#begging burros

[rabbitcruiser]

World Donkey Day 

Visit a petting zoo, or simply do some research into the underappreciated, stalwart, useful and intelligent beasts of burden known as donkeys.

World Donkey Day is a show of respect for one of the most enduring and respectable animals in the Equidae family. Throughout history, it has served throughout the world as both a mount and a beast of burden in some of the most challenging terrains and forbidding climates, and has done so with pride and endurance. It’s unsurprising that these beasts’ success is due in part to their stubborn nature, and World Donkey Day honors them for this along with their other, perhaps more laudable, traits.

History of World Donkey Day

Two subspecies of the donkey, the Somalian and the Nubian, were bred together to produce what we think of as the modern Donkey. Available evidence points to the Donkey having been working alongside humanity since 4000 BCE, most likely in Nubia, as a more versatile and resilient pack animal than the ox they were presently using. Since then they have been bred and transplanted all over the world as cultures moved, and the world expanded, and can now be found just about everywhere.

They’re also the progenitors of the sterile mule, a cross-breeding of horse and donkey that results in a breed with the strengths of both. Sadly mules are almost entirely sterile, and the exceptions so rare that no breeding stock of pure mules has ever been able to be achieved, in part due to there having yet to be recorded a case of a breedable mule stallion. Strangely, there have been cases where female mules have birthed what are, for all appearances, pure horses when bred with a horse.

Without the help of donkeys, it is hard to imagine that the modern world could ever have come into existence. These hardy pack animals provided civilization with the motive energy needed to generate wealth, well before the advent of steam power or electricity. For that reason, many people consider donkeys just as fundamental to our society as writing, pottery, and metallurgy.

World Donkey Day is all about celebrating their stoic spirit and individual charm. These creatures aren’t afraid of a hard day’s work. In fact, they more or less invented the concept. Donkeys pull carts, operate mills, and carry cargo for miles and miles, well after other species would have given up. For that reason, they have a special place in our hearts. They’re willing to put in the effort (for no pay) all to serve us – their grateful human masters.

World Donkey Day is the brainchild of Raziq Ark, a scientist whose interests primarily concern desert animals. Around ten years ago, he noticed that nobody was celebrating the humble donkey for its efforts in helping people all over the world improve their quality of life. In recognition of all this hard work, he set up a Facebook group, chronicling the trials and tribulations of the species all over the world. Eventually, the idea to set up a World Donkey Day emerged in 2018, and we’ve been celebrating it ever since.

The concept drew widespread attention in the media. The Daily Express, for instance, ran an article covering ten facts that people don’t know about donkeys. Did you know that a female donkey is called a Jenny? Ark also has thousands of followers on his Facebook page, all showing their support for this amazing creature.

Donkeys have played an essential part in human history. Ark says that they are a “precious genetic resource and a great gift of nature.” You can’t get higher praise than that!

How to celebrate World Donkey Day

The best way to celebrate World Donkey Day, depending on where you are, is merely to research these incredible beasts and the role they had to play in the world. If you’re somewhere you can take a Donkey Ride tour like the Grand Canyon or tours of certain abandoned mines then that’s an even better way to become acquainted with these adorable long-eared equines. World Donkey Day reminds us that we owe a large part of our success on this planet to these fellow travelers on the starship Earth.

There are plenty of other ways that you can show your support to donkeys all over the world and improve their wellbeing. Many of them are in constant pain and need attention fast. Often their owners are too poor to pay for a veterinarian, so it falls to the rest of us to take up the slack. Donating to a donkey charity, therefore, is a great way to show your support for these fabulous creatures directly. Currently, there are a handful of nonprofits working hard all over the world to deliver medical attention to neglected and abused animals. These charities use donated money to provide much-needed treatment to donkeys in their hour of need.

Donkey abandonment is another major issue. Many owners will dump their donkeys at the side of the road if they can no longer afford to take care of them. The animal must then scavenge for food to survive. Giving to a donkey charity, therefore, can provide these victims with shelter where they can live in safety and peace.

Donkeys are beautiful, but neglected creatures. World Donkey Day is a chance for everyone who cares about these animals to highlight their plight and do something practical about it. Are you in?

Source

#World Donkey Day #WorldDonkeyDay #8 May #begging burros #wild donkey #Custer State Park #I love Custer State Park #one of my favorite parks #travel #summer 2019 #South Dakota #wildlife #wildflower #meadow #flora #fauna #nature #landscape #countryside #tourist attraction #landmark #original photography #Black Hills #USA #animal

[total-drama-brainrot]

Deep diving into Alejandro's ethnicity and family because the show is vague with how both are portrayed, and I'm pedantic:

Off the bat, we know that he was born in 🇪🇸 Spain. Or at least, that's what his wiki page says, so I'm sure it's mentioned in some kind of canon content (the show, the character interviews, the creators' stating it, ect). He often times speaks en español, either by replacing words and phrases in otherwise English sentences or cussing out his team in an entirely spanish confession. His name is also rooted in Spanish origin; 'Alejandro' is the Spanish equivalent of Alexander, and his surname 'Burromuerto' literally translates to "Dead Donkey", likely a combination of the idioms "beating a dead horse" and "no ver tres en un burro", translation: can't see three on a donkey; akin to 'blind as a bat'.

I could go on about the symbolism of his name(s) and how it relates to his performance on Total Drama, but that's not essential to the topic at hand so I'll go over it later.*

With this in mind, the show really wants us to believe that he's Spanish, or at the very least Hispanic.

In Chinese Fake-Out, we learn that he won a gold medal at the South American Skate Olympics, so he presumably lived somewhere in South America in his childhood. On the wiki, it claims that he moved to Latin America soon after he was born. His comment in the same episode about eating barbequed guinea pigs where he grew up had a lot of people deducing that he lived in 🇵🇪 Peru since guinea pig is famously a delicacy there. The question begs, why would Alejandro and the rest of the Burromuertos move to Peru from Spain?

We know that Alejandro's father is a diplomat, so uprooting the family to a new country could be related to his work, but I doubt a diplomat would settle down and start a family just to go through the hassle of moving them halfway across the world to a random country, regardless of his salary.

What other reason would anyone have for dragging their brood across the sea? To see their extended family.

Family is a big character motivation for Alejandro: he has a lot of pride in being a Burromuerto and often times complains about disappointing his family or being susceptible to José's teasing when his plans don't work out. Pride is a staple of the Burromuertos; they even have a family code they abide by. That kind of mindset is usually generational, implying that his parents place the same emphasis on the presentation and opinions of their family.

The most glaring example of this mindset is the hate fuelled rivalry between Alejandro and José, which was sparked by their desperate need to be the "better son". The main goal of the Burromuerto brothers is familial recognition. Understandable, when your parents are too successful to raise you themselves, any kid would be desperate for their attention. Since their competition was allowed to escalate to the point of mutual loathing, their parents probably encouraged their behaviour; when you value familial reputation over everything of course you want your children to continuously prove themselves. (Poor Al is just full of complex familial trauma, from his parents' neglect to his brothers' bullying to the incredible pressure he's put under to succeed. No wonder he's like that.)

After seeing how the brothers are willing to go to extremes for the sake of family, it's reasonable that parents sharing that mindset would move across an ocean just to see their relatives (and likely compete with them, after all even a younger Alejandro was showing up everyone in South America's skateboarding scene).

Suggesting that either one or both of his parents, or grandparents, are Latin American. For simplicities sake, we'll say that Alejandro's dad is Spanish (as he carries the surname), and his mother is Peruvian (since Peru is the assumed country they moved to).

That means that the brothers qualify as both Hispanic and Latino. Alejandro's latin blood really is canon, and the stereotypical 'Latin Lover' archetype he fills (alongside the "Archvillain" he's titled as) is all the more accurate. He's evidently very proud of both heritages.

To clarify, the Burromuertos moved to Peru when Alejandro was young to be with his Mother's side of the family.

If we want to really wade into the theoretical waters, I'd like to suggest that Alejandro's father left Spain because he disgraced himself/his family in some way, and that's why he's so insistent on his sons restoring the family pride and prestige.

So, I've established Alejandro's ethnicity and touched on the bare-bones basics of his home life. But what about his other brother, or his uncle? You know, the characters that were mentioned once and never expanded upon. Don't worry, I've got notes on them too.

Carlos: The eldest child and a professional soccer player. Alejandro doesn't mention anything about a rivalry with Carlos. Instead, he suggests the two share a healthier bond as Carlos taught him soccer skills. 'Carlos' the name is a Spanish variant of Charles, meaning "free man". Fitting, since it's widely assumed that Carlos escaped from the Burromuerto home's harmful environment at his first opportunity and 'freed himself' from their high expectations/standards, hence why he doesn't engage in the family-typical hypercompetitive bullying. A somewhat common fandom troupe I've seen is Carlos being disowned by the Burromuertos, and post-World Tour/All-Stars Alejandro reconnecting with him after he too is disowned.

Uncle Julio: The hypnotist. All we really know about Julio is his name and occupation, but it's enough to pin him down as Alejandro's maternal uncle. Alejandro states that he learned hypnosis from Julio in The EX-Files; as he grew up in Peru, the only family he reasonably could have interacted with outside of the nuclear unit would be his mother's relatives. His comment "manipulation runs in the family" is never ascribed to the Burromuertos by name, which adds to the implication that Julio isn't his father's brother, as any skill as useful as hypnosis would definitely be branded under his surname otherwise. Additionally, 'Julio' as a name is derivative of the Latin Julius or Julianus (meaning "Devoted to Jove/Jupiter", the Roman incarnation of Zeus, though I can't find any meaning in this applicable to his character), and not a strictly Spanish name like those of Alejandro and his brothers. Instead, it's common in most Hispanic and Latin American countries.

