#unbreakable dawn mounting in your throat.
Photo
kang sae-byeok + moodboard ——— 1 of ??
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Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
it cannot keep. That this amber light
whittled down by another war
is all that pins my hand
to your chest.
i
You, drowning
between my arms —
stay.
You, pushing your body
into the river
only to be left
with yourself —
stay.
i
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
backhanding
mother, then taking a chainsaw to the kitchen table, my father went to kneel
in the bathroom until we heard his muffled cries through the walls.
And so I learned that a man, in climax, was the closest thing
to surrender.
i
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.
i
Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.
i
I wanted to disappear — so I opened the door to a stranger’s car. He was divorced. He was still alive. He was sobbing into his hands (hands that tasted like rust). The pink breast cancer ribbon on his keychain swayed in the ignition. Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once. The moon, distant & flickering, trapped itself in beads of sweat on my neck. I let the fog spill through the cracked window & cover my fangs. When I left, the Buick kept sitting there, a dumb bull in pasture, its eyes searing my shadow onto the side of suburban houses. At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive. How I wanted to be that sky — to hold every flying & falling at once.
i
Say amen. Say amend.
Say yes. Say yes
anyway.
i
In the shower, sweating under cold water, I scrubbed & scrubbed.
i
In the life before this one, you could tell
two people were in love
because when they drove the pickup
over the bridge, their wings
would grow back just in time.
Some days I am still inside the pickup.
Some days I keep waiting.
i
It’s not too late. Our heads haloed
with gnats & summer too early
to leave any marks.
Your hand under my shirt as static
intensifies on the radio.
Your other hand pointing
your daddy’s revolver
to the sky. Stars falling one
by one in the cross hairs.
This means I won’t be
afraid if we’re already
here. Already more
than skin can hold. That a body
beside a body
must make a field
full of ticking. That your name
is only the sound of clocks
being set back another hour
& morning
finds our clothes
on your mother’s front porch, shed
like week-old lilies.
On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous
- Ocean Vuong
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I wish you were here. The days and nights are beautiful as only autumn can be […] My delight is purely aesthetic, and country bumpkin I am good, industrious, and loving; how long will it be, though, before I break out?
— Vita Sackville West, letter to Virginia, 11 Oct 1927
I remember being surprised at how yellow and how red autumn really is.
— Joe Brainard, I Remember
In the corner of Mommy’s heart, a small black mole lifts its head / It becomes a song. A fabulous solo roams desperately looking for death / A song graceful like the deep autumn night / The endless greetings of the dead.
— Kim Hyesoon, Autobiography of Death
Say autumn. / Say autumn despite the green / in your eyes. Beauty despite / daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn / mounting in your throat.
— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
We’re the types who keep from joining everyone outside, or rather, we enjoy-with-skirmish an autumn sunset’s afterglow, anticipating instead the quick tide of darkness that comes next.
— Durga Chew-Bose, Too Much and Not the Mood
The mottled lights from across the other bank beamed on the water, reminding me of Van Gogh's Starlight Over the Rhone. Very autumnal, very beginning of school year, very Indian summer, and as always at Indian summer twilight, that lingering mix of unfinished summer business and unfinished homework and always the illusion of summer months ahead, which wears itself out no sooner than the sun has set.
— André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name
#autumn#parallels#vita sackville west#virginia woolf#joe brainard#i remember#kim hyesoon#autobiography of death#ocean vuong#on earth we're briefly gorgeous#night sky with exit wounds#andre aciman#call me by your name#durga chew bose#too much and not the mood#web weaving#**
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On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous - OCEAN VUONG
i
Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
it cannot keep. That this amber light
whittled down by another war
is all that pins my hand
to your chest.
i
You, drowning
between my arms —
stay.
You, pushing your body
into the river
only to be left
with yourself —
stay.
i
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
backhanding
mother, then taking a chainsaw to the kitchen table, my father went to kneel
in the bathroom until we heard his muffled cries through the walls.
And so I learned that a man, in climax, was the closest thing
to surrender.
i
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunnedwith falling.
i
Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.
i
I wanted to disappear — so I opened the door to a stranger’s car. He was divorced. He was still alive. He was sobbing into his hands (hands that tasted like rust). The pink breast cancer ribbon on his keychain swayed in the ignition. Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once. The moon, distant & flickering, trapped itself in beads of sweat on my neck. I let the fog spill through the cracked window & cover my fangs. When I left, the Buick kept sitting there, a dumb bull in pasture, its eyes searing my shadow onto the side of suburban houses. At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive. How I wanted to be that sky — to hold every flying & falling at once.
i
Say amen. Say amend.
Say yes. Say yes
anyway.
i
In the shower, sweating under cold water, I scrubbed & scrubbed.
i
In the life before this one, you could tell
two people were in love
because when they drove the pickup
over the bridge, their wings
would grow back just in time.
Some days I am still inside the pickup.
