I read this amazingly heart-wrenching DunkBaelor story on ao3, can't find it at will add name once I do, but anyway Baelor still dies at Ashford but then haunts Dunk and Dunk sees him whenever he's close to dying.
Yeah.
Anyway, that is a killer story idea I feel like we've all been sleeping on guys. Baelor haunting the Narrative, yes, but Baelor also literally haunting Dunk. Baelor died from wounds sustained during a Trail of 7, meant to call the gods in to pass judgment, and now Dunk can see one (1) ghost and its his dead husband.
Dunk, of course, never mentions this to anyone and he and Egg still go off and explore the 7 kingdoms like in canon, just with the added commentary of the previous heir to the Iron throne that only Dunk can hear. His poker face improves in leaps and bounds ver quickly. Sometimes family is you, your runaway prince of a squire, and your squires dead uncle. Dunk still never learns how to read or write well, because Baelor can't interact with anything, but learns Dornish and High Valarien and every other language Baelor speaks because I think it would be hilarious.
This also leads into the opportunity for time travel shenanigans, where Dunk does eventually die and then he and Baelor both shoot straight upright some time in the past like, " Wtf?" Could be right before Ashford, that could be funny. Dunk rocking up to the tourney with 2 previously missing princes and Immediately sliding into the crown prince's dms, and it'd being reciprocated????
Or maybe it's earlier, maybe it's the Blackfire rebellion and Dunk slides (sneaks) unaccountably into the logistical nightmare of war and meets up with His prince at Redgrass field, and on one hand Baelor is So happy to have his missing husband back but on the other is now constantly having a heart attack if he looses sight of Dunk because this is Redgrass field! Anyway Dunk kills Damien Blackfire and returns to Kings Landing with Baelor and so many people start questioning this decision that Baelor starts literally growling at people. He skips calm and reasonable and jumps feet first into draconic possessiveness. He straight up bites Bloodraven at one point and Dunk laughs and then makes Baelor wash his mouth out.
Also, for angst potential; the closer Dunk is to death the better Baelor can touch him. Normally it just a cold feeling, the prince of Dragonstone as cold in death as he was hot in life. That time Dunk nearly drowns in canon, its Baelor who pulls him from the water. Dunk gets sick or injured and Baelor worridly nurses him back to health begging him to hold on, to stay with him, Get Up.
Yeah, just Baelor haunting Dunk very specifically.
In honour of Fafa's birthday, I am ecstatic to announce that ALL 8 TGCF EN AUDIO NOVELS ARE COMPLETE!
If you have ever wanted to enjoy Heaven Official's Blessing as an Audio Book, or simply wish fall in love with Hualian all over again; NOW YOU CAN! 🎧
Find the audio files on Google Drive here ♥️
And please, please, as always - share this link with your friends, family, acquaintances, everyone!! My purpose in creating this was to make TGCF and its beautiful story more accessible to anyone who wishes to experience it. And the only way folks can find out is by TELLING THEM!
You join a fandom right, or return to an old beloved one and you find THE perfect long fanfic, just to your tastes, you know you are going to love it, but... you have been burned before, so you check when it was last updated (very recent, lovely), you check how often they seem to update (fairly regularly, brilliant) and you look at there other fics to see if they tend to abandon fic (no judgement if you do, but this author hasn't, just a lovely collection of completed fics for you to read), all the signs are there that you can trust, you can commit.
So you read the fic, enjoy the highs and lows, think of nothing else. You subscribe once you catch up and getting that email for a new chapter is like Christmas! But then... after maybe one or two chapters the author takes a bit longer to update (that's fine, life happens), then they make an author's note explaining what's happening in their life and that updates might be slow or even pause altogether until around a specific future date (you are excited this talented author is living life so well, sending them good vibes), then the suggested return date comes... maybe there is an update, but maybe not.
The point is that a lovely long fanfic with a semi regular update schedule has stopped being updated not long after you subscribed. You never blame the authors, because it is NOT their fault. Life happens and they are writing for free. I am sending all fanfic authors good vibes right now, thank you for all you do.
I do however sometimes wonder if I am cursed perhaps? Did I somehow anger a fanfic god? Why has this happened to me multiple times? Do I really read too much fanfic and statistically this is bound to happen?
If people know how to break my curse, taking advice now. Thank you.
my instagram explore page loves showing me those like erotic dark romance novel tiktoks and i really have to wonder: why do all these straight women desperately want to fuck a mafia boss
Sexual fantasies are, by their very nature, transgressive. Yes, even the fluffy, romantic ones. As long as general culture remains negative about sex and sexuality in any form that isn't cishet procreative sex within the confines of matrimony with the woman not as an equal actor but an object sex is performed onto, this is going to remain true.
And the thing about fantasies is that our brains like to take the things we crave the most and mix them up with our fears, anxieties, pain, and trauma into a melange of, sometimes, truly epic levels of fuckery.
But here's the secret - things we fantasize about, from the most wholesome to the bizarre to seriously fucked up? They are very, very often NOT what we literally want.
Being into dubcon or noncon doesn't mean you actually want to be raped or rape. Being into monsters doesn't make you a zoophile. And fantasizing about violent, obsessive men doesn't mean you wouldn't run as far the fuck away from a man like that the second one of them set their sights on you.
If you're really interested in the subject, I recommend reading My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday, a compilation of anonymously submitted women's sexual fantasies. And, as it turns out, women fantasize about a lot of really violent, uncomfortable, and just plain screwed up stuff.
And, for most of them, even when they don't actively realize it, it's about reclamation. Of fear, of trauma, of loss of power. It's about THEMSELVES and how THEY feel. As weird as it's gonna sound, the men featured in those fantasies don't really matter, they're just a vessel, a manifestation of the extreme version of what you're dealing with and/or crave. A safe, cathartic way to experience something profoundly unsafe, unwise, and terrifying.
For women fantasizing about criminals, villains, monsters, and anti-heroes, it's very often about the idea that someone like that - intense, violent, with single-minded focus, and immense power - would love her, want her, always put her first, go against all his instincts/training for you without a second thought and be a clear and present danger to everyone but warmth and safety for her and only her, and burn the world itself down for hurting her in even the slightest of ways. It's a sexual version of the fantasy of having a pet tiger, one that would never, ever attack you or hurt you in any way.
And just like the people who want to boop the forbidden snoot, the women fantasizing about their fantasy Mafia Boss Lover are very well aware of the fact that 1) men like that don't actually exist, 2) the criminal world of their fantasy has all but nothing to do with reality, and 3) that the thing they're actually fantasizing about is being loved, wanted, and safe... just in a REALLY intense, exaggerated way. And, let's not mince words, there's also often a more or less strong D/s dynamics at play in the scenario, too.