José: The middle child and Alejandro's source of his lingering childhood trauma, if the aversion to the nickname "Al" is anything to go by, I've already written about their relationship. The name 'José' is a Spanish variant of Joseph, which means "to add/give" in it's simplest interpretation. He sure does give Alejandro a tonne of issues, so I suppose it tracks.

*And finally, analysing the symbolism of Alejandro's name.

Alejandro, derived from Alexander, meaning "warrior" and "man's defender". Though in Al's case, it's likely a reference to Alexander the Great as opposed to the name's literal meaning/origins- Alejandro conquered the competition like Alexander conquered his empire.

Burromuerto's double idioms combine "beating a dead horse donkey" with "blind as a bat", likely as a convoluted way to say he's blinding the dead donkey; in this case, the beaten dead horse donkey is the OG cast of Total Drama who have already been milked for two seasons of content and have little left to offer (therefore, the third season is the beating of the dead horse, as its' an attempt to force content out of a resource with nothing left to give. that's why they added two more competitors, if that makes any sense? I'm not sure if I'm explaining this well enough,) and Alejandro is deceiving or 'blinding' them through his manipulations.

Obviously, this is all speculation written by someone with too much free time and no expertise. All of my knowledge/facts come from google searches and connecting dots that likely have no real links to each other. I'm not an authority on any subject. Keep that in mind, please.

Feel free to add your own opinions/thoughts! Or correct things that are be wrong!

#long post #total drama #td alejandro #td josé #the burromuertos #character analysis #silly headcanons #thoughtless posting #ophe rambling #ah yes. the deaddonkey brothers. charles jospeh and alexander. /lh

[dreamersbcll]

“I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule”

- whumptober, prompt no. 24

(goodbye, goodbye, goodbye)

—————————————————————————

Dear Mom,

I’ve started this letter so many times that I’m sure permanently smeared ink will be embedded in my skin.

There was an outline, a plan even for this letter. I’ve structured it over and over to get it right. But I suppose there is no right way to say goodbye, is there?

Well, I’ve spoiled it. This is a goodbye letter of sorts. I’m not really sure who I’m saying goodbye to anymore. Which mother will be reading this piece of paper?

Will it be the mother you were before I turned nine? I miss her, you know. You were so sweet in the beginning. I still hold myself at night to remember your presence. I know Sam loves to touch, but you were big on touch, Mom. You taught us how to be gentle and leave gentle markings.

Do you remember the night you first read “Mi Burro enfermo” to us? I remember it—every single second. I remember you holding me tight, letting my chubby fingers touch the crinkled pages. Sam was pressed into my side, and you held us both, kissing our heads as Sam read to me. You would correct her ever so gently and praise her every time she got a word right. I think I was three. Even that young, I remember it all.

What happened there? When did you stop reading to us? Where did the mother with the kind hands and the sweet smile go? Why did you stop making our lunches and taking us to the bus stop?

Why did you start drinking?

I mean, we were not enough anymore? Mom, I was six. Six years old and helping Sam drag you inside so you didn’t freeze out on the front lawn. I remember learning how to make you throw up, just in case you stopped responding. Sam had to teach me to call 911 and check for your pulse. I was six, Mom. Six!

Did you ever think of us, what this would do to us? God, I know having a child born from a serial killer is terrible, but isn’t child neglect worse? I don’t know why you did this to us. I wonder every single day if I deserved that. You were my mami. I love you. Why couldn’t you love us?

Why couldn’t you love me

I know I cried a lot. I know I was noisy. I know I was too much. But I was a child—a baby. I didn’t know better. I just wanted my mami to love me again.

But your jealousy, god, I can still see it now. You always talked down to me as if I would always be around and be your little pawn. All I wanted was to love you. I wanted to love you and be loved back. But you pushed my love away like it was a loaded gun- and pushed me down time and time again. All you did was hold me underwater, breaking my resolve until I was a shell of myself.

Dad leaving was tough. I know. I saw. But I lived that too- I was there. I was eight years old, mom eight! I know he left, and I know he hurt you, even if you didn’t love him like you loved Billy. But why couldn’t you ever think about us?

First, you left me, then Dad, then Sam. You had to know that Sam going was the final straw. You had to hear me cry and scream, and break things. I know you saw me, red-eyes and shaking, begging for someone to stay. I remember those nights when I begged you to love me again. I was thirteen. God, was I stupid.

It really was no surprise that I would run. I’m just surprised that it took me so long. I mean, it's clear that I’m a masochist, constantly begging for love from empty people. I just can’t believe it took me this long to buck up.

But it was because of Sam. Never you. Don’t ever get that twisted. I never would’ve left if it wasn’t for her coming back. I was invested, Mom; I was going to stay in that stupid little town and take care of your sorry ass. God. I’m so glad I’m writing this now to tell you goodbye.

That’s right. Yeah. I’m leaving with Sam. We’re going to be far away from this hellhole of a town. I will never step foot in this town again, and I will never walk back into this house.

I don’t care what you think. If I wrote this a year ago, maybe I would feel guilty. But all I have left for you is rage. I can’t give you my sorrow or hurt anymore. It’s just red-hot rage.

The questions I have for you won’t get answered. I know that you were never keen on tying up loose ends. But don’t worry, your questions will never be answered either. I’m done with you.

Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you for all you’ve done to me.

Yet, I still love you. You’re my mom. I have a big sister who means more to me than you’ll ever know- but you’re still my mom. You’ll still be a part of me.

But you will never touch me again. Ever. Sam will make sure of that.

Goodbye, mom. Good luck.

Don’t forget to stick your fingers down your throat.

Love

From, Tara.

Putting the pencil down, Tara sighed deeply, her eyes closing. She roughly rubbed her face, trying to push the worry out of her skin. There was no reason to carry it around anymore.

Down the hall, she could hear Sam shuffling about, collecting the last of Tara’s bags.

“Are you ready to go, baby?” Sam called, lightly knocking on the door.

Flashing a smile at her big sister, Tara nodded.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Tara calls back, hastily shoving the letter into an envelope.

Staring at the blank envelope, she pondered what to write. Christina felt too formal, but mom didn’t feel right. Taking the pen out, she scribbled a quick word on it and stuck the pen behind her ear.

Mami

As she left the room, she stared at the propped up envelope, wondering if it would ever be read.

Maybe. Maybe not. She wouldn't worry about it anymore. It was time to move forward.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #whumptober2023 #AU: i’ve got blood on my hands #goodbye note #neglect #wouldn’t be my birthday without some angst

[beetlewine-art]

At this point i just believe that the Roceit dynamic after svsRedux would be like the relationship between La Muerte/la Catrina and Xibalba from the book of Life. This two:

Like, so many lines they had in the movie fit perfectly with Roceit:

Virgil: i want my life back.

Roman: *looks at Janus* is only fair.

Janus: meh *turns away*

Roman: *hugging his arm and in a sweet voice* please Jani~

The other sides: Jani???

Janus: nop. Never.

Roman: *angry* You better do this.

Janus: nop.

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

Patton: i know about the bet, Janus cheated

Roman: He did WHAT?.

Logan: Yes, like the two-headed snake he is!

Roman: *visebly angry*

Virgil: You may wanna cover your ears right now.

Roman: *screeming* DE-CE-IIIIT!

Janus: *shows up with two glass cups and a boottle of wine* yes~ my love? *Sees the others* oh oh.

Roman: REPUGNANTE HIJO DE BURRO LEPROSO! you cheated! Again!

Janus: i would never do such thing!

Roman: *grabs a two-headed snake staff from behind his back*

Janus: o-oh, that! It has a mind of it's own... Or two.

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

Janus: please my dear, trade tasks with me, i beg you!

Roman: awww, you are so cute when you beg.

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

Janus: uh well, i believe you've won the waiger my love, along with my heart, all over again.

Roman: awww, Jani.

Janus: i am so sorry, my love, you deserve better than me. I know that now, will you ever forgive me? *Kisses Roman's hand*

Roman: i do *kisses him*

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

I could give more examples, but i think they fit perfectly.

Tag list: @emobeanwhoneedssleep @maze-arts @meowthefluffy @roman-can-gay @dorkyduckling16

#my post #sanders sides #roman sanders #beetlewine #beetlepost #janus sanders #deceit sanders #the book of life #la muerte #xibalba #roceit #la muerte x xibalba #ship dynamics

[biographydivider]

Ever since I saw @glitternightingale's amazing Milk Day comic (and connected it to my own fic where Bruno lightly confuses a cow and a horse), I couldn't stop thinking that he just...doesn't know animals very well. And because my headphones died on the way to work, I wrote this on my commute today.

In the world of Bruno Madrigal, there were only two types of animal: Rats, and Not-Rats.

This affliction wasn't a result of him being in the walls for years with only rodents for company; sadly, it was something he'd lived with his whole life. Once, when he was about six, he'd begged and begged his mother to let him adopt 'the puppy' that had just been born on Señor Roja's farm.

It was a goat.

"Alright, alright Tio," Camilo sighed, holding up another of Antonio's animal friends. "What's this?"

Bruno pursed his lips, deep in thought. "Baby snake."

"It's a gecko, but that was close." Camilo let the lizard go and sat back on his haunches, tapping his lip. Bruno's sobrino had become midly obsessed with his 'animal blindness' ever since he found out Bruno once tried to milk a burro. A male burro.

"Okay, okay; I got one. Name five animals that live in...water. Any type of water - sea, rivers, whatever. Go!"

"Milo...."

"Do it or I tell Mami that you stole the last of her fancy eye cream!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez." Bruno ran his hands through his hair, steadying himself with an exhale. He could do this. It was easy. Right?

"So. I-in the water. There...are...frogs. And fish. Big fish...a-and small fish...and...regular fish."

He nodded, satisfied with his answer. Camilo groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Ay, Dios mio."