Some days I keep waiting.
i
It’s not too late. Our heads haloed
with gnats & summer too early
to leave any marks.
Your hand under my shirt as static
intensifies on the radio.
Your other hand pointing
your daddy’s revolver
to the sky. Stars falling one
by one in the cross hairs.
This means I won’t be
afraid if we’re already
here. Already more
than skin can hold. That a body
beside a body
must make a field
full of ticking. That your name
is only the sound of clocks
being set back another hour
& morning
finds our clothes
on your mother’s front porch, shed
like week-old lilies.
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Text
say surrender. say alabaster. switchblade!!! honeysuckle!!! goldenrod!! say autumn ! say autumn despite the green in your eyes!!!!!!
#beauty despite daylight#say youd kill for it#unbreakable dawn mounting in your throat#my thrashing beneath you like a sparrow#stunned with falling#god. i cant get over this#.txt
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Which Ocean Vuong poems are your favorite?
Notebook Fragments
God must be a season, grandma said, looking out at the blizzard drowning
her garden.
My footsteps on the sidewalk were the smallest flights.
Dear god, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through
to get here.
Immigrant Haibun
Then, as if breathing, the sea swelled beneath us. If you must know
anything, know that the hardest task is to live only once.
Thanksgiving 2006
My mother said I could be anything I wanted
—but I chose to live.
Homewrecker
Because the year is a distance we’ve traveled in circles.
Which is to say: this is how we danced: alone in sleeping bodies.
Which is to say: this is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning into a tongue.
Seventh Circle of Earth
It’s funny. I always knew / I’d be warmest beside / my man. / But don’t laugh.
Understand me / when I say I burn best / when crowned / with your
scent: that earth-sweat / & Old Spice
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
Untitled (Blue, Green, and Brown)
Maybe we pray on our knees because god only listens when we’re this close to the devil.
To My Father / To My Future Son
Use it to prove how the stars
were always what we knew
they were: the exit wounds
of every
misfired word.
Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong
Don’t be afraid, the gunfire is only the sound of people trying to live a little longer & failing.
Devotion
& so what—if my feathers are burning.
I never asked for flight.
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for the poetry thing: 🕺🏻
Okay, so I gotta go with Ocean Vuong’s “On Earth, We’re Briefly Gorgeous” !!
“Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.”
#It’s a really lovely poem!!#Highly rec it#(And there’s a whole book named after this poem by Ocean Vuong himself)#Clover speaks#Asks#send me an emoji and I’ll send you a verse
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THE BRIDE
A/N: Ok. I lied. I thought I had to sacrifice the Jamie and Claire threads but really I just chopped the St. Germain one (much heavier in the disciples du mal thingy and witchcraft). Anyway this is a pinch of acotar and some bits from DOA too at the end. There will be mistakes!
______
The bride paces anxiously in her windowless chambers, trampling over the ripped and scattered remains of a once delicate veil. She wears no wedding gown. Has fed it to the hearth fire where the gold silk threads and embroidered pearls ignite the stonewalls in a hellish glow.
She is betrothed to the notorious nobleman The Comte St. Germain. A man of exquisite elegance and roguish charm that many girls can only dream of marrying. But she isn't fooled.
She knows the depths of treachery that dwells in his breast and of the company he keeps that terrorize the dark corners of the city streets of Gaul. That all he wants from her is a woman to serve him on hand and knee, a body and soul to own.
And he has tried to. Bruising her throat and ribs. But she too has marked him ugly and bloody - gouging him from face to chest, her knee rammed between the crux of his thighs. It brings a half grin to her face.
But then she hears the ominous sound of a key sliding into the lock of the lone arched door. She stiffens like a hunted doe, bleeding her bottom lip in wait, until she hears the key jamming, breaking in two.
She shrieks with hysterical laughter if only to know that she can breathe again, clutching her aching sides as she does so. The Comte hears her and pounds the door with his fists as his threats fall loud and rabid.
He wants to bind her arm and foot. Shatter her bones beneath his boots. He wants to belt her flesh raw, slap and bite her pretty face. Wants to -
Her laughter chokes with bile, and her lily-white hands press painfully hard against her tender lips, as she wills herself to calm.
She'll be faster, smarter, more ruthless than he. She'll throw him in the fire to roast black like the swine he is, herself too if she must. She'll -
She's barely caught her breath when the fire in the hearth dwindles to sapphire embers, illuminating the chamber like the belly of a twilight sea. The bride's heart leaps to her throat, throbbing with every skittering, piercing beat, as the stones of the hearth quake and unravel, parting for a cloaked figure to step through the impossible opening.
A silky mist whispers over him coming from the dark chasm behind and he lifts the dark green hood from his face revealing, undoubtedly, by the soft curve of his ears, a Fae Lord.