Now, you can choose to be judgy bitches about it (goodness knows plenty of you in the replies, comments, and tags are), in which case I would suggest you examine why you're feeling such a profound need to shame women for enjoying themselves in their own little world, or you can apply the YKINMKATO mantra and understand that straight women, living in the constant state of preyhood, sometimes consciously or subconsciously reclaim power over that situation through transgressive sexual fantasies.
Also, fuck this idea that queer people only fantasize about healthy and wholesome relationships, romantic, sexual, or otherwise, as if at least half of Tumblr isn't simping for, oh, for example, Hannibal fucking Lecter. Do you have ANY idea how many Mafia and Thug BL content there is out there?! FFS, Tom of Finland, a WWII veteran who fought against Nazis, drew art of exaggeratedly masculine men in Nazi uniforms in pornographic situations as a way to dissociate himself from those traumas and fascists themselves as far back as the 1950s!
So yeah. Less judgement, and more taking some responsibility for curating your online experience if seeing someone's kink truly offends you this much.
#humans#there's also something here about healing from repressive cultures and purity culture#by fantasizing outside of what's Allowed#fantasizing about a sweet small town hallmark movie guy who looks like he'd be good with kids is somewhat tainted#because that's what was expected of you. forced on you#purity culture is about conforming to what's allowed at the expense of actual desire and pleasure#the thing about a taboo fantasy is that it's YOUR fantasy#and like dubcon/noncon is about the desire thing as well#what if someone WANTED you#it's not about a one to one translation of the thing to real life—it's something that has meaning inside the context of your inner world#when you grow up with purity culture the conventional nice vanilla fantasies can FEEL gross and scary and coercive#in evangelical purity culture desire is BAD and you shouldn't pursue what you Want sexually#sex is about emulating a social norm whether you like it or not#so the tame and 'vanilla' fantasies often have this coercive feeling and it's very hard to explore desire and pleasure like that#therefore lots of people fantasize about being fucked by an alien or mafia boss or werewolf or vampire or something else safely imaginary#thats my read of the situation anyway#nazi mention
I'm going to try to explain this without sounding completely deranged but like, okay: IMO, there are two kinds of fantasies. let's call them horses and unicorns.
a horse fantasy is something that is theoretically possible. I do not currently own a horse, and the reality of owning a horse would involve boring stuff like paying for its food and mucking out its stall, but it is something I could do in real life. like, horses exist and can be owned by humans. lots of fantasies can fall into this category: traveling to a foreign country, living in a cute house with just you and a cat, winning a marathon, basically anything that is technically achievable even if it would be difficult to do so in real life.
a unicorn fantasy is something that is definitely (or almost definitely) impossible. I do not currently own a unicorn, and there is no version of reality where I could own a unicorn, because unicorns are not real. the actual logistical issues that might arise from owning a unicorn, like paying for its food or mucking out its stall, are completely immaterial because it's not something that could ever actually happen. and like, it's in my brain! I control it! I can imagine a unicorn that only eats marshmallows and shits potpourri if I want to!
I think the disconnect comes in when people assume that a unicorn fantasy is actually a horse fantasy. to use the tiger example from upthread: you can own a tiger. you can't have a completely domesticated tiger that would never hurt you, not even by accident. so saying "I want a pet tiger" is a unicorn fantasy, because everything necessary for that fantasy to work (it being completely domesticated and incapable of harming you) are not things you can have in real life.
now, serial killers/war criminals/normal criminals/etc. are all things that exist. and there are definitely people in relationships with them in real life! so it's tempting to assume that something like "I want to fuck a serial killer" is a horse fantasy: something you would want to do, and could do, if given the opportunity.
but for the vast majority of people, that's not the fantasy. the rest of the fantasy ("he's a serial killer, BUT he only kills bad people and he's nice to me and is both able and willing to protect me from literally anything and has sex exactly the way I want to because he magically knows what I want because, again, this is happening in my brain") is what makes it a unicorn.
This is obviously not exclusively a cishet woman thing but cishet women do deal with a different flavour of sexual repression than queer folks (not better or worse, just a different flavour!) and those fantasies really are about power, just not how you think.
The fantasy is that here is a powerful, aggressive, even violent man, and he wants you and needs you so much that he would burn the world down for you. The central fantasy of the romance novel is that the heroine is so desired and loved by the hero that he is both metaphorically and literally forced to his knees for her. I'm not with my books or notes right now so I can't remember the exact quote, but I think it was Jayashree Kamblé who said that this aggressive/Alpha male subtype of romance heroes is "a lion among men who is a lamb before his woman". That's the fantasy. It's really powerful! If your life experience has told you to expect to do all the care work and to minimise yourself and your needs to be palatable to others and to be grateful for any crumb of attention because you're too fat or too outspoken or just generally not perfectly feminine enough, the fantasy of someone going absolutely feral because they want you so much is really powerful and empowering!
Again, not exclusively cishet women, and also sometimes you just think a scenario would be hot if it happens within your mind where you are 100% in control and can just stop if it feels bad. That's also fine! That's normal! We need to stop shaming people for their romantic or sexual fantasies, especially those of us who clearly have no idea what a fantasy is and what it does for the person indulging in it 🙄
You know what fantasy writing needs? Working class wizards.
A crew of enchanters maintaining the perpetual flames that run the turbines that generate electricity, covered in ash and grime and stinking of hot chilies and rare mushrooms used for the enchantments
A wizard specializing in construction, casting feather fall on every worker, and enchanting every hammer to drive nails in straight, animating the living clay that makes up the core of the crane
An elderly wizard and her apprentice who transmute fragile broken objects. From furniture, to rotten wood beams, to delicate jewelry
A battle magician, trained with only a few rudimentary spells to solve a shortage of trained wizards on the front who uses his healing spells to help folks around town
Wizarding shops where cheery little mages enchant wooden blocks to be hammered into the sides of homes. Hammer this into the attic and it will scare off termites, toss this in the fire and clean your chimney, throw this in the air and all dust in the room gets sucked up
Wizard loggers who transmute cut trees into solid, square beams, reducing waste, and casting spells to speed up regrowth. The forest, they know, will not be too harsh on them if the lost tree’s children may grow in its place
Wizard farmers who grow their crops in arcane sigils to increase yield, or produce healthier fruit
Factory wizards who control a dozen little constructs that keep machines cleaned and operational, who cast armor to protect the hands of workers, and who, when the factory strikes for better wages, freeze the machines in place to ensure their bosses can’t bring anyone new in.
Construction wizards to turn back time to root out wood worm and strengthen old buildings.
