#possum soccer

[papastacat]

The little dude just wanted to prove the world he was worth playing

[butterfirefly]

where's that post from marcsnuffy about not thinking of snuffy and lorenzo I need to reblog it again

[sinceileftyoublog]

Lightning Bug Interview: Believe It All Somehow Matters

Photo by Ingmar Chen

BY JORDAN MAINZER

It often feels like indie rock bands that dabble in atmosphere, inflecting their tunes with shoegaze distortion or dream pop haze, struggle to find lyrical ideas that match the grandiosity of their sound. Not so much for New York four-piece Lightning Bug. They first caught my attention with 2021's A Color of The Sky (Fat Possum), a soft, expansive exploration of the process of self-discovery-via-songwriting, an album that looked inward despite its skyward timbres. Earlier this month, the band released its long-awaited follow-up No Paradise, and though frontwoman Audrey Kang still digs deep inside of herself, the result carries broader thematic reach. It's a circular album based on the creation myth, bending time and space, triggered by a perspective-shifting 4,000-mile motorcycle ride Kang completed from Mexico to New York City, that was followed by a deep depression. In addition to creating the album almost entirely themselves--including using a studio that guitarist and bassist Kevin Copeland built and using cellist/synthesizer player Logan Miley to mix the album--the band chose to self-release No Paradise like they did their first two records. It's more than regaining total creative control: With No Paradise, in describing the start of the world, Lightning Bug have also created themselves anew.

Whether stark and minimal or layered and complex, the songs on No Paradise all achieve a certain level of immensity. Opener "On Paradise" starts basic enough, with coats of acoustic guitar and staccato organ. Eventually, Kang coos with passivity, "I'm happier here, slow / And indulgent in the sun / I'm happier here, weak / Let the night come when it comes," letting the song also gain steam and volume. "The Flowering" takes notes from Laurel Canyon folk but, too, gives way to stadium-sized drum programming, pedal steel, and swelling strings. The timeless one-two punch of "The Withering" (which features Allegra Krieger) and "Opus" delve into folktales but modern, wiry instrumentation all the same. First single "December Song" sees Kang use the language of Greek mythology to illustrate her depression, over instrumentation that's simple, yet cinematic. "I wish the gods would turn me into a tree / But keep my mind distinct, alive, and free," she sings, as if to want to bear witness to the wonders of the world without having to experience its hardships. And a couple No Paradise songs recall some unexpected forebears, from the Radiohead-esque bass bends and Dane Hagen drum patters of "The Quickening" to the trip hop stylings of "Serenade"; considering Kang's high-pitched, yet soulful voice, you could mistake the latter for Portishead.

Another key differentiator for No Paradise within the Lightning Bug discography is the effect of vocals being higher up in the mix, not as obscured by washy instrumentation. It's certainly apparent on "Just Above My Head", Kang's singing accompanied by only cello. But the effect of voice in general shines brightest on "Lullaby for Love". It's a song Kang wrote as part of a mixtape for an ex-partner, yet it's an effective encapsulation of what being in love with anything or anyone sounds and feels like. "When I hear your name in the hollows of my mind / It runs as a melody through the chambers of my spine / To float on that feeling till strong turns to weak / A truth so far greater than language can speak," Kang sings. Indeed, "Lullaby for Love" is far more than mere melody. It's encompassed by pulsating vocal samples, swirling guitar textures, and rolling drums, oceanic and vast. In a way, it exemplifies the paradox at the heart of the album. How can one wrap their head around concepts that are intangible, like existence and feeling, to begin with, let alone put their perspective to words and music? With No Paradise, Lightning Bug are your newfound philosophers, willing to try anyway what they know is impossible. Earlier this month, Kang answered some questions over email about various aspects of No Paradise, from its preceding motorcycle ride and the effect its songs had on her, to the album's mastering and album art. Read her responses below, edited for length and clarity. If you're in NYC, Catch Kang solo opening for Soccer Mommy at the Stone Circle Theatre in Queens on Friday.

Photo by Ingmar Chen

Since I Left You: Why did you ride a motorcycle from Mexico to New York? Did you expect it would be a transformative experience that might catalyze a chain of events leading to creativity?

Audrey Kang: Honestly, I only did it because I really wanted to keep my motorcycle that I’d bought in Mexico. I felt very attached to this bike because it had seen me through some brushes with death, it had been my faithful companion for many months, and because it was the bike I learned to ride on. The only way to keep it was to drive it home, so I did [laughs]. It was a very practical mission that had nothing to do with a desire for transformation, inspiration, or creativity.

SILY: Much of No Paradise seems to deal with the idea of living passively versus actively. Do you consider songwriting or music-making an active way of engaging with the world?

AK: I see songwriting as more of an internal thing. I stay deep in my own world when I write a song. I suppose once you share your music, you’re engaging with the world. But at least to me, the process of making music is quite introverted.

SILY: On "Lullaby For Love", you sing, "When I hear your name in the hollows of my mind / It runs as a melody through the chambers of my spine / To float on that feeling till strong turns to weak / A truth so far greater than language can speak." Do you ever find songwriting or singing the most effective form of communication?

AK: Hmm, that’s a tricky question for me. I definitely think you can get a feeling across in song that talking can really muddle up. But the truth is, we’ll always only be capable of guessing just how effective or ineffective our communication is, whether it’s through writing a song or extensive conversation or a really long letter. That’s always fascinated me, that you never really know how much someone else is absorbing of how much you’re trying to express.

SILY: When writing, how do you come up with instrumental compositions that reflect or perhaps contrast the lyrics?

AK: I think the composition usually comes along with whatever feeling or space I’m occupying in the song. Does that make sense? I’m so useless at explaining my process [laughs]. When I’m making music, I think/feel/move very fast; it’s really all a blur.

SILY: Your voice seems to be more upfront in the mix than usual. Was that a conscious decision going into the recording of the album?

AK: Yes, definitely. We wanted the vocal to stand out more and carry the plot.

Photo by Ingmar Chen

SILY: The video for "December Song" starts with a line from "Rex's Blues" by Townes Van Zandt, a songwriter known for exploring melancholy as a lived experience. Did writing this song change your perspective on what it means to be alive? Do any other songwriters have this almost existential effect on you?

AK: I would say that writing this song did mark a significant shift in me. I realize this a lot (then forget, then re-realize, and so on), but you can’t wait for life to feel meaningful or magical. In vast expanses of dreary despair, you kinda just have to put one foot in front of the other and commit to believing it all somehow matters. Writing “December Song” was a reminder of that for me. As for other songwriters who explore melancholy as lived experience, Nick Drake comes to mind. Paul Simon. Nina Simone in her expression and performance.

SILY: What is powerful to you about comparing yourself to or even embodying nature--trees, mammals, insects--as you do throughout the album?

AK: Hmm, I just do this without thinking, to be honest. But I will say all patterns in nature repeat themselves throughout all organic existence. I feel this very intensely.

SILY: How did you come to work with Allegra Krieger? What about the qualities of her voice made her fitting for "The Withering"?

AK: Allegra is Kevin’s partner, so that came about very naturally. We both have what I describe as “grandma voices” which I think made a good fit for the rather old-sounding “Withering”. I love how her voice holds it down in that song, but also how our voices interweave and play together.

SILY: On "Just Above My Head", you sing, “Let my death ask of me / Will my music remain? / My songs all may die with me / But when I sing, I find my own eternity.” Do you pretty often think about legacy, in general and when writing songs?

AK: Oh my goodness, I never think about legacy [laughs]. I can see why you’d interpret that line this way. But I guess it was more that I was thinking about how transient life is. So sort of the opposite.

SILY: Some of the songs on No Paradise feature Greek mythology or recall traditional folk music. On, "Opus", you use the word "o'er". What to you is significant about combining archaic or traditional language, stories, or song structures with contemporary songwriting and instrumentation?

AK: Again, like in the use of nature metaphors, this use of archaic language comes to me without me thinking much about it. I guess because I read a lot of old books [laughs]. It’s harder for me to connect with modern things. So that comes across when I write my own songs.

SILY: The video for "Opus" was based on a ghost story you wrote. Do you write any other sorts of poetry or prose?

AK: I scribble things, but nothing I take too seriously.

SILY: You notably tend to keep the making of your music in-house, so to speak, though you continue to work with Heba Kadry, someone with quite an extensive credits list. What does Heba bring to the table that makes her a great mastering engineer?

AK: Heba is an all around legend and boss. She’s totally committed to her art.

SILY: What's the background behind No Paradise's album artwork?

AK: Well, the album is a loose rewriting of the creation myth, so the artwork needed to reflect that. I wanted to contrast “evil” with “innocence” in some visual way. I ended up making a rather potent-looking evil apple, and a childish butterfly to alight on the skin.

SILY: When playing live, do you tend to find yourselves in the same headspace as when you wrote and recorded the songs? How do you see adapting No Paradise songs to a live performance?

AK: It depends on the day, the venue, the audience. Sometimes, you can enter a very special space that feels intimate and true to the writing of the songs. Other times, it’s harder to connect, and you can feel a bit like you’re just going through the motions of performing. I’m excited to perform these songs. They’re honestly extremely hard to sing due to wide melodic movement and rhythmic precision. But they’ll be rewarding to perform, because there’s a lot of passion in this album.

SILY: What's next for Lightning Bug?

AK: I really want to work on our live performances. We’ve never put enough energy and work into that part of music, in my opinion, and I want to change that!

SILY: Is there anything you've been reading, watching, or listening to lately that's inspired you or that you've enjoyed?

AK: I’ve been staring at ocean waves a lot. I find this to be incredibly enjoyable and peacemaking. I’ve also been reading short stories by old Russian greats, like [Nikolai] Gogol.

[jaycetclis]

the neighbors behind us came out on their back deck when I was outside with the dog just now because they must have seen the flashlights and wondered what the hell me and my dad were doing lol

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 27

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Wow, you guys. I got carried away with this one. It's a biggun!!

Kick.

The soccer ball rebounds off the tyre.

Kick.

I pretend it's a walker head.

We haven't seen one of the dead in weeks, but I know they're out there.

Kick.

Buried in the snow.

Kick.

Just like everything else.

KICK.

It shoots off into the car yard.

I watch it bounce down the aisle of rotted vehicles, bumping up against the chain-link fence. A sigh escapes my chapped lips and blows away in the wind. For what must be the tenth time today, I pull my scarf up and trudge over to the ball.

Aside from day dreaming, this is about the only thing I can entertain myself with nowadays. I can't play so well without a partner, but the afternoons slog on otherwise. It was a couple weeks ago that people stopped wantin' to talk, or tell a story, or try their hand at makin' a joke, a couple weeks before those ones that Rick stopped talkin' altogether. I just don't think any of us have the energy. The only thing we can waste it on is breathing in and out and lighting the campfire every morning. Some days, like today, I even waste it on the ball.

