#canary mary & the miners

[komaedamizuki]

A playlist for Dawn (AKA Akari) from my AU, set during Legends Arceus. Part 1 (Side A) here.

🌸 Song List 🌸

Genesis // Grimes

Miner's Canary // Vanessa Carlton

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) // Kate Bush

Miracle // CHVRCHES

Addict of the Gallery // Faith Marie

VOID // Melanie Martinez

lofticries // Purity Ring

You'll miss me when I'm not around // Grimes

Chimera // HANA

Deliverance // CHVRCHES

Heads Will Roll // Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Lessen The Damage // Poppy

In The End // Kobra And The Lotus

Playing Dead // CHVRCHES

Stagger // Poppy

Part II // Paramore

Bloom // Poppy

Can't Catch Me Now // Olivia Rodrigo

Arceus' favorite circus clown

[mundmutter]

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST

FULL NAME: ‘Qistina’ / Christina Quina Leota NICKNAME: Qissy, Belladonna VOICE: Sayako Ohara ( Beatrice of Umineko or Milly Ashford of Code Geass ) / Susan Egan AGE: 30 BIRTH DATE: October 31st, 1887 ETHNICITY: Amestrian, Ishvalan GENDER: Cisfemale ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual MBTI:  INTJ-A

SPOKEN LANGUAGE: Amestrian, Ishvalan CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Pleasant. She has her own home provided for her by the state. OCCUPATION: Brigadier General, State Alchemist ( Belladonna )  / Philosopher

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Brigadier General Harrison Leota / Mary Ellen SIBLINGS: Edward James ( 36 -deceased- ), Agatha Ann ( 25 ), Thomas John ( 23 ) SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Atlas Hawthorne ( Eventual Husband/ Main Verse Love Interest ) verse dependant CHILDREN: NINA - Adoptive PETS: Sol and Luna, canaries. Poe, Raven. Chaffee, chimera.

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: dark red HAIR COLOUR: Silver white HEIGHT: 5'8 BODY BUILD: Curvy NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Her red eyes and long, silver hair. transmutation arrays on her palms. Scarring that wrap around her wrists like a bracelet. 

INTERESTS

-  Aside from Alchemy, she enjoys listening to the Opera. - She is an avid fan of birds. - Along with being a philosopher, she dabbles in poetry. - She has three absolute favorite books: Frankenstein, Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Book of Lies.

INFO INTELLIGENCE: Extremely High. LIKES: The opera, Performing alchemy, birds, singing, poetry. DISLIKES: laziness, hypocrisy DISPOSITION: She stays quiet, but opinionated. Determined. Unwavering, highly stubborn.vice: lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / PRIDE / envy / wrath virtue: chastity / TEMPERANCE / charity / diligence / forgiveness / humility / kindness alignment: lawful / NEUTRAL / chaotic || good / neutral / EVIL

 BIOGRAPHY..  

   Miss Qistina Quiana Leota was born in early winter, in the year 1887, and worked in the coal mines as a child. She worked hard for her family, and endured many physical hardships - Moved from her parents home to a large home in the city. She works under the State as the Alchemist Belladonna, more often from the large basement where no one can peek in.

      Qistina had always expressed a passion for alchemy, and thus joined the military. She went on to join the side of the Homunculi, though she has no interest in the promise of immortality, but is rather doing it because she was given such a large amount of material for her own research - to recreate and reconstruct working organs through organic materials. 

Her history is simple, and straightforward. She began to work in the coal mines at the age of four, along with her father and several others ( including a few women, mostly men, and other people ranging from the ages of 45 to 4 ). Qistina longed to sing and learn the Opera, and would often attempt to sing with birds while on lunch breaks and playing outside with the other children. She begins a fondness for birds, especially the yellow canaries brought in by miners. Though, once she spots her brother with alchemy books, her passion switches up on her and she is very often consumed by it.

SHE HAD THREE SIBLINGS. EDWARD, AGATHA, AND THOMAS. BOTH AGATHA AND THOMAS REMAIN IN YOUSWELL, WHILE EDWARD JOINS THE MILITARY ONLY TO RETIRE AS ORDER 3066 IS INTRODUCED AND MURDERED A FEW YEARS LATER.

The age of 16 rolls to the top of the hill, and she leaves home. Not apologizing, but expressing the regret that she could not leave sooner. She and her father still keep in contact, but her mother seems to want nothing to do with her. As of right now, for the past ten years, she has been living a happy life in Central City.

Her goals revolve around Alchemy. The life she was forced into before had consequences. She developed a lung disease known as Black Lung, similar to the long term effects of tobacco smoking, and is similar to both silicosis from inhaling silica dust. Medically, it would be called a Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (CWP). It is caused by long exposure to coal dust. It is a common disease in coal miners and others who work with coal.

Qistina has dedicated her life to alchemy, studying to one day replace the parts of her body that have been slowing her down, killing her. Because of her skills, she has since been working under Father. She has become quite obsessed with alchemy and very often views others under the view of a microscope.         

Qistina was emotionally, mentally, and physically abused by her mother for her love in Alchemy. Not only this, but she was ostracized by fellow Ishvalans, so she grew far far away from their religion, even began to hate her ancestry and never held any sort of care or love for them.

LEOTA MILITARY HISTORY

Throughout her family history, the Leota's have spawned generations of soldiers. From privates to top ranking generals. The majority have fought in wars, and the majority have thus far died while serving both on and off the field. Currently, there are a total of 23 members of her family who are living and in service, while 4 are veterans and living peacefully in the countryside. She personally knows 4 out of her 23 relatives who are in service.

SECOND LIEUTENANT WILLIAM LEOTA,  SECOND COUSIN SERGEANT WARREN LEOTA GREAT AUNT MAJOR MARGARET LEOTA MASTER SERGEANT THOMAS LEOTA GENERAL WILHELM LEOTA, lost his leg. MAJOR GENERAL BLANCHE ACKERMAN, went into retirement at 55 after Ishval and is currently enjoying life with her grandchildren.

Her father, HARRISON, retired at 47 after serving before Ishval. suffers with ptsd.

And finally her grandfather GENERAL FORD LEOTA, has been wheelchair bound since Harrison was a private in the army. He never served in Ishval, and is Ishvalan himself - with stark white hair and dark eyes.

Note the majority of her family does not live in Youswell.

[da-millerrrrr]

Really tempted for Roi to be a bit scatterbrained at times. Or at least when he’s off duty he just is a bit of a Cloud Cuckoo Lander. Feel like Hollow Cleric though is more obvious since he’s alive.

(Roi: Hey actually what should I call you? I highly doubt that your actual name is Kazan and Jin Mei looks like he wants to implode whenever he says your name.

Oboro, without missing a beat: Mary McLain.

Roi: Nice try! Mary McLain was banned from the Church for a year after flooding the plumbing system!

Oboro: Wait how did she do tha-

Roi: Anywho, have I ever told you about the Canaries? I swear I haven’t told you that when we were last…When was the last time we talked?

Oboro: …When you stabbed me so that I would revive again and literally have no objections to waking up on a boat slowly making its way towards shore.

Roi: Right that! But have I ever told you about the Canaries! They’re amazing birds. Little guys warn miners of Carbon Monoxide and save people’s lives at the cost of their own! It’s great!

Oboro: You’re more talkative than usual and- Floaty I guess?

Roi: If I don’t stop talking or doing things I start thinking about my existence and none of us want to see what existential crisis me looks like because- Hah! Wouldn’t you know! Holding back Vide had lasting effects on my psyche!