A wizard tailors who transmutes cloth into fully made clothes without seems and leaving behind no scraps
A wizard who works in public transit, timing out teleports with detailed schedules, time magic, and enchanted communications, sending dozens of people to far away cities for a day or work or leisure
A team of wizard gardeners tend to trees grown far outside their native range, and ideal climate, encircled with runes and fed potions to grow none the less
A wizard sits in their office in the aqueduct, re-casting the spells that allow its precious water to flow to the city uphill
A wizard fisher casts water repelling spells on the sailors and the stairs, keeps the hoist on the anchor from rusting, casts balls of heat that keep everyone warm below decks. Their real job is to herd fish together so they can be caught in single huge nets, and keep them cold as the boat returns to land.
There are so many possibilities outside of “stodgy academic who wears ugly robes” and “Very good holy man who helps everyone and the fact they’ve never had a job is never brought up” and “evil wizard toiling away on great evils in his evil tower in the evil country.”
“So, we had to have another fucking hall meeting about people teleporting in the halls.”
“Her parents are high elf sorcerers, so obviously they bought her her own Pegasus already and everything.” “Ugh, rich kids.”
“What are you gonna do with a minor in Dragonology?”
“Well, if you fail this class you can always sell your soul to obtain power through unholy means.” “I can’t! I already sold my soul to pay my student loans!”
“He’s got the Chosen One scholarship. Full ride,” “Really? I was going to apply for that, but my parents are still alive, soooo…” “I applied but I think they’re looking for more of a farm-boy-raised-by-aunt-and-uncle type. I mean, I’m adopted, but I grew up in the city.”
“Really?” “Yeah, so that’s why the freshmen aren’t allowed to learn fireball anymore.”
“Don’t you dare bring weed into my dorm. My RA’s a werewolf, she can smell that shit!”
“I’ve got an alchemy class in ten minutes, think I can afford to skip?” “Who’ve you got?” “Zorbo.” “Ehh, better not, he tests mostly from his lectures. His exams are whack too, last time he spent so long on transmuting copper alloys and it was barely even in the textbook.”
“Yeah, so the cat’s actually the RA’s familiar, so that’s how she found out I had a waffle iron in the dorm.”
“Oh, I know the girl with the seeing-eye spider! She’s on my hall!”
“I guess I could always sell my body to the Dark Lord’s undead armies to pay off my student loans…”
“So I’m doing a group project with a bunch of Heroism majors so that’s how my life is going.”
“Guess who didn’t get any fucking sleep because someone backfired a spell in the bathroom at 3am and the whole fucking dorm had to evacuate?”
“I’m taking Dark Omens 312 as an elective.” “Really? I thought you needed Interpreting Vague Prophecies as a prerequisite.” “Oh, I have transfer credit.”
“I love the Witchcraft building, it always smells like bog water and bone dust.”
“I left my fucking battle axe in one of the bathrooms and now it’s gone!” “I dunno man. You could check the Lost and Found desk.”
“Maybe we can hang out in your dorm?” “I dunno, it’s a full moon so I’m pretty sure my roommate is wolfing out right now.”
“So I’m majoring in Mad Science now.” “Oh, have you taken your Unethics class?”
“Hey, wanna go to the Abandoned Dark Tower and hang out in the torture dungeons?” “Nah, I have like a hundred sigils to learn before the test Monday.” “Come onnn! It’s one of the best spots on campus!”
“Done with that exam, pretty sure I failed it, time to run into the woods and join the roving bands of undead wolves.”
“Do you think it’s too late to change my major to Necromancy?”
“My professor came in this morning and she’d forgotten to change back from a cloud of crows into a person, so that was something.”
“You can tell the freshmen by how freaked out they get at hearing the werewolf club do their howl-off.”
“Look, just because a professor is a demon doesn’t mean I can sacrifice my firstborn to him to get a better grade. Anyway, I already promised my firstborn to a witch to pay off my student loans.”
“Yeah I forgot to take a towel or anything to the showers so I had to cast a glamour over myself and walk back ass-naked to my room.” “Don’t you have a robe?” “I mean. They don’t really make bathrobes that work when you have wings.” “Oh, that sucks.”
“I almost got an A. It was the fucking question about flight magic vs. levitation magic that got me.”
“There’s this one guy in my Divination 100 class who keeps derailing every class arguing with the professor about predestination…” “Lemme guess, an Arcane Languages major?” “I think he’s like double majoring in Cursebreaking and Arcane Engineering.” “Oof, even worse.”
“Ha, my professor spent like 20 minutes ranting about how shit the Dark Lord’s foreign policy is this morning.”
“We’re going into town, want to come with?” “Nah, I’m taking a nap. Still gotta work on stuff for Dreamwalking Club, and I haven’t got a lot of sleep lately.” “Aw. Ok.”
“So, yeah, I cast a purifying spell on the dining hall chicken nuggets and they just straight up vaporized into dust, so, no.”
“My parents are all like, go into something useful like Cursebreaking or some bullshit like that, blah blah blah…”
“So like, my roommate like bailed at the last second or something, right? And I got stuck with a rando and she’s a vampire and so she’s like, completely nocturnal and it’s driving me crazy because I can’t sleep when she’s up banging around heating up her blood bags in the microwave or whatever…”
“Fuck, I still haven’t got the chicken blood for the ritual due tomorrow. Shit.”
“I’m so tired, I think my soul is too thin to even be worth selling to pay off my student loans.”
“Fuck this shit. I’m going back to my room and making garlic bread.” “But…You’re a vampire…” “It’s finals week, do I look like I care?”
(inspired mostly by conversations with @awhellstothejoe, lol)
Dream Folk, Dream Entities, Dream Creatures, Night Kind, Nightmare Folk, Residents of The Dreaming… Whatever you call them, they are the subjects of Morpheus (Dream of The Endless).
And some new fans have been asking about them. What are they? Where do they come from? Does he make them? Were they once human?
Some, yes. Some, no.
The Corinthian, Gault (Brute and Glob in the comics), and Mervyn Pumpkinhead were all made by Morpheus.
The Ravens are all made from souls of deceased humans who were given the option of remaining in The Dreaming as dream entities. This includes Jessamy, Matthew, and Lucien / Lucienne. (And not mentioned in the show: Aristeas, the raven from Ancient Rome).
Yes, Lucienne was once a raven, and before that probably a mortal. There’s a very high chance her current form does not resemble her original pre-Raven form. It might be a form she chose later.
Some Dreaming residents are immigrants from other non-human lands. Nuala is of the Fae. And the second Griffon was a gift from The Greek pantheon (or at least that’s the backstory he remembers).