"Tio Bruno?"

Luisa tapped on his door, peeking in shyly. "Tio, I don't wanna interrupt, but I thought you might wanna know, well, your present's here."

"Ooh!"

It had been the triplets' birthday the week before, and Luisa had been devastated that her present for her Tio - whatever it was - hadn't arrived on time. Bruno hugged her tight and told her it didn't matter, it'd arrive when it arrived; but he'd been waiting with baited breath for days now, all the same. Even at fifty-one, he still loved presents. Who didn't?

"Can I see?"

"Okay....so I really hoped she'd be here by last weekend," Luisa babbled, producing a small, wooden box from behind her back, "but the man in Bogotá said she needed more time to be weaned, and..."

"She?"

Bruno took the wooden box from his sobrina - noticing it was dotted with tiny holes and seemed to be squeaking - set it down on his bed, and slid open the lid. There, nestled in pile of shredded newspaper, was a tiny, caramel-coloured rat; only just old enough to be away from her mother. She blinked, looking up at Bruno with sleepy eyes, and his heart was lost.

"Ohhhhh," Bruno breathed, slowly holding out his hand for the rat to sniff. "Hiii, cariño..."

The rat stirred; blinked again, and snuffled at Bruno's fingers. Her tiny, dainty whiskers tickled his hand, and he grinned. "You're so cute, aren'tcha?"

"'s a mouse," said Camilo, leaning over his tio's shoulder to peek into the box.

"No!" Luisa protested, puffing herself up even taller than she was normally. "She's not a mouse! I made sure! The man in Bogotá promised me! He said she's a --"

"She's a Satin Coat," Bruno murmured, almost to himself, gently stroking along the rat's back with one finger. "See how straight her whiskers are, with the lil' curls at the end? That's how you can tell. And that she's so shiny. You're so shiny, aren'tcha cariño? I think she's a...she's not a Topaz coat, I think she's Fawn. Is that right, Luisa?"

Luisa and Camilo gaped at their tio. "I..." Luisa stammered. "I-I think so. I've got her paperwork in my room?"

"Oh, I'd like to see it, very much." Bruno scooped up the baby rat and placed her in his flattened hand, never taking his eyes away from her. "Thank you, mi vida. She's perfect, I love her already. O-oh, I have a spare nest over here somewhere, she can stay there 'til she gets used to things...you've got lotsa brothers and sisters, mija, but we'll introduce you later, yes we will..."

"I knew you'd like her," Luisa beamed. "We'll leave you to get her settled in."

"She's the best present ever! Thank you, again!"

"Guy can't remember snakes don't have legs but he knows about Rat Colours an' crap?!" Camilo protested, as his prima ushered him out of the room, closing the door on the happy sounds of squeaking.

(And by the way, her name is Sweetie)

#encanto #encanto fanfic #bruno madrigal #camilo madrigal #luisa madrigal #la familia madrigal #pensandpizza

[whywishesarehorses]

“My Wild Mustang Story - Elissa & Chico”

"My name is Elissa Dodson and I have had the joy of working with our mustang Chico for almost 18 years. Chico was originally adopted by my husband and his parents shortly before we met. While attending an auction in Carthage, MO they met this scrawny gray yearling from Wyoming who was such a food hound that, while the other horses crowded in a far corner, he spent the entire day with his head stuck through the bars begging for hand outs and scratches. Some things never change. That little boy came home with them, was christened Chico, and is still on the constant lookout for food and attention.

"I grew up as your average horse crazy girl, reading Marguerite Henry books and learning to ride on our backyard horses. While attending Missouri State University, and increasing my horse obsession by getting an Equine Studies minor and competing on the equestrian team, I met my future husband and was soon driving out to his family farm to go riding. The first clue my parents had that things were getting serious was when they began to hear an awful lot about one cute little mustang named Chico... who happened to be owned by this guy named Clay. At this point Chico was halter trained and ready to officially begin his saddle training. I had just completed a course on horse training and was eager to continue growing my skills in that area, so Clay and his parents very kindly let me take over Chico's education. I'm pretty sure that horse has taught me more than I could ever teach him, and very patiently dealt with me learning the ropes alongside him.

"It wasn't long before we were riding around the farm, and then trail riding with the other horses. Chico was right there when Clay proposed to me while out on a ride together, and since then has helped teach all six of our children to ride. He has grown from being a scrawny little yearling to a beautiful big gelding that has been referred to as a “Spanish warmblood” at a local horse show. He earned me my first blue ribbon, has carried me on miles and miles of trails, including horse camping trips into the nearby Ozark wilderness areas, and has helped me teach many hours of riding lessons to kids of all ages. He loves to jump, has quickly picked up basic dressage maneuvers, patiently carries packs and is a great lead horse for when I pack other horses behind him. He has a distinct dislike for curious black and white dairy cows who like to follow too close behind him, wants to splash and play in every puddle he comes across, and generally has a personality that is so big it pours out of him in every situation. No ride would feel complete without his complaining groaning as he carries me down the trail.

"Chico was influential in developing my love of mustangs. Since working with him we have adopted five other mustangs and one burro. Out of all the horses I have worked with over the years, I love that our mustangs have all been the most curious, intelligent and quick to learn. They are hardy, willing to please, share our love for exploring new places and each have their own unique and hilarious personalities."

---

This My Wild Horse Story story was submitted by Elissa Dodson to the BLM Tales From the Trails project

#blm mustang #mustang horse #horse #equestrian #horseblr #mustang #horsblr #long post

[selcoth]

What are you Seeking?

FORGIVENESS

"what should i apologize for; what i am or what i'm not?" // oh, little hero, how close are you to crumbling under the weight on your shoulders? how heavy has that heart of yours gotten? how deeply has the guilt burrowed into your bones? how permanently has the grief been seared into your soul? you were so tender, and the world so cruel. loss after loss after loss, each another chip on your shoulder. because you deserved it, didn't you? if you could be better...faster...stronger...smarter... then maybe it wouldn't have happened. right? the blood stains your hands, and it won't wash out will it? but darling, it's never been your fault. you've learned to turn the rage and the regret, the guilt and the grief, inwards. if you're hurt, it's your own fault isn't it? because then there's a reason for it, because it gives you some semblance of control, doesn't it? what you seek is forgiveness, for your perceived wrongs. but oh, little skeleton, you do not need it. stop blaming yourself for what was beyond your control. let go of the past. grow. and learn to breathe with both of your lungs. stop choking on your own self hatred. the weight will ease, i promise. i love you.

PEACE

"i survived because the fire in me burned brighter than the fire around me." // oh, little soldier, how long have you been at war with yourself? how much of yourself have you lost to the fire that's made its home in your heart? oh, but who can blame you? for as long as you can remember, you've had to face the world alone. all bared teeth and bloody knuckles. you learned young the only person you could rely on was yourself, didn't you? learned that the others would leave you to the wolves? and so you learned how to fight, how to stand tall even if you stood alone, how to shed the softness that wounded you before. but that isn't very sustainable, is it? the embers you swallowed, the fire you cloaked yourself in, it doesn't just burn the world around you. you have watched piece after piece of you go up in smoke: your hope, your smile, your mercy. what you seek is an end to the seemingly endless burning. and, little phoenix, you deserve it. please, breathe out. lean on me. the world isn't as cruel as you've made it out to be: it is okay to stop fighting. it is okay to let go of that anger. there is so much more to you, so much more that you have. the serenity you seek can be granted, but only once you are willing to work on letting go of the hate you've harbored for so long now.

HOME

"i wish i could say i am a light that never goes out, but i flicker from time to time." // oh, little one, you have burned for so quietly for so long, haven't you? burnt yourself out trying to give others light? wishing, desperately, that they would notice the way your hands shake or the wildflower bruises under your tired eyes. but they never have, have they? and so, it obviously wasn't bad? right? you had more to give, didn't you? how much could you pour yourself out before they noticed? it is all you've ever known, after all. help, help, help, help. (are you providing it, or begging for it?) but you've given too much, spread yourself too thin, didn't you? you are so heavy, so tired. you have spent your life carrying for others the way you wished someone would care for you. but you're worried, aren't you? that if you can't be what they need, if you can't be the pillar for others to lean on, they'll leave you. what you seek is home, a safe place to rest and be taken care of. and little light, you deserve it. you have earned it. you are worth more than what you can provide for others: you deserve the same care you so freely give out. they will love you all the same, honey. set down the world, and rest that weary heart of yours.

FORGIVENESS

"what should i apologize for; what i am or what i'm not?" // oh, little hero, how close are you to crumbling under the weight on your shoulders? how heavy has that heart of yours gotten? how deeply has the guilt burrowed into your bones? how permanently has the grief been seared into your soul? you were so tender, and the world so cruel. loss after loss after loss, each another chip on your shoulder. because you deserved it, didn't you? if you could be better...faster...stronger...smarter...then maybe it wouldn't have happened. right? the blood stains your hands, and it won't wash out will it? but darling, it's never been your fault. you've learned to turn the rage and the regret, the guilt and the grief, inwards. if you're hurt, it's your own fault isn't it? because then there's a reason for it, because it gives you some semblance of control, doesn't it? what you seek is forgiveness, for your perceived wrongs. but oh, little skeleton, you do not need it. stop blaming yourself for what was beyond your control. let go of the past. grow. and learn to breathe with both of your lungs. stop choking on your own self hatred. the weight will ease, i promise. i love you.

Tagged by: I stole it from @starlitwishes Tagging: Steal it from me!

#𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔢-Venti #𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔢- Kaeya #𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔢- Emma #𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔢- Kheda #Had to do it for multiple muses from multiple fandoms #XD

[buriedinleather]

‘ beg your pardon? i didn't catch that.’ ( hi ghost ur Spanish sucks try again )

Ray may have lured Ghost into his life with Spanish lessons, but that smug look absolutely makes him want to smack the shit out of this bastard. "I wanna wipe that look off your face you - you - burro de merda." And, sure, Ghost doesn't have friends or associations outside of work. And, sure, Ray isn't a friend but he does somehow always end up bothering the shit out of him any time he gets a chance to go to his apartment.

"Quiero comida ahora." This time he at least sounds a little less like a British asshole. "Learned the insult just for you-" He frowns underneath the mask when he sees Ray rifling through his bookshelf. "I swear to whatever Gods you worship, Ray, I will bend you over my knee and spank you like the bloody brat you are if you touch any more of my shit."

Ghost grabs a newspaper, rolls it at lighting speed, and with an accuracy that could only be described as comically frightening aims and fires at Ray's head.

#[ rp interaction : dullweapons ] #[ character : simon 'ghost' riley ]

[automaticgardenflower]

William S. Burroughs: Lee and the Boys

The sun spotlights the inner thigh of a boy sitting in shorts on a doorsteps, his legs swinging open, and you fall in spasms — sperm spurting in orgasm after orgasm, guiding agains the stone street, neck and back break… now lying dead, eyes rolled back showing slits of white that redden slowly, as blood tears from the run down the face. 

Or the sudden clean smell of salt air, piano down a city street, a dusty poplar tree shaking in the hot afternoon wind, pictures explode in the brain like skyrockets, smells, tastes, sounds shake the body, nostalgia becomes unendurable, aching pain, the brain is an overloaded switchboard sending insane messages and counter messages to the viscera. Finally the body gives up, cowering like a neurotic rat, blood pressure drops, body fluids through stretched, flaccid veins, shock passes to coma and death.

Somebody rapped on the outside shutter. Lee opened the shutter and looked out. An Arab boy of fourteen or so — they always look younger than they are — was standing there, smiling in a way that could only mean one thing. He said something in Spanish that Lee did not catch. Lee shook his head and started to close the shutter. The boy, still smiling, held the shutter open. Lee gave a jerk and slammed the shutter closed. He could feel the rough wood catch and tear the boy’s hand. The boy turned without a word and the boy’s hand. The boy turned without a word and walked away, his shoulders drooping, holding his hand. At the corner the small figure caught a patch of light.

I didn’t mean to hurt him, Lee thought. He wished he had giben the boy some money, a smile at least. He felt crude and detestable.

Years ago he had been riding in a hotel station wagon in the West Indies. The station wagon slowed down for a series of bumps, and a little black girl ran up smiling and threw a bouquet of flowers into the car though the rear window. A round-faced, heavy-set American in a brown gabardine suit gathered up the flowers and said, ‘No want,’ and tossed them at the little girl. The flowers fell in the dusty road, and the little girl turned around crying and ran away. 

Lee closed the shutter slowly.

In the Rio Grande valley of South Texas, he had killed a rattles neck with a golf club. The impact of metal on the live flesh of the snake an electric shiver through him.

In New York, when he was rolling lushes on the subway with Roy, at the end of the line in Brooklyn a drunk grabbed Roy and started yelling for the law. Lee hit the drunk in the face and knocked him to his knees, then kicked him in the side. A rib snapped. Lee felt a shudder of nausea.

Next day he told Roy he was through as a hub worker. Roy looked at him with his impersonal brown eyes that caught points of light, like an opal. There was a masculine gentlemen in Roy’s voice, a gentleness that only the strong have: ‘You feel bad about kicking that mooch, don’t you? You’re not cut our for this sort of thing. Bill, I’ll find someone else to work with.’ Roy put on his hat and started to leave. He stopped with the doorknob in his hand and turned around.’

‘It’s none of my business, Bill. But you have enough money to beg by. Why don’t you just quit? He walked out without waiting for Lee to answer.’

Lee did not feel like finishing the letter. He put on his coat and stepped out into the narrow, sunless street.

The druggist saw Lee standing in the doorway of the store. This store was about eight feet wide, with bottles and packages packed around three walls. The druggist smiled and held up a finger. 

‘One?’ He said in English.

Lee nodded, looking around at the bottles and packages. The clerk handed the box of ampules to Lee without wrapping it. Lee said. ‘Thank you.’

He walked away through a steep lined on both sides with bazaars. Merchandise overflowed int the street, and he dodged crockery and washtubs and trays of combs and pencils and soap dishes. A train of burros loaded with charcoal blocked his way. He passed a woman with no nose, a black slit in her face, her body wrapped in grimy passed pink cotton. Lee walked fast, twisting his body sideways, squeezing past people. He reached the sunny alleys of the outer Medina.

Walking in Tangier was like falling, plunging down dark shafts of streets, catching at corners, doorways. He passed a bling man sitting in the sun in a doorway. The man was young, with a fringe of blond beard. He sat there with one hand out, his shirt open, showing the smooth, patient flesh, the slight, immobile folds in the stomach. He sat there all day, every day.

Lee turned into his street, and a cool wind from the sea chilled the sweat on this thin body. He hooked the key int the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

He tied up for the shot, and slid the needle in through a festered scab. Blood swirled up into the hypo — he was using a regular hypo these days. He pressed the plunger down with the firefighter. A passing caress of pleasure flushed through his veins. He glanced at the cheap alarm clock on the table by the bed: four o’clock. He was meeting his boy at eight. Time enough for the Eukodal to get out of his system.

Lee walked about the room.

‘I have to quit,’ he said over and over, feeling the gravity pull of junk in his cells. He experienced a moment of panic. A cry of despair wrenched his body: ‘I have to get out of here. I have to make a break.’

As he said the words, he remembered whose words they were: the Mad Dog Esposito Brothers, arrested at the scene of a multiple slaying holdup, separated from the electric chair by a little time and a few formalities, whispered these words into a police microphone planted by their beds in the detention ward.

He sat down at the typewriter, yawned, and made some notes on a separate piece of paper. Lee often spent hours on a letter. He dropped the pencil and stared at the wall, his face blank and dreamy, reflecting on the heartwarming picture of William Lee —

He was sure the reviewers in those queer magazines like One would greet Willy Lee as heartwarming, except when he gets — squirming uneasily — well, you know, a bit out of line, somehow.

‘Oh, that’s just boyishness — after all, you know a boy’s will is the wind’s will, and the thoughts of youth and long, long thoughts.’

‘Yes I know, but… the purple-assed baboons…’

‘That’s gangrened innocence.’

‘Why didn’t I think of that myself. And the piles?’

  ‘All kids are like hung up on something.’

‘So they are… and the prolapsed assholes feeling around, looking for a Peter, like blind worms?’

‘Schoolboy smut.’

‘Understand, I’m not trying to belittle Lee —’

‘You’d better not. He’s a one-hundred-percent wistful boy, listening to train whistles across the winter stubble and frozen red clay of Georgia.’

— yes, there was something a trifle disquieting in the fact that the heartwarming picture of William Lee should be drawn by William Lee himself. He thought of the ultimate development in stooges, a telepathic stooge who tunes in on your psyche and says just what you want to hear: ‘Boss, you is heartwarming. You is a latter-assed purple-say saint.’

Lee put down the pencil and yawned. He looked at the bed.

I’m sleepy, he decided. He took off his p ants and shoes and lay down on the bed, covering himself with a cotton blanket. They don’t scratch. He closed his eyes. Pictures streamed by, the magic lantern of junk. There is a feeling of too much junk that correspondence to the bed spinning around when your are very drunk, a feeling of gray, dead horror. The pictures in the brain are out of control, black and white, without emotion, the deadness of junk lying in the body like a viscous, thick medium.

A child came up to Lee and held up to him a bleeding hand.

‘Who did this?’ Lee asked. ‘I’ll kill him. Who did it?’

The child beckoned Lee into a dark room. He pointed at Lee with the bleeding stub of a finger. Lee woke up crying ‘No! No!’

Lee looked at the clock. It was almost eight. His boy was due anytime. Lee rummaged in a drawer of the bed table and found a stick of tea. He lit it and lay back to wait for KiKi. There was a bitter, green taste in his mouth from the weed. He could feel a warm tingle spread over his body. He put his hands behind his head, stretching his ribs and arching his stomach.

Lee was forty, but he had the lean body of an adolescent. He looked down at the stomach, which curved in flat from the chest. Junk had sculpted his body down to bone and muscle. He could feel the wall of his stomach right under the skin. His skin smooth and white, he looked almost transparent, like a tropical fish, with clue veins where the hip-bones protruded.

KiKi stepped in. He switched on the light

‘Sleeping?’ he asked.

‘No, just resting.’ Lee got up and put his arms around KiKi, holding him in a long, tight embrace.

‘What’s the matter, Mister William?’ KiKi said, laughing.

‘Nothing.’

They sat down on the edge of the bed. KiKi ran his hands absently over Lee’s back. He turned and looked at Lee.

‘Very thin,’ he said. ‘You should eat more.’

Lee pulled in his stomach so it almost touched the backbone. KiKi laughed and ran his hands down Lee’s ribs to the stomach. He put his thumbs on Lee’s backbone and tried to encircle Lee’s stomach with his hands. He got up and took off his clothes and sat down beside Lee, caressing him with casual affection.

Like many Spanish boys, KiKi did not feel love for women. To him a woman was only for sex. He had known Lee for some months, and felt and genuine fondness for him, in an offhand way. Lee was considerate and generous and did not ask KiKi to things he didn’t want to do, leaving the lovemaking on an adolescent basis. KiKi was well pleased with the arrangement. 

And Lee was well pleased with KiKi. He did not like the process of looking for boys. He did not lose interest in a boy after a few contacts, not being subject to compulsive promiscuity. In Mexico he had slept with the same boy twice a week for over a year. The boy had looked enough like KiKi to be his brother. Both had very straight black hair, an Oriental look, and lean, slight bodies. Both exuded the same  quality of sweet masculine innocence. Lee met the same people wherever he went. 

