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frostmarris · 4 years ago

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Day 5: Thieves & Outlaws | Shapeshifters

Pairing: Deidara/Sakura Haruno/Hidan, Deidara/Hidan

Rating: Teen & Up

Content Warning: a couple of foul mouthed bois

Additional Tags: Modern Magic (magic is secret), Supernatural Creatures, Urban (but actually Rural) Fantasy, Bakery AU, Established Relationship, country roads take me home

Summary: Deidara returns home for the first time in nearly a decade and finds everything just as he remembers it - except for that bakery. Hidan is convinced the pink-haired owner isn't human and they're determined to find out what she's hiding.

Notes: fic #3 and my final entry for the @naruto-fantasy-week ! the thieves and outlaws part applies more to the fic as a whole than this first chapter tho

Slightly different format for this one since tumblr refuses to allow my posts to show up in tags. Links to ffnet and ao3 will be in a reblog!

Enjoy!

whitewoods - chapter one

“So, what - were you, like, a total ‘Children of the Corn’ or some shit growin’ up?”

“First of all, it’s totally the wrong climate for corn here, yeah. Secondly, it was more like tin foil hats and aliens than blood sacrifices.”

At Hidan’s dry look, Deidara laughs and leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel of the old hatchback and his free arm hanging out the window.

“I’m still reelin’ from finding out that you’re a fucking country bumpkin, Dei. You told me you were from,” Hidan raises his hands, shaking them and hunching his shoulders as he shoots the blond a sarcastic look, “The big city and all that jazz.”

“I was living in a city before we met, hm,” Deidara answers, swapping hands on the wheel and reaching over to smack Hidan’s jazz-handing hands when they drift closer to his face, “I just happened to live in a small town in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere before that.”

He slows down as the winding road running along the side of the mountain - (“We’re not that high up, Hidan, you coward.”) - splits into two at a fork. There had been mountain on both sides of the road for the past hour, a nearly vertical rock wall to their left and a sloped but steep drop to their right, with a river winding through the bottom of the crevice some hundred feet below before the ground climbs back up to form another mountain ridge.

Hidan hadn’t been too excited about being on the side with the drop, but Deidara’s reassurance that at least he’d be unlikely to get crushed immediately by falling rocks had done little to comfort him.

The fork came at an plateau where the mountain seemed to finally back off and give more room for a level, forested area, with the left path heading into the woods. The right path, however, curved outwards and lead downward slightly before feeding onto an old bridge that crossed the shortest gap between the two mountain ridges, a still-considerable drop down to the river running under it. They could see the bridge below from their vantage point, even with a few trees standing in the way - just barely wide enough for two cars at a time and at least four cars long.

“You’re fucking joking ,” Hidan hisses as Deidara heads right, fully turning towards him in his seat. The blond laughs and nearly gets his hand bit when he reaches over to pat Hidan's head.

“Relax , Evel Knievel. The bridge has been around since before I was even born, yeah.”

“That’s not fuckin’ reassuring,” He mutters in response, sitting back in his seat - spine straight, shoulders stiff, and magenta eyes on the rocky road. The path down winds only a little before it levels out and curves outward even more to approach the bridge, cliffsides and sheer drops momentarily replaced by trees and bushes.

Hidan only realizes they’re on the bridge when the sound of gravel and rocks under the hatchback’s tires gradually gives way to the softer rumble and groans of wooden planks and metal supports. They break through the trees to suddenly reveal the open air of the bridged gap between ridges and Hidan’s hand jumps up to the ceiling handle above his door, knuckles white as he grips it like it’ll save his life.

His gaze drifts to his right even as his head stays completely forward - until Deidara cackles and his glare darts to the blond, still sitting all relaxed with an arm out the window and one hand on the wheel.

“Hand off the Jesus Handle, yeah. I’m not gonna drive us off the side and hurtling down to our deaths.” Deidara grins and nods to the stretch of bridge ahead. “There’s railings and I’m barely pushing 15, hm. An eager turtle could beat us to the other side.”

“I’ll fuckin’ let go when you put both of your damn hands on the shittin’ wheel, dickhead.”

Hidan’s grumble earns him another laugh but Deidara relents and pulls his arm out of the window, both hands on the steering wheel as they cross the bridge. The relief on Hidan’s face is clear as day when they make it to the other side and he slumps back with a sigh, side-eyeing the blond when he cackles again.

“If I’d known you were afraid of heights, I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me, yeah.”

“I’m not afraid of heights,” He huffs, grabbing the pack of cigarettes in the glovebox. “I just don’t trust infrastructure built by fuckin' country bumpkins."

Deidara rolls his eyes but leans over as he offers him one, both hands still on the wheel and the cigarette between his lips as Hidan digs his lighter out of his pocket. Taking a drag once it’s lit, Deidara returns to his relaxed position again and follows the road as it winds through the woods and gradually begins to slope downwards.

The scenic peace of the mountain forest is rather ruined by the metal music blaring out the open windows of the beat-up car - which adds to the cacophony with its own grinds and grunts - and the pair make idle conversation as they travel, Hidan eventually opening up his fifth soda of the day. He unbuckles long enough to turn in his seat, get his knees under him, and dig around in the back to grab the rest stop sandwiches they’d bought before they entered truly bum-fuck nowhere that morning.

He opens the plastic wrap around Deidara’s enough for the blond to get to the bread and chicken salad before passing it over and starting on his own mini Italian sub.

"So, why do you have to be the one to get your old man's shit in order?" Hidan asks around ciabatta and salami, flicking a crumb out his window. "Aren't there fuckin' people for that?"

Deidara grimaces and takes a long sip from his energy drink before he answers. "Apparently he left everything to me in his will, hm."

Eyebrows raised, Hidan turns and gestures at him with his sandwich.

"Wasn't it, like, a decade since you had last spoken to the old fuck?"

A shrug and a nod and the car takes a left turn onto a road that Hidan hadn't even spotted through the brush. The trees thin out and the road curves and the ground starts to gradually disappear to their left side and rise on their right until they're traveling along a cliffside again, but mirrored to earlier. This road seems even more rocky and rough than the other but, fortunately, it doesn't last long until Hidan can see the opening to a tunnel ahead.

He sends Deidara one last skeptical look, inwardly hoping they weren't lost, before they enter the tunnel and begin to cut through part of the mountain rather than travel along it. Deidara turns down the music a bit as it echoes almost jarringly through the passage, soon flicking on the high-beams and taking another bite of his sandwich. The road isn't perfectly straight so it's a while before they can see the light at the other end. While Hidan isn't sure exactly how much ground they'd covered through the tunnel, since the road seemed to serpentine a lot, he's still surprised when they break out into the open air again and, once again, there's a rock wall on Deidara’s side and a drop on his own.

He feels like they're right back where they'd started before the bridge, but his snarky comment is cut short when he looks out his window and sees the valley below.

Some of the trees are still bare from the winter - it's not quite spring yet, so cold but not cold cold - and most of the ones that have leaves make canopies that are mostly yellow, dappled here and there with bright green and light brown. White peeks out from under the treetops in spots and Hidan would have thought it was snow if he hadn't known any better. The valley stretches out into the distance before the edges of the mountain ranges begin to creep upwards once more around it, a few gently sloping hills transforming into steeper inclines but backing off before the mountain can fully enclose the forest. There's an odd 'bald spot' on the other side - not the exact opposite point from the tunnel's exit, but a fairly long stretch of forest between the spot and their current position - where the trees thin slightly before disappearing entirely.

It climbs up the hills a ways, carving out a noticeable patch, and, if Hidan looks really hard, he's pretty sure he can see tiny buildings in the far far distance.

The road leading out of the tunnel begins to almost immediately slope downwards. Not too steeply, but definitely noticeable. It runs along the mountainside in a long, winding serpentine, doubling back on itself several times to make the climb from the tunnel to the valley less of a sheer drop.

Hidan doesn't realize he'd been practically hanging out the window to get a look at the valley until the hatchback takes one of the turns and he finds himself facing the other way. He nearly climbs across Deidara to look out his side and the blond laughs, shoving him back into his seat.

"I thought you didn't want the drop on your side, yeah?"

Snorting, Hidan sits back and takes a large bite out of his sub. "Shut that damn smug mouth of yours and drive."

Deidara’s amusement drifts out the open windows of the car until he returns his attention to his sandwich and turns the music back up, sending a few startled birds into the air.

: :

They finally make it down into the valley proper and Hidan nearly shoves his face against the windshield as the view of an ocean of yellow leaves dotted with green, brown, and the occasional white suddenly changes to pillars of bright white and black spots. The white extends deep, deep into the forest, with a sea of green from the grass and underbrush below, a canopy of yellow above, and splotches of leaves from lower branches appearing here and there in the middle.

A dirt and gravel road cuts through the forest, managing a straight path for a while before it eventually begins to wind like all the other roads. The trees are thin and gangly but tall and sturdy and Hidan eventually sends Deidara an admittedly curious look, ignoring the blond's amused grin.

"What kinda trees are these anyways?" He asks before quickly adding a overly-disinterested, "They look fucking weird."

"Birch, hm."

"What is that? The new betch ? I was just asking a fucking question, you asshat-"

"No!" Deidara laughs, cutting him off. "Birch ! They're birch trees!"

Hidan's eyes narrow at him before he looks out his window again, regarding the white trees skeptically. The further into the forest they drove, the more densely packed the trees grew, making it hard to see anything other than the white and black of their trunks and the green of the forest floor - the scene only broken by the brown of the road ahead.

"They're one of the only good things about my hometown, yeah," Deidara says after a stretch of silence, downing the last of his energy drink. "Not the best for climbing, but they look cool as shit."

"They look like they're covered in eyes," Hidan says watching the trees as they pass by. The knots and bumps along the trunks are accented by the black markings, some curved and spotted just right that they look like eyes, gazing at them as they travel through the woods.

"Fuckin' creepy," Hidan adds, despite the amused smile on his face.

Deidara nods in agreement and they drive in silence for a while, the road taking them over a few hills and back down before, eventually, taller and hardier trees begin to intermingle in the sea of birch. The trees are still densely packed and make it difficult to see what lays ahead but, finally, they open up to reveal the town.

The treeline circles around the town, following the dips and curves of its edges, and climbing up the start of the mountain a ways before the birch trees are fully replaced with more stereotypical woods - spruce, oak, balsam, pine. There's several levels to the town as it rises and falls with the hills and Hidan wouldn't be surprised if there were houses higher on the mountainside, looking out over the valley. While there only seems to be one main road - which has finally become paved and easier riding - leading into the town, it soon begins branching off to spiderweb out, winding out of sight as buildings block the view.

Deidara stays on the main road for a while before he finally turns onto one of the side paths, back onto a gravel road that leads into a residential area. Each time Hidan thinks they're about to arrive at his childhood home, Deidara keeps on driving, passing homes and trees until there's more of the latter than the former.

The road heads upwards and Hidan sends the blond a raised eyebrow as they rise into the hills around the valley, green and brown trees cutting off their view again. There's a few dirt roads that branch off from their current one, heading deeper into mountainside woods, and most of which are barred by gates connected to rustic fences, overgrown by brush.

Finally, Deidara turns onto one of the dirt paths and they climb a little higher still before the ground levels out, the trees still dense until it finally opens up again after an almost ten minute drive. There's a rather rundown fence running the perimeter of the main yard and the house looks like a cross between a cabin from a slasher movie about a summer camp in the mountains and something out of a '50s show about moonshiners.

There's other, more in-shape fencing stemming from the yard making enclosures for a few various farm animals with smaller sheds of their own and what looks like a path leading behind the house to a more open area, likely with a garden and crops. The gate to the front yard is open and Deidara drives right through, parking the hatchback in a spot to the left where the grass is worn down and bare from constant use.

The pair exit the car and Deidara stretches while Hidan turns to stare out over the property, eventually turning to look at his companion.

"Holy shit," He says, earning him a raised eyebrow from Deidara. "You are a damned country bumpkin!"

Deidara shoots him a glare and moves to open the back of the car.

"Bullshit, yeah. Like hell I am."

Hidan points an accusatory finger at him, shouting loud enough to startle some chickens in a nearby coop.

"Fucking mountain hick farm boy! "

"You shut your damn mouth, hm. "

He gestures to the damning evidence behind them, arms spread out wide while Deidara grabs their bags from the trunk.

"Look at all these animals! This is a fuckin' farm !"

The blond throws a duffel bag at Hidan's face and crosses his arms, looking unamused.

"Like hell it is, yeah. There's just some goats and chickens and a couple sheep and... some pigs out back... and a few ducks…" Deidara’s assured tone starts to waver as he looks away, expression growing slightly strained and concerned. "And I did have a pair of rabbits when I was ten, and the cow…"

Hidan makes a slightly strangled, horrified sound and Deidara quickly tries to recover.

"But the old man sold it years ago, yeah! That's it! Mostly just goats and chickens, hm! Not a farm."

As if on cue, there's a honk from the right side of the yard and the two look to see a large white bird in the chicken corral, walking the edge of the fence.

"Is that a fucking goose. "

"L-listen, hm-"

"Only ponds in shitty public parks and farms have gooses!"

"Geese."

"Farm boy! " Hidan shouts, hurling the duffel bag back at him and throwing his arms into the air as he turns away.

"I've been living with a total Ma and Pa , overalls and fuckin' straw hat, "Princess Bride" bullshit farm boy !" He laments, slapping a hand on the roof of the car and sending the blond a betrayed look. "I thought you were cool. "

Deidara rolls his eyes and hefts the second bag onto his shoulder before closing the hatchback.

"Hey, the "Princess Bride" dude ends up becoming a pirate, yeah."

"His name is Westley, you uncultured swine."

Hidan gets a duffel bag to the face again and then the second bag shoved into his arms while Deidara heads towards the front porch.

"Just quit your whining and help me take the shit inside, hm!"

Hidan snickers under his breath but follows after him, both bags resting on his shoulder as he watches Deidara lift pots of mostly dead and dying plants distributed here and there on the porch.

"Which one was it..?" He mutters to himself before finally letting out a victorious shout as he finds the spare key under the barely-surviving coleus. The squeak and groan of the door is grating as it swings open and the pair enter rather cautiously, expecting to be met with cobwebs and inches of dust.

But the interior of the house is fairly clean and Hidan flicks the lights on - surprised they actually work - before moving to drop the bags on an old-looking couch while Deidara heads left into the kitchen, checking to see if the water was still running.