Besides, we don't got anything interesting to say. There's only so many times you can comment on the weather.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, go my boots in the packed snow.

Thinking back on it, the last time I heard Rick say anything that weren't a barked order was the night we slept in an abandoned house. It was the first time since the farm fell that Dad had come back without any game on his shoulder. Carl had tried eatin' an old can of dog food for dinner. I still remember the way the brown meat exploded against the floor when Rick threw it, and we were scared then, too.

So, we went hungry — And almost every night since then, we've gone hungry.

I wonder if Dad's gonna try go huntin' again today, but I doubt it. Ain't worth it, no more.

It'll be a handful of burnt mushrooms for dinner again, tonight.

I bend and pick up the ball, dusting off the snow.

Some months ago, Rick told me that if he had to hear the word mushroom one more time, he'd go crazy. I almost smile to myself at the memory, the day we shared fruit and worked on the fence. If only he knew he'd be eating them every day; that he'd go crazy, anyway.

It was also the day we lost everything, is the souring thought that comes after, just like it always does.

Movement.

I look up, peering through the hexagonal webbing of the fence, out onto the street.

There it is. A white blob with a black marking.

Well, a dog.

A dog sniffs around one of the cars. I ain't seen a dog since before. I realize that for some reason I'd thought they'd all disappeared, and maybe they have, but not this one. He's a stubby little feller. Barely tall enough to see over the walls of snow, but he manages. His pink nose traces down the tyre, taking him underneath the rusted shell. I watch him cram himself through the gap with little effort.

My empty stomach rumbles to me that I should shoot it from here and we can roast it over a fire.

Is it okay to eat the thing that eats the dog food? Is is different from a squirrel?

When he wriggles back out, a dead mouse hangs from his teeth.

Oh. He caught somethin'.

Outta the corner of my eye, Dad approaches me, a sore frown below the brim of his beanie.

He makes a pincer gesture with both hands, shaking them slightly. 'What are you doing?'

I slap my thigh a few times, the sign for, 'Dog.'

When I point, he turns to look.

The dog clumsily gnaws at the skin holding the mouse meat together, letting the head plop onto the ground.

Dad tenses slightly, glancing out at the empty street; the trees beyond it. He thinks the dog might not be alone. Squirrels, possums. They don't got owners. They're too wild and nasty. But dogs do. We wait for a moment for someone to appear, but nobody does.

We're both thinking the same thing, but I'on think Dad will say it before I do.

'We should eat him,' I sign; the smart thing to do. We should eat him. But, 'I don't want to.'

He pauses. He don't want to, neither.

People are predictable like this. The world has up and ended, but we still pray before we eat, we remember our birthdays for no good reason, and we refuse to eat pets. All the bolts in Dad's bow and all the bullets in my pistol are stayin' right where they is.

Dad moves past me, undoing the gate latch and pilling it open, mutely snapping his fingers.

The dog's head snaps up.

Fresh blood paints its lopsided, gaping grin, dripping small jewels into the snow.

It considers the both of us, unsure if it wants to abandon its dinner. His head is droopy and egg shaped, undeniably ugly but in an adorable way, with two black dots for eyes and a chest like a body builder. Bull Terriers, I'm sure they're called. Rodent killers.

Stepping over the little pile of organs, the dog makes up its mind and trots over to us.

Dad kinda flinches when it places its nose in his outstretched hand, relaxing, letting it nuzzle at him.

Luckily, he ain't a human killer.

'It's okay,' He's concluded, guiding the dog inside and latching the gate closed.

I drop to my knees, giggling softly as I cradle the dog's big face, scratching behind his ears. Oh, he loves it. He must'a been lonely.

I mouth up at Dad, Keep him?

Food is scarce, and Lori is sick an' pregnant, but I still hope we can keep him. I'm already preparing a list of reasons we should.

'Everyone's decision,' He signs, before nodding us back the way we came.

Standing up, I follow behind him, and the dog makes sure he don't get left behind.

The garage stands firm in the onslaught of snow. We've made it a sort of home for now, but it's far from paradise. It's old. Small. It don't keep the wind out. Beth, Maggie, T, and Glenn are huddled around the campfire in a patch of melted sleet, the four of 'em the first to notice our return, and our new friend. They perk up at the sight of the dog, before breaking out in smiles.

Kneeling next to Glenn, I help him welcome the dog with pets and cuddles.

Rick's marching over to us before I can even wonder where he is, 'cause ain't nothin' happens without him knowing.

I expect him to be angry. He's always angry when it comes to mouths to feed.

But after exchanging some words with Dad over my head, he surprises me by nodding, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, watching us. I think I must've got it mixed up, but nope, he sends me the slightest, weightiest of smiles and nods again.

A foreign sort of relief flushes through me at the realization that I don't gotta persuade him.

I'm happy, for free.

Grinning up at everyone, I bask in the wonderful sight of their silent chuckles.

Glenn makes finger guns and taps them together.

'Name?'

I glance down at the dog; give it a good think. If I were a weird little rodent killer, what would I want my name to be?

I know. Dusting off the end of my nose with my finger, I share my decision with the group.

'Mouse.'

I startle as the dog licks my knuckles.

Maggie pouts, mouthing the word, Cute.

'When I found him,' I sign, trying and failing to keep my hands clean of dog-slobber, 'He caught a mouse.'

'He's a hunter,' Dad agrees, approving.

I lead Mouse into the garage to meet the others, ducking under the shutter doors and shivering off the sting of the snow. I wish we could light another campfire in here to keep warm, but Rick says the smoke would kill us faster than the cold will.

Not that it mattered much to my hearing aids.

As it turns out, the cold kills batteries, too.

I've learnt to manage without 'em by now, but I miss it. There were even days where I could hear my own laugh.

At least when the thaw comes back around, I'll be able to use them again.

I step over the piles of blankets scattered across the concrete floor, mindful not to cross paths with any of them. I wouldn't be a very popular person if I trampled somebody's stuff. Any little thing will cause a fight nowadays. We're stacked on top of each other in here. Chickens in a slaughterhouse cage. I learnt that it's easy to lose yer temper here, even if we do love each other, when I woke up durin' the first night. Glenn was apparently muttering in his sleep, sum' about, No, please, this is all I have, before T-Dog shook him awake with a pair of angry hands, growling at him to, Shut the fuck up. Nobody slept after that, but nobody ever really sleeps.

Mouse sniffs around the many makeshift beds, his tail beating back and forth against his muscly legs.

I already know how to study somebody's face to see which side of them I'm getting that day. I did it with Merle all the time. I knew the exact angle of his brow when he was drunk, about to start plottin' murder and makin' loud phone calls to people that owed him whatever it was he got scammed outta that week, the exact angle when he was gettin' mad, when he was asleep, or high, or both.

It's a talent to read closed books. Living like this for so long, I ain't the only one good at it, no more.

'Hey,' I wave to Lori. She's sat against the wall, wrapped in blankets. Not angry today. Safe to talk. 'We found a dog.'

Her bleary eyes widen.

Mouse plods up to the table, where Herschel and Carl are sitting. It's like they think he's a baby polar bear at first, but they soon realize it's safe. He soaks up their attention before slipping through their legs and approaching us, expecting some from Lori, too. 

Cautious not to lose her fingers, she sneaks a hand out from under her many layers, stroking Mouse's long snout.

A smile graces her pale lips.

'Where did you find him?', Herschel signs to me, his veiny hands moving fast and precise, 'cause he's the best outta all'us. It ain't all that fair, since I'm the deaf one and all, but this old man has known sign language longer than I've even been alive. 

'At the fence.' I answer, watching Carl stand from his seat and join his Momma on the floor, reaching out to pet the dog with her. I stare at the top of his head, tryna remember the last time we spoke. When I look back up at Herschel, I add, 'I was playing.'

'Have you named him, yet?'

Nodding, I make the sign. 'Mouse.'

'Mister Mouse.' He chuckles heartily, reminding me of Santa Claus. It's dim in here from the total lack of windows, but I can still see the way his cheeks crinkle around a mellow smile. I can always count on Herschel to make me feel like there's bread baking in the other room and I can smell it and everything is going to be okay. 'I'm sure he would love to play with you sometime.'

I return his smile, suddenly craving warm bread. 'I hope so. Tyres are bad at soccer.'

'Goodness. I'm sure.'

Calling Mouse over with a few kissy sounds, the two of us duck back under the doors in search of the soccer ball.

'Hey. Watch this.'

'We're watching.'

At the thumbs up Glenn sends me, I turn, focusing on holding the soccer ball in front of me. One, two, three. I drop it onto the toe of my boot and give it a small kick. It flies. Mouse pounces on it like a cat with a ball of yarn, slipping and sending it rolling away.

We been practicing that move for ages.

Looking back at everyone, I notice that they're all clapping for us, cowering their faces into their poofy scarves.

'Did you see?', I ask, just to make sure.

Another thumbs up from Glenn. 'Very cool.'

It weren't very cool at all — In fact, it was total garbage — but it was fun putting on a show.

'Thanks.' As Mouse chases after the ball, I leave him be and return to the campfire. 'I'm so tired, now.'

I really shouldn't be. I'm only a kid, and kids are supposed to have a lot of energy. I'm sure of it, since our neighbour Betty used to complain to Dad about her boy havin' too much of it whenever the two of 'em smoked together on our porch after work. His eyes would droop like a slow-blinking frog's whenever he got back from the mechanic shop, sometimes sleeping for a whole day, even at the dining table, while he was halfway through a meal. All the adults I knew were tired, but not like this. We's starving; hollow.

I'm jealous of my past self, who used to be able to play soccer for hours on end.

Maggie sends me a sad smile. 'Me, too, honey.'

'Sorry,' Glenn signs to me, 'cause he always says that. 'Come rest. It's warm here.'

'Can I sit next to you?', I ask T-Dog, pointing to the empty seat between him and Glenn.

Like the others, there's two moon-shaped craters hanging below his eyes, bruised an ugly purple against the brown of his skin. The man sends me a deadpan look, as if the cold's gone to my brain. 'No,' Then, sassily; 'Of course you can.'

Rolling my eyes at his attitude, I sit down and lay my head against the canvas backing.

My bones have been replaced with rope, loose and heavy.

I know we're gonna be leaving soon.

That pensive look on Rick's face is easy to recognise, even if he tries hiding it behind his scarf as he stands watch.

According to the map, there ain't no drug stores or doctor's offices for nearly five miles around us, and we're gonna need one. The medicine, what little we'd scrounged up, has ran out. Lori ain't suffering anything worse than a sniffly nose and a cough, but out here, — In the snow and the wind and the rain, with nothin' but a flimsy bitta metal to shelter us from it all — Well, we all know. I asked Dad if the baby in her belly could get sick, too, and all he told me was that none of this is ideal. I understood. When things ain't ideal, people die.

