#moon: letters maps poems

[nthspecialll]

Herbert Moon and his deal with the devil

Hebert Moon and his whole existance might be one of the most interesting supernational phenomenons in the entire Red Dead franchise. To those who do not recongise the name you might recongize him from Undead Nightmare where he yelled about hating practially anyone who isn't white, protestant, straight, male, ya know.

This lovely fella/j.

Now in the storyline he has very little importance, but when you look around and start sniffing at his life you realise that he has had a MASSIVE impact on the world around him, mostly Armadillo as he is possibly the reason the whole town is dying from cholera, making his death count estounding.

Now what is the reason that I, as well as many others, believe that he did this? Well the first clue is in his shop.

If you, with John, go into his general store in Armadillo you will not only find him mocking everyone dying around him, but also a picture of the strange man, something John will comment on and Hebert will reply was just some dude who gave it to him.

Now if you then go to the strange man's hut in rdr2 you will find a large amount of things tracing him to Hebert, first of which being writing on the wall saying "the moon will shine on in the darkness" refering to Hebert's imunity to the sickness killing everything around him. The second thing is another writing, saying "the water is black with posion," some find this to have something to do with Butchers Creek, others, as myself, find this to be a reference to the cholera traveling through the water as many signs in the town warns of.

Even more dooming than the first two things, a map of Armadillo with a few blood stains and the writing "I offered you happiness or two generations, you made your choice" can be found. And what links this poem to Hebert? The letter he has which you can take from him after killing him.

The letter is from his daughter whom he disowned after she married a jew and had son with him. Hebert got his two generations, he got a daughter and he got a grandchild, but he cannot be happy, that is the deal, so the son in law is a person of a religon he hates and the town around him is dying.

[oddree13]

To Find a Kiss of Yours

[Read on AO3]

Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off. 

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad. 

As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.

And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do. 

Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do. 

In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.

When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions. 

In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it. 

During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy. 

In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.

Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man. 

Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive. 

His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem - 

Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal

It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note. 

Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them. 

When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind. 

*

Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.

And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.

Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem - 

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter. 

It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin. 

*

The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend. 

The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.

Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year. 

And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.   How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.   Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.   Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is. 

So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden. 

Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was. 

Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.

* 

Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up. 

But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation. 

Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor. 

Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much? 

He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years. 

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity. 

* 

Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are. 

After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

*

It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night. 

Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy. 

“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson. 

“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees. 

“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.” 

Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem. 

Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”

“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times. 

That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession. 

“I kept them all.” 

Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”

“That's quite a line, Harrington”

“Well not all of us can be poets.”

[palushiemalis-fr]

dergtober -- day 17 -- Lost

Sabrathan’s tail flicked to and fro as she craned her neck over the window ledge, the rest of her long body reclining lazily on the chamber floor. She shook out her antlers, they tinkled with the small bells and the festive streamers she had tied to it for the celebration. She sighed, she was beginning to tire of them now.

She watched her clan mates fly and twist in the cloudless sky to the tune of ecstatic horns, flutes and drums below. The sun was setting on the last days of the Mistral festival and soon they would return to the light territory. Sabra didn’t feel ready to leave.

She glanced at the satchel she had brought over, once heavy with sunbeam fig treats, dried sour strawberries and pelagas bark tea. She had brought a lantern fashioned from painted paper and filled with glowing Reedcleft Sparklers. There had been golden tortoise shells and ferret pelts strapped to to her bags that had clinked and flapped the entire flight over. Now all traded for scrolls.

She had read every one of them as soon as she could; poems, treatise, hatchling doodles and all sorts of wonderful insights into the Cloudsong’s ways. Yet she didn’t recognise a single one. No poems about abandoning hatchlings or apology letters to her directly. She was a fool. All she wanted, she had to admit, was two words. Just two words. ‘Moon Road’.

“Scuse’ me.”

Sabrathan lifted her heavy head to see a little Spiral fledgling tugging at her mane. She smiled, it was one of the little ones of the Wind clan who were hosting them. She was covered in swirling colourful face paints and smiling with a toothy grin.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Ondran said that Lea said that Amble said you had sticky june bug sweets.” She handed over a scroll smudged with facepaint, “Can I trade you for some?”

“Of course you can!” Sabra laughed and pulled out a small bag of dried june bugs coated in toffee, “Here you go...!”

The Spiral beamed and immeadiately began crunching on it before scampering out the chamber, returning only to pop her head through the chamber door to thank her and scurrying away again.

Sabra idly toyed with the seal on the scroll; maybe it was better to leave them unopened, she thought, she wouldn’t leave on a disappointed note. She looked out the window and saw the spiral now clumsily flying through the air, sharing out her toffee bugs to her nest mates. She gave her a wave and Sabrathan chuckled.

What’s the festival without trying to take a chance and have a bit of fun?

She broke the seal and unfurled the bamboo paper. No doodle or spring haiku, just a map. She furrowed her brow as she read over the blotchy green ink, it wasn’t easy to parse but the location wasn’t that far off from where she was staying. She checked her compass, South-West on an Islet in Singer’s Brook.

She strapped on her satchel and jingled her antler bells again for good measure before leaping from the window into the air. Soon a small party of her clan mates and hosts joined her as she sailed in the air. The face painted fledglings looped around her until they waved her off. What better way to get into her home-flight spirit than take off on an adventure...?

After she had left the Cloudsong, the melodies and drumming became distant and she could only her the gentle tinkling of her bells. An hour or two passed and the sun had sunken into twilight. Reedcleft sparklers lit up her descent, disturbed from their perches but the gust from her large wings.

“Here we are...” She whispered to herself.

The islet felt like a whispering place. A place didn’t demand quiet, but inspired it.

Statuettes of spirit guardians sat on the edge of the brook that forked around the islet. Frogs, axolotls, cranes and kitsune, all eyeing her in the luminous nightfall. A small shrine lantern covered in moss sat nearby, long abandoned and worn. She ought to leave an offering before she took off, she thought. She curled up under a willow and caught her breath from the journey. Its fronds hung over her and formed a little shelter, it felt cozy under the dimming skies.

She wondered if there was anything special about this islet, other than the fact it was as serene as it was. She laid her head down, perhaps flying out so late wasn’t the wisest idea. But she could lay down to sleep in this unclaimed territory until morning.

The Moon rose over head and the stars began to wink into focus. Then, a fwoosh. A blue flame woke in the shrine lantern. Sabra almost jumped up before she noticed another then another all lighting one after another. She hadn’t noticed the other lanterns encircling the islet, some were broken and half sunken into the moss. Yet they lit up all the same.

She got up and wandered to check on them, perhaps this was a sacred place and she ought to move on with an apology to the spirits. Then, she spotted the tomb stone. An upright stone, covered in chickweed and sandcreeper. Perhaps she could make amends by clearing it from its face to allow it to be legible.

She pulled off the foliage gently with her claws, trying to mind the stone beneath.

- Tomb of the Moon Road Clan - Our Souls rest before their journey into the stars, carried on the Great Singer’s winds...

Sabrathan’s mouth fell open. The silence that had haunted her life where her family should have been wrapped around her in that moment. Every prayer for a memory of understanding beyond the words left to her as a young hatchling, ‘Moon Road’, had been answered by the silence she was engulfed by.

She read the names by starlight. Of course, she recognised no one, she had been so young after all. To be found carried on a storm to the Hewn City ruins, the only words she knew was ‘Moon Road’ she had parroted until she was ready to learn to read.

She had her answer now. A heavy, thudding, painful answer, a heavy burden to carry home. She wept, throwing herself at the bottom of the tombstone. She sobbed until the crickets stopped singing. Sabrathan finally ran out of tears and heaved a rattling sigh.

She didn’t feel heavy at all. Something had lifted from her chest, and the journey home would be the easiest it had ever been...

[self-spaghettification]

Ok, might as well throw my two cents on this poem (what hasn’t been said already)

Gnash your teeth, O Dragon Fierce!/Night's not far away/In the sky that watchful eye/Does weep and stare and pierce

Night being “not far away” is in of itself extremely foreboding and we’ve got a lot of other concerning uses of night, like “stars all swallowed up” by the corrupted sun forge in After Darkness, in the Bookery how the banthers only came out at night, 6x03 being called Moonless Night, etc.

“While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall. ” (swallowed sun) (falling stars) / Karim's "the rising sun is now a falling star” from here

This stanza to me read as about Sol Regem.

We also have the “watchful eye” in the sky which reminds me of how Sol’s eyes are potentially being healed?

Tho- I also like the possibility that the eye is the weeping moon and it connects strongly with the poster that we’ve just received (ON THE SAME DAY.) and The hopeless dragon could also be Luna, and it reflects her power being siphoned and her death.

Currently thinking about how the poem could refer to both the past and present simultaneously, especially if it’s from the perspective from Aaravos who loves writing multiple layers into what he says (at least, looking at the reflections)

Sol Regem&Janai vs Luna&Aditi.

Anyway.

There’s a lot of grief and hopeless tone throughout the entire poem and it is not looking good at this point in the season considering 6x03 poem at least started out hopeful then veered towards doomed, 6x07 poem started out doomed. Love that for this season. Love that

BUT it does veer towards hopeful territory right at the end. Similar to a line from one of Aaravos’s reflections: “The long, dark night had finally passed—for the sun must always rise, mustn’t it?.”

Eight in a line, O Chosen Mine!/Ready for a war/Endlessly burning—/Hopelessly yearning—!/That love will triumph once more!

I saw speculation that 8 could be the number of key characters could be chess or the number of sources who knows, it could definitely makes a strong point for the pawn motif/aaravos pov, but who knows. I’m not gonna worry about that .

Endlessly burning is something I associate strongly with Aaravos—and we see him burning up things, like candles, how he killed Khessa, and the matching burn in the map at the start of the show that divides Xadia and the human kingdoms.

Simultaneously endless burning is also associated with the sun, and the Sunfire plotline as it is with the passions of humanity and how they burn themselves out like they’re their own candles of dark magic.