Oboro: …Right.)

holding back the god of chaos had lasting effects on one's psyche? who woulda thunk it

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Canary Mary & the Miners

A/N: Um. I don’t really... know what to... *big sigh* Listen. Here’s the thing. I’ve been having some trouble finding the time and the inspiration to write in the last few weeks. So I decided to turn to some writing prompts in hopes that one of them would spark SOMETHING even if it was just a few paragraphs to shake the rust off. So I came across one that simply said write about a character named Canary. And a few paragraphs turned into a few thousand words pertaining to Ryan Brenner and of course, a new character named Canary. (It also reignited the spark for me to jump back into the world of Passing Through, which is what I am currently working on and I am EXCITED to share what comes next for that story!) This part right here though, actually takes place well before the events in PT. Ryan is roughly 24 years old here. It’s pre- Jackie, pre- losing Cowboy...pre-learning a lot of things, young, still establishing himself as a person Ryan Brenner. (and some cousins for good measure) I truly hope you enjoy. 

Fun fact: Carbondale is home to the first commercial rail line. 

Warning: brief mention of drug use, drinking 

Word count: 4,761

The first day of any trip home for Ryan was always a busy one. From the minute he’d set foot in Aunt Holly’s kitchen to the second he finally shut his exhausted eyes in the guestroom bed upstairs, the day was always full of tight hugs, loud welcomes, curious questions and more food than any of them could eat. If the weather was right for it, he’d walk down to the beach with whichever of his cousins happened to be around. They’d kill a 6 pack of beer and fill each other in on the stories they’d rather not share with the rest of the family. Once Ryan had come home in the middle of a summer downpour, and the rain, and even more so the lightning, made the trek down to sit in the sand impossible. Instead, Ryan, Jimmy, Taylor and Fitz sat on overturned buckets and bags of mulch in Holly and Alan’s shed, laughing and teasing one another as they dodged drips from the shed’s leaky roof. After supper he’d sit out on the porch with whoever was still awake and alert and play a few songs, the tempo of them slowing as the sky filled with stars. 

The second day was always more calm, all the excitement out of the way. He’d wake up in the guestroom, the mattress slightly too short for his long legs but still far more comfortable than most places he slept while on the road, and turn to the shabby wicker bedside table. Ryan didn’t get much mail, just a few letters and postcards, but reading them was always one of the highlights of his visit. Aunt Holly would save them for him, bundling them up in short stacks tied with blue yarn. Although she would always give them to him almost immediately after he unlaced his boots, he would always tuck them away with his things upstairs, knowing that he’d have more time to read them in the morning. 

On this particular trip, when Aunt Holly had stuffed the bundle into Ryan’s right hand while his left arm curled around Taylor’s shoulders and he ducked out of the way of a spiraling Nerf football that Jimmy had just lobbed from the top of the stairs, he noted that the stack was a little thicker than normal. He smiled to himself, fingers hooking beneath the thick yarn. I sent out a few more’n normal this year too. 

As he’d gotten better as a musician, he’d found more opportunities to meet and play with and learn from other musicians in his travels. Some he never even spoke to, simply set up on the same corner and agreed on song choice without words, with just chords and nods. Others he found himself forming friendships with, realizing that they had more in common than just their musical talents. His first few years on the rails had been spent mostly with Cowboy, Virginia and eventually Georgie. But more recently he found himself traveling solo, wanting to stay longer in some cities, wanting to skip town faster in others. He found himself wanting to stretch his limits and learn more about who he was, not just as a traveller or an artist, but as a person. And he realized that one of the best ways to learn about himself was to interact with as many people as he could as see what he felt, how he responded, who he was drawn to and why. 

What he’d learned leading up to this visit home was that he was someone who craved genuine connection, and sought out others who wanted the same. For every one meaningful connection he made, there were at least twenty interactions with people whom he could tell had forgotten his name before they’d even made it three steps, even after they’d just spent a few minutes chatting, dropping a few singles into his case and telling him that he sounded great. Some people, he knew, just wanted to be liked. They craved acceptance from everyone they met. Ryan learned that he was not one of those people, and he liked that about himself. Only one that’s gotta be okay with me is me. 

But when he found those rare individuals who looked for the seams in things and pulled them apart to peek at what was inside, he held onto them because he knew that those were the people who had the best chance of understanding him and helping him understand himself. Thus began the growth of the non-biological branch of his family tree. Robin and Oz and the rest of the crew he spent his first West Coast summer with, Georgie, Cowboy and Virginia had been the base of that branch, but other chutes were beginning to form now too, resulting in thicker stacks of mail and more reasons to purchase stamps. 

Waking up in the too small bed, he stretched his neck to the right until a small pop released some tension there. A satisfied sigh, the kind that only came from getting a good night’s sleep, slipped from his lungs as he sat up blinking in the dusty morning light. Rising with the sun was a hard habit to break, even when he was staying somewhere that he didn’t need to vacate immediately like he was now, but Ryan didn’t mind. He enjoyed having that time to himself while the rest of the world was still quiet. 

Dragging a hand through his sleep disheveled hair, he glanced over at the bundle of letters and postcards, and once his fingertips had finished fixing the errant strands, they reached out to brush over the frayed ends of the yarn that was cross wrapped around his mail. Blue this time. He smiled to himself wondering if he’d be leaving with a scarf or a hat at the end of the week. It wouldn’t be cold enough for a scarf  for another month or two, but he knew that it was important to Aunt Holly that she send him off with something to keep him warm. It was important to him, too, he’d learned, her scarves warming more than his neck on several solo winter nights. Clearing his gravelly throat, he pulled the covers back and set his feet down on the floor. 

Rifling through his pack, Ryan pulled out his last clean pair of jeans and a dark green long sleeved thermal, a freshly sewn patch on the left elbow courtesy of Virginia. Before making his way down to Georgia he’d spent two weeks with her and Cowboy as they made their way through the Midwest, parting ways outside of Chicago. There were certain things that Ryan always had on his person- twine, sunscreen, his notebook- and with Ginny it was a travel sewing kit. He twisted his arm to look at the patch, a dark brown oval cut from an old corduroy button down that had lost more buttons than it retained, and smiled. He ran his fingers over the stitches that held the patch in place. She’s gettin’ better at this. The nail of his pointer finger snagged on a crooked stitch and he chuckled. Cowboy prob’ly gives her plenty to practice on.

He finished getting dressed and grabbed his hat, bending and folding the brim with one hand before stuffing it into his back pocket. Aunt Holly had a strict no hats in the house rule, and even though he knew she was still asleep, Ryan wouldn’t think of breaking it. She’d knock it clean off my head ‘f she caught me. It wasn’t a guess, he knew from experience. How to pick his battles was another thing he’d been learning lately, and waiting a few extra seconds until he was outside before putting his hat on wasn’t worth causing trouble. 

Picking up the bundle of letters from the side table, Ryan left the spare room, closing the door behind him. The hallway on the second floor was narrow and dark; there were no windows because the hall wrapped around the stairwell, and there were rooms on all four sides. But Ryan had spent enough time in that house to know where to turn without having to see, and in just a few familiar steps he was descending the staircase, socked feet moving quickly and quietly over the creaky steps. He made a quick stop in the kitchen, setting up the coffee pot to brew, waiting until he could hear it hissing and clicking as the heat plate warmed up before turning towards the front door. This thing’s older’n I am. Just like shrimp and grits and peach cobbler for supper on the first night of his visits were staples, Ryan would always show his appreciation by making sure that everyone woke to a full pot of dark roast on the second day. 

He didn’t wait for the coffee to brew though. Instead he found his boots in the pile of shoes by the door, digging one out from under a red canvas sneaker that seemed to be missing its mate. Whose is this? Taylor’s? He picked it up by the lace and flung it deeper into the pile. What’d she do with the other one? Sticking the stack of letters under his arm, he tied his laces loosely, shaking his head at the image of Taylor walking home with only one shoe the night before. I bet Jimmy was messin’ with her. Though none of them were as rowdy as they used to be, all of the Brenner cousins had held onto their propensity for mischief when they gathered in groups of two or more. Some things never change. 