He looks as if he's flown on a thundercloud to find her, his mane wild and dark as elk's blood that ripples down the broad strength of his shoulders like the great tides of the sea. His eyes like the sickle moon are near black with ire as they linger on the iridescent bloom of bruises on her flesh and the thinness of the chemise she wears. But when his gaze meets hers they glimmer with startling tenderness and passion, and a love that burns brighter than the blue flames now writhing at his feet.
The Lord's voice is low and ragged from unbridled emotion when he speaks yet he manages to smile wryly, "Should'a bride of such beauty be mournin' on her wedding day?"
She'd forgotten how deeply she could hate him. Love him. All at once. That - That -
"You - you - Oh, Jamie!" She throws herself in her only beloved's arms that grip her just as fiercely, and he cries, "Claire, mo chridhe," into her curls, long and lovely as a willow's leaves.
She soaks in his warmth and strength that wraps around her like a shield, breathing in the scent of him - balsam trees and dewy grass, sun-warmed skin that tastes of woodsmoke and spring rain, and the pungent muskiness of exhaustion as he trembles to the bone with relief.
"How?" She mouths against his chest heaving strong as a bellow beneath her cheek.
He nuzzles softly at her crown, hands soothing warmth down her back then shoulders, holding her slightly away.
"Our hearts are forever bound to one another, I've told ye so before."
The night they met when he first made her laugh and she dared to kiss him along the glittering Seine.
"I could feel yer despair, thought maybe ye were feeling the same pain as I. Regret for how we parted when ye told me ye loved me nae more." He squeezes her shoulders, knowing how she lied but not why. "But I felt it grow weaker day after day, and kent it must be something more. I ken ye told me to leave ye be but I thought ye were dying, my love. I couldna keep away."
Tears gloss her eyes as she bows her head ashamed, so quietly she says, "I thought you wouldn't. I meant to make you hate me."
"Never," he affirms, lifting her chin. "I shouldna have let my temper get the better of me, to keep me from yer side. If I hadn't -"
His mouth tightens as he brushes his knuckles down her cheek, gently thumbing her swollen bottom lip.
He wants to kiss the blood away, the blight that colors her skin. Wants to love her till there's nothing left of them but a single soul. . .
But the door is finally forced open and he comes face to face with the Comte St. Germain.
The Fae Lord erupts with rage violent and luminous as a lightning bolt, cracking the stones that encircle them all, as he claws at the air and twists his wrist. The Comte stupidly, desperately, reaches for the iron forged rapier strapped to his waist, beseeching the protection of the wickedly divine that he's pledged his soul to, but instead of deliverance, he's sent flying into the far wall.
His bones shatter with a sickening crunch as blood and strangled screams sputter from his mouth.
"That's enough," Claire says in a moment of pity to her Lord, and with tremendous effort, she pulls him away, leaving the wretched Comte St. Germain gasping for air alone in the cold dark as the walls that he imprisoned her within collapse.
//
Claire's brought to a small clearing just as dawn slowly breaks across the big sky, a hazy plume of dark grey and lavender, and the barest hint of golden sunlight. The wind is chilly and tugs at her hair but she savors its biting caress that shudders down her spine, intoxicating her lungs. She walks enjoying the feel of the tall grass tickling her fingertips and the dirt soft beneath her bare feet, but she finds a gaping absence at her side.
She glances over her shoulder where Jamie trails behind, watching her with trepidation as an aching question whispers from his mouth.
"Will ye run off again, mo nighean donn? Is this the last I'll see of ye?"
She wraps her arms around herself, curls whisking like dandelion seeds across her lashes and cheeks.
"I didn't run, Jamie."
"Ye did," he reproaches softly, not wanting another fight. "Like a thief in the night with my heart. I gave ye all of me gladly and forever will -"
"But I can't promise you the same." Her bleeding heart lodges thick in her throat and the truth of it all comes pouring out. "Maybe a few decades, a blink in the eye to you, before I wither to decay, and you still beautiful as the day we met."
"That's what's been troublin' ye?" His face is serious, but one corner of his mouth curls up irrepressibly.
"Don't you laugh!" She says furiously.
"I think I will," Jamie smiles widely, and takes a step toward her meaning to kiss the foolishness from her vexing mouth but she takes a step back. He raises an auburn brow daring her to move away from him again and she thrusts her defiant chin high and kicks her left heel back.
What comes next is a flurry of limbs and grunts that leaves Claire breathless with her slender wrists pinned above her head and chrysanthemums crushed in her hair. Her eyes dark as black amber glare into his.
"God's, you are a stubborn wee thing," Jamie admires through his mounting frustration, himself mangled with dirt and grass.
"And you weigh more than a bloody damn bear!" She pants and wriggles beneath him, trying to ignore the spikes of heat rushing through her veins where he's pressed solid and unyielding against her.
"Now get off!"
"Not until ye hear me out, wee besom!"
"What more can be said? Nothing can be done! Love isn't magic, it won't keep the years from taking me from you."