[angelicasimonephotography]

#burro #burros #donkey #wildlife #animals #wildlife photography #south dakota #sodak #sd #custer state park #custer #state park #black hills #the black hills #photography #photographer #nature #nature photography #begging burros #wildlife loop road #wildlife loop

[rabbitcruiser]

Palm Sunday

At National Today, things like triumphs and aspirations get our blood pumping and, this Palm Sunday, which falls on March 24 next, we are ready to welcome and celebrate the occasion. Palm Sunday is the beginning of Jesus’ final week on earth. It is not an official federal holiday, which means that businesses usually are open and running. However, since Palm Sunday falls on a weekend (the Sunday before Easter), it gives people enough time and space to celebrate it by going to church and indulging in other traditions. Each country has its own share of cultural influences on Palm Sunday’s celebrations. For example, in Latvia, Palm Sunday is celebrated as ‘Pussy Willow Sunday’ as these plants are used instead of the regular palm. What’s also interesting is that children are customarily woken up on the day with a swipe of the willow.

History of Palm Sunday

Marking the beginning of an end, Palm Sunday is, undoubtedly, an important day in the history of Christianity. Much can be said about the occasion, from its historical significance to what it has implied in religious terms and such. We take you back to those times when religious miracles abounded.

At its basic, Palm Sunday marks Jesus’ victorious entry into Jerusalem. He entered riding a donkey and the people welcomed him using palm fronds. They laid down the leaves (and their own cloaks too!) on the ground as Jesus entered the city. Some accounts also state that Jesus held some of the palm fronds in his hand and waved these as he passed by. Jesus’ return to the city also fulfilled Prophet Zachariah’s prophecy that the Messiah will return and bring glad tidings for Jerusalem’s people. When Jesus was entering the city, many also shouted, “Hosanna!”, which means “God saves” or “Save now”. The people saw him as the king and ruler of the city, many already aware of his being able to perform miracles like raising the dead and speaking during infancy.

There is also symbolism involved in Palm Sunday. Palms are considered as signs of peace and victory, and Jesus’ entrance being marked by these plants point towards the incoming peace and victories that the people were hoping for. Another symbol is the donkey, and during those times, warlords, bent on hostility, would ride in on horses. But, on the other hand, kings meaning well and peace would ride donkeys to indicate their gentle intentions.

Palm Sunday, which is also known as Passion Sunday, is followed by other important days like Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, with each of these holding special significance unto themselves. Many people celebrate Palm Sunday by visiting churches and reenacting Jesus’ entrance scene. They also take special care of palm fronds during this week as the leaves are considered sacred. The leaves are burned and used in ash form later on in the week.

Palm Sunday  timeline

33 A.D. Jesus’ Entrance in Jerusalem

Jesus rides a donkey into the city of Jerusalem and is welcomed and cheered on by people who see him as their savior.

8th century Controversies Finally Resolved

Many churches are against each other on celebrating Passover as a Jewish day, and things do not resolve themselves until the eighth century.

1513 Florida City Named During Easter Week

The explorer, Ponce de Leon, names Florida city, “Pascua Florida” (Spanish for Palm Sunday), after spotting the island from afar.

20–21st century A Fixed Date for Palm Sunday

Efforts to fix a date for Palm Sunday are made, but nothing comes to fruition.

Palm Sunday FAQs

When was Jesus crucified in the Palm Sunday week?  

Jesus was crucified on Good Friday. He was arrested and mocked a few days earlier. It is believed that he sacrificed himself for the sake of humankind.

Why is Easter significant to the Palm Sunday week?  

Falling a week after Palm Sunday, Easter signifies the Resurrection or Rebirth day for Jesus. Many celebrate the occasion by using eggs, rabbits, and by welcoming spring.

Is it necessary to have a palm to celebrate Palm Sunday?  

No, you do not need a palm to celebrate Palm Sunday. Whatever plant is local to your country or region, you can use it. For example, in India, people use flowers to commemorate the occasion, while in Italy, olive branches are used.

How to Observe Palm Sunday

Visit a church during Palm Sunday

Help out your friends with preparations

Prepare/Learn about Palm Sunday week

You can visit a church and take part in/observe the celebrations. Each country has its own customs, so you can expect an array of different scenarios. In any case, it will be worth it as you will become part of the spirit of peace and gentleness.

As with all important days, there are a ton of preparations to do and so little time to do them. Your friends would appreciate it if you lent a helping hand. Spirit of unity is another important part of Palm Sunday and, by helping out your friends, you are imbibing that very spirit.

Palm Sunday marks just one day of the important week ahead. There’s Good Friday and Shrove Tuesday, just to name a few. Each of these days, until Easter, relays the journey that Jesus went through.

5 Facts About The Palm That Will Blow Your Mind

Palm trees can be quite tall

Holy in other cultures and religions

Palm trees can live for a century

Palms can live/grow in containers

Not all palm fruits are edible

Palm trees are some of the tallest plant species, growing up to 160–200 feet and giving competition to skyscrapers.

Apart from Christianity, palm trees are also considered symbolic in Islam with many in the Arabian countries giving importance to their fruit.

It’s not just their heights that are lengthy but also their lives, as some palm species can grow to be centurions or even older.

You can grow your own palm inside a pot as these are quite versatile plants.

There are palm species whose fruit you cannot eat as they are poisonous and can cause fatal harm.

Why We Love Palm Sunday

It’s a celebration of peace and gentleness

It’s a celebration of hope and harmony

It’s a celebration of different cultures coming together

In a world that is torn apart by violence and polarization, things like peace, calm, and gentleness are much needed. Palm Sunday allows us to take a moment to appreciate the gift of life and all that it has to offer.

The people of Jerusalem had been waiting for generations upon generations for the Messiah to come. Prophet Zachariah’s prophecy took some time to happen, but it eventually did. Palm Sunday promises better times to come, always.

While Palm Sunday is a religious day with fixed standards in terms of importance, each culture celebrates the day with its own customs and traditions. It’s a sign of unity in all senses of the word — unity in togetherness and unity in uniqueness.

Source

#Jordan #Jerusalem map #mosaic #Sebalduskirche #Nürnberg #Nuremberg #architecture #Germany #Deutschland #Palm Sunday #PalmSunday #7 days before Easter #vacation #24 March 2024 #begging burros #flora #fauna #wildlife #animal #original photography #summer 2019 #2020 #travel #Haiti #USA #landscape #countryside #tourist attraction #Bavaria #Bayern

[introvertguide]

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948); AFI #38

The next Huston and Bogart collaboration that we reviewed was the infamous tale of greed and betrayal, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948). It was a film that was two decades in the making due to a world war, varying contractual obligations, and poor conditions due to location filming. It is debated that this was Bogart's best performance since it was a step away from the roles that had made him famous, but it did not earn him an Oscar nomination. The film did get four nominations and ended up winning Best Writing and Best Directing for John Huston as well as Best Supporting Actor for Walter Huston, John's dad. This was the only time that a father-son combo won Oscars for a film together. There are a lot of interesting firsts involved with this film, but I want to spoil it first for anyone who hasn't seen it. By the way...

SPOILER WARNING!!! THIS IS AN ANALYSIS, SO I AM GOING TO SPOIL EVERYTHING ABOUT THE MOVIE AND THEN EVERYTHING ABOUT THE PRODUCTION!!! IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE FILM COLD AND GET THE FULL EXPERIENCE, WATCH IT FIRST BEFORE READING ANY FURTHER!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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

In 1925, in the Mexican town of Tampico, Fred C. Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart) is wandering around and begging for change. He keeps asking the same man in white (John Huston) for money until the man tells him no more handouts. Dobbs continues to beg and runs into another vagrant named Bob Curtin (Tim Holt). The two seem to have an understanding, but money is tight and they separate to look for job leads. Dobbs finds a man in an alley named Pat McCormick (Barton MacLane) and the latter asks the former if he wants a job. Dobbs agrees and goes to a raft and finds Curtin will also be working on this job. They are working as roughnecks to help construct oil rigs for $8 a day. When the project is completed and they return to Tampico, McCormick skips out without paying the men.

The two vagrants encounter an old man named Howard (Walter Huston) in a flophouse. The loquacious and penniless ex-miner talks to them about gold prospecting and the perils of striking it rich. Dobbs and Curtin run into McCormick at a cantina, and after a bar fight, collect their back wages. When Dobbs hits a small jackpot in the lottery, he, Curtin and Howard have enough money to buy the supplies they need to go prospecting in the interior.

Departing Tampico by train, the three help to repulse a bandit attack led by "Gold Hat" (Alfonso Bedoya). North of Durango, the trio head into the remote Sierra Madre mountains. Howard proves to be the hardiest and most knowledgeable of the three. After several days of arduous travel, Howard spots gold that the others had passed by.

The men toil under harsh conditions and amass a fortune in placer gold. But as the gold piles up, Dobbs becomes increasingly distrustful of the other two. The men agree to divide the gold dust immediately and hide their shares. At one point, Curtin sees a Gila monster crawl under a rock and it turns out that this was where Dobbs had hid his share. Curtin warns Dobbs, but Dobbs just assumes that Curtin is trying to steal another share of the gold. It is apparent that Dobbs is being driven insane by the greed for gold, just as Howard had predicted.

Curtin, while on a resupply trip to Durango, is spotted making purchases by a Texan named Cody (Bruce Bennett). Cody secretly follows Curtain back to the encampment. When he confronts the three men, they lie about what they are doing there, but he is not fooled. He boldly proposes to join their outfit and share in any future takings. Howard, Curtin and Dobbs talk it over and vote to kill him. As they announce their verdict, pistols in hand, Gold Hat and his bandits arrive. They claim to be Federales. After a tense parley, a gunfight ensues, and Cody is killed. A genuine troop of Federales suddenly appears and pursues Gold Hat and his gang. The three prospectors examine Cody's personal effects. A letter from a loving wife reveals that he was trying to provide for his family.