Other things did, though. He took the stack back out from under his arm as he straightened up, eyeing it and guessing that it was thicker than the last one by at least five pieces. Passing the pencil marked molding that measured the heights of he and his cousins at various ages, he opened the door and headed out into the bright morning to read his letters. He settled into the angled Adirondack chair, the wood worn smooth after decades of use and abuse, and untied the knotted bow, smiling at the little pop as the yarn let go of the knot. 

Dropping the yarn into his lap he sifted through the pile until he found Robin’s loopy lettering, always in brightly colored ink. He plucked out two letters addressed to him in red and purple respectively, as well as a postcard from Culver City that was so smudged that all he could read was the last line- Oz and I miss you, Brenner. No matter what else she wrote in her letters, whether she was writing to tell him that things had gotten dark for Oz again, or that things were going well for them, she always ended them with that and he could hear her unwritten next line: Get your ass back out here! He was happy to see, after reading as much as he could of the smudged postcard and both letters, that things seemed to be on an upswing for Oz. One of the letters even mentioned that he’d been clean and sober for a year and Ryan beamed. I gotta get out there soon. Maybe this spring, after Montana.  

There was a birthday card from Nikki, the girl he’d gotten his first tattoos from. Happy Birthday, handsome!! Was all it said, with a line of little x’s, her name signed below them, more x’s dotting the two I’s. Ryan felt his lips twitch under his beard as a slight flush climbed over it, and he recalled all the teasing he endured from Georgie when it became clear to the rest of the group that there was something between Ryan and Nikki. Been a while since she saw me. He ran one hand over his scruffy facial hair before lowering it to look at the roughly inked black lines and dots that marked the spaces between his knuckles. Inhaling a slow breath through his nose he could almost smell the woman’s strawberry shampoo as she leaned close, holding his hand in one of hers and her tattoo gun in the other, her chunky silver rings cool against his skin. Wonder what she’d think now. Nothing had ever really happened between the two of them. Nothin’ more than kissin’. 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he sighed. She was somethin’ else though. Wonder ‘f she’d… He tapped the card twice against the knuckles of his opposite hand before shuffling it back to the bottom of the pile. Nikki’s not really...neither of us wants to stop movin’ around and… He shook his head. Nikki was a great kisser, that he was sure of. She was vivacious and spontaneous and lived her life in bright colors and never failed to make Ryan laugh when they spoke on the phone. But even through all the physical attraction Ryan knew that there would never be anything serious between them. She’s a good friend… just not a good fit for me. He snorted to himself as the sun rose above the treeline. ‘Nd I’m not a good fit for her. He wasn’t looking for a relationship anymore like he might have been last time he went out West to see Nikki and Louie and the rest of them. But if a relationship found him along the way he knew it would have to be right for it to stick. ‘Nd if it ain’t gonna stick there’s no point.     

There were postcards from Cowboy that said very little, if anything at all other than a quickly scrawled You’d like it here, Brenner, or Good spot for buskin’. It was like a breadcrumb trail of suggestions for when Ryan didn’t know where to go next and wasn’t ready to repeat or circle back up with anyone else. The two of them- three, counting Ginny- had spent enough time together to know what small town charms and quirks would peek the other’s interests, or what tiny details in big cities the other looked for. Le Claire, Iowa. Laramie, Wyoming. Las Vegas, Nevada. Point Pleasant, New Jersey. The images on Cowboy’s postcards were always faded, and Ryan knew it was because the man would always hastily pull the first card he touched from a display in the window of a gas station or convenience store. No one sends postcards anymore so they sit in the sun. A faded river boat. A washed out field of cattle. The strip, sanded down by sun and time spent in a gift store. A ferris wheel, maybe. Doesn’t matter what’s on the front. He made a point to set the cards from Cowboy aside so that he could jot down the cities in the back of his notebook, where he kept a running list, crossing them off after he’d taken his friend’s advice to visit them.

By the time Ryan was down to the last postcard the sun had breached the tree line, brightening the sky and waking up the birds. The quiet morning filled with the chirps of sparrows and warblers, each trying to outdo the other in the complexity of their songs. Somewhere in the trees behind the house a mockingbird stole pieces of each, taking credit for the others’ creativity in order to fit in, and from the gargantuan oak in the front corner of the yard a small cluster of nuthatches erupted squawking from the middle branches. But Ryan hardly noticed the wildlife around him because his mind was on a very different bird, one certainly not native to Georgia. He read the front of the postcard in his hand, vintage linen print in bright colors spelling out Greetings from Carbondale Pennsylvania, a small white mountain laurel blooming beside the state’s Capitol building, and he knew who the card was from before even turning it over. Canary Mary. 

His eyes widened with excitement as he flipped it around, and though he’d never seen her handwriting before, it matched his expectation of her penmanship perfectly. Her letters all stood at a hard slant and the bottoms of her y’s, g’s and j’s curved back around to underline the words they occupied. Ryan always picked up on the ways that a person’s handwriting reflected parts of their personality, and Mary’s rebellious spirit and intensity were visible in the way she pressed her pen to the cardstock. As he read he could even picture her leaning casually in the corner booth at Lyle’s, layers of shawls and sweaters and long necklaces draped around her as she wrote. 

Ryan- 

First off I hope the rails have been good to you. Hope you and Georgie Porgie are lookin’ out for each other, and I hope y’all had a good summer. I hope you got after some of the things you were lookin’ for when you left here- but only some, ‘cause you always gotta have more to go after, remember that. There’s always more. 

Second, just wanted to see if you’n Georgie were interested in swingin’ up this way come October. There’s this music festival ‘round Halloween called Blues’n Boos - don’t hold the name against me, I didn’t make it up!- and I’m thinkin’ of tryin’ to be part of it, but only if you two come and back me up with your strings. I can sing, you know that, but I ain’t never sounded better’n when you boys stumbled into Lyle’s, and those couple’a duets you sang with me? That crowd won’t be ready for Canary Mary & the Miners I’ll tell you that! So I’m crossin’ my fingers you’ll say yes. You got my number, honey. 

-Canary 

Ryan hadn’t felt the smile creeping up his cheeks as he read, but when he finished he realized he was wearing it all the same. Canary Mary & the Miners, huh? He shook his head and laughed under his breath as he turned the card back over. He traced the block letter P with one finger, thinking back to last fall and the week or so he and Georgie had spent in the small coal town of Carbondale. They’d hopped off in hopes of finding somewhere to busk, but the weather had other plans, a heavy, chilly rain soaking them to the bone within minutes and making playing outdoors impossible. Heading towards the first establishment they saw that they didn’t think they’d be turned away from- a dive bar called Lyle’s, the chipped paint on the lit sign above the door beckoning them like a beacon- they carried all of their things inside and were immediately met with the sound of piano keys and Mary’s sultry, smoky voice. Knew we were in the right place then. 

Where ya goin’ baby? And how you gonna get there when I’m gone? 

Tell me where ya goin’ baby? And how you plannin’ to get along? 

I’m not tryin to doubt ya no, no… just thought I’d ask ya for fun. 

Rain water dripped from the ends of his hair beneath his hat, running down the side of his nose as he stared at the woman on stage, completely captivated by her performance. Damn. His mouth dropped open and he let out a breath, turning to his friend. “You hearin’ this Georgie?” 

Despite the fact that the woman was clearly ten or maybe even fifteen years older than they were, Georgie’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he answered. “Oh yeah, Ry, I’m hearin’ this alright.” Ryan smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand and laughed knowing that even though Georgie was a sucker for a pretty face that could sing, it was more about the voice than the face, and he respected this woman’s talent. 

They had ended up settling in at the end of the bar nearest the small stage, the bartender allowing them to stash their bags behind the bar while they had a few drinks and waited out the rain. They’d listened to three more of the woman’s songs, but it was those first few lyrics that he’d heard that had stuck with Ryan, and not just the words themselves, but the feeling she had put into them when she sang them. 

Where ya goin’ and how you gonna get there? 

