Idk about having their own, but I like the thought of them being good with kids.. I think the gangster would die in them immediately... Here's some more:
As a Dungeon Master I nearly scrolled past this before my brain kicked my own ass and reminded me that I have tried looking up 'Blue Gemstones' at LEAST a dozen times in the last six months and never found anything this helpful.
Hi! I'm wanting to make a few atla ocs, and was wondering if you had any jewelry masterposts? Specifically the water tribes and fire nation. Your post about inuit earrings was very helpful! I was just wondering if you had more like it. Thank you so much for all the work you do this blog is a blessing!
I have some posts that mention jewelry as part of an entire outfit, but I don't have as many that specifically analyze cultural jewelry. Mainly because the characters of ATLA don't dress all that ostentatiously most of the time.
I can link you to all my jewelry and jewelry-adjacent posts, though.
Water Tribe
Arctic Earrings
Betrothal Necklaces
Sokka's Choker
Arnook's Jewelry
Kuruk's Clothing & Accessories
What are Betrothal Necklaces Made of?
Fire Nation
Azula's Ember Island Outfit
Thai Lee's Circus Costume Jewelry
Toph's Fire Nation Tiara
Katara's Fire Nation Outfit
The Inspiration Behind Fire Nation Armbands (Jewelry & Fabric)
so while i was in japan i stumbled upon a pop up alien and space museum/art gallery (if you canât find a thing in tokyo, it probably doesnât exist) and there were these gorgeous feudal paintings of the tale of the bamboo cutter and itâs a very good story but
what if
it went
a little
differently?
kaguya is the princess of the moon. she is a young child, gangly thin limbs and a plump mouth permanently set in a stubborn pout. she is a beautiful child, even by the moonâs standards, with her cold opal eyes and hair the same deep black as the void of space. she is an unruly, irritable child. she runs from the priestesses who attempt to teach her her duties, and steps on the feet of little princes from far away stars that her parents parade in front of her. she canât be soothed by sweets, by soft toys, by pretty songs. she is a being of constant want, and nothing in the whole of space seems to satisfy her.
kaguya does not love the moon as she should. she does not find beauty in itâs silvery, iridescent ground, nor in the pools beneath its surface that glint like mercury. she finds her citizens stuffy and annoying, and all the people from the stars think theyâre better than them just because they shine a little brighter. it makes kaguya cross â the sun shines brightest of all, and the only beings that still reside on it is a great monster of a dragon that no one dares cross.
the priestesses try to entice her to learn this portion of her duties at least, but she runs from them and plugs her ears and does not listen. there are times when the sun and moon cross paths, and when they do the great dragon of the sun attempts to gobble them up whole. it is only by praying to the god tsukuyomi and erecting a barrier that the royal family can protect their home from the sun dragon.
it is kaguyaâs most sacred duty, and she has no interest in it.
sheâs simultaneously bored by her home and insulted when others find it lacking, and this contrary rational might be distressing to the logic of an adult, but kaguya is not an adult. she is a child, and being contrary is her prerogative.
she is walking through in the courtyard behind a palace when a shooting star passes her by, then circles back again. itâs s such a little thing, it must have been traveling for a very long time, because itâs burned down so itâs only about half as big as kaguya. this means the star is very old. âchild,â the falling star says, voice ancient and crackling, âwhy are you sad?â
âi am not sad,â she answers, but as soon as she says that she knows itâs a lie, and tears prick at her eyes. âi am always lonely, though i am surrounded by people. i am always bored, though there are many things to entertain me. i am always angry, though there is nothing wrong. i am sad because i am a piece that does not fit.â
âmaybe you are simply a piece that belongs to a different puzzle,â the falling star says, âcome, climb onto me, and i will i take you somewhere new.â
âwill it be better?â she asks.
if a falling star could shrug this one would, but it canât so it doesnât. âit will be different.â
different sounds better to kaguya. she agrees, not bothering to say goodbye to her parents or her people, does not take one last look at the beauty of the moonâs surface. instead she climbs onto the falling star, her skin thick enough that she does not feel its burn, and rides it all the way down, until it is a star no longer and only a falling rock, until she goes tumbling onto a whole new planet, and as she falls she thinks that this new planet looks very green.