Howard is called away to assist local villagers with a seriously ill little boy. When the boy recovers, the next day, the villagers insist that Howard return with them to be honored. Howard leaves his goods with Dobbs and Curtin and says he will meet them later. Dobbs and Curtin constantly argue, until one night Dobbs shoots Curtin and takes all the gold. However, Curtin is not dead; he manages to crawl away and hide during the night.

Finding Curtin gone, Dobbs flees, but is ambushed at a waterhole by Gold Hat and his men. They first toy with him, then kill him (it is implied that Dobbs is beheaded with a machete). The bandits mistake the bags of gold dust for sand and dump the treasure, taking only the burros and supplies. The gold is scattered by the strong wind. Meanwhile, Curtin is discovered by indios and taken to Howard's village, where he recovers.

Gold Hat's gang tries to sell the stolen burros in town, but a child recognizes the brands on them (and Dobbs' clothes, which the bandits are wearing) and reports them to the authorities. The bandits are captured and summarily executed by the Federales.

Howard and Curtin return to Durango in a dust storm and reclaim their pack animals, only to find the empty bags. At first shaken by the loss, first Howard, then Curtin, grasp the immense irony of their circumstances, and they burst into laughter. Howard decides to return to the village to accept an offer of a permanent home and a position of honor, while Curtin sells their recovered property to return to the United States, where he will seek out Cody's widow. As Curtin leaves, the camera pans down to a cactus as he rides past. Lying next to it is a bag of gold, still full.

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

This film was a major change of pace for Bogart, making it very difficult to advertise. An actor who is generally the hero turns out to be a villain that shoots his partner and then is unceremoniously beheaded by a bandit is not what audiences expected or even wanted. Using Bogart's star power and reputation for being a good guy romantic lead to attract audiences and then doing his character dirty like he was done is the 40s version of clickbait. And yet the film was moderately successful with audiences and earned four Academy Award nominations. Where this trick to the audience is apparent is the lack of even a nomination for Bogart despite it being one of his finest acting roles.

I watched the movie a couple of times over the last few days and that included commentary from the guy who wrote the biography of Bogart, a Mr. Eric Lax. It was extremely informative and was actually very different from the IMDB trivia page. I am going to trust the official biographer on this one, so some of the following information that is presented as fact is second hand from the movie commentary.

There were two father-son teams on the set of this particular film. The first is was of course the director, John Huston, and his father who played the part of Howard, Walter Huston. The other was actually the other nice guy, Curtin, who was played by Tim Holt, and the old man who warned the two that Pat McCormick was lying to them, played by Jack Holt. John Huston was actually in the film playing the American in the white suit, which made this film the only one with two father-son duos with speaking roles in a single film.

The Huston family has a couple of other notable film accomplishments. John Huston directed his father to an Academy Award and also directed his daughter, Angelica Huston, to a Best Supporting Actress award in Prizzi's Honor (1985). On both occasions, the elder Huston in the film died very soon after working with their child. Walter died a year after his role in Sierra Madre and John died less then two years after Prizzi's Honor. I felt a little sad about that at first, but then it is nice that a parent can work with their child doing what they do best at the end of their life.

Apparently the filming was very difficult and took its toll on the actors and crew. There was a joke about the old man, Howard, being a tough old goat, and that comes from the local crew outpacing the location scouts when Huston first went down to Mexico to look for places to film. The filming took place during the rainy season so there were many delays. The irony was that there was lots of gusting wind except on the day that they needed it and there was lots of rain and flooding except on the day when Dobbs finds the little collection of water.

A rather silly note (or at least I thought so) was that one of the big pushes to get the film done was that Humphrey Bogart wanted to participate in a boat race. He had his boat, the Santana, that he had been practicing with around Catalina when pre-production was halted due to John Huston joining the military during WW2. Bogart wanted to take part in the Honolulu Yacht Race in which he had participated in the past. Bogart's wife, Lauren Bacall, said that the yacht was the only thing that she ever felt jealous of. The constant complaining by Bogart about the time caused one of the only fights he had with John Huston. The director purportedly grabbed Bogart by the nose and twisted until Bogart shut up. It was not brought up again and Bogart missed his race.

One actor that made a surprising cameo in the film was the little boy that sold Dobbs the winning lottery ticket. The part was played by a very young Robert Blake (freaking Beretta) who was a child film star. He had played the role of Mickey in Our Gang short films for almost a decade by the time he was in Sierra Madre. I was surprised to also find out that Blake had almost 80 acting credits before his small part in this film. By the way, he does not have a Mexican accent. Sadly, I think that Blake is now most famous for being accused of hiring somebody to kill his wife. Not a great legacy.

My family commented on the look of Bogart and how weirdly greasy his hair looked. His hair looked pretty weird throughout the film, as a matter of fact. According to Eric Lax, Bogart was taking hormone shots in an attempt to get Bacall pregnant and had lost a lot of his hair. All of those funny looking haircuts were toupees. The one used when Dobbs got a haircut was most notable, especially since you can since Bogart's actual hair at the back.

A final fun fact was the death of Dobbs being a strangely cut machete strike that was hidden by the backside of a donkey was not the original depiction. There was an actual fake head rolling down to the water that was cut out of the film. Bogart famously kept the head and was very disappointed when the scene was cut out of the film. That would have been pretty gory for the time, but Huston knew it would not get past the sensors and he wanted the film to get distributed. Oh well.

So does the film belong on the AFI 100? Of course. For similar reasons as The Maltese Falcon. This was one of the best works produced by one of the best director/writer and lead actor combos of all time. It is an amazing story that doesn't end how one would expect from a movie of the time. It is classic and innovative at the same time. Would I recommend it? Absolutely. It is a fine film that tells the story of what greed can do to an otherwise good person. It is also very clean to the point that I would recommend it to any age group.

#the treasure of the sierra madre #humphrey bogart #john huston #academy award winning #black and white #introvert #introverts #40s movies

[loganbutwithfeelings]

Ahah! I am here to give that of which you beg. Hi how are you? Your succulent collection Janus hc is adorable. Have you considered Jellybean Succulents (insert cute jealosy and or candy pun here)? And that Remus would totally eat some of them "to see which ones he could." -(aloe is edible/a succulent). Oh. and would Janus have a little succulent to represent each Side? lil decorated pots and symbolism ect. ect.

hiiiiii!!!!! I'm alright, today's actually been a pretty good day!! how are you??

thank you!!! I had not considered jelly bean succulents, but now that I've looked them up they are so?? adorable??? truly a much needed addition, and definitely a great way to add in a lil pun!!!

and remus would definitely eat the lil jelly bean succulents. I'd imagine Jan finding lil bits missing out of them, thinking it was a household pet or something, and then finding remus munching on them like actual jelly beans...

and omg yes jan would totally have a lil plant for each of the sides!!!!

don't mind me low key drafting a post bout this immediately...

I could definitely see a burro's tail for Pat, in a pot painted like the sky- a light blue with some fluffy clouds on it. it's such a bubbly, cute lil plant!!

what do you think?? it such a cute idea, all the lil plants for everyone, and thanks for taking the time to expand upon a succulent-loving Janus!!

#ehehehehhe #my thirst for attention has been quenched #(for the moment...) #welcome new anon!!! #thanks for dropping this lil message #i absolutely love it!!! #anon #ask #ask answered

[whywishesarehorses]

My Wild Horse Story

                                                               Jul 1, 2020                                              

Submitted by Katie Jo Smart, Mississippi

“He’s going to outgrow the pony soon, and we just don’t have the money for a Jr. High Rodeo horse,” I whispered to my husband as we looked through the panels at a small bay mare with a big head and even bigger eyes. Our son needed a new horse as he would eventually move on to Jr. High and High School Rodeo, and a professionally trained horse at $40k just wasn’t in the cards. A $25 horse, however, may be something to consider. I watched her move across the pen, her big eyes unsure and untrusting. I shrugged my shoulders and got in my car to leave. I went home and tried to clear my mind, but her quick feet and athletic nature were absolutely haunting.

“What if this could be the one? What if this is the horse to take him to Nationals? Wouldn’t that be a hoot, if a wild horse went to the High School Rodeo National Finals with all of those fancy high-bred rodeo horses?!”

I went to sleep thinking about that mare, woke up with her on my mind, and was basically only a warm body for the day until I went back to see her again.

There she was. Her pen had been sorted through, as most of her temporary roommates had been adopted. As I gazed over her wondering if I could even do any justice, a friendly face came towards me. “Well, what are you thinking?” asked Mr. Cary Frost, BLM Wild Horse and Burro Specialist.

“Honestly, sir, she is very catty and athletic but I’m wondering if I could even do her justice.”

“She is smart,” he added. He went about his way to talk to another prospective adopter as I stared into her pen trying to envision myself even attempting to train an 800lb, for all intents and purposes, wild animal. I went home again.

This dance went back and forth to the point that I made four trips to the adoption center before I was ready and confident enough to sign the adoption papers. She was one of only three that had not been taken home and the other two may have been adopted and waiting on their ride.

“How much is she” I asked Mr. Cary. "$25 or $125?”

“That one is $25,” he replied. I nervously went to the adoption desk. After verifying that I had all necessary facilities to hold a wild horse and the proper shelter, I handed over my $25 and signed my John Hancock.

“Would you like to sign her up for the Adoption Incentive Program?” asked another BLM employee, Demerits.

“What’s that?”

“Well, you get $1,000 for adopting a wild horse.”

“I’m sorry, I have a trick ear, what was that?” I asked. “If you keep the horse and prove that it’s been properly taken care of, you get $1,000,” he replied.