Hopelessly yearning is also interesting—because we once again see (narrative of) war and love contrasted and if this is from Aaravos’s perspective, he’s low key once again taunting.

Y’know how people say hopeless romantic-> it’s like there’s no hope for you, you’re done for. It reminds me of how he teases Ezran—he sees it as naivety, and it once again ties into a hopeless tone, but in a different sense, as hopeless romantic and hopelessly yearning have a better connotation than hopelessness overall.

Final note is if it’s red wedding. (First letters of each stanza backwards) RED? and either sol+karim and/or aaravos crashes the wedding I’ll be happy for the rest of the year thank you (for angsts sake)

Regardless of my hopes or speculation, though it definitely seems that this is going to be the episode where all the tensions come to fruition, and the SUNFIRE Civil War begins or comes to a climax if anything. Which Also makes me think the rest of the episodes leading up to this focus more heavily on the other characters and plot lines.👀

On a sidenote, I think it’s really funny that Devon signed her name is Devonius Ghiel and it’s the first thing that stuck out to me here 

[anniekoh]

my mother tape-records my laugh to mail bubblewrapped back home my mother records me singing Ye shabe mahtab mah miad to khab I am singing the moon will come one night and take me away side street by side street sitting on a pilled suburban carpet or picking blue felt off the hand-me-down couch the displaced whatnots I practice the work of worms how much I can wear away with no one watching two generations ago my blood moved through borders according to grazing seasons then a lifeline of planes planes fly so close to my head filled with bomblets and disappeared men scaffolding sprouts nooses sagging with my dead I burn my finger on the broiler and smell trenches

Drone, by Solmaz Sharif, in the poetry collection Look. First published in Blackbird.

Her first poetry collection, Look

In her 2016 debut collection, Look, Sharif—who was born in Istanbul to Iranian parents and grew up in the United States—refused American civil rituals of polite consensus and exposed the ways state violence takes place in and through language. Reappropriating terms from the Department of Defense’s Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, where ordinary English is redefined in service of statecraft, Sharif mapped empire’s brutal trespasses. These words appear in the poems in capital letters, simultaneously disrupting and constructing scenes—often intimate and domestic. In the title poem, for example, the DoD’s definition of “look” (“a period during which a mine circuit is receptive of an influence”) jostles the ordinary one: “Let me LOOK at you. // Let me LOOK at you in a light that takes years to get here.” As the eerie convergence between the militarized and the quotidian agitates the language, any pretense of neutral description falls away. Reading these poems, it is impossible to sustain the fiction of a relationship—including a readership—wholly bracketed from the world empire has made. 

Solmaz Sharif wrestles with the ways that acclaim can become an imperial enclosure; I once heard her say, “I try to write poems that make it impossible to applaud afterward.” Reaching toward forms of relation that are not fully apprehensible from life in the metropole, her work rejects the embrace of any we for whom sharing is an uncomplicated act.

[mysteriouslytransparentwitch]

2 choices draw ,  theme good vibes only (oracle only)

map on the left

with the oracle of the women's circles: spring welcomes what comes your way.Wishes, your prayers will be heard when you start to believe in them. Courage, you have the necessary resources, use it.

with the oracle of the thread of fate: look in the mirror, face and body, observe your body without judgement, welcome your body. You got the movement card, I mean the therapeutic dance, go with the flow. The last card is to speak true, say or write your true feelings work friend family couple children free yourself and burn this letter. On the back of the deck, you had the sexuality card, it's time to explore your sexuality

map on the right:

with the oracle of energy circles: present, inner calm helps you cultivate gratitude. Protection, protect your energy, it is sacred. New moon, celebrate your femininity.

with the thread of fate grant yourself a transformation new haircut or mascara or a new dress. Clearing the space once again this notion is present. Make love or give love and we advise you to read a book or a poem. On the back of the deck you had the magic card, maybe it's time to get into it?

[palushiemalis-fr]

(I was hit by inspiration and wrote this....)

Sabrathan’s tail flicked to and fro as she craned her neck over the window ledge, the rest of her long body reclining lazily on the chamber floor. She shook out her antlers, they tinkled with the small bells and the festive streamers she had tied to it for the celebration. She sighed, she was beginning to tire of them now.

She watched her clan mates fly and twist in the cloudless sky to the tune of ecstatic horns, flutes and drums below. The sun was setting on the last days of the Mistral festival and soon they would return to the light territory. Sabra didn’t feel ready to leave.

She glanced at the satchel she had brought over, once heavy with sunbeam fig treats, dried sour strawberries and pelagas bark tea. She had brought a lantern fashioned from painted paper and filled with glowing Reedcleft Sparklers. There had been golden tortoise shells and ferret pelts strapped to to her bags that had clinked and flapped the entire flight over. Now all traded for scrolls. 

She had read every one of them as soon as she could; poems, treatise, hatchling doodles and all sorts of wonderful insights into the Cloudsong’s ways. Yet she didn’t recognise a single one. No poems about abandoning hatchlings or apology letters to her directly. She was a fool. All she wanted, she had to admit, was two words. Just two words. ‘Moon Road’.

“Scuse’ me.”

Sabrathan lifted her heavy head to see a little Spiral fledgling tugging at her mane. She smiled, it was one of the little ones of the Wind clan who were hosting them. She was covered in swirling colourful face paints and smiling with a toothy grin.

“Yes? Can I help you?” 

“Ondran said that Lea said that Amble said you had sticky june bug sweets.” She handed over a scroll smudged with facepaint, “Can I trade you for some?”

“Of course you can!” Sabra laughed and pulled out a small bag of dried june bugs coated in toffee, “Here you go...!”

The Spiral beamed and immeadiately began crunching on it before scampering out the chamber, returning only to pop her head through the chamber door to thank her and scurrying away again.

Sabra idly toyed with the seal on the scroll; maybe it was better to leave them unopened, she thought, she wouldn’t leave on a disappointed note. She looked out the window and saw the spiral now clumsily flying through the air, sharing out her toffee bugs to her nest mates. She gave her a wave and Sabrathan chuckled.

What’s the festival without trying to take a chance and have a bit of fun?

She broke the seal and unfurled the bamboo paper. No doodle or spring haiku, just a map. She furrowed her brow as she read over the blotchy green ink, it wasn’t easy to parse but the location wasn’t that far off from where she was staying. She checked her compass, South-West on an Islet in Singer’s Brook.

She strapped on her satchel and jingled her antler bells again for good measure before leaping from the window into the air. Soon a small party of her clan mates and hosts joined her as she sailed in the air. The face painted fledglings looped around her until they waved her off. What better way to get into her home-flight spirit than take off on an adventure...?

After she had left the Cloudsong, the melodies and drumming became distant and she could only her the gentle tinkling of her bells. An hour or two passed and the sun had sunken into twilight. Reedcleft sparklers lit up her descent, disturbed from their perches but the gust from her large wings.

“Here we are...” She whispered to herself. 

The islet felt like a whispering place. A place didn’t demand quiet, but inspired it.

Statuettes of spirit guardians sat on the edge of the brook that forked around the islet. Frogs, axolotls, cranes and kitsune, all eyeing her in the luminous nightfall. A small shrine lantern covered in moss sat nearby, long abandoned and worn. She ought to leave an offering before she took off, she thought. She curled up under a willow and caught her breath from the journey. Its fronds hung over her and formed a little shelter, it felt cozy under the dimming skies.

She wondered if there was anything special about this islet, other than the fact it was as serene as it was. She laid her head down, perhaps flying out so late wasn’t the wisest idea. But she could lay down to sleep in this unclaimed territory until morning. 

The Moon rose over head and the stars began to wink into focus. Then, a fwoosh. A blue flame woke in the shrine lantern. Sabra almost jumped up before she noticed another then another all lighting one after another. She hadn’t noticed the other lanterns encircling the islet, some were broken and half sunken into the moss. Yet they lit up all the same.

She got up and wandered to check on them, perhaps this was a sacred place and she ought to move on with an apology to the spirits. Then, she spotted the tomb stone. An upright stone, covered in chickweed and sandcreeper. Perhaps she could make amends by clearing it from its face to allow it to be legible.

She pulled off the foliage gently with her claws, trying to mind the stone beneath.

- Tomb of the Moon Road Clan - Our Souls rest before their journey into the stars,  carried on the Great Singer’s winds...

Sabrathan’s mouth fell open. The silence that had haunted her life where her family should have been wrapped around her in that moment. Every prayer for a memory of understanding beyond the words left to her as a young hatchling, ‘Moon Road’, had been answered by the silence she was engulfed by.

She read the names by starlight. Of course, she recognised no one, she had been so young after all. To be found carried on a storm to the Hewn City ruins, the only words she knew was ‘Moon Road’ she had parroted until she was ready to learn to read.

She had her answer now. A heavy, thudding, painful answer, a heavy burden to carry home. She wept, throwing herself at the bottom of the tombstone. She sobbed until the crickets stopped singing. Sabrathan finally ran out of tears and heaved a rattling sigh. 

She didn’t feel heavy at all. Something had lifted from her chest, and the journey home would be the easiest it had ever been...

'The Windsinger and his brood spend weeks preparing for the Mistral Jamboree, writing messages, poems, nonsense, and including map fragments of the places they have traveled in the past year. The gathered Messengers’ scrolls used as festival currency are the fruits of those labors.'

(source)

It's the Mistral Jam so I just wanna mention one of my favourite bits of canon Wind lore - the Messengers' Scrolls are specifically made just for this event and they can have any sort of nonsense written or doodled on them xD

[finishinglinepress]

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/her-sea-filled-arms-layers-of-blue-by-magdalena-hirt/

Her #Sea-filled Arms: Layers of Blue shares poems that drop down through the blue colors of the Canary Islands, to Cape Verde off of Africa, across the Atlantic Ocean, through the Caribbean, over to the Dominican Republic, and into Guatemala with a family of six on a sailboat called Selkie. The water sparkles and swallows, and their arms reach and breathe. The galaxy becomes their nest, and the children complex planets. The author, Magdalena Hirt, captures wind, stretches sails, raises #sailors, dodges squalls, harnesses life, moves with moonlight, whispers with depths, floats with phosphorescence, contemplates earth, holds mystery, listens to waves tell stories, swings with memories, and falls madly in love.

