mountainous region so he's used to dressing warmly. However, once he moves to the more central part of Maeth, he experiments with different styles since the weather is more temperate and isn't as limiting. For the most part, Van enjoys a denim pair of jeans, loose or tight fighting, with a long-sleeved shirt or a sweater of some type. He likes to layer, but always ends up rolling his sleeves to his elbows. He really loves an oversized cardigan. Van usually sports leather or vinyl boots on a daily basis. Sometimes for a more casual look, Van likes cork sandals. Van comes to find that he likes sneakers and is impressed with Central Maeth's wide variety of shoe stores and shoe styles.
A brief look into his life:
Occupation: During his years in Villa Noche, a small village in mountainous Souther Maeth, Van was a sheep and livestock herder like his father. He'd go around doing odd jobs for extra cash since he barely saw any take home from his and his father's work. Upon moving to Central Maeth, Van saw an opportunity for learning and decided to apply as one of the library assistants. He wasn't particularly well-versed in books, but he brought to the table an eagerness and willingness to learn and help others. He often goes to Maeth's primary school library to read to the children there or bring them books they might not otherwise have access to. He likes to pop in at the petting zoo from time to time.
Love interest:
Marcos
Family and friends:
Valerio Cruz, father
Rosalie Rivera, mother
Ignacio Rivera, stepfather
Penelope Rivera, sister
Oliver Rivera, half brother
Petra Moretti, former love interest and best friend in Villa Noche
Nina Yanez and Marnie Ursil, close friends in Villa Noche
Lalo Hernandez, estranged friend in Villa Noche
Fausto Guerra, rival in Villa Noche
Linda Firraldi, former teacher
Marcos, love interest and partner
Thomas, Cole, Matías, and Emilio, his best friends.
Victor Esperanza, mentor at the Maethisse College of Literary Arts
Miscellaneous facts:
Despite an unathletic appearance, Van is really good at baseball and swimming. He is also very good at riding horses and has learned to do so from a very young age
Van is very good with children and animals and both tend to like and trust him easily
Van has many great ideas but often doesn't share them
Van doesn't anger easily, so when you've made him angry you know you've gone too far
Van isn't typically one to forgive and can easily hold a grudge, despite his soft nature
In Villa Noche, Van started participating in bull running and bull riding to fit in since the dangerous sport was considered 'cool' amongst all the young men there. He got to be quite good at it, much to the annoyance of his peers
Most of Van's friends have been girls, which is the main contributor to his empathetic and kind nature
When younger, Van found other boys intimidating and difficult to get along with. He can count on one hand how many close male friends he's had in his life.
Van kept his sexuality private for a very long time, and upon arriving in Central Maeth, he feels relief in not having to hide anymore
Van isn't afraid to explore cosmetic enhancements and body modifications and has often expressed a desire for a nose job or fillers
Van likes piercings on himself and others, but he's yet to get anything beyond a nose ring and double ear piercings.
Although Van appreciates having feminine qualities, he often still opts for a mostly masculine appearance and prefers that in his partners
Story:
Vance Manuel Cruz was born to his mother and father in the small mountain village known as Villa Noche. Quite secluded from the rest of the country, the village of less than one hundred had to be quite sustainable on its own. Because of that, most of the townspeople had practical professions and lived humble lives. Van's father was a sheep herder and a keeper of livestock, while his mother was a seamstress. From a young age, Van had been trained in his father's line of work. He took to it easily enough, not to say it was something he preferred. He did, however, enjoy working with the animals. He was never any good at slaughtering them.
Van had a good relationship with his mother, who often tried to hide the abusive nature of her marriage from her only son. Her husband, and Van's father, Valerio, was a very traditional man. In this sense, he worked long hours and prioritized his duties outside of the home. His wife's responsibilities amounted to taking care of the home, their child and also working long hours. Valerio didn't allow Rosalie many freedoms and she was often unhappy. Their fights would sometimes come to blows when Van wasn't around. The most prominent disagreement between them was that Valerio wanted more children, and Rosalie did not. Life was hard enough already. They didn't have much money, time or means. Having another child would be impossible.
When Van was four or five years old, Rosalie discovered she was pregnant again, this time with a daughter. She kept it a secret from her husband. Not being able to stomach the uncertain future they would both have in Villa Noche, Rosalie gathered what little possessions belonging to her and planned quietly to move away. Although she desperately wanted to take Van with her, Rosalie knew her limitations. There was nobody to help her travel north, and it would be harder with Van with her. It would also give Valerio more cause to run after her. Ultimately she had to convince herself that Van would be okay here in Villa Noche, and she disappeared in the middle of the night, never to return.
After Rosalie's disappearance, Valerio became incorrigible. He was always angry, speaking about how ungrateful Rosalie was. For Van this was difficult. He didn't know who to believe. His father and the preconceived notions of the townspeople, or whatever information he'd gathered about his parents' relationship managed to slip between the cracks.
The more his father spoke ill of her, the more Van began hating his mother.
Van soon took the role of his own mother, taking care of their home as well as himself and his father. He began learning how to cook meals and keep everything clean, doing laundry and maintenance. He took up his mother's place in more ways than one. Van had a very busy schedule between helping his father with the livestock and all of the house chores. He hardly had any time to play, as a child should do.
Valerio seemed to have nobody left to push around, so he set his sights on Van. He was very critical of him, complaining when things weren't done up to his standard. He would lament about not having Rosalie around and that Van was a lousy replacement. Van was often the butt of jokes his father would make at his expense, discussing how he'd make a much better daughter than a son. This bothered Van a lot, but it bothered him more once he began discovering things about himself.
Due to Villa Noche's small population and the value placed on practical work, there wasn't much in the way of formal education. Because of this, Van didn't attend school for very long. There was one schoolhouse in the village that the children could attend. Not very many did because they were helping their families with the labor-intensive work required at home. Between his duties at home, Van attended school as much as he could, much to the disapproval of his father. Here, he learned to read at a basic level and was taught basic mathematics.