It was supposed to be a song about independence and Ryan felt that in the confident yet carefree way she sang, seeming to play with the listeners’ ear as well as their heart and their ego. But he also realized that he didn’t know the answer. Where am I going? If someone asked me… what would I say? He sat there, brow all wrinkled as he contemplated the bubbles in the foam of his beer. Georgie had gone off to the restroom leaving Ryan by himself, but his stool didn’t stay empty for long. 

“That beer got the answers you’re lookin’ for there honey?” Wha-

Ryan looked up in time to see the woman slide into Georgie’s seat, one shoulder shrugging to try to keep her sleeve from falling down it, the other arm waving at the bartender and motioning for a glass of water. She lowered her arm then and turned to face Ryan head on, her wide eyes rimmed with dark liner and fringed with long black lashes. A stud dotting the side of her nose and a small scar cut through her top lip but did nothing to dull her smile. She was beautiful, but not in the most conventional sense. Her beauty came from the way she moved and how she carried herself, how sure she was when she sang and spoke and smiled. I’ve never seen anyone like her… she’s… It wasn’t attraction but awe, Ryan looking at this woman like a moth might look at the light- slightly stunned and not sure if it would burn him or show him the way.

The bartender had appeared with a water, reaching over the bar to hand it to her. She took it, winking at the man and thanking him before drinking a big gulp and wiping a hand across her mouth. Several bracelets and bangles knocked about on her wrist as it fell to her lap, her attention turning back to Ryan. “I take it that’s a no then?” 

“A...no?” Ryan shook his head trying to clear it enough to focus on the moment and the woman who was speaking to him. “Sorry?” 

“Mmm,” she hummed around the glass as she took another sip, her eyes brightening above the rim. “Don’t be.” Ryan blinked and felt himself relax, the furrows in his forehead smoothing back out at her casual manner. “I just meant...guess you’re not findin’ what you’re lookin’ for in that drink. But then again, who really does, huh?” She set her glass down and extended a hand to him. “I’m Mary. ‘Round here I go by Canary Mary.” She gave a playful roll of her eyes, tossing a wave around the place. That makes sense. Voice like that in a town like this. She laughed. “‘Cause if I ain’t singin’, you know somethin’ ain’t right. Ain’t that right, Lyle?” She called the last part out to the kind, balding man who had allowed Ryan and Georgie to tuck their stuffed packs safely away. 

“That’s right darlin’. You’re our songbird alright.” The man called back as he poured two beers from the taps. 

Mary laughed again, eyes returning to Ryan’s as his fingers wrapped around her hand. “And who are you, honey?” 

“‘M Ryan,” he answered, giving her hand a small shake as she squeezed his in return. “You sound...you’re really good up there.” He nodded towards the stage with his chin as she released her grip on his hand. 

“You think so, huh?” She cocked one eyebrow and Ryan tilted his head. Yes. How could you- “Well I s’pose you’d know.” What? She smiled and pointed to the case that was standing up between Ryan’s legs. “Saw you come in with that baby on your back, so I know you know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Ryan shrugged and looked down at the thick lacquer on the bartop. “Oh I dunno, I just-” 

“Hey that friend a yours you came in with, he play too?” She asked before he could downplay his talent or ability and Ryan nodded. He does. “How’s about you boys come up and play with me? You can be my band for the night.” She lifted one hand up, panning it in front of her as though reading the marquee on a theater. “Canary Mary & the Miners.” She laughed, the sound heavy and sweet like molasses. “C’mon I think it’ll be fun, what’dya say?”

Georgie had come back right at that moment, agreeing for both of them, and he and Ryan had spent the rest of the night crammed up on the small platform, playing a few songs with the woman who was part songbird, part sultry lounge singer and all heart. She’d leaned in to whisper into Ryan’s ear, urging him to join her on a song or two. At first he’d been hesitant because the only female singers he’d ever done duets with were Robin and Virginia, and he knew both of them well enough to know what they were feeling when they sand, how to match them. But Mary had put that hesitation to sleep with her next words. 

“Trust me, honey, what you were lookin’ for in that beer? You got a better chance of findin’ it in a song. So you wanna sing with me?” 

He had, and it had somehow felt...easy. As the night wore on and the number of patrons dwindled, Mary, Ryan and Georgie found themselves closing down Lyle’s, the three of them sitting in the only three stools that hadn’t been overturned and lifted up onto the bar. Lyle swept the floor, music playing softly from an old but still functioning radio, allowing them to finish their last round as he cleaned up. They’d gotten to talking, Mary sharing a little about herself and how she left home to pursue a life of music and whatever came with it, and Ryan had asked her if she ever worried that she’d made the wrong choice, or that she’d ended up in the wrong place. Is that… am I worried about that? I didn’t think I was but… 

“Only thing I ever ask myself, Ryan, is if I’m good with who I am in the moment. Only person that’s gotta be good with you is you, honey. If I’m good with where I am and where I’m goin? Then I know I didn’t make the wrong choice.” 

Where am I going, and how am I gonna get there? He tapped the card against his knuckle again, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He could smell the nutty aroma of the coffee he’d made, could hear the sound of his family waking up and shuffling towards the kitchen for a cup. Smiling as he let the breath back out in a sigh, he plucked the yarn from his lap and re-wrapped the bundle of cards and letters. I’m good with who I am… lot of it thanks to her. Canary Mary had taught Ryan more than he thought she knew at first, but as time went on and he thought back on the interaction, he wondered if maybe she knew all along that he needed some guidance, needed to be shown the way or at least pointed towards the light.  Either way, he knew his answer. 

It’s too early to call Georgie. Ryan squinted at the sun as he rose from the chair and stretched, his shirt lifting up to expose a thin strip of his belly, the morning air a cool shock on his skin. 

“Ry’n, you want milk’n your coffee’r no?” Huh. Guess Taylor didn’t go home last night. Must’ve slept in the living room. Her accent was always thickest in the morning when she wasn’t quite awake, like it was now as she called out the screen door. 

He turned away from the sun and back towards the house, tucking the bundle of cards under his arm and whipping the hat off his head. “Yeah, just a drop though. ‘M comin’ in now I can…” 

It was too early to call Georgie now, but Ryan knew that as soon as it was late enough to guarantee the other man would answer, he’d be calling his friend to make travel plans for Carbondale in October.

.

.

.

General Tags: @something-tofightfor @suchatinyinfinity @malionnes @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @pheedraws @beautifuldesastre @alraedesigns @dearmarii @fific7 @traeumerinwitzhelden @obscurilicious @luminex3 @bisexual-space-slut @vetseras

Ryan Brenner Tags:  @valkblue​ @tartiflvtte​ @ificouldhelpyouforget​​ @manymanymanyenvelopes @getlostinyourparadise​

if you would like to be added to or removed from any of my tag lists please feel free to let me know! thank you for reading! :) 

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I worked at a vet office, and there was a dog there named Lil Ho. Just like that, specifically “Lil” and “Ho”. I wish I was making this up.

do vets judge the nicknames given to pets? my cats name is athena but we at some point started calling her garbagesmell as a joke and now i'm pretty sure she hears that more than her actual name....

Anon. My cat’s name is Trash Bag.

- Ferox.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

EPISODE 6 THOUGHTS

Interesting title choice, TCB

Donny is a furry out of desperation, huh

Jon Cozart is rocking the wolf wear though

Okay, I feel like the Dockweiler family is sworn not to talk about the wolves; Aubrey is trying way too hard to cover up what Paul and Artie have testified and seen

Madison can vouch, though arguably not Riley as she was clearly drunk during the encounter (and was hungover during the Election, according to Chapter 5)

What’s Agnes from leaving, now that I think about it? She could just forgo her position and role in the community, unless she had no choice in the matter

Vern is closing early out of paranoia

Riley really loves her guns

“Let’s hope not” Paul is convinced he’s been turned into a wolf, right?