Jamie's face catches fire in the growing morning light, and moves their hands to press hard on the swell of his breast beating the same raw rhythm as hers.
"So long as my body lives, so will yours, mo ghraidh. Though I think ye'd look just as bonny touched like starlight, the years no matter how few, around yer golden eyes. But ye must know," his words fall heavily and he feels her pulse at her wrist give a lurching thump. "That when my body shall cease, yours will as well. It could be this day, tomorrow, maybe centuries or more. The only consequence when ye make a blood vow with a fae."
She blinks up at him, thrumming like a viola. "A blood vow?"
His lips curl shyly and his breath warm as melted butter brushes hers. "It's done when my kind find their mates. A sacred, unbreakable vow that binds two souls in this life and after."
"Like marriage?" She blushes and smiles, the first in so very long, looking lovelier than she ever has to Jamie.
"Aye." He answers simply, low and husky, and finds his courage in three soaring heartbeats.
"My Lady, my Claire, will ye have me as your husband? To serve ye, worship ye, wi' all that I am?"
Tears begin to fall again though she's beaming with joy, tangling her fingers in Jamie's mane as he claims a loving long kiss down the trail of each one.
When he hovers above her lips, they brush his in answer.
"Well I am wearing white."
"Ye won't be wearing a thing if ye say I do."
#...i tried writing something a little different#jamie x claire#outlander#outlander fanfiction#outlander fanfic#the bride
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Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.
—Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
#like a sparrow stunned with falling#that is such a good line#ocean vuong#on earth we're briefly gorgeous#poetry#literature
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On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
i
Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
it cannot keep. That this amber light
whittled down by another war
is all that pins my hand
to your chest.
i
You, drowning
between my arms —
stay.
You, pushing your body
into the river
only to be left
with yourself —
stay.
i
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
backhanding
mother, then taking a chainsaw to the kitchen table, my father went to kneel
in the bathroom until we heard his muffled cries through the walls.
And so I learned that a man, in climax, was the closest thing
to surrender.
i
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.
i
Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.
i
I wanted to disappear — so I opened the door to a stranger’s car. He was divorced. He was still alive. He was sobbing into his hands (hands that tasted like rust). The pink breast cancer ribbon on his keychain swayed in the ignition. Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once. The moon, distant & flickering, trapped itself in beads of sweat on my neck. I let the fog spill through the cracked window & cover my fangs. When I left, the Buick kept sitting there, a dumb bull in pasture, its eyes searing my shadow onto the side of suburban houses. At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive. How I wanted to be that sky — to hold every flying & falling at once.
i
Say amen. Say amend.
Say yes. Say yes
anyway.
i
In the shower, sweating under cold water, I scrubbed & scrubbed.
i
In the life before this one, you could tell
two people were in love
because when they drove the pickup
over the bridge, their wings
would grow back just in time.
Some days I am still inside the pickup.
Some days I keep waiting.
i
It’s not too late. Our heads haloed
with gnats & summer too early
to leave any marks.
Your hand under my shirt as static
intensifies on the radio.
Your other hand pointing
your daddy’s revolver
to the sky. Stars falling one
by one in the cross hairs.
This means I won’t be
afraid if we’re already
here. Already more
than skin can hold. That a body
beside a body
must make a field
full of ticking. That your name
is only the sound of clocks
being set back another hour
& morning
finds our clothes
on your mother’s front porch, shed
like week-old lilies.
—Ocean Vuong
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Rain is dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining. I won’t be afraid if I’m already here. Already more than a skin can hold. That a body beside a body can make a field grass full of ticking, and sometimes I am still lying in the field, and some days you ask me to say autumn, despite the green in your eyes. Beauty despite daylight. Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade. Say you’d kill for it, an unbreakable dawn mounting in your throat. A sparrow thrashing beneath you, stunned with falling. Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
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Look, we are not unspectacular things. We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?
winners au, ft. @spectrophobias
#oh featuring all the silly little things w have talked abt via discord i forgot to post this#the hammock. the porch swing. their WEDDING DUCKS!#i just love them a Lot#edit.#unbreakable dawn mounting in your throat.
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hey! if you're still doing top 5: top 5 poems?
oh this is a good one! let’s see...i used to love poetry very passionately, but i have become disenchanted with the genre in recent years except for a select few writers, so most of these are poems i liked a lot as a teenager.
1. having a coke with you by frank o’hara, the only love poem to ever exist
“...and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank...”
2. with anne sexton at the bookstore by jen rouse (tw)
“I watch the rain, unable to concentrate.
I have carried you like a delicate pastry.
You are my elaborate metaphor,
my sometimes touchstone
to a maddening truth. But there is part
of you I will not bury on that beach
you’re always rowing toward.” ...
3. motto by langston hughes
“I play it cool
And dig all jive
That’s the reason
I stay alive.
My motto,
As I live and learn,
is:
Dig And Be Dug
In Return.”
4. on earth we’re briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong (tw)
“Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.” ...
