#the creek drank the cradle

[donoteatmymoths]

iron and wine was southern gothic Ethel Cain preachers daughter before Ethel Cain was southern gothic Ethel Cain preachers daughter

[harrison-abbott]

Sam Beam recorded this entire album by himself, at home, on a four-track recorder.

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

your bones singing into mine

nikto x GN!reader (no use of Y/N) 1.7k words

(parts: one - two )

cw: reader is a bio weapons engineer, extreme isolation, allusions to suicide

you were once a brilliant thing, a creator of terrible and powerful miracles of modern science that could bring the world to its knees, and the russian crime syndicate that swept you up tucked you away in a small, dark place to keep you safe while they moved. nikto arrives at this barren corner looking for information and resources, and he finds exactly that in you. he decides that he will keep you, put you back to rights.

+

Nikto was wonderful—he held so many other people within himself, beneath his mask, like endless refractions of facets folding in on themselves. He called himself ‘we,’ and he dug you out of your grave, and he replaced the family that forgot you down here, in the dark.

(They forgot, didn’t they? They wouldn’t just leave you? They wouldn’t pack you up like the dead family cat in a shoebox, give you a thoughtless little funeral, only to walk away forever?)

(There used to be others down here with you, but they’re gone now. A few got sick. One said he was going to see himself out, holding a bottle of OxyContin, and he told you that you ought to see yourself out as well. He never got back up to leave. And now there is a room at the back of the dark place you just don’t go to.)

Every single one of Nikto thought you were special enough to take away from the bunker when the world was well-ended, because of all the secrets you kept papering the inner walls of your skull. Schematics, calculations, formulae. Components, dosages, contacts both dead and alive. A forgotten vault of knowledge, and his kindness bought him passage into it. 

The bunker had been running on emergency power for two years now, recirculating the stale air, and the only light came from the dull red bulbs in cages at the tops of the walls. You couldn’t remember your hands being anything other than burgundy, nor your face in the water-stained mirror in the bathroom. All the food you ate was crimson, and so was all the water you drank. 

There was only one pistol, and it stayed tucked in your waistbands as long as you could remember, red as drops of blood.

(It was strange that the length of your memory shrank and shrank and shrank. You were someone important once, from a line of important people. You were a scientist, and you made powerful things. You held the sun in your hands, and contemplated the cost of unleashing it on the world.)

(What is Armageddon if it was only ever a threat? Could such a thing be controlled, directed? If it could not, was it still an effective deterrent? Could you still bend all the world to your iron fist if it meant there would be no world left were you to open your fingers? Would you kill yourself along with everyone else to prove that you keep promises?)

Nikto brought with him the first cracks of natural light you’d seen in years, and fresh air came along with it. He arrived with others, large and sharp bodies in the angry and sullen shapes of tactical gear, and he walked at the front, cradling a big gun in his sleek arms. He looked at your pathetic little pistol, shaking in your hand at your side, with something like contempt. 

“It’s over now?” you asked him, never once lifting the barrel of your gun. “Did they send you to come get me?”

He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, readjusted the grip on his gun by millimeters. There was a soft creek of leather from his gloves. He jerked his head over his shoulder, threw a hand dismissively, and his fellows fell away. To you, he said, “There is a database in this bunker. It contains the inventions of a team of scientists. Where is it?”

Oh, the way you grinned, sick-dog, mange-ridden, wanting so badly to please. “Me. I’m the database.”

His eyes under his heavy mask narrowed, then widened. “We don’t understand what you mean.”

“I have a perfect brain. It’s—a little foggy. Spiders crawled in and made lots of webs, but everything is there. It’s all there. I know how Nova Gas was invented, and I know so many big, loud things that the Soviet Union didn’t get to use,” you promised him, taking a jittering step to the side. Your voice was pain, rusted with disuse, but you were not lying. “The Kulikova’s put me down here to keep me safe while the world ended. Everyone is dead, it’s just me. So, you being here means it’s over, right? You’re going you bring me to them?”

A strange look washed over his eyes, and something happened in the carriage of his shoulders—maybe his body tilted towards you, recognizing something familiar in your rundown existence. You wouldn’t have the time or energy to think of it until later. But he chews on a silent moment, his finger caressing the trigger of his rifle, and he nodded. 

“The world is done ending,” he assured you (and it’s…mostly a lie, but only mostly—his world had ended, and your world was ended, so perhaps it was close enough to the truth), “but the Kulikova’s are dead. They…asked us to retrieve you. Keep you safe.”