The schoolhouse was shut down as the school teacher, who had become a safe and trusted adult to Van, was moving away. Her name was Linda Firraldi. She was a widow and had no means to provide for herself here. The teaching she was doing went unpaid. Many of the children were saddened by this news and donated money to her so that she could afford to leave. Some of the parents were upset by this news, while others were in support of Linda. Since Villa Noche did not have a formal government, not much could be done to accommodate her. Linda didn't want to be a pity case either. So it was decided. Van was so upset that his teacher was leaving, realizing he'd be without a friend and without a safe place to hide from his responsibilities.
All through Van's late adolescence, he struggled to make friends. All of his time was spent at his house or at work. One day, when Van was about eleven years old, he got a knock on his door. He looked through the window to discover it was a girl about his age. Hurrying to open it so his father wouldn't, Van was face to face with one of his former peers from the schoolhouse.
Petra Moretti.
They hadn't been well acquainted then, but Van distinctly remembered her long dark hair and her delicate features. He thought she was so beautiful and well-spoken. Her mother had been friends with Rosalie.
"Hey... hey Petra."
"Hi, Vance. Is your dad home?"
Van quickly nodded. Petra held a small piece of paper in her hands.
"Yeah... he is. Why, did you need him for something?"
Petra shook her head. Handing the piece of paper to Van.
"No... I actually came to see you. I'll make it quick, but my mom and I are holding school lessons at our house. I was hoping maybe you'd come."
Van looked down at the paper, then back at Petra. This was the first time he felt like one of his peers actually cared for him.
"Yeah... yeah I'll try to make it if I can..."
Van was already hesitant as he didn't have any school supplies or anything left from his time at the schoolhouse. He was also afraid that his father would find out. He'd been so relieved when Van stopped attending school, so he definitely intended on keeping this a secret. Petra knew the look on his face.
"Don't worry about the books or anything. We have everything you need."
Van wanted to count all the freckles on her face. He couldn't do it because he didn't know enough numbers.
"Thank you, Petra..."
Before she turned to leave, a cold gust of wind blew her hair back. Her cheeks were red. It made Van's stomach warm.
"Anytime. And Van?"
"Yeah?"
"He doesn't have to find out."
Van looked at that piece of paper all night. It had a list of times that they would meet, written in Petra's neat handwriting. The subjects were on a rotating schedule, so everyone would learn a little bit of everything at some point. There was even a class on Saturday. Van had never been more excited.
So in secret, Van started to attend school at Petra's house. Her father, Gino was one of the village's farmers. He was well respected in Villa Noche and spent long hours at their patch of land some miles out of the village. Petra's young mother, Julietta, made jams and preserves that she sold at the market. She was also a midwife and had helped deliver many of the children that attended her house for school, including Van.
He learned a great many things there and began friendships with some other kids. He got a hunger for knowledge and a taste for learning. In his early teens, Van spent a lot of time at Petra's house. He learned how to make jam with Julietta and he and Petra would spend all afternoon reading and learning together. They would make lists of things they wanted to learn about. Petra would ask her father to see some of the traveling merchants and request books on the subjects. Gino would come with books from all over Maeth for Petra and Van to share. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Van was even able to confide in her about his suffering relationship with his father. He felt like she was able to understand.
In his time learning there, Van met a few other boys his age. He'd refrained from befriending boys in the past, because of conflicting feelings he's had toward them. Despite this, one boy named Lalo Hernandez managed to win him over. Lalo was the son of a metal worker and a seamstress. He was kind, but rowdy with a crooked smile and a lazy eye. He adopted Van into his group of friends. Van thought it felt good to be accepted. His father spoke less ill of him when he discovered he had some friends that would be a masculine influence. The group would often play baseball in the field, travel the forest together, and share stories over their father's alcohol. They would provoke and fearlessly hop atop the bulls of the village to feel danger and impress the girls. Van loved the security that group provided him, but he couldn't help but feel he was an imposter.
Friendship with Lalo and his buddies felt like a double-edged sword. Van was often teased because he wasn't like them. Lanky and awkward, he often felt out of place next to his muscular, confident counterparts. They teased him when he refused the advances of girls and didn't participate in their locker room talk. They joked that Van was only their friend so that he could see them bathe naked. Lalo assured Van it was all just childish jokes. Van wasn't sure that they were, but for years he stayed. Finally accepted by his father, the feeling of belonging coerced him to stay close to the same people he couldn't fully relate to. They liked Van well enough, but Van had again found himself a house with no home.
Van grew older, into a young man. He kept with his studies at Petra's house and with his work herding his family's sheep. He kept with Lalo his group of village misfits through all their ups and downs. Van found his friendship with Petra to be the type of friendship he preferred. It was gentle, nurturing, and intimate. As Petra began to discover herself, their friendship crossed over into something more. She was a beautiful young woman, but Van discovered that wasn't why he was infatuated with her. He loved how he could let his walls come down around her. He loved how they could touch each other and feel safe. Petra was never threatened by Van, nor Van by her. Their physical relationship came long after their strong emotional connection and it was one of discovery.
Van couldn't help but feel drawn to his friends. He explained what he felt to Petra after long contemplation. He explained how Lalo, with his swagger and his ruggedness, made him feel things. Things he was ashamed of but told her anyway. Petra listened.
"Would you be happier with someone like that? With Lalo?"
Van shook his head, quickly putting himself in that situation. He didn't like what he imagined.
"Oh no... I can't have a conversation with any of them about anything important, Petra... I feel like it's so hard to connect to them like I connect with you. I don't want to be with someone like that... I just think he's..."
"Beautiful. Your body thinks he's beautiful, doesn't it? And it feels things when you see him."
Van nods. He was so surprised by her insight.
"How'd you know?"
She shrugs.
"Because that's the feeling I'm missing. Mama said I was supposed to feel things in my body when I look at a boy... Nina too. But I don't. Not what they speak about."
Van rubs his chin.
"What do you feel when you look at me?"