5. miracle ice cream by adrienne rich
“Miracle’s truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Take what’s still given: in a room’s rich shadow
a woman’s breasts swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late, you sit weighing the evening news,
fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions,
the rest of your heart.”
BONUS 6. [you fit into me] by margaret atwood
“you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye”
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Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
it cannot keep. That this amber light
whittled down by another war
is all that pins my hand
to your chest.
i
You, drowning
between my arms —
stay.
You, pushing your body
into the river
only to be left
with yourself —
stay.
i
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after backhanding
mother, then taking a chainsaw to the kitchen table, my father went to kneel
in the bathroom until we heard his muffled cries through the walls.
And so I learned that a man, in climax, was the closest thing
to surrender.
i
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling.
i
Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.
i
I wanted to disappear — so I opened the door to a stranger’s car. He was divorced. He was still alive. He was sobbing into his hands (hands that tasted like rust). The pink breast cancer ribbon on his keychain swayed in the ignition. Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once. The moon, distant & flickering, trapped itself in beads of sweat on my neck. I let the fog spill through the cracked window & cover my fangs. When I left, the Buick kept sitting there, a dumb bull in pasture, its eyes searing my shadow onto the side of suburban houses. At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive. How I wanted to be that sky — to hold every flying & falling at once.
i
Say amen. Say amend.
Say yes. Say yes
anyway.
i
In the shower, sweating under cold water, I scrubbed & scrubbed.
i
In the life before this one, you could tell
two people were in love
because when they drove the pickup
over the bridge, their wings
would grow back just in time.
Some days I am still inside the pickup.
Some days I keep waiting.
i
It’s not too late. Our heads haloed
with gnats & summer too early
to leave any marks.
Your hand under my shirt as static
intensifies on the radio.
Your other hand pointing
your daddy’s revolver
to the sky. Stars falling one
by one in the cross hairs.
This means I won’t be
afraid if we’re already
here. Already more
than skin can hold. That a body
beside a body
must make a field
full of ticking. That your name
is only the sound of clocks
being set back another hour
& morning
finds our clothes
on your mother’s front porch, shed
like week-old lilies.
--On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong
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Hello!
How would you explain
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
like a sparrow stunned
with falling. ???
This has got to be one of my favorite stanzas of Ocean’s. Its sheer beauty and the effortless easiness with which these words leave one’s mouth never cease to amaze me. Saying that I’ve thoroughly grasped the meaning of these words would be a lie.
But if I try to explain the ideas that float around the chambers of my brain while reading these lines, the explanation will be something along these lines.
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
The first line is him talking about yielding to destruction, yielding to stasis, coming the terms with the fact that the destructed and yet somehow destructive state that you're in is inescapable.
Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
The second line is filled with a flowery breath of spring, creation, nature (which is the most brilliant creator of all). And the first two lines are tied together with the word “autumn”.
Autumn is sometimes used as a symbol of maturity, the process of growing up and becoming wiser, more mature. So something or someone, while still being in their flowery spring phase, had to surrender and yield to the stasis of destruction. This idea is further explored in the next line “Say autumn despite the green in your eyes.”
Which I understand as forcefully having to become more mature despite being very young, in spite of being a child, which has happened to Ocean himself.
“Beauty despite daylight” – Daylight, light – everything becomes clearer. You start to see things in a different light, you start to see things as they are, and yet having been acquainted with the cunning ways of life you start to understand that there can be beauty in wretchedness, despite the fact that through daylight you have already witnessed the way things really are.
“Unbreakable dawn mounting in your throat.” – Dawn suggests the notion of hope – so maybe unbreakable hope is rising in you and the only way to let it out is through words (which is understandable, since it is a poem)
“My thrashing beneath you like a sparrow stunned with falling.”
1. Maybe having this sense of {false} hope in him was the cause of his fall
2. Maybe the confession with which this stanza is filled caused him to fall, made him vulnerable in the eyes of someone who is the personification of the first line -
Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
To be completely honest I don’t know. My brain wasn’t programmed to understand Ocean Vuong’s genius but it doesn’t hinder me from soaking in every single beautiful word of his. 🌼
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Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Tangled; Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons
Characters: Hiccup, Rapunzel, Toothless
A/N: written for @rotbtd-zine. download the full zine here!! minor spoilers for TAS / RTA.
Summary: While Hiccup and Rapunzel are on the road to the Dark Kingdom, Toothless seems to have other plans in mind.
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When the invitation to the Princess of Corona’s coronation arrives, it goes to Hiccup in Stoick’s stead. It catches him by surprise, if only because Stoick had spoken rather infrequently of Corona. Hiccup can remember idle talk of a lost princess, but he supposes she isn’t quite so lost anymore. He thinks Stoick would have wanted to go, and of all the new responsibilities he’s found thrust upon his shoulders, attending a coronation doesn’t sound too bad. Accepting the invitation on his father’s behalf and as the new Chief of Berk is the least he can do.