Watch Helen’s ticketing be important lmao

The In Memoriam being a bunch of illustration boards makes me send

Also the events of Wayward Guide are canonically in 2018 

Prism’s full name is Bethany Hurst

RITA WTF

Mary Jo is the real gossip starter and it shows

Quinn’s idea isn’t that bad actually

Riley is going hard on everyone and I do not like it

Good on Jerry to invite the wolves into Church

Ellis is not in the town hall meeting hmmmm; “That we have no secrets” my ass--I bet that scene with the florists is important

Barney was attacked, but he’s pro-mining though

Lmao I swear if Barney faked that shit--I wouldn’t blame him he’s literally running Connor Creek’s equivalent of the Mystery Shack

“I spent my whole life thinking it was true, and dang if I ain’t goin’ out the same way” watch this line become important lmao

He collapsed within the presence of the Town Doctor, so maybe he’ll be fine?

RIP egg

CRISPIN SPEAKS

People Who Were Not in the Town Hall Meeting:

Truman Hensley

Silas Torsen 

Ellis Walker

Desmond Brewer 

Vern Marrow 

Helen Unger

Olivia Tompkins 

Wallis Gale

Garmen Patrick Saget

I’ve italicized the people I’m suspicious of; most likely wolves, but one of these may have taken a part in attacking Barney:

Desmond - while he could be running the Dead Canary, a lot of business owners were in the meeting, including Quinn, so he has no reason to be missing; while Desmond has refused to engage in the politics of the town for mysterious reasons, he has been really benevolent not just to the twins but to all the patrons. Actually, have we ever seen him outside the Dead Canary?

Truman - She literally just got elected, so what reason would she have not to attend? Madison may have failed to show up during the election, but Truman failed to show up in the meeting’s first discussion of werewolves. Is she with Silas perhaps??? her chair is there and noticably empty

Ellis - as mentioned earlier, he reiterates in the first half of the ep that he has nothing to hide from Mary Jo--why isn’t he in the meeting? Based on Chapter 5, he is the one who found Artie’s recorder; though a renegade wolf wouldn’t actually try to record on it, so I believe he’s innocent

Olivia -  All we see her do is get orders; why though? They seem weirdly personal and not for funerals. It’s also worth noting she’s representing the Conservative party in Connor Creek, which by that argument, implies Riley’s in the Liberal one; with the knowledge that Riley is pro-mining, this makes Olivia anti-mining

Vern - We just saw him close shop before town meeting! Why isn’t he in the town meeting? he seemed threatened by Paul and Artie’s interviewing, plus “Look, what do you want me to say, huh? That I’m a werewolf?! Are you happy now? Is that good for your story?” doesn’t exactly confirm or deny anything; he also seemed surprised at Riley’s plans for a wolf hunt. Vern represents the Liberal party in Connor Creek, according to Chapter 5, which would make him pro mining??? I mean, unless there is confirmation that the parties in question don’t actually represent the town’s opinions on Miner Mole, it would be weird to call Vern pro mining as he has been expressing anti mining sentiment in his introduction (ie his priority of quality over quantity, plus Artie approached him as though believing he was anti mining); point is that Vern’s political stances are blurry and therefore, so is his motive, if he’s a wolf who actually murdered

I don’t wanna sus out Silas because he hasn’t been attending the town hall meetings to begin with; he’d probably get info via Truman, who for some reason isn’t at the meeting

As for the other 3, they have jobs that involve surveillance; one or more of them may have seen/have a part in Barney’s attack but there’s less chance of suspicion since they are not expected to be at the meeting to begin with. Alsom Barney came running into Town Hall, implying the attack (if it is an attack) happened outside their watch

[anakinskyiwalker]

i was tagged by @emmaswcns & @benoitblanc (thank you so much renee & arwen- this was so cute!!!! ☺️💓) to answer the following:

if I were a month, i’d be: june

if I were a flower, i’d be a: lily

if I were an album, i’d be: fine line or folklore

if I were a mineral, i’d be an: opal

if I were a color, i’d be: canary yellow

if I were a sound, i’d be: steady rainfall with distant thunder

if I were a drink, i’d be a: mint chocolate chip milkshake

if I were a fruit, i’d be a: watermelon

if I were a quote, i’d be: “all morning it has been raining. in the language of the garden, this is happiness” - mary oliver

if I were a television series, i’d be: friends

if I were a movie, i’d be: little women (2019)

if I were a fashion brand, i’d be: réalisation par

if I were a mythological creature, i’d be a: mermaid or angel

if I were a taste, i’d be: double chocolate brownies

if I were a scent, i’d be: vanilla

if I were a fabric, i’d be: silk

if I were a body part, i’d be: lips

if I were a song, i’d be: summer wine by nancy sinatra and lee hazlewood

if I were a god(dess) my 4 attributes would be: the sea, love, peace & beauty

tagging: @blaxksheep , @madney , @inkorn , @hurmione , @marwankenzari , @matthewsmurdock , @violetsbaudelaire , @bladesrunner , @delicatelilyflower , @mark-hamil , @sleepsongs , @waldorf , @obi-kin , @darthanckin , @darthsvader , @annelisters , @sailors-moon , @keepyourlife , @rockyblue , @carolmaria , @ferrisbuellers & anyone else who wants to do this!! :) 💓

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

VanDad Savage. You get my drift.

This calls for Angst! (Don’t be afraid to click on the link and review, fam)

Please Don’t Come Back

              From afar, Gary watched Nora dance with her father. Damien Darhk’s return as an Encore had been quite the ordeal for everyone. He had been vicious in Star City and when he was working with the Legion of Doom and Mallus. The man had even tried to kill him with a train. Now, here he was, dancing with his daughter after she’d married the love of her life. He didn’t even try to kill anyone during the ceremony.

              Even with the not-Red Wedding, Damien’s return was still putting Gary on edge. It wasn’t just because the sorcerer had tied him up and left him to get run over by a train. It was that if Damien Darhk could return as an Encore, who else would come crawling out of hell? He knew about Rasputin and Kathy Myers and Marie Antoinette and the others, but Damien made it real for him. Because if the person he feared did come back, then the Legends would more than likely find out his dirty little secret and hate him more than they ever had.

Gary swallowed, gripping his glass tightly. He tried to focus on the music instead of his memories.

“So you’ve raised the bird all on your own, Gareth. Seems like you’ve done a fine job.”

              Gary beamed at his father’s approval as he gently took the canary from the cage. At the ripe old age of nine, he knew to take his father’s praise whenever he got it. Those moments where Father showed pride in him were to be treasured.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, stroking Sally’s feathers. The canary looked towards him with a chirp.

His father ran a finger down the feathers. “Canaries were once birds valued by royalty. Courts bred them in Europe once. Centuries passed, and they became used by common folk.”

“They were used by coal miners,” Gary supplied. “A canary could detect bad stuff in the air. If it died, then the miners would know they had to get out. Also, they came from the Canary Islands.”

“You’ve been doing your research, Gareth,” Father patted his head. “You have an eye and a memory for important information, my son. That is important, but not all lessons come from books.”

Gary held Sally a little closer. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Some things will outlive their usefulness,” Father continued. “That bird, for example, has done so. I wanted to see how committed you were to figure out how to take care of something on your own without instruction. You’ve achieved the first part of that with raising the canary. Now the bird has no more use.”

Gary swallowed as his father guided his smaller hand toward Sally’s neck.

“Break its neck.”

“But it’ll kill Sally!”

“I know. You have to be able to take care of things on your own. Now do it.”

“No!”

“Now, Gareth!” Vandal Savage ordered.

The glass suddenly shattered in his hand. Gary felt his hand sting as the stem and pieces fell to the floor. He had gotten so lost in the memory that he didn’t even realize he had been squeezing the glass tighter and tighter.

“Gary?” Behrad was now looking in his direction with John and Charlie. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Uh, yep,” he nodded quickly. “Just…wasn’t paying attention. I’ll get rid of this.”