Petra smiles. The kind of smile that reminds Van what real love is.
"The same thing you feel."
It was safety, understanding, companionship, love, and all these other words they already knew.
By the time he was seventeen, Van could consider himself Petra's boyfriend. They spent most of their time together beyond their work, and Van often stayed over at her family's house.
Petra was so happy with Van. The pair had decided to keep their love private for a long time, and Van was okay with that. He actually preferred it. As much as he wanted to prove himself to his father and his friends, he realized that wasn't what he wanted. That was what his surroundings conditioned him to want. His desire to protect Petra and her virtue was far greater.
As they approached the common age of marriage, tensions reached an unbearable point within his group of friends over his relationship with Petra. She was well sought after by the boys of the village because of her beauty and poise. She received endless advances and pursuits from the young men in town, but to all of them, she refused. They despised how close Van was to her, calling it a waste.
"You don't even like girls, Vance. You could at least let one of us put her to good use."
This was the statement that angered him the most. As if Petra's womanhood had anything to do with why he loved her.
Van had always known he didn't see women as toys or things or objects. What he had only recently discovered is that not everyone felt the same. He was beginning to realize why his mother had left his father. He feared finding out the things she'd endured that made her think her only option was disappearing into the night without him.
The friends were beginning to fall apart and they would often bicker over Petra's affections. They would relentlessly harass Van about her most intimate details, but he would never provide so much as a clue. Just the thought that Van had to shield her from their prying eyes was enough to justify his relationship with her. He would be with her. They would never be.
One of their group, Fausto Guerra, was particularly vile. He was the son of the tavern master. Van had never liked Fausto. Fausto was his foil, his antichrist. He was the most braggadocious person he'd ever met. He was haughty, arrogant, and self-important. He expected others to serve him, and his mouth demanded respect before his hands warranted it. His crass opinions of women and his love for alcohol rubbed Van's skin raw with contempt. His greed was insatiable and he had boasted of deflowering many girls in the village. Van doubted the consensuality of his claims. In many ways, Fausto reminded Van of his father. He hated that.
Fausto loved to proclaim that one day he would 'conquer' Petra and make her his wife. Van would die before that would ever happen.
Fausto would buy Petra all the most elaborate gifts in an effort to get her to agree to marry him. Petra would always politely refuse them, as her mind was made up.
"Why doesn't he ever listen Vance?"
Van spared her from the disgusting things that entered his mind from Fausto's lips.
"Because men don't know how to listen."
Her laugh lifted like a feather in the wind.
"You do."
"Yeah, well sure Petra... but I'm different."
"Sure you are... and that's why I love you."
Petra looked out the four-pane window, a book in her lap. Her hair was to her waist now. Vance would brush it often and put it in a ribbon for her.
"It's laughable to think Fausto expects me to consider him at all. I would never marry a man like him."
Van lays on her bed with his arm above his head. His eyes couldn't choose between Petra's elegant form and the orrery hanging from her ceiling. He had a small, teasing smile.
"Why ever not, Petra?"
Her playful scoff made Van warm inside.
"Because I have bigger plans for my life than to be the wench of an insufferable tyrant."
Van chuckled.
"That we do, Petra. That we do."
This wasn't the end of Fausto's advances. When Petra was at the tavern with their friends Nina and Marnie, Fausto tried again. Her answer would always be no. She just feared what this exchange would bring. She knew men often became dangerous when humiliated.
Van had heard the whole commotion from outside the tavern. He'd finished up his work for the day. The sheep were sheared and in the northern pasture. He'd made plans to join Petra and their friends at the tavern for a drink, then walk Petra home. He hadn't known what Fausto had planned on doing. The way things went, he assumed nobody had. When Van arrived a crowd had gathered around the door.
He heard yelling. He heard a glass break. He heard Petra's angry yell.
"I said no, Fausto! No! Doesn't a woman's word mean anything to you? You ask, ask, ask, but it does not mean you will receive. I say no and you do not listen. What kind of marriage would that make for me? Answer me that!"
Van could hear the tears in her voice. He shoved through the crowd and had seen Petra wrapped around herself. Nina and Marnie were in a wall between her and her aggressor. Fausto was red in the face. He grabbed her drink and threw it on the stone floor, glass scattering across the floor like shrill mice.
"Why won't you just give in, huh? I've done everything a man could possibly do. You're so ungrateful. You'll see, Petra! You'll die a spinster. You wouldn't know a good man if one fell into your bed."
Van saw Petra, his poetic and poised Petra, falling apart at the seams. He saw her cowering behind her friends. He saw her dainty hands shake as she held them close to her chest. He saw that the silver button on the cuff of her blouse was gone, the threads slithering out like snakes. Van pictured Fausto reaching out to hurt her. This sent Van into a rage.
"Get out of here, Fausto."
Van parted the crowd like a sea, taking a few steps in front of Marnie and Nina. Even though Van towered over the brute, he couldn't tip the scale at half his weight. Fausto glowered at him, broken glass crunching under his boots.
"And what are you going to do?"
Van clenched his fist. For the first time, he did not know fear. All he felt was anger.
"What do you think?"
"I think you're a bitch, Vance Cruz. You always have been. A bitch like Petra knows how to pick 'em."
Van didn't remember anything after that.
There were flying fists and blood and teeth.
Fausto's father had to pull Van away from Fausto. By then there was blood on the floor, his face, and splattered all over his shirt. Some had gathered to watch, and some had fled. Van didn't feel pain. He felt satisfaction. He didn't hear Mr. Guerra yelling at him to leave. He just heard the ringing in his ears. He didn't see the surprise on the faces around him. He just saw him with his eyes swollen shut, barely recognizable on the ground. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to tell if that was Fausto Guerra or not. This made Van happy.
He reached out for Petra. She went into his arms like it was the only safe place in the world. Van didn't regain his sentience until all four of them had made headway to Petra's house in Marnie's mage light.