Arriving in Corona more or less goes the way he expects. The last time Stoick would have correlated with this kingdom, Berk would have been hunting dragons, not riding them. A lot of townspeople are startled by his landing and are visibly wary of Toothless as they make their way toward the castle. Thankfully, nobody runs or screams, and that’s a nice change of pace for once.
As they step into the courtyard, Hiccup’s attention is brought immediately to the Princess, if only because of her particularly surprised gasp. He’s quick to notice, however, that there’s no fear in her, and she’s nothing short of elated to see a real, live dragon. The King and Queen, Hiccup notices on the other hand, don’t seem quite so thrilled, and he offers them the weakest of smiles while assuring them that Toothless will be no trouble.
Fred and Arianna exchange a glance, but give their permission, and Hiccup supposes that’s all that should matter right now. He’s here of their asking, and he wants to make a good impression for Stoick’s sake. So far, so good, he thinks - especially considering the way Rapunzel seems to be teetering excitedly on her bare toes, hands clasped together in front of her chest.
Seeing as he’s the last one to arrive, Hiccup sees no harm in suggesting she can pet Toothless if she wants. What better way to prove his mount is of no danger, and set the King and Queen at ease, right? Besides, it seems almost cruel to keep Rapunzel in that sort of suspense. So, he steps aside and motions for her to go ahead, while telling Fred and Arianna there’s nothing to worry about.
Rapunzel rushes forward, but stops just a foot or so shy of the dragon. Despite her excitement, it seems like the reality of the situation has finally dawned on her, and that this is like no creature she’s ever met before. Her hand comes up, and uneasily hovers between herself and Toothless’ snout while her gaze finds Hiccup’s.
“Do I just…?” she asks.
Hiccup knows Toothless wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, but it’s a good a chance as any, he realizes, to prove that he knows what he’s doing. He clears his throat and steps up closer to her, gently taking her wrist into his hand.
“Here. Like this,” he instructs, and encourages her to hold out her hand, palm open.
Toothless glances between his Chief and the Princess just once before he excitedly pushes his nose into Rapunzel’s palm. The force is enough to almost knock her off her feet, but Hiccup is there to keep her steady.
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The actual coronation doesn’t exactly go as Hiccup had expected it to. For one, Rapunzel enters the hall wearing a ridiculously large and obnoxious white wig. There are other women in the hall who are also wearing similar wigs, but they don’t seem to be having any trouble keeping their balance the way Rapunzel is. Maybe it has something to do with the shoes on her feet, he thinks.
But things just get stranger and worse from there. It would turn out that one of the visiting Duchesses isn’t what she claimed to be. The Quintonian Duchess is nothing more or less than a pirate, seeking revenge on Corona’s king. There’s little time for retaliation, and soon enough Rapunzel’s wig comes off. Yards and yards of golden hair are freed and fall about the Princess’ shoulders, pooling at her feet.
All of that hair had certainly not been there yesterday. And if that wasn’t surprising enough, it turns out she can use it to fight, too.
When all is said and done, and the Lady Caine and the other lowlives of Corona have been apprehended and put behind bars again, Hiccup finds himself gravitating toward Rapunzel again. She had been uneasy and a little awkward when they first met, but that seems to have doubled now. She presumes he has questions about her hair, and he does, but he assures her that’s not why he’s come to see her. Maybe it’s a little forward, and maybe he has no place in saying so, but he tells her that she’s nothing like what he had expected.
She smiles, and idly starts to play with a thick lock of her hair. She thanks him and laughs when she says that she’s been in the habit of surprising herself a lot lately.
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When Hiccup goes back to Berk, it doesn’t take long at all before he starts receiving letters from Rapunzel. They come fairly frequently, and they detail the on-goings of the kingdom. Considering how the coronation went, it shouldn’t be quite so surprising that Rapunzel has had to deal with the things she writes to him about.
She tells him about an alchemist named Varian, and how she’d heard he had actually been a wizard. She was disappointed to find out otherwise, but still excited to meet him nonetheless. She tells him that they’ve found out her hair is unbreakable, that is no longer possesses any healing magic. Which, honestly, is news to Hiccup, because he hadn’t known her hair had been magical at one point, at all. Rapunzel also tells him that good portion of Old Corona being destroyed by machines Varian had made. They had been meant to heat and deliver hot water to the village. Something about pressure, and an explosion.
Another letter tells him about a science exposition, and another one of Varian’s machines not quite working the way it was intended. This time, however, the machine had been misused by someone else who thought they knew what they were doing.
In that same letter, she tells him about the black rocks. She tells him how when she had touched them the night before her coronation, more had violently sprouted from the ground. It had almost been like they had been chasing her. Touching the rocks had also been the cause of her hair growing back. She tells him that the rocks have reached Old Corona, and that Varian has promised to help her figure out the connection between her hair, herself, and the rocks.
