mateo izar / d11 / (fin)

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5	mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 20, 2019 13:12:47 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 20, 2019 13:12:47 GMT -5 *m a t e o i z a r* district eleven seventeen collector all the centuries sing in my throat -- son of elias. brother to alfer.
	Last Edit: Aug 26, 2019 5:56:54 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. 堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5	mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 21, 2019 4:26:54 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 21, 2019 4:26:54 GMT -5 Desgracia compartida, menos sentida. “ Shared misfortune, less sorrow. ”
	Last Edit: Aug 21, 2019 4:28:43 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. 堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5

mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 21, 2019 5:22:38 GMT -5

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Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 21, 2019 5:22:38 GMT -5

from the cradle

He was born amongst quarrels and screeches.

But, Mateo didn’t learn this until a ripen age because for the longest time, his mother would always fabricated an excuse or a story to hide it, like yanking a lemon-yellow fabric over healing bruises. “Those birds you see outside your window, Mat, they are extremely social creatures,” she’d say, a hand in his brown curls, tone a natural lullaby.

His father, though, would stare at him from behind bleary eyes and stride out of the house, wordless and loveless. When he was young, his soft, small hands would reach for the mysterious dark of his back, pleadingly. Now, Mateo only stared at it, hands in his pockets, features an empty room, and the shape of his father’s shoulders a mundane bore because he’d gotten used to him stepping over the broken threshold and used to him being a phantom who came and went as pleased.

The cradle he slept in most of the time as a cherubic baby was a belated present from his grandfather because Elias forgot to make one beforehand. He hadn’t asked if his father was there at the time of his birth — and he wasn’t eager to. But, it wasn’t rocket science or anything to use the unbought cradle as a source and draw assumptions based on that. He envisaged Laurel Izar, his mother, sprawled over cold floorboards with fingers splayed out for a comforting hand amid the agony of labor, and finding nothing but the ruffled side of her own dress, her solace her own igneous self.

He refused to envisage his father’s whereabouts at that time.

This cradle now rested near the foot of his bed, its cherry wood still fragrant and young with the grain traced countless times by his fingertips until it lost its sheen and the bedding faded to a ghostly white by age, the entire handiwork an eternal mark of Elias Izar’s numerous letdowns.

table cred. to calla.

Last Edit: Aug 21, 2019 14:44:39 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5

mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 21, 2019 15:20:16 GMT -5

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Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 21, 2019 15:20:16 GMT -5

the past are rivers

Mateo, on days that flowed without much vigor, would stare at the cradle and will its cherry wood to speak, to regale him with stories about a young Laurel and Elias, whether they loved each other in the past or it’d forever been this formal covenant, honored yet something they could do without.

His parents were proud creatures, heads held as high as the blue skies, as reticent as all prideful creatures tended to be. It was a trait Mateo wished he hadn’t inherited, because tucking his pride in becomes a tedious chore sometimes.

He’d often tap on the hollow timber and pray to sacred ripred for it to have a pink tongue, tailored for storytelling, because what caught Mateo’s fascination ever since he was a child, was history, rivers and rivers of it with all the mouths attached to one another, debouching the past into each other’s hungry course. Humans had outran the past, that was true, but it could very well leap ahead once more, repeating its actions, such as the Izars reaped decades ago reincarnating in those who could be reaped in the dark of those uncertain tomorrows.

He wondered whose past he shall relive.

Whenever they’d pay a visit to Vasco’s house, he remembered his young hands smoothing out the massive albums, stocked with sepia images of smiling Izars, of a world where the only colors were either grainy black and bright white—nothing else. Things seemed much simpler and much joyful in those photographs, but that was merely because no one had the heart to take pictures of the tragic moments, the times where they’d crowd near the television with technicolor reflected in their eyes, chewing on the frayed ends of fingernails, gazing at Gabriel as he skittered down a mogul, holding their breaths for Salome, deserted in the paper plains. No one took pictures of the caskets they returned home in, robed in fresh garlands that will inevitably wither and die in the end like they had. But, like pressed flowers, the smiling photographs of Gabriel and Salome hung on the walls were immortal.