A frown contorted your features, almost a sneer. “I’m supposed to work,” you snapped. “I’m supposed to work! I’m supposed to WORK—!”

He cut you off, one hand snapping from his rifle to your arm, gripping you tight. “You are going to work. We need the plans in your head. We’re going to fix the world. Do you want to help us with that?”

Your frown deepened, and you surged right into him, pressing against his body, crushing your face against his mask. He tightened severely, jerking, and it felt like your wrist was going to break.

“I don’t make things that fix things,” you spat, desperate that this stranger understand the reasons your soul was sold from day one, “I make things that make people scared. I put lightning in a bottle, and it’s only supposed to quiet the lambs on their way to slaughter. Does that make sense?”

(There were many things that the world would never, ever know about Andre Nikto. That, in a past life, he would doodle skulls and crossbones and fat sleeping snow leopards on the corners of his reports to focus his mind between sentences. That he would sing or hum Krokodil Gena’s Birthday Song to himself when he was feeling very poorly, because that’s what his father used to do to soothe him. That he preferred his tea from a samovar, and that he liked to slurp it boiling hot from a saucer with a sugar cube between his teeth.)

(That he came down to a bunker forgotten by gangsters-gone-global to find a solid state drive or a computer, only to find an accomplished scientist rotted away to insanity and almost nothing else—only to find you, and fall in love with you the moment you demanded he understand the magnitude of potential atrocity made by your hands.)

“We do,” he told you, voice a gravel-grit moment of understanding. Another note rang within it, a chord of relief stricken in some deep, hallowed hollow within him. “Would you come with us?”

Satisfied, you relaxed, though you could not bring yourself to back away from the mask. Something in his eyes locked you in—perhaps the steely gray reminded you of the Baltic Sea, along which you grew up, or perhaps you found his patchy, plucked eyelashes charming and vulnerable on such a foreboding body. You couldn’t say. But his grip on your wrist relaxed into something bordering on beckoning. 

“We’ll go,” you told him, the slip into his patterns an easy one, as if you had already stepped through his threshold and weaved yourself into the tapestry of his existence. “The Kulikova’s will want to get started.”

“They’re dead,” he repeated patiently. “They are corpses, and they’re working on nothing. Beyond that, their goals were nothing. Forget about them.”

It didn’t settle into your mind completely—it would take months before the idea even rooted itself in your mind—but you didn’t argue him. Instead, you let him lead you by the wrist, to the exit stairs you had spent years watching. 

“It’s different now that the world ended,” he warned you. “You’re going to get sick, after being down here for so fucking long, and it’s going to hurt. A lot. But we will put you back together.”

You shifted from foot to miserable foot, curling your hand to try to take his. Anticipation flooded through you, a brutal resurrection. “Of course you will. You’d’ve wasted your time if you didn’t intend to,” you said, as close to an admission of faith as you thought you’d ever manage again. 

It made him laugh—only a rough bit, the grit of powdered glass under a hard boot—but it sounded like salvation. 

“I’m going to cover your eyes,” he warned you, and you thought with great offense it was because the world was such a tragedy now that he would rather protect you from it, but he continued, “the light is going to burn your retinas like a fucking nightmare.”

You looked at him, searching, and found his eyes vexed under the mask, swimming in the black of his grease. He’d walked this path before, it was evident in his voice. All of these things had happened to him before, and he did not have someone who knew, who could prevent little pains as they collected. 

You nodded. “Spasibo. Okay.”

He laughed again, and your skin prickled at the broken-glass-and-gravel tone. “We like the Russian. You should speak it more,” he hummed, and one of his arms slid across your back to brace you. His free hand came to your face, pressing over your eyes carefully, to shield them from what was about to unfold in front of you.

With great care, because he was holding something of utmost preciousness to him, Andre Nikto led you out of the bunker that should’ve been your grave, holding you steady as your bare feet touched grass for the first time in three years, as the white-hot light of sunshine peaked between the cracks his hand couldn’t prevent over your eyes. He held you through the agony of sensation, and led you to an armored vehicle, to a new life.

“It’s overwhelming, we know,” he promised, as you curled into a ball in the backseat. He took one of your hands and held them in both of his, keeping low, as if making a vow. “We’re going to take care of you. We’re going to put you back together—we’ll never leave you behind.”

His hands squeezed tight, as if he needed you to understand. 

