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gods of talamanca

the worst crime christianity committed was convincing people the world they inhabited was godless

what is “he’s everywhere” but “he’s nowhere”?

meanwhile every piece of land had gods, once once, everyone knew that their home - that which is most sacred of places - must have gods

so the gods lived among them watched over them fed them killed them ignored them rewarded them

gods are not the abstracts of the universe but the tangible, palpable, breathtaking truth that a human lived here

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oct 28th, 2023

today I had to take a walk, and I thought about my grandfather.

I’m granddaughter-shaped, and losing them all, little by little.

I thought about arrogance. Tito’s arrogance hid - badly - all his weaknesses. I sat at his feet, and he taught me all about it. he spoke with arrogance, he demanded and judged with it, showing the finesse of a craftsman. he wielded it with fierceness, handed it down to his children, forced them to use it in kind. to cut each other, to cut themselves.

and then there was me. they gave it to me, little by little. the gift of kin.

I took it, Tito.

I took the arrogance, wore it as armor, bared it in my teeth, led everyone away. I dug myself deeper and deeper in mulch. loneliness was the mark of uniqueness, I repeated, lovingly, at your feet.

how wrong we were.

but this is my promise, Tito - I’m not one to throw away gifts. I’ll morph the loud arrogance into quiet confidence. this is my gift to you.

I’ll be beautiful, Tito. Just like you wanted to be, and never knew how.

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Choosing Truth

if I write in English

it is not for

mine

if I write in Spanish

it is not for

many

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Feb 24, 2022

feels weird to say

the rice cooker broke

my ma could have cancer

Russia invaded Ukraine

how much can a day hold

how much can a heart

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Afterparty Prayer

I am awkward

and

weird and sad

Thank you

friend

for your grace

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Tragedy

is when I want to know you

but I don't have the right

and dangle instead to the edges

watching and wondering

if I could ever come in

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This

This is the thing about gender

Girls tell me it's fine if I don't shave

they can't comprehend when they see me in shorts legs so hairy it’s undeniable I’ve never shaved them not once in thirty years

Boys tell me how beautiful both short and long hair are

they can't comprehend when they see my hair trimmed so tight it yells at them I'm one of them

Everyone tells me it's okay not to wear makeup

they jump to tell me how pretty I am when I let my bored roommate pass the time with my face

I thought once I wanted to be a boy they had all the adventures the books the dogs the rivers

I just wanted the right to also have

I would do a terrible man I'm not strong. I'm too emotional. I like Winnie the Pooh

I also do a terrible woman I'm not soft in the way that matters. I snap back. I like cargo shorts

I'm contradiction both and none

I look down on myself hug the belly that's too femenine shake the head that's too masculine and remember

This

This is the real one

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survival guide

my dad listens to my story

"how brave," he says

tears in his eyes

*

later that day, he buys

ceviche, just for me

*

I don't think I'm brave

I'm trying to survive

*

but I do think

my dad and I

agree on the reward

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The Man Who Died in Eight Ways

(1) George Jefferson, professional merchant, finished arranging his purchase and descended from the carriage to thank the store owner, at which point he stepped on a rattlesnake hiding behind the trough.

(2) He jumped with a scream towards the porch, where the alarmed owner stood up to help, dropping from his lap a shotgun he had been cleaning.

(3) George was thrown by the blast against his carriage, which wobbled and caused some tools to fall from the roof, starting with an axe blade.

(4) The horse, startled by the agitation, bucked and reared, breaking the cheap hinges and spluttering the vehicle against the man on the ground.

(5) A crowd surrounded them, hands and voices raised in an attempt to contain the commotion, but the horse only retreated onto the carriage and its contents, stumping and neighing and splashing with his hooves.

(6) The horse’s reins got tied in the trampled residues below him. He tried to run once more, but a pull held him back, and then a crack of bone was heard.

(7) The townspeople gave way with another scream, and the horse, seizing the opportunity, galloped away, ripping in half that which had been entangled between his bridles.

(8) Eyes lost in madness, the horse charged directly against the front wall of the church across the street, bringing windows and oil lamps down with him. Behind he left, in a pile of burning wood, what once had been George Jefferson, at least in part.

(9) The town buried all they could of him, but soon turned his grave into an attraction. There was no better way to commemorate a man of trade than in his own fashion.

