#kinfolk home

[belovedapollo]

staying in my bubble and closing myself off from everything except of the little 📚 reblog is ok, don’t repost/use

[summernightsdream]

[debonairboys]

Thanks, these are persian rugs

Source

[the-kinfolk-wellin-chronicles]

View Muse

New Blog Alert

Daily writing promptWhat makes you feel nostalgic?View all responses I think about how far I have come since being a foolish young man. I am running a mock, making bad decisions, thinking I know everything. I agree with a fellow blogger and say that nostalgia is not something I would have for these times. A few things give me the feeling of wanting to feel nostalgic. Viewing pictures of my…

[melbee]

The Ikranä Maktoyu (‘banshee rider’)

Pairing: Neteyam x TayrangiClan!Reader

Summary: There was nothing you thought you couldn’t do. So, when the eldest son of Toruk Makto challenges you to a race on your Ikran? Well, you never were one to run from an honest challenge. Especially when you had the fate of your feelings riding on the line.

Note: This is my first Fanfiction for Avatar and specifically WoW. This doesn't follow any sort of plot, so it's not technically necessary to have watched the new movie. Anyways I hope you enjoy xx

Warnings: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers (kind of?), Blood. Kissing? idk. This is a long one. I like to give my fanfics context, ok?? lol

Word count: 4,203

As far as you were concerned you couldn't be any different from the similar blue skinned Navi in front of you. While you were used to more complicated headdresses, and guarded expressions, these Forest children of the Omaticaya clan, wore little and expressed much. Several Tayrangi Clan members and you had journeyed vast from the Eastern Sea to meet with the Omaticaya people and its fairly new leader, Jake Sully.

Your mother had brought you up on the story of Jake Sully's arrival, on how the Toruk Makto had led all the clans together in harmony in order to rid your home planet of the humans who were intent on destroying it. Everything about Omaticaya had fascinated you, but as you grew so did your responsibilities, and now you reserve your emotions to plain passiveness.

This was mostly due to the fact that the people were so much different from your own. Tayrangi had long been separated and socially outcasted due to their spirited independence, and the Omaticaya people had once despised it. However, times had changed, and as your mother fondly admitted to yourself, new beginnings can bring new outlooks.

So, there you sat, trying to hold in any regard of the Omaticaya children in front of you, who had been introduced upon arrival as the Olo'ekytan's children. The youngest and giddiest, Tuktirey, smiled brightly at you as if she noticed your presence for the first time since you had been there.

"Come play with us, y/n! We were just about to go out into the forest." Tuktirey laughed, as she tugged on her elder sister's hand. Kiri looked up at you with a shy smile, and for some reason it made your heart warm.

They were very sweet children, most of them at least. Upon your clan's arrival to the forest, you were bombarded by the sounds of Ikrans all around you. While you were mostly familiar with the sound, the laughter and rambunctious noise as they swooped across the trees startled your clan. Who was behind the wonderful greeting? None other than the eldest of Jake Sully's children, who you were introduced to through a flurry of apologies as Lo'ak and Neteyam.

Each bore a startling resemblance to their kinfolk, and by closer inspection you saw the youngest of the brothers resembled the same five fingered trait as his father. He was the most feigned of the two, which made you suspect this wasn't his first time having to apologize. Neteyam was sincere in his apologies at the least, the perfect mockup as the prodigal son, burdened since birth you could tell.

However, something about Neteyam made your heart race just a little faster. Perhaps it was the way he laughed, and his broad shoulders lifted up ever so slightly. Or maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes, and you felt the weight of the world fall endlessly at your fingertips. Either way, you made sure you kept your feelings in check. You had goals in life, and you wouldn't let some skxwang (idiot, moron) mess it up.

"I was hoping to head near the top of the mountains. It's actually really beautiful to see near sunset." Kiri voiced out, the sound startling you out of your memories, as she looked back to see Tuktirey jumping for joy.

"Mom never lets us go out there before dinner, but maybe she'll let us since you're here!" Tuktirey laughed as she began to beckon us to follow her.

"We can go, but we've got to wait for Spider. He should be here any minute." Kiri rolled her eyes, before glancing back in apology for her sister's rambunctious nature.

"You called?" You heard a male voice call out from behind you, your body jumping in fear. You were used to the rocky shores of your homeland providing you a sense of hearing, but now that you were hidden between the sounds of the forest, you couldn't quite gather your surroundings.

"Spider! There you are, where were you?" Kiri exclaimed, as you watched to see the human jump from a fallen tree limb, as he laughed underneath his mask.

When you had first taken a glimpse of a human on Pandora, it had not been under good circumstances. It was as the RDA had begun to shuffle their way out, but the memories from your older clan members had done enough to make you hold reservations against them. Even though you had been told of Spider's upbringing, you couldn't help but feel as if his alliance did not stand completely still against one side.

Spider glanced your way, a careful nod towards you, before pulling on Kiri's tail in playfulness. Kiri hissed as she smacked him away, him dodging her advances. Before you knew it, they were in their own little world arguing about something leaving Tuktirey to sigh in impatience.

"Guys can you stop! We have to get going!" Tuk complained. Kiri looked up as she glanced your way in apology. She beckoned Spider to follow us, as we began heading through the thick jungle.

You watched in hesitance as the Sully clan leaped and bounded across tree limbs and small streams. Syaksuk (lemurs) danced across the forest vines, their playful voices echoing around as they swung. Every so often Tuk would stop, playing with some sort of creature or fauna before Kiri or yourself would have to get her away from the distractions.

The trek was long, but it resembled your own passages on top of jagged rocks, trying to avoid falling. You laughed as you tried to keep up with the Omaticaya children, your passive disposition beginning to fade away. You actually felt really happy.

At this point in the day the light in the sky was beginning its descent, and you had just reached a parting in the densely bushed trees. Pushing forward, you followed Kiri and the rest stopped at what you could tell was an overlook. Pushing back a stray vine, your eyes widened before looking up.

There it was. Out of everything you had heard of the Omaticaya clan growing up, Ayram Alusing (The floating mountains) was the most magical. Your arrival to the clan had been up these very floating rocks. You could almost see the activity where the clan resided near the Tree of Souls.

"Mons Veritatis." You heard Spider whisper in awe, your gaze settling to where he looked to see one of the tallest mountains you had ever seen. Its top didn't even reach vision, the dense vog settling eerily to the distant calls of the Ikrans.

It made your heart thump in excitement at riding your Ikran across the sky.

"Iknimaya. It is our rite of passage to ride our Ikrans. You do the same right?" Kiri looked over at you, noticing your excitement with a smile.

