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@thehoutman
𝑡ℎ𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑛, of snow white & the seven dwarves fame. a study in: self-isolation, guilt, animals are better than people, the love of a mother, destiny undone & the self-fulfilling prophecy.
the huntsman: elijah houtman, michiel huisman.
*beta editor compatible only.
as much as he hates admitting it, there are quite a few things about the two of them that are strikingly similar. the desire for peace and solitude, finding some semblance of comfort in hobbies like woodworking, hoping to simply be left alone, living as close to a life as they were before. yes, he is human now, ‘ matias ’ a name given to him only by grimsby, but the two of them are who they have always been. before, just as most dynamics were concerning him, their relationship was strained at best and violent at the worst of times. he was a true neutral, but when the story needed a villain, he filled the role as needed. and sometimes, that pitted him against the huntsman, for better and for worse. it made for some of the most thrilling of childhood bedtime stories. of course, for all of the violence and unkindness of this town, the two of them stayed as far away from one another as they did from any actual problems that arose.
problems tended to vary, but this one was a direct, personal one for him. a broken trellis wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary, but the last of the winter winds had knocked over what he could only describe as the whole damn thing, splintering into pieces with the greatest crash late last night. and elijah was the only one he knew to go to to him him fix it. nothing frightened him, so the knock on the small business door and simply walking in was simply just another morning for him. though he was a little disheveled and frustrated, dirt smeared on one cheek and a rogue wisteria bloom in his hair, having spent well into the morning hours trying in vain to mend what he could. at least he knocked.
“ houtman ? ” was his call, the last name familiar only because it was printed on the door outside. “ you here ? ”
closed thread for @thehoutman‘s elijah houtman & matias leiva !
------LIKE MANY OTHERS trapped in grimsby, elijah could claim that his story was open to the perception of whoever read into it. once upon a time (ha) he'd been a solitary man who enjoyed living in a modest home with modest belongings that were either made by his hand or passed down from his mother. he hunted, he skinned and tanned, and he sold his trade in the markets. occasionally he had a scuffle (in no large part due to his cold demeanor) and that was the end of it. in the rare instance he was dragged into someone else's business, the huntsman had done the most he could to get out as fast as possible.
he was never the hero. he didn't really want to be, either.
but apparently something he'd done painted him the villain. in the creation of the otherwise idyllic little town, the huntsman retained all of the memories of his former life. he had never gotten to live under the illusion that he was elijah houtman, and there were never any questions about who he was within the realm of grimsby. still, it was nice to adopt little habits and talents that came with an identity that never felt his own.
answering to the name, though, that took some getting used to.
he found solace in the sanctuary of his woodworking shop. people tended not to really drift in unless they really needed something, and they drifted back out just as quickly as their orders had been placed. it was almost too immaculate for a woodworking shop ---the occasional collection of sawdust blew from the workshop in the back but elijah did the best he could to keep it maintained. chairs, tables, frames, and little wooden figurines decorated the show area in no particular order and in no particular stage of stain or finishing. just there to be seen, stored. sometimes people bought them as they were, sometimes they used them as a reference.
his head perked when he heard his name called. he stilled until he heard it again, removing the safety goggles from his eyes and resting them at the crown of his head. when he appeared in the doorway between the shop and the show area it was with a mix of curiosity and maybe frustration for being interrupted but the latter dissipated quickly.
" matias. " ah. perhaps there as bad blood between them. depending on the day, the wind, the season it might reflect in eli's mood but today it felt favorable. that didn't mean friendly, though. " how can i help? "
““which river is most powerful?” zeus yells to the gods. “the styx,” hades calls out. “nothing compares to hate. it powers sisyphus still.” “the acheron,” ares insists. “pain will bring down even the strongest of warriors.” “the cocytus!” aphrodite wails. “its waters are swimming with lost love and lamentation.” “the phlegethon,” hera says, head held high. “because it reminds us that life and pain go hand in hand.” “the lethe,” whispers hestia, and no one hears her speak. “when you forget that which you stood for, you are gone. “you are nothing.””