Emma caught him looking at them one day and asked him to come with her. She led him to a small room in the house, fragrant with old dust and other smells his young nose couldn’t quite recognize, and from the brown parcels boxes, she handed him a comb, its teeth blunt now but the mother-of-pearl adornments still alive and dazzling. It was an heirloom, she told him, an old but treasured one. On the curve of the comb, were four small pearls. Mateo found that if you tugged on the last one enough, it could be loosened from its socket.

On nights where his father didn’t sleep at home and his mother stayed in her room, he’d sit on the windowsill and run the pads of his fingers over the comb, the pearls smooth and cool to touch. He’d make the two smaller pearls him and Alfer, the largest his mother, and the loose one his father.

Then, Mateo would take out the loose pearl, toss it to the floor, and watch it skitter across the dark of his room.

table cred. to calla.

Last Edit: Aug 26, 2019 4:49:44 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5

mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 26, 2019 5:56:17 GMT -5

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Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 26, 2019 5:56:17 GMT -5

tangerine

His days could be counted in light.

It could be counted in the times he laid, hand in hand, limb in limb, with Kristoff. They were school mates growing up, helping each other tuck their ducktails in, scribbling on one another’s school notebooks, and talking about nothing and everything in-between. But, once puberty caught ahold of them and the friendship between them bubbled into something both intimate and carnal, Kristoff and him became inseparable almost, eternal moments of bliss in summer orchards, kisses that tasted of ripe clementines and tangerines. He was the only thing in the present Mateo was fascinated by, and something that made him yearn for the future blissfully. He had eyes like the color of the skies in a glorious sunset, and smelled of spring-flowers, and his skin felt like cotton, and his mouth was a curved cherry stem, and his lips held paradise itself. Or, perhaps, he was none of those things, but even then, it wouldn’t matter.

Mateo loved him, dearly.

And, that scared him because he’d seen the many forms and shapes love can take—an eternal trickster and shape-shifter. Love was either a strong bridge, unbreakable, or a rickety raft, sailing out towards the unknown. It was both a kind and a cruel thing. It was a promise made recklessly or a promise forged in blood, made to last centuries. Or, like his parents, it was a formal agreement, a strict contract.

“Did you love dad, mom?” Mateo had once asked after mustering the courage to, eyes stilled on his mother who was sealing the edges of small empanadas. Her hands worked miraculously fast, fluid and natural, though they tensed for a few moments after the question was presented, the veins in them blue and green.

“If I didn’t love him, I wouldn’t have married him,” she said.

“But, love doesn’t require marriage.”

“Does this topic concern Kristoff?” She spun around, the smile on her face teasing and radiant. Laurel prided herself on being there for her children, whilst Elias prided himself on the opposite. “I’ve seen you two in the orchards – I need to lecture that boy about public displays of affection.”

Mateo laughed, cheeks scarlet and warm. “Maybe,” he murmured lowly, “but, I was also curious about you and dad.”

The pulse in her throat rose again at that, and her eyes returned to the powdered dough on the counter. The air was perfumed sweetly with caramelized sugar and fresh vanilla extract. Laurel’s hands lingered in the air, unsure. Then, she bared them into fists and set them on the counter.

“Yes,” she said, “once.”

He fell silent; the whole kitchen seemed to have.

“But, our marriage is like the things you collect now—the antiques,” she said with a laugh, but Mateo failed to find the humor in her words, because there laid only tragedy.

table cred. to calla.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5	mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 26, 2019 5:58:08 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Aug 26, 2019 5:58:08 GMT -5 ripred_bot . hi, daddy issues, how are YA?
	堕落天使

lance Librarian 3,638 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him/His last seen Apr 20, 2024 4:08:53 GMT -5 gay and chaotic? call it gayos	mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 26, 2019 6:02:50 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lance on Aug 26, 2019 6:02:50 GMT -5 d-nied bc ur a thot
	credit to darsypoo uwu credit to fireflyz! credit to stare!

lance Librarian 3,638 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him/His last seen Apr 20, 2024 4:08:53 GMT -5 gay and chaotic? call it gayos	mateo izar / d11 / (fin) Aug 26, 2019 6:03:09 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lance on Aug 26, 2019 6:03:09 GMT -5 jk accepted bc ur gay
	credit to darsypoo uwu credit to fireflyz! credit to stare!