That place Rick was talkin' about, the one that we can fortify and make a life for ourselves in, it's still out there somewhere. He lectures us about it so often it's as if he can't think about anything else, a dog with a bone dangling just in front of his nose.

I bet there's lots of food and medicine there. And even beds. Proper beds, with mattresses and everything.

Maybe even a little mat for Mouse.

Yeah. That would be ideal.

Nobody would die in a place like that.

I tear my gaze from Rick, turning it onto the one big cloud in the sky.

I still think about Shane, sometimes. It comes and goes. Most of the time, he's alive. We're sitting at the picnic table back on the farm, coloring a meadow of flowers together, and then there's an ebbing swash of time where something inside me hurts real bad like I've been shot, and then he's holding my hand in a forest because I'm scared. I'm showing him the frog I've caught, mirroring his grin.

Suddenly, none of the muscles in his face are working and he's looking at me with milky eyes.

I don't wanna shoot him.

Bringing my hand up to my locket, I squeeze the thousand-pound weight between my fingers.

The spot he's taken up in my brain was supposed to be mine, and so was Momma's, and Merle's, and everyone else's.

Even in death, as Andrea said, He's still a fucking asshole.

I wonder if she's still alive.

A girl went missing from our town, once. My Daddy was in the kitchen washing dishes while I watched her Momma cry on TV.

I didn't know Andrea too well, so all my tears are staying inside my face for now. It's not like it was with Sophia. No, we packed into our cars and we fucked off North to a place called Newnan, leaving everything, including her and any chance of finding her, behind.

A bit stupidly, I hope the cows made it out alright.

Then, a hand is waving over the sun.

Lifting my head, I realize it's Dad trying to get my attention.

'How are you?', he signs as I stuff the locket under my sweatshirt.

'Hungry. Tired.' The usual answer; then, 'Everything okay?'

'Yeah. Taking a break.'

'I think Rick wants to leave.'

As Dad eases himself onto the crate beside me, he sneaks a glance at him. 'He does. We were talking.'

The others must be reading our signs, 'cause Maggie butts in, talking with Dad for a minute. I wait 'til they're done.

'We need medicine,' I comment quite uselessly when his attention is back on me.

'That's right. And better shelter. This place is shitty.'

'Do you want to leave?'

'I want you to be safe and happy. So, yes.'

'Are we walking again?'

He makes a face. 'No. We're riding bicycles.'

'Funny, Dad.'

'He wants to head East. The next town is close. Nine miles. There's a hospital there. Might have medicine.' His hands slow down. They hover, unsure. When he picks one back up, he finger-spells the word, 'S-h-a-r-p-s-b-u-r-g.'

The blood in my neck rushes up into my cheeks, and for just a moment, I'm warm.

I wonder if her house still looks the same. With the gravel path leadin' up to the porch, lined with weeds before any of this even began. My bike chained to the wire fence, asking itself where the little girl that loves it has gone as it grows rustier every weekend that passes. The grass was always scratching my knees, wild and forgotten, a bit like me. We made the most of what we had.

I hope the mirror in her bedroom is broke. I hope the kitchen is rotted; loungeroom filthy.

It don't deserve to be the way it was before, 'cause ain't nothin' the way it was before. That was for us.

Dad is waiting for me to say something, but I got nothin'.

Being that close to that house again might just make me start believing' in ghosts, but we need to do it. For Lori.

'No choice.' I sign, plain and simple. 'We need to go.'

He studies me for a moment, torn on something, before nodding and rubbing his fist over his heart. 'Sorry.'

I shrug, playing with the pebbles of lint on my mittens.

I think about Momma, too. She weren't all that different from Shane, especially not in the end. Both were sick, but not in the way that Lori is sick, not with germs. Even now, I don't quite know if it'd be worse knowin' whether or not she turned and lost her mind one last time. At least in the picture in my locket, she ain't ever gonna turn. I'll keep her safe from everythin' outside her little bronze door.

'Forget about that.' Dad waves off the imaginary town, sneering. 'I'm going hunting. You coming?' 

I hear that right? Hunting?

All the rabbits are hiding at the bottom of their burrows at this time of year, the squirrels either dead or holed away. Even my Dad, the best hunter and tracker I know, who can shoot a field mouse out a tree, ain't been able to catch nothin' in this weather.

'You tried,' I remind him. 'Many, many times.'

'I know. But,' He nods over his shoulder, where Mouse is rolling around in the snow. 'Now we have help.'

Mouse. Of course.

Our last chance at catchin' a proper meal.

He reminds me of Tank a lil' bit, but smaller, whiter; with all four legs.

I'm willing to give it a chance. 'Okay. I'll come.'

Since we started to catch onto the fact that the cold slows the walkers down, we all been allowed out more.

A pat on my knee. 'Good girl. Let's go.'

He asks Glenn if he wants to come as well, and 'cause he got nothin' better to do and we make a good team, he agrees.

I'm inside a giant snow globe, waiting for the glass to break.

It was about a month ago now that I woke up one morning with my head in my hands, holed up in a gas station, crying snot and tears and dribble 'cause the ringing in my ear had turned unbearable. I didn't believe Herschel at first. My hearing couldn't deteriorate. I didn't even know what that word meant. But no matter what words I did or didn't know, their voices kept getting foggier and the ringing kept getting louder, until one day there was a pop beside my brain, a burst of pain, and then the world went silent. And then I believed him.

I was scared, at first. How could I hear a walker comin', now? Would I never hear my Dad say, I love you, again?

But it didn't take long for us to learn enough sign language to talk to each other, I love you, included. Nothin' would've stopped us. Maggie found a little ASL guidebook with pictures in it while we were passin' through a library. Go, Be quiet, Hide, Run, were the first words Dad made sure I knew. Good morning, Goodnight, and all the other things I'd wanna say. Thank you. Have mine. Fuck off.

Even now, whenever I wake up during the night, I always find one person studying the book, pages cradled by a flashlight.

As the three of us follow after Mouse, snow drifts through the thicket of naked branches like ash, catching winks of sunlight before they kiss the ground. It's hard to feel like I've lost anything when it snows. It's one thing that's always been silent. So have ripples in water, or a smile on a loved one's lips. I've made a place for myself in the silence, and I fit well here. Nobody else is allowed in my snow globe.

Glenn squeezes my mittened hand as I'm watching the falling snow, pulling my gaze up to his face.

With his free hand, he signs, 'Ringing?'

I shrug one shoulder, pinching my fingers. 'A little.'

It never really goes away. It's the one last thing I can hear, but I tune it out.

He attempts a smile, the curve of his cheekbones a raw shade of pink. 'Sorry.'

I always feel guilty when I have to answer that question. I'on know why. It ain't my fault.

'You always say sorry.'

'Sorry.'

Holding back a smile of my own, a real one, I ignore him in favor of watching the snow again.

The memory of that morning we had on the roof of the RV swells in front of me now, pretty and sun-colored, a cherry on my tongue. It was the mornin' after we found out I wasn't dying. I had a life. I had a chance to live it just like everybody else. Equals. Whenever I look at Glenn, I remember that morning. Happy and alive, with a group of our own. A friend. The first one in a long, long time.

When it's just the three of us like this, I always feel like I'm betraying Merle. It's a slimy feeling, one I force myself to swallow it down each time, but I ain't done nothin' wrong. I ain't replaced him on purpose. If I lie, I can say I ain't replaced him at all.

The worst part about it is that Glenn fits better into the void Merle left behind than Merle himself ever did.

My thoughts are interrupted when Dad puts an arm out in front of us.

I jolt, following his gaze.

Ahead of us, Mouse furiously investigates along an invisible trail at the end of his nose. He, too, goes still all at once. He's found something. We watch him square up with a lump in the snow, his tail an exclamation mark. Then there's a rabbit, a bite, a struggle. I squeeze Glenn as snow goes flying. Dad lifts his crossbow. A single bolt is released, and the rabbit is pinned to the ground by its heart.

It twitches around the bolt once, twice, tryna run away like all rabbits do, and then it goes limp.

That's our first kill in weeks.

'Dinner!', I exclaim to Glenn with both my hands, as Dad moves to pluck the bolt out, shaking off the snow.

A long, fat rabbit.

Dad was right. Mouse done spoiled us. Him bein' such a great hunter must be how he's survived this long. Everybody's got a reason. Mine is that I have people who love me, both dead and alive, who have fought tooth and nail to protect me every day.

Dad slings the rabbit over his shoulder, gesturing onwards. 'Let's keep going.'

Taking Glenn's hand again, I have a thought. 'Is his name Rabbit, now?'

He shakes his head, no, both of us falling into step with Dad and Mouse. 'It's Mini Daryl.'

Pssh. Whatever. 'Bad name.'

'Great name.'

I point side-long at Dad, as if saying, Go on, then. Tell him.

He cringes. 'No, thanks.'

'See? Bad name.'

'Are you bullying me?'

'Yep.'

Unamused, Dad gives us a look. 'I'm not blind. I can see your hands.' A pause; glance. 'She's right. Bad name.'

Like I always do when I'm giggling around Dad and Glenn, I say a silent, Sorry, Merle, because he's always been inside my head.

By the time we're walking back through the car yard gate, Mouse has caught us three more rabbits.

Beth's jaw drops.

'Dinner!', I sign to her, grinning, turning to sign the same thing to T and Rick who are stood on watch, their eyes going wide when they notice the bounty. I duck under the shutters and sign it to everyone else huddled in the garage, too. 'Dinner! Come on!'

They follow me out to the campfire, not wasting any time skewerin' and roasting the rabbits as the sun begins setting.

'Well done,' Maggie signs to the three of us, thoroughly impressed.

Dad nods to Mouse, as if to say, Thank him.

Thanks, Mouse, Everyone obliges, and even though he don't understand Human, he still grins his silly, gummy grin. I take a seat next to Dad on the wooden pallet, basking in the delicious smell of bubbling fat and the sight of my smiling family.

The moon is waning over our heads like a pretty marble, passin' through the stars, as we slurp up our greasy, mouth-watering rabbit meat. Even Lori has come out of hiding to enjoy the meal, her thin body curled up next to Rick in the broken car seats, shivering as she nibbles a meaty thigh. There's a bump under her blankets, right on top of her belly, that makes it look a bit like she's hiding my soccer ball under there. Really, it's the baby. Some nights, she lets me put my cheek to it so I can feel the heartbeat from the outside. It freaked me out at first. It's like she swallowed an alien. There's a tiny human in there, separated by only a few layers of skin. I hope it likes rabbit.

I know she needed this. I think we're all relieved to see her eating a good meal after all this time, something fatty and heavy, something to fill out her caved-in cheeks. If we're gonna leave for Sharpsburg at some stage, she'll need the energy. We all will.