— our power comes not from what we are, but from what we were [em] (via azulah)
ASOIAF Meme: @lo-ireese vs. @ibuzoo
[1/8] Forgotten Characters: Daario Naharis
A Night To Regret || Closed Starter for @thehoutman
The young(ish) lumberjack was drunk. He was often drunk but tonight it was as if the alcohol had taken a different route into his body. He sat in a booth in the corner of the bar. It was a standard Saturday night, the regular crowds shuffled in. And though the bar was packed, the music was blaring, and the drinks were certainly flowing, Edward found himself alone. But tonight he didn’t want that for himself. He wanted more from his night off, and when he saw a familiar looking face walk through the double doors of the crowded room and onto the sticky floors by the bar a slight, almost unnoticeable smile lifted the lonely drinker’s lips.
He stood up. As subtly as he could sliding the small concealed bottle of cheap whiskey from his jacket and pouring it into his already half full glass. Before grabbing it and heading toward the rugged carpenter. Leaning against the bar close to the man with the faint(extremely faint) smirk still laid across his face, eyes barely open, and shirt hanging loose on his body.
“Elijah…” He trailed off, turning his body to face the man a little better. “You look well.” He stated with almost no real tone to his voice other than a slight slur from the alcohol. He wasn’t lying though. Elijah did look good tonight, a lot better put together than Edward.
------HE NEVER REALLY drank to excess, but it wasn't abnormal to find elijah occupying the corner seat. he'd always start at the bar, wait until his spot was vacant and meander over there, vaguely existing in a place full of life and conversation ... simply watching. it was a game he liked to play with himself - figuring out who everyone else was, imagining little stories that accompanied their backgrounds. he never really got confirmation if they were anything like the people he imagined. no, that would require speaking to them and eli was far too removed for that.
he wafted into the bar like a revenant ... silent and unnoticed (almost). eddy's presence was familiar, accepted ... the closest thing to a best friend that elijah had ever had ... not counting animals. the hard scent of liquor made his eyes narrow slightly, and his own little grin tugged at the corners of his lips - lost immediately to the forest of his beard and moustache where nobody would know it ever existed save for those observant enough (or intimate enough with eli's facial expressions) to catch it. he shifted to face eddy more conversationally, pressing all of his weight into the arm resting on the bar counter, head lolling onto his shoulder lazily.
where eddy smelled like alcohol (not much, but enough for eli to notice), eli permanently smelled like wood stain. " edward. " the amusement lingered in his tone, turning an otherwise impassive expression softer. " you look sauced. i'm a little disappointed that you started without me. " and when the bartender floated by eli ordered one for himself, and another of whatever eddy was having. " i suppose i have to catch up a little. any occasion, or just bored? "
𝙶𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙽 𝙱𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚃 ⤐ closed to @thehoutman ( 𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙹𝙰𝙷 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙼𝙰𝙽 )
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝙿 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺. across the street, the lamp light flickered; it had been years now, and he still wasn't sure if the streetlights really were oil-lit still, or if they were just horribly unreliable. clearing his throat to cut the silence, gaston leaned forward from the counter he'd laid his weight against when he first came in at closing. hand absent-mindedly flew to his back pocket, and he retrieved the carton of cigarettes with almost a SURPRISE that he'd done it autonomously. old habits and whatnot. hesitantly, before taking one for himself, his arm reached mechanically out — if he'd been someone else, he'd have sworn it would have actually creaked — towards elijah. "care for a smoke?"