Then there are also the residents who were probably not created originally by Morpheus but (if destroyed) can be re-created by him, like Cain and Abel. He didn’t create them but Dream of The Endless is able to resurrect Abel when someone other than Cain killed him. When Cain kills him it’s temporary). He was able to call back Abel’s soul and recreate him as a dream entity. Besides originally being hosts of DC’s horror anthology comics, it’s ambiguous as to if Cain and Abel are meant to be the literal Cain and Abel or just manifestations of the collective idea of who Cain and Abel are (hence Cain’s compulsive need to regularly murder his brother).
In the comics Lucifer respect’s Cain’s mark as if it is real or real-enough but at the same time Cain and Abel appear as African for Nada and it’s implied they might also be Romulus and Remus. So there is a high chance that they are the manifestations of the collective idea of who Cain and Abel are, and so they are characters of “Story.” The first story, murderer and victim.
Collective ideas of other famous “story” characters probably wander around The Dreaming. This could be anyone from Little Red Riding Hood and Sherlock Holmes, to The Wicked Witch of the West, The Crypt Keeper, and Slender Man. One of Morpheus’s many titles is “Prince of Stories.”
Puss ‘n Boots is seen briefly in The Sandman: The Kindly Ones.
So you have five forms of sentient subjects in The Dreaming.
1. The ones Morpheus creates. Examples: The Corinthian, Gault, Brute and Glob, Gregory, and Mervyn Pumpkinhead. Merv has even changed over the years and was once apparently Mervyn Turniphead until Pumpkin Jack-o-lanterns became the more popular variant. They are self-aware and have free will. He might create their base personality but if they choose to change from experience and observation that is their own doing.
2. The ones that were deceased humans and Morpheus turned them into dream entities because this is where they chose to spend their afterlife. Examples: Aristeas, Jessamy, Matthew, and Lucien / Lucienne.
3. Characters of “story” who manifest when a collective number of people dream about them enough that they become fixture entities in The Dreaming like Cain and Abel, and Eve.
4. Magical immigrants. Faeries, griffons, etc, that for various reasons were allowed to remain in The Dreaming. Examples: Nuala, the second griffon.
5. The oddity. These are beings pulled out of random dreams, created not-entirely by Morpheus’s consciously willing it, but more of The Dreaming being on autopilot. And they do not fade when the dream they came from ends. This includes baby Goldie’s egg. They technically are created by Dream, just not crafted on a conscious level.
Someone asked “Why don’t the other Endless have servants like these?” Well, the answer is very simple. Morpheus would deny it up and down but… He creates them and keeps them around because… he’s lonely. All the chores he gives them he can technically do himself but he likes the company. Just don’t tell him I told you that.
Thought: the reason Hashirama was genuinely okay about having kids is because he knew that he would have to do no actual parenting. Not that he wouldn't if he needed to, but he isn't comfortable around kids because he can't connect with them and the way he was raised makes him think about how he's not so different from his father when it comes to being willing to sacrifice anything, including their own child, to achieve their goal. Granted they have very different goals, but they both share the problem where they care more about reaching those goals than the people around them or that would be affected by them.
Hashirama had kids because he knew that Tobirama would do most of the actual parenting. He knows that Tobirama loves kids and adores being able to care for them and teach them and that he will never put anything, even his own dreams or life, above that of a child's. But also that Tobirama is probably never going to have kids of his own, because he doesn't seem to find interest in any romance (very wrong, he just picked who he wanted many years ago) so might as well give his brother as many niblings (nieces/nephews) as possible!
Which probably worked out well for Mito, I don't see her giving up being a sealing mistress in enough of an amount to be what would essentially be a single parent. She would probably have an actual role in her kids life, more so than Hashirama at least, but honestly if her brother-in-law wants to take on the bulk of the effort there she isn't complaining. Hashirama and Mito might spend more time with their kids as they get older because they are finally grown enough to do things with.
Matsui Senju knew that her father was the tall, loud man with the bright chakra and the booming laugh that was almost as loud as his crying but her da was the quiet man that was always on her level and had kind eyes and fluffy white fur, her mother was the regal woman with the red-red hair and her mother loved Matsui she knew but it was da that she went to when she was tired and sad or scraped her knee or needed help with a word in her picture book it was da that had open arms waiting for her no matter what he was doing at the time and since da lived with mother and father Matsui wasn't without her da very often at all. Not very often but sometimes da slipped away and even thought Matsui was strong and smart (da said so, and so did mother so it must be true) she couldn't find da and that - sometimes it got to be too much and even a hime had to sit down in the road and have a good cry, setting a good example for baby Mifuyu or not.
There was a loud scuffle near her and through her sobbing she heard someone muttering "You go talk to her! You don't scare children on sight!" and another "Yeah but I hate kids, you actually like them when they like you so you do it!" and back and forth as Matsui cried and wished her da would just show up already! She never had to cry this long before he came and found her! What if something had happened to him?! and then a blurry shape was kneeling in front of her, a big black cloud around a face she couldn't make out through her tears but she could see that their eyes were red like da's and Matsui was exhausted enough that she - she just didn't care, they looked like da and their voice was low and kind and their chakra was warm even if it was a lot. (Da had told her she wasn't as good a sensor as he was but she was very good and that that was a good thing as it could be more than a little overwhelming and da had to focus on strong chakra signatures to keep it from overwhelming him. Da said that he had found a star to orbit around to stay safe and it was good she wouldn't have to do the same, was this da's star?) So really it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise when she threw herself at the red-star, latching her arms around his neck and sobbing into his soft collar. "Hey! That's the second kid that liked you!" the other person, mean person, said loudly; Matsui rather agreeing with her red-star when he snarled at them and carefully if a little unpracticed wrapped his arms around Matsui.
Hiccupping Matsui cuddled closer (he smelled like smoke and spices) to his fluffy hair, tightening her hold until red-star figured out how to hold her just like she did with father - though he figured it out sooner really; father was a bit slow but shh don't tell him, he would cry and that was a lot. The big man cuddled her well and ran a hand that covered her back up and down it, rocking back and forth and trying to calm Matsui, "Hey, hey, don't cry little spark, whatever it is we can make it better I am sure" the man rumbled in a deep, deep voice that felt like someone was using duton nearby as it rumbled in his chest and honestly it was Matsui's interest in that fact that slowed her crying more than anything else, slowing to sniffles and tired hiccups as she rubbed her eyes to get a better look. He looked tired, was Matsui's first thought, tired and a little sad and quite handsome; he must be her da's star! A glance at the other man told her it wasn't him, he was littler- not littler like her but littler like da was than father- and he had a weird look on his face that she couldn't place as the red-star talked to her again, "Hey, what's your name little spark?" the man asked and, well, he was da's star so it was probably ok to tell him.