After they'd made it out of earshot of the tavern, Petra burst into tears. It broke Van's heart. He'd never seen her so upset, violated, and vulnerable. They supported her along the beaten path to her house on the hill. She'd cried so much she'd exhausted herself, and Van had to carry her. When they got back, Nina and Marnie helped her wash up. Van did the same, helping himself to one of Gino's shirts. He was out of town trading with another village to the east. He wouldn't miss it. When Van had finished, they all went to Petra's room, surrounding her with love and support as she fell asleep in Van's grasp.
"So what happened?" Van asked quietly.
Marnie could feel the anger melting off him in waves. In all the years she'd known Van, she didn't think he was capable of such raw, unchanneled fury. He'd always been so gentle to them.
They sat on the bed together, Marnie's calming magic seeping into Petra's skin.
"Fausto walked into the tavern with a grand gesture. He had flowers and gifts for Petra. We all looked at each other not knowing what to do. He came over to us and sat down next to Petra... He tried to hug and kiss her. Petra had pushed him away."
"We didn't know where he got that idea from," Nina said. "Petra has never wanted to share space with him, let alone touch him. Everyone knows Petra doesn't like being touched by just anyone. Everyone knows she doesn't like Fausto."
Van shakes his head and seethes. The look of worry on his friends' faces told him everything they didn't say with their words.
"And nobody tried to help you..." he mumbled. He wasn't surprised. There weren't many people brave enough to stand up to that tyrant Fausto. Not even the grown men of the village. Van hated that.
"No... we tried to ask him to leave before Petra get any more upset. I'm afraid he didn't take that well," Marnie continued in her soft voice. "He tried to calm her down with sweet talk and fake apologies. He was too dense to see it wasn't working. He ordered her another drink to get on her good side."
Van looked down at Petra, fast asleep in his arms. She only had good sides, but they were for people who were good to her.
"He grabbed her hand and tried to put the ring on her finger saying his much he fancied her... He'd torn the sleeve of her blouse when she tried to rip her hand away from him."
Nina scowled.
"After that, Fausto went berserk. He shoved all the empty glasses onto the floor and banged on the counter, raising his voice at Petra. She told him bravely to leave her alone, but he wasn't listening. We were scared, but we stood up to that pig. We told him to scram or we'd use our magic to blast him out of that shit hole..."
Nina wiped her face, trying not to let the tears escape. Marnie held her hand.
"And that's when you arrived."
Van placed a soft kiss on Petra's head, covering her shoulders with her quilt.
"I'm glad I arrived in enough time... and I'm sorry you three were alone."
Marnie smiled softly. "It's not your fault, Van."
Nina was chewing her finger. Van knew something was eating at her.
"What is it, Nina?"
"He's just... so horrible Van." She looked at Marnie and back to Van.
"She... told us not to tell you. But Fausto has been sending Petra letters."
"What kind of letters?" Van saw his vision get hazy.
Manie was the one to answer. "Very detailed letters of what he would do to her once they were married... Or even before. She hasn't felt safe and we've been staying with her every night until her parents return. She hadn't told anybody."
They told him while Petra slept in his arms. They sat there and told Van everything while the planets spun above them. Van's world seemed to stop. He was so sad for Petra. So sad that she didn't tell him. But he understood. He understood that sometimes people kept secrets because the minute you said them out loud they seemed too real for your comfort. Maybe she feared Van would do something stupid to stand up for her... and maybe she thought Van didn't stand a chance against Fausto.
Maybe.
Walking away from that fight with a bloody nose and a broken rib was the least of Van's worries. It showed how much of a man he'd grown into, despite the examples he'd been given. Van was proud of that.
Van didn't go against Penelope's wishes. He waited to see how Petra wanted things handled. Nina and Marnie had told him what happened when Gino came back. Petra told her father everything, sparing him a few details that would make her ashamed. Mr. Moretti settled things personally with Fausto. Petra had wanted to go and receive her apology. She brought her friends with her for support, and so they could get an apology as well.
Mr. Moretti brought the letters to Fausto's house, making Mrs. Guerra read them. Nina said that she'd never seen a woman so disgusted and offended. The letters made her cry. It was a hard pill for her to swallow, but she needed to see the son she raised. Marnie said she felt terrible for Mrs. Guerra. But she felt worse for Petra. She needed to see the son she and her husband raised.
Mr. Moretti told Mr. Guerra he would no longer provide his produce for his tavern and told Fausto he would kill him if he ever saw him near Petra again.
Fausto apologized to those girls, but it didn't mean as much to Petra as she had thought. Mr. Moretti asked her if she had anything to say.
"Until you raise a daughter of your own, Fausto, you won't know the violation you're capable of projecting onto a woman. And I hope you never have the chance to. I feel sorry for your future wife, and I feel sorry for your mother. I feel sorry that I ruined her perception of you, but you deserve to have your reputation ruined. Since your precious reputation is the only thing I could ruin to make you see the value of a woman's life."
And Petra had spit on him.
Van had just wished he could be there for that. Because when they told him it was all over, it didn't feel like enough.
It was a few months after that, Petra told Van she had decided to leave Villa Noche.
"We're moving to the north so I can study, Van. You should come with us."
It was a casual conversation over provoleta at the Moretti household. Van nearly spits out his drink.
Van didn't know what to make of that. He'd worked so hard to make himself belong in a place he didn't. Now the opportunity to travel abroad with the family who took him in was right here... He didn't know what he'd do.
They'd all talked about it. Gino had a few prospects for their farm lined up. The money from that should be enough to get them anywhere they needed to go. Anything else they sold would be extra cash in their pockets. Julietta was so excited, looking forward to moving to a new place and supporting her daughter's ambitions. They invited Van with open arms. He was a part of their family for more than a decade. They knew he came from a situation that he really wanted to leave. There was never a doubt in their mind that Van was going to be a part of that family for the rest of their lives.
Van felt honored. He had wanted to go. He really, really did. He wanted to go with them, with Petra, but something was telling him not to.
He'd gone home and thought it over. He talked to his friends about it casually, the ones he really trusted anyhow.