Carol says that if it don't come out early, the baby's gonna be born in Spring. I've always thought of the seasons as a clock for huntin', just like my Daddy does. Summer's when all the coyotes come out, and you can stay out late 'cause the sun don't go down 'til after dinnertime. In Fall, the migratory birds start to fly over Georgia to reach warmer places further South. I've always liked watching the V shapes glide across the sky, wishing I could grow a pair of wings and join 'em up there. Spring is baby season. When everything gets born again, from the grass under the mud to the leaves inside the trees to the baby deer, called calves, inside they Momma's bellies.

Babies are good at bein' born in Spring, I told Carol when I could see a tick of worry in her brow, especially after Carl brought up naming the baby Sophia again, You'd think they's dumb, since they's babies an' all, but they know.

I's talkin' outta my ass a lil' bit, 'cause I was a baby once and I was born in Summer, but it made her feel better.

And then there's Winter. Everything's dead in Winter, except for the things that know how to hide.

Swallowing a juicy bite of rabbit, I glance at Mouse.

He lays at my Dad's boots in the snow, both of 'em gnawing away at their scraps of meat like long-time buddies.

Sucking the meat off the warm bone in my hand, I click my fingers to get the dog's attention. He perks up, craning his neck to look at me, his eyes bulging as I toss the bone in his direction as thanks. He catches it midair, crushing it between his teeth.

When my gaze meets Dad's, he gives me a thumbs up and a questioning look. 'Tasty?'

I nod, my own greasy thumb glistening in the light of the fire as I give him one back.

His lip twitches upward, as if he's about to smile, but then he remembers something. 'We're talking about leaving.'

Looking around, I see the whole group deep in conversation as they eat.

'What they saying?'

'Glenn thinks we should stay. He goes to Sharpsburg with T-Dog and they come back with medicine.' He tells me. 'But we can't split up. Dangerous. Could get lost. And we can't stay here. Cold. Not secure. Both; too risky.'

'So we all go.'

He nods, with not much else to say. We all go. 'We leave tomorrow.'

I don't remember voting for that decision, but things ain't worked like that in a long time.

Nine miles. That would be nothin' if we were a flock of birds. Birds can fly twenty-five miles an hour, don'cha know. I know lots of animal facts like that one. Whenever I can't sleep, I try and see how many I can remember until I'm blinking myself awake and the sun is rising. But we ain't birds, and we ain't even got the cars no more. I'on know how fast humans walk, but I guess I'll find out.

Pushing away my thoughts, I sign, 'It's kinda funny. We're surrounded by cars and none of them work.'

'This place is shitty,' He says for a second time, agreeing.

As we make our way through the meal, Dad, Glenn, and T-Dog keep forcin' their food into my hands. They act as if they can't see my signs telling them to save it for themselves, 'cause they're a bunch of assholes. I give up on changing their minds after a while, 'cause I've learnt it never works. Rick and Maggie do the same to Carl, Lori, and Herschel. We're all just a bunch of assholes who love each other.

That night, it's the same routine. Pull down the shutter doors. Tie a shirt through the padlock loop. Switch on the lamps.

I get comfortable in my pile of blankets that I share with Dad, digging through our bag. Wind rattles the garage walls, bullets of rain and hail battering the thin metal. For once, the rumbling of my stomach ain't here to join 'em. I pull out my journal and pencil, starting my ritual of shaving the wood away from the lead using Merle's knife, dwindling it down to the size of a used cigarette. Blowing the dust off, I sheathe my blade and flip to a page I can write on. Ain't no blank ones left, but I can squeeze what I wanna say into the gaps.

As everyone lays down, they keep clutching at their bellies like Lori does all the time, stuffed full of dinner.

Hello, diry, I write, 'cause Lori taught me how, Today was a grat day.

Mouse comes and inspects our blankets before plopping himself down next to me, resting his chin on his paws.

We faund a dog. I named him Mows becoz he kils mise and he is cyut. He caut for rabbits for us. He is my frend.

Dad lays down on my other side, giving my arm a squeeze and closing his eyes.

We are leeving again tomoro. Dad spelt it, Sharpsburg. My Muma uset to live ther but she is ded now. I wont to leev but also I dont. Im a bit scered. Dont tell nobode. At leest we are leeving the car yard befor it gets the chans to kil one of us.

As olways, Rest in peece, M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P.

I snap the book shut and place it back into the bag, zipping it up and rolling onto my back.

Dad throws a blanket over me as the wind blows in through the slash in the wall, pulling me into him with a strong arm.

Somebody clicks off the last lamp.

Squirrels can jump ten times their body length, I think to myself, focusing on the beat of Dad's heart and the warm weight of Mouse slumped against my legs, before I'm opening my eyes again and there's a band of cool sunlight on my face.

I watch a bird fly past the gap.

We never stay in one place for long.

I hover near the gate along with the rest of the group, clutching the straps of my backpack.

Lori got worse overnight.

I'm looking at her right now, as Rick peels off his coat and wraps it around her. Her face; it's paler than the snow, her nostrils two rings of puffy, red skin, leaking snot onto her lip. She wipes it away, fingers shaking. I almost want to tell Rick to call this whole thing off, but that would be stupid. The sky's cleared up some, making way for the sun. If we don't go now, we'll be stuck here forever.

Threading the last button through the loop, Rick turns and rallies all of us to follow him outta the car yard.

We file out into the open, a trail of footsteps carving a line through the snow.

Rick takes up the front of the line. Dad, the back. When wolves travel in packs, the two strongest of the group do this, too. This way, one can flatten the terrain for everyone else, while the other can keep an eye out, make sure nobody falls behind. That's why I'm in the middle, trailing behind Lori, Carl, and Herschel. We're the smallest and the weakest and the sickest, but I can still trace the treeline with my gaze and watch for danger, grabbing for the hilt of my knife every time a shrub shivers in the wind.

Mouse walks alongside us as we journey, 'cause I think he's decided he doesn't wanna be alone, anymore.

With every step I take, I find myself missing Dad's truck more and more. I know it was just a hunk of old, blue metal on two pairs of wheels, but it's still gone, and I still miss it like I'd miss a person. It's true that it'd been through its fair share of bumpy rides through the forest and countless tyre changes, but ain't nothin' short of an army tank would'a made it outta what happened to it in the end. They came out of nowhere, is how T tells it. We were cruising along the streets of a small town when a group of people jumped us. Way I tell it, they came out from behind some cars that were spilled out across the sidewalks. A gunshot. We veered, straight into the window of a store.

Dad and Rick killed those ones, too. Four people; two men, a woman, and a sorta-kid — A teenager.

I remember the boy's face. Caramel-colored with a nose that looked like a bird's beak, maybe a few years older than my cousin, Tobias, but people always said he had a baby's face. I couldn't figure out if they deserved it. They'd tried to rob us, a small group with two kids and a pregnant woman; our medicine, blankets, water. But back in the beginning, Dad and Merle did the same thing to other groups. Lone cars on the highway, pairs of people as they walked, sleeping camps. It was awful, but it was how we stayed alive.

There was this one night that Dad asked Merle if they should stop while he thought I was asleep.

We're doin' it for her, was all my Uncle had to say.

Every bad person I ever met probably had somebody they was doin' it for.

Their blood pooled onto the tarmac as our blue truck smoked, wedged between a scattering of debris and rubble. The men tried pushing it free for over an hour, but it was stuck there, well and truly. Eventually, we accepted we had to leave it behind.

After that, Rick's truck shut off one afternoon and refused to turn back on no matter what Glenn did to it.

We couldn't all fit into the grey car, or onto the back of Dad's motorbike, so that's how we were left with nothing.

Still, Dad swears up and down he's gonna go back for his bike as soon as he can, soon as we're settled someplace proper. He hid it real good and took the cylinder head with him, so there's a very good chance ain't nobody nabbing it before he can get back there. My Dad's a smartass like that. I think he'd sooner pull all his teeth out 'fore he lets somebody else have his precious bike.

On a little street sign just ahead of us that reads, Poplar, a tiny bird perches.

It chirps and flies off when we get close.

Poplar Street. Two miles down.

Herschel looks at me over his shoulder, his brows made even fluffier than usual by the snow that's gathered on them.

'Doing well?', He asks.

I nod, yes. My feet are achin', but I'm sure I ain't the only one. 'You? I have water if you need.'

'That's okay, sweetie. I'm not thirsty.'

I give him a bit of a stern look, one that Rick would be proud of, but he just turns to face forward again.

Hmph. I'm suddenly appreciating how the others must feel when I refuse their food. 

Glancing behind me, I extend the offer to Carl and Lori. When they accept — Well. When Carl accepts and forces Lori to do the same, — Dad alerts Rick, and guides us off the road, into a little eating area beside a kiosk station to take a break. I drop my backpack onto the seat of a wooden table and pull out my bottle of water. Lori and Carl sit down as I unscrew the cap and hand it to them, waiting for Carl to take a small sip first, holding it to his Momma's cracked lips after. Her neck gulps twice before he passes it back to me.

Most everyone else settles down at the other tables, catching their breaths.

Dad approaches the three of us. He points at the bottle with a no-nonsense expression. 'Drink that.'

I'm about to stash it, but do as he says. I am a little thirsty.

'How are you?'

'I'm okay.' I zip the empty bottle away. 'My feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

I nod. I can. 'You?'

'Feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

He huffs a chuckle. 'Don't be smart. I'm going to check the—.'

I follow his gesture over to the kiosk, nodding and taking the seat next to Carl.

The boy glances at me a couple times, as if it's hard to look at me, like how it's hard to look at the sun for too long before you start seein' shapes. He awkwardly points at my bag. Huh? He touches his fingers to his freckled chin, swiping forwards.

'Thank you.'

He knows how to sign?

All this time, I ain't seen him pick up the guidebook even once.

I ain't sure what to say, so I just nod until he looks away again, and then we're both just watching Mouse sniff the ground.

Boy, do the two of us know how to hold a grudge. Ever since our squabble that afternoon before Dale died, we been holdin' so tight onto 'em we ain't even know what to do with 'em anymore. You're a stupid baby, Harley. I hate your guts, Carl. I'm glad you're not my sister. I'm glad you ain't my brother. Stupid. That was months ago, now, and I might still be a stupid baby — I'll give him that — but I don't hate his guts. I just hate sayin' sorry. My teachers used to say bein' able to apologise is a life skill, but I never saw how it keeps ya alive.

Mustering up the courage to give it a go anyway, I sign to him, 'Back on the farm. I was just—.'

Wait. He's looking at me all confused. He don't understand.

I deflate, embarrassed. Never mind.

'Are you okay?', Beth signs to me from the other table.

'Yeah... My feet hurt.'