"Yes, although I'm not sure which is more dangerous." You laughed as Kiri giggled, latching onto Tuk's hand. 

"Well, there is only one way to find out."

You were startled by how quickly they began to race across the overlook and jump onto the vines. Your heart began to thump as you scaled the rocks higher up into the sky. You looked down to the steep fall below, wondering if you had just enough time to call for your Ikran to save you if you fell.

You were surprised that with each step it got easier, and even Spider, who was not built for Pandora's harsh terrain, kept up almost effortlessly. Maybe that was why they called him monkey boy.

"We're almost there!" Tuk squealed, as the sound of the Ikrans could be heard louder. The waterfalls were louder too, and you felt a strange lightness as you along with the rest of the group slowed down as you neared an alcove.

"There they are." Kiri said, pointing over to the left side of us where the Ikrans nested. The backdrop the rest of the way was beautiful as the Sun began to hang low, and the outline of the gas giant was visible.

You felt yourself wanting to ride your Ikran Payngyì , remembering that the hangar in which she resided was not too far away, and perhaps you could reach her.

Before you could debate it further a call could be heard, the voice sounding familiar, as you began to recall back to before and your arrival to Omaticaya.

Neteyam.

His Ikran soared across the sky, the multicolored blues of its wings casting shadows in the sky. Neteyam held strong to his Ikran, a symbol of good ability and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race at the sight. He swooped below, somehow spotting us in the little opening that we stood.

Spider began whooping, before you looked over to see Kiri rolling her eyes.

“It’s so obvious he’s trying to show off.” Kiri snarked, the signature fourteen year old attitude dripping off of her like hot honey. You couldn’t help but chuckle, before looking back towards Neteyam.

He now perched his Ikran where we were, his hushed whispers calming the still active creature. Looking over towards us, he swung his legs off the Ikran, before lifting his Ionar (rider's mask) and grinning.

“So, how long until Mom punishes you guys for being up here now?” Neteyam laughed at his siblings, before looking over at you. He pushed his head forward, and signaled a greeting. “Oel ngati kameie”

You felt your face heat up, as you returned the gesture haphazardly. “Oel ngati kameie.” Usually it came to you like clockwork, but you were quickly starting to realize even everyday tasks came awkward and jumbled when he was around.

Neteyam shifted his head in curiosity, before looking back at his siblings. “You know this won’t be a good impression to the Tayrangi clan if we keep breaking rules.”

“No. That was you and L’oak. Y/n wanted to be here.” Kiri sassed, knocking Neteyam over the head who groaned in playfulness.

“Mom will let us be here if y/n is here. She is a fierce hunter!” Tuk replied looking up to her older siblings.

Neteyam looked back at you, and the same expression graced his face. Can he seriously stop staring at me like that? It’s like he’s looking into my soul. You thought quietly, albeit returning his stare.

“Is that so?” Humor now splashing his face as he laughed. You frowned at his obvious display of mockery. “Pray tell me, where’s your Ikran now?”

Something in you snapped and whatever ounce of female gaze you had for him went away, and a competitive nature overtook you. “Where your clan resides. Why do you sound so shocked?”

Neteyam’s eyes lit as he watched you begin to challenge him with your voice. Something about the way your eyes squinted, or the way your soft lips titled in a scowl made his heart race in excitement.

Ever since your arrival he couldn’t help but find any way of talking to you, being near you, anything. He would be lying if it wasn’t driving him mad, especially when his siblings were beginning to pick up on it.

“I’m not. I just…” Neteyam paused thinking about his words before smiling deviously. Your head tilted as you began to realize what he was about to ask you.

“Do you care for a race? Since you’re a fierce hunter, I’m sure you and your Ikran can make a fine challenge for mine.” Neteyam crossed his arms, his mouth trying to hide the obvious nature of trying to get you to blow your temper.

“Now I would pay to see that.” Spider laughed looking over to Kiri who was shaking her head.

“Alright, what are the odds then?” You replied, your hand already itching to latch onto Payngyì.

“If you win, I’ll cover for you in case we get into trouble after this.” Neteyam shook his head in humor.

“And if I don’t, what… I’ll be thrown off the mountains for all of eternity?” You laughed.

Neteyam smiled widely before shaking his head. He began to walk towards you, and the feelings that you had pushed back in place of competition started coming back all at once. He leaned down, a wonderful scent invading your nose before whispering in your ear. “You owe me a date.”

You tried to hold in the gasp that threatened to push out, your head which had been cast down tilting up toward his own, very near face. “Deal.” You whispered. You watched as the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement, the ghost of his touch passed your waist, before standing back. “Call to your Ikran.”

You wasted no time in standing closer to the edge, letting out your familiar call in hopes Payngyì would hear. You were right, as a few moments later her beautiful light blue figure flapped its wings and perched with a sounding screech.

You walked over to her, the beautiful golden shade of her pupils dilated as you gazed into her, petting her slowly in greeting. You looked over to Neteyam with a nod. “What are the parameters?”

Neteyam points out past the Tree of Souls to where a carefully arched connection of vines floated two mountains. “Over there, a little stretched away from where the camp is.”

You looked at him curiously, and he seemingly read your mind in the instant it crossed your face.

“Trust me it will be a challenge. The mountains move quickly, and you have to be careful to not hit anything.” Neteyam walked over to his Ikran, leaping up onto it.

You climbed up on your own, latching onto the Tsaheylu (bond/connection), feeling Payngyì screech, and her breath beginning to pump as she anticipated your next move.

“You can do it y/n!” You heard Tuk cheer, looking over you watched Kiri look at you with careful caution.

“Be careful. My brother is stupid, but he knows these mountains well. As much as it pains me to say it, he is one of the best hunters.” Kiri grimaced, Neteyam cheering out in response to her compliment.

“Are you ready, y/n?” Neteyam looked over at you with a wide smile.

You couldn’t help your own smile grace your face, nodding before him. 

“I will see you at the finish line, then.” He winked, and suddenly you had forgotten there ever was a race, before watching as he dove his Ikran down, and upwards into the sky.

“Oh sh-” You exclaimed with a huff, following after him, the legs of Payngyì tightening, her wings closing in downwards. You felt the gust of air and you were suddenly very laser focused on winning. Not because the bullshit win might not guarantee you a harsh scolding afterwards, but simply to beat Neteyam. A man that was so intently after your own heart. And winning. 

You saw him not too far in the distance, realizing there had to be a shortcut or some way to catch up to him and gain more speed. You tightened your hold on Payngyì, her voice squawking out as you nearly collided with a mountain that was moving closer to your right side. You banked left, realizing the air was a lot similar to that of the Eastern Sea.