Magdalena Hirt has a Master of Arts in English Literature from the University of Toledo and is currently working to receive her Master of Letters from the University of the Highlands and Islands in Orkney, Scotland. Her debut poetry chapbook, Levels of the Ocean, is available. She recently published articles in Cruising World, Literary Traveler, and Enchanted Living. Currently, she homeschools her four children and writes from her sailboat, which is a Westerly 49, named Selkie. Their family of six sails to circumnavigate the globe. She enjoys cooking and dancing—most of the time together. With pen, spatula, and helm in hand, her sailing soul belongs on the sea where she chooses words, academics, ingredients, and destinations. Follow their story at www.sealongingselkie.net.

PRAISE FOR Her Sea-filled Arms: Layers of Blue by Magdalena Hirt

yers of Blue, the narrator “wake[s] dreaming of poets halfway to somewhere in their lives reading poetry in a green space…” Hirt’s space is sky and water in endless motion, her family of five rounding the planet ocean-by-ocean, guided by moon and stars, powered by wind and waves. I love these poems, at once intimate and small as the confines of Selkie and the hungers of children, and vast and awesome as the depths of oceans beneath and the cosmic constellations overhead.

–Joel Lipman, Emeritus

“Can you feel the ocean breathe on your / body?” asks Maggie Hirt in Her Sea-filled Arms: Layers of Blue. Reading this collection, you can’t help but answer yes. Hirt’s poems explore how the speaker and her family chart their own course, making a life at sea. While mapping this journey across the Atlantic (and beyond), the poems offer layers an atlas cannot – of the sea at night and the way a mother, a partner, a strong-spirit navigates the ocean’s beauties and dangers. These poems are a reminder of the most elemental of worlds – ocean, voyage, family – and a reminder that home is a place we create with others through wonder and bravery. Here, we find balance in motion, and even the “Squalls / are shepherds herding us towards home.”

–Laura Donnelly, author of Midwest Gothic

In Maggie Hirt‘s tour de ocean, Her Sea-filled Arms: Layers of Blue, we live aboard the sailing vessel Selkie journeying through the vast openness, experiencing wave after wave of water and daily life with her husband and gaggle of children, each, as children do, needing and are determined not to need “Mom.” In “Not Tonight,” Hirt writes “What does the ocean have in mind for us?/Strange lack of control—a genie in a bottle—a climber/without a rope. Will I see reason or feel joy? Not tonight.” Maggie Hirt is a poet whose artistry takes us into what it feels like when a wave all but capsizes everything, what a mother feels seeing her children discover wonders far below the ocean’s surface, feels when mothering a sick child far from medical aid and at sea literally and metaphorically during a pandemic. To compose with the ability to use self not to draw attention, but self as that mysterious center where experience arrives, takes intelligent sensitivity and artistic integrity. In Hirt’s varied poems you will know what it means, what it feels like, to live far from the sight of what we reliably rest our feet on. And you will see what we now seldom see—the night sky. Life away from all reliability except for what’s aboard brings mother and wife Maggie to imagine writing “the note I’ll leave in the cockpit./Don’t worry, it will say. The Caribbean/Sea knows what to do with me, it told/me so.” And then to realize that “we have sacrificed/time and togetherness to be even/closer together, to remain madly in love.”

–Jack Ridl, author of Practicing to Walk Like a Heron, named by ForeWord Reviews/Indie Press Poetry Book of the Year

Please share/please repost

#flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #read #poetrybook #poems #sea #sailing

[moon-cake2]

HOUSE A reflections: readings, reviews, interviews

I think it's hilarious that I'm posting a reflection about my first book after the publication of my second book. My enneagram is Type 4, and one of the descriptions tells me that I tend to linger in "preparing" mode because I never feel ready. Anyway, as I was planning for the release of my book MOON: Letters, Maps, Poems earlier this summer, I spent time reflecting back on HOUSE A. I tend to get lost in various anxieties, so I want to carve out at a space to appreciate the brighter moments.

Readings:

I was uncertain about putting together readings, but I ended up visiting six cities, because others reached out, because my own efforts. At my book launch, I read while projections of the ocean and geometric images shifted behind me. Other memorable events included Poets House in NYC with Omnidawn poets, Open Books in Seattle with Kaveh Ackbar and Paige Lewis, and California Institute for Integral Studies (I enjoyed discussing my book with the moderator for the "in conversation" portion of this event). Most of all I loved visiting classes, skyping with classes, wandering together with students into the mysterious terrain of poetry and writing. The students were particularly thoughtful, curious readers, wrestling with the same questions I do.

Reviews:

An accumulation of book reviews for House A: Publishers Weekly, Los Angeles Review of Books, The Rumpus, PEN HK, DIAGRAM and others... So many of these are in themselves beautiful essays that are pleasurable to read, but even beyond that, I did not anticipate what a gift it would be to feel so seen by strangers. I did not know what it would feel like to have a person read my words with such care and thought, making their own connections and bringing their experiences and methods of navigating into its light.

The reviews describe and analyze my book: in light of the impossibility, infinity, and intimacy of lyric address (LARB); as a triptych of lyric essays comprising smaller lyric essays, an immigrant's decentering of boundaries in both home and literary form (DIAGRAM); in terms of my own critical work into refractive poetics (Massachusetts Review); with the words "trembling" and "oscillating" and "tidal tongue" (Columbia Poetry Review). And it was particularly special to be featured in the May/June 2017 issue of the Brown Alumni Magazine.

Interviews:

I loved engaging in interviews, being in conversation, mulling over questions and my own writing process. I spent the most time on this one in The Conversant. This one in the Rumpus felt vulnerable, discussing the current political context and its implications for poetry. And this one with Vi Khi Nao in the Los Angeles Review of Books blog was adventurous because it was conducted textually in real time in a Google doc.

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

elle's masterlist 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

about me [ updated: 21/7/23 ]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

° for all my george girlies ᰔᩚ

george weasley ༘⋆

Are You Lonely? [Fluff]

Festive Dreams of Corduroy [Fluff]

One, two, three (Imagine) [Fluff]

The Wrong Twin [Angst to kinda fluff]

O Children [Fluff]

Flight of The Love Letters [Fluff with very brief angst]

That Cold, Wintry Night [Angst. Deadass just angst]

Even After all Those Years (Sequel to: “That Cold, Wintry Night”) [Angst then fluff-ish happy ending!!]

That Fateful Potions Lesson [Fluff]

Georgie’s Little Secret [Fluff, a bit of spicy stuff but nothing too spicy, just some light snogging!!]

Through the Eyes of a Photographer [Fluff, so many affectionate words omg....]

Over [Angst, blurb]

Weasley Mix-Up [Angst to fluff]

The Moon is Beautiful, Isn’t it? [Blurb]

A Winter Persimmon. [Fluff??????]

Owl Love you Forever [Fluff with speckles of angst]

for you. [Angst, blurb]

my wintry man [Angst, blurb]

isn't she lovely? [Blurb]

lover? [Blurb]

drunk [Blurb]

meadow [Poem?]

pining ‘til the end of time [Blurb]

earlessly bloody. [Flangst?]

i finally found you. [soulmates]

i remember [blurb, george pov]

Letters to G. Weasley. [I don't even know what to label this as ]

so how can my day be bad? [ blurb ]

no longer mine. [Angst]

love. [flangst]

The Weasley and his Cafe [cafe au, pining]

Truly Madly Deeply [fluff]

sodding map. [fluff, George being a smitten idiot]

My darling. [blurb, angst, post war mourning, not happily ever after]

her rhinestones, they shine endlessly [fluff kinda]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Series (The Boy and The Magpie) [G.W. x Metamorphmagus!reader] *Discontinued*

The Boy and The Magpie(1) “Magpie Down”

The Boy and The Magpie(2) “Nargles In Your Hair”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[___] With George: A Collection of Headcanons

Slow Dancing with George

Studying with George

Rainy Mornings with George

Christmas Eve with George

Cuddles with George

That Time of the Month with George

Cloud-gazing with George

Sketching with George

Makeover with George 

A Picnic with George

Pets with George

Fever with George

Hogsmeade with George

Spring-cleaning with George 

Reminiscing with George 

Jamming with George

Confessing with George

Cafes with George

Walks with George

Kisses with George

---------

George Weasley but ... [headcanons]

George Weasley but [1]

George Weasley but [2]

---------

Stray George headcanons [the plot bunnies I catch and boil alive]

george comforting you in the middle of the night

george braiding your hair

george going through it with you

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

fred weasley ᥫ᭡

what’s wrong, my little firework?

[bookshelfdreams]

Thoughts on Stede reading The Hobbit (bonus: to the crew)?

Wish you a cool evening!

i'm gonna sue you for damages that's what i'm thinking

how dare you put this concept in my head

just imagine!! Everyone is captivated from the very first second. Pete pretends to think it's dumb - "What even is a hobbit", he mutters under his breath. What is a hobbit? Stede reads. I suppose Hobbits need some description nowadays. Pete is stunned into silence (and he too has loved it from the very first moment, actually, though he wouldn't admit it under threat of death).

Stede does all the voices. His Bilbo is closest to his own voice, polite and chipper, but passive aggression always at the ready, like a hidden knife. His Gandalf speaks with gravitas, deep in his chest (Ed likes that a lot). All of the dwarves are introduced with their own voices, from excited, youthful, near (but not quite) identical Fili and Kili, to gravely Balin, voice rough and heavy with age.

The first song Stede tries to avoid. He reads up to But the dwarves only started to sing and skips right to and everything was cleaned and put away safe as quick as lightning, but then Frenchie wonders out loud.

"What kinds of songs do dwarves sing, do you suppose?", he asks no one in particular.

"Must be bloody", Pete says.

"It's about dishwashing", Olu says dryly.