“You’ll never be alone again. We won’t let that happen.”

All you felt was relief and love flooding you in equal measure, your fingers turned to claws in his grip, and he held even tighter. 

You would leave outrageous damage behind in the touch if he ever left you, and he only welcomed it.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Okay tagged by @bigfootsmom @homerforsure @steadfastsaturnsrings and @shortsighted-owl in the WIP tag game!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Okay telling you now that I have not made much/any progress with many of these, so if you instead would like to ask me about something I imagine happens after the events of an already published fic (something I’m often curious about for other people’s fics!) go for it.

A harder kind of fear

All that you wait on, all that you long for

Buddietommy vacation threesome

Been lost for awhile; pasta; wrap myself around the promise that there is room

Bleeding through the bandages

Big heart, I wanna let it bleed

Distress call

Love is shaped like cities burning; I grow ten hundred feet tall

One fine, sweet, and sunny day

Rabid bits of time

Should we talk about the weather

Somehow familiar with needs that are never met; My sorry longings for your rolling over; No I know I know I

Strap

The creek drank the cradle you sang to

The seconds ticking killed us all a million years before the fall

tagging @butchdiaz @shitouttabuck @chronicowboy @kananjarus @eddiebabygirldiaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @iinryer if you wanna play!

[fitrahgolden]

Violet and Anthony's theme: Upward Over the Mountain by Iron & Wine

My favorite live performance of the song.

Lyrics by Samuel Ervin Beam:

"Mother, don't worry, I killed the last snake that lived in the creek bed

Mother, don't worry, I've got some money I saved for the weekend

Mother, remember being so stern with that girl who was with me?

Mother, remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body?

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons are like birds, flying upward over the mountain

Mother, I made it up from the bruise on the floor of this prison

Mother, I lost it, all of the fear of the Lord I was given

Mother, forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to

Mother, forgive me, I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons could be birds, taken broken up to the mountain

Mother, don't worry, I've got a coat and some friends on the corner

Mother, don't worry, she's got a garden we're planting together

Mother, remember the night that the dog had her pups in the pantry?

Blood on the floor, fleas on their paws,

And you cried 'til the morning

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons are like birds, flying always over the mountain"

[thegreatnorthernsea]

Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to

Mother forgive me, I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons could be birds, taken broken up to the mountain

[anendlessforest]

Listening to The Creek Drank the Cradle after a perfect snowfall. Feeling heaps of gratitude and love. Welcoming in the return of the light. 🕯️❄️

[highly-opinionated-art]

We've reached the halfway point of 2024, so you know what that means- album of the week art part 2!

(2024 part 1) (2024 part 3) (2024 part 4)

Lyrics featured, and albums they're from, under the cut

Week 14: "the lovers with umbrellas always pass me by" is from the song Rain, from the album Freedom Child by The Script. Pretty lame album, I was a bit disappointed.

Week 15: "you're simply lost" "you poor unfortunate soul" and "don't think I didn't notice" are all separate lines from the song Holy, from the album White Noise by PVRIS. I liked this one a lot, it was really good

Week 16: "we all assume the worst the best we can" is from the song Muddy Hymnal, from the album The Creek Drank The Cradle by Iron and Wine. This was my mom's recommendation- when you really sit and listen, it's a deeply hurt and upset album! I liked certain songs but taken altogether it wasn't my favorite

Week 17: "I'm picking up good vibrations" is from the song Good Vibrations by The Beach Boys. Found out during this week that the original SMiLE album project was never finished, so I split this week between Smiley Smile, Brian Wilson presents SMiLE, and The Smile Sessions, all of which have this song on them.

Week 18: "timekeeper, the days are rolling by // timekeeper, tell me I'm going to be alright" is from the song Timekeeper, from the album The Lion, The Beast, The Beat by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Also really really enjoyed this album. Yes it's Homestuck fanart, no there's nothing you can do about it

Week 19: "wake up tomorrow and try again" is from the song 2 Best Friends, from the album Intellectual Property by Waterparks. Good album, though it doesn't top Greatest Hits, imho. But I had this song stuck in my head a lot.