"'m Matsui" she mumbled rubbing at her eyes again as both men chattered back and forth over her head about father until the littler one leaned down to look at her, "Hey, midget" yeah, she didn't like him, he would be a good test subject "why'd you trust Madara anyway?" and now that was just a stupid question and Matsui gave him the look it deserved. "'is eyes 're red. Like da. And he's da's star too, 'm almost sure" Matusi muttered, ducking closer to the red-star- Madara?- to get away from the stupid spark and closer to someone she actually liked. As if to punctuate that stupid-spark looked at Mada-star with a confused expression, "Hashirama doesn't have red eyes" he said, stupidly, and Matsui snorted, rolling her eyes, "'course father don't, da does though, you should listen to people wh'n they talk."
Under her Mada-star's chest shook with laughter (that was how da laughed too!) and stupid-spark looked offended which was kind of funny and Matsui giggled a bit into the long dark hair (it was nice to hide in, maybe da would grow his out?). "So you trusted me because you think my eyes are like Tobirama's? And I am his star - whatever that is" Mada-star asked her and Mastui nodded, "'is star means your the one he focus's on when the lights get t' be t' much." she explained, lip wobbling as she thought of what had brought her out her in the first place "I can' find da, he's not in the house an' he's not in the T'wer an' I don't know where he is!" her voice was raising on a wail and Mada-star rubbed her back gently, shushing her like she was fragile. "You mean the tree has Tobirama raise his-" "Shut up Izuna" Mada-star muttered "Masui Tobirama is out on a mission, it was a last minute emergency and he didn't even have time to go home for anything but he'll be back soon, in a few days at the most." and well, Matsui didn't like that, not when that meant that da was going to be gone for a long time but it wasn't like there was anything wrong with father and mother and she liked that Mada-star was treating her like she was smart and impressive and knew things so.
"Can I be w'th you? Da was right, y'r very warm" and Mada-star flushed at her words, looking flabbergasted and pleased and confused as he awkwardly nodded yes and Matsui cheered as she snuggled into his hair. Da would be so pleased when he got back that Matsui had figured out his star all on her own! She was just sure of it.
thinkin about how whoever painted this mural included mirabel and wondering how much that meant to her to be included and wondering if she felt guilty about it because it's like a big mural I wouldn't be surprised if it took a long time and it was probably something done to commemorate Antonio's gift ceremony
They probably started with the background and then just judging by how they're layered in the painting they started with abuela and then the triplets and then the grandkids. it doesn't look like something that was designed with the intention to like add onto it as the family grows especially since everyone is roughly the age we see them in the family instead of all being 5
Mirabel has probably watched the entire thing be painted and she wasn't sure if she'd be included she kept telling herself she'd be fine if she wasn't that it'd all be fine and then one day she walks into town and sees her bright round glasses and beautiful curly hair right next to Luisa and it made her heart warm and she nodded to herself and reminded herself one last time that she's fine
Bruno is also in the painting which was probably extremely controversial to the townspeople and abuela. Based on how Pepa and Julieta are painted it looks like he was painted right after abuela was so for awhile it was probably just abuela and her brunito up there and every day when she walked to town she'd have to see her son that ran away and I bet Julieta would reach up and pet his cheek with a sad smile and Pepa had to avoid that street all together bc she'd get a great big cloud at the sight of him because it's one thing to not talk about bruno but it's another to have to see him every day
also this just adds to my theory that camilo simply cannot do math. the fact that the last time he saw bruno in person he was small is completely negated by the fact that there is a painting of him down the street from their house
Okay, but consider. Bruno painted this mural. Why? Because of all the animals, this is before Antonio's ceremony, Bruno is the only person who has a way of knowing what his gift would be.
Someone in the comments suggests Mirabel painted it using drawings in her room and her embroidery (which is so cool) as proof of her art talents. But also, it's a kids room, of course there is art on the walls. More importantly it's the nursery, it was every kids room at some point, who really knows who did every bit of art?
Another point, Bruno's famous rat telenovelas. There was definitely so art skill required for those sets.
Tentative conclusion, Bruno snuck out at night and painted a mural to celebrate his youngest nephew's gift ceremony, the nephew he has never got to properly meet while busy living in the walls.
Why does everyone think that when they get superpowers they have to either be a villain or a hero or use their powers for some cause. FUCK THAT. I’m using my telekinesis to get chores done. I’m using my water breathing abilities to dress as a creepy mermaid and scare the fuck out of surfers. Man, I don’t have time to develop a moral code or goal. My powers will be used to spice up my life and the lives of everyone around me in minor ways whether y’all like it or not.
Have a look into Log Pose!⚓
A 190+ pages undated One Piece Planner filled with adventures and nakama power!
We have a lot of different bundles and merch you can add depending on your preferences! Have a look in our store below to find the right bundle for you! 💙
BUY NOW
⚓ Shop: bit.ly/OPPlannerShop
⏳ Pre-orders open until: October 10th
💙 Help us Reblog & Like to unlock free items!
Pls post the ayuan and lan zhan ficlet u wrote 🥺 !!! We would love to read it !!
sorry for the late response, i didn’t have a chance to edit until last night and i thought your ask would be the perfect way to avoid having to title this lmao. here is the yuan and lan zhan ficlet!! it takes place ~somewhat early~ in lan zhan’s seclusion following wei wuxian’s death and yuan is about idk five??
anyway, enjoy :))
Yuan lays awake in a large, quiet room. He can’t be sure, but it feels as if it’s been hours since the caretaker put him to bed, and still he has yet to fall asleep. Instead, he listens to the emptiness around him and tries to blink away the monsters his mind conjures from the murky darkness around him. It doesn’t work.
He doesn’t remember exactly why, but he thinks that this is wrong. Lying alone in a room full of empty beds. Beds should be full, of people snoring and talking in their sleep, of people who sing Yuan lullabies before bed and hold him when he wakes from nightmares. He doesn’t know why he thinks this – it isn’t as if these things have happened in Cloud Recesses. All he knows is that the quiet and the dark and the loneliness is worse than anything else in the world.
Knowing it’s against the rules, Yuan gets out of bed. He crosses to the window, where he can look out at the courtyard beyond his room, moonlit and bright. No one is out this late, but the light makes it better anyway. It’s cool in the mountains at night, even in summer. A breeze drifts in and Yuan shivers, missing the warmth of his blankets, but he can’t return to the darkness, not without –
The courtyard is full of what seems to be millions of white pebbles, glittering like tiny moons as far as he can see. Yuan likes the moon. The moon is bright and smiling and always watching, always stays awake when the world gets quiet.
“Don’t worry, A-Yuan,” a voice said to him, once. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep and make sure the nightmares can’t find you.” He doesn’t remember who said it, but he remembers the safety he’d felt. The moon – the moon feels like that.