"Right, yeah," Deidara mutters again after he turns the faucet off and opens the window behind the sink. "It's only been a couple weeks."

"Not much in the fridge," Hidan calls behind him, not even daring to sniff the carton of milk. "How long do you plan on staying again?"

"Just long enough to go through shit, figure out what to keep and what to toss, cancel the utilities, and find a buyer for the animals, hm." He answers, checking the cabinets with a frown. "I'll deal with getting into selling the property some other time."

Hidan leans against the doorframe to the kitchen, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. "Sounds like at least a week."

Deidara groans and nods, moving past him to plop down on the couch. Hidan soon joins him, making a face at how the couch springs give a high squeak but leaning back as he stretches.

"Couch is only gonna fit one of us," He says with a grunt, laying his arms along the back before craning his neck to look deeper into the house. "I'm sure as fuck not sleepin' on your old man's bed. Where's your room?"

Deidara leans back as well with a sigh and rests his head on Hidan's forearm. "Down the hall, last door on the right. Doubt he kept all my stuff though, yeah. My old mattress is only a twin if it's still around."

They sit there for a little while longer, the door to the quiet house still open to let the fresh air in and the distant sound of the animals outside making a strange but peaceful white noise. The pair eventually get up and search the house, finding that Deidara’s old room had been converted into an office plus home gym of sorts - a desk and chair with an old as balls computer, a few bookshelves, and a stationary bike facing the singular window.

"There's a camping and hiking store in town, hm," Deidara suggests, thumbing through a few of the books on the shelves. "They should have sleeping bags or somethin'."

Hidan nods and hops onto the exercise bike, testing it out before he glances back. "Gonna need food and a fuckton of trash bags too."

They meander around the house for another ten minutes, checking rooms and struggling to get the door to the attic open before deciding they'll have to wedge it open later with something. Eventually, the pair head back out to the car, Deidara locking the house up and pocketing the spare key before they journey back down into the town. Windows up and their music a little quieter now - it's just past 3 PM and they don't want to piss off the locals just yet - they drive around the town until Deidara remembers where the camping store (and Main Street as a whole) is.

The two of them look entirely out of place in their ripped and worn jeans, leather and bomber jackets, and old band shirts and they earn themselves a few odd looks. But they don't seem too bothered and head into the rustic store, Hidan beelining for the taxidermy bear rising above the racks of insulated clothing.

The other shop patrons send the young men curious stares before the shopkeep, and older, burly man behind the counter, greets them.

"Afternoon, boys. Here to do some, ah... hiking?" He watches Hidan poke and prod the stuffed bear's nose before turning his attention to Deidara as the blond heads towards the counter.

"Nah," Blue eyes scan the walls, looking for a sign for bedding. "Just need to grab a couple sleeping bags, hm."

The shopkeep directs him to the back right corner of the store and Deidara searches through the small selection of sleeping bags while Hidan drifts over to the display of fishing poles.

Deidara’s weighing his options between two of the most comfortable looking styles before his gaze moves to the nearby shelves and his face lights up in a grin. He quickly returns the sleeping bags to the racks and snatches a fairly large box off the shelf, rushing off to grab Hidan, who quickly nods his exuberant approval at Deidara’s find.

They leave the shop with a couple clean blankets and the air mattress tucked under Hidan's arm, depositing everything in the car before heading down the street to the grocery store. They get mostly essentials but end up messing around in the snack aisle long enough to get more chips than they certainly need before finally heading back, one of the bags of trail mix open and in Hidan’s hands before Deidara can even start the car.

He gets a pretzel thrown into his mouth with frightening precision when he starts to complain and Hidan laughs, offering a rye chip in apology some moments later.

They make it most of the way down Main Street before Deidara is suddenly slamming on the breaks and sending the bag of trail mix flying out of Hidan’s hand and spilling onto the dash.

"What the hell, man! " Hidan shouts, brushing mini breadsticks off his lap while Deidara stares out the windshield. "What was that fo-?!"

"What the fuck, " The blond interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at the building sat on the corner of the block, right next to the post office, "Is that?! "

Hidan sends him a bewildered look and follows his point to squint quizzically at the small building.

"It... looks like a bakery or some shit?" He looks to Deidara again, incredibly confused. "What the fuck, Dei. You okay?"

Indeed, the building on the corner looked to be a bakery. Clean glass windows out front showcase an array of sweets and breads, mostly whole loaves and a few jarred goods. Outside on the sidewalk are a few bistro tables and chairs, most occupied by townsfolk enjoying sweet treats and steaming cups of what was either coffee or tea. The building stood out from the rest of the rustic Main Street, painted in mismatched colors with shrubs just under the windows blooming with early, pale purple flowers. A white wooden sign hangs out over the street, connected by chains to the awning over the shop's front and swinging slightly in the breeze.

Hidan has to squint, but he's pretty sure it says Flour Hour.

"That used to be the arcade..." Deidara says quietly, making Hidan glance over in surprise. He looks devastated but also vaguely pissed, but he's pulled from his thoughts when a car behind them honks and the pair jump in surprise, quickly moving forward.

"It was, like, the only fun thing to do in town, hm!" He laments, eyes flickering over to the colorful building. "I can't believe some jackass went and turned it into a bakery! "

"Let's pull in and check it out," Hidan suggests as they start to pass the parking spots in front of the bakery, reaching over to nudge Deidara’s shoulder. "Maybe it's a weird combo bakery and arcade. Like those fuckin' KFC-Taco Bell-gas stations."

Lips pursed, Deidara seems to think it over for a few moments before nodding and quickly pulling into one of the open spaces, glaring through the windshield. "Muffins and Mortal Kombat. Right, yeah. I could deal with that."

Hidan grins and the pair hop out. The sweet scent of the flowers out front punches them in the face moments before the smell of coffee and various baked goods greets them, nearly making them reel back in surprise. It's an overwhelming but wonderful smell and they exchange glances before heading inside.

A bell rings over the door as it opens and it's quickly apparent that the Flour Hour isn't a combination bakery-and-arcade.

There's several more tables and chairs set up inside and along the right side of the shop is a long L-shaped display case, heading into the back corner before turning to connect to the marble counter at the rear of the bakery. It's filled with cakes and bread and sweets and numerous delicious-looking goods - some rustic, some delicate, and some intricate enough to belong in a more upscale patisserie. Behind the back counter is a rather vintage looking coffee maker and a more modern espresso machine, as well as shelves of bags of beans, various tins of tea, a few random mugs, and all the makings of a decent batista setup. Along the right wall are two tall bookshelves filled with rows of jarred jams and honey and tins of spices and herbs, standing on either side of a bay window nook that looks out at the small park at the end of Main Street.

The front end of the shop is rather small, only a little under half of the building’s total as surely the rest is reserved for the bakery itself in the back. It's busy and bustling despite the time of day and all of the small tables are filled with people enjoying their goodies and beverages. A pair of young women are behind the counter, one grabbing muffins from a display case and the other making a cappuccino.

"Oh! Welcome in!" Says a voice suddenly to their right. Hidan and Deidara simultaneously look over to see a woman they hadn't noticed through the window outside, a long paper bag in hand as she grabs one of the loaves of bread in the window.

"Never seen you two before - passing through?" She asks, straightening up and offering them both a smile. "Well, we'll still be open for a bit longer so feel free to have a look at what we have left - the girls behind the counter will help you when you're ready!"

She turns to head towards the back of the shop, offering the bread loaf to a woman at the checkout counter, and Deidara and Hidan stare.

She's beautiful, they both happen to be thinking - bright green eyes, freckles dusted across her soft face, a little shorter than Deidara but a build that suggests she could probably suplex either of them, and long, long soft pink hair pulled back in a braid that swings behind her as she walks. The lovely young woman is dressed in overalls that are splattered in paint at the knees and a long-sleeved striped shirt, green and white. Her apron is dusted with either flour or powdered sugar in the front and they can see colorful socks peeking under the rolled cuffs of her overalls, her shoes also covered in flour.

Deidara blinks, tilts his head slightly, then smiles, nudging Hidan’s arm with his elbow.

"No Pac Man, but I can't bring myself to complain. This place is much better than an arcade, yeah?" He looks up at Hidan when he doesn't reply, an eyebrow raised before his expression turns confused at the intensity behind Hidan’s stare.

Magenta eyes pinned to the pink-haired woman, Hidan's own silver brows are furrowed, a small frown on his face as he seems to be trying to decipher something, never pulling his gaze away even as Deidara prods his cheek with a finger. The blond watches him for a moment before eventually shrugging and moving to head to the cases.

"Well, I'm gonna see what kind of cupcakes they've got, hm."

Hidan’s eyebrows furrow even more before his eyes go wide and bewildered and then alarmed and his hand shoots out to snatch the back collar of Deidara’s jacket, yanking him backwards and quickly dragging him out of the bakery.

His startled, choked shout earns the pair a few curious looks but Deidara soon finds himself being shoved into the passenger seat of the car after Hidan grabs the key out of his pocket, slamming the door and sliding over the hood to quickly hop behind the wheel. Ignoring Deidara’s confused sputters, Hidan quickly backs out of the parking space and heads back to the main road, recalling the way back to the house and driving a little faster than he probably should be.

"What the fuck was that, man?!" Deidara shouts, managing to right himself in his seat.

"That chick," Hidan starts, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he stares ahead with a hard look. "She-"

"She was gorgeous, yeah, but just cause you got cold feet doesn't mean you can just drag me out by the scruff and choke the shit outta me!" Grumbling, he reaches up to straighten his collar, shooting the other man a glare. "Dibs by the way. And I really did want one of those cupcakes, hm."

"You don't fuckin' get it ," Hidan hisses under his breath, finally tearing his gaze away from the road to look at Deidara, his expression rather frazzled.

His own expression turning confused and slightly concerned, Deidara sits back and lets him continue.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on in this Mountain Man bullshit town of yours," He says, reaching up to run a hand through his silver hair. "But that chick back there.."

Hidan turns to look at him again, his gaze hard and his expression dead serious.

"She was not human."

#deisaku #hidasaku #hidadei #deisakuhida #naruto fantasy week #thirrinwrites #thirrinfic #deidara and hidan are himbos with a mystery on their hands #and sakura is very petty and maybe isnt totally human

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awwrealmonsters · 5 years ago

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Top 12 Breath of the Wild Monsters (Part 2 of 2)

(Part 1 -

#8 - The Lord of the Mountain

Out of all of the creatures on this list, this guy’s presence in the game felt the most unique, with the circumstances around his presence making for a genuinely fantastical and ethereal experience. The glowing markings on his body are a neat way to display the godly and ancient elements of the design, I love the soothing and pretty turquoise coloration, and the double faces are just strange enough to make you uncomfortable without being too creepy. I do wish that the rest of the body was more interesting though, as outside the coloration it’s a rather standard horse design. Maybe the owl influences in the face could have been incorporated more. Still overall a solid boy.

#7 - The Blights

The Blight designs are a big upgrade from Calamity Ganons’, as they refine what works about that design into a less busy and more sensible appearance. The ancient machinery aspects are better incorporated here as they are fairly minimal and well placed, as well as serving a narrative purpose as possessed machines. The silhouettes of these guys are very nice and the single eyes masks are quite intimidating. The sludge and machine colors still don’t mix very well here though, blending together too much and making it hard at times to tell what you are looking at. I said they’re LESS busy than Ganon, not that they aren’t busy. The coolness of these guys outweighs most of their flaws though.

#6 - Blupees

You might be surprised to see the very simple design of the Blupee ranked higher than the Lord of the Mountain, particularly since his simplicity was what I found the most issue with. But Simplicity isn’t always a negative and I think it really works here. Blupees are tiny and there can be quite a lot of them so the basic design works, with the slight owlish markings on it’s front adding just a nice little bit of detail. The color is still very nice and the face is quite cute when theirs only one of them. The antlers make the design resemble a jackalope which helps with the cryptid feel. Plus they are just really cute. While not #1 on this list, Blupees would certainly rank #1 on “best BotW creature to make into a plushie”.

#5 -The Rito

The decision to make the Rito a staple species in Botw is one I fully support. Adding an air-adjacent species to the water-adjacent Zora, Earth-adjacent Gorons, and (sorta) Fire-adjacent Gerudo just makes sense. I love that the anatomy is absolutely a different species and not just humans with wings. With at least 10 distinctive designs I like that their was an extra effort to make each major character based off a different bird that would highlight aspects of their personality. Kass is a parrot and thus a bard with a big rounded beak that gives him a friendly air, the town elder is a bearded owl because of course he is, and a blue jay is a perfect fit for Revali as an insufferable asshole. The way they use big feathers as “fingers” is a nice compromise to keep the wings looking complete. Overall a lot of them just look very cool. My main complaint is that the “hair” in some of the designs isn’t incorporated super well, they should have stuck with using the feathers to make distinct head shapes rather than trying to emulate human hair.

#4 -Lizalfos

I’m surprised at myself for placing these folk higher than the Rito, but the amount of time I spent facing them in game made them really grow on me. The upgrade from standard lizard to a more chameleon design was a great decision on Nintendo’s part, with the curved back, curly tail, single horn, and those distinctive eyes making for a very memorable monster. The goofy eyes and mouth keep them from looking too intimidating but the way they move and how quick they can be still make them a viable threat. The camouflage ability is also pretty neat and I like all the regional variations. There’s really not anything I dislike about the design, they’re just a few I like more.

#3 -Koroks

This is just peak character design right here. With their tiny rounded tree bodies and silly leaf masks complete with dotted eyes and cut out mouths you immediately understand that these guys are 1-forest spirits and 2-childlike. Their fat little bodies and tiny limbs are both adorable and make you want to help them out. I love that their are so many different leaf designs as each gives off it’s own little personality while still retaining that lighthearted quality. Again this is a simple design, but it conveys everything it needs to. This strikes me as one of the more iconic Zelda designs and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was used as a mascot in future installments.