Lalo had told him it was self-sabotage, he should just move with them.
"It's a big wide world out there Vance. There are opportunities taller than the mountains."
Van wanted to believe him, but things weren't so simple. He wished to all the planets that it was.
Until this point, Van and Petra had discussed their relationship so regularly. They were best friends. They were two people who shared intimacy and felt safe when making love with one another. Petra and Van loved each other more than the world itself. They discovered many things by being together.
Petra didn't love men. Petra loved Van. Van loved women, but in the way that he wanted to be one and was envious that he wasn't. He still wasn't sure what that meant. Petra was okay with that.
Van desired men in the way Petra did not. Although he'd found this out about himself, Van knew there wasn't a single man he could fall in love with like he had fallen in love with Petra. He asked himself why. Why, why why.
Because Petra was Petra. A soft, sensitive, caring woman that opened the doors to space and time. She was the woman that changed his life.
There wasn't a man Petra could see herself in love with... because there was no man like Van.
Van understood Petra and Petra understood Van. She was the only one who had known his secrets and he was the only one who understood hers. Their lusts and confusion and their skeletons in the closet that, when in each other's company, never seemed so bad.
Their bond was so strong and although they thought they were soulmates, they realized you could be soulmates in a way that belies tradition. Their relationship had become... celestial.
But on the tangible side of things, Petra wanted so much more than Van was sure he could give her. She wanted to try out a big city. She wanted to study the stars. She wanted to love women. She wanted a different life than the one she had. Van was okay with her having all of those things. He wanted her to have those things. Petra had a feeling when she asked him...
She knew Van was unsure if he was okay with uprooting with her. She saw the stars from his eyes disappear and be replaced with uncertainty.
"So you're not coming with us... are you, Vance?"
Van couldn't help the tears in his eyes.
"I don't know... What if I.. what if it's not the right thing for me?"
Petra smiled through her disappointment.
She couldn't help but think it was Van's sweet way of saying
'What if you're not the right thing for me'?
Van tried to think of something, anything to say. He had some things lined up, but he knew those words were already written in Petra's mind. She'd already read and memorized them.
And she'd forgiven him too.
"That's okay. You'll find the right thing for you, Van. I'll write to you."
"You will?"
Petra sniffled and wiped his face with her bare fingers. He was honored. She'd normally reserve her pocket kerchief for something like that. He'd miss these things about her.
"Of course, I will. I'll tell you all about my studies, and mama and papa too. Just don't move away before I do, okay? You have to promise."
Van cupped Petra's face and gave her the kiss he hoped she'd never forget.
"I promise, Petra."
"Are you going to be okay... with your father?"
Van didn't know. He didn't want to worry her. He'd grown into a man now. Whatever issues he had, he would face them head-on. He wouldn't have Petra to cry to anymore. He couldn't hide under the covers with her while his father drank himself into a stupor. He would really miss that.
"I'll be fine. Don't worry."
She nods and grabs the keys to the house from her pocket, looking over her shoulder at her father packing up their wagon.
"We sold the farm to Nina's family, but the house is yours. I told Papa that I wanted you to have it."
Van took those keys into his hands like they were sacred ambrosia.
"Petra... I don't know what- Petra... thank you."
"You're welcome, Van. I'm really going to miss you, you know."
Van took her into his arms and hugged her tight. He was going to miss her more than anything. The sobs in his throat were telling.
"We'll see each other again. When you're an astronomer discovering new stars in a capital city."
"Yeah... we will, won't we?"
"Sure, we will."
Gino's voice yelling for Petra was the calling card. Van found it so hard to let her go. They'd all said their goodbyes about thirty minutes ago when he was helping them pack up the wagon. But now it seemed real. It seemed too terrible to bear.
"I love you, Petra."
Then sunrise peeking behind the mountains cast a gorgeous ray of angelic light upon the face Van had loved. The face Van will always love. He'll remember that forever, the way his Petra looked.
"I know, Van. Don't worry."
___
It was four years after that day. Four years of living alone in Petra's old house. Four years of working in distant silence with his father. Four months of a dry spell that ruined the pastures. Four years of pining that he didn't understand over men he didn't want to love. Four years full of nights dragging your father out of one of the four bars in town. Four minutes of something with Lalo he never wanted to happen. Four long years of writing to Petra, reading how happy she was. Four long years of regret.
Van realized he did make the wrong choice. That was a realization he made hours after Petra had made her departure, but spent years trying to convince himself otherwise.
He wrote to her.
Dear Petra,
I don't know how you'll take this. If it's with anger, I understand. If it's with pity, I agree. If it's with compassion, I'll be so ashamed. But I wish I came with you. The four years I've spent here were four years I'd rather have spent in a grave. I miss you. I miss being happy. I miss having meaning. I miss the strength that I had before that would've let me admit that. Petra, my muse, read the stars and tell me what to do.
From, Van
When she read the letter she cried. She cried that Van hadn't found himself like she had. She was sad that he couldn't find what he wanted with her. She was sad that she was right. She was right all along that he wouldn't find himself in Villa Noche. She wrote back, tears still fresh in her eyes.
To Van,
I take it with sadness. I'm sad you've lived with regret. I'm sad that you haven't been happy. I'm sad that you didn't tell me sooner. I don't need to read the stars to tell you what to do. I don't need to read them to tell you that it's not too late. You know you can come to me. You know you can always come to me and I will be here for you. But Van. You won't find yourself with me. If you didn't before, you won't now. I know that. You need to find yourself with you. Do as I did. Start today. Pick up everything you can bear to bring with you. Pack it in a bag. You're simple, I know you. All it will take is one bag. Take that bag and move away to somewhere you'd never think you'd go. It doesn't have to be grand. Make it suit you, Van. Move there and find a job you like. Maybe a job with sheep, maybe a job without them. I know how much you do like them. Find a place to learn. I know you'll be happier learning new things, just like we were. Once you've done that, write me a letter with everything you've felt over these years. Write me the truth. Let me listen. Or better yet, come visit me when those four years are just an unhappy memory that you'll tell me about in passing.