------VISITORS IN HIS shop, for more than commissioned work, were still something of a surprise. memories of his previous life - untarnished and utterly intact mixed with the false ones of elijah houtman's, and while he knew what truth there was to what, it still offered a bout of confusion. it often made him snicker ... that these new memories served to make him much the same man he'd always been: a loner, socially inept, seemingly cold-hearted ... or it would if he wasn't so trussed up with his self-appointed tasks. where in one life he'd work late skinning and tanning, in this he worked late staining and sanding.
but the moment he saw gaston's hand shift for his pocket - produce the cigarette, he went slightly rigid. " not in the shop, no. outside. " lacquers were highly flammable - stains, too. lighting fire in a wood shop did not seem like the smartest of movements, so elijah ushered his guest out and followed close behind. ---he never quite understood the appeal of smoking, not in the addictive sense. in a previous life he'd smoked pipe tobacco every now and again, and even then he questioned the motion when he did it. still, he found himself shrugging, nodding, agreeing to the offer.
" sure. one. " and he paused a beat, " are you so bored you spend your time with me at closing, bouchet? "
@lvndersbloom:
she looks up , at long last , at his voice .
“ huntsman . ”
when snow was just a young maiden , he’d taken her to the woods to tear out her heart and serve it to her stepmother . of course , rather than do so - instead he’d warned her and had her flee - but still the image of him haunts her . the image of what might’ve been . still , he’d survived the queen . that , to chariya , is the biggest shock of all . she’d wept over his actions - believing he’d sacrificed himself to see her safe , but it would seem she’d wept over nothing .
she should trust him , she should . above all else , she is sure he means her no harm . but still . . “ what . . . what is it ? ”
------HE UNDERSTOOD HER apprehension. if he were a vicious man he might revel in it, but the complexity of the huntsman had always lay with his asocial tendencies. once upon a time he'd been raised by a mother that kept him purposely sheltered from the world (to protect him from a card reading he knew nothing of, as it turned out). his icy cold demeanor was nothing more than a result of the sheltered life he'd led ---quite simply, the huntsman didn't know how to be a chatty creature. it was much easier to while away his time with animals he'd either befriended or hunted.
so why had he spared snow white? he wasn't a monster. he'd never been on board with the idea of murdering a human (lest they threatened him, and he spoke very little of that one particular scuffle), and at least when he hunted his game it was for a purpose. when he'd discovered that the queen's target was nothing more than a woman ---barely a woman, nearly a child, he was disgusted. of course he spared her. but it had not been enough to spare him the title of VILLAIN, apparently.
---so he understood her apprehension. if he were in her place, he'd be apprehensive, too. still ---he wondered what swift vengeance would be eventually wrought upon him. (until then he'd spoil his cat and make his little figurines). " commission. well, sample of. the mayor wants me to make something for them. there's a wood sample in there. once it's okayed ... i can make what they want. " nothing interesting. just work ... for what that was, now.
------hello loves! i have work in a few hours, then class after, but if you'd like to plot with 1 mess of a man, pls hit the heart and i will dm you~
“ i’m sorry , but if you were looking for the mayor - they’ve actually just stepped out . i’m really not sure when they’ll be back . ”
she’d heard something about taking lunch , hopefully a long one , but she’s not so sure . never a quiet moment when dealing with a town full of cursed inhabitants after all . even now she has a pile of requests for a meeting with the mayor filling up , more than she can handle in one day . “ but i’m happy to try to help you out , if i can . ”
------HE SHIFTED THE small bag from one hand to the other, as if it needed to be juggled - as if it were too heavy, and nodded in understanding. elijah didn't quite expect that the mayor would be in, but it would still be nice to give them items commissioned. he'd say that he was expected, but he'd finished the little project earlier than anticipated. " right, can you leave this for them? "
snow white. once upon a time he'd been sent to kill her, but that was literally another lifetime. and he hadn't. he'd offered a false heart in the stead of her own, and while that act had spared him personal guilt (somewhat) it'd still deemed him villainous for agreeing to the job in the first place (as if he'd had a choice). he'd somewhat settled that with himself, but it didn't stop the slight awkward twinge from making his shoulders a bit too square, a bit rigid.
he extended the bag toward her, pressed his lips into a thin line, and cleared his throat. " thank you. "
“I don’t mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that’s how it comes out.”