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a day after christmas, 2019

I walk out in the garden and wander

mom can no longer work here the sun hurts her so it’s all messy and overgrown

without meaning to I walk to the part of the yard where, merely a year ago, I burned my best friend’s clothes

they had his mom’s blood in them he didn’t want them anymore

but I had to bury them I had to bury the little piece of his mom stuck to his shirt

so now, a year later I stop near the place pray he had a good night and love him from afar

‘what use do I have for them’ he had told me so I kept them burned them buried them

for him for his mom for me

and my mom who can’t go out to the garden anymore so it’s all messy and overgrown but alive

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tito

grandpa wanted to be strong he always said to be proud to never bend down to excel

he said I had to study and work so I wouldn’t depend on anyone

he also cheated on grandma multiple times

chased my uncle with a machete across the yard

punched a man who told him he was just a boy when he was 18

grandpa never got out of the car during family trips

he sat in the car, reading the newspaper

grandpa didn’t like new year’s parties

he stayed in his room and watched TV

grandpa wanted you to know he had been a bad dad

grandpa wanted you to say he was a son of a bitch

grandpa wanted you to face the truth

but he would never face it he wanted to be feared and respected but he didn’t know how to be loved

he scurried away like a cat

because he was strong, he said

he was one of weakest men I’ve ever known

and I loved him very, very much

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my father’s gifts

it is said that a person’s love language is what they lacked the most as children

father says i love you he doesn’t like fixing the sink

father wants to know how’s work he doesn’t like cleaning the house

father jokes with mom but does not help her unless she asks

father puts a clementine in my hands “eat,” he says. “it’s just like grandfather’s fruits”

father makes juice out of tangerines “i made tangerine ice cream,” he announces “just like grandfather”

father buys pizza in the middle of the week smiles when he sees us munching it down

father sits next to me and tells me stories

about the old house brimming with chickens and dogs

the kitchen so small it could not hold them all together

the soft requests to get a new pair of shoes

the meat his own father was only allowed to eat

father gifts me his memories

fishes them out like delicate silk shrimp slowly unravels them precious gems trapped within

father didn’t have gifts so he bestows gifts now and forgets

I do not need them

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Fictober Event,  The prompts for 2020

Here is the list for October this year. Write something short (or long) and tag it with #fictober20 in the first five tags. Let’s see your creativity!

“no, come back!”

“that’s the easy part”

“you did this?”

“that didn’t stop you before”

“unacceptable, try again”

“that was impressive”

“yes I did, what about it?”

“I’m not doing that again”

“will you look at this?”

“all I ever wanted”

“I told you so”

“watch me”

“I missed this”

“you better leave now”

“not interested, thank you”

“I never wanted anything else”

“give me a minute or an hour”

“you don’t see it?”

“I can’t do this anymore”

“did I ask?”

“this, this makes it all worth it”

“and neither should you”

“do we have to?”

“are you kidding me?”

“sometimes you can even see”

“how about you trust me for once?”

“give me that”

“do I have to do everything here?”

“back up!”

“just say it”

“I trust you”

This event is open to all fanfiction and original fiction.

Start October the First. You do not have to do the prompts in order. Tag your posts with #fictober20. Please state if your entry is original fiction or fanfiction and what fandom at the top. State common warnings and triggers at the top and tag accordingly. I reserve the right to not reblog fics that I find inappropriate. I will reblog things here on @fictober-event, follow this blog to see all the entries.

Go forth and write!

Photo by Vladas Kalnys on Unsplash

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Spoilers without context for the last chapter of Man with a Heartbeat

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Confessions

I was happy to tell my mom. 

“Mom, sometimes I’ll go about my day and see a photo of that guy and feel like I slip on a banana. Is this really how you feel constantly? I don’t know how you manage it.” 

She just smiled, politely. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. It took me months to understand it myself. 

Mom, sometimes I get this feeling that is so much like what everyone describes, and isn’t it funny that I can feel it, too? Isn’t it funny that I can understand a bit better, now? Isn’t it funny that I can be normal?

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plonk

Stiv plonked on the chair opposite to the tiefling. “Listen, there’s only one thing travelers hate more than a half demon idiot who can fight them into oblivion.”

Teef took a deep breath. “Which is?”

The chair scratched against the floor and before she could stop it, the bard was standing on the table, lute in hand.

“Ballads!”

“No,” Teef heard herself whisper, but it was too late.

Stiv plonked at the lute with the confidence of a flailing bird that didn’t know there was a precipice beyond a couple of flaps away.

The music was dull and it spread across the inn in an instant, bringing every traveler to silence, and each of their heads towards their table.

The ballad itself was an old one, a song about forgotten love, and sheep, and whatever lived in the times when such songs were written. Teef wondered if she would’ve cared more about it if she hadn’t been too worried about the semi giant who walked over to them. He wore a horrible grimace, and held his beer in an incredulous hand.

“Bard!” the semi giant called. “You fockin’ suck!”

Oh, Teef thought. She. She wore a horrible grimace, she was about to throw the bard out the window, and possibly her too, for good measure.

Stiv stopped immediately, the tune cut off in an undignified clank. He swallowed with shyness.

“I-I know ma’m,” he spoke softly, all self-deprecation. “I try my best. The lute doesn’t sound half as bad, though, does it?” He played some more cords, with little skill. “It was a gift from my Paw.”