Ed leans over Stede's shoulder. "You could have just read it, mate", he says and Stede has never felt more betrayed. "It's right here!"

"What?" Frenchie shoots upright. "Read it then!"

Stede, who doesn't mind reciting poetry but is mortified by the thought of singing in front of an audience, knows resistance is futile. He gives a deep sigh.

Chip the glass and crack the plates, he starts, voice as flat as possible. Doesn't even take to the end of the second line for Wee John to start tapping out a rhythm against the deck with his palm. Frenchie has his lute in hand, plucking out a simple melody.

"Start again", he says and is already humming along. He gets Stede to read through the whole poem twice, and then he's got it.

Chip the glass and crack the plates, and it's bouncy, catchy, a bit like a shanty. A simple melody to keep hands working steady in the same rhythm. The Swede is adding a beautiful harmony.

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates! So carefully, carefully with the plates!, they all shout as one, grinning.

"Can we sing it one more time?", Fang asks.

They don't finish the chapter that evening.

The next morning, Stede approaches Frenchie and Wee John somewhat secretly. "There's another song right after the one from yesterday", he tells them, "in case you want to. You know. Not that you have to, of course."

Frenchie is delighted. The Swede is quickly recruited.

The Song of the Lonely Mountain may or may not bring tears to the eyes of a hardened pirate or two, you have no proof.

Everyone is intrigued by the map. Of course Stede has an edition with a nice big map folded up in the back of the book; they carefully take it out and put it on deck so everyone can see it. "What's that?" Ed asks and points at the runes.

"Wait and we will find out", Stede answers, and already knows he will tell Ed later, when the rest of the crew can't hear it, should he still want to know.

The dwarves get caught by trolls and Jim is distraught. "Don't go there one by one, you morons!" they yell, and Olu has to hold their hand discreetly until Gandalf shows up to save the day. Roach has some sympathy for the poor trolls, who have been subsisting on nothing but mutton, but draws a line at squashing the dwarves to eat them later without removing the guts first.

They make it to Rivendell and there is another improv song. Stede maybe hums along. Off key. But he's hardly the only one with no great singing voice.

The mystery of the runes is lifted.

"Moon letters?"

"Oh so it was invisible this whole time!"

Everyone is delighted to have known a secret before the characters did.

The Misty Mountains rise up under our heroes's feet. Far, far away in the West, where things were blue and faint, Bilbo knew there lay his own country of safe and comfortable things, and his little hobbit-hole, Stede reads. It stirs something in Ed, and even though this chapter has an even bigger adventure than the trolls (AND a song! A song that Roach will be heard singing under his breath for days, Clash, crash! Crush, smash! Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!, and Lucius is not avoiding him, thank you very much)

Even though there is plenty else going on, that line still sticks in Ed's head. "Do you miss home, sometimes?" he asks Stede as they lay down for the night.

"Oh my love", Stede says, wrapped up in Ed's arms, with Ed's head pillowed on his chest, "I am home."

They meet Gollum next.

What has roots as nobody sees / Is taller than trees / Up, up it goes / And yet, never grows?

"A cathedral, obviously", Wee John shouts, before Stede can read on.

"Shut up, they don't have cathedrals", Pete says. "Do they?"

"Tall building, anyway", Frenchie backs Wee John up.

"Could be something else", the Swede muses.

"Like what?"

"No he's right", Roach says, "Building is too easy. It's um. A hot air balloon? No roots, it goes up but doesn't grow, does it?"

That earns him a round of impressed nods and agreeing hums. The actual answer - Mountain, I suppose! - is widely seen as anticlimactic.

Stede hisses and croaks as he speaks with Gollum's voice and that placates the crew somewhat. It must have a competition with us, my preciouss, he reads and dredges the sounds out of the back of his throat, speaks with his tongue between his teeth until he truly sounds like a creature that lives in dark, cold waters, eats raw fish and hasn't talked to anyone in centuries.

Every riddle is followed by debates and every member of the crew offers up their own best riddles for the others to solve. It takes three evenings to get through the chapter. It's just as well; Stede fears Gollum's voice might tear his throat to ribbons. It's worth it though.

They make it out of the goblin labyrinths eventually. They meet Beorn and giant eagles and an elven king. They fight wargs, and spiders, and spend a night adrift in a river, clinging to a barrel.

It's a fantastic story. The dragon is terrifying; the hoard everything any of them have ever dreamed of. The attack on Laketown, and finally the Battle of Five armies, has more than one of them hold tightly onto someone's hand.

Opinions on the ending are divided.

"How can he just go home?", Frenchie says, offended. "After everything they've been through together!"

"He misses it", Olu says. "Must be nice, I think. To know there's a home for you to return to."

"Bullshit", Jim says, shifting inconspicuously, so they're sitting just a tiny bit closer to him. "Home can be anywhere. Home is where your - y'know." They do not blush.

"But Thorin died", Lucius says. "It wouldn't be the same without him, would it? Maybe he needs to go back so he isn't always reminded of him."

"That's so deep, babe."

"Thanks babe."

Stede reads the last poem and nobody tries to sing.

It's quiet when he finishes. Wee John sniffles, but only a little.

Luckily, there's that whole business with the auction and Bilbo being declared dead so they end on a high note.

The next evening, Stede tries to bring a different book, but nobody will hear it.

"Read it again!"

Stede protests, but only a little.

"C'me on", Ed says, "they love it. Please?"

Really, there never was a choice.

In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.

[redsabres]

☽Remember Our Eclipse☾ • prologue

Moon Knight x Reader, Friends to Enemies to Lovers

• one

Based on the poem "A Letter To The Sun From The Dark Side of The Moon" by Ranata Suzuki

Chapter Spotify Playlist

Summary: You and Marc did everything together, even dying in the desert and becoming avatars for gods that hate each other.

Warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence

Words: 2,547 (following chapters will be longer ;))

AN: not to flex but I wrote most of this before episode four came out, so maybe I should become a fortune teller.

add yourself to the taglist

The headlights of the wrangler bobbed up and down as it sprang across the northern Sudanese dunes, A Man Without Love playing softly on the radio. It was supposed to be a normal mission – at least, as normal as it could be when you were a bad person being paid to do worse things for the worst people. However, nobody with a properly functioning moral compass becomes a bounty hunter. That's why you all ended up here, wasn't it?

You swallowed the question down with a deep gulp. Sprawled across the back seat of the wrangler, your hands fidgeted nervously with the various weapons on your waistband, a nervous habit you picked up from your time in special operations with Marc. He softly chuckled from the passenger seat, noticing your actions in the reflection of the rearview mirror. This made Bushman – your somewhat pain in the ass colleague, roll his eyes.

"This is why I don't let both of you sit in the back seat." He grumbled.

"Hey!" You exclaimed, kicking the back of the driver's seat. This just made Marc laugh harder.

While the three of you laughed – although Bushman would definitely deny he ever so much as chuckled, you glanced at the rearview mirror, only to see Marc's eyes already trained onto your form. He gave you a soft smile, which you heartfeltly returned. The song faded into the background as the two of you were momentarily lost in each other, hearing nothing but your hearts beating in tune with one another.

"Focus, you two," Bushman glared at the both of you, "Save the lovey-dovey shit for the hotel."

You kicked his seat again.

"Hey, don't anger the driver." He warned, frowning at you in the rearview mirror.

You stuck out your tongue in response.

"And what? You'll crash into a pillowy sand dune? How terrifying." You joked, leaning to lay down across the back seat.

Suddenly, Bushman stopped the car – as close to a sudden stop as he could get considering the terrain, causing you to slide forward. For a moment, you considered he just slammed the brakes to prove a point, however, this was dismissed when he left the car and walked to the trunk.

"Hurry up, assholes!" He scolded, despite the fact that he had barely given you or Marc a warning to leave the vehicle, "Mission site is six hundred yards east." Bushman gestured to a map he had already rolled out in the trunk. Circled in bold, red ink, was a site labeled 'CAMP FOUR' in large letters. He continued as you and Marc prepped your gear, "We're gonna be heading towards a dig site where they've allegedly unearthed an ancient map showing where some old Pharoah is buried." Stated Bushman as he set up the communication equipment.

This piqued your interest. Regularly, the bounty was a living person, not an already dead one. You found this thrilling. Marc, however, had a different take.

"So, what? We get to play Indiana Jones for some rich fuck?" The words rolled off his tongue as his upper lip pulled into a slight snarl. You had to try not to giggle while Bushman smiled mischievously.

The larger man turned to Marc, "Precisely."

"Now, continuing with the details of our mission. The site is run by four archaeologists. There may be a few others, but they're all of no concern. There are two guard stations," Bushman began gesturing to areas on the map again, "One on the southwest end, and one on the north. They should be easy to take out." You and Marc nodded.

Bushman gestured to you, saying your name.

"You'll infiltrate the archaeologist's tent while Marc and I handle the guards. Grab the map, get out. Should be a clean run."

You nodded at Bushman, Marc mirroring your actions.

"Alright then," he continued, "The two of us will go along the southern path, "he gestured to a blue line drawn on the map, "and you'll go along the northern path." Bushman pointed to a purple line on the map. "We will give you a signal when the guards are down. Be ready."

"Affirmative. Will await signal." You responded, the formal wording a once thought forgotten habit from your days with Marc in special operations.

Bushman turned to leave, gesturing for Marc to follow. Before turning to leave, Marc glanced at you. He softly raised his hand to your face, gently caressing your cheek. Resting his forehead upon yours, he exhaled a deep sigh.

"Be safe." He said, barely above a whisper.

"No need to worry." You reassured him, softly smiling before turning to head down your separate paths.

"Hurry up, Spector!" You heard Bushman call from somewhere along his trail.

Chuckling, you continued on.

You waited in position just over the crest of a sand dune, awaiting the signal from Bushman and Marc. The two men were taking their sweet time, as per usual. But it was just supposed to be a few guards, right? Something felt off. Against better judgment, you pushed into the camp without the signal. After easily slipping past the guards, you silently slid under the white tarp wall of the tent.