#2 -The Zora

Look. I get it. I know some people may be tired of the Zora since the internet went crazy for them when the game first came out. Everyone was designing Zora OCs or saying how much they wanted to sleep with Sidon. But. Have you considered. They were Right. Zora’s have been a staple in the Zelda series for a long time now and while the old designs have their charm they’ve never looked better than they do here. The noses have been replaced with head ridges that provide a nice color block between the faces and the adorable head tails, which also provide ‘eyebrow’ esque markings to allow for easier expression without sacrificing the aquatic feel. The fins around the hips serve some extra flair and built in modesty, and having most of the Zora adorn themselves in jewelry but not surely-not-built-for-water fabric is just good world building. The Zora come in more colors then ever before and most are pretty unique shades that are very easy on the eyes. While their isn’t quite as many variants as there are for the Rito, the special shark, whale, and manta ray influenced NPCs are all great and memorable designs. Also they are all huge, which is wonderful. The only thing I would change is to let Mipha have as strong shark influences as her brother. Give me my giant sharp toothed shark girlfriend Nintendo, you cowards!

#1 -Lynel

I went back and forth on the placement of most of the monsters on this list, but there was never any doubt about who the top stop belonged to. There is no comparing the feeling of seeing this thing for the first time, immediately thinking “oh shit” and then promptly getting absolutely wrecked. Intimidating doesn’t even begin to cover this absolutely jacked monstrosity. The pupil-less glowing eyes, big old ram horns, and giant arms all help to make Lynels look as scary as they do, with the lion mane helping to balance out the bottom heavy creature and add some wildness to the design. Lynels are big, sturdy, and have some of the coolest looking weapons in the game. All the variants have pretty good color pallets with the striped ones looking especially nice. I really appreciate the extra detail of giving them scars as well, to help with the seasoned warrior feel .I don’t really know what else to say, Lynels are just cool okay?

Thank you for reading, If you have a favorite BotW monster or think the list should be in a different order, feel free to share your thoughts, I’d love to discuss! :)

#botw #breath of the wild #zelda #monsters #monster design #Monster Rankings #my posts #lord of the mountain #blights #blupees #rito #lizalfos #koroks #zora #lynel #I don't hate Revali btw #But he deserves to be bullied

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shipmistress9 · 6 years ago

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The Last Dragon - 1

Welcome to my latest (and probably utterly ridiculous) AU idea. Let's cover the basics first. This is a Hiccstrid story, so expect fun and fluff, heartbreak and angst. Next, I don't know yet whether this is going to stay T-rated or might get upgraded later on. So just a fair warning that it might get upgraded. And one other thing here: I'm testing out a different way of writing a story. It's much compacter than what I usually write, little more than what I usually write as an outline. You've been warned.

So, on to the main point: The story! This is a 'The Last Unicorn' AU, featuring Hiccup as the last dragon. But to give this all-clear right away: There won't be any bestiality in this story! (If you know the original story then you can guess what happens anyway.)

So... yeah... I hope someone will like it... ^^"

. o O o .

Chapter 1 — where a dragon goes on a journey.

When the hunters left the forest, they didn’t notice the shadow incredulously watching them from behind the trees, drawn in by their voices.

He was the last, the hunters had said. The last Night Fury to roam this world. The last dragon at all. But that couldn't be… could it?

No… there had to be others! Surely they were just hiding from the humans that had become so numerous over the centuries, just like he was hiding too.

Hiccup cocked his black scaly head as his eyes followed the hunters out of his forest, internally laughing at their stupidity. Silly humans, what did they know about dragons? To them, his kind only existed in legends and fairy tales anymore, told around a campfire or to keep children from roaming the woods. Just because they hadn't seen any dragons in the better part of a century? Hah! That was ridiculous.

And yet, the thought refused to fade into oblivion. For days and weeks, Hiccup roamed his forest, just like he had done for all his life, chewing on what the hunters had said.

No more dragons? Was that possible?

After two more moons had passed, Hiccup made a decision. He would leave his forest, for the first time ever, and look for the other dragons. Maybe they had retreated into a far-away hidden land, away from the humans. Maybe they were living in hiding, afraid and cornered. Or maybe they were even captured, waiting for the one that could free them.

In the darkness of night, the Night Fury flew from one village to the other, disguising his appearance as that of a black dog to look for his brothers and sisters or to maybe overhear where they might be. It occurred to him that the humans wouldn't even know if dragons lived among them. If they were hiding their appearance like he was, letting the humans see something they expected to see, then it was no wonder those hunters had thought there were no dragons anymore. Untiring, he wandered on and on, searching the eyes of every animal he saw for that certain spark of intelligence. But there was nothing. Only real dogs, barely tamer than the feral wolves of his forest, cart ponies, and oxen. Once, he met a cat, certainly the most intelligent of all animals he'd seen on his journey so far. But all she could tell him was that he was supposed to ask the Sorcerer. Hiccup laughed at her, then wished her good luck with catching mice and left.

But after another week of fruitless searching, he returned to the cat. Asking her where he could find the Sorcerer could have been embarrassing, but of course, the cat had already forgotten that she'd talked to him before.

“The Sorcerer? The Sorcerer, the Sorcerer, out in the swamps he lives. But beware, beware, you might find more than you are looking for,” she purred in a light sing-song, then continued to lick her paws.

Hiccup was amused by the cat's concern, but he took her advice. It took him three days, searching the vast swampland to the east until he found the odd building, half built onto a tree and covered with moss. To its side, a campfire was burning and a funny-looking old man leant over a book on a table.

“Now, now, big boy,” the funny old man said when Hiccup approached him. “What is a pretty beast like you doing out here in this no man's land?” He patted Hiccup’s head, clearly seeing nothing but the dog disguise.

Hiccup was disappointed. Was this the Sorcerer he’d been looking for? The one who was supposed to be able to help him? This doddery old man wasn’t even able to see him. Apparently, the cat had been stupid after all.

“Father? I’m back. I got the two rabbits you asked for, and even a deer in addition.”

Hiccup and the old man turned their heads into the direction of the voice. There was another human, a girl, carrying a dead deer over her back, a bow slung over her shoulder, and a quiver from which two rabbits hung was attached to her waist.

“Oh, that’ll last us a few days. Or… ah… maybe not. But look, Astrid, we have company. Would you mind getting him a bone and maybe some leftover meat from last night?”

The girl cocked her head and blinked, her long blond braid falling over her shoulder, but didn’t react otherwise and did as her father had told her. Hiccup’s mood fell even further. These humans were just as stupid as all the others he’d met, and certainly not able to help him. Grumbling, he tore into the roasted meat the girl had brought him. He gladly took the food, but would leave right after. The other dragons had to be somewhere!

“This tastes good, doesn’t it?” the girl murmured as she watched him eat. She reached out to pat his head as well, even scratched him behind his ear flaps. That actually felt good, and with a low rumbling deep inside his body, Hiccup leaned into her touch. She chuckled, and let her hand move on, over his neck, around the ridges on his back, and--

“These are really beautiful!” she said, awe filling her voice as her hand glided along his wing.

Wait, what?

Hiccup practically jumped away from her, staring in a bit of a shock, but the girl only chuckled.

“Did you think I couldn’t see what you are?” she asked, mirth gleaming in her eyes. They were blue, he noticed now, like the sky.

[You can see me?] He hadn’t meant for his thoughts to project into her mind, but she nodded in response anyway.

“Yeah, I’m not easily tricked by any magic,” she said, sounding as if there was more behind those words than just a simple statement. “Unlike my father over there. His magic is woven so deeply into his being that he hardly ever can tell reality and magic apart. What does he think you are?”

Bemused, Hiccup projected the picture of a large dog into her mind, making her chuckle again.

“I see. No wonder he instantly wanted to feed you. He adores dogs.”

[Aren’t you afraid of me?] he asked, a little hesitantly. He might not be the biggest of dragons, but he was still big enough to eat her in one meal if he had to. And from what he remembered of his long life in his forest, humans didn’t tend to react well when they saw his true form.

“Should I?” she asked, laughing at her own words and shook her head. “No, I’m not afraid of you. You haven’t eaten us when you had the chance, so I guess you won’t do it now either after we fed you.”

Making a strange snorting sound, Hiccup had to agree with her logic.

“Anyway... I assume there’s a reason you came out here? If you need Father’s magic or advice for whatever reason, then I suggest you wait until he finished his calibrations. He won’t listen to or look at anything else until he’s done. How about you tell me what brought you here instead? I’m curious, you know?” She settled against his side, expectantly looking up.

Hiccup was reluctant at first, not exactly used to talk to anyone. But he had to admit that he was a little fascinated by this courageous girl. Astrid. So, in lack of anything else to do and with renewed hope that these humans might be able to help him after all, he spent the better part of an hour answering her questions. It felt strange to do so but also oddly soothing, sharing his concerns.

Once he was done explaining that he was looking for the other dragons and hoped the Sorcerer could help him, Astrid nodded.

“Yes, I think you did right in coming here. We haven’t seen any dragons in ages either, but somehow, I feel like Father might know something after all.”

Making the old man understand was amusing. It took Astrid quite a while to convince her father that the occasional image of the night-black dragon was actually the truth and not just his wishful thinking. But once the Sorcerer had understood, there was no further delay.

“Oh, for all the lost chicken tows!” he muttered, awe filling his eyes as he finally accepted the truth. “I can hardly believe it. I hadn’t thought to ever see a living dragon again in my life. I thought he had them all.”

At that, Hiccup perked up. [Who has them all?] he asked eagerly, projecting his question for all around him to hear. [Do you know where the other dragons are? Tell me, old man, I need to know!]

So the Sorcerer told him. He told him of Grimmel the Grisly, a dark magician, how he’d, long ago, made it his goal in life to capture and own all dragons. “I and the others of our order tried to stop him, of course,” the Sorcerer said. “But by the time we were ready to face him, he already had quite a number of them captured. You see, he draws power from them. They are all in a cave beneath his castle, bound by a magical crystal that feeds on their strength. Lucky for us, he is content with enjoying his collection and has no desire to conquer the world with his powers.”

[So they really are captured? And nobody ever tried to free them?] There was a spark of anger in Hiccup, confusing him. He wasn’t used to such strong emotions.

“Of course we tried!” the Sorcerer defended himself. “But Grimmel had grown too strong, and we were unable to stand against him. He killed us, one after the other, and by now, I am the last of my order. Just like you are the last of the dragons.”

That silenced Hiccup. [Forgive me. I am sorry you had to pay such a high price for a fight that shouldn’t have been yours.]

The Sorcerer accepted his words, but the girl, Astrid, didn’t seem to be appeased.

“So that’s it?” she exclaimed. “We’re just going to leave it like that, with the dragons captured and that man holding nigh-on-infinite power? What if he learns that there is a dragon missing from his collection? Or what if he decides that he wants to be the only living Magician?”

Her concerns were valid, of course, but then Hiccup hadn’t intended to just let the matter drop anyway. In short order, they decided that they had to try and free the dragons. They didn’t have much of a plan yet, but the Sorcerer was confident that, with the help of a dragon himself, a Night Fury no less, they at least had a chance. Because Night Furies, as every child knew from the old stories, were the strongest and deadliest of all dragons, their princes and kings. He still would probably only be able to hold against Grimmel for a little while. But maybe, ‘a little while’ would be all they needed.

. o O o .

So, that was that. I’m really curious about what you might think about this. So... yeah... Feedback is highly welcome! :D

#Hiccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #'The Last Unicorn' AU #The Last Dragon #Romance #Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Fluff #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Fluff #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #Hiccup and Astrid #Hiccup is a dragon #NO bestiality!

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livingdarwinaward · 7 years ago

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In the city that doesn’t exist

Chapter 3: Defying a principle that doesn’t apply

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Still based off of @givethispromptatry‘s prompt

---------------------------------------------

Living in the cloud sector back at home had prepared me to navigate in areas where buildings and streets shifted occasionally. Clouds are changeable after all, but it turns out half-reality is even more so. Seriously. Last ‘night,’ the ladder to the cloud sector had anchored at a towering ridge with a view of pretty much everywhere in the Hub and very close to the ocean sector, but now it was anchored on a wide arch of rock connecting the massive spire the Keep was carved from to a nearby peak. (And I say ‘spire’ because it’s usually freestanding) with the ocean sector nowhere in sight.

It took me a while to get to the ocean sector, but I managed, and once I found it, Morgan’s bar was easy to find. At the counter, Megan was talking to a young man about his sister, and I realized this was the man whose sister had disappeared. Megan say me and said, “Hey, Fern!” then turned back to the man. “Hey, why don’t you tell Fern what you told me?”

“About what Ammy found?”

“Yeah, she’s doing a project, and it this might be useful for her.”

“Oh, cool.” He turned to me. “So my sister, Ammy, went missing yesterday, but apparently she was just exploring the city and lost track of time. We found her, thankfully, and she said she found this weird place on the very edge of the city. The whole area was weird, she said. She told me it was like what she thought a junkyard-- like in some of the worlds-- looks like, but the stuff in it was really odd, and looked kind of valuable. And she told me there was a weird feeling about the place, that it seemed… I think she meant it felt less real than the rest of the Hub, but it was hard to figure out what she meant, and I’m not quite knew what she was trying to explain.” He looked around, focusing on the pool game going on across the room. “Now, I don’t know if that’s useful to you, so…” he trailed off.

“Sounds like it could be, and I’d like to check out this place. Where exactly is it?”

“Um, it’s in the cave sector, near where Jason’s Smithy used to be. That’s all the detail I got.” He got up to leave. “So, I have to go to work now. Good luck on your project!”

“Well--” I turned to Megan “--there’s a few problems with those directions,” I started. “One: I don’t know much about the cave sector even in Arel, ‘cause I’m storm fae and obviously try to avoid being underground; and two: I couldn’t find where Jason’s Smithy used to be even if the Hub didn’t keep shifting, and it does.” I paused. “Seriously, how do you find your way around? Even though the clouds move in Arel, there’s reality to make how they move makes some sort of sense, but here everything moves with no rhyme or reason.”

Megan chuckled. “If you live here, you don’t even notice the shifts, we just keep going as if the city never changed at all. I can give you a map, but once you get underground, you may have trouble telling what level you’re on.”

“Well, a map is better than nothing,” I said. “I learned how to read the different levels written on a map, I can try to find them here.”

“Alright,” Megan said. “Just remember, should the city shift while you’re on the way, the map’ll change to match, but you may end up in a totally different area away from your route, and anything I write on the map will probably not change with it.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Naturally, the city shifted. “Fuck.” The route Megan had indicated now led through walls, mountains, and into nothingness. I was warned, I thought. Still a pain in the ass. I went to a nearby man to ask: “Could you show me where Jason’s Smithy used to be?”