'Mine, too.' She sighs wistfully, her blonde hair flying around in the wind. 'We need a massage.'

It forces a giggle outta me. She makes me feel like such a girl, sometimes.

When Dad comes back, T-Dog in tow, it doesn't look like they found much in the way of food or water — Just what looks like a crumpled granola bar and a couple newspapers that we could prolly use to make a fire. Mysterious Infection Hits France, is one of their headlines, not even worthy of a bold font. Dad stuffs the little bar into Lori's coat pocket before he helps her stand from the bench, gently passing her off to Rick. He runs a hand up and down his wife's back, murmuring to her as I sling my backpack on and get to my feet.

I'm okay, I think she's assuring him, trying to brush him off.

Maggie shares a worried glance with Carol, then with Dad.

Before I know it, I'm walking over Rick's footprints again.

There's the river.

I saw it on the map, but it's bigger in person. It's not just a white strip of ink bent around laddering terrain lines. It's a flat, blue sheet of ice wedged between two frozen shorelines, snow scuffing over its surface as the wind pushes it around.

Like I said, I saw it on the map. That's why I know the only road that passes over it is miles away.

We're gonna have to cross it on foot.

'We need to be careful,' Rick turns to address us. He makes sure to sign as he speaks, very obviously struggling to match the volume of the wind. 'I'll go first. Make sure it's safe. Then, Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel. Then, the rest.'

There's no option for any of us to dispute the plan, so he goes ahead and nods to himself, sighing and turning toward the thick bank of snow. This is what Rick does. He risks his life, risks falling into rivers and freezing to death, 'cause he's got a few screws lose and he's brave, and some months ago, on the side of the road after our home burnt down, he told us, This isn't a democracy, anymore. I grab onto Dad's hand, squeezing it like a stress ball at the doctor's office before they stick the needle in ya arm, as our leader surfs down the hill.

Fringes of snow break off and roll down as he goes, eventually landing at the bottom.

Okay, I think I can see him mouthing to himself, Okay.

He takes his first step. He holds his arms out on either side of himself. Another step. Another; delicate, as if he's testing out whether or not he's gonna burn his feet, learning he won't, and then doing it all over again with the other foot.

When he reaches the other side, he pulls himself up onto the shelf of snow.

He plops onto his ass.

He made it.

When he realizes this, he raises his hand and waves us over.

I take a deep breath.

Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel, is what he said. Harley. I'm next.

'Go slow,' Dad signs to me, looking at me in a very serious way. 'Don't walk exactly where Rick walked. It could break.'

I nod, repeating his instructions in my head as I let go of his hand, forcing myself to approach the ledge.

Sitting down and sliding all the way to the bottom, I push myself to my feet, staring out onto the ice.

Oh, shit.

I swear it ain't look this far from up there.

'It's okay,' Rick's signing to me from across the river. 'You're light. You won't fall.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.'

Okay. Okay, I can do this.

I take my first step. Shit, it's slippery. I almost lose my balance, catching it right at the last moment. My gaze snaps back up to Rick. It's okay, He signs again. I look over my shoulder, where up on the hill, Dad signs the same thing. It's okay. It's like a tight rope. Taking care to mind the puddles of sleet sitting on the ice, I walk the rope one step at a time, water rushing underneath my boots.

When I'm close enough, Rick braces himself on one leg and reaches down for me, hooking his hands under my armpits. He lifts me onto the shelf of snow, setting me down beside him. I clutch his arms, my legs shaking. Oh, solid ground. It's never felt better.

Well done, He mouths, giving both my shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go.

Looking back at the other shoreline, I see a small Glenn and Maggie both sending me thumbs' ups.

'Proud of you, baby,' Dad is signing beside them, as Carol cups her own cheeks, relieved.

'I made it,' I reply, heart pounding.

'Yeah, you did. With sore feet, too.'

I wish I could let out a laugh, but I can't. Not yet.

Lori is next.

Lori, sick and frail, with the baby in her belly.

T-Dog slides down first and catches her when she reaches the bottom, holding her hands to steady her. She carefully steps onto the ice, alone. Her fingers leave T-Dog's. She's so skinny these days, I'm worried the wind might just knock her over. I feel Rick tense against me. Slowly, and cradling her belly, she ventures further out. There's a moment or two I think she might trip, but she makes it.

Rick pulls her up, and then it's Carl's turn; then Herschel's.

The four of us help the old man climb up onto the bank. The worst of it is over.

We wait for everybody else to cross. Glenn and Maggie set out next, keeping a good distance between them the whole way, before Beth makes her way down behind them, doing the same. Everyone calls out encouragement and praise, egging them on. One by one, we work together to pull them up. Glenn. Then, Maggie. Beth, who's shaking like a little lamb. And Mouse, who don't even need our help.

As Rick and Maggie pull Beth up, the last ones to begin their crossing are Dad, T-Dog, and Carol.

They're halfway across when Mouse starts barking.

A head appears over the hill behind them. Shoulders. A fleshy ribcage. It's a walker. An actual walker. It don't know where its goin', blindly trudging forward, skirting the ledge. It's gonna fall down. Everyone realizes this at the same time, suddenly pointing and shouting things. The three of them stop in their tracks. They turn to look behind them, just as the thing takes its next and final step. With no more ground to stand on, it falls head-first into the slope, tumbling, once, twice. It smacks into the ice, a cannon ball of limbs.

A line as thin as a hair shoots out from under its body.

A crack. The ice is cracking.

My body lurches as if I'm about to do something, about to climb down there and help, but we can't.

The only way we can help them is by staying off the ice.

The line grows longer and longer. It's under Dad's boot before he can even take a step. His chest heaves, staring down at it. Carol and T-Dog linger nearby, terrified, as if any flinch or gasp from them will send them all under. He pulls his crossbow off his shoulder. I'm not sure if he's about to shoot the walker, or maybe ditch the bow to lessen his bodyweight, but he don't get to do either.

His leg goes straight through the ice.

He falls onto his forearms. His weight splits the line into three; snaps the surface into pieces.

SPLASH.

Both he and Carol are suddenly neck-deep in the water.

I think I squeal a little bit, 'cause I feel it in my throat.

The walker lifts its head.

T-Dog looks back at us, shouting and holding his hand out. He wants something. Rick catches his meanin', unholstering his pistol and rearing it back, hurling it as far as he can over the river. T-Dog told us he used to be the best player on his baseball team in high school, so he catches it with one hand, pulling the slide back to check the chamber. I guess we can stop callin' him a liar, now.

The walker drags itself forward, clawing marks into the ice.

Dad reaches under the water, teeth bared, face scrunched, hauling his crossbow out and slinging it across the ice.

It spins across the slippery surface, coming to an eventual stop someplace that don't matter anybody.

T-Dog raises the gun.

He pulls the trigger.

There's a flash of light, and at the same time, a spurt of black blood.

As soon as the walker is dead, he takes a step toward, but Dad shouts at him and he stops.

Water goes flying as he grabs for purchase, setting his elbow on the ice. He puts his weight on it. The ice crumbles like a cookie. He tries again, this time keeping his body as flat as he can, and manages to pull himself up onto his stomach.

I can only imagine how much it hurts, but he pushes through it, army-crawling over to Carol.

They lock hands.

With what little strength he has left, he drags her out, too, letting her collapse beside him.

They both lay there, the wind blowing over their bodies as they struggle to suck in a full breath, curled up like shrimps.

T-Dog wastes no time. He teeters and slips around on the sleet as he kneels, grabbing a fistful of their coats and pulling them further away from the broken ice. They're not moving. It's like they've turned into the frozen walkers, their joints all locked up from the cold, unable to hinge. T-Dog gets Carol to her feet first. As Rick, Glenn, and Maggie hurry down to the shoreline, I follow after them and grab onto Carol the moment she's within arm's reach. We all help pull her up, as T-Dog spins around, waddling back to Dad.

Carol's legs give out. Her body lands in the snow, her arms wrapping around her stomach.

Over her hip, I watch as T-Dog, strong as an ox, gets all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of my Dad to his feet.

When they reach the bank, we all grab for him.

Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the deadly cold seeped all the way through his skin. As we lay him in the snow, he winces, his hair frozen stiff and his cheekbones redder'un cherry popsicles. I cup them with my mittened hands, crouching at his side.

I'm grateful I can't hear any of the panicking around me.

I just hold him, waiting for him to open his eyes.

When he does, they're blue, like the river.

Then, Rick and Glenn are pulling him up. I give them space, letting 'em hook each of his arms around their shoulders. Maggie and Beth follow suit and with Carol, hugging their arms around her waist, frantically looking for direction from our leader. He points. We all follow his finger. There's a couple tiny buildings just up the road, not too far. That's where we're going. We need to get Dad and Carol warm. We start making our way over there without a second thought, bracing ourselves against the snow coming down on us, now.

We reach the yellow security barriers. Carl helps me force them upwards, letting everybody through. It looks like this place was a ticket and security checkpoint. There's two little booths, the windows smeared with old blood, and a bigger building in the middle. Rick kicks that one's door in, making way for us to spill inside the kitchen-sized room, as they set Dad down on a dirty bed in the corner.

The two girls gently lower Carol down next to him, helping her peel off her wet clothes.

Taking Dad's coat zipper in my fingers, I rip it all the way down and pull him out of it, quickly doing the same with his shirt.

Rick casts about. He spots a wastebin in the corner of the room and moves it to the middle, taking the newspapers that T-Dog is offering him from his backpack. Glenn passes him a lighter as he stuffs it down. Flick, flick. He cups it; holds it there.

It catches.

—hould be contained within a week, according to the French Health Ambas—, it reads, before curling around the flame.

As warmth begins to emanate, I move down to Dad's boots, unlacing them, tossing them away with his socks. He's left in just his jeans, with barely enough energy to hold his hands out to the steadily burning pages of the Washington Post.

Taking off my own coat and cuddling up to his side, I hope I can give him some of my body heat. I don't have much of it, but I don't need it all. I'm happy to share it. Already, he looks a little less awful just by being outta the wind. Carol has been stripped down to her bra and cargo pants, shivering as Maggie fits her into a spare sweatshirt. Pulling my beanie off, I fit it onto Dad's head. He looks silly. Shirtless with his edgy tattoos on display, wearing his daughter's pink hat. When Maggie passes me another sweatshirt, I help dress him in that, too.

As I work, T-Dog approaches us, setting the crossbow against the wall.

A pearl of water drips off the end of Dad's nose as the man leaves.

I study him, feeling guilty. 'I wanted to help.'

He frowns at me.

I add nothing more. There was nothing any of us could do, but I still wanted him to know.

Everyone finally settles around the tiny fire, absorbing every last ounce of heat it has to offer.

Rick signs to me, 'We can stay the night.'

'Thank you,' I nod.