It was completely dark, except for a lone LED lantern hanging from the central support. Sprawled out through the whole tent were various work areas, littered with papers and artifacts. Finding the map in this mess would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. You began your search anyways, the nagging feeling of something wrong still hanging at the back of your mind.

Suddenly, a light clicked on from the other side of the tent. You panicked, darting for the large desk near the central work area of the tent. Soft footsteps padded toward you, before walking around the desk and to the other side of the tent. You let out a soft breath as the footsteps padded back to their side of the tent, the quiet click of the light turning back off soon following.

You were halfway through a sigh of relief when bullets began tearing through the tent. Screams erupted into your surroundings as you pushed yourself deeper into the kneehole of the metal desk, praying none of the bullets would hit you. Your shuffling under the desk knocked it around considerably, as a drawer slid out of its place while you were rushing to take shelter. While bullets rained around you, an intricately carved, lapis lazuli scarab caught your eye. Without a second thought, you quickly reached out and stuffed it into your boot.

The bullets stopped, and all was still. Even you remained motionless under the desk. Shortly after, Bushman came waltzing in, eyes scanning the tent. You huffed, pulling up from the desk, anger painting your features.

"Bush, you asshole!" You screamed, "You could have killed me!"

The large man looked surprised to see you for a moment, but continued to let out a dark chuckle. "That's what you get for not waiting for the signal, sweetheart "

You just stared at him, lip raised. The thought of what Bushman had just done without so much as batting an eye made you sick to your stomach. You couldn't handle it anymore; the sight of the bullet holes combined with the occasional splatter of blood made bile rise into your throat. You turned to leave, tearing through the already shredded tarp. You stopped, upon noticing, turned back to Bushman.

"Where's Marc?" You asked, accusation littering your tone.

Bushman shrugged, "Said he had a headache. Went back to go sit in the wrangler."

Something still felt off, but you nodded, accepting his answer.

"You find the map?" Said Bushman, gesturing to the area around the two of you.

"Maybe I could have, if someone wasn't trying to turn me into a slice of swiss cheese!" You continued to shout at him, gesturing to the bullet holes dotting your surroundings. Bushman rolled his eyes. You huffed, shaking your head at your colleague.

"Fine. You can find the map then, I'll be outside."

Bushman looked like he was going to stop you, fingers twitching at his sides. However, once it was clear you were exiting on the side you came in, away from the camp, he seemed to calm.

The walk back to the wrangler was quiet. About halfway through, Bushman snuck up on you.

"Jesus man, did nobody ever tell you to not sneak up on people when they're walking alone at night?" You scolded, almost pulling a gun on him in surprise. He let out an amused huff in response. You decided not to think anything of it, chalking your colleagues behavior up to the strangeness of the overall mission.

Soon enough, the two of you were back at the wrangler, but something still felt off. Despite allegedly being inhabited by Marc, none of the lights were on. You silently prayed it was because Marc had a headache and wanted to rest, like Bushman said. Against your better judgment, you went to open the car door.

Bushman let out a deep, maniacal chuckle from behind. You went to look back at him, giving him a questioning glance. However, you were met with one of his giant hands as he slammed your head into the car door with a metallic thunk.

You were on the ground somewhere. You wanted to get up, scan your surroundings and calculate a way of survival. However, it was almost as if something was holding you in place. You barely managed to open your eyes, only to immediately close them. Everything around you was white. Above, the sun still beat down, feverishly so. You managed to turn onto your side, an attempt to escape the heat caused by your back being on the warm ground.

Suddenly, a deep, booming voice spoke.

"Get up."

You spun around in a sitting position, trying to find who, or rather what, was calling out to you, however, the blazing sun and white surroundings weren't doing you any favors.

"Get. Up."

The voice spoke again, this time more stern.

Somehow, you rose to your feet.

That was a mistake. Every inch of your body felt as if it were set aflame, your head feeling as if a large, molten stick were prodding it.

"Come, my child." The deep, commanding voice coaxed you.

"Nng... Everything hurts." You stated, stumbling toward the voice.

"Yes," the voice spoke. By now, you were close to seeing what it belonged to. The voice softly spoke your name, "You are dying."

No... Your steps faltered, causing you to trip.

"I don't want to die." You spoke weakly from the floor.

"If you are to be reborn, you must suffer through pain," the voice stated, it sounded much closer now, "It is the way of things, my child."

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, you were finally able to see what you were speaking to.

On an intricately carved stone throne sat a humanoid being with the head of a falcon, clothed in a loose-fitting white robe with long sleeves, adorned with many pieces of golden jewelry. The scorching sun settled behind the being's head, almost appearing as if its golden blaze was a halo.

You pulled yourself to your feet, pain forgotten in favor of the godly being in front of you. Stopping a few feet away from the base of their throne, you looked at the being, awaiting their next words.

"In exchange for your life," the being stated, your head perking up at the chance of not dying, "you will become an Eye of Ra. You will enact vengeance on my behalf, ensuring the balance between light and dark. If you choose to accept, you will be blessed with godly power and take a role as my avatar."

You nodded, mulling over the god's words. In full honestly, you had very little clue what exactly the god spoke of. However, you were in no place to bargain.

"Fine," you panted, the heat of the sun unwavering, "I accept your offer."

"Good." The god spoke, reaching out a hand to shake. You returned the gesture, sealing your hands together. You immediately felt a rush of power at the god's touch, the burning sun fading into a light warmth.

Suddenly, the white abruptly faded, leaving you alone in the desert. Although the sun was gone, your hand still burned. On the top of your left hand, thin, fresh scars now adorned your flesh, forming an eye of Ra. You clutched the scarified hand to your chest, careful not to irritate the fresh scars.

"Get moving, or the night will swallow you alive." Ra spoke, startling you.

You shot up, frantically looking around for any sign of the god. However, he was nowhere to be found.

"Where will I go?" You asked.

The god paused, as if thinking for a moment. Finally, he responded.

"We will start by atoning for your wrongdoings." The god stated cryptically.

"That's gonna take a while..."

"I heard that," he scolded, "Now come, experience your first taste of godly power."

To you, godly power would have been something more out of a children’s storybook, like shooting lighting out of the palms of your hands. To Ra, however, godly power was a reality, and that reality was making you fly around in a decadent suit, punching whoever he deemed a “threat to the balance between light and dark”, whatever that meant.

Through your many days together, you slowly learned of Ra's relationship with the other gods, how many respected him – with the exception of one: Khonshu. Apparently, the two gods have hated each other since their respective creations, a destiny determined by their control of opposing forces. You found it a bit childish, but would never admit that to Ra.

You and your god had highs and lows. At times, you adored being gifted with such power, but at others, it was like a weight that threatened to drag you down to inescapable depths. However, the worst night was easily the first. After being sent to bury those that Bushman murdered at the dig site,

you spent the entire night searching for Marc. You wouldn't be surprised if you flew over the entirety of the Sahara ten times that night. It was hell, barely having a grip on your newfound power. You would fly for a mile, then lose focus and drop from the sky. Each time you hit the ground, Ra was there to heal you. The cycle repeated many times that night, each fall worse than the last.

Eventually, Ra couldn't bear it anymore. He took control of your body, forcing you to land in a small cave filled with various statues of his fellow deities. In the front of the cave, where the sunlight would filter in, stood a tall statue of Ra, holding an ankh in one hand and a scepter in the other. On the other end of the cave, shrouded in darkness, stood a statue of Khonshu, missing its telltale cape.

"To my dearest love, my brilliant Sun,

The world has decided we can no longer be one

So you take the day and I’ll take the night

You with your happy glow, me with my cold & lonely light"

A Letter To The Sun From The Dark Side of The Moon by Ranata Suzuki

[gladiates]

175+ non-Western literature recommendations to diversify your academia, organized by continent + country

I love world literature, and I’ve been frustrated by the lack of representation of it in literature + academia communities on tumblr, so here are some recommendations. I haven’t read all of these myself yet, but the ones I have are excellent and the ones I haven’t come highly recommended from Goodreads and are on my to-read list! 

With the exception of anthologies of older works, all of these books were written before 2000 (some literally thousands of years earlier), since I’m less familiar with super contemporary literature. Also, I only included each writer once, though many of them have multiple amazing books. I’m sure there are plenty of incredible books I’m missing, so please feel free to add on to this list! And countries that aren’t included absolutely have a lot to offer as well--usually, it was just hard to find books available in English translation (which all of the ones below are.)

List below the cut (it’s my first post with a cut so let’s hope I do it right... and also warning that it’s super long)

ASIA:

Bangladesh:

Pather Panchali by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay (1929)

China:

Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu (6th century BCE)

The Art of War by Sun Tzu (5th century BCE)

The Analects by Confucius (circa 5th-4th century BCE?)