Before in races, you would use the wind speed to gain traction by going downwards and upwards. This worked even better, once you realized that Neteyam in the distance was having to lose traction to weave through the mountains.

“Come on Payngyì.” You whispered, feeling her move exactly what you had in your mind, soaring upwards and downwards, before realizing you were nearing the tree of souls and the archway. 

Neteyam glanced behind you with a fierce look in his eyes, before banking off and passing behind a particularly large mountain. You frowned realizing the same mountain that was coming left was now barreling toward you. You gasped narrowly escaping the bottom as you dived downward.

You must have startled Payngyì, because now she strained on your hold, and you could feel the fear in the bond. She began to slow down much to your disappointment, as you tried to push her forward. 

All of the sudden you heard Neteyam fly past you from the opposite side he had come from. Payngyì, who had already been startled by the unfamiliar mountains, saw the shadow of his Ikran and screeched before diving again this time barreling towards the cliffs. You screamed, urging your Ikran to pull up but to no avail.

Neteyam must’ve seen the whole thing as you heard him call out to you. “Quickly this way!” He cascaded his own Ikran near the rocks, trying to keep Payngyì from hurting herself. In the process of pushing your own away from the cliffs, you watched as his shoulder scratched against jagged rocks, his skin tearing up. “Shit.” He swore.

“Neteyam!” You yelled, sighing in relief as he managed to pull his own Ikran away from the cliffs and fly smoothly next to mine. “Are you alright?”

“Yes…” He groaned, his injured arm locking up as his face squinted into a scowl. “I think-hold on…”

“Neteyam… do we need to stop?” You replied in concern, worried for the fact that his injury had begun to slowly bleed. 

“Uh yeah…maybe…” His words now stuttering, looking at you in embarrassment. “Look, let's not go back to camp, I won’t be able to make my promise to you if we do.”

“If I was that worried about that Neteyam, I wouldn’t have agreed to this race.” I huffed. “Where do you want to go? You need care, you’re going to bleed out.”

“No, I know a place.” Neteyam grimaced, beckoning you to follow him. “Follow me.”

You grappled at the possibility of finishing the race or saving Neteyam, as you realized the way he was taking you was straight past the archway. He’s going to win, and I’ll owe him a date. You shook your thoughts from your mind, realizing any race or date was far from the task at hand, and making sure Neteyam is safe was more of a priority.

You sailed through the sky, the sun now setting, and the realization that your own mother and clan will be very disappointed if you embarrassed them by arriving past curfew. “Shouldn’t we just go back? I just don’t understand how any place we’re going will help you or anyone’s case.”

Neteyam, who had gone quiet, shook his head. “There is a place on the ground near the tree of souls not far from camp. Our ancestors used to go there because it possessed great healing powers. That’s where we get most of our medicine.” 

You stared at him, his braided hair flying in the wind and his eyes focused intently on the mission ahead. It made you realize just how deeply he knew about his clan, and the role he knew he would have to serve one day. It made you look at him differently, and not just as a headstrong boy. He was a leader, he would be their savior one day.

As you neared the forest floor you saw a few spirit trees up ahead and a small rocky alcove. Resting both of your Ikrans on the floor, you realized the forest was beginning to come alive with its beautiful glow. 

Neteyam grumbled, holding onto his arm loosely before looking up at me. “Uh.. if you grab some of those nearby plants-” You held up a hand, taking over realizing this routine was much similar to that of your clan near the Eastern Sea. Many times, you had to seek out ways to produce medicine for your injured clan, and the forest was no different.

“Sit down.” You ordered, pushing him down his mouth beginning to move in protest. “It’s the least I could do. You saved my life.” You looked down at him before turning back and grabbing some plants to make some sort of salve.

“Thank you.” You heard Neteyam quietly speak, feeling his eyes staring intently at your back. Your face heated up, grabbing a nearby rock and beginning to mash a few plants together.

You turned around, meeting his eyes who looked almost fascinated at you. You scrunched your face, and for the first time voiced your opinion. “Why do you always stare at me like that?”

“Like what?” Neteyam whispered, the nearness of your body to his and possibly the loss of blood making his voice go hoarse.

“Like…you’ve known me all your life or something.” You began applying the makeshift salve to his cuts, making him hiss in alarm. “Stop moving.”

“Well sometimes I think I do. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” Neteyam reached out his free hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your ears flicked in curiosity, before you shrugged his hand off of yours so you could continue. “Why do you ignore me?”

“I don’t.” You frowned, now suddenly very intent on helping bandage his arm, and stop from blurting out every ounce of feeling you have all at once. “You just-” You paused before continuing. “All the other boys in my clan have never once been so intent on getting my attention. Not that I want it but- you seemingly always do. And I-”

“Secretly like it?” You scoffed watching Neteyam’s mouth form into a wide smile.

“You’re a skxawng you know that?” You hissed, wrapping the bandage a little tighter against his arm much to his chagrin. At this point in his bandaging process, you had knelt next to him, and not realizing your nearness to him until you looked up to see his face so close to yours.

You inhaled that wonderful scent again and this time there was nothing to pull either of you away from each other. Neteyam closed in first, wrapping his uninjured hand onto your cheek softly, pulling you in for a kiss.

Wow. You thought to yourself. His lips were just as delicate as you had imagined them to be, yet strong and firm. You felt yourself move your own lips against his until both of you were passionately locked in one another. You felt his arm slide against your waist as you gasped, pulling you into his lap. Your mouth moved fervently against his, feeling the way he groaned beneath you. Something about the moment was complete bliss, and suddenly you were far away from your worries and goals in life, and all you wanted to do was to be wrapped in his arms for all eternity.

It all came to a halt when you felt his bandage arm try and glide against your body to pull you further down before the pain tore through. “Damn it!” Neteyam cursed, as you both pushed away in alarm. Your eyes widened as you  fell away from his arms looking frightened at hurting him, but also at what had just transpired.

Looking around you realized it was now nightfall and most definitely one skip away from being permanently grounded forever. The spirit trees moved as the wind passed them by, a few sacred seeds falling around both of you, most definitely aware of what had just transpired from you.

“I’m sorry.” Neteyam apologized, his breath still uneven, and his mouths a bit swollen from your own lips. If it had been any other situation you would have climbed back into his arms, but you realized you definitely should be heading back. Getting up from your position, your hand reached to grab his uninjured one. 

“We should get going.”

Neteyam stuttered before grabbing onto your hand and standing next to you. “I- Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?” His hand swept across his face. “So does this mean…?”