I could have been knocked over with a feather! You mean to tell me, that you are giving me this horse for $25 and you’re adding $1,000 too?

This day couldn’t get any better, I had found my son a horse and this horse was basically paying for everything itself. Feed, hay, farrier work, vet bills. She was financially independent.

We loaded her up, cut the tag from around her neck and she was mine.

She was unloaded into her pen and I just stared with the overwhelming feeling of “what did I just do.” I had never trailered a tornado before.

Then the research began. I combed through every well of knowledge as if I were writing a thesis. Every movie, documentary, YouTube video or blog about wild horse training, I was studying. I learned the most from the movie Wild Horse Redemption - I felt that it was the most accurate by far.

This is where the fairy tail takes a short pause.

3 days to touch her.

5 days of begging to lead her while most of those days she was leading me.

7 days to put a towel on her back to mimic a saddle pad.

2 weeks to pick her feet up.

1 month before her first farrier visit.

4 months to fully saddle her.

5 months before our first ride.

6 months before she would load on a trailer.

6 months before I could ride her around cattle.

Needless to say, September 14 until mid-March 2020 was a trying time. Every day was a new day, as much for me as it was for her. Training went like this: If she would accept A, I would move to B. If she would accept B, we went to C. If C was a “no go”, we reinforced B.

It was 6 months of trials and tribulations but when the victories came, they rained down. I can honestly and without holding back say that this horse, this “wild mustang” that my entire family was intimidated by because of the mustang stereotype, is the number one horse in my string. She is the one I want to go ride and bring cows up on. She is the one I load first to go to the arena. She is my pick. She is my Marty and she was worth it. I know without a shadow of a doubt that she will take my son to the High School National Finals rodeo. Keep an eye out for her, she will be the little bay with the freeze brand on her neck.

#blm mustang #mustang horse #tales from the trail #western #rodeo horse #mine

[route22ny]

Mooching burros try their luck with the passengers in a 1960 Chevy at Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota, seen in an undated postcard view presumably from the early 1960s.  Image from hippostcard.com

Special Friends: Custer State Park’s Begging Burros Beckon You Back, Slobber and All

#1960s #postcard #Black Hills #South Dakota #RPPC #burro

[sunflowercecil-blog]

Captain’s Orders

it’s fiNALLY HERE! The long-awaited pirate fic ft cecil and julian bc im one homo bastard. If you missed this boat, this post caught some attention and people were asking for a fic. And, weeks later, I’m finally providing. 

thank u to @bazzpop, @devorak-titties, @bitters-enthusiast and @timmys-and-scribbles (and all the anons!!!) who vocally wanted this and therefore gave me my Only motivation to actually write it. love all y’all uwu

warning!! there’s blood!! there’s swearing!! there’s... like... a kinda Stockholm Syndrome vibe to it! pls be careful idk people’s triggers pls tell me how to tag this osbsb. its all 3000+ words so get some fuckin popcorn lmao

without further adieu, i present to u: gay pirates

When he found the will to open his eyes, Julian recognised none of his surroundings.

The floor his knees pressed against was a dark burgundy wood, decorated with layers of chippings and scratches that scrawled all around him. When the floor met the wall, it grew into a lighter brown. But still just as damaged. The wood had dent after dent, little holes from sharp objects hitting it and chips lying scattered at the base. If it hadn't been obvious enough that this room was for more violent activities, there was a darkened patch of the wall that tinted red when the light hit it. His throat tightened.

With an attempt to stand, he found that his hands were bound behind a large pillar in the middle of the room. The pillar looked to be the most damaged thing here. The dark paint was a mere stain now, with the light core of the wood being the most exposed part. It curved and ducked and stuck out in morbid ways, like it was mocking the branches of a tree.

Julian craned his neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of his hands behind the pillar. If he knew what kind of knot he’d been tied with, he could potentially get out. His best efforts were weak shuffles and grunts, trying to twist around the base of the pillar to look. Had it not been for the support of the bonds, he would have fallen over.

Voices, muffled through the wood, hit his ears. Snapping up, Julian watched the door. Rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks and between the edges. They danced around silhouettes eagerly, trying to squeeze through to reach him. The words outside were barely audible, and he only caught snippets of words and phrases.

“… tied.” Ah. So they were talking about him. Unless they had multiple people tied up here. Actually, that wasn’t entirely implausible.

There was silence, and a small thud before the same voice squawked.

“Yes, Captain!”

Footsteps scuttled away, getting more distant. He wanted to relax, but there was still a shadow behind the door. It felt impossible to breathe, like any sound would alert the captain of his presence. Julian dropped his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the knot once more.

He stopped when he felt the sunlight hit his face, and rays of gold illuminated the red stains deep in the wooden boards below. The blood seeped between the cracks and faint lacerations that looked awfully like the scratches of fingernails. He stared, until the light was blocked once more. A silhouette crawled across the floor of the room. Julian looked up. The figure was encased in shadows, a glow of the sun behind them. It was hard to make out any real features. A captain’s hat perched on their head, the sway of tashes by their thighs.

When they stepped forwards and leaned against the frame of the door, Julian could finally see them. A tangle of red hair swept up when the hat was pushed sideways. It fell in thick straight locks, only to the ear until it was shaved.

The man had a rounded face and a button nose. Had it been in any other situation, he would have been cute. But this man also had scars down his neck and chest, which he proudly displayed with a half open shirt. Jewellery lined every patch of skin – a silver and golden choker around his neck; ruby and sapphire gems hung from chains and rested on his chest; his wrists were covered in shiny metals and gems up to his biceps, where his ripped sleeves finally covered his skin, but not enough to hide the deep black mark of thief on his left bicep. The shirt was a faded pink colour, mostly coated in stains now. All the buttons were gone, and the only thing holding it in place was the green sash it was tucked into. Underneath the sash there must have been a belt, because a cutlass dangled from the man's waist. It scathed against his leggings, but the tip harmlessly bashed into the thick leather of his boots. After letting Julian gaze, the man finally spoke.

“Well, well, well.” His voice was higher than Julian had been expecting. It certainly didn’t have a rough accent, or the choke of a smoker, but the confident, sultry tone was enough to throw him through a loop and convince him this man was a real pirate.

As he walked forwards, he closed the door behind him. Julian swallowed. The idea of being alone in a room with this man was terrifying. And... a little exciting. He'd met pirates before. But never young ones – never ones who were glamorous and cocky and perhaps a little feminine. The pirates he knew were as rough and tumble as they come.

His staring and daydreaming finally stopped when the captain was in front of him, staring down at him. Julian felt a little vulnerable. He was bound to a pillar, kneeling in front of this man. He could barely remember how this had even happened. Where he’d been, how he’d gotten here. But the questions scattered from his brain when the tip of the man’s sword was suddenly pressed under his chin. He gasped quietly.

“You deaf?” The man snapped, eyes piercing down at him. “I asked for your name.”

“Julian-" He choked, careful about how close his throat came to the blade. “Julian Devorak, sir.”

The captain raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. He kept the sword in place. “And how did you get onto my ship, Julian?”

As he opened his mouth, it suddenly came back. Stumbling through crowds, shoving people aside and sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. With guards hot on his trail, he needed the closest hiding place possible. And it just so happened that a large ship was docked nearby, with men hauling aboard in a hurry. It was easy to blend in. Just panic and nod and hurry up. Before he knew it, the ship was sailing and Julian was a stowaway.

On a pirate ship.

“Your crew let me on.” He gulped, “They- ah- they must have thought I was just one of them.”

The captain pursed his lips. With a dirty look, he dropped the sword and tied it back to his waist. Julian let out a sigh of relief, but he wasn’t out of the water yet. He was still tied here.

“Yeah, that sounds like them. Bunch of burros, Dios mío.”

A feeling of confusion passed through Julian. Was he speaking Spanish? That would have explained the lack of a pirate voice. And, actually, a lot of his mannerisms. He wasn’t a Nevivion pirate. Which got Julian even more interested. But his questions could wait.

The captain, with an air of relaxation now, sat down in front of Julian. He pulled one leg up to his chest to rest his chin, jewellery dangling and clicking together as he moved. The way his eyes fell back to Julian's face - half lidded and dazed – made Julian gulp.

“So, why did you get on my ship?”

“I needed to hide, sir.” He quivered. “Guards were-"

A laugh cut him off, and the captain looked amused with his statement. He kicked Julian lazily, more of a playful action than anything malicious. With a grin, the captain quirked an eyebrow.

“A stowaway and a criminal? You really did fit right in. Your first time getting chased?”

Julian shook his head.

“Thought so. You’re too pretty to be good. Pretty boys are always the dangerous ones.”

Oh, Lord help him. A flirt edged on his tongue and he desperately tried to resist the immature urge to slip a reply. Julian bit his tongue, but the pain only really tempted him more.

“You must be lethal, then.”

And the immediate regret. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Julian’s eyes averted away in panicked shame. He was a dead man breathing. Flirting with a pirate captain, what was he thinking-?!

Soft laughter caught his attention and he risked a glance upwards. The captain was chuckling, head leaned back in a position all too lewd. Julian caught a brief glimpse of exposed chest and neck before turning away once more. But not quick enough.

“You enjoying the view? You’re quite lucky I haven’t killed you yet. Don’t get too confident.” The threat was spoken in such a fluid tone that Julian almost felt comfortable. Almost. He was still potentially going to die here. Unless he could talk his way out.

“I can be useful. You don’t have to kill me.” He begged. “I’m a doctor.”

The captain raised his eyebrows in surprise. He pushed forwards onto his knees and faced Julian, leaning in close to intimidate him. It worked. Julian swallowed thickly, flushed with fear. Or, at least, what felt like fear.