As he moves his attention elsewhere, I sneak a glance at Lori.

She's coughing. A yellow glob falls into her hand, before she wipes it on some newspaper. I know that ain't good.

We stay like this for a while. The only way to tell that time is passing at all is every minute or so, when someone adds a fresh wad of newspaper to the fire to keep it alight. Paper burns fast, but it also creates a lotta smoke. We eventually have to open all the windows to let it out, which in turn lets the cold in, but our only other choice is to suffocate to death. Ain't nobody in the mood for that.

Once Dad and Carol have both fallen asleep, I take out the little ASL handbook from my bag, scooting back to sit against the wall. I might as well get some studyin' in, if we ain't leaving for a while. I rest it in the crook of my thighs, flipping to a dog-eared page.

To sign, IMAGINATION, it reads, Start by extending both pinkies.

The little hands in the picture look like they's holdin' invisible teacups, so copy them, and it's easy enough.

To sign, OPINION, the picture directly below it reads, Start by creating a circle shape with one hand.

A kick to the bed frame.

Startled, I look up at the attacker.

It's Carl.

He points to the empty spot next to me. I ain't got any real reason to decline, so I give a nod, making a little extra room for him as he settles down at my side, only to do nothin' but fiddle with his fingers in his lap. I can't ask him what he wants.

Suddenly, he takes the book from me, thumbing through the alphabetical section.

He stops when he reaches S,��studying the first picture on the page.

To sign, SORRY, it reads, Start by forming a fist.

My eyes go wide, watching the boy do as it says. Place it over your heart, making a grinding motion. He glances at me, silently asking if he's doing it right. He's not, obviously. You ain't s'posed to leave a bruise. But I get the message loud and clear all the same. He's sorry. Maybe for calling me a stupid baby, or for telling me that even though I know what a chantrelle mushroom is and I can shoot a gun, I still ain't worth nothin' without somebody else around to watch out for me; him around. Or maybe just for what happened at the river.

Before I can decide which one it is, he gets to flippin' again, finding what he wants at E.

He blanches. Got more than he bargained for with this one.

Still, he gives it a go.

It's slightly wrong again, but there's only one sign I know that looks like that.

'Everything.'

He stares at me, boyishly unsure, not looking very much like his Dad anymore like he wishes he did.

You don't need to be sorry, I'd sign to him if he could understand, You were right. I do need help, sometimes.

'Me, too,' I sign instead, reaching over and flipping to the page with the same phrase, and signing it again.

He glances from my hands, to the page, back to my hands again. I'm sorry, too. I think that's all we need to say, but I'll still add this last bit on, anyway. Word by word, I use the book to translate. It's obvious we could use my diary and pencil to write messages to each other. It'd be easier, but easier don't feel right. Anybody can do that. It's only the special ones that will learn your language.

When the sentence is complete, I rest my hands in my lap, watching his face for a reaction.

'You're my brother.'

He's stunned for a moment, and it's a long moment.

But then there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Carl is my big brother, and that's just the way things is. It ain't my fault we're in this little family together, that we've seen people die together, been scared and hurt together, that he let me cry on his shoulder one night and never mentioned it again.

He consults the book one last time before lookin' me in the eye, signing back, 'You're my sister.'

Always have been.

When I jokingly flip to the page that reads, To sign, I LOVE YOU, he snaps the book closed. A genuinely disgusted expression plagues his face, looking like he's just eaten rotten broccoli. It makes me forget all about how cold I am as he gets up and walks away.

It's nighttime when I open my eyes.

Lifting my cheek from Dad's shoulder, a yawn parts my lips. The sight of the moon peeking over the windowsill greets me, glass pulsing a faint orange as the fire in the wastebin burns nearby. I can see Rick out there, hugging himself next to a little light.

Scooting off the mattress, the guidebook falls from my lap.

I pull on my socks and boots. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep, anyway.

I remember in the Winter, when it was time to get dressed for school and work, Dad used to lay our clothes over the electric heater that we always had plugged into our living room wall. We'd make a game of it, pretending we were cooking steaks over a grill while the sky turned from black to grey, to white, to blue. His boss at the mechanic's shop had him startin' his shifts at six in the morning, while Merle and everyone else in our trailer park was still asleep in their beds. It was unfair, but he always found ways to make sure I never found out.

Grabbing a stick of newspaper, I stand and tip-toe my way through everyone sleeping on the floor.

When I open the door, I shoulder myself into the cold and step out.

It closes behind me.

In the middle of the outstretched road, Rick sits with his back to everything, staring up at the stars.

I wonder if he's got a person up there, just like I do.

As I come to sit beside him, he lowers his gaze; regards me with an empty sort of look.

I don't mind it none, instead opting to study the creative setup in front of us. A metal cooking pot filled with damp sticks, a small flame flickering amongst the ash and dirt at the bottom. I take the paper in my lap and ball some up, tucking it into the pot.

'I thought you might be cold,' I explain as the flames grab onto it, growing larger. 'Your fire sucked.'

He doesn't smile; lips heavy, downturned.

I sign something else. 'Why are you out here?'

'Can't sleep.'

Well, I guessed that. 'Are you okay?'

A sigh leaves his body, sucked into the wind. He's not going to answer that. 'You should go inside.'

'I'm not tired.'

'Doesn't matter. Come on.' He moves as if to stand, holding a hand out for me to take, but I cross my arms over my chest and stay right where I am. He tries waiting me out, but it's useless. Settling down again, he hesitates before signing, 'Stubborn.'

Unfolding my arms, I finally get him to crack a smile as I sign, 'I know.'

It's wiped away when he flinches uncomfortably at something.

'Was there a noise?', I guess, confused.

The horizon gapes emptily at us from afar, a black stripe. I can't see anything unusual.

'Lori.' He supplies, defeated. 'She's coughing.'

A soft, oh, slips from my mouth.

'It's why I'm out here.'

The only thing I can think of to say is, 'She'll be okay.'

It's not much, but Rick still reaches out and takes my shoulder, attempting a smile before dropping his hand.

I'm on the side of the road again, the trees looming over me, tucked between old cobble walls as the farm sits some miles away, whatever that's left of it burning to a crisp. The door is there, is what he snarled at us. Let's see how far you get. The world was an open set of jaws in that moment. While I'm almost certain Dad and I would've made it, because like T says, we're cockroaches, I don't know for sure if the rest of the group would have, if Beth, Herschel, and Carol would have. We've been together since... Everything.

But I do know that we chose Rick, and he chose us. I would say it's like this thing called symbiosis, which I learnt about in second grade. But it's not. My teacher told us that without the egrets and the anemone and the sucker fish, the cattle and the clown fish and the sharks would die. They can't make it alone. But we ain't a family because we'd die otherwise.

We're family because Dale had this stupid old watch while he was still alive, and he said that despite everything, our paths aligned at the quarry all the same, and then I got scratched and a whole bunch of awful stuff happened, like explosions and gunshots and broken fences, and we blinked, and now we love each other so deeply we don't care if we could survive apart.

'You're doing a good job, Rick,' I sign.

It might be the fire, but his eyes go shiny afterwards. Yeah. I'll pretend it's the fire.

He got us to the CDC. Got us out. Killed Sophia. Jim. His best friend, just a few days later. Those four people on the road.

He touches his chin. 'Thank you.'

I can tell he doesn't believe me. M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P. I don't know how else to convince him. Maybe I can't.

Absentmindedly watching the fire dance, I clutch the locket through my sweatshirt.

'What is that?', Rick asks.

Thinking nothing of it, I pull the thing free, letting it sit against my sternum. 'Shane gave it to me.'

Something about Rick twists at the mention of Shane, making its way onto his face like a curling snake, a nasty scowl. He holds his hand out, wanting to hold it. A little unsure, I thread the chain over my head and carefully lay the pendant in his palm.

Bringing it closer to his lap, he glares down at the olive of metal as if it's his best friend reincarnated.

'When we were at the gas station,' I tell him, trying not to remember the blood, 'We argued. He gave it to me after.'

The BANG, the spike of blood, his arms shielding his face as he lay on the floor.

I think... I think I don't like this.

'Can I have it back now?'

His grip turns white.

Feeling a bit like I'm interrupting something that should be private, I don't bother asking again, just reaching ou—

My hand is knocked away. He rears his arm back — Oh, God. My heart, going cold as the snow. — and throws the locket into the fire. It disappears beneath the flames. I exclaim something, a half-word or maybe a shriek, like I've been burned at the same time as the brown thrasher and the photo of my Momma inside. My hands shoot out all on their own to grab for it, but I reel them back in.

I need to— I need to put the fire out. I've gotta smother it with something.

Frantically starting to scoop up handfuls of the snow around us, I think Rick realizes he's made a terrible mistake. He seems to wake up, pushing himself to his feet to try and help me save it, grabbing more, more, and more snow, dumping it onto the fire.

The light goes out all at once, smoke trailing up into the air, a dreadful, blackened smell.

He claws through the pot, wincing as he touches the metal, pulling out the locket.

When he thumbs the door open, the photo is nothing but a stain of soot.

I stand there, too big to fit inside my skin, my everything shaking with a different type of horror.

It's gone.

Rick stares at me, the smoke blowing past him.

My snow globe bulges in all directions like a pulsing heart, silent as ever. The door to the staff room opens over Rick's shoulder, my Dad hugging himself as he steps out. I was supposed to look after her. She was supposed to be safe in there. He's spewing apologies before my Dad even understands what's happened, but he catches on quick. The thing in his hand is my locket. It's ruined.

You did this?, I think he's needling him, or sum' like it. The Hell is wrong wit'chu?

Rick's shaking his head, cradling it like it's a pile of bones he can put back together. I'm sorry. I didn't know.

Just give it back!, I demand.

It's the first time I've tried to speak aloud since losing my hearing, the syllables an awkward tar in my teeth.

I snatch the locket from his grasp, giving the pot a hard kick before storming away.

SLAM.

It wakes everyone up, but I can apologise later, 'cause right now I'm throwing myself onto the mattress and pulling the blanket over my head, sealing myself away from them all. This ain't the farm. I can't just hide away in a tent somewhere, or take a breather in one of the paddocks. I'm stuck in this stuffy room, where I know I'm being stared at even through the blanket. I know how to ignore it.

The locket is a hot coal in my hands, illuminating the dark pocket as the last of the photo smoulders.

A long while passes.

Then, somebody's sittin' down next to me.

They don't move for a long while, just a comforting heat at my side.

Then they lift the blanket up, and it's Dad, pulling it over his head so we're both hiding under it.

'She's gone,' I fill him in before he can ask, just in case he ain't already know. For real, this time.

He saw. 'I know.'

'It was Rick.'

A pause. 'I know.'

'Did you punch him?'

'Did you want me to?'