The man’s head snapped up, and he looked absolutely terrified when he looked around. “Where am I?” He was clearly freaking out. “Am I sleepwalking? I was just having a dream-- wait, I don’t- I don’t recognize this place… Where am I?”

“You’re in the Hub,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “If you want to get back to a world, you’ll probably need to go to the, uhh,” shit, what’d Morgan call it? “The Directory.” I paused. The man had seemed to know his way around, but when I’d talked to him, he’d not known a thing. “Do you know how to get to the Directory?”

The man shook his head.

“Shit.” I looked around and saw a group of kids coming toward us.

“Do you need help?” one asked, looking between us. “We can take you to the Directory.”

“That’s where he needs to go.” I nodded at the confused man. “But I’m trying to find something in the cave sector.

One boy stepped forward. “I know the cave sector really well, I’ll take you there.” He started walking opposite to my previous direction. “What are you looking for?”

“It’s a place like-- have you heard of junkyards? Like in some worlds?”

“Oh! I think I know that place, I found it with some friends yesterday. It was so weird-- it felt wrong somehow. It was interesting though. We thought we were in there for, like, half an hour, but but we left and our families were going crazy looking for us ‘cause we’d been gone for hours. But you can’t blame us, all the stuff was so interesting, ya know?”

“Never had that much of a difference between-- holy shit…” We’d entered the cave sector, which I’d been in once before (in Arel) and hadn’t much liked it, but this version was much better. The gloom wasn’t nearly as oppressive here, but that was probably because before, I’d been in a relatively small passageway the size of a street with a twenty foot ceiling, and this was a massive cavern hundreds of feet high, and hundreds of yards across. Freestanding buildings made of stone and brick created a ring around the marketplace we were walking through, and luminous things-- animals, plants, rocks and crystals, and slime covering the stalactites-- were everywhere, lighting up the cavern well, but casting deep shadows that emphasized everything, and the details of the many different building styles were obvious. The haze was, for some reason, less obvious here, allowing me to easily see the different styles, from modern and sleek to ancient and intricate, and the colors, while still muted, were not muted as much. I could also see that the cave walls were crisscrossed with ramps and stairs and pocked with smaller caverns and hollows. Stalactites, stalagmites, and columns were often hollowed and carved into houses and shops and things, and covered in as many murals as the rest of the buildings in the cave. My guide led me through a less crowded area and I saw mosaics all over the floor, showing, like many murals, scenes from the worlds, most about Arel. The crowds soon thickened again, and I looked up, seeing the floating boulders covered in all manner of cave-dwelling plants and fungi, colorful or in shades of black and grey, some glowing, flowering or creeping, others carnivorous, with tendrils reaching and swaying for the bats and other flying things.

The boy-- “Hey,” I said, “what’s your name?”

“Leo,” he replied. “What’s yours?”

“Fern.”

The boy-- Leo-- nodded at that and led me through a massive stone arch and into an even larger cavern, open at the top. A small forest of surface plants grew all over a large pile of rocks in the middle of the cavern, and over that swayed foot bridges crisscrossing the cavern. Leo led me in before pausing.

“This may sound weird, but I don’t know where to go from here. Could I see your map?” he asked.

“I should be able to find it…” he muttered as we looked at the map.

“Is it not on there?”

“No, and that’s weird.” Leo’s eyes flicked over the map. “I think… follow me,” he said, giving me the map. He turned around, the chose a passage near us, stairs sloping down into a lower level. A lot of stairs. About a hundred steps down, the passage opened up into a huge cavern with an incredibly uneven floor hundreds of feet below. When we got to the bottom, I saw that the rock formations were actually small canyons caused by subterranean streams. The walls of the canyons were hollowed out, and between were canals, not streets. People walked on the roofs and crossed bridges, and we did the same to get to the lower end of the cavern, where Leo took a small boat from a large dock. One more level down,” he told me as I got in the boat with him. Then he grinned at me. “Hold on.”

He released the boat and it left the dock, gathering speed as it entered a steep tunnel until we were rocketing along, somehow following the course of the water without slamming into the walls. At the bottom, we ended in an underground lake with stalagmites jutting out from the bottom and into the air with houses built on top as if they were stilts. Boats, rafts, and houseboats dotted the water and, again, footbridges crossed all over. We got onto a path hugging the cavern wall, before going into a tunnel in the wall, rooms and apartments and stores and such hollowed out of the walls, resembling the part of the cave sector I’d been in in Arel.

Ten minutes later, we were in another, higher cavern with shallow streams crossing the floor and flowing into holes in the wall, presumably to end up in the lake. This cavern was smaller than the others, but still took a while to cross. Once we did, Leo led me to a tiny hole in the wall. “I had a feeling about this cavern, then followed the weird feeling from there,” he said.

“So this is it?”

“It should be, feels about the same. But it’s still not on the map though, so I’m confused.” He pointed to a section of the map. “See, here’s the dinner place here--” he waved at the hollow next to us with a sign saying: ‘Closed ‘till dinner.’ “--and here’s the light shop.” He pointed at a point on the map and the hollow across the hole from us. He kept staring at the map and said, “You go in, I’ll try to figure this out.”

I nodded, then turned to the little hole. “Gods I hate small spaces.” I squirmed into the hole and started shuffling down the tiny passage. I was so focused on that weird feeling Leo had mentioned that it took me a bit to notice other details, like how the feeling of being crushed (I knew I wasn’t, but I live in the sky, being underground makes me hyper-aware of the many hundreds of tons of rock over my head) wasn’t even as strong as in the open cavern outside. It seemed backwards, until I remembered that feeling had been reduced by being in half-reality. Am I going even further into the Rift? Another thing: as I shuffled along in my half-crouch, my feet sank into the rock. Is it even rock? Looking down (and I shouldn’t have been able to see squat, there was no light source, but I could) it was clearly rock.

The passage widened out into a cavern filled with all sorts of things. Books, money, weapons, treasures, technology, almost all magical (that feeling is pretty noticeable once you learn it) filled the room wall to wall. I couldn’t tell if the walls were further than they looked, or if they were just hazy as all get-out. The haze that filled the city was even more obvious here, and combined with odd colors, movements and the apparent disintegration that never seemed to affect things (all more prevalent here) made it very hard to see.

I started sifting through the massive heaps of stuff, not sure what I was looking for or what evidence of something going on would look like, but pretty sure something was going on. This is clearly further in the Rift than the rest of the city, I thought as I looked through a pile of books in languages I couldn’t read, or even recognize. And I bet this stuff is from all sorts of different worlds, too. This place isn’t on the map, so I don’t think it should be here. I sat back on my heels, looked around, and realized my eyes must be getting used to the oddness of the place-- I could see almost as well as in the rest of the city. Huh. I had wished to be able to see better, but hadn’t expected to adjust as fast as I did. Maybe it’s a robber’s hoard. I looked down at the book in my hand again. It’s a spellbook, I realized. What the hell is ‘elixir of firetree? Wait-- how am I even reading this? The book was in a language I’d never seen before, but I was reading it. I decided to get out of there, ‘cause it was messing with my mind. I’ll bring some stuff out, to see what anyone knows about it.

Out of the cavern with a few books in hand, I looked at Leo. he looked amused. “Guess you didn’t think it was interesting,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you weren’t in there for very long. Find some books?”

“I was in there for hours, Leo.” I shifted the books to my left arm. “But yes, I-- wait.”

“What?”

“I can see as clearly as if I were in a world,” I said. “That’s never happened before.”

Leo looked at me. “Your eyes are different. Paler. Like, white now. It’s actually kinda creepy.”

“Hang on, lemme check something.” I went back to the tiny cave, shuffling down. It took me about a minute to get to the bottom. Once in the cavern, I could see pretty well compared to how it was before, roughly how the city had appeared when I had first arrived. The cavern was different though.

I’m talking about the dragon. At least, I think it was a dragon, definitely a Rift beast, shaped vaguely like a dragon, but hard to see. Pretty loud, though.

“TINY TRESPASSER!” it boomed. “GIVE BACK WHAT YOU STOLE AND I MAY LET YOU LIVE!”

“Dropping the books!” I yelled before doing so and bailing.

As soon as I made it out of the tunnel, Leo asked: “How long does it take to check something? I mean, you’ve been down there for hours!”

I caught my breath. “A minute to get down there, thirty seconds to freak out about the dragon, and another thirty seconds to bail out. What do you mean, hours?”

“Yeah, hours on this end, look, the dinner place is open now. Wait, hang on-- dragon?”

“Yeah, giant fucking dragon.”

#writing #my writing #in the city that doesn't exist #original #givethispromptatry #fantasy

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arindadiaha-blog · 7 years ago

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The Jambi Diaries: My Two-Month Stay in the Village of Pendung Talang Genting

Part 1

The sound of shrieking children and popular music accompany me as I write cross-legged in the room that I share with my four roommates. They are all on their backs, all wrapped in blankets while trying to fall asleep on a mat that separates us only centimeters from the floor. Two of them are on their phones, and two are tossing and turning as nobody is used to sleeping on a mat so thin.

I look around at what seems like a small room.

On adjacent sides, more than half a dozen suitcases and backpacks are lined neatly against the wall, all filled with things we’d need for the upcoming months. Our luggage also serves as an insulator against the night chill that no one has figured out how to beat yet. The sound of dripping water coming from the small bathroom inside the room only adds to the nightly orchestra, along with the clicking coming from my keyboard.

It is nearly midnight, but no one seems ready for bed. Rushed footsteps and the occasional laughter only increases the volume of noise in the house. It seems like the TV is on, and someone has just scored an important goal. Two of my other housemates are probably smoking outside with a cup of coffee placed beside their knee, casually talking on the phone to a different person every few minutes. The front door opens and closes, indicating someone has just entered or exited. With a steady stream of people constantly coming in and out, it is never quiet weather day and night at Posko 1.

It will be Eid soon, which is why the children are still awake at this late of hour, and everyone is either fussing about what they’re going to wear or how much they need to cook for the incoming guests in two days. I look forward towards the feast that will take place when Eid arrives. Even though I am still getting used to the food served at this certain area, I am already enjoying the rich and spicy flavors of Sumatran cuisine. I look at the new clothes that we bought several days ago in town especially for the occasion. Though unwashed, they are a pristine shade of white, and hang neatly on the railings of the curtain. As we do every night, my four roommates and I lock the door shut to block out the excessive noise and surprise visitors; we can only tolerate the sudden entrances and constant attention-seeking by the children for so long. Besides, sleep is necessary when you need to get up in a few hours for suhoor, or the pre-dawn meal before the obligatory fast during Ramadhan.

It seems like a rather hectic situation, but I smile at the thought of how fortunate I am to be here tonight.

As a third-year student enrolled in Universitas Gadjah Mada, I am currently taking part in a compulsory three-credit course where students from the various faculties in the university get together and create a program that could be implemented the less developed areas of Indonesia. Although negativities emerged from the student body on program fees and aims, I was actually looking forward towards meeting people from the other parts of my country, getting to know how they lived and the cultural ties they are bound to, and actually having the chance to contribute to society through our program. After countless changes in group arrangements, and many interviews and negotiations, I finally landed myself in a team of thirty around one month before the course started, and flew over to the island of Sumatra during the second week of June to take part in a program that has made my university famous.

It would be a lie if I said I was excited when we went. I was off with 29 people that I had never met before; all from different majors and all with the most diverse of personalities. I would be living with them for the next two months, and I often worried about us getting along. We’d only met a handful of times before we were due to fly, and I felt like I didn’t know them enough to be able to show them my true self yet. I highly considered a friend’s offer to join her group, where I’d at least know someone and would know my way around much faster. I also considered the fact that going to Sumatra would also mean I wouldn’t be able to spend the holidays with my family. But, after much deliberation and many convincing arguments from many different parties (and yes, quite a bit of tears, too), I decided to leave all the comforts I had known up until now and waded into the deep jungles of whatever awaited for me in Sumatra.

My team and I had to take two flights to get to the island. While the plane ride was nice, everyone was mentally preparing for the ten hour car ride we’d have to go through in the coming hours. Sumatra is famous for its unpaved roads and sudden twists and turns. Accidents were daily occurrences, and drivers were labeled as either insane or brave as they’re known to steer with a combination of speed and stubbornness. Though we’d be traveling at nighttime, there’s never any guarantee of what the road was like ahead; and no guarantee that anyone wouldn’t get carsick. But all my worries went out the window as soon as we arrived at the village in one piece. As I stepped off the car, I took a look at the surroundings that were to be my home for the next couple of months.

Like one would expect of a village, the place was relatively quiet, save for the slight commotion coming from the arrival of our team. I took a deep breath and smiled at how clean the air was. The chill that seeped through my denim jacket made me realize that the temperature was much cooler than anyone had expected. I shifted my gaze towards the houses on each side of the road. It seemed like they were newly built; shiny, clean, and decorated with the latest ceramics. If you turned southwest, you would be met with a breathtaking view of Kerinci Lake and the grand hills that surround it. On a sunny day, the lake would be a rich shade of blue, and the ridges of the hills would appear to show us the ripples of forests that still continue to exist in an island known for palm oil plantations.

We were welcomed by the Head of the Village and his family, and were introduced to the customs and ways of Pendung Talang Genting, or Pentagen, as the village is affectionately known. I noticed that though the Head had chairs in his house, everyone sat cross-legged on the floor together. After a few words from our supervising professor and head of unit, we got down to business.

Since the village population is 100% Muslim, the first village rule laid down upon us was that all girls over the age of ten must wear a veil when going outside of their homes. In places far away from Pentagen, rules such as the one mentioned would’ve immediately caused an uproar within society, and only feeding into the notion that when Muslim women cover their heads, it is not by their own choice. The regulation would’ve also been considered controversial as it applied to all females, from Muslim girls who do not currently wear a veil to non-Muslim women who would probably never wear one in their entire lives. A dress code also applies to men and boys. Covering their legs are also a must for men when they are outside of their homes. Pants, jeans, and sarongs are allowed, but shorts are for when you are inside the house. Any violation of the dress code will be addressed by the religious police force.

It does seem slightly extreme for someone who is used to a completely different way of life in terms of daily habits, dressing, and religious values in a deeper sense, but I figured that was where the authenticity was - where the heart of the program is. If we were to become one with society, then it was what we must do to achieve a sense of what the community was like. Since the regulations are actually a village law with constitutions, I prepared myself by thinking why don’t we give this a try and see what happens?