“I-” You were at a loss for words. “I don’t know.”

Neteyam laughed before shaking his head. “You are unlike any female I’ve met.”

You bit your lip as you shook your head, laughing with him. “Look, I’m not sure if I’m-”

“Before you say anything.” Neteyam said, grabbing your arm to keep you from walking away. “Can I take you out on that date anyways? Since I figured it was a tie, and I was going to try and cover for you anyways.”

“I don’t think anything will save either of us from punishment, Neteyam.” You chuckled, shaking your head, before turning around and making your way back to your Ikran to fly back to camp. 

“So?” Neteyam called back to you, as you heard his steps race toward your own. You turn around watching as he got closer and everything that had just transpired came rushing in.

“Yes.” You smiled. You realized there was nothing stopping you from him. You spent so much of your life running from love because you thought it would stop you from achieving your goals in life. That was until you met Neteyam, and suddenly you couldn’t imagine your life without him. You were hopelessly in love. “As long as you promise you can kiss me just like before.”

Neteyam grinned, before nodding, grabbing your waist and pulling you in close. “Deal.” 

And just like that, you had fallen for the Ikranä Maktoyu, with no chance of catching yourself either.

[respectthepetty]

Background Noise in Peaceful Property

Because I have a lot of feelings about Peaceful Property, I need everyone to sit with me in the knowledge that the only parts of the sign that are lit are "Cok Long" hehe

Kan was the only one to have a double show up in her intro, which goes with my theory that she is not who she appears to be.

Also, she couldn't decide what sucker to pick at the store.

Interesting . . .

Although Kan has already picked up on Pang's phrases ("Did it alone, my bum"), she hasn't picked up on the ghost activity. She wasn't in Best's house the first episode, she left the warehouse to take a call before Rak showed up, when Home went back to give Rak expensive food, Kan was too busy examining the lockers to see anything else, she didn't see Pang being possessed because when she showed up with Rak's husband, Pang passed out, and when she made the wig for Rak, Rak didn't do anything, so she had to rely on Peach's word that the ghost was there.

While Kan grabbed a sucker in the store, Pang picked ham

And Peach picked bread, but this was BEFORE the manager told them what Rak's favorite food was, so he most likely made it up based on what they had already selected.

The picture we saw in the first episode of Best and Peach with the frowny face covering up whoever is standing between them,

It now has a smiley face in the middle, and it's bleeding in the intro.

In the intro, the books by the pictures of Home with his grandfather are American Style, Kinfolk (2x), Changeless (a paranormal romance novel), and a book about cooking (interesting)

But both pictures shatter causing a separation between Home and his grandfather in the image.

And his grandfather kept these pictures on his desk in his office which is now being occupied by the lead attorney.

All of the characters are color-coded.

So Rak possessed the Pink Person.

Red Rascal Home wore orange twice

But in the end, Blue (and Green) Boy Peach wore orange

And Home wore blue.

However, I think everyone will wear orange at some point because all roads lead to the grandfather.

Finally, the uncle joked that he would buy all the properties, and Home told him he knew he just wanted to make a profit, but the warehouse immediately got in offer while they were still in the building. It's too sus to be connected, no?

Oh, and when Pang told Peach that he was a good and kind big brother who she would always support, the steak in the shape of a heart was behind her.

And when Peach was talking about how much he hates the name Home picked for them, the heart steak is by Peach's left sleeve

I ship it.

[inexplicifics]

In Flung to Catch a Star, do the people of the Nilfgaardian delegation have any contact with their people back home? Apart from Morvran's bimonthly reports to the Emperor that is. I'm thinking about how nobody knew what kind of welcome the group would get up in the barbaric north, and how their kin might still be left wondering about their safety.

The only contact they have with Nilfgaard is Morvran's bimonthly megascope meeting, so yeah, a lot of people in Nilfgaard are absolutely on tenterhooks to find out whether their kinfolk have survived the winter.

And no, Emhyr is not going to tell any of the kinfolk of the people he sent off to the barbarian north that their loved ones are safe. Why would he? They're only servants, after all.

[songoftrillium]

HEARTHBOUND IS NOW A BESTSELLER

HOLY SHIT! A friend pointed out to me that Hearthbound is now a bestseller on Storytellers Vault! I never expected it to do so well, and I'm honored it's had such a positive public response.

If you've ever wanted a turnkey solution for confronting the less savory aspects of the Garou Nation in Werewolf: the Apocalypse, look no further!

When you take away the safety, agency, and credibility of a people, abuse them, and push them to the edges of society, it's only natural that they'll turn to each other for support. Hearthbound is an exploration of subculture that I feel will resonate with many of you.

Long ago held beneath the heels of the Garou Nation, Kinfolk have begun helping Crinos-Born defectors seeking to escape their Septs. Raising them in loving homes, these Crinos-Born have grown into a new tribe. They reflect the values and people of the cultures that raised them, proudly bearing the names their families gave them.

Existing as the children of Shantar, the Hearthbound value inventiveness above all else, finding unconventional solutions to deeply complex issues, both in the literal and abstract. Adhering to the Codes and Creeds of renown, they judge those in the Garou Nation who would use their power to abuse those weaker than them.

This module is usable in any edition of Werewolf: the Apocalypse and provides all the patron, tribe, gift, spellwork mechanics, and story seeds needed to work this new tribe into your new or existing tables!

[oldfarmhouse]

Home » Kinfolk May Gathering, Nashville: l’esprit de la mer

https://localmilkblog.com/2014/06/kinfolk-sea-dinner-nashville.html

[ptseti]

Paul Pierce said he didn’t think anyone from the South Sudan basketball team is over 6’3”. SOUTH SUDAN!!! As in South Sudan, the home of Manute Bol, who was 7’7” and one of the tallest NBA players ever? South Sudan which is also known for being home to some of the tallest people in the world. Ignorance is truly bliss, and indeed, not all skinfolk is kinfolk. The Olympic debutants, South Sudan , the youngest country in the world, founded in 2011 have pushed the USA to the edge with a 101-100 victory in a friendly game in London, ahead of the Paris 2024 Games. Shout out to @luoldeng9 and @ssbfed! We’re rooting for you!! You represented Africa well!! See you in Paris! South Sudan Oyeee 🇸🇸

If I were to comment on that 💩💩Paul Pierce Tumblr will ban me. FVCK PAUL PIERCE

[bigtreefest]

who do you picture welcoming you home with a big comforting casserole? 🥺 not lloyd probably but maybe he was a good ol midwestern boy before he went full psycho

Brandy bean! Thank you for this ask! I love fantasizing about a domestic life that I won’t see for a long time😅

I also love the thought of Lloyd being a midwestern boy who absolutely had to get outta there, bc same, bestie. I wanna go back near a cost with my northeastern-accented kinfolk, ya feel me? Yeah, Lloyd would.