I think about it for a moment, tracing the smear inside the locket door, before shaking my head. 'No.'

I know it's stupid. It's just a photo, but it was the only one I had. I won't be able to see her face whenever the feeling strikes anymore, or if I find myself missing her more than usual. I'm already committing the photo to memory so I don't forget her face.

'He said Shane gave it to you.' He signs, more of a musing than an accusation. 'I didn't know that.'

I never told him where I got the locket. It could've been from Beth, Maggie, Lori. Anyone but Shane.

No point lying, now. 'Well, now you do.'

'Why did you keep it?'

I don't know. 'I missed him.'

He fails to say anything for a minute or two, but then he picks his hands up again. 'Do you still miss him?'

You're allowed, Carl muttered into my shoulder that night.

'Yeah.'

'You know he was a piece of shit, don't you? '

I scoff through my nose. That ain't even the half of it. 'Yeah. I know.'

He eyes the locket, as if wanting to take it away from me.

My fingers curl around it protectively, holding it to my chest.

It's mine. He's gonna have to fight me for it.

He studies my face for a while, but we both know he's not gonna fight me. No. Instead, he pulls the blanket down, tucking it around my shoulders. I force out a sigh and rest my head on his chest, feeling him stroke his thumb up and down the slope of my cheek.

After the rest of the group see I'm more or less alright, they lay their heads back down.

The window sits there, pulsing orange.

Both the moon and Rick are exactly where they were before. He's back to consulting the stars, this time, without the light.

Author's Note.

So, I've obviously decided to spend a little more time with the group before we reach the prison. I'm anxious to get us to season three, but I just felt like there's some story beats left over from the farm that could use their own space. I hope you enjoyed it! :)

Heads up - You can expect only one more Winter chapter after this one.

Please let me know what you think of the new dialogue format, with everyone using sign language now. It's not permanent, seeing as Harley will have her hearing aids back once the weather gets warmer, but she's still 95% deaf and will rely on ASL most of the time.

It was a bit of a bold move to fully lean into Harley's disability, but in my opinion, it was the only natural progression. I did a bit of googling, and to the best of my knowledge, everything here is anatomically realistic and accurate. Oh, and so is all the ASL! :)

However, there isn't actually a river separating Newnan and Sharpsburg... Shhhh! ;)

One last thing. This story's playlist has gotten quite a lot bigger. Check it out!

I'll be working hard on the next chapter! Thanks for reading 💙

[tgtbata]

tagged by @nigeltde-fic to art-ify these questions for writers and i would never deny her:

How many works do you have?

if i estimated correctly, i have over 350 posts with at least one drawing each on this tumblr account. which gave me a heart attack tbh, that's so many haha. there's some more my art floating around the internet elsewhere like on the terrebus account.

What fandoms do you draw for?

the main one currently is supernatural, before that it was the terror and before that it was football (the soccer kind) rpf. but i still do all of 'em! there are some others i play with like sherlock holmes, fdtd or mtw.

What are your top 5 drawings by notes?

using a random internet tool to rank posts:

dean/cas phallic angel blade (2492 notes)

sam/dean rebar kiss (1569 notes)

possum!dean (1510 notes)

blanky & tuunbaq dinner date (1492 notes)

dean with tattoos (1475 notes)

conclusion: big destiel still rules tumblr

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i usually do when it feels like something directed at me, like asks/dms or replies on twitter and tumblr. not so much when it's tags on tumblr or qrts on twitter - those feel more like the other person is talking into the void and not to me directly lol

What is a piece of art you drew with the angstiest ending?

hard to define 'ending' in the context of art - it supposes a sort of narrative structure not every of my drawings has. maybe this one. because, in the words of the rolling stones, you can't always get what you want.

What's the piece of art you drew with the happiest ending?

i guess this defines happy ending but i also had to think of this one, just because i can hallucinate the story that it took for them to get to that cocktail sippin' ending.

Do you get hate on art?

yes, sometimes lol i've had people fighting wars in my twitter replies when i posted cas/jack art. wah wah wah he's his dad. wah wah wah they're brothers. wah wah wah kill yourself. ridiculous and irrelevant. i do still think fondly of some replies i get though, like the one that was in russian and said 'such a talent and only for the sake of lust... sad.'

Do you draw smut?

yeah, but it's one of the things i want to get better at.

Do you draw crossovers? What's the craziest one you've draw?

not really. i want to draw an spn/fdtd crossover but that's not super crazy

Have you ever had art stolen?

reposted without credit, if that counts.

Have you ever collaborated on art before?

yes, having one person do the lineart and one do the colouring. it's a fun exercise to make you consciously realise your own art processes

What's your all-time favorite ship?

wincest is up there, of course. holmes/watson is simply a staple. humboldt/bonpland because mtw shaped me in my adolescence. i don't like to define THEEE favourite though because there's different ships for different flavours and that's great.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

does it count as a wip if i haven't even started creating it lmao! if yes - a longer story s4 sam/dean dean/cas piece set to dessa's 551. if that sounds insane, it's because it is.

What are your drawing strengths?

i think depicting connection between two characters and portraying a sense of want/love/doubt even through a distance between them.

What are your drawing weaknesses?

stiff poses and inability to draw without reference. also backgrounds and feet :(

First fandom you drew for?

football rpf. the reason i started drawing regularly at all haha

Favorite art you've drawn?

probably this one. it just... worked out, from idea to product, and it feels smooth and it makes me happy :)

thank u for tagging me, nige!!

[maochira]

Masterlist: Don Lorenzo

Full masterlist

Friends to lovers (headcanons/scenario)

Falling in love with Lorenzo (Neo Egoist League assistant series headcanons)

Love languages + cuddling (headcanons)

Bowling alley date (scenario)

"Girls night" with Lorenzo and Barou (Neo Egoist League assistant series scenario)

Best friend!Lorenzo (headcanons)

Dancing + a song I associate with him (braindump)

Lorenzo x striker!reader (headcanons)

Boyfriend!Lorenzo (headcanons)

Everything out of love. (Part 1)

You changed my world forever - just with your heart of gold. (Part 2)

Lorenzo gets introduced to Snuffy's child!reader (headcanons)

Brother figure!Lorenzo finds out you have a crush on wc!Kunigami (headcanons)

Lorenzo crushing on someone who already has a partner (headcanons)

Possum dad Lorenzo (scenario)

Lorenzo x barista!reader (drabble)

Lorenzo and his little sibling (drabble)

I soldi possono comprare tutto, eccetto il tuo amore (oneshot)

Fem!Lorenzo and her period (braindump)

You try to replicate big brother!Lorenzo's soccer moves (drabble)

Lorenzo with a little sibling who loves plushies (headcanons)

Comforting Lorenzo (drabble)

Fem!Lorenzo's hatred for bras (headcanons)

Making you laugh with animal noises (drabble)

Lorenzo x neurodivergent!reader (drabble)

Dad!Lorenzo (headcanons)

Lorenzo taking care of sick!reader (headcanons)

Lorenzo and Satoshi as your parents (headcanons)

You third wheel big brother!Lorenzo's date with Satoshi (scenario)

The world is yours (drabble)

Comforting dad!Snuffy with Lorenzo (drabble)

Psst. Lorenzo has some more appearances in the Neo Egoist League assistant series

[snaillock]

Barou, Tokimitsu, Raichi, Lorenzo, Isagi, Bachira, Kuon👉👈

this gon be a long one so buckle up

already did barou’s here

tokimitsu

Sexuality Headcanon: ace panromantic

Gender Headcanon: demi boy

A ship I have with said character: tokiaryu

A BROTP I have with said character: i can see him getting along amazingly with zantetsu

A NOTP I have with said character: none

A random headcanon: whenever he gets anxious or overwhelmed, he probably retreats and listens to his favorite song on repeat until he feels better

General Opinion over said character: he’s so cute i love his moomin face so much

raichi

Sexuality Headcanon: bi with a male preference

Gender Headcanon: cis but would probably use some random neopronouns he found online and he thought were cool looking so he would demand others to refer to him that way.

A ship I have with said character: none

A BROTP I have with said character: him and gagamaru best bros ever

A NOTP I have with said character: none

A random headcanon: once got into a heated argument with someone in a video game that he practically screeched into the mic and threw his controller into the tv screen. (and it probably has happened twice)

General Opinion over said character: i love how he’s an angry character but only really rages over unfairness and i really respect that

lorenzo

Sexuality Headcanon: pansexual

Gender Headcanon: i feel like he’s gender apathetic and is cool with literally any pronouns but probably really likes it/its

A ship I have with said character: none

A BROTP I have with said character: barou and snuffy

A NOTP I have with said character: none

A random headcanon: despite living on the streets, he is surprisingly picky and probably hates most vegetables

General Opinion over said character: oh possum man possum man possum man… tbh i was pretty neutral on him when he first appeared cause like i love silly characters but he was a little too silly for me though he’s really started to grow on and i will miss him💔

isagi

Sexuality Headcanon: bi with an equal preference but never realized he liked men until he was like 13

Gender Headcanon: cis

A ship I have with said character: bachisagi for sureeee (and isagi x me😈)

A BROTP I have with said character: too many to list but for now i’ll say kurona and bachira

A NOTP I have with said character: i do not fucking like saesagi nor do i get it. i only really see it as a mutual respect between them and besides some of the ship content repulses me. (im now realizing how ironic this is since i ship myself with both of them.) ok mini rant over

A random headcanon: he only plays fifa and has ALL of the games in that series but sucks at any other games (i’ll carry him anyway teehee)

General Opinion over said character: oh my beloved i love him so so much my soulmate fr. even if my masterlist says otherwise

bachira

Sexuality Headcanon: can’t pick between gay or bi but definitely a male preference

Gender Headcanon: not sure but he definitely uses he/they pronouns

A ship I have with said character: bachisagi ofc and bachirin

A BROTP I have with said character: isagi and

A NOTP I have with said character: none

A random headcanon: he has a whole collection of soccer related plushies and pillows. has a huge football pillow that helps him sleep better through the night.

General Opinion over said character: oh my precious boy. unsurprisingly he was one of my first favorites when i watched bllk and i still love him so much to this day. and he lowkey like me fr

kuon

Sexuality Headcanon: pansexual with no preference

Gender Headcanon: cis

A ship I have with said character: none

A BROTP I have with said character: isagi b4 he betrayed him

A NOTP I have with said character: none

A random headcanon: has for sure traded hair care secrets with chigiri (chigiri probably gatekept most of them😭)

General Opinion over said character: i don’t really have a strong opinion of him since i lowkey forgot abt him after the first selection 💀 but my impressions of him were that he was super pretty and it was kinda goofy that he screwed up the plan of winning that selection completely on his own

[eljeebee]

15 questions

Tagged by: @pralinesims thnx Evan!!!! ❤️

1. Are you named after anyone?

I was named after Lana Lang from Smallville. 'Twas my father's fictional crush (or maybe he had a crush on the actress LOL)

2. When was the last time you cried?

A month ago

3. Do you have kids?

None, wala, nada, zero, never!