“You must be a coward to be begging for your life so soon. I haven’t nearly scared you as much as I could.” The low tone made him shiver, trying to squirm away from the captain's gaze.

“Either that or you’re extremely naive. I don’t think you know who’s ship you’re on.”

The captain stood, untying his blade once more, and pressed the sharp edge to Julian's neck.

They stared at each other, Julian's eyes wide with fear and desperation. He swallowed again, feeling the point press into his neck in a way that he felt familiar with. It might not have been the smartest idea to hint that he had a thing for pain.

“I am Captain Cecil Doran.” The pirate spoke down to him. Julian’s blood ran cold. He'd heard of this man. Whispers of his name in seaside taverns and warnings of his ship in the distance. He had never gotten a glimpse before. Julian struggled to comprehend it. He hadn’t expected someone who’s name was coated in dirt and blood to be so... clean? Beautiful? Not an eighty year old pirate with a parrot and a cutlass?

Cecil's chuckle caught his attention once more, and Julian spared a glance up.

“There’s that look. You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?”

Julian nodded wordlessly. The look in Cecil’s eye was animalistic. Like he was savouring the way Julian shivered and whimpered when he pressed the sword harder against his throat. The silence between them was thick enough to be cut through. Any movement from Julian could be fatal. A clumsy slip and he'd be bleeding out. Would his mark be able to repair veins and capillaries? For once, Julian wasn’t keen to find out.

Cecil opened his mouth. But the noise of shouts and thuds interrupted whatever he was about to say. The sword was yanked away and he looked over to the door. Pained yells echoed through the wood, and Julian watched Cecil’s eyes narrow at the sound.

In a split second, the cutlass had been slashed and Julian’s bonds were undone. He pulled his hands free, rubbing his sore wrists as confusion laced his features. A sword was thrown at his chest. Cecil was already on the other side of the room, hand pressed on the door, ready to leave.

“Prove that you can be useful, and I might let you stay.”

The ship outside the room had fallen into chaos. There was no easy way of telling who was from which crew. Julian could only identify the ones swinging over to hop on board as ‘the bad guys’. Even then, they melted into the fight quickly. The sound of metal clashing was almost louder than the shouts filling the air. Blood spilled quickly, and Julian watched the action with a tight knot in his throat.

A glimpse of Cecil caught his attention. The captain was in a spur with one of the attackers, and was clearly winning. The slashes looked light and easy when he gave them. It was sword-fighting. Intense and threatening and close – and then Cecil did something.

He lunged forwards and grabbed the man by the neck. It should have been a fool’s move, he easily could have been stabbed or thrown off. But the man trapped in his grip began to scream in agony, and Julian saw blood spill over Cecil’s hands. When his hand pulled back, there were deep burns around the man’s neck, so far into the flesh that blood had been drawn. The man fell to the ground weakly, clutching his neck and rasping as Cecil moved on.

There was no more time to watch. A yell from the left, and Julian was flung into a fight of his own. He barely dodged a swipe to his chest, gripping the sword tightly. Julian raised the sword he’d been given and struck, slashing into the attacker's side as they turned to face him. They gave a groan, but persisted and went for him again. The swords clashed over and over, and Julian’s battles were soon merged with the rest of the crew. Attack after attack, brawls and shouts and cuts and bruises until they were finally overpowering them, finally getting the upper hand. Julian struck a pirate in the leg and as they collapsed, he heard it.

“RETREAT, GET BACK, GET BACK-"

The crew showed no mercy. Even as they ran, they were tackled and cut and thrown about by the crewmates still capable of fighting. By the end of the fight, more attackers were lying on the deck than were retreating to their own.

The ships separated quickly. It was then that Julian caught sight of Cecil again. Standing at the edge, practically coated in blood. He wondered how much of it was actually his own.

When the opposing ship was a speck in the distance, the captain turned and looked at the groaning, writhing morsels with a grimace. He limped forwards.

“Throw them overboard. All of them. We've got no room for pathetic fighters.” Cecil grunted, apathy lacing his tone. He headed for the helm, no doubt to go hide in the captain’s quarters and patch himself up.

But Julian still needed to know if he could stay. And with injuries like those? Even infamous pirates weren’t safe from Julian’s martyr tendencies. He followed quickly, catching up to Cecil just as the man ducked into the door below the helm.

The door shut behind them. They were alone once more. Cecil looked back, eyes narrowed at Julian.

“You’re following me now? You really are desperate to live.”

Julian swallowed his pride and ignored the jabs. There were bigger things to deal with here.

“You’re injured. Badly. I told you, I’m a doctor, I can-"

“Shut up.” Cecil hissed, stumbling through another door. Julian followed.

The room he found himself in was much more well-kept than his previous experience. It was a long room, split into two halves by a thick red curtain. From what he could see, the walls were lined with shelves covered in trinkets and treasures. There was a window on the right wall, a view of the sea stretching for miles. The light shone down onto a desk, covered in maps and papers and neatly stored ink bottles. The desk had boxes beneath it, filled with glass bottles of exotic colours and little jars of herbs and foreign spices. The left wall had the collection of trinkets, as well as a few darts lodged into the wall in various places.

Cecil collapsed into one of the wooden chairs by the desk, blood dripping off his skin and sinking into the floor boards. He glared as Julian approached.

“Did I say you could come in?” He snarled, but Julian took no notice.

The doctor glanced around the room. There didn’t seem to be a great deal of options in terms of medical supplies. His gaze fell back to the captain.

“Do you have anything I can wipe the blood off with?”

Cecil’s eyebrows raised for a moment, and his lip twitched, but his face remained just as cold and bitter as it was when the attack started.

“Why? So you can hope to win my approval with care and attention? I already said, there’s no room on this ship for pa-"

“So I can clean your wounds and assure you don’t die, captain.” Julian interrupted. For an infamous pirate captain, he really had no common sense. It was a wonder he'd survived this long.

“There are healers on board. I don’t need a doctor.” He snapped back. “The more you piss me off, the more I want you to join the bodies going overboard. So, please, keep talking.”

Julian rolled his eyes. If Cecil wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe he’d respond to force. There were a lot of ways to do this. Sedate him? Seduce him? The possibilities were endless. If Cecil was as injured as Julian thought he was...

He took the risk. Moving quickly, Julian towered over the chair and placed two firm hands onto Cecil’s shoulders. As he thought, the man quickly shot up and headbutted him.

They both recoiled, groaning in pain as Cecil sunk back into the chair and Julian grabbed his nose. Blood trickled from under his fingers and he heard Cecil give a weak scoff.

“Didn’t work out like you planned?” He snarked. Julian shook his head.

“Actually, it worked out perfectly. Judging by your posture,” He gestured to Cecil's limp body, “You just gave yourself a concussion.”

There was a silence. And then, slowly, Cecil groaned and dragged a bloodied hand over his face. He grimaced, glaring daggers at the doctor's smug grin.

“You should bleed more. It’s a great look for you.”

Julian smirked. “Don’t tempt me, captain.”

Satisfied that Cecil wouldn’t be able to fight back for a small while, Julian approached once more. He pulled the captain up, helping him walk past the curtains and to the back end of the room – the sleeping area.

It was actually larger than the other half. A large bed was at the end of the room, with deep red sheets and messily placed pillows. There were more shelves, with pictures and paintings and trinkets and ... toys. Julian tried not to pay too much attention to those. He pulled Cecil to the bed and laid him down, wiping the blood on his leggings.

“Now, do I have permission to heal you?” He teased.

Cecil groaned.

“I'll take that as a yes.” And Julian was searching about the room for anything to use as bandages or antibacterial chemicals. There didn’t seem to be much. But a bottle of unopened gin bottle was his best bet at disinfecting any cuts, and a dirty rag was his only shot at cleaning the blood off.

He'd have to make do. After collecting his ‘medical supplies', the doctor returned to the captain. Who had... removed his shirt. Julian flushed. He stopped and stumbled and had to remind himself: infamous pirate captain, infamous pirate captain, infamous pirate captain. Definitely not the type of person to be attracted to. And yet, here he was.

Cecil appeared to notice the change in demeanour. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

Julian jolted. “N-no, I- um.”

The captain laughed. He sat up, and tossed his shirt at Julian's chest.

“Um.”

Julian held the fabric, looking between it and Cecil. He swallowed nervously, hoping to gauge some sort of answer for what the hell was going on.

“You need something to bandage the cuts. Use the shirt. I’ve got others.” He shrugged, sinking back into his bed. Cecil winced.

Okay. Doctor time. Yes. Julian shook himself out of his gay panic and stepped forwards. He rubbed down the blood stains, trying to keep a safe distance. It felt strained. There was a thick tension between them. Well. Cecil didn’t seem to care. He was too busy ogling Julian as he tried to clean up the wounds. It was getting hard to concentrate with his gaze.

But he got it done. With a bit of time and awkward eye contact and tension, Cecil was wrapped up and resting. Julian, gloves bloody, took a step back. He watched the captain breathe shakily, and slowly removed the gloves to clean them. Julian thought that now the chaos was over, it would be best to leave the captain alone. He headed towards the curtain, steps heavy. Cecil’s voice caught him as he left.

“Hey.”

Julian turned. Cecil was smiling at him, sitting up, resting on his elbows.

“You can stay. Only ‘cause you’re cute.” He teased.

With a choked noise, Julian nodded and fled the room – heart racing. He was technically a captive on a pirate ship. Fantastic.

At least the captain was hot.

#my writing #writing #oh god this is #so bad #im so sorry #ha ghf ahfa #julian #julian the arcana #the arcana #the arcana julian #julian devorak #ilya devorak #arcana julian #julian arcana #the arcana mc #julian x mc #julian x apprentice #fan apprentice #the arcana apprentice #pirate au #tw; blood #tw; violence #cecil doran #muses #cecil the apprentice