              He bent down and quickly picked up the pieces of the broken glass. As he did it, he could feel the trio’s eyes on him and reddened. Once the last shard was picked up, Gary bolted towards the kitchen. He tossed the glass in the trash can before running to the bathroom and shutting the door a little too loud. Cringing, he sank to the floor by the sink with quick, shallow breaths as the tears started up.

              It had been months since the last time he’d thought about his father. The first fifteen years of his life were spent trying to live up the standards Vandal Savage had put in place. He had wanted a son that was strong and powerful to serve as his right hand. But Gary had been nothing but a failure to him. That was something that had been made clear to him on multiple occasions, including the last time he had seen his father.

              Gary had done all he could to move away from his childhood as possible. After he’d run away, he had moved in with an uncle and gotten some therapy. He kept that up for as long as he could afford it, then proceeded to just block out the bad memories and forget all the lessons his father had taught him. All the sparring and beatings and torturing and every other evil thing he’d been forced to do or was subjected to. He had never been able to live up to the standards that his father had set before him, which made him desperate for praise in everything now.

              The very thought of Vandal Savage rising from hell like Damien Darhk and coming into his life was starting to send him into a downward spiral. It wasn’t the first time that Gary had gone into one over his father returning, but that was before Neron and Heyworld. While the spirals once lasted a day, the one he’d gone through after Neron had been defeated and they’d all been able to breathe again had lasted for a week. Now, his father returning wasn’t an unrealistic nightmare. It scared him to death, even though he knew Vandal Savage would never try and seek out such a disappointing son.

Pounding came on the bathroom door. “Gary, are you in there?”

              His eyes traveled towards the door. There was a smear of blood on the wood where he’d shut the door moments ago. Lifting his hand, Gary saw his palm was bleeding. He hated blood and just looking at it was sending him further into the spiral.

A hunting knife was pressed into his gloved hand. “You can do this, Gareth.”

              Gary couldn’t look at his father as he wrapped his hand around the handle and turned around. A sharp breath escaped him as he looked at the wounded buck. They’d gone out together on a hunting trip. Father had referred to it as a rite of passage for him. He had taken care of wounding the animal, but it was Gary’s job to strike the killing blow. This was another moment to prove himself to his father.

              As Gary stepped forward through the crunching leaves, he felt another set of eyes on him. On a hill in the distance, he caught something moving by a tree. He stopped focusing on the wounded buck and focused there instead. A man in a long brown coat was just barely visible. His arm appeared outstretched, like he was holding something towards them.

              Had his father not taught him about the enemies he’d had over his lifetime, Gary would have thought he was just another hunter. But Father had spoken enough about Gareeb enough for him to be recognizable. Rip Hunter, the man who had been trying to kill his father for years, had arrived.

Gary looked away from him. Whatever he was here to do, he could do it.

“Remember what I taught you,” his father said behind him, reminding Gary of his presence.

But the eleven-year-old shook his head. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to kill him.”

“You’re letting the animal suffer more the longer you delay. Now put it out of its misery.”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no!” Gary cried, throwing the knife to the side. “I won’t kill him.”

“Stop being weak!” his father shouted, striking him across the face.

Gary sprawled onto the forest floor by the deer from the force of the blow. His cheek burned as his father went and retrieved the knife. For a moment, Gary feared he would be on the other end of it and raised his arm. Instead, he used it to slash the buck’s throat. Blood spattered against his coat and he whimpered.

“Get up,” his father spat. “We’re going to do this again and again until you kill it yourself.”

He shuddered and climbed to his feet. When he looked back to the hill, Gary saw Rip Hunter walking away and out of sight.

“Gary, I’m opening the door!”

              Gary tried to protest, but his voice failed him. The door burst open and John entered. The warlock’s confused expression morphed into concern when he got a better look at his apprentice. Behrad was in the doorway, his eyes on the bloody hand. Gary ducked his head. He’d always hoped someone would come after him whenever he went somewhere to cry. Now that it had happened, it was just too awkward and embarrassing.

John sighed. “Gary-”

“Just leave me, okay? It’s fine, I cut myself on the glass.”

John turned to Behrad. “Just head on back. I’ve got him.”

Behrad looked reluctant until John nodded at him, and then he left. Once he was gone, John shut the door and looked at him. “What happened?”

Gary felt his voice wobble when he answered. “Nothing.”

“Gary-”

“’m being stupid, okay? Just leave me alone.”

“Not like this,” John shook his head. “Let me take a look at that hand.”

              Gary pulled himself to his feet and showed John the cut on the palm. John moved towards the sink and turned on the tap. He took Gary’s hand and inspected it closely for a moment. Then he wet a towel and started to clean off the blood.

“That’s one of the good towels,” Gary hiccupped.

“Eh,” John shrugged. “We’ll chuck it in the wash. I don’t see any glass, so that’s good news.”

“Yeah, pretty clumsy of me. Typical Gary being stupid. You think I’d know better, right?”

“Well, you did look pretty upset before it happened. I know people cry at weddings, but I don’t think you were crying about marriage.”

“I wasn’t.”

“So what then?” John asked.

“Encores,” Gary admitted as John started digging in the cabinet. “Especially with Damien Darhk coming back.”

“As soon as Charlie and I find the Loom of Fate, we will get that all sorted,” John promised as he ripped open a package of gauze pads. “Can’t believe you got all this thinking you’d need it for me.”

The joking tone didn’t make Gary smile. “Nora’s dad came back. I had forgotten about him. It started making me think that mine would too.”

“Thought your old man was a dentist?”

“It’s actually my uncle,” Gary confessed. “I ran away when I was fifteen and ended up living with him.”

“Didn’t know that.”

“I’ve never told anyone before. I never thought my past could try and catch up to me. My mom died when I was a kid, and then it was me and my dad for years.”

“Huh,” John finished wiping the blood away. “So your real dad is as bad as Damien Darhk? You know these are the worst of the worst that are coming back from hell.”

“I know, John!” Gary snapped harsher than he intended. “He is as bad, maybe even worse, than Damien Darhk! My father was a tyrant and a murderer! And he tried to make me just like him!”

The other man was silent, just taking it all in as he started to wrap Gary’s hand. Gary squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry. I just spent years…trying to forget him and everything he taught me. He had a plan for me, and I never lived up to his expectations. I was useless and a failure. He always made sure I knew that.”

“He was dead wrong about that.”

Gary snorted. “He’s right. Even if I’m not what he wanted me to be, I’m still a failure. And I was a monster.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You couldn’t have already forgotten Neron.”

“No,” John shook his head. “That doesn’t count, because everyone was guilty there. We all made mistakes. But listen to me, Gary, you are not a monster. You are too good to be anything like your father sounds like he was.”

“I know why you’re here, Gareeb.”

Rip Hunter looked up abruptly as he moved away from the door he’d just closed.

“My father told me all about you. If you’re here to kill him, I don’t know where he is. I ran away when I was fifteen and I haven’t looked back since. And if you’ve come to kill me as revenge against him, just do it. He’s not going to care though.”

“I very much am not here to kill you, Agent Green,” Hunter took a seat at the conference table. “Regarding your father, I helped kill the man myself. Permanently.”

“Oh,” Gary sank into the chair. He didn’t know how he felt about that. “So why are you here?”

“I’m starting an organization within the government. Its purpose is to protect the timeline and keep it on track. The opposite of what your father and my former employers were doing.”

“I only heard Father talk about time travel in passing- are you telling me it’s real?”

“I am, and I think you’d be an excellent fit for this agency instead of here at the FBI. You’re orderly. Efficient. Incredibly brilliant yet overlooked. But you also have a good heart and stayed good despite everything Vandal Savage tried to make you. That’s important. You are a good man, Gary Green.”

Gary smiled a little.

“So how would you feel about coming to work for the Time Bureau?”

“You are good, Gary,” John told him.

He exhaled slowly. Hearing someone else call him good made the spiral he’d been on start to slow.

“Thank you,” he whispered, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just…him coming back scares me to death.”