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

When I need to, or the situation calls for it

5. What sports do you play/have played?

I've played softball and soccer back in my junior high school days (that's 7th to 10th grade here) during intramurals. I never play it professionally though

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Hmm...maybe the way they wear their clothes? In my mind I always think, "ooh, the outfit fits them, wish that style fits me" or sometimes "i wish they could've worn this with that instead of those"

7. Eye color?

Brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both. Or! Scary movie but there's a happy ending!

9. Any special talents?

I can bend my left thumb the other way. So it would look like I'm showing 4 fingers but the thumb is resting at the back of my hand. LOL!

10. Where were you born?

Philippines

11. What are your hobbies?

Playing games, reading books, writing stories daydreaming my stories

12. Do you have any pets?

None :(

13. How tall are you?

5 flat. (5'0)

14. Fave subject in school?

English!

15. Dream job?

When I was in elementary, I wanted to be a chef. When I was in junior high, I wanted to be a web developer. When I was in senior high (11th and 12th grade), I wanted to be a game developer. Right now, I want to do clerical work 🥲

Tagging:

@mini-uzzy @damseljamsel @heronoriginals @emjeeyeey @nurbsfirby @possum-kid @sweetsimapples and anyone else who sees this :)

[hagatha-christie]

September books, though at this point these posts are purely just for me

The bad:

Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by TS Eliot - shocking amount of racial slurs for a children's book

Sovietistan by Erika Fatland - technically didn't finish this one. It's a shame because it was SO interesting and I enjoyed reading about Central Asia bc I know nothing, but Fatland is so rude about every single local she comes into contact with. Constant descriptions of bad teeth, people's weight, how nasty the food was, and how backwards the attitudes were. I get it's kind of a strange/unique region but it was gross to me that her narration, apart from when she discussed history of the region, was very much "wow look how weird and exotic these people are! I'm so glad I live in Norway where it's CLEAN and people aren't WEIRD." Only made it through the Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan chapters which is a shame bc this could've been great if she was just not an asshole!!!!

The okay:

Uncharted by Alli Temple - was truly expecting nothing from this Kindle Unlimited pirate adventure-romance series with a stock image cover but it was actually not bad? Fun, pulp-y plot and I finished it in about 5 hours

Cleat Cute by Meryl Wilsner - a serviceable romcom about two soccer players who fall in love. I read Wilsner's other books (one was fine and one I hated) so I feel like saying this is my favorite isn't saying much, but it was cute.

The Lost Spells by Robert MacFarlane - the draw here isn't so much the poems (but they're fine!), it's the beautiful watercolors

The good/great:

spellbook for the sabbath queen by Elisheva Fox - a really beautiful but sparse poetry collection that has stuff about identity and environment and difficult familial relationships and sexuality and Judaism. This is her first collection and it definitely feels like one, but not in a bad way. I'll def keep an eye out for more of her stuff

Ararat by Christopher Golden - a recommendation from a friend and it had some GNARLY kills but was another book that was very much My Shit. Also had a great ending

American Journal: Fifty Poems For Our Time, edited by Tracy K. Smith - a really great poetry collection especially if you're just getting into poetry and are looking for new poets. There's enough variety that there's something for everyone in there!

When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities by Chen Chen - these poems were so fucking weird that i was immediately in love. Idk what else to say other than "strange and lovely"

Rouge by Mona Awad - speaking of strange! If you're into skincare this is especially fun, I'm glad I got a facial BEFORE reading this because otherwise I would have been mildly unsettled. I love that thing Awad does when the character starts to lose it and the narration goes off the rails

Bestiary by Donika Kelly - I mean this in the best possible way, what the FUCK. "You grow. You are large./You are a 19th century poem." but also "I have never known a field as wild/as your heart." Hey Donika what if I throw up everywhere

He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan - some great characters and also a couple of plot points that were so upsetting i started laughing and then had to put the book down for the night because it was the most tragic possible thing to happen. (almost) every single character in this book is a total asshole and I love them all!!!!!!!! Maybe not technically "great" but one of those books that felt like it was written just for me.

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros - an all time favorite I reread because I was sad. Sandra Cisneros is one of those writers that makes me feel incredibly seen and I was having a bad day so I read this in one sitting and it helped a little

[swvlswvl]

Best Music of 2022: SVL’s Picks

Previously: 2021 2020 2019 2018 2017 2016 2015 2014

Might post more thoughts later, but for now: These are the albums I couldn’t get enough of in 2022. Truly an amazing year for new music!

TOP 40 ALBUMS

Bartees Strange, Farm to Table (4AD)

Pusha T, It's Almost Dry (G.O.O.D./Def Jam)

Alvvays, Blue Rev (Polyvinyl)

Sunflower Bean, Headful of Sugar (Mom + Pop)

The Smile, A Light for Attracting Attention (XL)

FKA Twigs, Caprisongs (Young/Atlantic)

Zora, Z1 (Get Better)

Bad Bunny, Un Verano Sin Ti (Rimas)

Soccer Mommy, Sometimes, Forever (Loma Vista)

Alex G, God Save the Animals (Domino)

Wilco, Cruel Country (dBPM)

Taylor Swift, Midnights (Republic)

Beyoncé, Renaissance (Parkwood/Columbia)

Angel Olsen, Big Time (Jagjaguwar)

Kurt Vile, Watch My Moves (Verve)

Empath, Visitor (Fat Possum)

Ribbon Stage, Hit With the Most (Perennial)

Katie Alice Greer, Barbarism (FourFour)

Trupa Trupa, B Flat A (Glitterbeat/Lovitt)

Pictoria Vark, The Parts I Dread (Get Better)

Blackpink, Born Pink (YG/Interscope)

Spoon, Lucifer on the Sofa (Matador)

Interpol, The Other Side of Make-Believe (Matador)

Saba, Few Good Things (Pivot Gang)

Say Sue Me, The Last Thing Left (Damnably)

Bruce Springsteen, Only the Strong Survive (Columbia)

Flasher, Love Is Yours (Domino)

Mitski, Laurel Hell (Dead Oceans)

Charli XCX, Crash (Asylum)

Lucrecia Dalt, ¡Ay! (RVNG Intl)

The Weeknd, Dawn FM (XO/Republic)

Tomberlin, I Don't Know Who Needs To Hear This... (Saddle Creek)

Billy Woods, Aethiopes (Backwoodz)

Cola, Deep in View (Fire Talk)

Flo Milli, You Still Here, Ho? (RCA)

Phoenix, Alpha Zulu (Glassnote)

Grace Ives, Janky Star (True Panther)

Belle and Sebastian, A Bit of Previous (Matador)

Jana Horn, Optimism (No Quarter)

Los Bitchos, Let the Festivities Begin! (City Slang)

[loser-user-noaccuser]

I was tagged by the wonderful gem that is @gardensgatedaisy

And am going to tag @gustingirl @gold-mines-melting and @goldenkiszka (feel free to ignore x)

Nickname: my name is too short to have an actual nickname but family and close friends call me Shaezie, Shaeza, Poss (short for possum) and Bloss (short for blossom)

Sign: Virgo Sun, Sagittarius Moon and Rising

Height: I believe i am in between 5’2 and 5’3?

Last thing googled: A local cafe to see if it’s open on Sundays (it is i am going for brunch with the grandparents)

Song stuck in my head: my head constantly plays mashups so it’s the beginning of WTCF Chorus with the bass line from Seven Nation Army with a bit of Childish Gambino popping in from time to time (it’s a fucking whirlwind of a ride)

Number of followers: i just hit 100

Amount of sleep: Who knows i have always been a shit sleeper and have always been known to sleep over 15 hours if you let me (like literally my mum had to set alarms to wake me up to feed me when i was a baby)

Dream Job: ok so dream job as a kid was either archaeologist or Professional dancer and i was so dang close to being a professional dancer but then the pandemic hit before i moved state and so put that on the back burner and then found out i have bad joints and quit dancing in July of this year after 18 years so now idfk i’m just winging it

Wearing: Bike shorts (what a fucking surprise) and a sports bra

Books that Summarise you: why is this question so hard?? Ummm i have no clue i’m going to ignore this

Favourite song: like of all time? Or current faves? OR song that shaped me as a person?? Bc for all time it will have to be Bat out of Hell by Meat Loaf or Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac (depending on my mood). Current Favourite is Family Line by Conan Gray or Apathy by Michael Aldag (i love me some sad songs) but for songs that shaped me as a person either Whatsername by Green Day (another fave of all time) or Disenchanted by My Chemical Romance

Favourite instrument: To Play? I loved playing Trumpet but to listen to? It would have to be Bass. Something about basslines (and players) get me going and I can’t explain it

Aesthetic: my aesthetic is all over the place. Retro/Alternative is usually my clothes aesthetic but as for decor its Retro/Nostalgic/vintage

Favourite Author: Rick Riordan (he has been my special interest for like 10+ years) and Taylor Jenkins Reid

Random Fun Fact: i was named after my mums boyfriend who died in a car crash before she met my dad and dad has no idea i was named after him. His name was Shane remove the N and you get Shae she named me after him because my due date was his birthday. My dad still believes that i was named after a soccer player

[slayingandserving]

Soccer mommy has been holding my hand today

[simcatcher-ts2]

Vi: let's play soccer Finn!

Finn: i'mma be late for work possum!

Lily: are you ever on time though?

Finn: aouch!

Vi: ahaha

Meanwhile Shani's working on that book she struggles to write

[gaast]

My sportscaster OC conjures equipment from thin air. Think you can outrun him? He's got a baseball and he's casting Ultimate 4-Seamer. You kick him but his pads absorb the blows. Shit, he's great at stakeouts too because knee savers emerge from his calves whenever he needs them to. He has a 70 mph body check and buddy, he's been put in the box so many times for slashing he's almost forgotten how to skate. But don't worry: if the Artifact is just out of reach, you know he's got a hockey stick already. His basketball-based combat arts ensure his chest passes all find their way back to him, he can swat away all projectiles with a bat, and he can put such a spiral on antyhing he tosses that you know it'll hit its mark. Plus, thanks to his soccer powers, he can play possum like nobody's business. His hands are always taped, always gloved, always chalked, always rosined, always mitted, always curled. He's unstoppable.

Except for the fact that he has to play by the rules and cannot deviate from them. He can get penalties but ejections knock him out. If he uses a bat and his fists in one combat he loses his powers until the next fight. He can't just smack a ball at full power unless it was pitched to him. If he kicks ANYTHING then touches it with his hands later, he's gone. He also can't land a free throw to save his life but we don't talk about that.