I love you, Van. Go be happy. If not, you can always run back to my arms.
Love, Your Petra
It took about three weeks for her letter to reach him. He cried his eyes out, reading it. But she had spoken. Petra was right. He had to go find him.
Van rose from the desk in his bedroom, the bedroom he once nearly shared with Petra. He grabbed his leather bag and began laying out clothes to put inside it. He searched the attic for a second suitcase. He'd prove Petra wrong at least once. He took a few things that belonged to her. Her small collection of hair scarves that he liked to wear sometimes and her rings that were much too small for him, but he liked to wear as necklaces. He pocketed the nail polish she'd left behind, deciding he'd be able to use it wherever he went. He applied a coat before he left.
He walked the thirty minutes to Nina's house. Knocking on the door, he felt the weight of the house keys in his hand.
Mrs. Yanez opened the door. She eyed the bag on his shoulder and the suitcase sitting behind him on the porch.
"Van? Hi honey, how are you? Going somewhere?"
Van smiled softly and tossed the keys in his hand, swinging them on his finger.
"I'm well, Mrs. Yanez. I actually am... I'm moving away. I talked it over with the Moretti's... they said to give you the keys to the house."
Needless to say, Mrs. Yanez was shocked. But she understood. She understood Villa Noche wasn't for everyone. If she was being honest, she wasn't entirely sure it was for her.
"Well, I'm sad you're leaving. I'll tell Nina you stopped by."
"That would be great, Mrs. Yanez. Thank you. Tell her I'll write."
"Of course, Van... Where are you going?"
He shrugs.
"When I figure that out, I'll let you know."
Van gives her a hug and leaves the keys with her. It was feeling real.
He went to tell his father. When Van walked into the front door, the young man found Valerio splayed out drunk in the living room. His snoring was so loud, it seemed to shake the paneled walls. Between the drunken slurs on the long walks home and the agitated mumbles when Van came to start the morning's work, Van and his father didn't speak very much. When they did it was about work. It had been a long while since Van had a decent conversation with his dad that didn't involve how many bags of wool were waiting to be washed, or where the grass was best for grazing. It had been a long while since they had a conversation at all. Van frowned, looking around his childhood home for a pen and some paper.
Going through the desk, he stumbled upon a faded picture of him and his mother. Van remembered those big, clunky cameras that would take his picture every year. He remembered going to the church with his mother where a few other people were taking photos too. They always had to wait a long time. It would be him and his mother, holding hands, waiting for their turn. His father never came. Van realized she must have the one who liked the family photos because when she left, his family had never taken another one. Van stared at it, the picture. He stared at his young face and the beautiful face of his mother whom he'd nearly forgotten. He shook his head and put it in his bag, paperclipped between the photos of him and Petra. He wished he could cry some tears about that photo. About how he was taking one of the only tangible things his father still had of his former wife. About how much he missed his mother. About how betrayed and lonely and angry he felt. He couldn't cry anymore. His feelings about this were so absent, it bothered him. Van wished he could cry, just to feel something. Feel something for this broken family.
Van remembered the paper. When he finally found some, he wrote a note.
I'm moving away. I won't be around to help you anymore. If you need anything, I hope there is someone you can call. Please don't forget about my sheep.
-Van
He put the piece of paper on the messy kitchen counter, by the coffee press. He'd be sure to find it there. He took a long look around. He didn't recognize this home. He'd lived here for years, yes, but he couldn't recall happiness here. Petra was right. How could he ever have found himself in this mess?
A rustling in the half-open pantry caught Van's attention. There was a young cat making a mess out of the bag of grain on the floor. Van had seen it a few times when coming to tuck his father into bed after a long night who knows where. He'd made some trust with this cat, feeding it leftover fish from the pub and giving it milk from time to time. He assumed it was a stray that his father took in because his loneliness was killing him. Van's replacement. Van clicked his tongue. The cat was emaciated, ribs showing and all. This was no way to live. If Van was rescuing himself, he could make room for one more on the ship to salvation. He just hoped this cat was up for the adventure.
Van scooped up the cat and put him in his backpack. He curled up quite nicely in there. He must have known Van was trying to save him.
That was that. With all the moving and shuffling Van had done in the house, his father still hadn't sat up to see what the commotion was.
Van left without saying goodbye.
As Van was walking along the road out of town, he thought about Lalo. Their friendship had fallen apart ever since that day.
That fateful day.
It was Sunday.
Lalo and his friends were day drinking at the tavern and he'd come all the way to Van's pasture to find him and tell him to quit working for the day. Van had listened, for once. He wasn't one to spare any expense when caring for his animals. Lalo had helped him round up his sheep and put them back in their pen for the day. They'd not even washed up before they headed to resume their merriment.
The two of them were the last ones to leave.
Maybe Lalo had suspected him all along. Maybe he'd know what Van had been thinking of him. Maybe he'd been too afraid to say anything about it sober, risking his reputation and his street cred with his friends... but he thought he could explore all of it under the influence of drink. So they did.
Not for very long. It was a short time. But the hungry way Lalo kissed him was borne into his soul like a brand. It was nothing like the sweet love he'd bad to Petra. It was hard. It had hurt. It was rough. It was dirty. Van hated that he'd done it. All those years of fantasizing about his friend, a friend he didn't want to think of in such a carnal way... summed up to the heaviest guilt he'd felt in his life. And he walked away. For good.
He avoided Lalo after that day. Even when Lalo was begging him to stay. He put on his pants and disappeared, kept to himself as much as he could. He say Lalo less and less, and it hurt him, to watch a friendship die like that. He felt responsible for ruining it. What was worst of all, was that he told no one.
Lalo had chased him, asked him why. Why couldn't they try things out. Asked him if he hadn't been good enough in bed, if he didn't like boys like he thought he did. That wasn't it. It wasn't a question Van knew the answer to. Not right then. In short, Van told him he wanted to try it, and he did. He wished he never did. Not with him.