“I can tell,” John finished wrapping his hand. “But if your dad is as bad as you’re telling me, then Astra would have to do a lot of bargaining to get his soul and release him. Darhk definitely had to take some bargaining. She already has enough heavy hitters on the surface. I think we don’t have to worry about your old man.”

“I hope so,” Gary nodded, taking his hand back. “Hey, if Behrad or the other Legends ask, can you maybe not mention it?”

“I won’t. But Gary, who is your dad?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the two words stuck in his throat. It was impossible to get them out. Because if John knew who he was, then he would look at him differently forever. The Legends would be even worse, especially whoever remained of Rip’s original team.

“It’s fine, G-man,” John patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just let me know at some point, okay?”

“I will,” Gary promised. John had told him plenty of his secrets. He had to clean about a few of his. “Do you mind if I take a few days off? Just to clear my head?”

“Take all the time you need. Now let’s go rejoin that party and hope Behard lied his ass off.”

John gave him a one-armed hug before leading him out. No one had missed them when they returned.

For once, Gary didn’t mind being invisible.

~~~

              Two days later, Gary was in the States standing in front of his uncle’s house. He still remembered coming here when he was a teenager after running away from home, showing up on the doorstep shivering in the middle of a blizzard. Jeff hadn’t even asked what had happened. He had just taken his nephew in and made sure he got through high school. Even when he’d moved out, Jeff had given him the key and told him that it was his home whenever he needed one.

              As Gary entered the house, he noticed wet footprints on the hardwood floor after the doormat. Jeff had left for a camping trip yesterday and would be gone the rest of the week. Besides, it hadn’t rained here yesterday. The downpour had only started thirty minutes ago. Someone had made it to the house before him.

              Shutting off the hall light, Gary summoned a fireball and began making his way into the living room. It was enough to light his way and could be used offensively if necessary. Whoever had come in was good enough to have picked the lock to get inside. He wanted to hope that they were long gone, but there were no exit prints. For now, he had to assume the worst.

Feet were visible in the light of his fire before a lamp clicked on. When Gary saw who sat in the chair, the flames extinguished as he stared at the sight before him.

Vandal Savage gave him a smile. “Hello, Gareth.”

[deanstwrt]

Developmental drawing evaluation-

Outcome 1-

1. Research and Investigation:

After we were given the brief to design a mask inspired by the idea of culture, I decided to continue down the route of scottish culture alongside another project. I wanted to create something inspired by coal mining in scotland as i grew up in a miners town. The coal mining industry was a big part of scotland’s history, especially amongst the working class. I started by doing some research on coal mining in scotland and the history of it. I didn’t want to create something obviously linked to coal mining, so I decided to design a mask inspired by the canaries miners took into mines with them. I felt that this followed on nicely from the horse skulls and mari lwyd’s we had drawn previously.

2- Develop ideas progressively. What materials did you use?

I experimented with numerous materials to begin with, trying out: charcoal, coloured pencil, colouring pens, oil pastel, watercolour, chalk and biro pens.

3. Produce developmental drawings. How many drawings are required?

We were required to do 8 drawings for outcome one. I ended up doing 15 drawings, keeping them sketchy so i could experiment with possible mask designs and colours. I also explored how different mediums could convey different textures, such as scratching into oil pastel to mimic the texture of a feather.

4. What was the brief?

The brief was to design a mask centred around the idea of identity. We had to keep an annotated sketchbook that detailed a variety of ideas and techniques.

[goron-king-darunia]

Yes, you make bagels by boiling them. Noodles being boiled bread isn't FAR off the mark because bread and noodles are made of the same things, namely grain, egg, and knowledge. The preparation is the difference. Rice being a type of noodle isn't too dumb to think either because there is a type of pasta, orzo, that looks a lot like short grain rice. Rice is also a grain like wheat, so it can be used to make breads and noodles. But rice and wheat are close because their grains. Bread and noodles are similar because they're made of grain. Noodles and bagels are similar because you boil both. This has been a culinary lesson in what's what for people who have no idea where food comes from. You're not dumb, America and honestly most of the industrial world keeps a lot of things halfway secret because while they're not really hiding the process or origins behind food, we don't make our own foods from scratch anymore and we import a lot of things so lots of people have never had occasion to see how rice grows or how a bagel is made or what goes into pasta. Honestly, half the reason I know anything is because of movies and TV and video games. Seriously, for all the stuff media gets wrong, you'd be surprised how much it actually gets right. The only reason I know and remember what canaries were used for in the gold rush and mining era in US History isn't because of the social studies course I took as a kid. It's because Banjo Tooie was released around the time we were doing the gold rush unit in class and I had gotten to Glitter Gulch Mine and Canary Mary basically explained that her purpose was to sniff out poison for the miners but they abandoned her when the mine shaft filled with poisonous fumes. And while a little dramatic, yes, canaries basically wouldn't sing in poor air quality, and because they were smaller they would be affected much more quickly by toxic fumes. And while miners would 100% abandon the canary to leave the mine shaft if it stopped singing, it wasn't cruelty on their part. It was self-preservation coupled with the fact that even if they took the canary, it would probably die from exposure to the toxic fumes anyway. So to anyone figuring out that rice is a plant from, like, a video game or learning that bagels are boiled from a cooking show or whatever: you're not stupid. You're learning.

If you ever need reassurance that you’re smart I’ll share the fact I found out rice isn’t a noodle and it’s actually a plant literally last year

[leanderclifton]

Book Review: The Animals Companion

People & Their Pets, a 26,000-Year Love Story

Claudia Kawczynska

By Jacky Colliss Harvey

Who would’ve thought that our recommendation for the summer’s best read would be a well-researched, deeply crafted, wry and witty compendium on the importance of pets in our lives? The Animal’s Companion by Jacky Colliss Harvey, a Brit from rural Suffolk with a background in literature and art history and a long career in the museum world, is a cultural investigation that is erudite but accessible (I even enjoyed poring through its extensive bibliography).

With her curatorial  eye and descriptive skill, Colliss Harvey successfully melds examples from a variety of fields —art, literature, history, biology —with personal reflections. It is a chatty book, easily drawing the reader in (this quality makes it an excellent audiobook choice for a summer road trip). While she doesn’t focus on any one species, there is plenty of dog in it, enough to satisfy the most canine-centric reader.

The book’s enthralling stories and tidbits about pets through the millennia are divided into nine chapters: Finding, Choosing, Fashioning, Naming, Communicating, Connecting, Caring, Losing and Imagining. A great example can be found in “Fashioning,” in which we learn about the craze for canaries, and how  an otherwise dull greenish bird became yellow. While we knew that they were used by miners to detect noxious gases in coal mines, what this reader did not know was that miners in Germany also bred and trained the birds as singers.

As the author notes, “[I]n  the eighteenth and nineteenth  centuries, a good living could be made by professional trainers of canaries, or siffleurs, who were employed by the most fashionable owners to expand their bird’s repertoires with flutes and water-whistles.” Some breeders turned yellow birds orange by feeding them red peppers, but got their comeuppance when it was found that red ones couldn’t sing “worth a damn.”

She then segues neatly from canaries to dogs: “[E]verything  we have done to the canary has been endured to the power of ten by the dog. … there were just fifteen or so distinct breeds of dogs at the beginning of the nineteenth century; there are some 340 as I write.” She goes on to tell the reader how, in 1689, King William III and his spouse Mary started the craze for Pugs in England. Those Pugs, however, looked nothing like today’s; they had longer snouts, longer legs and were bigger overall.

Colliss Harvey has a marvelously philosophical way of making strong humane and sociological observations: “If we want that  one special animal, the difference is made by the quality of our relationship with them, the depth of our comprehension of them, and the strength of our connection to them. Fashion has absolutely nothing to do with that.”