Eventually, there’s another letter, and. she tells him she had been made Queen for a day while her parents had been traveling, but that hadn’t gone exactly as she hoped. He can relate a little too deeply to that, as being the Chief is still not quite settling comfortably on his shoulders. He’s trying, though, and he knows Rapunzel had tried her best, too.
There’s something else in the letter about a sudden snow storm, and how it may have been magical in nature. A curse of some sort, set upon the kingdom by an ancient evil named Zhan Tiri. They had to use a machine made by someone named Demanitus to stop the storm. And that all sounds really incredible, but the thrill is short lived as he reads on.
She writes about Varian again, and how he had come looking for her help. Something bad had happened, and she’d had to make the choice between the one or the many. As Queen, her duty had been to the kingdom, but she’s still not entirely sure she made the right choice.
The next letter doesn’t reach Hiccup for some time. Rapunzel tells him that Varian’s father had been encased in some sort of unbreakable amber. That was why he had come begging for her help the day of the snow storm. She tells him that the boy had been so angry, and he had turned his rage on the kingdom. He’d sent machines after them, turned his raccoon temporarily into a monster, and nearly killed herself, Cassandra and Arianna. She tells him that she had managed to stop him by somehow gaining control of the black rocks - which, by the way, had all but destroyed the older village.
She tells him Varian’s been arrested, and that the rocks have broken the wall of Corona and formed a path.
She tells him she’s going to follow them.
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Hiccup makes a very impulsive decision. He hears about it from Astrid and Gobber for a few hours, but they know him well enough by now to know there’s no changing his mind. Chiefs leave their tribes all the time to travel and barter and so on and so forth, he argues. Would it not be in his best interest to help an allied kingdom in a time of need?
When he puts it that way, it’s harder to argue - though they still desperately want to.
He leaves Astrid and Valka in charge (much to Snotlout’s disapproval) and promises to be back as soon as he can. Probably.
His arrival in Corona is a surprise, to say the very least. It’s a relief to find he hasn’t arrived too late, that Rapunzel hasn’t left yet. Had he left maybe one day later, he may not have caught her in time.
She’s thrilled to see him, but despite her excitement, she asks, “what are you doing here?”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Hiccup says, and pulls her last letter into view. He gives the piece of parchment a little shake, and offers her a tilted grin. “And I figure, your caravan’s a great idea and all, but have you considered going by dragon?”
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Roughly a week has passed since the Chief and the Princess left Corona on dragonback, and Rapunzel will be the first to admit that they are covering ground much, much quicker this way. Of course, she doesn’t want to go too fast; this is the first time she’s really able to experience the world, and she’s determined to enjoy it.
She only wishes Hiccup would do the same. Not that he isn’t enjoying the trip, per-se, she reasons with herself, but he does spend an awful lot of time with his nose in a book or map. Some of the time, she’s sure he’s more preoccupied with charting the ground they cover than actually taking it all in. But, she supposes, he’s used to the world, and though it may throw some surprises at him now and then, there probably isn’t much he hasn’t seen or isn’t familiar with.
When she thinks of things like that, she finds herself feeling a little shy. She’s nowhere near as naive as she had been when she left the tower, but there’s still so, so much for her to learn. If Hiccup has noticed her naivety (cleverly disguised as curiosity and enthusiasm) at all, he’s been kind enough not to say anything about it.
And maybe it’s this mindset, this sense of not wanting to waste a single thing the world has to offer right now, that makes Rapunzel’s brow furrow when she sees Hiccup working on a map again. She’s charted stars before, and she knows how important things like that can be, but… Charts and maps can’t be the only thing Hiccup takes away from this, can they?
“Do you want to, maybe, put the map away and, I don’t know, come look at these flowers I found?” she asks, standing at his side. She angles herself in a way that her shadow intentionally obscures some of his writing space. This works, if only for a moment.
He looks up at her, sitting back on his knees and squinting when the sun is no longer behind her, peeking over her shoulder and blindly bright. He uses a hand, still holding his stylus, to block the light.
“Can it wait just a few more minutes? I’m almost done with - ”
Rapunzel visibly deflates, letting her posture sag as a very unlady-like groan leaves her. “You’re never going to be finished,” she points out, making a vague but wide gesture to the clearing around them. “And you’re never going to enjoy the trip if all you’re worried about is how it looks on paper.”
And she must have struck a chord, because Hiccup drops his gaze back down to the map, and starts to busily fiddle with the stylus. He knows she’s right, but at the same time the charts and maps are a hard habit to break. And who knows if he’ll ever have the chance to come out this way again? He supposes he could just leave things as they are, and start thinking a little less critically for a while.
He flicks the stylus onto the map, and offers her a weak and crooked smile. “You got me there,” he tells her, standing himself back up and brushing off the knees of his pants. The pure elation in her eyes and smile is hard to ignore. It makes his smile just a little more crooked, and the bridge of his nose pink. “So. So, flowers, right?”