The Head of the Village also addressed the manner of how we were to sit in the presence of others during gatherings, since members of the team are also to attend the weekly pengajian on Fridays. We were not to stretch or fold our knees to our chins in front of others, for it is considered improper. Women must wear long skirts to these gatherings, and the men sarongs. Despite the nit-picky details the village regulations addressed, we were encouraged to blend in and be a member of the community by attending these gatherings, greeting villagers as we pass them by on the streets, or simply go to a neighbor’s house just for the sake of it.

After hours of introduction and small talk, we were finally divided into groups of ten to meet our host families and settle into our new homes. I was placed in Posko 1, the house nearest to the Head Villager’s and closest to the lake. When we arrived with our luggage trailing behind us, we were greeted by a family of four.

Their house was large and clean, with a homely design. On the front were iron gates that were as tall as an average person. The outside walls of the house seemed freshly painted and the ceramic floors shiny to a fault. We found out a short while later that the house was equipped with running water and electricity. The kitchen had a complete set of cooking utensils, and the three bathrooms were completed with a tiled bathtub and squat toilet.

I had not expected my homestay to be so modern.

At the door, there was Mother, or Emak, as we called her, who seemed very happy to have ten additional children for the next two months; Father, or Bapak, who greeted us with a friendly manner, but then excused himself to go to the lake to fish for lake clams before the sun sets; Mudia, the eldest daughter, who politely shook each and every one of our hands in greeting, and her younger sister, Naura, who seemed shy at first but showed her true colors not long after she learned our names. I liked my new family immediately, but I was exhausted and wanted to rest. Emak told us since there was only one guest room, the girls would occupy it, while the boys would stay in the living room. Because the family didn’t have ten mattresses, we were to sleep on the floor with tikars and mats. They provided us with pillows and got the room ready before our arrival. After we hauled our luggage in, we took our first baths in two days. Later, we sat in a circle on the floor while we broke fast together with a rich mix of rice, surprisingly non-spicy balado, and potato gulai. We settled into our new beds after our stomachs were full and we had completed our nightly prayers. I was relieved that I was finally able to turn off the lights, and put my head down to rest on a pillow for the first time since I had waved goodbye to my parents in Yogyakarta.

As I think about it, one could consider my journey so far to be exhausting, but I never seemed to mind the long hours or have my body tire as I take in each event little by little. I enjoyed getting to know the members of my team and my housemates, who turned out to be quite hilarious in their own way. We have already established a treasury, scheduled clean-up shifts, and a wake-up system two days into the program.

I have come towards the end of another night, and the noise suddenly subsides. The TV is turned off, and I am sure that the children have either gone to another house or are too tired to play anymore tonight. My roommates have all gone to sleep, and it seems I am the only one awake in the house at this hour. I rub my lower back. As much as I wanted to rest, I couldn’t imagine how it could support me anymore when I am lying down. We’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, and my backache from sleeping on the floor is becoming a problem. The cold is something that I worry about as well. I had only brought a thin jarit as my blanket, and barely made it through the first night due to the chill. So now I share a blanket with my friend, Ria. She has been kind enough to not let me freeze in my sleep, but I am thinking of alternatives as I don’t think that the blanket would be able to keep the both of us warm for an extensive period of time. The dripping water has decreased in noise, and the room feels somewhat peaceful. I quickly look at the time on the bottom right side of my laptop. It is late, and suhoor starts in four hours. I must sleep and rest as much as I can before we start the day again; where Emak would wake us up and have us eat before the sun rises, and to do what we came to Jambi for: subserve.

Oh, and also, I’m on clean-up duty tomorrow.

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alicescripts · 8 years ago

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Part 2, Chapter 2: Mouth of the Water

First the dogs will bark. They’ll know before any of us. Then I will have six to fifteen minutes.

I’ve been taking long walks on this coast, just north of the Oregon border. Bald eagles, actual bald eagles, sitting on a wide sandy beach, and I’m the only one here to see it. I can’t see anyone else in either direction. Waves repeating themselves at the tideline, clouds of birds fluttering up and resetting. 10 to 30 seconds after the dogs start barking, the ground will shake. 6 to 15 minutes later, the tsunami will come.

An earthquake is due here, and afterward the tsunami inevitable. If I began running when the dogs started barking, could I make it to the grassy dunes and up to the hills?

No. I can see the root, can make any plan I want, but I couldn’t outrun the wave. Six to fifteen minutes after the dogs started barking I would die. That’s what would happen.

No one in sight in any direction. Birds at the tideline, actual fucking bald eagles.

I finished my walk still alive. When what’s coming for me finally comes, there will be no warning.

[theme song]

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole, produced by Disparition.

Cape Disappointment. As picturesque piece of land as you’re going to find in this world. Northwest forest overlooking the point where the gray ocean, all froth and wave, and the mouth of the Columbia River, tranquil and turquoise, meet. A dangerous place for boats. Up on the cliffs above, the coast guard keep constant watch from a lighthouse.

I went up there, stood near their lookout. A panorama where so many have floundered, so many have died. But for now, just a beautiful view of the ocean.

The coast guard officer came out of the station, stood next to me in the railing. She closed her eyes, let the wind sweeping in off the river and the wind coming down the coast fight with each other in her hair. She was beautiful, is maybe why I talked to her. Or maybe it had been a long time since I talked to anyone except myself. Monologues broadcast to a wife who is out fighting a fight that I’m still trying to understand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the boats?” I said. I meant it like a joke, but I think it came out like a reprimand. She opened her eyes, glanced at me. “No traffic right now,” she said. “I think it’ll be safe for me to take a second of fresh air, but don’t tell my bosses down the hill. They have different ideas about safety.”

“[chuckles] Always do, I said. I’m Keisha.”

“Laurel.”

“Not Officer something?” I asked.

“[scoffs] Yeah, Officer Something,” she said. “But for you, Laurel.”

A pressure in my chest that could have been pain or could have been laughter. It had been so long since I had flirted, or felt the fleeting pleasure of the five-minute crush. “What about that boat there?” I said. “Seems like you’re derelicting your duties, Laurel.”

There was a boat, medium-sized, tiny in comparison to the mighty cargo ships that come and go through this passage. It was painted black and sitting motionless near the mouth of the river. As soon as I pointed it out, I wished I hadn’t. There was a wrongness to it that didn’t belong to a spring afternoon’s flirtation.

Laurel didn’t look at the boat or at me. Any friendliness that had been in her face, or that I had imagined in her face, was gone.“I’m not supposed to talk while on duty, Ma’am,” she said. “Excuse me.” She went back into the station, slamming the door. [chuckle] I haven’t lost my touch, Alice!

We have a problem as a society. Our goal is efficiency, but the result of efficiency by definition is that it takes less work to get things done. And less work to get things done means there is less work to do. If there is less work, there are less jobs. Progress destroys jobs.

Another result of efficiency is an explosion in population. The easier things get, the less of us die. More and more of us, less and less jobs.

This place was named by a fur trader who stopped here and failed to discover the Columbia River around the corner. And so this little piece of coast line heaven is Cape Disappointment. There’s this one beach on an inlet tucked away from the main trail. I had to go down a path that was more a controlled fall than path. The water was shallow and clear, the sharp blue of a tropical sea in a postcard. There were people living in tents on that semi-hidden beach. I watched them play with their dogs. The dogs swam way out into the inlet. I wanted to swim too but the water, for all its tropical appearance, was freezing.

When I went back to where I had parked, a buck came out of the woods and crossed the road right in front of me. Slow, leisurely, unafraid. Later I went up north a bit, to a place that billed itself as a free museum, but was more of a gift shop with some stuff stuck to its walls. Jackalopes and two-headed calves and the like. Old coin-operated stuff. A coin-operated execution. You put in your quarter and the minute your castle doors opened, a priest read last rites, the prisoner was hung, and a black flag rose over the castle walls. I paid to see it twice.

They had a body they built as an alligator man. I think it’s an actual corpse’s head stuck on the body of an alligator which is… Well, it’s something. They had it in a glass case, next to a T-shirt rack. For a quarter I could get a penny smashed with its image. I didn’t.

I bought a Piña Colada flavored saltwater taffy. While I was buying it, I asked the guy behind the counter about the boat I had seen. I don’t know why, but the reaction of Laurel made me curious. He frowned. “Not many people ask about that boat,” he said. “Tourists don’t stick around long enough to notice it. Locals know enough not to talk about it. That’ll be 3.99.” “Why don’t locals talk about it?” I asked. What, I was gonna be friends with this guy? Either he’d tell me or he wouldn’t. He looked past me to the next customer. [monotonous voice] “It’s been in the same spot for three decades now,” he said. “Don’t seem to be anchored, just unaffected by currents. Holds its position. No one is ever seen onboard. People who ask questions about it learn that they shouldn’t. I need to help the next person in life.” “OK,” I said, wondering why I had bought saltwater taffy. The taste is disappointing, the texture’s garbage. “Thanks!” and I left the free museum with my four-dollar shitty candy.

Down the street was an arcade called Fun Land, but I took to pronouncing it Funland, like Iceland. I spent an afternoon playing skee ball. I’m looking for a vacation from this endless search for answers, and here on a sliver of land on the coast of Washington, I think I’ve found it. Can’t last long though. I can’t live forever in Funland. I can’t live forever period.

Humanity’s drive toward betterment has resulted in two things: more people and less jobs. None of our choices were wrong, exactly. Each was made with good intentions, hell maybe every choice was correct. The problem wasn’t the choices but the values. Survival is no longer a value, because survival has become easy. It used to be old people were revered, because they had outrun death longer than anyone else. Now old people are just the ones who waited around too long. Anyone can become an old person with a little luck. It’s not a collapse of morals that has diminished our respect for the elderly. It’s an inevitable response to the changing meaning of age.

I ate Indian food down in Astoria, a lunch buffet. As I was eating, a woman came in looking for me. I didn’t recognize her at first out of uniform, but it was Laurel. She sat across from me. I felt the faint pang of a passing afternoon’s crush. Without a greeting, she held out her phone to me. A photo of a middle-aged man, bushy silver mustache, arm in arm with a teenage boy. “That’s my brother Bobby,” Laurel said. “And that’s his son, my nephew Evan.” “Ah, OK,” I said. This seemed like a strange conversation, but I lost my ability to judge strangeness somewhere around Texas. “Bobby was obsessed with the black boat,” she said. “Spent hours watching it, said he never saw anything on board, then one day he did.” “What did he see?” I asked. “Wouldn’t tell anyone. Rented a kayak in Navy Heights and went out into the mouth of the river. Said he had no choice and he had to get to that boat. Wouldn’t listen to anyone telling him different, wouldn’t let anyone come with him. We lost sight of his kayak - don’t know how, it was broad daylight. There and then gone. Never found any kind of body.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is a country of the vanished, of the missing. We’ve got a lot of space to put them, I guess. Then his kid Evan, he gets obsessed with the idea that the black boat took his father somehow. We tried to get him interested in other things, put him through therapy, stuff like that but it doesn’t take. The answer to his pain is in that boat, and so he goes to the same place as his father, rents the same kind of kayak, takes the same kind of journey.” I knew the ending to the story. “How long has he been missing? “I asked. “It was a year three weeks ago,” she said. “You seem like a nice woman. Hm. Maybe in a different life, you know? Maybe in a kinder world, but I like you enough to tell you this: forget you ever saw the black boat. Never ask about it again, it’s not a mystery to solve. It’s a depth to drown in.” She held my eyes for a moment more and then left me to my lunch, which I had no more appetite for. That all you can eat buffet got a good deal on me.

I knew exactly what that black boat was. A supernatural oddity stealing innocent people? It was a Thistle boat. There were Thistle men onboard. And so tired, lost me, I would have to stop them.

Out to Cape Disappointment with binoculars from the truck. Went up on a ridge above the trail to the lighthouse and I looked out at the Thistle boat. I knew what I would see. Sagging face, yellow teeth, yellow hat, “Thistle”. The boat had no name, no markings. Every surface was painted black. I watched for a long while, but there was no movement on the deck, nothing in the windows. It seemed truly abandoned except that it stayed in position against the current. I put down the binoculars considering my next move.

And that’s when I noticed something on the deck, even with my naked eyes from this distance. Dots of various colors. They hadn’t been there a moment ago. I looked back through the binoculars. The entire deck was covered in people. They were all facing me, looking right back at me through the lenses. I was too far away for anyone to see me against the hillside. They saw me.

They weren’t Thistle men. They were people. Women, men, mouths open, dull eyes. Some of them are dressed in clothes that could only have been worn without irony in the 80’s. others wearing clothes that could have been worn without vintage cool in the 70’s. there was a man with a bushy silver mustache. I could taste the horror on my gum line. Bobby, slack-jawed. Bobby, staring. And a gangly teenager, Evan, across the deck from Bobby. Nowhere near him, same expression. Both staring back at me as I stared at them.

I put the binoculars away. I stepped back down onto the trail and descended toward the parking lot. This was not a Thistle boat. That’s not what Thistle does to people. This is some other horror, unrelated to whatever I’ve been chasing.

I have enough terror in my life. I can’t add more. [scoffs] A boat that eats people. It will have to be a story without me. I am leaving.

Since we no longer value survival and age, we need some other way to rank people. Because we need that, we need some people to be worth more than others. We have many ways to do that, but here’s one: we value wealth. The ones who own more are better. Not for any reason, just because. And since theoretically but rarely actually in practice, the way toward owning more is work, work has become a measure of someone’s value, second only to money. A lazy rich person is better than a poor person with a good job, but a poor person with a job is better than a poor person without a job. Ranked first by wealth, then by worth. And so that is the situation. There are more of us, there are less jobs, and we value people by whether they have a job or not.

What happens when you have a world where it is impossible for people to create value for themselves in the eyes of society? What happens when we judge people for the inevitable outcome of our collective actions? I don’t know. But together we’re finding out.

Driving back over to Astoria. The long bridge across the mouth of the Columbia River. Starting out it’s a causeway right on the water. Seagulls flying overhead, riding the same wind that’s nudging my trailer toward tragedy. Once you drive out under the bridge, you can’t turn around for four miles until you’re back on land. Which is fine, which is normal. But also I feel the anxiety. Being trapped on a course, no alternatives except the disaster of water. The bridge rises steeply, creating a section that the cargo ships can pass under. This is uncomfortable in a truck this size, the engine roaring against the weight behind it. And now break lights. We’re stopping. Construction, traffic going in one way only, we have to wait our turn.