The Book of Chuang Tzu by Zhuangzi (4th century BCE)

Mencius by Mencius (3rd century BCE)

The Songs of the South: An Anthology of Ancient Chinese Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (2nd century AD)

Li Po and Tu Fu: Poems by Li Po and Tu Fu (written 8th century AD)

Poems of Wang Wei (8th century AD)

Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong (14th century AD)

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by Pu Songling (1740)

Dream of the Red Chamber by Xueqin Cao (1791)

Six Records of a Floating Life by Shen Fu (1809)

Diary of a Madman and Other Stories by Lu Xun (1918)

Mr Ma and Son by Lao She (1929)

Family by Ba Jin (1933)

Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang (1943)

A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy by Wing-Tsit Chan (1963)

Red Sorghum by Mo Yan (1987)

Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian (1989)

The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature edited by Yunte Huang (anthology, 2016)

India:

The Rig Vega (1500-1200 BCE)

The Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita (around 400 BCE but not known exactly. The Gita is part of the Mahabharata)

The Upanishads (REALLY wide date range)

The Dhammapada (3rd century BCE)

The Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way by Nāgārjuna (2nd century AD)

The Recognition of Sakuntala by Kālidāsa (4th century AD)

The Way of the Bodhisattva by Santideva (700 AD)

Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (1910)

Annihilation of Caste by B.R. Ambedkar (1936)

The Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru (1946)

Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh (1956) 

A Source Book in Indian Philosophy by Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan and Charles Alexander Moore (1957)

Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (1981)

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth (1993)

Women Writing in India: 600 BC to the Present V: The Twentieth Century by Susie J. Tharu and K. Lalita (1993)

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry (1995)

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (1996)

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri (1999)

Indian Philosophy in English: From Renaissance to Independence (anthology, 2011)

Indonesia:

The Weaverbirds by Y.B. Mangunwijaya (1981)

Iran:

Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings by Abolqasem Ferdowsi (11th century AD)

The Essential Rumi by Rumi (13th century AD)

The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat (1936)

Savushun by Simin Daneshvar (1969)

My Uncle Napoleon by Iran Pezeshkzad (1973)

Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi (1979)

Iraq:

Fifteen Iraqi Poets edited by Dunya Mikhail (published 2013 but the poems are 20th century)

Japan:

The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu (9th-10th century AD)

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon (1002 AD)

The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu (1008 AD)

The Tale of the Heike, unknown (12th century AD)

One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each: A Treasury of Classical Japanese Verse (not sure of year)

Essays in Idleness by Yoshida Kenkō (1332)

Kokoro by Natsume Sōseki (1914)

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (1948)

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (1948)

The Makioka Sisters by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki (1948)

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima (1949)

Masks by Fumiko Enchi (1958)

The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe (1962)

A Personal Matter by Kenzaburō Ōe (1964)

Silence by Shūsaku Endō (1966)

Korea (written before the division into North/South):

The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyong (written 1795-1805)

Lebanon:

Samarkand by Amin Maalouf (1988)

Gate of the Sun by Elias Khoury (1998)

Pakistan:

We Sinful Women: Contemporary Urdu Feminist Poetry (1991)

The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1991)

The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry edited by Raza Mir (2014)

Palestine:

Men in the Sun and Other Palestinian Stories by Ghassan Kanafani (1963)

Orientalism by Edward Said (1978)

I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti (1997)

Mural by Mahmoud Darwish (2000, which technically breaks my rule by a year but it’s great)

Philippines:

Noli Me Tángere by José Rizal (1887)

Saudi Arabia:

Cities of Salt by Abdul Rahman Munif (1984)

Sri Lanka:

Funny Boy by Shyam Selvadurai (1994)

Syria:

Damascus Nights by Rafik Schami (1989)

Taiwan:

Last Words from Montmartre by Qiu Miaojin (1996)

Turkey:

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk (1998)

Vietnam:

Spring Essence: The Poetry of Hô Xuân Huong by Hô Xuân Huong (1801)

The Tale of Kieu by Nguyen Du (1820)

Paradise of the Blind by Duong Thu Huong (1988)

Miscellaneous Asia (country unclear or multiple current day countries):

The Epic of Gilgamesh (circa 1800 BCE)

Myths from Mesopotamia translated by Stephanie Dailey

The Arabian Nights (as early as the 9th century AD, lots of changes over the years)

The Qur’an

AFRICA:

Algeria:

Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade by Assia Djebar (1985)

The Bridges of Constantine by Ahlam Mosteghanemi (1993)

Cameroon:

Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono (1956)

Egypt:

The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems 1940 - 1640 B.C. translated by R.B. Parkinson

Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz (1956)

The Sinners by Yusuf Idris (1959)

Woman at Point Zero by Nawal El Saadawi (1975)

The Map of Love by Ahdaf Soueif (1999)

Ghana:

Our Sister Killjoy by Ama Ata Aidoo (1977)

Two Thousand Seasons by Ayi Kwei Armah (1979)

In My Father’s House: Africa in the Philosophy of Culture by Kwame Anthony Appiah (1992)

Guinea:

The Radiance of the King by Camara Laye (1954)

Kenya:

A Grain of Wheat by Ngugi wa Thing'o (1994)

The River and the Source by Margaret A. Ogola (1995)

Libya:

The Bleeding of the Stone by Ibrahim al-Koni (1990)

Mali:

The Fortunes of Wangrin by Amadou Hampâté Bâ (1973)

Nigeria:

The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola (1952)  

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (1958)

Efuru by Flora Nwapa (1966)

The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta (1979)

Aké: The Years of Childhood by Wole Soyinka (1981)

Sozaboy: A Novel in Rotten English by Ken Saro-Wiwa (1985)

The Famished Road by Ben Okri (1991)

Senegal:

God’s Bits of Wood by Ousmane Sembène (1960)

So Long a Letter by Mariama Bâ (1981)

Somalia:

Maps by Nuruddin Farah (1986)

South Africa:

When Rain Clouds Gather by Bessie Head (1969)

Fools and Other Stories by Njabulo S. Ndebele (1986)

Sudan:

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih (1966)

Tunisia:

The Colonizer and the Colonized by Albert Memmi (1957)

Zimbabwe:

The House of Hunger by Dambudzo Marechera (1978)

Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga (1988)

Miscellaneous Africa:

The Granta Book of the African Short Story edited by Helon Habila (2011)

The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry edited by Gerald Moore and Ulli Beier (1963)

AMERICAS:

Antigua and Barbuda:

A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid (1988)

Argentina:

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges (1944)

Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar (1963)

The Museum of Eterna’s Novel (The First Good Novel) by Macedonio Fernández (1967)

Kiss of the Spider Woman by Manuel Puig (1976)

The Sixty-Five Years of Washington by Juan José Saer (1985)

How I Became a Nun by César Aira (1993)

Thus Were Their Faces by Silvina Ocampo (2015 but written earlier)

Brazil:

Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis (1900)

Chronicle of the Murdered House by Lúcio Cardoso (1959)

Dona Flor and her Two Husbands by Jorge Amado (1966)

Pedagagy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire (1968)

The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector (1977)

Vast Emotions and Imperfect Thoughts by Rubem Fonseca (1988)

Chile:

The Obscene Bird of Night by José Donoso (1970)

Emergency Poems by Nicanor Parra (1972)

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende (1982)

Colombia:

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (1967)

Cuba:

The Kingdom of This World by Alejo Carpentier (1949)

Cold Tales by Virgilio Piñera (1958)

Dominican Republic:

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez (1994)

Guatemala:

Men of Maize by Miguel Ángel Asturias (1949)

I, Rigoberta Menchú by Rigoberta Menchú (1985)

Guadalupe (part of France but overseas):

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem by Maryse Condé (1986)

Haiti:

Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwige Danticat (1994)

Jamaica:

No Telephone to Heaven by Michelle Cliff (1987)

The True History of Paradise by Margaret Cezair-Thompson (1999)

Martinique (part of France but overseas):

Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire (1950)

Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon (1961)

Poetics of Relation by Édouard Glissant (1997)

Mexico:

Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo (1955)

Aura by Carlos Fuentes (1962)

The Hole by José Revueltas (1969)

Underground River and Other Stories by Inés Arredondo (1979)

The Collected Poems, 1957-1987 by Octavio Paz (1987)

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel (1989)

Nicaragua:

Azul by Rubén Darío (1888)

Peru:

The Cardboard House by Martín Adán (1928)

The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa (1962)

The Complete Poems by César Vallejo (1968)

St. Lucia:

Omeros by Derek Walcott (1990)

Trinidad and Tobago:

The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L'Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution by C.L.R. James (1938)

A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul (1961)

Uruguay:

Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano (1971)

Venezuela:

Doña Bárbara by Rómulo Gallegos (1929)

Indigenous Writers from Canada and the United States:

American Indian Stories by Zitkála-Šá (Dakota) (1921)

Winter in the Blood by James Welch (Blackfeet and A’aninin) (1974)

Emplumada by Lorna Dee Cervantes (Chumash) (1982)

She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo (Mvskoke) (1982) 

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich (Chippewa) (1984)

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko (Laguna Pueblo) (1986)

Custer Died for Your Sins by Vine Deloria Jr. (Dakota) (1988)

The Grass Dancer by Susan Power (Dakota) (1997)

Miscellaneous Americas:

And We Sold the Rain: Contemporary Fiction from Central America edited by Rosario Santos (1988)

Short Stories by Latin American Women: The Magic and the Real edited by Celia Correas de Zapata (2003)

Bordering Fires: The Vintage Book of Contemporary Mexican and Chicana and Chicano Literature edited by Cristina García (2006)

[grismavessel]

What sort of things would Gris do in his free time. Favorite video games, ect?

Besides training with their pokemon, Gris can't really pinpoint a favorite hobby. They liked video games, liked drawing, they liked trying to learn how to play guitar (they're awful at it), but Gris never really felt like they were important enough to spend a lot of time on.

That was before the incident in Alola. Afterward, depending if the events in Arceus happens or not, they find more time to pick up any crafts or hobbies.

In Hisui

Gris picks up the habit of Distortion Scavenging. They run in, let their pokemon loose to distract the displaced pokemon, grab what he can, and book it the hell outta there. Most of the time Gris finds pure junk, but they usually hand it over to Rei and Akari and see what they like. Older bro vibes.

Gris picks up hiking too. Hisui is very pretty, Gris never have seen just an entire region devoid of cities or roads. They watch the sunsets and sunrises and map out the stars at night. He picks up star gazing too, keeping track of the Alolan Constellations, a small connection to home I suppose.

Chess. Sometimes, on the rare occasion, Beni would challenge Gris to a friendly match. Gris tries, he's terrible at it, but they have a lot of fun playing and figuring out strategies.

Writing. Gris picks up writing. It's nothing serious, he's not going to write the next Shakespeare, but Gris writes down whatever. An awful poem they thought of. A recipe they'll try and recreate and horribly burn. Something funny Laventon said. A conversation with Ingo that was just simply a conversation, but meant much more to Gris. Letters to the future, archiving their experience and talking to their dad, just delayed by a hundred or so years.

In Unova

Cooking! Gris spends more time at home, and to save money they try and cook at home. Most of the time it ends in a charred inedible mess, once in a blue moon, it's something immaculate.