— Bill Hicks (via nevilleslongbottom)
FEATURING , ELIJAH ( @thehoutman )
the irony that the luxury of a downgrade should never be afforded to rosamond in grimsby hadn’t been lost on her. there, hidden amongst the dense woods, stood a cottage abandoned. ivy and roses encased the home with thorn steams that would twist and turn around every appendage much like a cocoon, unable to see past the exterior’s lacked charms afforded to some long ago, or perhaps this was a trick by the curse. a reminder to the once princess aurora of adolescence long passed. a simpler time when being a princess was a laughable absurdity and childish escapades were all that awaited her. she’d returned to that in some ways, no longer ranked by a princess status but the daughter of a lawyer, an untrustworthy one at that.
golden hour was especially favorable to the cottage, the way the sunlight cast upon it just right, like something out of a fairytale. so she would come again, the same time, sometimes earlier when the sun was at its highest, but always often enough that rose would take notice of anything that seemed out of place. nothing could be more obvious just then. rosamond’s footsteps slowed, the path beneath her layered with twigs that would snap at the slightest pressure left her to take to the unmarked terrain where branches and plants guised the blonde’s prying eyes from the stranger she watched. appearances alone might have led rosamond to believe he was a villain, but grimsby had a tendency to punish the good and favor the bad and her very black and white view of good and bad placed him into one category and one alone. but how quickly all had been forgotten the moment a wrong step sounded a crack! and a breath held, would he notice? would she have an explanation?
------HE MISSED THE way things used to be. the life before - separated from others, isolated save for the company of his game ... wilderness friends. the concept of villainy had never once been considered, though he'd spent quite a bit of time considering it now. THE HUNTSMAN. elijah houtman: carpenter by trade, socially awkward with a permanent grimace etched into his features. he'd never been given the opportunity to forget. he supposed he understood why he'd been relegated into this role ... he'd agreed to the evil queen's game, even if he did turn in a false heart. the villain i someone's story.
in this world he crafted the person he wanted to be, in the short time past where people didn't remember anything (save for those like him, with an invisible red mark on their hands denoting their role in life) he had the opportunity to present himself as whatever he chose. it was no surprise that elijah bore a striking resemblance to the huntsman. his fondness for nature was something he was sure to take to his grave with his preferred comfort place in the forest itself. he'd wandered into the woods surrounding grimsby more than once, but he was familiar with the small patches of greenery in comfery wood. his own home was isolated from the others, and it wasn't uncommon to find him in the early morning hours heading to his shop in the center of town (on the edge).
he liked golden hour. it was warm, quiet, and reminded him of that other life. his mouth watered for it, his heart ached ... it was far too easy to lose himself in the reverie of what once was, even here where he spent time picking through for small bits of wood to whittle down into keepsakes. those with a desire-enough could find some for sale (some painted, some stained, and some their bare wood of choice). he'd only a bit of white birch left - that needed to be collected in the deeper forest, but some nice chunks of cedar could be collected in town itself. he favored using bits of ivy for smaller details ---he harvested them from the thick roots that claimed the cottage in question. it was automatic: hands carved at bits of the ivy, slipped it into a satchel at his side, and returned to their duty. SNAP.
it was hard to forget the instincts of an old life. immediately he stilled save for his head, which turned to catch a glimpse at who or whatever had stepped on the twig in question. empty hazel eyes - shone an otherwise warm honey in the light - studied her for a moment before they narrowed. hands lowered from the ivy, knife disappeared back where it'd come from, and elijah stuffed the last of the ivy into his satchel. he'd dry it proper when he got home.
" it's late to be lurking. someone might think you're up to something. "
something deeply intimate about being outside early in the morning all alone and seeing the world as she is