Anyway, back to casseroles. I think a few different babes would cook casseroles for different reasons.

Ransom: When you first got together, you insisted there were several life skills he needed to develop for himself: washing laundry, changing a tire, and most importantly, cooking. It didn’t have to be anything fancy, just survivable and edible. When he found out that you could make a decent meal just by dumping a bunch of things in a dish and setting them in the oven for nearly an hour to forget while they cooked, this was essentially the only option for him. Why put in all the extra effort to make separate entrees and side dishes when this minimal effort creates something almost as good?🤷🏻‍♂️<- peep blue sweater Ran

Steve: he not only views food as sustenance, but as a vessel for memories and moods. He knows how cozy a warm meal can be, especially on a rainy or rough day. It might not be the healthiest, but it requires such little brain power to both make and consume, that it’s perfect. The two of you can sit on a couch with your bowls, sitting close wearing sweats, and just put most of your focus on each other. 🥰

Jake: His mom sent him a recipe on Facebook, thinking it was weird and ridiculous, but Jake actually thought it looked really good. He loves trying new things in the kitchen when he has the time. And for some reason, that flavor combination really caught his interest, so that’ll be your surprise dinner tonight.

Andy: He literally doesn’t know how to do much else cooking-wise besides grilling a steak, so this is the comfort zone where he thrives. One. Singular. Casserole. “Because it’s good. What else could you want?” Like, yes, nice gesture, but like, you definitely get a little sick of it, leading the two of you getting cooking classes (95% for his sake)

Ari: I…don’t think he’ll want to make a casserole. You need comfort food? He’s got either a nice meal done, or he’s ordering in. Whatever you want, not casserole dish slop (he insists that statement isn’t meant to be rude). Perhaps if you really want it, he’ll heat up the casserole in the freezer that your mom left behind the last time you visited.

[belovedapollo]

home 🍁 reblog is ok, don’t repost

[geturlook2gether]

| @vincentvanduysen's home in Antwerp for @kinfolk ; captured by @lassefloede |

[punemy-spotted]

Sixteen Tons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Muscle and Blood

Pairing: Miner!Curtis Everett x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, Discussion of death, graphic depiction of someone bleeding out, 1890s coal mining town aesthetic in the modern day, strong pro-union opinions, Pentecostal Christianity, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Cosmic Horror, See future chapter warnings for additional tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The world melts away, rots into dirt and decay, and as a garden grows untended, you find your gifts crowding out the rest of your life.

We all know that the only light in the deep dark is a paycheck. So hush. Count your blessings, boy. Roof over your head, food on the table, diesel and grease, work boots on the porch, crippled back, crumbling joints, and silence. Company and even union, tuck you in, shut you up, and leave you to rot. And God damn it, you’d better be grateful. - Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 3: The Covenant

Notes: This fic also serves as a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, in that the reader is technically the daughter of Pastor and Ma Rogers, but uses a pseudonym outside of the home she grew up in. The song referenced in this chapter is No Glory, by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. They're wonderful, so check them out!

At the time of publishing this chapter, the Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley is still ongoing! Please come by and check it out as we celebrate spooky season all year ‘round!

Also, in this house we support Unions.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire for.

Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-and-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ of course, you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy and a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were just… all the guides meant to introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kind of oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet t’be earned, bruises waitin’ to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger an’ dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him.

You also watch him sittin’ in your clinic, for once not complainin’ as you finish cleaning and re-wrappin’ the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully lettin’ you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healin’ nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not goin’ to be the last. You’ve been countin’ down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, bein’ the company’s own doctor as you are.

Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’, interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, an’ ever if she was, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walkin’ dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment an’ that precious, ultimate verdict.

You were not, your momma woulda reminded, voice sharp as the trowel she always kept at her side, garden bloomin’ by her stern hand, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an’ the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em!

Anythin’ you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitterness, reminds you of the more pressin’ responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him, lookin’ at him as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care.

Except that’s not what you give, is it?

‘Stead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quest dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’. I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late t’take care of it — an’ t’clean the coal dust outta your clinic — but it’s better you than him.

Least, that’s what you tell yourself, as Curtis Everett’s shoulder relax, relief floodin’ those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizing by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

By the time you leave your clinic, barrin’ the doors for  the night, even the moon’s started its settin’, leaving the town in near-pitch darkness. You might’ve — if you were young an’ naïve enough — equated the darkness around you to a mineshaft, if mineshafts still had the privilege of fresh air to reward you for breathin’.

Not on Company Time.

Wiser folk than you might’ve considered stayin’ indoors ‘til sunup. Maybe even considered the merits of puttin’ a cot in your office to avoid havin’ to brave the deep woods durin’ the Witchin’ Hour, everyone more than aware of what sorta shadows lurked beyond the borders of a sad little minin’ town — an’ what sorta shadows would encroach upon those borders the moment they got the chance.

You… ain’t got much time t’think about that now though, not when you catch sight of the figure lurkin’ by the road, the only path there is t’ween your two worlds — the Clinic and the House. Everett?

There he is, hands jammed into the pockets of his overcoat, lurkin’ by the lone streetlamp Pierce an’ Rumlow’d finally seen fit to install in this part of town, after you’d spent about four years complainin’. Too late to be walkin’ back alone, Doctor, he tells you, almost sheepishly, expression invisible in the darkness — and yet you know exactly how his lips have curved into a half-smile you might’ve been quick to return had you seen it in the daytime, Figured I’d walk you back up as thanks for stayin’  late for me.

You can’t help yourself, really — you smile at him right back, the corners of your mouth tickin’ up despite the cruelty playin’ out before your eyes, at least until you remember yourself an’ blink away the vision, If I kept the same hours as you pit boys, nobody’d be gettin’ patched up. Now you best not be tellin’ me you were lurkin’ out here in the pitch dark an’ cold waitin’ for me t’finish my notes and close up, Curtis Everett.

Maybe you ought not have put words in his mouth — or taken ‘em out, as the case may be — as he shrugs at you and flashes you a grin you cannot see but are certain of, Then I won’t, Doctor.

An’ with that, he starts off back down the road, towards the lights still spillin’ from the windows of your boarding house, hummin’ some ol’ work song you only halfway knew the words too. An’ you watch him go on for longer than you should, takin’ in the sight of his silhouette slowly becomin’ part of the gloom.