I’m on a slope so steep that I’m looking at clouds in order to see the car in front of me. It’s less that they’re in front of me and more that they’re suspended above me. [sighs] Breathe. Your anxiety does not change your circumstances. You can get as anxious as you want, the world will stay the same. [breathes deeply] It doesn’t help that just the turn of the head puts the black boat in my view. No one on board again, those empty faces gone. Or not gone, but not visible to me. I must always remember that not visible to me and not in existence are not the same thing. That would be a good thing for all of us to remember, I guess.

Here’s a cargo ship coming. Modern, a tiny control center dwarfed by the vast expanse it controls. The kind of ship that crosses oceans. Huh. The ship is gonna pass really close to the black boat. It might even.. that’s gonna be a near one. It’s going to.. oh my god, hold on.

I’m on the highway to Portland now. Logging depots, gas stations with stalls outside selling fresh fruit picked nearby. The great cargo ship collided with the black boat. I gout out of the truck, went to the side of the bridge to watch. A lot of people did. We were stopped anyway. We were standing on this steep slope that swayed with the wind and jittered with the movement of traffic in the other direction. Flimsy, like we were all perched on the thinnest branch at the top of the tallest tree. I covered my mouth, anxiety kindling into horror.

The ship didn’t slow. Didn’t see the other boat maybe? Or-or a miscalculation, an error? God knows there are plenty of those.

The ship cut through the center of the black boat and the black boat turned up on its side and then tore in half. The force must have made a gash in the hull of the larger ship because it sagged forward in the water, like a person falling to her knees, and then listed sideways. This might have taken a while. We all may have stood there a long while. One of the containers on the bigger ship wasn’t secured correctly. It toppled off the deck. The black boat settled under the water, a slow disappearing act. I never saw anyone on board the entire time.

The police got us back into our vehicles, got traffic moving. Coast guard boats rashed to the collision, rescued the crew of the bigger ship, but there was no sign of anyone from the other boat. They reported that initial sweeps found no sign of its wreckage under the water. I don’t suspect they’ll ever find that wreckage. I don’t suspect they’ll look too hard.

There once was a black boat on a wide blue river. The only people onboard were the people who had asked the dangerous question. And one day, it sunk and was never seen again. It’s a simple story, a story with no ending. The kind of story that happens every day in this country.

Vacation over, I guess. Back to asking my own dangerous questions. Back to receiving my own dangerous answers.

-- Knock knock. [left speaker] Who’s there? [right speaker] No one. [left] No one who? [right] No, no one is here. It’s been quiet out here for a long time. Once there were people, I think but they moved on. Why haven’t you moved on? [left] If no one’s here then who is talking? [right] No one is. [left] No one’s talking? [right] Yes. [left] OK. [right] OK. [left] I love you. [right] I know.

#alice isn't dead #alice isn't dead transcripts #part 2 episode 2 #mouth of the water #sorry i'm a bit late with this #i've had a busy day

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ridingtherockyroad · 7 years ago

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Day Two

We wake to find ourselves in a beautiful spot high in the mountains, long views out between pine trees. The sun is shining. The young dogs are friendly. One keeps stealing our gloves.

The owner won’t fill our water bottles, insisting we fill them from the water pipe by the car park, fed directly from a mountain stream. It is cold and tastes noticeably clean and pure.

We leave earlier than yesterday. Cycling back where we came from along the top of a ridge with views to either side lit by the low sun. The shepherds are tending their flocks, kept safe for the night in wooden pens.

Then the descent starts, fast, on good tarmac, long wide turns through the pine trees. This is fun.

Into the plain, where we cycle through picturesque Saxon villages. Silviu explains that even though many of the Saxons have gone, the buildings are still built in the traditional style. Walls around the outside (for defence), a big gate to bring in the haycart, and all life in the courtyard within.

It’s flat and we cycle together through the pretty and quiet villages. The simple life does not have to be one without beauty.

There are storks nesting on lampposts and chimney stacks. It’s quite Germanic.

A coffee stop for no reason other than it is the last place for while. We watch the world go by. Older women in headscarves – often worn under a hat. Older men in hats. One chap in a fabulous brimless dome perched on his head – a Clop – typical for a shepherd in the Sibiu region.

On we go following the valley, which slowly transforms itself into the first climb of the day. 500m at 5-6%. Comfortable, but long. We are rewarded by great views and benches to enjoy them from. We can see a large sweep of the Carpathian mountains that form a C around Romania. The Fagaras mountains we climbed yesterday are part of the range. Our next real challenge is the Transalpina, a long road that – as its name suggests – crosses the ‘Romanian Alps’ (the Carpathians by another name.)

Richard isn’t feeling well – the latte was a mistake.

We follow a ridge – staying high for a while.

The greens! The meadows are full of spring flowers, but it’s the grass that’s remarkable. Lush rich green. Silviu had advised us that this is not a weather-sure time of year. Luckily we seem to have hit a pocket of fine weather between the storms. The reward is a vibrant and verdant landscape.

We pass horses roaming wild, with foals lying in the sun. Shining metal rooved churches – everyone crosses themselves when they walk past. Everyone, young and old.

Animals we’ve seen by the side of the road: cows, horses, donkeys, sheep, a toad, a fox, a snake, a mouse. But no bears. Yet!

As I struggle up a hill in the town of Jina, a gypsy boy asks me for a cigarette.

As we descend, there are some beautiful painted crosses in wooden shelters and a spectacular mural of saints by a pipe flowing with spring water – it would be rude not to fill up the bidons here. Further down, we find a little paradise – a family home, with neatly ordered vegetable gardens and square – almost oriental ponds – full of fish. We buy some lettuce from them and marvel at their eden.

At the bottom of the big climb of the day, we meet Sebastian for a picnic lunch. He has brought an extraordinary array of food, much of it home made by his wife – beef meat balls, salami, brined pork fat, a huge block of holey ewe’s cheese, and fresh vegetables – big beef tomatoes and knobbly cucumbers the size of large gherkins. Large white bloomer loaves encase these delights to form memorable sandwiches.

Fuelled and rested we embark on the big climb. 1200 meters of gentle but sapping gradient of 2-5% following a mountain torrent to its source. All along there are springs coursing down waterfalls in the steep slopes at the side of the road. Two dams with their lakes – the slope relents a little at their side. Hamish shoots off like a terrier, “I think this is my favourite gradient.” John purrs along. Andy like a whippet, cantering up. David adopts an easy but steady pace. Piers, after a ‘journée sans’ yesterday is thrilled to have energy and ploughs on without stopping. David adopts a slow but steady approach. The latte has floored Richard, who is keeping Sebastian company in the bus.

The climb has kept a little surprise for us in reserve – the last 400 meters of vertical ascent is at a will-power sapping 8-10%. – this at 1,400-1,700m altitude where the air is thinner.

John sneeks past Hamish just at the top to steal king of the mountain.

The summit is a rush of achievement – but nothing to look at – no view – we are still in full forest. The descent is fast and furious. David is sure he’s beaten his personal record following Silviu’s line.

Dinner is good mountain fare – grilled meat, shredded lettuce, potatoes and red wine. The conversation turns to calculations of the difference in energy expended in Joules between a 70k man and one somewhat. heavier. Can’t think why. Apparently, Hamish would have to run up and down the stairs several hundred times to expend the difference.

Did John really have seven gels? He is staying tight lipped, “I neither confirm nor deny…”

We have left behind the Saxon villages that border the south of Transylvania. We move to a new valley and a new region - Oltenia. Onwards and upwards tomorrow along the Transalpina.

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zee-has-commitment-issues · 2 years ago

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Happy first birthday to this monstrosity

I want the boys at Hillerska to not care about Simon and Wilhelm being “gay” (its in quotes because Wilhelm is unlabeled but perceived rn as gay) but instead I want them to get back after the break and everyone makes them do the “on the table” thing.

“I said it wasn’t me in the video-“

“And you’re a fucking liar. Get on the chair, Wilhelm.”

#happy first birthday to the thing that made people start following me #it was probably the first unhinged thought I posted. look at where we are now 💀#unhinged zee hours #the forest ridge boys are just built different #young royals #wilmon

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blue-echoinglights · 5 years ago

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Sky to ground, a careful creature

made friends with even opposites of the earth......

There’s something strangely hypnotic about fire, you think.

It’s not alive, but there is a certain spirit to it. It dances, teasing a flick of heat into the night air, shifting to tiptoe across the logs you’ve built it upon. It sways with every breath of the wind, and if you didn’t already know that it was soundless besides the occasional pop or crackle, you’d assume it would sing.

Finally moving your eyes from the flickering of the fire to the wisps of ascending smoke, you trail your gaze into the heavens. The night is still young, and the stars are beginning to breach the tree line. With the west wind comes a sense of cool freshness, but you can’t help but feel a bit lost. Directionless.

You’re broken out of your musings by the hesitant warmth of a canine tongue on one fingertip. The pup is looking up at you with eyes that seem too old, too knowing of the emptiness that seems to be emanating from your chest. But, in a blink, the look is gone, replaced with its regular playful wolfishness and a slow tail wag.

You give him a small smile, and begin to scratch under his muzzle, the spot that makes his leg thump in a pleased rhythm. You hum. “You always seem to know when I’m getting too lost, huh, boy.” More scratches. The wind shifts direction, and the smoke swept into your face makes your eyes sting.

You sigh, and take a moment to lose yourself in the warmth and flickering flames of the fire before you. Through the waves of heat, you see the telltale red leather of your notebook tucked innocently amongst your bedroll. You stare for too long, eyes unseeing.

The water pooling in your eyes is not from the smoke, but you shift positions anyways.

“I think it’s time for a little night stroll, wha’dya think?” Your canine friend tips his head with bright eyes, tail scratching arcs into the forest floor. There’s an excited woof, and you laugh. “Ok, let me grab my coat, and we’ll go for a little adventure.”

The notebook remains carefully on the edges of your vision as you ruffle through your pack and shrug on your coat. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking. You are running, you coward. Just like you always have.

There’s flashes. Faces, open and free in a laugh, in horror. A cry of joy, a cry of agony-

Hyeong-jun

Navi

Mia

Luke

Tao

why did you - should -have - you must go - i won’t just abandon - there’s a thundering in the ground, the rumbling of artillery - the walls are cracked and worn, and the bloodied hand that reaches to caress your face is just as scarred - there’s a horrible keening, straining your throat and echoin-

“Jeremiah.”

A hand scrubs frantically across your cheek, and you resist the urge to check if it’s stained red. You know it won’t be. The phantom warmth of viscous liquid remains, sunk into your skin.

There’s a claw digging into your knee, and a whine that cuts through the haze.

“Oh, hush, Jaq, I’m coming. Just got.....lost.” Jaq barks and pushes off his leg to bound toward the treeline, slobbered tongue flopping without dignity. You huff, “You mutt! Wait for your old man.”

Despite the hour, the trees are easy to navigate in the starlight. It casts an eerie glow, but you can’t help but feel relieved. Worse things had happened in broad daylight, anyways.

I told you to go! For once in your life, listen to your commander!

I can’t ju-

Please! If not your commander, listen to your father.

p l e as e just-

I-

-Go.

Jaq is barking again. You’re choking on a sob, hands fisted in the pine needles splayed out on the forest floor. You don’t remember sinking to your knees, or feeling the now sharp sting behind your eyelids.

You are a soldier, you think. You knew it was going to be difficult. You grew up as the son of a military family. You had gone to more funerals by age ten than most civilians had by age 50. You knew.

But you could not have known. No human could truly know this sort of agony, until they had experienced it themselves firsthand.

You recognize that your throat is burning, that your shouts and cries are ripping apart the hushed tranquility of the darkness around you. You scream, It’s not fair, they should have taken me instead, it’s not fair it’s not fair I would rather just have died myself then live with out you- nobody could have known I just needed more time its not FAIR -

Jaq is there, pushing his weight against your torso and grounding you to the dirt, the dirt you had wished had just taken you instead. He’s pushing his muzzle against your sore throat, and your unsteady hands grip his fur with desperation. Spit bubbles on your trembling lip, the fury from before long dissipated. Your voice drops to a whisper. “How could you have gone without me?”

The forest does not answer.

But the wind whispers, and the stars blink high above, persistent in their gift of sight. The tear tracks on your cheeks glisten like rivulets of silver.

“Dad, why do the stars blink at us?”

You’re six, the age of big questions and an even bigger world. You’re swinging your feet at the kitchen table, and your father is cleaning one of his pistols. He picks up a rag, freshly oiled, and begins to work it between the engraved ridges of the metal. He lifts his gaze up, eyes distant, but still playful. “What do you think?”

You always liked that about dad. He never did the hard work for you. He made you think. “Well.....I always thought they was like eyes, b’cus- sometimes they cry. Right? The rain?”

“’Were like’.” He corrects, gently. He’s set the pistol down, and his eyes have settled on his scar again. The one that ran past his thumb, curling around his wrist like a snake. He never talks about it.

He huffs a laugh, gaze finally lifting, and drops next to you at the table.

“Well then, whose eyes are they?” You know that to anybody else, they would think Dad is mocking you by asking. What soldier cares about the stars? But you know, no. Dad does. Dad always cares.

You frown and tilt your head, thinking. “I think...I think that ey’re are all the people who love us, but can’t see us on earth no more, So they blink, so we know they see us.” Your eyes light up, lit with an epiphany. “Like a night light!!” You turn to look at your father, and startle to see the full focus of his gaze on you. The scar soon takes his attention again as he leans back with a chuckle, voice a little too hoarse and eyes distant again. He hums, in thought.

He quirks his mouth in a slight grin, and his gaze softens as it lands on you. “Well, then maybe I’ll be up there too someday, and I’d be proud to be your nightlight.” He stands and presses a quick kiss to your forehead, laughing as you squirm.

“But don’t worry, I won’t leave just yet. I have a little kiddo to tease first.” The soft look is gone, replaced with his trademark mischievous grin.

You’re instantly on the defensive. “I’M NOT tic’lish! I promise!”

He laughs, a full sound that fills the too-empty house. The stars blink through the window, ceaseless in their provided light.