Van later realized it was that he placed such a price on Lalo and his affection that when he finally paid it... the cost was too much for too little. He thought sleeping with him would provide clarity to all his confusion... make him feel better. He thought it would give him closure and maybe even a relationship. He thought he could make something with Lalo like he'd made with Petra. Something beautiful and safe and sacred. At least he wanted to think that. But Van found out... the things he loved, truly loved, about Lalo, he had made up.
He never told him that. It would've hurt him too much.
Before he knew it, he was on the edge of town. He was really leaving. He'd made his plan before leaving his front door: travel the day to Lola, the nearest town near the base of the mountains, get a room, and in the morning find a wagon to take him north. While in thought, a deep, baritone voice roused him. A passerby on the road.
"You leaving?"
Van turned.
Speak of the devil.
"Oh... yeah. I am."
His lazy eye was squinting against the mid-afternoon sun, shining right in his face. By his bags, Lalo assumed Van was leaving for good.
"Well... I'll make sure your old man takes care of your flock."
The statement sat in Van's stomach like a stone.
"Thank you... I'm sure he'll need reminding."
Van wanted to hug Lalo goodbye. He missed Lalo's hugs. The hugs that he cherished and savored in secret where he'd smell his clothes and wonder what it was like to kiss him. Before Lalo ever knew what his insides felt like.
Hugging him now, he couldn't stomach the thought. The only hug he thought of now was the one locked in close with sweaty grunts in some foreign animal language. He felt bad, knowing Lalo probably wanted the same thing.
Van was quiet for a minute as they stood there, shoulder to shoulder facing opposite sides of their destiny.
"I'll miss you, Van. Maybe one day we can talk... about everything."
Van felt strange tears prick at the back of his eyes.
"Yeah... maybe one day we can... I'd like to."
"Me too."
"Take care of yourself, Lalo."
"You too."
And as Lalo's footsteps were the last to sound behind him, Van was off to start his new life.
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First of Many
Agustín and Julieta have their first kiss—and they aren’t even dating
It was afternoon.
It was summer.
Agustín Rojas was 19 and Julieta Madrigal was 21. They were curled up underneath their favorite tree, the one that housed their childhood memories of climbing in its branches and eating shaved ice in the shade. A book of poetry, written in both Spanish and French was open in Agustin’s lap. Julieta could have fallen asleep listing to his deep, rich voice read both languages effortlessly and relaxed further against his shoulder as she listened for the French words— les mots française—that sounded similar to those in their native tongue.
Agustín had such a gift for languages, born from his love of music, and she never tired of listening to whichever one he decided to speak and he never tired of lovingly teasing her as she tried to pronounce them. She was a healer, not a linguist and loved appreciating the gift that he possessed just as he did for her. Julieta smiled and looked up at her best friend in the world and snuggled more deeply into Agustin’s shoulder. They had finished their talking and eating more than an hour ago, and food items littered the grass where they sat. Both were barefoot, Julieta having abandoned her favorite alpargatas a good while ago and Agustín had soon followed her lead. It had felt nice to take his dress shoes off especially in the heat of the early afternoon and she stretched her legs so her feet were closer to his and wiggled her toes in response to the breeze. As she did, Julieta felt herself struck by a familiar, yet somewhat frightening feeling which had been growing in her for some time. Agustín was mid sentence when she finally spoke softly.
“Hey, Gus?”
“Yeah?”
Agustín closed the book and glanced fondly at the warm brown eyes staring up at him. He brushed a jacaranda petal off her hair and held it up to her with a lazy smile, as his glasses sat slightly crooked on his face from where her head had nudged them.
“Do I make a wish?” Julieta asked, referencing another childhood game.
“Go for it.”
She looked at the petal for only a moment before raising her head just slightly and placing her lips on his.
The kiss only lasts a few seconds until Julieta pulls away, waiting to see what Agustín does. She fervently hopes she didn’t upset him. They aren’t courting, at least not officially, nor have they made any feelings of that nature explicitly known.
However.
It’s almost as if they don’t have to. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were children. The leaning on his shoulder, snuggling next to him—it had come so naturally to them over the years and she now can’t remember the point where it had even started.
Didn’t all friends do that?
Weren’t all best friends this close?
Weren’t all best friends… in love with each other?
Probably not.
Julieta begins to panic. She really should have asked him first.
Before she can worry too much, Agustín’s warm hand covers her jaw and brings her mouth back to his. He tilts a bit too far and the pesky frames of his glasses bump her face, but they ignore it. There is another warm breeze blowing and it seems to tighten their embrace, bringing them closer together.
This feeling. It feels normal.
Like the first time they held hands.
The first time Julieta leaned her head on Agustín and fell asleep on his shoulder.
The first time he noticed a stray hair and reached forward to fix it.
The time he stayed at Casita for dinner and ended up getting sick after losing a drinking contest with Pepa. He had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor and woke with her in his arms. It was the best hangover of his life.
Now their first kiss.
And not their last.
Only one more “first” of many.
Agustín pulls away and grins at Julieta. She can’t help but return the sentiment. Then she leans back in his shoulder, friendship still very much intact, but only deeper.
Apparently, he didn’t mind at all.
This little drabble was partially inspired by Bored57’s amazing work Mutually Assured Attachment. It’s on Ao3 and it’s an amazing read.
Go check it out!
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home.
i hope my home will always be open and loving to everyone. i will have every single ghibli movie on dvd. i will always have freshly baked cookies and lemonade in my fridge. fairy lights = everywhere. a gay flag hanging in front of our house. a plethora of rescued cats. a fancy ass old library with every book imaginable. always ready with wine, table games, children's toys, and tarot cards. candles and incense everywhere. swimming pool, hot tub, swing set, jacaranda trees, hammock, a garden, freshly cut grass.