You catch up soon enough, keepin’ up with his long, languid strides as if by some miracle, your own steps quick and harried. There are moments you wonder how a man like Curtis Everett — always managin’ to tower over everyone in the room, includin’ Superintendent Wilford an’ that lady Minister Mason he’d installed over at  the Tabernacle of the Iron Gospel — ever really managed to fit in the mines this whole sad sack of a town was built around.

Shouldn’t have stayed out waitin’ for me, you scold with a good-natured ribbin’, not really meaning to chastise… but worry instead, You’ll’ve missed dinner call, Everett.

So’ve you, Doctor, he counters, the burr of laughter in his voice makin’ you roll your eyes an’ put on a scowl you barely mean — mostly cuz you hate feelin’ so outwitted, but no one dare make you admit it.

I’m allowed to be late, I own the place, you argue right back, a rebuttal that earns you another low chuckle, a sound you’re only used to hearin’ from Curtis on rare occasion — earnin’ you a burn of pride in your chest at hearing it now.

You really ought not do this, you know. But here you are, comfortable in the cold silence of the deep night, hands jammed into your coat pockets, walkin’ alongside Curtis Everett with all the calm an’ ease of dear friends.

Glancing at him. Looking without lookin’, pretendin’ you don’t know what you’ll see when you—

You know better, is the bottom line. You know you ought to know better — hell, you know your momma taught you better.

In the corner of your vision, Curtis Everett bleeds his last on your linoleum floor.

In front of you? Curtis Everett hums a work song an’ walks with you through the gloom, right up to the gold-light gleam of your doorstep an’ into your kitchen, the ghosts of the future fadin’ into an approaching dawn.

An’ maybe that’s enough.

Company House — its true name barely in use by you or your boarders, halfway for your own protection an’ halfways cuz it’s just easier — is a handsome-enough structure, nothin’ like that ramblin’ greenhouse you’d sprouted in, a bloom in your momma’s garden.

No. Company House — name lost an’ purpose found — on the other hand, is yours. All yours.

A loomin’ thing, the house cuts through the nighttime gloom like a lighthouse, every window on its main story burstin’ with light. Built on a hill overlookin’ the town proper, it served as home an’ hearth for any miner ineligible for the pretty pre-built housin’ developments south of the mine, where Pierce & Rumlow… rewarded those willin’ to produce more bodies to throw into that gapin’ wound the combine’d carved into the mountainside with such luxuries as driveways, fences, mortgages, an’ obligations.

It was just the way you liked it. Home for the lonely an’ the friendless — least that’s how it sounded in town, if someone dared ask Minister Mason about the mountain fortress an’ the ‘Godless Heathens’ inhabitin’ it. The Iron Gospel she preached ran on the blood an’ bones of its congregation, on family an’ obligation, on ties that bind whole generations to the mine.

A Gospel that had no room for the wholly different kinda worship that comes from strangers sittin’ round a table breakin’ bread an’ formin’ bonds. On brotherhood an’ union, on wantin’ somethin’ better that the paltry concessions afforded by minders with plenty of money t’provide more. You knew it then from your daddy’s own congregation an’ those Sunday suppers your momma arranged each week. You know it now from the warm surety of Curtis Everett’s hand on your arm, keepin’ you from losin’ your footing on that trick step you ain’t had time to fix — I can get Ed to take care of that tomorrow — and the sound of hurried conversation bubbling outta your front parlor, house still buzzin’ with life.

Shit, Curtis’s swearing nearly startles you outta your skin all over again as you both stand on the front porch, stompin’ the day’s coal dust off your shoes, forgot there was meeting tonight. Foreman’s gonna have words for me, no doubt.

You’re allowed t’be late, for walkin’ me home, you tell him, letting the light of the house illuminate your smile as you open the front door.

Meeting is a cute word for it — s’the way things go, get the lonely and the friendless to start airin’ grievances an’ suddenly they ain’t so lonely nor so friendless anymore. A man with a wife and children might think twice about givin’ the company a reason to tear away the roof over his family’s head, divin’ into his future tomb day after day, respirator an’ headlamp in hand, but a man with nothin’ to lose is a man with a bone to pick with the only industry in town capable of puttin’ food in his belly on a daily basis — so long as he survived to see his next meal. Unions, you got used to hearin’ back in your own holler, are the Lord’s way of puttin’ His protection back into a man’s own hands.

Too bad them folks at P&R’d forgotten that sorta conventional wisdom.

Tonight’s union meeting is just about comin’ to a close when you and Curtis walk in, a cracked joke derailing whatever Gilliam’s supposed agenda had left to cover. You’re late, the old man half-scolds, room hushed by his disappointment as all eyes turn to you and the union leader you know you’re already being accused of distracting.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Ignoring the raised voices that begin in your wake — and unwilling to get between two men in the middle of a union dispute — you make yourself proper scarce, disappearing into the kitchen. Between running the clinic and  the house, you’re run halfway ragged, but you do cheer quietly upon seeing two foil-covered plates sitting in the fridge — Yona keeps true to her eternal word, making sure nobody goes hungry if she’s got the time and the ingredients.

The sound of someone entering the kitchen while you’re putting plates in the warmer don’t surprise you much — someone was bound to follow you into this place eventually — but you don’t turn around, not immediately.

Not ‘til Curtis Everett clears his throat, Thought I smelled food.

You sure  you ain’t part bloodhound, smellin’ it all the way out there?

There. Another burr of laughter, low in his throat, and another burn of pride.

They calm down out there? You wave your hand toward the general direction of the parlor, noting the distinct lack of raised voices now that the warmer’s stopped beepin’ at you.

It’s my fault — should’ve told ‘em I’d be late.

They worried?

He’s quiet at that, the silence sittin’ heavy on both your shoulders while you move around the kitchen some more, collectin’ utensils and glancin’ back at him occasionally, waiting.

Finally — Gilliam’s steppin’ down. Nobody wants the job — company’s made sure of that.

You set the platter in front of him, to quiet thanks, He still want you to take over?

He don’t need to answer. You see it again, written all over his face — someone’s gotta do it.

The rest of the meal is… quiet. Heavy. Uncomfortable. A silence neither of you are willin’ to break, coupled with glances neither of you are willin’ to admit to, brows furrowed and thoughts elsewhere. Barely tasting the food, just glad to have something to busy your mouths with, ‘stead of trying to hold a conversation neither party wants t’have or worse — trying to change the fuckin’ subject, with both your minds trapped on the things you’d rather not think about.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Everything dies, eventually. You rationalize it between bites, teeth on tongue to keep the scream of it all held in your chest. Everything dies, including Curtis Everett. Including Gilliam — whose death you’ve pre-emptively forgiven certain parties for. Including Yona — whose hands will evidence endless adventures before she lays down for that final rest, satisfied an’ satisfying. Everything dies. Includin’ Curtis Everett.