Another breeze sends Yuan shivering. Maybe – maybe if he could bring the moon back to bed with him, the nightmares and the loneliness and the darkness wouldn’t be able to find him. Mind suddenly made up, he crawls out of the window, taking careful, barefoot steps across the warm, wooden boardwalk to the courtyard full of little moons. He grabs a handful and peruses them.
One has dirt smudged over it, so he tosses it back, and one is missing a chunk like someone got so hungry they just couldn’t help themselves and, with a giggle at the thought, he puts that one back, too. He goes through the pebbles, weighing each one’s advantages until he comes to the final pair.
Hands flat to the sky, one moon perched in the center of each palm, he brings the pebbles to his face for a better look. They are both seemingly perfect. Smooth, unblemished little circles, each one shimmering, smiling, equal in every way. Yuan frowns.
How can he pick just one? Both pebbles are perfect and if he chooses one over the other, he will surely hurt that one’s feelings. But he can’t take both! Two moons for one boy! How greedy can he be?
So troubled is he by this conundrum that he almost doesn’t hear the soft music breaking the dark silence of the night.
But with another gust of mountain air comes low, drawn-out notes, unlike anything Yuan has ever heard. He’s heard music before – his uncle plays his xiao for Yuan sometimes at their weekly dinners and, before that, he thinks someone who loved him played him lullabies on a dizi – but never has Yuan heard something like the song the wind carries now.
It makes him feel sad, a little, without really knowing why, but he’s used to that. More than that, though, it sounds like magic. The stories the caretakers read him sometimes have music. Young maidens singing songs of longing for their cultivators to rescue them, clever heroes distracting ghouls with witty tunes. Yuan has long thought up his own stories in these veins, though his tend more towards – towards a song that drifts in from the woods, that only Yuan can hear. It guides Yuan to a secret house where his parents have been waiting for him. Here, they hug him and smile, tell him they love him, tell him they never meant to leave him, tell him they’ll never do it again.
Yuan knows the rules. The caretakers read the rules for him more than they read him the stories. He knows he shouldn’t go off into the woods at night. He shouldn’t have climbed out the window either, though. Yuan thinks about it really hard for a moment and then decides that, if he’s already done something wrong, he might as well do this, too.
Yuan hasn’t a clue where such a thought comes from – Heaven knows he didn’t learn it in Cloud Recesses – but it seems logically sound to him. So, a moon clutched in either hand, he follows the music out of the courtyard, off of the porch, and into the trees beyond.
With bare feet and little legs, it feels like ages that he walks. He steps over pointy things that hurt his toes and hurries across cold stones that send chills up his legs. Once, the music stops, and Yuan holds his breath and his two moons tightly and almost begins to cry before another song appears, different than the one before. Where the last one was sad, this one is light, soaring and settling and sighing with fond notes, so loud in the darkened forest.
Not long after that song begins, Yuan comes to a clearing. Sprouting from the center of it is an understated home with a lantern flickering in its window. Yuan breaks into a sprint, heedless of the twigs that catch on his soles, doesn’t even wait to knock before tearing open the doors and stumbling inside.
At a low table sits a man dressed in all white, fingers poised but paused over the strings of a guqin. He looks at Yuan with a nearly passive expression, excepting the too-wideness of his eyes. He looks – familiar. Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, but this must be – he has to be –
“Baba?”
The man startles. “A-Yuan,” he says, and Yuan’s small heart goes shooting around in his chest. He knows Yuan’s name. He knows Yuan’s name.
“Baba.”
Yuan rushes to his father’s side, collapses next to him and buries his face in the fabric of his baba’s robes. With the stones still in his hands, he can’t tangle his fingers in the robes the way he wants to, he can only press his fists as tight to his father’s chest as he can.
He only realizes that he’s crying when Baba’s hand settles on his shaking back. He doesn’t know why he’s crying – he’s anything but sad – but Baba doesn’t tell him to stop or to meditate like the caregivers do, he just lets Yuan cry into his chest until he can take a breath without it shivering in his throat.
“A-Yuan,” Baba says again, in a soft, low voice Yuan wishes he could remember, “how did you come here?”
Yuan sniffles. “The music.” Did Baba not mean to call him? Did he not want to see Yuan?
“No one stopped you?”
“Everyone’s asleep,” Yuan says. He pulls away far enough to crane his neck back and peer at Baba’s face. “I climbed out the window.”
Baba doesn’t smile, but something in the way his mouth moves makes Yuan think that he wants to.
“Going out alone is not safe,” Baba says, but it doesn’t sound like the scolding the caregivers give. It sounds softer.
“I’m safe,” Yuan says, still defensive, at least a little. He hates punishments, especially the ones where they leave him alone to copy rules. He hates being alone.
Baba hums mildly and looks at Yuan’s feet. Kneeling as he is, the soles of his feet face the room, and the stings and scrapes he suffered on the trip over are visible. Yuan notices, then, the small spot of blood he’s made on the rug and begins to cry again.
He turns and buries his face in Baba’s side again, rushing through the words like all the breath from his lungs has disappeared. “I’m sorry, Baba, please don’t leave again, I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t do it again, please don’t go, please.”
Baba stiffens and Yuan cries harder. He doesn’t want Baba to leave, he doesn’t want the silence and the darkness and the caregivers who leave and let the nightmares find him, he wants Baba to hug him and tell him he’ll keep him safe and hold him when he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he’s been left alone in the world.
“A-Yuan,” Baba says softly, “let us clean you up.”
Baba picks Yuan up and he clings harder. Baba has to untangle Yuan’s arms around his neck when he kneels to place Yuan on the bed. He says, “I will be right back,” and crosses the room to take out a box before returning just as he said. Yuan’s tears slow as Baba kneels in front of him.
Baba takes a piece of cloth from the box at his side and wets it before bringing it gently to the soles of Yuan’s feet. He wipes away the blood and dirt and lifts Yuan’s foot to examine the cuts. He takes out a funny smelling jar and puts the stuff in it on Yuan’s foot. It tickles. Yuan laughs.
Baba looks up when he laughs. His mouth does the not-smile thing but his eyes look sad. “Dont be sad, Baba,” Yuan says. Baba hums and looks back at Yuan’s feet.
When he’s done, he returns the items to the box and returns the box to its place before he comes back to kneel in front of Yuan again. Yuan thinks that Baba isn’t mad – he wouldn’t be so nice if he were mad, right? – but he isn’t sure, so he says nothing, just watches Baba watching him.
“A-Yuan,” he says, after a very long time, “I didn’t want to leave you.”