Week 20: "to my burning heart" is from the song Will Anybody Ever Love Me?, from the album Javelin, by Sufjan Stevens. Youngest sister's recommendation, little bit of a weird album but I didn't hate it

Week 21: "a rising dream or a falling star?" is from the song Lonely Girl, from the album M!ssundaztood by P!nk. Loooove P!nk, but finding out that she's from Philadelphia through a song where she starts singing about gun violence, specifically in North Philly, was wild (I currently live in North Philly)

Week 22: "I had a dream you were two towns from me // got to sleep, spent the whole night running" is from the song Two Towns From Me, from the album 3 Rounds and a Sound by Blind Pilot. Middle of the road album but I like this song a lot

Week 23: "don't forget, we won't forgive" is from the song Fucked Up Kids, from the album Forever Halloween by The Maine (which was definitely not as good as I hoped it'd be)

Week 24: "there's no need for anger, there's no need for blame // there's nothing to prove, everything's still the same" is from the song Farewell, Angelina, from the album of the same name by Joan Baez. Actually I think Bob Dylan wrote the song but I don't know if her version is a cover or not. Joan Baez is another mom recommendation, I like her voice a Lot, but I'm pissed that I fucked up the illustration so badly, ugh

Week 25: "you're not alone, I repeat, you're not alone", is the very intro to a song called Tamagotchi, from the album There Goes The Neighborhood by Kid Kapichi. One of those blessed instances where I went to see a concert and ended up loving the opener, too- I saw Kid Kapichi open for Nothing But Thieves last year and now I listen to them regularly, recommend

Week 26: "can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord?" is from the song In The Air Tonight, from the album Face Value by Phil Collins. 'Why did you put the question mark there' because I wanted to. Next question. Is it a good album? Eeeeehhhhhh. He did his best work for Tarzan and Brother Bear and that's just facts.

As for the art, I know some are better than others, but I'm still having fun and have NO intention of stopping any time soon!

[lebrisereve]

MUSIC ||| 2002

>comet gain - realistes

>baxter dury - len parrot’s memorial lift

>sigur ros - ( )

>death in vegas - scorpio rising

>interpol - turn on the bright lights

>departure lounge - too late to die young

>primal scream - evil heat

> beth gibbon/rustin man - out of season

>beck - sea change

>wilco - yankee foxtrot hotel

>mum - finally we are no one

>the libertines - up the bracket

>...and you will know us by the trail of dead - source tags and codes

>st etienne - finistere

>the polyphonic spree - the beginning stages of the polyphonic spree

>the electric soft parade - hole in the wall

>iron and wine - the creek drank the cradle

>felix da housecat - kittenz and thee glitz

second position (the cool 15 )

>suede - a new morning

>clinic - walking with thee

>boards of canada - geogaddi

>the shins - oh inverted world

>sonic youth - murray street

>robots in disguise - robots in disguise

>queens of the stone age - songs for the deaf

>low - trust

>ms john soda - no p. or d.

>the liars - They threw us all in a trench and stuck a monument on top

> swearing at motorists “this flag signals goodbye

>belle and sebastian - i’m waking up to us ep

>aim - hinterland

>the notwist - neon golden

then the rest (ok records, but not amazing)

>blue states - man moutain

>devendra banhart - oh me oh my...

>doves - the last broadcast

>the faint - danse macabre

>fc kahuna - machine says yes

>jason loewenstein - at sixes and sevens

>american analog set

>belle and sebastian - storytelling

>dj shadow - the private press

>ed harcourt - still i dream of it ep

>godspeedyoublackemperor - yanqui U.X.O.

>ian brown - sounds from the spheres

>jack - the end of the way it’s always been

>the mongolfier brothers - the world is flat

>ladytron - light and magic

>max tundra - mastered by the guy at the exchange

[longlistshort]

Keith Crowley “Longwood Run (Nocturne)”, 2019, Oil on linen (left) and “Mooring Fields (Twilight)”, 2021 (right)

Kenny Jensen, “I Didn’t Forget You (The Clearing)”, 2023 (left) and “I Didn’t Forget You (Papa’s Van)” 2023 (right)

Alison Tirrell “untitled (It’s all under control)”

Elizabeth Barenis, “The Creek Drank the Cradle”, acrylic on canvas

The Factory is a massive space in the Warehouse Arts District in St. Pete that houses numerous galleries and artist spaces, as well as the Florida Wildlife Corridor Foundation, Museum of Motherhood (MOMMuseum), Fairgrounds St. Pete, and Daddy Kool Records. This past Saturday (10/14/23) was Second Saturday ArtWalk and there was a lot to see. On this page and the ones that follow are some of the highlights.