“Flowers!” Rapunzel does little to contain her excitement, reaching for his hands and tugging him along to the flowers she’d mentioned. They’re really nothing that spectacular, just a few small bunches of bellflowers, blue and purple and pink, growing close together. But it had been enough to get him up and away from the map, and that’s all she could ask for.
It’s while they’re hunched over the tiny flowerbed that Toothless stirs from whatever rest he had been managing to get. He watches the two of them, trilling curiously with his head cocked to one side. Throughout this whole trip, the two of them have fumbled about and over each other, and the dragon just doesn’t seem to understand. Perhaps human courtship is a little more complicated than it is for dragons. He can tell the two of them have been gravitating toward one another, and they have been since her coronation.
So, why don’t they do something about it?
Well, if they won’t, Toothless decides very suddenly that he will.
He stands himself up, stretching any kinks and stiffness from his joints and wings, then makes his way to his rider and the Princess. He sits himself closer to her, trilling again as he, too, looks down at the flowers.
They’re nothing special.
He huffs and grumbles, and shifts so that he can get a better look at the two of them. He considers just shoving her into Hiccup, but then the beads in her hair shine and he gets a better idea.
They don’t seem to notice as he gets behind her, momentarily and gently swatting at the end of her hair. He does this a few more times, and then hooks a talon into one of the ties and easily tears it away. The snap of it and the way her hair suddenly falls free, pooling at her feet, is what finally gets the humans’ attention.
“Toothless!” Hiccup scolds, but Rapunzel is quietly giggling and putting her hand to Hiccup’s arm.
“Oh, he’s fine. He was just having some fun,” she tells him, then shrugs just a little. “Besides, I have plenty more where those came from.”
Hiccup does not, for a moment, doubt that.
Suddenly, Toothless drops down to the ground, crouched over the very end of Rapunzel’s hair. He paws at it, then gently mocks a dig, gathering a good bunch of it up against his chest.
“What are you doing, bud?” Hiccup asks, catching the odd behavior just a little too late.
If dragons could grin, Toothless would have.
Instead, he trills again, and suddenly takes the end of her hair - or as much as he can manage - into his mouth. Then he’s on his feet again, prancing about the two of them and easily avoiding any attempt Hiccup makes to grab him.
“Toothless! No!” When grabbing doesn’t work, Hiccup resorts to scolding. It works just about as well. Meanwhile, Rapunzel is a little beside herself, giggles turning into laughter. There’s nothing wrong with what Toothless is doing; in fact, she finds it quite adorable.
But the thing is, Hiccup is too caught up in trying to get the dragon to drop her hair, and Rapunzel is too caught up in the moment, and neither of them really notice that they’re standing in the center of a circle of hair. Then, without much warning at all, Toothless stops his prancing, and gives the hair a firm but careful yank. And the coils of hair come up and wrap around them, tangling them together.
They’re face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and Rapunzel is still giggling while Hiccup is already trying to wiggle free.
“Wait - wait - hold on,” she finally manages. “Stop squirming, and let me - ”
Her efforts, while well-meant, really only result in more needless squirming. Soon, the two are clumsily turning around and around, gradually just wrapping more hair around themselves. One turn too many, and Hiccup’s prosthetic gives from under him, and he clatters to the ground in a heap of hair, and with the Princess snugly on top of him.
For a moment, her face is pushed into his neck, and he forgets how to breathe.
When she leans up to look down at him, he feels that heat creeping back alone the bridge of his nose, reaching his ears this time. Her hand is on his chest, and at first its just for leverage, but the touch lightens gradually, and then she’s leaving her hand there just because she can.
“If… I didn’t know better, I’d almost think Toothless did that on purpose,” Rapunzel says quietly. Hiccup pretends not to notice the way her fingers gently knead at the fabric of his shirt.
And Hiccup knows for a fact that the dragon did this on purpose, but he can’t quite bring himself to admit that. He clears his throat, and looks anywhere but her face. A nearby rock will do. “Heh. Wouldn’t, ah… Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would,” she says, and he can feel her weight shifting against him. It makes him look back up at her, except when he does, her face is a lot closer to his than it had been just seconds ago. His breath hitches, and he’s painfully aware that she can feel his chest heave under her hand. But she’s so close, and it’s not like he has time to really think twice about his body language before--
The thick, wet sound of her hair’s end plopping back to the ground snaps Hiccup out of it first. He turns his head quickly to face the sound and his dragon, and Rapunzel’s lips barely brush the hinge of his jaw.
The almost-kiss is enough to make them both falter, and begin the struggle to untangle themselves from her hair anew, while pretending that didn’t just happen.
Meanwhile, Toothless watches, more than a little pleased with his handiwork.
#how to train your dragon#tangled#hiccup#rapunzel#hiccunzel#rotbtfd#rise of the brave tangled dragons#fanfic#au#crossover
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