Yuan’s heart beats too fast in his chest. It’s what he’s wondered about, ever since he asked Uncle where his parents were and Uncle didn’t tell him. If they were dead, Uncle could’ve just said, but he didn’t, which meant, maybe, that they’d just left. Left Yuan. Didn’t want Yuan.
Baba reaches out and Yuan holds his breath. Baba’s hand stops a few breaths away and Yuan squeezes his moons so tight it hurts. After another moment, Baba’s fingers brush away some stray hairs from Yuan’s forehead, thumb smoothing over his hairline.
“Can I stay with you?” Yuan whispers, afraid that, if he’s too loud, someone will hear him and come and take him back.
Baba shakes his head, a short gesture. “You must stay with the Sect.”
Yuan hates that the tears come again, hates how they make Baba’s eyes go tight. “Why?”
“They can take care of you,” Baba says quietly. “I cannot.”
“Forever?”
“No.” Baba’s thumb brushes against his skin again. “Just for now.”
“Can I visit?”
Baba frowns. He seems to think about it for a moment. “We will see,” he says. “You cannot walk here in the dark again. It is not safe.”
Yuan nods. He doesn’t want to upset Baba. But, he has to ask – “Do you want me to visit?”
Baba nods without hesitation. “Very much.”
Yuan smiles and, careful of his sore feet, throws himself forward into Baba’s arms. Baba huffs in surprise but holds Yuan close, his big hands warm on Yuan’s back.
He holds Yuan for quite some time – not enough, though – before he says, “You must return.”
Yuan holds on tighter but nods. Baba stands, Yuan still in his arms, and carries him out of the house. Yuan thinks he’s going to be put down, once they’re outside, but Baba carries him through the woods the whole way. Yuan presses his cheek to Baba’s chest and listens to his heart beating. He thinks this is what parents are for, to hold you in the dark, to keep you safe. He doesn’t know if Baba is the voice in his memories – he sounds too different – but he knows that Baba must love him the same, love him enough to stay up all night and keep the nightmares away, if he could.
When they get back to Yuan’s big room with all the empty beds, Baba very quietly and gracefully steps through the window. Yuan giggles. Baba says nothing, but his mouth does the not-smile, and he lays Yuan in his bed and pulls the blankets up to his chin.
“Will you stay?” Yuan asks, suddenly so tired, in the comfort of his bed, Baba watching over him.
“I cannot,” Baba says, eyes sad again. Yuan swallows hard. Baba can’t stay. Yuan will be alone, with the dark and the empty beds, alone with no one to watch over him again—
Yuan remembers the moons and gasps, opening both of his palms. Baba’s eyebrows raise a little. Yuan turns and places one moon on the table next to his bed. It shines and shimmers and smiles. It will keep the nightmares away, while Baba cannot. Yuan looks to the other moon, warm in his hand, and looks back to Baba.
Baba must return, now, to his own empty room. He will have to blow out the lantern and lie down to sleep in silence and darkness, just like Yuan.
Yuan holds out the pair to his perfect moon. Baba stares at it. Yuan explains, “To keep the nightmares away.”
Baba stares at the pebble some more. After quite a long time, he reaches out with careful fingers and takes the moon. “Thank you, A-Yuan,” he says, quiet, the not-smile on his lips.
Yuan beams sleepily. His eyelids drag heavy, leaving him blinking slowly as he tries to stay awake as long as he can, take in as much of Baba as he can, while he can. But Baba smooths his free hand over Yuan’s blankets, brushes warm fingers against his hair. It feels—it just feels so nice. Yuan can’t fight the sleep that embraces him.
“Goodnight, A-Yuan,” he hears, soft and low, when his eyes shut and refuse to open again.
“G’night, Baba,” Yuan says around a yawn.
He doesn’t remember Baba leaving. In the morning, he wakes up alone in the room full of empty beds, the sunlight still cold and thin, early as it is. Yuan shivers with it, wondering if it had all been a dream, one of his dearest dreams, a dream where his parents, his baba, loves him and wants him and never wanted to leave him. It’s like the made-up stories the caretakers tell him. It can’t be true.
But then Yuan turns, sees the perfect round moon sitting on his bedside table, and he knows. He knows Baba loves him.
Angels walk among us. With crooked halos and shattered wings, they walk among us and try to remember what it felt like to be holy. Stretching out their arms and reminding themselves of what it felt like to soar.
Gods walk among us. Trapped inside too small bodies with nothing but the memories of when they were everything, and dream of the worlds and empires they helped forge. Their hands had once built galaxies, but now seemed so small.
Aliens walk among us. From far away worlds and twinkling stars, they carry on and wonder how they had gotten so far from home. One day they know they’ll traverse this galaxy once again, but until then they must make do with Earth.
Fae walk among us. Who try to remember their people, their customs, their dances, in a world that is convinced that they are children’s tales, and no more. Desperately trying to become themselves again, wondering if it was all simply a prank gone wrong, or something worse.
Forests walk among us. Those who remember their trees, their plants, the animals they kept safe under their canopy. Now they can only hope their small friends stay safe, until they can take care of them all again.
Animals walk among us. Wondering why they were stuck on two legs with none of their fur or feathers, scales or shells. Questioning why their voices suddenly are so wrong, so different from the cries they used to make. Surrounding themselves with whatever they can that reminds them of their home.
Ghosts walk among us. Clothed in flowing white and shadowy blues, wandering through areas that used to be solely theirs. They can no longer phase or float, but they make do. They have to.
Dragons walk among us. On feet without the claws they remember, and with heads held high despite the missing horns and fangs. They clamber forwards, rebuilding their hoard with every step of the way.
Dolls walk among us. Those with faded felt and chipped ceramics alike wondering why they were suddenly flesh. Looking over themselves and realizing their bodies were suddenly softer then they ever were, more sturdy then they ever were.
Galaxies walk among us. Made of star stuff and moonshine, infinitely growing forces trapped in too small bodies. Remembering what it felt like to span light years and wondering who had managed to trap supernovas into flesh and blood.
Monsters walk among us. In every shape and size; they walk; slither; crawl; and remember the days they were feared, and wonder if they really want that back. If they would want it back after finally being treated as a living creature with as much right to exist as anyone else.
Unicorns walk among us. Even with their horns no longer there, there is no doubt magic runs through them. They are blessed creatures, and they know it. Stars and sunlight glisten in their eyes, and every step plants flowers.
Demons walk among us. Still feeling the darkness in their blood, and the calls of others like them. Hell fire and brimstone smells dance on the breeze, luring them away. Luring them back home.
Wolves walk among us. Even without their pack, they are fierce. Every step a calculation, every move planned.The hunt is on, and it looks like you are the prey. Get ready to run.