Curtis Everett, who will take on the work. Who, in three weeks’ time, will be back in your clinic, bullet in his shoulder an’ strike unbroken. Company infuriated.

One injury closer.

You open your mouth, about to do the unthinkable, disappointment and poisoned bloom — everythin’ dies, but Curtis Everett deserves to choose — when the music finally registers with you both.

Music. And singing. And laughter.

The kitchen door slams open hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard, Yona’s wild presence in the doorway, Come on!

No explanation. No answers. You’ll have t’see it to know it.

Curtis glances back at you, brow raised an’ hackles too. Better make sure they’re behavin’ out there, is all you give in response to it, on your feet in a flash, empty dishes in hand.

He lingers, eyes on you. Imposes his will with his presence, You need help with the dishes?

Let him stay.

You don’t.

S’two plates an’ a couple mugs. I’ll be fine — you go, keep an eye on ‘em for me.

He’s so fast — behind you in a flash. How does a man so tall an’ so full of presence move so fast?

Got no time  for answering that, not when his hand’s on your shoulder and you’re glancin’ back at him without thinkin’, waiting. Come out there when you’re done or Yona’ll never let either of us hear the end of it.

An’ neither will I, is what he doesn’t say. Not aloud, at least, stepping back only when you nod.

It don’t stop you from hearin’ it though, playin’ on loop in your mind all the way through dishes, through cleanin’ up your kitchen, through makin’ good on your word an’ takin’ that cautious walk to your parlor, where the sound of stompin’ boots joins in with the chorus of voices pouring outta your record player, blessedly drownin’ out all manner of conscious thought.

Take me down to that red dirt road Where all them white tails, white tails roam

The parlor is abuzz with life, a hive of movement as you take in rearranged furniture an’ the slowly climbin’ beat of stomping boots coupled with clapping hands, ring of bodies circlin’ the room, all watching Tanya — up from the General Store like always, on behalf of the widows this town left behind — in her valiant attempt to tutor Edgar in the complexities an’ social conventions of a good ol’ fashioned barn dance.

I don’t belong in a big coal town Can’t hear my Lord in all that sound

You almost manage t’become part of that ring of onlookers, slippin’ past the disapproval ruining Gilliam’s face, but turns out no one escapes Curtis Everet, work-hardened fingers winding around your wrist an’ pulling you back, Thought I was gonna have t’come rescue you from the sink, and now there’s no getting away, nor are you feelin’ quite so keen on it anymore.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Wanna show ‘em how it’s done, Doctor?

You dance, Everett? Since when? And since when did Curtis Everett become capable of smiling so sweet he just might fool you into saying yes?

Hell — what gave him the right?

Well I’ve had my fill, of concrete floor Where all them highways, them highways grow

You don’t get a chance to ask too many questions of him, not when he’s pullin’ your fool self right into the center of that cleared floor, sayin’ somethin’ about secrets you barely catch before he’s turnin’ you about an’ you gotta start paying some fucking attention.

There ain’t no glory None that I see None to compare Your love for me

‘Course, you’ve danced before — your daddy might’ve been a fire an’ brimstone preacher up at that bone an’ antler pulpit but he wasn’t a fool — but barn dances an’ church revivals don’t do shit t’prepare you for the rush, for the easy pressure of Curtis Everett’s hands on you, for the peal of laughter that pours outta your throat before you get a chance to think about it the moment he spins you out an’ catches you back with entirely too much ease.

He surprises you and doesn’t at the same time, sure hands and steady feet, both of you catching on to the rhythm quickly as the rest of the room drums the beat, a cacophony of work boots strikin’ the floor in a steady pattern, You gonna answer my question properly, Everett, you accuse him and he pulls you closer, smile on your face betrayin’ any anger you might be feigning.

I’m full of surprises, Doctor.

My days are few, my time is near But I know God will take my fear

He keeps his hands respectful, holdin’ one of your high and keepin’ the other at the small of your back, but there’s nothin’ either of you can — or want to, you’re startin’ to realize — do about the closeness, about the way you can’t stop looking up at him and the stormclouds in his eyes, like you’re seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them, that is.

It’s somethin’. Hypnotic.

The chorus turns into a loop, a rising swell of voices joinin’ your thudding heartbeat, lips parting to ask another question, make another joke, feel that burr of laughter against your chest, feel hands fallin’ from the glory of God to meet a different kinda worship, feel fingers curl into his coat like a lifeline.

He holds your cheek. He draws you in.

His mouth slides over yours like an invitation, your lips parting like an acceptance, like forgetting, like surrender. The music does not slow, but you do, fallin’ into the languid ease of hungry breathlessness, like you could find answers in the sweep of a tongue against yours, in the tightening of his grip on your back, in the wall of him around you.

Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me

[zedecksiew]

SILVER’S CHILDREN SEARCH FOR THEIR MOTHER

At her funeral Silver’s children did not cry. Their grief was dry as pyre kindling. They said:

“We will sail east past the border. We will search for our mother in the shoals of the dead. We will bring her home to the warmth of the sun. We will see her smile again.”

They were Samry the brother, older and bolder; and Sellie his sister, smaller and smarter. They spoke such words, such oaths against nature. Their kinfolk shushed them quick.

“Fool children! Do not blaspheme,” their kinfolk said. “To find your passage through the sea of souls, you must blind yourself to all things living. Who between you will give up sight?”

They heard their kinfolk’s scolding as instructions to follow. Their grief was like a roaring fire. Samry was bold; he said: “My sister Sellie, you are the better sailor. We need your eyes for the voyage ahead.”

Samry put his eyes out with netting needles. And Sellie sailed their boat behind the sun.

Together they entered a nighttime world. It was a place that knew neither moon nor day. Here no compass told the truth; stars blinked in fake constellations. Here waves appeared as hands—clawing, dragging their prow astray.

Without eyes Samry was blind to misdirection. Wherever he pointed Sellie steered. She sailed their boat to a candlelit island. There dwelled men with tigers’ faces.

“Big brother, little sister! We have your mother, Silver,” the tigermen said. “She is our treasure. Giving her up will make us poor. We will trade her only for a prize of equal measure!”