Her gem of a book offers a lot to chew on about our reasons for having and loving pets. Animals, and yes, even our dear dogs, are not human (thankfully), and their “otherness” is part of what compels us to love them. Our species’ fondness for pets seems to be the one clear distinction we can claim as our own—indeed, a case can be made for pets making us human. We urge you to read (or listen to) The Animal’s Companion. You will come away as enthralled and entertained as we were.  

Tags: 

reviews

book reviews

Issue 98: Summer 2019

Reviews

Buy This Book

from The Bark https://ift.tt/2NgWPpI via IFTTT

[the-blind-assassin-12]

All the questions that start with a letter in your first name. GO

All the... that start with a... letter in my... oh boy alright. 

ALYSSA. 

Least favorite fic you wrote this year: 

Does an individual chapter of a fic count? Because if so then chapter 10 of I See You which I wrote back in January and really liked at the time and now I look at it and just see all the things I should have done better. 

Least popular fic this year: 

Like always it’s a Ryan piece. It’s relatively new, and not as many people read Ryan as they do other characters, so though it makes me sad that he doesn’t get the attention that Billy gets (even though I feel that my writing with Ryan is WAY stronger than it is with almost any other character)- I’m not surprised. The individual piece is Canary Mary & the Miners and it’s actually one of my favorite things I’ve written about Ryan Brenner’s past. 

Longest completed fic you wrote this year: 

Bold of you to assume that I completed a fic this year. Technically I finished Jigsaw this year, because Black was posted early in 2020. I completed The Jilted Tourist, which is only a three-part mini series at roughly 12k. I’ll be done (completely) with the first portion of Core Drive within the next day or so, and I’ll be finished with The Last Dream (another short three-parter) before the year ends. If anything else gets finished in the next few weeks it will be miraculous.  

Shortest completed fic you wrote this year: 

Oh I jumped the gun on the last question. So it’s The Jilted Tourist. Which was honestly a lot of fun to write because Joss is a hoot. 

Longest wip of the year: 

Core Drive is the longest ongoing WIP that I started this year, and it will absolutely be the longest thing I have ever written by the time it is all said and done. It (And it’s accompanying side stories) sits right now at just over 54k and it’s not even half way cooked. 

Shortest wip of the year: 

Let’s Face the Music & Dance. Like John, I rushed in and got in over my head and had to take a step back but once I clear a few things out of the way I plan on coming in hot with this one because I still believe in it. I also started a new Billy story that is only around 6k ish but I’m really stoked about it more than I’ve ever been stoked to write Billy so that’s cool. 

A fic you didn’t expect to write:

Pygmalion- I never expected to write about Sam. Or a Funko Pop.  Lonely Stranger- I never expected to get to play in the Neon Lights world but @something-tofightfor gave me the okay and I was giddy about it.  Core Drive- I thought it would sit on the back burner for a long ass time but nope.  In the Arms of the Ocean- lol i write about Caspian now so that’s a thing. and this came out of no where and jumped to the top of my favorites. 

Something you learned this year: 

That I shouldn’t second guess myself as much as I do when it comes to characterization. I have my reasons for things and I should stand by them because when I do I am happier with the end result. 

Any new fics to start next year: 

I technically started it this year, but it will start seeing the light of day next year- Damned if I Do-  which is going to be a twist on the most canonically compliant yet still very AU Billy that I’ve ever written. Also already sort of started but in a constant state of flux is Not if it’s You- which will be Benjamin. 

A fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read: 

Ransom by @something-tofightfor . It’s literally got everything. You will not be sorry. 

Longest fic you read this year: 

Saving the last part of it for my Christmas Eve festivities because covid christmas is going to be just me and J sitting at home like any other day and I want SOMETHING holiday centered to look forward to... but Steel City also by @something-tofightfor was the longest fic I read this year. 

Shortest fic you read this year:

Oh gosh I don’t know I’ve read so many fun littler drabbles. 

phew. that was a lotta questions. thanks for askin’ em. 

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Passing Through - Masterlist

Summary: A chance encounter with a stranger turns into a day spent with a kindred spirit. But is that all it ends up meaning in the grand scheme of things, or is there something more serendipitous at work? 

Part One: Looks Like Snow Part Two: Western Squall  Part Three: Whiteout Part Four: Snowed In Part Five: Thaw Part Six: Chain Laws 

Related one-shots:

SPF Layers Pressing Flowers Sun-kissed Lock the Door Let the Stars Watch  Home for Christmas Peaks & Valleys  Luckenbach, Texas The Legend of Jade from Jacksonville  Canary Mary & the Miners  Clarity Come on Home  Undefined Duet  Melt The Next One Is Free 

Running list of U.S State Postcards from Ryan: 7/50   Alaska, Arkansas, Colorado, Nebraska, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Texas  

Character Asks  Character Asks 2 Turn ‘Em Out (what’s in Ryan’s pockets?) 

[something-tofightfor]

Just a little glimpse into passing through Ryan Brenner’s past.

There’s a ton I could say, but i don’t want to spoil anything. Reading this Ryan was like walking straight into a warm, comfortable hug .... from Ryan Brenner. And there’s not much better than that.

There are so many important Ryan details and revelations here, especially when it comes to his later behavior - and what he takes with him.

I love him I love him I love him.

Canary Mary & the Miners

A/N: Um. I don’t really… know what to… *big sigh* Listen. Here’s the thing. I’ve been having some trouble finding the time and the inspiration to write in the last few weeks. So I decided to turn to some writing prompts in hopes that one of them would spark SOMETHING even if it was just a few paragraphs to shake the rust off. So I came across one that simply said write about a character named Canary. And a few paragraphs turned into a few thousand words pertaining to Ryan Brenner and of course, a new character named Canary. (It also reignited the spark for me to jump back into the world of Passing Through, which is what I am currently working on and I am EXCITED to share what comes next for that story!) This part right here though, actually takes place well before the events in PT. Ryan is roughly 24 years old here. It’s pre- Jackie, pre- losing Cowboy…pre-learning a lot of things, young, still establishing himself as a person Ryan Brenner. (and some cousins for good measure) I truly hope you enjoy. 

Fun fact: Carbondale is home to the first commercial rail line. 

Warning: brief mention of drug use, drinking 

Word count: 4,761

The first day of any trip home for Ryan was always a busy one. From the minute he’d set foot in Aunt Holly’s kitchen to the second he finally shut his exhausted eyes in the guestroom bed upstairs, the day was always full of tight hugs, loud welcomes, curious questions and more food than any of them could eat. If the weather was right for it, he’d walk down to the beach with whichever of his cousins happened to be around. They’d kill a 6 pack of beer and fill each other in on the stories they’d rather not share with the rest of the family. Once Ryan had come home in the middle of a summer downpour, and the rain, and even more so the lightning, made the trek down to sit in the sand impossible. Instead, Ryan, Jimmy, Taylor and Fitz sat on overturned buckets and bags of mulch in Holly and Alan’s shed, laughing and teasing one another as they dodged drips from the shed’s leaky roof. After supper he’d sit out on the porch with whoever was still awake and alert and play a few songs, the tempo of them slowing as the sky filled with stars. 

The second day was always more calm, all the excitement out of the way. He’d wake up in the guestroom, the mattress slightly too short for his long legs but still far more comfortable than most places he slept while on the road, and turn to the shabby wicker bedside table. Ryan didn’t get much mail, just a few letters and postcards, but reading them was always one of the highlights of his visit. Aunt Holly would save them for him, bundling them up in short stacks tied with blue yarn. Although she would always give them to him almost immediately after he unlaced his boots, he would always tuck them away with his things upstairs, knowing that he’d have more time to read them in the morning. 

On this particular trip, when Aunt Holly had stuffed the bundle into Ryan’s right hand while his left arm curled around Taylor’s shoulders and he ducked out of the way of a spiraling Nerf football that Jimmy had just lobbed from the top of the stairs, he noted that the stack was a little thicker than normal. He smiled to himself, fingers hooking beneath the thick yarn. I sent out a few more’n normal this year too. 

Keep reading