You realize that the forest has gone silent again. Jaq is still lying in your lap, and the chill of the late hour has started to seep into your bones. You’re still staring into the heavens, watching the pinpricks of light shift in their positions.

Your gaze finally focuses, and know what you must do.

You had taken this trip in the hopes of escaping the people, mostly. They had congratulated you, speaking of honor and bravery and sacrifice and most of all, ‘heroism’. You had felt like laughing in their face. War doesn’t make you a hero. War makes you a murderer, and at best, dead.

How could you say you were honorable when those names lay listed in your notebook, crossed about and never to be spoken again? When you had to face a teenager’s mother and practically say, “I’m sorry for your loss, your son spent his last moments vomiting his intestines and praying for me to forgive him?”

They worshiped the heroes, singing praise about ‘patriotism’ and ‘fighting the good fight.’ How the people who go to battle are deserving of respect, and love and support.

There is none left for a soldier who returns from war. There is no good fight. There are no heroes. Only broken men. And people would rather live in a daydream than acknowledge they were sending their sons to die.

Your footsteps make no sound as they cross across the pine needles, and Jaq has returned to his favored position alongside your left leg. His presence is a constant reminder that even in this mundane task of walking, you still have a willing friend.

The fire has been reduced to embers since your walk, but it doesn’t take much to pile on more logs and light the kindling with a small match. You shake your fingertips to rid them of the match’s sting, and stand back to watch the flames grow.

There is one more task you know you must do. Eyes flick towards your bedroll.

Hesitation.

This is childish, you think. Soldiers don’t believe in the stars. There is nothing pure on this Earth that soldiers believe in, not really. You stand there, breathing in the smoke, letting the weight of that thought settle in.

Then- But I’m not a soldier.

Mind made, you take a step towards your notebook. I am a brother in arms. Another step. I am a fighter, step, a lover, step, a man, step, a friend. When you’ve reached the notebook, your shadow darkening it’s soft leather cover, you take a breath.

I am a son.

Your fingers grip the red leather, darkened already by consistent use. It takes more effort than you’d like to admit, to flip that first page. You may have done it hundreds of times, but this time is different than the rest.

1/03 Nick

1/22 Hyeong-jun

2/ 02 Alex

4/04 Navi

9/15 Mia

10/22 Luke

6/ 24 Rosa

8/25 Yijun

The list stretches for several pages, names of people long gone. Some older, some newer, but of the same pain and longing nonetheless.

As you flip through each page, each memory, the pain in your chest tightens. There, at the final page, scratched with innocent blue ink, sits one final name.

_/_ Jeremiah

No date, but you knew it was coming. You had waited for the day you knew you were going to die, for the date where someone would finally lay you to rest.

With trembling fingers, you rip the section from the page.

Jaq noses your leg, giving wet kisses of reassurance. You grin weakly as you stand, tucking the torn paper in your pocket. One last thing, you think, staring at the notebook held loosely in your fingertips.

It takes a step to approach the fire, the flames still dancing lightly as they were before. With heart held in your throat, your fingers reach and let go.

The notebook burns just like anything before it, unknowing of the weight it had carried. With every wisp of paper that drifts into the air, the tightness in your chest loosens. Each name grays, cracks, and swirls within the fire, becoming one with the waltz of heat and flame.

As they swirl into the night, you realize that this is what breathing feels like.

Maybe it was a childish fantasy. Maybe the stars truly do not provide sight. But just this once, you think, and smile up into the night.

Maybe they’ll see better from up there.

Behind your back, a single star blinks brighter, ever vigilant in its careful watch.

End

#/ptsd #/flashback #/dissociation #short stories #my writing #mine #ok this was SO fun i had no clue what direction this story was going to take. every sentence was like an adventure.#was given five words to form a story: hush; dog; fire; notebook; and longing #and this is what it became!#i was really frustrated to learn that the only tense and POV that flowed right was 2nd person present tense lol. worst.#anywho hope you enjoyed!

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wikitopx · 5 years ago

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The capital of Corse-du-Sud has a knack for packing all the things that people admire about Corsica.

You’ve got history because Napoleon Bonaparte was born and baptized in the city, and his family donated lots of exciting memorabilia to the museums. There's a cinematic nature setting at Pointe de la Parata a few minutes from the city, or the mountains in the background are covered with wild herbs, heather, and shrubs. And then you come to the beaches, which are plentiful, white and bathed by pale blue seas with mind-blowing clarity. Discover the best things to do in Ajaccio.

[toc]

1. Pointe de la Parata

On an island where spectacular natural spectacles are almost common, Pointe de la Parata will still make you speechless. This is a black granite tomb announcing the northern limit of Ajaccio Bay, near the end of a series of stubborn rock peaks that continue offshore to create the Sanguinaires Islands.

The headland is capped with a Genoese watchtower, 55 meters above the water and built as part of a network to defend the coast against Barbary pirate attacks in the 16th century. Drive down to the restaurant, and from there you can follow the walking path for a closer view of the tower or take a dip in the clear waters.

2. Route des Sanguinaires

Pulling off the southern coast of Ajaccio is a coastal route that leads to Pointe de Parata. It combines with Corn Corn Ajaccienne, a winding road, winding around the rugged contours of the rugged coastline.

It has all the scenery, off the Sanguinaires Islands and on the best beaches in Ajaccio, like Plage de Marinella. On the way is the Saint-Antoine Cemetery, where the Corse singer Tino Rossi has been laid to rest.

Now, you can make a similar journey through the Sentier des Crêtes (walk of the peaks), just by your own two feet. You'll runs along the ridge above coastal development in a world of pines, prickly pears and flowers, for beautiful views of the sea.

3. Musée Fesch

Ajaccio Museum of Fine Arts is named after Uncle Napoleon, Joseph Fesch, who is archbishop of Lyon.

In the early-1800s he founded this museum by donating his extravagant painting collection, and it constitutes one of the largest sets of Italian baroque and renaissance paintings anywhere in France.

Cosmè Tura, Giovanni Bellini, Michelangelo, Veronese, Titian, and Salvatore Rosa are just some of the most famous artists introduced.

The Fesch Museum is also a place where you can start tracking the history of the Bonaparte family, as there are about 700 works dedicated to the First and Second Empire, and the bust of the Bonaparte family.

4. Maison Bonaparte

Napoleon’s birthplace is one of those attractions that is more about the significance of the place rather than what is there.

Really, all you need to know is that you are inspecting the house where an epocharian was born on August 15, 1769. The house was decorated with Bonaparte family furniture, even if You have to use your imagination to figure out what it would be like in the 18th century.

The first Bonaparte to live at this understated four-story house was Napoleon’s great-great-grandfather in the late-17th century and the building remained in the family’s hands until 1923. Napoleon only spent his first years here, so there's a lot to learn about the rest of the royal family and their relationship with Ajaccio.

5. Salons Napoléoniens

Clusters of art and memorabilia were so large that they swept into the city of Fesch. But the most fascinating pieces are in the town hall, where you can continue your small journey through the history of Ajaccioùi Bonaparte by looking at the register of Napoleonic baptism.

On the damask walls, there is a full portrait of Napoleon, the painting of Napoleon III and Queen Eugénie, as well as his brother Joseph Napoleon when he was declared King of Spain during the Peninsular War.

6. Plage de Capo di Feno

There are more than 20 beaches in or near Ajaccio, mostly lively corners with smooth, transparent water and white sand. You may feel the urge to break from the crowd and if so you can drive the 10 kilometers to the coast just north of Pointe de la Parata.

Plage de Capo di Feno has a more barbaric beauty, with bushes and forests, and an offshore sand beach that causes a break for surfers. It's not just for regular swimmers, but you can paddle in the bathing area and sunbathe on the light sand.

Bring friends and a blanket, and stay in the evening because the sunsets are unbeatable on this west-facing beach.

7. Place Foch

Next to the town hall is an elongated square ringed by impressive old palm trees. There is a familiar face to meet you: Growing up on a pedestal along the plaza to the port is a marble Napoleon statue in the guise of a Roman consul, sculpted by Massimiliano Laboureur of Italy.

If you want to zip around Ajaccio’s sights in comfort you can catch the Petit Train at Place Foch.

But maybe the best reason to stop is for the Marchés des Producteurs de Pays on Saturday mornings, when the sheep’s cheese, cured meats, olives and wine made and grown in the countryside near Corsica are laid out irresistibly on stalls on the square.

8. Ajaccio Cathedral

Back on the trail of Napoleon, Ajaccio cathedral is the church where the emperor was baptized on 21 July 1771. Not only that, but his mother Letizia started going into labor with him while attending the Mass of the Assumption on 15 August 1769. The marble font in which he was baptized is just inside the entrance.

In addition to its relationship with Napoleon, the Church is handsome if the building is a strict 16th-century building with brown walls illuminated by sunlight.

Pause for a moment in the Chapel of the Madonna of Pianto, adorned with murals by Domenico Tintoretto (son of Jacopo) and Eugène Delacroix.

9. Tête de Mort

Get up early one summer morning and beat the heat for a walk on Ajaccio, with breathtaking coastal views. The zigzag trail rises from Bois des Anglais through mastic shrubs, cacti and wild olives of legendary Corsican vampires.

After a time you’ll arrive at a sinister-looking granite boulder, named the Tête de Mort (Head of Death), which according to local legend is the petrified head of Lucifer himself! The path then detours to see the sea at Parc Berthault, a few steps from du Trottel Beach, a 90-minute walk.

10. A Cupulatta

Turtles and tortoises from five continents live in this sanctuary and research center 20 kilometers northeast of Ajaccio.

There are a total of 3,000 animals, from 170 species, Corsican climates and carefully configured tanks and tanks at the two-hectare park that allows them to thrive. The turtle hatchery and nursery are sure to make you smile; if you come on the right day you can see a baby turtle breaking out of its egg.

Passing from Galápagos tortoises to diminutive European pond terrapins it’s food for thought to see how these animals have evolved in different parts of the world.

More ideals for you: Top 10 things to do in Saint Denis

From : https://wikitopx.com/travel/top-10-things-to-do-in-ajaccio-706985.html

#Wikitopx #Wikitopx - Feed

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junker-town · 6 years ago

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Bowl game gifts 2018, categorized

Bowls are allowed to give players small gift packages, and these days, they do a good job of putting together interesting gifts.

Bowl games are good, mainly because most players view them as rewards for successful seasons. One part of that reward: bowl gifts, or the small handouts bowls are allowed by the NCAA to give players.

Sports Business Daily came through with the full rundown of who’s getting what this year. Sure, the NCAA-mandated $550 limit for each player isn’t much, but that’s not the fault of these bowl games. Let’s run through them all.

Gifts that are the most fun!

Frisco Bowl (San Diego State vs. Ohio): Gift suite; Justin cowboy hat; beanie cap; coin; pin; Big Game football

Hawaii Bowl (Louisiana Tech vs. Hawaii): Electronics gift suite; Oakley backpack; Oakley sunglasses; Tori Richard aloha shirt; shorts/swim trunks; performance T-shirt; beach towel

WANT:

Amazon

Orange Bowl (Alabama vs. Oklahoma): Gift suite; Tourneau watch; personalized bobblehead of each student-athlete; sling bag

Hey Orange Bowl, how does one get a personalized bobblehead even if they aren’t a player on either team?

Quick Lane Bowl (Minnesota vs. Georgia Tech): $175 Best Buy gift card; JBL E55BT over-ear wireless headphones; life-sized Fathead decal for each participant of his likeness; backpack; shirts; mini helmet; football

Likewise with the Fathead, Quick Lane Bowl:

Fathead

Texas Bowl (Baylor vs. Vanderbilt): Gift suite; Academy Sports + Outdoors gift card; Adidas backpack; belt buckle

The Texas Bowl belt buckle remains one of my all-time favorite gifts, because well, just look at this thing:

Belt Buckles are in! These will be included in the player gift bags along with other various pieces of #bowlswag pic.twitter.com/KBtn07G29D

— Academy Sports + Outdoors Texas Bowl (@TexasBowl) December 18, 2013

Cheez-it Bowl (Cal vs. TCU): — Fossil watch with engraved caseback; JBL Charge 3 Bluetooth speaker; Baggo bag toss tailgate cornhole set; Yeti Roadie 20 cooler; Yeti rambler; dry duffel bag; RuMe reveal quart bag; Branded Bills cap; Dollar Shave Club starter set.

Folks, players get one of these bad boys:

Victory Tailgate

Now a lifetime supply of Cheez-Its would also be a good idea for a gift in the future. Just sayin’.

Gifts that give players the most freedom to use how they want

A gift card is one of the closest things to actual money players are allowed by the NCAA to receive, so every bowl should include gift cards.

Camping World Bowl (West Virginia vs. Syracuse): $400 Best Buy gift card; Ogio backpack with luggage tag; Fossil watch

Alamo Bowl (Iowa State vs. Washington State): $425 Amazon gift card; Fossil watch; mini helmet; team panoramic photo

Peach Bowl (Florida vs. Michigan): $300 Vanilla Visa gift card; Fossil watch; Mophie Powerstation XL; Amazon Echo Dot smart speaker (3rd generation); football

A Mophie powerstation is a portable charging station, a very convenient gift.

Outback Bowl (Mississippi State vs. Iowa): Fossil watch; Jostens ring; $125 Best Buy gift card; Outback Steakhouse Gift card; hat

Anything that involves steak is a damn good gift, imo.

Military Bowl (Cincinnati vs. Virginia Tech): Dell Mobile Projector M318WL; $100 Amex Gift Card; ISlides

I really didn’t realize how players would make much use of this:

youtube

Until I realized this things means you get to stream shows from your phone and then project them anywhere you’d like. So, I take it back!

Citrus Bowl (Kentucky vs. Penn State): $400 Best Buy gift card; Fossil watch; Ogio backpack with luggage tag

The Fiesta Bowl, sponsored by PlayStation, is true to its name

Fiesta Bowl (LSU vs. UCF): PS4 gift package; Fossil watch with engraved caseback; Ogio X-Fit backpack

It should’ve given players another recliner, tbh:

Joe Burrow on Fiesta Bowl gifts (he’s been twice with Ohio State). Said first he got a red recliner (which he still uses), then got headphones the second time. Literally a recliner. Packed it in the car and took it with him to #LSU. It’s in his apartment now.