~
there is an old man called taketori no okina. he lives alone in a great bamboo field, and every day he wakes up at dawn and cuts bamboo until dusk, then he goes home and eats and sleeps and wakes up in the morning to do it all again. when he was a young man, taketori no okina fell in love with a samurai who had laughter lines around his mouth and strong hands, who taught him how to wield blades with a strength and skill that could cut down the strongest soldiers. but taketori no okina only uses it to harvest bamboo. the samurai was engaged to the daughter of a respectable family, and so he left. he left his village not long after the samurai, unable to be there alone in the place where they used to be together. Â taketori no okinaâs heart was so full of love for his samurai that he could not bear to love another, and so he never did.
he is awoken in the middle of the night by a bang that shakes his home and nearly deafens him. he stumbles outside, and a couple miles into his field he sees smoke. he goes running for it, concerns about fire and war â theyâre in a time of peace now, but they werenât always â rushing through his mind as he stumbles through. when he reaches the source, itâs to find his bamboo flattened in a ten foot wide circle and a little girl lying in the center. he falls to his knees beside her and carefully picks her up, cradling her in his arms. sheâs pale, like she doesnât spend enough time in the sun, and has long black hair. her thin chest rises and falls with her deep breaths, and he is relieved that sheâs alive. âlittle girl,â he says, âyou must wake up and tell me if you are all right.â
she opens her eyes, two pearls set in her delicate face. âi am well,â she says, and smiles at him. she curls into him, setting her head against his chest, âyou are warm. i will stay with you, for you are warm and have a kind face.â
she falls asleep once more, a hand clutching something laying across her stomach and her other hand fisted into his robe. taketori no okina looks at this little girl and feels his heart expand, until itâs straining against his rib cage. he loves his samurai as much as he always has, but now his heart is bigger. itâs made room so he can fill it with love for this little girl, and so he does.
he carries her to his home and settles her into his bed. itâs a small bed, meant only for one, and she is a little thing, but he does not wish to crowd her, so takes the floor. tomorrow he will build her a bed and take her to market and show her the hot springs near the mountain. for now he falls asleep listening to her soft breathing with a smile.
the next morning he wakes up to her sitting on the floor by his side, running her fingers over a pockmarked stone. âwhat is that?â
âit is all that is left of my friend. she was once a great star but she fell, as all great stars must. she carried me here because i was sad. but now i am sad that she is gone.â
âthatâs all right,â taketori no okina says, and she blinks down at him. no one had ever told her that it was okay that she was sad before. âshe was very special, so we must put her in a very special place.â
he gets up and builds a ledge across the window with a platform just big enough for the stone to fit. he lifts her up so that she can set whatâs left of her friend on it herself. ânow she can see you and sky she came from at the same time, and you will always be able to see her.â
âshe cannot see anything anymore,â she says, but she likes the idea of it, the sentiment. she feels less sad at her loss now, although she canât say why, since nothing has changed.
once he has set her back on her feet she looks up at him and says, âi am kaguya. what shall i call you?â
âthey call me taketori no okina,â he pushes a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, âyou may call me whatever you like.â
she wrinkles her nose at that name. it is too long, and too formal. if she is to call him that, then he might as well call her princess kaguya, and she might as well not have left the moon at all. âi will call you oyaji,â she declares, and itâs not a term sheâd used even with her father on the moon, but for this old man who built her a shelf and carried her home and had large, rough hands that touch her gently, she thinks it fits.
~
kaguya quite likes the new planet and her new father. he is man whoâs spent a lifetime working and doing little else. he has a tidy savings that he cheerfully depletes on her; he buys her colorful kimonos for her to wear when he walks her to market, and functional kosodes for the days she spends playing in the river and darting through the bamboo forests. he tells her stories at night, of his samurai, of the emperor, and when he exhausts his reservoir of stories about this land, he tells her the tales of other ones â the fire-rats of china, the buddha of india, and when he even those run out he tells her of dragons, of a magical island called horai.
she loves these stories, and she loves him. there are days when she is sad and cross, and on those days oyaji kisses her forehead and tucks the blanket around her shoulder and brings her something spicy from the market for dinner. oyaji just lets her be sad or angry when she wants to be, and because of that kaguya finds that now she gets sad less and less, that more often than not sheâs âŠ. happy.