In Studio B, a temporary gallery space, was the group exhibition Soft Spoken (images above), which included artists Keith Crowley, Kenny Jensen, Alison Tirrell, Elizabeth Barenis, Raheem Fitzgerald, Kate Cummins, and Alfredo Christiano. This show remains on view by appointment with the artists.

In The Factory’s gallery space was the group exhibition Medium (images below).

Oil paintings by Luke Vest

Laurent Waldron "Road Killer", 2023, Latex and acrylic paint, rubber tire and "Last Rodeo" 2023, Acrylic paint, wirebrush frame

At the Florida Wildlife Corridor's gallery space Wild Space is Mickett/Stackhouse Studio's Circle of Water, a collection of paintings, drawings, and video by artists Carol Mickett and Robert Stackhouse continuing their explorations of environmental issues. This exhibition will remain on view until 1/13/24.

(Work by Mickett/Stackhouse Studio- "Mitigation Paintings: Green Shade Oak, Whale Pump, Mangrove Family, Mangrove Sea Wall, Green Swamp, Green Swamp Aqua Feeder, Whale Pump & Plankton, Shade Oak", Watercolor on paper)

About the above by the artists-

Mitigation Paintings further explore the ways in which natural resources can help to remedy and even forestall the damages of climate change. The swamps, whales and trees depicted are all "carbon sink," in other words they absorb CO2, among their other contributions.

Work by Mickett/Stackhouse Studio

At Heiress Gallery is the contemporary ceramics group exhibition Dirt, which includes work from several Tampa Bay artists including Babette Herschberger, Mike Cannata, Molly Duff, and John Byrd. This show is on view until 11/3/23.

Work by Babette Herschberger

Center sculpture Mike Cannata "Environmental Flux 2", 2023, Ceramics, wood, marble, enamel paint, rust; on the right Molly Duff "Lil'Dicki", 2023, Ceramic, yarn, steel

Mike Cannata, "Environmental Flux 3",2023, Ceramic, enamel paint

John Byrd "Memory Jug for Devotion and Dereliction", 2020, Ceramic, wood, mixed media

Two artists with studios in the building were showing work- Kate Cummins and Jason Hackenwerth. Hackenwerth also curated the Studio B show which has a piece by Cummins included.

Work above by Kate Cummins

Two works from Jason Hackenwerth's exhibition "Pilgrimage"

Finally, a recent addition to The Factory’s spaces- The Museum of Motherhood or MoM Museum.

(Work by Amy Wolf outside Museum of Motherhood)

About the museum from their website-

MoM is the first and only exhibition and education center devoted to the art, science, and herstory of women, m/others, and families inclusive of all reproductive identities. We celebrate the work of mothers and counter narratives that have kept women less visible while educating future generations. The Museum of Motherhood is empowering women and mothers to take their rightful place in the museum world.

MoM is a living museum. We grow, evolve, and transform according to YOU – our members, volunteers, and partners. That is why we encourage great conversations, support thought-provoking exhibits, and offer resources for people to engage in activities centered around identity and culture in a safe and inclusive environment. MoM encourages a deeper understanding of the labor and investment made by those birthing and raising the next generation as well as serving to deconstruct dominant stereotypes in order to increase our overall understanding of the family experience. We are awesomely made!

MoM creates, produces, and presents visual, literary, educational, academic, and performing arts exhibits and education that celebrate, nurture and support individuals with a special emphasis on identity, experience, and community. We keep abreast of changing birth technologies and give voice to a mom-made art movement through our actions while focusing on the social, psychological, physical, and economic realities embedded in these experiences. MoM connects students, women, men, m/others and families through reproductive identity, music, art, activism, and education for cultural, economic, and social awareness. MoM acts as a safe space for healing, inspiration, and illumination.

The current featured artist is Amy Wolf, who recently created work for Dunedin Fine Art Center’s 17th Annual Wearable ART runway fashion show.

Work above by Amy Wolf

[bookofjudith]

Mother, don’t worry, I killed the last snake that lived in the creekbed

[ansu-gurleht]

so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten sons are like birds flying always over the mountain

[bellasredchevy]

ok so I listened to iron &wines album "the sheperds dog" because of twilight and its so so good I'm really feelin it 💐

his first album is also,,, very good,,, upward over the mountain is the best depression song since possibility

[anatomy--of--melancholy]

it never ends the way we had it planned

[mudpuddling-moved]

favorite albums (c, pt. i)