They thought the tigermen’s deal a bargain. Their grief guided them like a steady flame. Samry was bold; he said: “My sister Sellie, I do not fear such men. I will remain. Take care of our mother, see her smile again.”

Samry pierced his chest with a fishing spear. And Sellie shed a tear for her brother.

Their mother’s soul was already aboard, seated at the bow. Wherever she pointed Sellie steered. Now the stars hid; Sellie’s compass stuck. Now the waves appeared as arms—heaving, pushing their boat home.

Sellie felt uneasy. Her mother would not speak. She heard birds calling instead. A cormorant with a gibbon’s face alighted on the rudder; it fixed her with a laughing smile.

“Young missy! You have been deceived,” the cormorant said. “You cannot save your mother! Her flesh went up in a funeral pyre. Her naked soul will burn in the sun.”

She took the cormorant’s words as a challenge. Her grief was bitter as white ashes. Sellie was smart; she said: “My mother Silver, I was born of your blood. I give you my body. Wear it as your own, and return to the living world.”

Sellie drowned herself in her mother’s breast. And Silver wept with her daughter’s voice.

A single woman sailed their boat back west. She slipped into warm daylight. She wrote her name as Silver, though she wore Sellie’s face. Her kinfolk treated her careful, asking many questions. She answered:

“Two children went east past the border. They searched for their mother in the sea of souls. But the son was lost, and the daughter too, and their mother did not return.”

The woman spoke such words, such riddles—and little else. Her grief was empty as an urn.

+++

( Image sources: https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/the-funeral-pyre-7865 https://www.lensculture.com/articles/francesco-cilli-the-night-without-moon https://www.audubongalleries.com/pages/books/7629/john-james-audubon/florida-cormorant-from-the-birds-of-america-amsterdam-edition https://artreview.com/customised-postures-decolonising-gestures-gajah-gallery-singapore-review/ )

[trucker-dave]

This is me and my handsome hunk of a husband on our weddin’ day seven years ago. He had more hair, and I had less.

Love day always reminds me of the time around this picture, and how it changed my outlook on life for the better.

Funny little thing, our weddin’ was— well, not little, since Coach had about 40 family members in attendance. But that was what was funny to me. He had so many kinfolk there, and I just about had none.

As soon as we got engaged, his whole family started plannin’ around it. A lot of them even wanted to help with the plannin’ and organisin’ of the event itself. It was awful sweet (and a little overbearin’🫢🤣) how much they wanted to be involved in the whole affair. But all the while, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad.

Those who know me know my story. I haven’t always been “Trucker Dave”, but my own blood wishes I never had been. It was sad at the time, but I survived and I thrived without them.

When I was younger, my mama would always talk about what she wanted my weddin’ to be like. What church it had to be in, which cousins would get to be bridesmaids, what the dress should look like, and even what kinda man the groom would be. Made me dread gettin’ hitched so bad I considered joining a convent.

Of course when I started plannin’ my real weddin’, I was thrilled. But there was always this naggin’ voice in the back of my head, tellin’ me the flower arrangements were wrong or the reception food wasn’t quite right. Drove me just about nuts.

So, with all that nonsense, you’d probably think “good riddance to them!” And I wanted to… but even after all that, with memories of them poisonin’ the fun I was supposed to be havin’, I still wanted them to be there. They’re family. Family shows up for each other no matter what, I thought, even though I tried remindin’ myself of all the times they had proven otherwise.

Got so bad I almost contacted my siblin’s— found them on social media one night. But the moment I saw their faces pop up on that screen was the moment I knew this had to stop. I couldn’t put myself through what would surely be more heartbreak.

I told Coach about all these feelin’s, and he suggested that I take some time away from weddin’ plannin’ with some friends to unwind. So I went on a weekend fishin’ trip with Billy and Johnson, my groomsmen, and Rhonda, another good friend and bridesmaid (or groomsmaid maybe? Is that a word yet?).

As we were sittin’ back in our chairs on the rocks, waitin’ for a catch, I couldn’t help but ask, “do y’all think we need family to be complete?”

Billy and Rhonda both said yes, while Johnson didn’t say nothin’, as he tends to do.

So I said, “then how could an orphan be happy?”

Billy looked at me a little funny, and says, “what’s stoppin’ an orphan from havin’ family?”

And, well, I couldn’t help but say, “I don’t know, Billy. A fire, maybe?”

Rhonda laughed at my little quip, but Billy just shook his head and clicked his tongue. “What’s stoppin’ an orphan from makin’ a family, David?” he asks.

And I thought about it for a bit, and then I said, “maybe he’s too young to start makin’ a family.”

Billy looks down at his beer, then he says, “alright, alright. How ‘bout findin’ one?”

And I sat with that for a little while, before admittin’, “I’m not sure I’m followin’ you, Billy.”

Billy nodded, then asked me another question. He asked, “how long was it between leavin’ home and meetin’ the Coach?”

So I answered, “four years, I think.”

And Billy asked, “and what did you do in that time?”

And well, I couldn’t help but raise my beer to the sky and holler “truck!”, and the others couldn’t help but follow suit. But after we’d shared a drink, I thought about it some more, and said “I suppose I was always on that radio, talkin’ to you fellas.”

That’s when Rhonda piped in and said “buildin’ a community.”

And Billy clicked his fingers and pointed right at her. “That’s the one!” he said. “That’s what it’s all about! We humans can’t help but build our nests next to each others, and share our worms, and huddle together in the Winter. Whether we realise it or not, we’re always buildin’ a community around us wherever we go. Don’t gotta be married or havin’ kids, just gotta be willin’ to lend a hand-crank and share a beer.”

And when I tell you I couldn’t help but shed a tear as I looked around at my friends, at wild and free Billy, at helpful and hilarious Rhonda, and at stoic and stubborn Johnson. I hadn’t realised it up until that very darn moment, but who I was lookin’ around at weren’t just friends, but my own kinfolk. My family.

And I said, “well goddamn, Billy, you just about made me whole again.”

And he said, “brother, it’s about time.”

I’ll never forget that trip, the one where I discovered my real family right before startin’ a new one with Coach. I’ve spent my whole life tryna build connections with people like myself, and yet I didn’t realise what I was really lookin’ for.

Coach and I have been thinkin’ long and hard about what we want our family to look like, and sooner rather than later, we know we’d like to bring a little one into our lives. And I swear on whatever higher power there is in the world that I will make that little one feel at home with me, and I will show them love and kindness no matter who they turn out to be.

And one day, I’ll take them out fishin’ with their uncles and aunt, and tell them the story of how our family came together.

Happy love day to you and yours, from me and mine.