Spraypainting. Gris once heard that art therapy worked for some people, and committing some vandalism and defacing abandoned property sounded fun. Ingo appreciated the new designs on the subway cars.

Photography. He's no expert, no professional either, but Gris felt the need to take more pictures. Cute ones of their pokemon, some of Ingo while he was on duty at the station, a few with Emmet and Elesa, the gym leader even gave them some types of posing.

Video Games. Gris had an actual job now in Nimbasa, so the first thing they bought with the spare change they had was a used console and a 2DS with a collection of games. That's how he became such a zelda fan, they even hooked Ingo onto it. Gris's favorite games? Breath of the Wild, Skyward Sword, and Super Mario Sunshine.

[projectforawesome]

Project for Awesome 2021 Perk Fulfillment

Welcome to the 2021 Perk Fulfillment post. For updates on the remaining 2019 perks please go to this post.

This post will continuously be updated as perks are fulfilled, so you can keep track of whether or not you should have received yours. You can bookmark this page and refer back to it to check on the status of your perks.

Digital perks will be emailed as they come in throughout the year, so please make sure info@projectforawesome.com is marked as a safe sender on your email.

Please keep in mind that due to COVID shipping moves slower than it did in the past. We are prioritizing finalizing 2019 shipments but will begin shipping 2021 perks very soon! Note that you will receive an email from DFTBA when your perk ships. 

If you have any questions you can email us at info@projectforawesome.com

Digital Download Bundle Perks

Journey to the Microcosmos Music, Vol 1 & 2 (2/19/21)

Nerdfighter Knitting Pattern (2/24/21) 

Tabletop Archaeology Game (2/25/21)

Letter Template (2/25/21)

Nerdfighteria Map (2/25/21)

PLONK Sample Pack by Andrew Huang (2/26/21)

Ganglia by Andrew Huang (2/26/21)

Hank’s TikTok Drafts (3/25/21)

John’s Workout Playlists (4/12/21)

John’s Digital Cookbook (4/22/21)

Dadcast (6/8/21)

Video of Huckleberry the beaver (6/21/21)

Digital Copy of Sarah Green’s Collage Poems (6/23/21)

John & Sarah’s podcast (8/4/21)

Emma movie commentary (8/12/21) 

Hank’s April May Short Story (8/30/21)

Dear Katherine And Sarah (9/13/21)

Sabrina draws you a frog (9/30/21)

Alaska for Looking Digital copy (10/4/21)

Exclusive DH&J (10/24/21) 

Craig & Joe Movie Commentary (11/8/21)

Watch Cats with Zach! (11/11/21)

Ceri redoes Hank’s 2019 Art Perk (12/7/21) 

Space Hank (12/7/21)

Dear WBNE (12/10/21)

P4A recap video (1/4/22)

Super Carlin Bros podcast (1/4/22) 

John’s Circle Drawing Digital Copy (1/31/22)

Physical + Exclusive Digital Perks

Year 12,021 Kurzgesagt Calendar (3/12/21) 

Zoom Call with Dr. Aaron Carroll date announced (3/11/21)

Autographed 2021 Flula Kalendar (3/4/21) 

Super Carlin Brothers Set Items (3/8/21) 

Super Carlin Brothers Posters (3/8/21)

Animated into Crash Course Form (2/25/21) 

Flula Signed Calendar (2/25/21)

DH&J Personal Message Form (2/26/21)

Flip Sampler App (3/12/21)

Soundscape by Flula (3/24/21)

Hank Trivia Night Scheduled (3/26/21) 

John + Stan Trivia Night Scheduled (3/26/21)

P4A Quilt (3/4/21) 

Hanklerfish Cookie Cutters (3/4/21) 

Certificate of Human Effort (4/14/21) 

Kallie & Blake's "Mad Libs" painting (5/17/21)

Cardboard Matt (5/17/21)

Passive Income for Creators by Matjoez E-Book (6/4/21)

Signed 10th Anniversary copy of "Name of the Wind" (6/3/21) 

Taylor’s Bat Doodles (6/3/21)

P4A Tshirts (6/25/21) 

Nerdfighter Art (7/7/21)

P4A 2021 Commemorative Coin (7/13/21) (NOT the 2020+2021 coin bundle) 

Beanie Sandfurbs coaster (7/9/21)

Sarah Green original collages (7/20/21)

Destin Perks (Dinonaut/characters to moon/mars etc) (7/21/21)

Wolf Hat from Lindsay Ellis (7/21/21)

“With Prejudice” hat from Lindsay Ellis (7/21/21)

Framed Barbara Streissand Photo (7/21/21)

Lindsay Ellis “It’s Fine” mug (7/21/21)

“Deep State” hat from Lindsay Ellis (7/21/21)

Physics Girl hanging equations (7/21/21)

Physics Girl space helmet (7/21/21)

Physics Girl Poster (7/21/21)

Rosianna’s Self-Care Bunny coaster (7/29/21)

P4A 2020+2021 Coin Bundle (8/12/21)

Grace and Mamrie Sequined Pillow Case (8/12/21)

P4A Exclusive Hand Dyed Yarn (8/12/21)

Beanie Sandfurbs Postcard Print (8/12/21)

Draw with Jazza: Creating Characters (8/12/21)

Hank Trivia Perks (8/17/21)

Paintings by Animal Wonders Ambassadors (8/17/21)

P4A 2021 Magnet Poetry (8/20/21)

99% Invisible City: A Field Guide to the Hidden World of Everyday Design (8/20/21)

2020 Participation award Ribbon (8/27/21)

P4A 2021 Poster (8/31/21)

P4A Enamel Pins (8/26/21)

Life’s Library Books (9/8/21)

Hank Monster Doodle (9/9/21)

Penny Passport (9/9/21)

P4A 2021 Pennies (9/16/21)

Hanklerfish Art (9/23/21)

P4A Socks (9/22/21)

Art by Alice Green (9/30/21)

Signed John Green Foreign Editions (9/30/21)

John Green’s #1 Marker (10/22/21)

Signed John green book (10/27/21)

GMM Catch a Wave Mug (Signed) (10/27/21)

GMM Loop de Loop Mug (Signed) (10/27/21)

Mythical Coloring Book (Signed) (10/27/21)

Mythical Pennant Flag (Signed) (10/27/21)

Be Nicer to People bumper sticker (Signed) (10/27/21)

Rosianna's Self-Care Bunny - ORIGINAL (10/28/21)

Rosianna Little Monster art (10/28/21)

P4A laptop decal (11/10/21)

Alaska for Looking (11/12/21)

Rosianna's Self-Care Bunny - PRINT (11/12/21)

GMM Morning Show Mug (Signed) (11/12/21)

SHTAAAANK V2 (11/12/21)

Thought Cafe Stickers (11/16/21)

Glennnn & Daaaale sticker pack  (11/17/21)

P4A Mystery perk (11/23/21)

Community art (11/29/21)

DFTBA Mystery perk (11/29/21)

Ceri & friends redo Hank's P4A2019 Art Perk (12/3/21)

John's circle drawing - Print (2/18/22)

Try Guys Photoshop Challenge Print (2/18/22)

Please note: If a perk is not on this list, it has not been sent out yet. Thank you!

[ginkgomoon]

Gavin’s Mini House In Detail 🏡

During the Mini House special events, I obtained all the furnishing items and had already unlocked all the furniture in the home so I thought for Gavin’s Birthday Week, I would share all of the little secrets it contains! 

Gavin has four sections of the house including-

Living Room

Loft 

Courtyard

Basement

This post also includes MC’s commentary and quotes from special happenings associated with Gavin. Special furnishes will have the coziness points indicated next to its name.

Please enjoy! 

Living Room

Soft Stool 

The white soft stool next to the tea table.

This stool is a must when Gavin watches soccer games.

The leather surface is very soft, and its height is just right for watching TV on.

Want to know the trend of the soccer lottery recently? How about asking about it? 

It seemed to have won all the recent games, and is both happy and lonely.

If his favourite team loses, Gavin will sit here alone. (#sad) 

White Sofa 

With so many pillows, you don’t have to worry about having no support behind you.

Is the white sofa difficult to clean? 

The bolsters are very comfortable.

Curled up on the sofa with soft ginkgo aroma.

“Gavin, do you remember what you told me?”

“I just want to be with you, just like this...”

“You still remembered!” 

“I won’t forget what I’ve told you.” 

“Then... Do you have anything you want to tell me this time?” 

Gavin kissed MC’s forehead gently.

- This special happening (Starry Sky) refers to the Furniture City Date!

White Table 

“Gavin’s Pad is placed here too.”

(It has a photo of MC and she says she will change it into the both of them next time.)

“I can add a snack box, but Gavin doesn’t really eat snacks.”

Hallway Cabinet

“Gavin waters the plants regularly.”

“These are often loose change on the cabinet which we can take before going out.”

“The silver ornament is a souvenir I bought when we went to Disneyland.”

The “Wavy Thing”

“I noticed a little “go for it” written on the most recently scrawled page of the notebook.” 

“I found a magazine that puts people to sleep in a second, which was necessary for insomniacs.”

Zoombot 

The black Zoombot.

Today I’m again busy all over the place saving Zoombot.

It’s a bit stupid and often gets stuck after hitting the furniture.

Makes a buzzing sound when working.

You threaten it: If you hang again, I’ll replace you!  

Music Stand

The music stand bought by Gavin.

On it are sheets of music scores printed by Gavin.

It will sometimes think that the small black table next to it is a bit short.

Sometimes Gavin uses in in the hanging chair to record melodies.

Gavin will print the music scores and put them on it to practice.

Flowers on the Wall 

Each flower is carefully selected by Gavin.

The front wall stores a variety of flowers.

The flowers on the entire flower wall are all preserved fresh flowers. 

Black Table and Seat 

Looking at it closely, it is the song that Gavin played last time. (Music score sheet on table.) 

It is also very comfortable with the little black seat cushion next to it.

The soft black cushion stuffed with cotton.