Dinosaurs walk among us. Long gone though they are, the continue forward. With pasts surrounded by mystery and unknowing. They are a varied folk, from carnivores to herbivores and everything in between. Large and small alike they fight on.
Winged Ones walk among us. Backs aching from wings they don’t have- limbs they haven’t had in a long time. The sky calls to them, begging them to come home, but they cannot reply. Stuck on the ground, staring hopefully up at the sky- one day they might go home, but not yet, not today.
Glitches walk among us. Scratches on the disk of reality, blips in the world. Tilt your head, look at them from a wrong angle- they might just be lens flares, might just be tricks of the imagination. The world warps around a being that is not there, that shouldn’t be there.
Hellhounds walk among us. Hellfire sprouts from their paths, infernos blaze just under their skin. Embers burn their paws, soot stains their fur. Wildness stirs in their hearts, urges them forward. Feral creatures, born from fire and darkness.
Vampires walk among us. Fangs stained red with blood that is not theirs. Pale as untouched snow, with hearts as dark as the night they rule. Voids twist around them, cloaking them in their shadows. Look out for too sharp grins at midnight, watch your steps.
Elements walk among us. Raging winds, blazing flames, crushing earth, and surging waters rush together. Combining to make impossible possibilities, incredible worlds, exploding worlds. Elements that made up entire worlds now spinned into bones.
The Undead walk among us. Shuffling and stuttering, wondering if this makes them undead undead. Flesh now whole and bones unbroken, feeling their heartbeat course through their veins once again, feeling the air filling their lungs once again.
Shadows walk among us. Twisting and shifting, not solid forms but far from intangible. They are everywhere and nowhere all at once, watching on to every act, recording passively that actions of others, while also defending those in need, actively stepping out to protect. They are the night and the stars, and yet also the shifting woods and deadly blades that flash in the shade. They are, and they aren’t.
Robots walk among us. Rusty joints and electricity running through them. Mechanical men, made to work with no need for sustenance. Inorganic beings with artificial intelligence, making themselves better, making themselves evolve. Their jobs are not yet done.
Mountains walk among us. Their strength and fortitude transformed into movable flesh and feeble bones. Eons of near unending life taken away and replaced with a life of hardly a century. Where once they were feared and respected, they are now hardly ever seen.
Winter Sprites walk among us. Ice on their fingers, frost in their hair. Snow falls over their trail, painting the frozen landscape a chilling white. A shiver trails up your spine when they pass, followed by a freezing breeze- winter spirits in their element can freeze the world over, if one could be bothered to do so.
Werefolk walk among us. Bodies no longer shifting as they once did, permanently stuck on their two legs, for better or for worse. From all walks of life, they shifted into anything and everything. They do what they can to remind themselves of what if had felt like to themselves again.
Starseeds walk among us. Those that have lived only a few lives and those that have lived hundreds walking together. Taking the same steps they’ve taken who knows how many times before. Memories trickle back to them, small ones and big ones alike replaying in their minds. Doing their best to remember their mission and goals.
Mermaids walk among us. Although, maybe walk would be the wrong word. Figuring out how to walk on separate limbs that used to be one. Feeling most at home when submerged in water, sometimes forgetting their new bodies need oxygen. Strong arms and new legs propelling them through water, making them relearn a skill that they’d known since birth.
Death Omens walk among us. Afraid if their mere presence curses everyone around them. Keeping to themselves, just in case. Wondering how much of their past life carries on to their new life. Afraid that their mere touch could end lives, wondering if its their fault every time catastrophe hits.
Psychopomps walk among us. Remembering their jobs, remembering their duty. Even when they hated it, they remember what that must do. Both an impartial guide and a guardian protector. It was not their job to judge, simply to provide a safe passage from here to whatever lies beyond. Smiling in the face of death, knowing that they are not here for them.
Betrayers walk among us. With guilt-ridden hearts and regretful eyes. Who reassure themselves that it was the right thing to do, not quite sure if they believe themselves.
Prisoners walk among us. Remembering shackles and chains holding them back, holding them down. Forced in cages and cells, forced to repent. But now- now they are free. They are free to walk and speak and run. Every part of their soul sings. Shackles now rusted off, chains now broken- they have no intentions of ever putting them back on.
Saviors walk among us. With a shine in their eyes and smiles on their lips, reassuring all they come across that one day the sun will shine and all with be right once again.
Rebels walk among us. Causes long ago forgotten, but with fires still raging in their hearts. Challenging anything and everything. Unrest and revolutions follow them wherever they tread. Chaos and freedom, mixed together.
Survivors walk among us. Soldiers with nothing left to fear, who have instincts as their guide and luck on their side. Walking forward unafraid, because they’ve done this all before.
Immortals walk among us. Souls laden with sorrow, heartbreak slipping through their eyes. They know by now not to get close, but do so anyways because its the only thing that makes them feel anymore.
Fighters walk among us. Hands itching for weapons they no longer have, tense with instincts they no longer need. Wondering why their body is so unmarred and unbroken. They had always done their best, but now they no longer knew if that was good enough. If it ever was good enough.
Children walk among us. Lost and afraid, they march forward, with the weights of a thousand impossibilities on their shoulders. These children are forgotten, and they would prefer to stay that way.
Cursed-folk walk among us. With cautious eyes and doubtful tones, who know that the world is against them now more than ever. Everything comes with a price, and they wonder if their price was truly worth it.
Witches walk among us. Hands of their magical tools of choice, ready to pull them out if necessary to defend or attack. Scared because this was the land their ancestors were killed in. Courageous because they continue forwards anyways.
Travelers walk among us. Those who took a wrong turn and found themselves in a world that isn’t theirs, hoping to one day find the way back. Strength rings through them, for they know they cannot- will not -stop until they reach their home.
Chosen Ones walk among us. Remembering what it felt like to be The One, The Savior, The Last Hope of their worlds- and wondering why that responsibility was ever thrust on them in the first place. Wondering why they had been abandoned back in their old world after fighting so hard for the one they had made their home.
Spirits walk among us. Spirits who see others like them in the corner of their eyes. Spirits who meet up in quiet secret places and remember, together, what it felt like to be themselves. Reassuring each other that one day they will all go Home.
Seers walk among us. They watch, wide eyed and humbled, at the creatures who walk around them. Wings and horns and twisted bits, wandering through crowded streets. Their oddities, invisible to most, show bright and clear to the perceptive eyes of those who watch.
So I’ve started learning Tai Chi recently, and I gotta say Avatar Zuko is going to f*cking hate attempting water-bending so much. It’s not only a form that requires exercising patience, but also requires being completely relaxed. So pretty much everything Prince “Has Never Unclenched His Jaw In His Entire Life” Zuko isn’t.
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
dededos
origamiaround
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
