pine dew

  • Scout Aesthetics: Fresh laundry. Hot dogs for dinner. Cold pizza for breakfast. A really good haircut. A joke so funny that you cry. New shoes. The CRACK! of a baseball on a wooden bat. FOMO. Peppermint chewing gum. Runner's high. Your first crush.
  • Soldier Aesthetics: Pine trees. Cold dew on a summer morning. MRE's that don't taste like paper pulp. Cornfields as far as the eye can see. Screaming at the sky late at night. Turkey with stuffing. White bread in a plastic sleeve. Getting gum on your shoes.
  • Pyro Aesthetics: Scented candles and burnt popcorn. Fresh-cut daisies. Drawing with charcoal. Sun bleached bones. The smell of gasoline. Gel pens. Your favorite animated movie. The scapegoat. Not caring at all.
  • Demoman Aesthetics: Butterscotch and sulfur. Rolling meadows of grass. Sand in your shoes. Fried fish in a greasy newspaper. Fireworks on a warm summer evening. Wool turtleneck sweaters. Being double-dog-dared to swim in the lake during winter. The best hole-in-the-wall pub in the world.
  • Heavy Aesthetics: Dusty old books. Creaking floorboards. Fresh winter snow. A really good sandwich. Finding a new favorite novel. A handmade scarf. Getting a good grade on an assignment. First editions. Going to the natural history museum. Firmly believing why you were put on this earth.
  • Engineer Aesthetics: Breakfast foods. Campfires. The satisfying clicking of clockwork machinery. Reading bedtime stories aloud. T-shirts with math jokes on them. Tuning a guitar. Petting zoos. Knowing your limits. Learning about something that makes you really happy. A cool looking rock.
  • Medic Aesthetics: Antiseptic. Down comforters. Really round fluffy birds. Bad puns. Doing things because you can. Hot tea. Waking up before the sun does. Whistling. Dry cleaning. Fun facts about animals. Really strange nonfiction books. Windy winter days.
  • Sniper Aesthetics: Dirt and black coffee. Climbing a tree. People watching. Road trips. Going to bed and realizing you haven't spoken to anyone all day. Fairy bread. Getting caught in the rain. Really cool scars. Having a story for everything. Polarized lenses.
  • Spy Aesthetic: Vermouth and tobacco. Minimalist cuff links. Playing cards. Hair pomade. Silk ties. Your first love. A passing feeling of emptiness. Heels clicking on polished floors. Crusty dinner rolls with soft warm bread on the inside.
  • Pauling Aesthetics: Lavender hand soap. Gunpowder. Lilac polo shirts. Worn black denim. Staying up late and watching the home shopping channel because you can't sleep. Beat-up firearms catalogs. Telling your mother to return your birthday gift because your workplace has strict dress codes regarding clothing colors, even though you desperately need that new skirt. Finding drawings from when you were a child. Soft wool cardigans. Shiny silver knives. Yogurt with fruit. Hating and loving your job at the same time.

I blame Buryoooo for her wonderful drawing of Kipper (Here) that inspired me to do this… (I might draw another crossover deary and I blame youuuu)

So, Zero Gravity AU’s design of Bill for Sock Opera, Dipper inside Bill’s body, might call him Dill (pffft dill….), or just Dew for the pronouce.

He uses Gel on his hair tho~

Now I have the mood to draw comic strip for Sock Opera _(;3JL)_

Kerch: coins jangling their lovely chimes in purses, buskers playing reedy tunes over the crashing of waves against docks, gilded masks over faces to play pretend, footsteps flying over cobblestones, a fist shattering glass, the sharp sound of an auctioneer’s gavel, riddles whispered from keyholes, scrolls stamped with wax seals, sagging walls, roads dented with holes from falling roof tiles, dark red stains against the floorboards, the clopping of tired horses hooves against the cobblestones, drunken tunes sung to the velvet sky of midnight. 