My exclusive seat for Gavin’s recital.

I bought it with Gavin when we were shopping at the furniture market.

Hanging Chair/Rose Hanging Chair (Coziness 88)

A great napping spot.

Here in the Leisure Time special happening, MC and Gavin talk about the swing they had in high school. MC is surprised that Gavin knew about the view of the sunset when being on it. He says he “passed by” sometimes. MC notes how the ginkgo leaves danced in the wind. He says, “they were gifts from another person”.

Heart-Shaped Chair (Coziness 28)

A cute small stool and a convenient storage box.

Gavin’s expression was a bit subtle while he sat on it first.

Alternating blue and pink hearts, as it’s a Valentine’s Day limited edition.

Surfboard Cabinet (Coziness 42)

It’s a new surfboard. Bring it next time we travel.

There are also other surfboards. Guess where they are? 

It says fly on the surfboard, like I can leap through waves with it.

(THEIR CUTE SHOES ARE NEXT TO IT AHHH)

Blue Lamp

A lamp that always blows bubbles from the bottom to top.

It’s beautiful and dreamlike when switched on at night.

Black Table on the Left 

“This looks like the score that Gavin played on the beach last time. I suddenly feel a bit nostalgic.”  - This refers to the Slightly Drunken Date!

“I found a picture of an asleep Gavin. He was sleeping soundly.”

Claw Machine and Carpet 

A dream-like claw machine. Gavin will add new dolls in it.

The inserted game coins can be taken out from the back of the machine and then reused.

A small black carpet in front of the claw machine.

I bought it together with the large carpet.

Red Bunny, White Bunny, Pink Bunny, Red Bunny, Grey Bunny.

Motorcycles 

The blue motorcycle sometimes want to compete with the opposite motorcycle.

The colour of the motorcycle displayed is sky blue. 

Maybe its name will be “Azure”? (because Gavin uses colours to individually name items.) 

Spring Landscape Display 

The landscape has been embedded into the window, like beautiful paintings.

Maybe there is a new world inside.

I can't help stopping to enjoy the view each time I pass.

Is designed for a wider view, improving your mood even when you're tired.

Winter Landscape Display (Coziness 61)

A corresponding landscape should be changed into winter.

Such heavy snow! Frozen river! Unfortunately, they are all fake. 

You can enjoy the red maple leaves and snow even at home, isn’t it wonderful?

Loft 

Painting

This is a word map that covers the entire wall.

Looking at it, Gavin and I have already been to so many places.

If you want to travel, you can find the destination on it in advance.

I'm willing to create memories with him in many more places.

Chandelier

The current iron style design is really cool.

Shines warm yellow when turned on, warming our hearts.

Display Cabinet  

It should have been a wine cabinet, but Gavin doesn’t drink, so it became a display cabinet.

The ‘little things’ between me and Gavin are displayed inside.

It looks empty now, but it will slowly be filled up in the future.

Black Tea Table

A black low table in front of the sofa.

I occasionally work here.

The star and moon deco piece is very beautiful, I picked it with Gavin.

You can put fruits and snacks on it while reading.

The wood texture had a matted quality with the black coat of paint.

Art 

Looks cold but is artistic.

Seems useless, but also seems cool.

Greenery

A corner with blooming flowers all seasons, is warm and restful to the eye.

Outside the window is a huge ginkgo tree, and the fallen leaves are like brocade.

I feel like it’s always spring with all these flowers around.

It compliments the scenery outside the window. (They have a ginkgo tree right outside their home!) 

Cabinet 

Photo framed have karmas from the Starry Date and the Romantic Date!

Decorative Cabinet/Snowman Closet (Coziness 49)

The two little snowmen stared at each other throughout the winter. (Cute little reference to the CN Recovery ASMR.)

It looks like a window at first glance, but it’s actually a cabinet if you look carefully.

And you could open it. Didn’t see that coming right? 

Starry Sky Wall (Coziness 52)

Today’s wish… I hope that Gavin…

I will accompany you to see the meteor rain which falls on this Earth.

Every moment a wish is realised, there will be a meteor streaking across the sky.

Dandelion Lamp (Coziness 43)

The lamp looks exactly like the grapefruit during Mid-Autumn Festival.

Like a burning sparkler, shining brightly.

Six light sources, not too dazzling nor too dark.

Festive Decoration Table (Coziness 57)

Although there are two cups of drinks, we can still drink from the same cup.

The sofa in the corner always makes people feel safe. 

Although we are only two people, I still chose two long couches.

The letter under the ginkgo biloba leaf, writes a love poem.

All the shopping bags represent his most flawless love.

The wide view allows you to see the scenery in the yard.

The soft white mat was added afterwards.

But it’s always hot under the sunlight, so the curtain is often pulled down.

Basement

Security Camera 

You are in a monitored area, please mind your actions.

Bulletproof Glass 

It’s not a normal screen, it’s bulletproof.

It's not often that one gets to see such a cool and HARD-CORE transparent screen.

Anyways, curious what’s in this wall.

Sci-fi glass wall in the movies.

The engraved badge is Gavin’s silent pride.

1-2-3... still shorter than it!

Gingko Tree

Seasons slip by soundlessly.

No matter how small their wishes are, they will become seeds and eventually bloom in gold.

All life’s little joys turned into gold.

It guards the serene life here quietly over in the corner.

(Gavin makes ginkgo bookmarks with them for MC. CRIES.)

Corner Resting Area 

These action figures are actually pretty fun!

The puzzle is all grown up. It should be able to piece itself back together. (LOL)

(Puzzle) Maybe finish it while Gavin’s gone? 

(Table) It sometimes thinks the table is a bit short.

(Chair) It looks hard but it’s actually comfortable to sit on.

Very spacious, but looks a bit empty.

Some decorations should be displayed here.

Sitting on a blanket is also very comfortable. You can also lean on the small pillow. 

(Carpet) This is a carpet. You can’t tell, right? 

The advanced smart carpet that is warm in winter and cool in summer is awesome.

(The book on the table is called ‘Kritik Der Urteilskraft’- The Critique of Judgement by famous German philosopher Immanuel Kant. It follows after the Critique of Pure Reason and the Critique of Practical Reason- the First and Second Critiques, respectively. The Critique of Judgment constitutes a discussion of the place of Judgment itself, which must overlap both the “understanding” and “reason”.)

“You need to take better care of your health.”

“Who was the one working overnight over the proposal the other day?”

“Alright, we’re birds of a feather, so... so both of us should look after ourselves for each other!” 

“Rest assured, I will. After all, it’s different now. I have you by my side.”  -Harmonous Compa Special Happening

Gavin’s Workspace

Accompany Gavin though every sleepless night.

This seems… No, I’m seeing things.

All folders are neatly organised and arranged.

A spacious table, with files and reports spread all over when busy.

I no need to worry about waking up from naps due to cold late at night.

I was reminded of some criminal investigation shows I have watched. Come on, Officer Gavin!

If this complicated case is made into a movie, it will be an exhilarating one. 

(Computer) A customised large-screen UHD model customised for work purpose.

(Computer) Work exclusive computer, only connected to intranet.

(Computer) The three auxiliary monitors can help keep the data safe.

(Chair) If you want to protect your waist, you should first have a comfortable cushion.

(Chair) if you work long hours, be sure to work in a comfortable chair.

(Board Area) What does it say? Ermm… Cats have nine lives? 

“Found a girl crookedly drawn next to a work record when he reached a bottleneck.” 

Airplane

This airplane model was assembled by Gavin himself.

The computer says-  Agent B-7

Team Operator S.T.R.I.K.E

Location Tracker 

S.P.Y Camera 

U4V Commando

Gunship Operation 

Motorcycle Repair Area 

Every vehicle is so cool in its own way! 

Hello, you are... Little… Erm… Let me think… 

With the strength to lift mountains and the spirit to take on the world! Ha! 

The robot arm is actually a simple robot.

For your safety, please don’t linger below it

(Motorcycle) I would like to greet my seniors.

Electronic Control Pad

Responsible for controlling the rising, descending and switches of the entire area.

On Spring Festival, it will say: Happy New Year, Sir!”

Sooner or later, fully automated smart management will be achieved.

Radio Office 

It’s an important communication device, and the only disadvantage is that it’s a bit heavy.

It’s actually a satellite phone, and it can receive signals everywhere.

Looks like the palm phone in the 90s. Oh no, I’ve exposed myself.

It looks like an electrocardiogram.

Don’t know how to use this weird device.

A thick laptop that it’s properly shut when not in use.

A cool eagle logo is printed on it.

Gavin used it only for special tasks and it will not be brought out.

LMAO MC DOESN’T HAVE ACCESS-

Courtyard 

Corner Seating Area 

A courtyard in sunny or snowy days are interested in their own ways.

Sometimes the unfrequented bolsters will envy the knee pillow.

It's’ wonderful when two people are sitting here reading, even if they don’t talk.

Standing barefoot on the soft lawn is very comfortable.

There's nothing nicer than basking ourselves when its sunny.

Binoculars

The white binoculars which you can see things several miles away.

You can use it to watch the stars when it’s not too cloudy.

But star-watching is clearer mid-air.

Seems to be the same binoculars as those in the scenic area.

The binoculars in the scenic area require coins, but this one doesn't.

Outdoor Lounge Chairs 

The new furniture I asked Gavin to buy.

Can enjoy the sunlight spa comfortably when relaxing. 

Closing my eyes, I feel like I’m lying on a beach.

The soft breeze and warm sunshine. This is life. 

Lying on it and looking at the blue sky and white clouds, your mind goes blank easily.

The blue and white clouds-

Leisure Table/Romantic Table (Coziness 52)

Lace tablecloth… I can’t imagine that it was chosen by Gavin.

The elaborately prepared dinner and roses, just for today.

A large sunshade on the balcony. (Black large umbrella.)

Bird Nest (Coziness 37) 

Once it was a pair of binoculars, now it’s a bird’s nest.

I bought it just because it was cute, but I’ll consider having pets in the future.

Birds flying by can also have a free meal here.