— Brooks Kubena (@BKubena) December 11, 2018

And some other sweet tech-related gifts

Gator Bowl (NC State vs. Texas A&M): Fossil watch; Maui Jim sunglasses; Amazon Echo; ISlides; SIC tumbler; dopp kit

Amazon Echos seems pretty dope!

Amazon

(Unrelated to technology: a “dopp kit” is just a toiletry bag.)

Red Box Bowl (Michigan State vs. Oregon): Fossil watch; Timbuktu backpack; Roku; headphones; Redbox Bowl merchandise

A Roku is a solid TV streaming platform.

Arizona Bowl (Arkansas State vs. Nevada): Ghostek backpack with a power bank and external USB port; Beats Budst; Fire Kindle with built-in Alexa; hydroflask; cooling towel; Frito Lay products in each bag

Amazon

Dollar General Bowl: (Buffalo vs. Troy): Yamaha sound bar with built-in subwoofer; Timely Watch Co. watch; Maui Jim sunglasses; Wilson game ball

Who doesn’t love shopping trips?

Again, letting players actually choose what they get is preferable to just about anything else.

Belk Bowl (South Carolina vs. Virginia): Shopping trip to Belk department store; Fossil watch

In 2016, an Arkansas player was suspended from the Belk Bowl after he was accused of shoplifting $260 worth of items on the Belk shopping trip, so hopefully something like that doesn’t happen again!

Liberty bowl (Missouri vs. Oklahoma State): Shopping trip to Memphis’ Bass Pro Shops; Bose SoundLink micro Bluetooth speaker; Bulova watch; Nike athletic shoes; sport sandals; backpack and sunglasses; football

Memphis’ Bass Pro is literally inside a pyramid!

Gifts mostly made up “gift suites,” which can mean lots of different things

What are gift suites exactly? They’re private events in which participants can pick from a variety of items — from electronics to jewelry and even furniture — worth up to a total of $550.

Game participants, and often bowl VIPs, are given an order form and allowed to select a gift, or gifts, up to a value that is predetermined by each bowl, not to exceed the NCAA limit.

The NCAA allows each bowl to award up to $550 worth of gifts to 125 participants per school. Schools can, and usually do, buy additional packages that they can distribute to participants beyond that 125 limit. In addition, participants can receive awards worth up to $400 from the school and up to $400 from the conference for postseason play, covering both conference title games and any bowl game.

Rose Bowl (Washington vs. Ohio State): Gift suite; Fossil watch; Ogio backpack; New Era 9Fifty adjustable hat

Sugar Bowl: (Texas vs. Georgia) Gift suite; Fossil watch; New Era cap; Rock ’Em socks; cufflinks

Las Vegas Bowl (Fresno State vs. Arizona State): Gift suite; collectible Las Vegas item TBD; dad hat; beanie; fanny pack

DAD HAT! What is a dad hat?! According to Google, it’s just your standard, run-of-the-mill baseball caps that most dads wear.

Google

New Orleans Bowl (Middle Tennessee vs. Appalachian State): Gift suite; Fossil watch

Cameilla Bowl (Georgia Southern vs. Eastern Michigan): Gift suite; Fossil watch; Samsonite rolling duffle bag; beanie; Big Game football

Boca Raton Bowl (UAB vs. Northern Illinois): Gift suite; drawstring backpack; beach towel; football

Gasparilla Bowl (Marshall vs. South Florida): Gift suite

Hopefully that’s a dope gift suite — if I were the Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl, I’d just give a gift suite of lawn mowers filled with presents, tbh.

Sun Bowl (Stanford vs. Pitt): Gift suite; Timely Watch Co. watch; Majestic fleece pullover; Ogio Excelsior backpack; Under Armour cap; coin

Bahamas Bowl (FIU vs. Toledo): Gift suite; Yeti rambler; string backpack; board shorts; towel; pin

Idaho Potato Bowl (Western Michigan vs. BYU): Gift suite; Oakley backpack; hydroflask; beanie

A “hydroflask” is an insulated water bottle — what were you thinking it was?

Amazon

Birmingham Bowl (Memphis vs. Wake Forest): Gift suite; Oakley backpack or sunglasses; cooling hoodie; football

Holiday Bowl (Northwestern vs. Utah): Gift suite; Fossil watch; New Era cap

Armed Forces Bowl (Houston vs. Army): Gift suite; Bluetooth speaker helmet; football

First responder bowl (Boston College vs. Boise State): Gift suite; RFID-blocking Ridge wallet; Big Game football

This wallet looks like it was designed by NASA, tbh:

Amazon

Independence Bowl (Temple vs. Duke): Gift suite; Timely Watch Co. watch; New Era skull cap; football

Music City Bowl (Purdue vs. Auburn): Gift suite; Fossil watch

Sidenote — there are a lot of Fossil watches on here. Sure, Fossil watches are fine, but we should definitely give these players some variety when it comes to timepieces in the next few years!

Grab bags! Little bit of everything in these!

Cure Bowl (Tulane vs. Louisiana): Holloway Force jacket; sunglasses with carry case; Energizer powerbank (similar to the Mophie mentioned above); duffle bag; Pebble Beach slides; dopp kit; Sportek long-sleeve contender T-shirt; cap

New Mexico Bowl (North Texas vs. Utah State): Gift suite; Oakley Jupiter Squared sunglasses; Oakley 5 Speed backpack; Bluetooth speaker; water bottle; beanie; Montgomery pen; Pacific Headwear trucker’s cap

SECRET GIFTS

Pinstripe Bowl: A variety of New Era products

Cotton Bowl (Clemson vs. Notre Dame): Would not disclose gifts

CFP National Championship: Would not disclose gifts

Sure, some of these bowl gifts are better than others, but you can appreciate these games coming up with creative ways to reward players during the holiday season, even if they aren’t allowed to do very much.

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brieflyuniversallyfun-blog · 7 years ago

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Primitive Camping In Green Ridge State Forest

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hottytoddynews · 7 years ago

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Alistair MacLeod on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. Photo from TV documentary, “Reading Alistair MacLeod”

With his little dog Blossom at his side, Gil Macleod, a native of Cape Breton Island who is related to novelist Alistair Macleod, is leading me to his cousin’s writing shack overlooking the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Here is where Macleod penned his classic novel, “No Great Mischief,” (1999) about Cape Breton fishermen and miners and their Scottish ancestors who migrated to Nova Scotia in the 18th century. His other works include “The Lost Salt and Gift of Blood” (1976), “As Birds Bring Forth the Sun and Other Stories” (1986), and “Island” (2000).

In MacLeod’s stories, fiction and history are inextricably intertwined, and the literary pilgrim comes to Cape Breton Island expecting to find landmarks immortalized in his stories. “No Great Mischief,” published when he was 63, tells the story of the clan Donald’s emigration to Canada, led by patriarch “Calum MacDonald” during the Highlands Clearances. Driving north on Highway 19 from the Canso Causeway and winding along the coast, I’ve been keeping an eye out for “Calum Ruadh’s Point,” the fictional burial place of redheaded Calum MacDonald, which is worn away by storms “as if his grave is moving out to sea.”

Tall, blonde, and plain-spoken, Gil MacLeod warns against a literal interpretation of his cousin’s works. “People asked him all the time, ‘Is that where such and such happened? Is that bluff Calum Ruadh Point? Is that where the boy’s parents fell through the ice and drowned?’ And he said again and again, ‘It’s fiction. It’s not real. I made it up!’” Yet, although fictional characters and places are imaginary, MacLeod’s stories of third- and fourth-generation Scottish immigrants’ hardships in a starkly beautiful but unforgiving landscape are based on rock-solid reality. He once said of his works, “These are not true stories, but they’re real stories.”

Alistair MacLeod (1936-2014) was born in Saskatchewan. His parents moved to Alberta, where his father worked in the coal mines, then returned to the MacLeod homestead on Cape Breton Island when Alistair was ten. He grew up in the Dunvegan farmhouse his great-grandfather built in the 1860s.

Alistair McLeod’s family home in Dunvegan, Inverness County

Gil MacLeod’s path to the writing shack leads through a forest of white birches. Across the trail dead trees guard MacLeod’s right to privacy. We step over the downed trees, ford a stream by walking on a log, and emerge on a beach strewn with rocks and boulders. In the near distance on a bluff overlooking the Gulf of St. Lawrence stands the writer’s shack where Alistair Macleod wrote many of his stories.

The cabin, or “shack” as Gil calls it, is surrounded by thick ground cover that smells like juniper. The one-room shack has a fecund, creative quality common to writer’s havens. No electricity. No phone. A plywood board for a writing desk. A folding chair. Silence, sunlight and stories waiting to be told.

Alistair Macleod’s son, Alexander, a professor at St. Mary’s University in Halifax whose short story collection, “Light Lifting,” was selected 2011 Globe and Mail Book of the Year, reiterates his cousin’s caution. “When you look out the window, this is the island you see,” he says. “But the figurative island is much more important than the actual one. Although he looked at Margaree Island a lot, and it dominates the view from our house [the MacLeod home just up the road], he was not writing about that particular island in a strictly realistic way. Yes, he was certainly interested in islands, and especially in all their metaphorical possibilities, but he was never trying to accurately represent one particular island. ‘Everybody has experience,’ he used to say, ‘but not everybody can make art.’”

Gil MacLeod stands on the beach below his cousin Alistair’s writer’s shack.

In anchoring his fiction in geographical places, MacLeod was following an honored literary tradition. Two of his idols, Thomas Hardy and William Faulkner, drew maps of their fictional counties. Hardy borrowed the name “Wessex” from an Anglo-Saxon kingdom located in the south of England. Faulkner discovered the Chickasaw Indian name “Yoknapatawpha” on an old watershed map of Lafayette County, Mississippi. Much is to be gleaned from encountering landmarks one first came to know as fictional settings. I read “No Great Mischief” in Oxford, 2,000 miles from Cape Breton, and yet when I got there, I was no stranger to MacLeod country. This is the magic of fiction. For Cape Bretoners, as for lifelong residents of Hardy’s Dorset and Faulkner’s Lafayette counties, a charged landscape comes with the territory.

My search for MacLeod’s fictional landmarks grows legs when I meet MacLeod’s longtime friend, Alice Freeman. “Every time we look at the island [Margaree Island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence], we say that’s the island in ‘No Great Mischief,’” says Freeman, speaking at her gift shop on Central Avenue in Inverness. “Remembering the old things can be kind of creepy, actually, but he [MacLeod] told it like it was. One grandfather was rough and tough, and the other was proper. The grandfather on this side liked his drink, and the grandmother liked her church. Alistair was a character himself. Always dressed up and wearing his cap.”

When asked about the archetypal Calum Ruadh Point, Freeman suggests a likely spot. “There’s a point out from his house. The road is very rough. You’d break an ankle if you tried to go there.” As vague as this description may be, to one who would walk in MacLeod’s footsteps no clue is to be discarded.

Photo by Kathleen Wickham

In “No Great Mischief,” the narrator, Alexander MacDonald, is orphaned when his parents, keepers of a lighthouse, fall through the frozen ice of the bay and drown. Locals believe that MacLeod drew on an actual drowning at Margaree Island. Rankin MacDonald, editor of The Oran newspaper in Inverness, points out that the real victims’ son, like the fictional Alexander, was reared by relatives: “The son, Herby, still lives here. Herby’s a fisherman. Well, he’s retired now. But it was his parents [who drowned]. And then he was brought up by somebody else, relatives. We know who we are in our hearts and among ourselves, but then when [MacLeod] articulated it, we said, ‘That’s about my way of life. These are my people.’ And that’s what I think stirs in the hearts of everyone here, why we loved him so much.”

Learning of my search for a Calum Ruadh Point, Rankin MacDonald recalls a family cemetery on a bluff where a Scottish emigrant left instructions to be buried facing his homeland. MacLeod’s epic novel was based on his Scottish family’s emigration and their struggle to survive as fishermen.

Intrigued by MacDonald’s suggestion, I set out to find the Scottish gentleman’s grave. Half an hour later, I am driving along a high ridge overlooking the beach community of Inverness. The county roads can be confusing, but an elderly gentleman in a pickup truck stops to show me the way. In drizzling rain I tramp the woods and fields searching for an overgrown cemetery. My search proves fruitless but nevertheless is strangely satisfying. But I’m not done yet.

At the Downstreet Café, a local gathering place, Cape Breton author Frank Macdonald appreciates and perhaps sympathizes with my literary-landmark-compulsion. “Alistair does a very good job of not identifying a specific place, but the geography is so accurate and what he describes is all around here. You can walk to it, and it’s just around the next bend on the shore.” Yet, he adds, “MacLeod was adamant that these were creations, not actual places. He did a remarkable job of universalizing these people while keeping them so tremendously real, and you would expect to run into them on the street or in the tavern or in the mines.”

When I ask about Alistair MacLeod’s slow-but-sure writing technique, Frank Macdonald tells how his friend once came to him brimming with good news: “How much he saw ahead, what was coming, I don’t know, but at one point he did say, ‘I got the end of the book this week.’ This was three or four years before [the novel] was published,” adds Macdonald, “and it was probably the last sentence in ‘No Great Mischief’: ‘All of us are better when we are loved.’ He knew where he was going with it.”

MacLeod’s burst of inspiration could well have happened in the writer’s shack, bare bones and functional, a ray of sunlight blazing on the floor like spontaneous literary combustion. I recall looking out the window and seeing what the author saw when he glanced up from his tablet. Alice Freeman’s words reverberate—there’s a point out from his house—his writing shack, she meant, where the salt-stained window reveals Margaree island shining in the sun, and just north of the shack a point of land facing the sea as if rushing out to meet it.

Macleod brought these coastal cliffs and harbors, country lanes and isolated cottages to life in New York, London, Tokyo, wherever No Great Mischief is being read. Yes, I know, the fictional Calum Ruadh Point was a creation of the author’s fertile imagination, but until someone sends me in a different direction, given the view from the writer’s shack, this fictional landmark of Alistair MacLeod’s Cape Breton Island belongs to me.

Lawrence Wells is the author of two historical novels (Doubleday & Co) and six non-fiction books. He was awarded the 2014 Faulkner-Wisdom prize for narrative non-fiction at the Words and Music Festival, New Orleans. Wells is a contributor of travel stories to the N.Y. Times Syndicate and lives in Oxford, Mississippi.

The post Lawrence Wells Walks in Novelist Alistair MacLeod’s Footsteps on Cape Breton appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

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