Ravka: cuts on your arms that you can’t remember getting, the silence of a library when closed, golden domes rising from the earth, pressing your hand to your chest to hear the volcanoes roaring under your skin, peering at the dregs of tea and coffee, knives carefully hidden under tapestries, the rattle of a caravan in early dawn, arrows patiently waiting to be used in quivers, the shimmer of mirages, veils on the mirror, sharp compass needles lying on desks, a padlocked chest with a lost key, mysterious laughs snatched away by the air. 

Novyi Zem: secrets whispered to ears pressed against doors, small smiles exchanged as bartering tokens on the streets, dark wine bottles lined neatly under the cellar, vibrantly colored leaves crackling under footsteps, keys hanging safely under shirt collars, hand woven baskets left on doorsteps, little gifts left behind in tree hollows, history transforming to legends in hushed whispers near the fireplace, the swinging shade of palm trees near an oasis, anonymous messages left behind in the soles of shoes.

Shu Han: sharpening an ax on a whetstone, leather bound books piled on shelves, heavy set cloaks swirling in the wind, the gleam of a newly forged sword, blossom patterns embellished on stiff collars, stars twinkling in the gleams of gems, winding paths on mountain tops that twist away into the depths of the trees, flowers spun from glass, tower spirals leaving their dancing paths in the air, black ink maps that show secret passageways underneath cities. 

Fjerda: cool water drunk from an icy spring, silver trees gleaming like jewels under the sun, taut ropes strung across white sails, goosebumps down your neck, chewing mint leaves, cracking the frost off windowpanes, titanium chain mail against your neck, water droplets frozen in hair, young stags leaping into the woods, mist so heavy it catches on the edges of pine cones as dew, the snarl of a wolf as it pounces on its prey. 

What the Nordics smell like

I currently smell of Gucci Guilty because I spend too much money on perfume hahahaaaa.

APH Denmark: Pastries, bakeries, warm sea breeze, fresh bread out of the oven. He sometimes smells a little bit like beer.

APH Sweden: Woodwork workshop, pine trees, furniture, dew. Occasionally does he smell like a very clean house.

APH Norway: Old books, ink, dust, coffee. He tends to smell of rainy days too.

APH Finland: Christmas, glögi, cake icing, sugar. Sometimes washing powder.

APH Iceland: Soap, freshly pressed clothes, wool, air freshener. He sometimes smells of fish.

Pale, then enkindled,
light
advancing,
emblazoning
summits of palm and pine,

the dew
lingering,
scripture of
scintillas.

Soon the roar
of mowers
cropping the already short
grass of lawns,

men with long-nozzled
cylinders of pesticide
poking at weeds,
at moss in cracks of cement,

and louder roar
of helicopters off to spray
vineyards where braceros try
to hold their breath,

and in the distance, bulldozers, excavators,
babel of destructive construction.

Banded by deep
oakshadow, airy
shadow of eucalyptus,

miner’s lettuce,
tender, untasted,
and other grass, unmown,
luxuriant,
no green more brilliant.

Fragile paradise.

. . . .

At day’s end the whole sky,
vast, unstinting, flooded with transparent
mauve,
tint of wisteria,
cloudless
over the malls, the industrial parks,
the homes with the lights going on,
the homeless arranging their bundles.

. . . .

Who can utter
the poignance of all that is constantly
threatened, invaded, expended

and constantly
nevertheless
persists in beauty,

tranquil as this young moon
just risen and slowly
drinking light
from the vanished sun.

Who can utter
the praise of such generosity
or the shame?

—  Denise Levertov, “In California: Morning, Evening, Late January”, in A Door in the Hive

Sitting outside your tent together in the morning, eating breakfast in the cool air, enjoying each other’s company in silence. The forest is still a bit foggy around you, pine needles glistening with dew. You look across to her and feel the depth of your of love and the calmness of being alone, surrounded by the wilderness. You decide to lean in and kiss her on the forehead, the moment seems eternal, like a haven of peacefulness you never want to leave.