Teef glanced at the semi giant woman. Her grimace softened, and she took a sip from her glass.

“Nah, not half as bad,” she mumbled.

Stiv beamed.

“Thank you, ma’m. Do you have any requests? We’ll gladly do what we can, the lute and I.”

The woman turned slightly to glance at one of the tables, where her companions exchanged looks and shrugged at her.

“Er,” she turned to Stiv. He leaned closer, an inviting smile on his face. “Anything’ll do, bard. Somethin’ from the moun’ains, if you know any.”

Stiv snapped his fingers. “Gotcha, ma’m! Something from the mountains for the lady!”

She gave him a nervous smile and scurried back to her seat. Her friends met her with questioning looks, which she shook her head at, confused at what had just happened as much as them.

Stiv turned to Teef and winked.

“Something from the mountains, it’s easy.”

He cleared his throat and fingers danced over the cords.

Teef wasn’t sure how he did it. It wasn’t good. He wasn’t good. He was sloppy at times, his voice faltered despite the exercises he made them suffer through every morning and night. But when Stiv played, it was as if his heart played for him. The mountains echoed in the room, along with its streams, and the rushing eagles. The loneliness of rock swept them through, as did the power from green sprouts that grew on the hills where nothing else dared to. There was a single cabin in the woods, with an old, tall woman sitting at the window, tending to her goats, waiting for her daughter to come home.

Stiv could have been smashing two plates together. It wouldn’t have mattered.

When he finished, the inn broke in saddened applause. He smiled kindly, and bowed around, with a specially pronounced dip for the semi giant woman. She was red all over from crying. Teef took advantage of the moment to wipe a tear. Fucking bards.

“Any more requests?” Stiv shouted with merriment. “My lute is at your service!”

“Play a song from the sea!”

The request was met with several shouts of approval.

“Excellent choice!” Stiv pointed at the table where the young lad had spoken. “Before I do that, let me get my partner here,” he pointed at Teef, “a pint of water! We’re travelers, like you, and we’re tired!”

The room mumbled.

“Does it sing too?” someone asked.

“Alas, my poor friend does not have the curse!” Stiv shouted back. That got laughs from everyone. “She only knows the way of monks! She won’t even drink ale with me, only water.”

Teef narrowed her eyes.

“Only water?” another voice asked.

“She says there’s no force in the world that would make her drink!”

Fucking bards.

“Innkeeper!” shouted one of the soldiers in a corner, throwing two coins at the nearest serving wench. “Give them two pints of ale! Let’s see the monk drink!”

The shout that followed was pure joy. Chairs and tables turned to face theirs.

“Stiv���” Teef murmured through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

Stiv descended from the table and took the two pints the woman brought for them. He shoved one in Teef’s hands. “Pretend that you don’t want it,” he said under his breath, quickly. “I’ll get us food.”

“What?” Teef didn’t have to pretend, she did not want ill-acquired ale. She pushed it back.

“Come on!” Stiv shouted again. “Don’t be like that!”

There were murmurs of disapproval.

“What are you doing?” Teef asked again, wary of the angry expressions around her.

“It’s the kindness of strangers,” the bard continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Can’t refuse it, you must take it!”

With an encouraging nod, Stiv prodded the glass forward, and winked again. Teef cleared her throat, and took the glass gingerly. “For… for the kindness of strangers!”

Her sip broke the inn with yells of excitement. Stiv patted her on the back.

“Excellent, friends! Thank you!” and he took a long gulp of his own glass. “And now, a song of sailors!”

By the time Teef and Stiv rolled into the stable’s hay they had been fed thrice over, with plenty of drink to go with it. Somehow Stiv had also won a new pouch, which he placed on his backpack before slomping next to her with a sigh.

“I can’t believe it,” Teef said, covering herself with a blanket. “You really did it, bard. Thank you.”

Stiv chuckled. “I can be useful at times. Need a good sleep, do you?”

“Oh yes,” Teef closed her eyes, letting the smell of clean hay and horse manure bring back memories. “I think I’ll sleep better than I have in months, though.” She patted her full belly with satisfaction.

Clothes rustled and the prim notes of the lute timbered around her. Teef opened an eye to tell Stiv to cut it out, but the tune was soft and relaxed, and it filled her up with all kinds of warmth.

“Shhhh,” he soothed, as her eyes fluttered closed. “It’s a lullaby. It’ll help.”

Teef gave in to a dream of wide meadows, high trees, and the long pathways of the monastery. She knew there were secrets hiding in plain sight, but she didn’t have to look at them, not then. She could choose to just sigh into the breeze. And so she did.

[w-re-writes]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth Characters: Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth Additional Tags: POV Jaime Lannister, not what i meant to finish but it's done so here it is Summary:

Jaime Lannister looks up frequently, especially to the sky. This is what he found every time he did.