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I love you — I probably tell you that everyday, in many different ways. I love you, but you never give me the chance to show you. I wanna be more than just words for you. I wanna be hands that love and embrace you. I wanna be someone you can relate to, someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to. I love you — in many different ways. I love you, in your blue jeans, in your sundress, your nakedness, your Sunday best. I love you, the same way the streets of Pretoria love jacaranda trees. When I told you that I’m yet to give you a ring, I wasn’t talking about a phone call. I want to propose someday, and finally give you my all. I love you without ego, like the same way children love Nemo. I love you even when it doesn’t always make sense.
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FEW THINGS ARE AS 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝙰𝚂 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽 ᴹᴼᵁᴿᴺᴵᴺᴳ
➤ soft, delicate hands grazed the ornate pillars of a neo-gothic mausoleum within the grounds of her private estate where it was surrounded with gorgeous jacaranda trees. it provided shade to the memorial as well as some privacy. Amelia greeted her sons as if they still living as she entered inside with great sorrow. her heart felt as though it were filled with lead considering how heavy it felt within her chest. the woman sat down on the stone bench facing the engravings on the walls which held her sons' names --- Elijah & Ruvik Hart.
it appeared to be well taken care of; hardly any dust and debris within the mausoleum saved for a bouquet of flowers: red anemone, lily, dandelion, & iris. despite their deaths had happened centuries ago, it was still fresh in the forefront of her mind. she had never thought in her long, eternal life she would be grieving; mourning for lives that are not her own. and yet, here she was weeping for the lives of her beloved children that were stolen from them.
they were murdered by the very humans they hunted...
her hands shook as she wailed at the sight before her: her children dead at the center of town as nothing but as cinders of their former selves. with one, tentative graze to their cheeks, they crumbled into a pile of ash. her vision blurred with more tears were wrought from her eyes by the sheer agony she felt. " my babies... my children... "
the townspeople were cheering, thrilled that the spawn of the devil woman perished by their hand. they thought it was a triumphant defeat as if they can easly do the same to her. but with her gut-wrenching cries and whimpers, they were at a loss. faint murmurs arose among them; confused at the scene. could devil spawn mourn or can they merely mimic it perfectly?
their question would not be answered that fateful night. a shimmer formed around their town, sealing their consequence of their actions as the void creature took it upon herself to steal their lives. none were able to escape. her barrier kept them still. it akin to what a predator would do if it was unleashed into a room full of its prey without an exit.
none lived that night. and the town was leveled completely to the ground.
like what i had posted eariler, Amelia loathes mother's day. it makes her feel the emotions she kept at bay for so long bubble and boil within her. she is envious that the other mothers are surrounded with their loved ones whereas she was alone. her sons want for nothing and they perished in the end regardless. she is hurting because she knows she's never going to experience motherhood again. she doesn't want to because it brings out an unbearable emotion she once thought she was above from.
#and ι'll ғear no evιl вecaυѕe ι'м вlιnd тo ιт all [headcanon]#мy rooтѕ мy rooтѕ rυn deep ιnтo тнe нollow [drabble]#death cw#child death cw
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History of Talkatora Garden at Delhi
Talkatora Garden is a beautiful park located in the heart of New Delhi, near the President's Estate and the Parliament House. Spread across an area of approximately 25 acres, this garden is a popular spot for locals and tourists alike, seeking a peaceful retreat in the midst of the bustling city.
The garden is named after the Talkatora Stadium, which was built in 1951 to host the first Asian Games. It is said that the name "Talkatora" is derived from the Persian word "Tal Katora", which means a "bowl made of stone". The garden was opened to the public in 2004 after a major renovation.
One of the main attractions of Talkatora Garden is its lush greenery and well-maintained lawns. Visitors can take a leisurely walk or jog along the garden's walking tracks, while enjoying the serene surroundings. There are also several benches and seating areas where visitors can relax and soak up the sun.
The garden is home to a variety of trees, flowers, and shrubs, including mango trees, jacarandas, and bougainvilleas. The garden also features a small lake, which is home to several species of birds such as ducks, swans, and geese.
For children, Talkatora Garden offers a fun-filled playground, with swings, slides, and other play equipment. There is also a mini train ride that takes visitors around the garden, which is especially popular with young children.
In addition to its natural beauty, Talkatora Garden also boasts several statues and sculptures that depict various historical figures and events. One of the most notable sculptures is that of Mahatma Gandhi, which stands at the entrance of the garden.
Talkatora Garden is open to the public from sunrise to sunset and there is no entry fee. The garden is easily accessible by public transport, with the nearest metro station being Central Secretariat. Overall, Talkatora Garden is a must-visit destination for anyone seeking a tranquil escape in the heart of Delhi. We Delhi Darshan offer you tours around the city at a vey nominal cost. You may contact us.
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You can post a selfie anytime but how often do you post about women you admire? Posting about them is also a kind of recognition of the struggles they faced (and still do) in creating works that have had such a huge impact on me. Works that explore and dissect struggles as well as the violence young girls and women of all ages still face.
Being a woman, it seems, has become equated with struggle. I don't know if that's a challenge I willingly accept but it's certainly a world I'm born into. Struggles vary for women across the world, found in spectrums of established and unknown grays. But violence is unacceptable for always. It can not be any more black and white than that.
So here are the women who have inspired me as a writer (I've published some, yay!!!) and whose works taught me to be brave in contributing my voice and studies to the struggle and challenge of being a woman (working on getting published on that next!)
Gloria Anzaldua
Known for: Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (1987), Chicana cultural theory, feminist theory and queer theory.
Marjane Satrapi
Known for: Persepolis series (Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood, 2000 and Persepolis: The Story of a Return, 2004; co-directed film adaptation in 2007), autobiographical graphic novels.
Sahar Delijani
Known for: Children of the Jacaranda Tree (novel, 2013)
I intend to do more posts like this in the future. That's how I intend to support women.
#blackandwhitechallenge#gloria anzaldúa#marjane satrapi#sahar delijani#la frontera#persepolis#children of the jacaranda tree#novels#academia#women's studies#feminist literature
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