she notices the special care oyaji takes when he talks of samurai, and sees the strength and power in his limbs when he cuts bamboo, and decides she would like to be strong like the samurai in his stories, like oyaji is himself. so she asks and asks, and heâs worried that itâs too dangerous for her. but oyaji loves her like sheâs his own flesh and blood, and is unable to deny her anything.
kaguya grows up. she grows up on stories of far off lands and magic, she grows up on warm, simple food made by someone who loves her, she grows up learning to wield blades with the same brute efficiency as oyaji. kaguya grows up beautiful. her skin is darker now that she dances in the sunâs rays, her hair is long and fine, and her eyes are as theyâve always been â pale and beautiful, small versions of the moon she was born on. she moves with a steadied grace that only a deadly woman can master and has the whipcord strength of body from days working in the bamboo fields alongside her father, but all the delicate features of the princess she was born as.
they were left alone when she was a child, when oyaji took her hand and guided her to meat stalls and cloth sellers and bought sparkly combs for her to wear in her hair. but kaguya is a child no longer. she is a young woman, and tales of her beauty spread far and wide. just as when she was a child and princes from far off stars came to court her, now princes come from far off lands. as a child she stepped on their feet, and as a woman she wishes to take her shiny blades and cut them from navel to neck. but she is not a princess here, she is the poor daughter of a poor bamboo cutter, and must act accordingly. she canât go slicing up arrogant suitors who believe they are entitled to her, no matter how much she would like to.
the most persistent are five princes from lands far from here. she requests a betrothal gift from each of them, and says she will marry the first to return.
from the first prince, she requests the stone begging bowl of buddha.
from the second prince, she requests a jeweled branch from horai.
from the third prince, she requests a fire-rat robe.
from the fourth prince, she requests a cowry shell born of swallows.
from the fifth prince, she requests a colored jewel from a dragonâs neck.
off they go to fulfill her impossible requests, and kaguya rests easy knowing that they will not return, or if they do they will return empty handed.
No amount of forewarning could have prepared Dream for the startling array of feelings that would assault him upon stepping into the New Inn and being confronted by the sight of Hob cradling a newborn in his arms, head bent toward a young woman the two of them cooing quietly over the baby. Perhaps it makes no difference that he had none at all.
Hob would have mentioned a wife, surely. A partner. Whatever his relationship is. He would have.
Except that Dream had reacted badly the last time he had mentioned wife and child, and Hob is not expecting this visit, and perhaps he ought toâ
âHello, stranger,â Hob greets cheerfully, his attention diverted from the babe in his arms to Dream. He has a name, by which to call him. A choice of names, and he has chosen Dream, and Dream feels an array of ways about this as well but the strongest of them is a deep, resounding pleasure that with a selection of Dreamâs many names laid out before him, Hob has chosen the truest of them.
âCome and meet my granddaughter,â Hob adds.
Granddaughter. Granddaughter?
The young woman who seems to be just a few years younger than Hob himself appears is his child?
It is perfectly possible, of course, but the risk Hob takes. And an adult child he has failed to mention?
The surprise is enough to render Dream mute.
Instead of inquiring further, he moves to sit on Hobâs other side, pulling a chair up so he may look over Hobâs shoulder at the tiny baby. Hobâs tiny baby. His grandchild.
âHer name is Willow,â Hob enthuses, as though this is the most wonderful name any child has ever been given.
âSheâsâŠâ Dream begins. She is many things. Tiny. Mortal. Beloved. An accomplished dreamer with a wonderful imagination despite the scant week she has been in the world.
âBeautiful.â
This, Dream thinks, most of all.
âMelanie,â the childâs presumable mother offers her hand across Hob, who is too preoccupied with his precious burden to bother with the social niceties of introduction.
âIs it all right if I tell her your name?â Hob asks. âShe knows about me, obviously.â
âWill you not be jealous if your daughter gains knowledge of a name after three minutes which you yourself did not have the use of for six hundred years?â Dream asks.
Melanieâs mouth falls open, her eyes suddenly alight.
She looks absolutely nothing like Hob, except that her smile is as bright and freely offered, and her eyes twinkle in much the same way.
âOh, I know exactly who you are,â she says. âThe mysterious stranger.â
Dream blinks.
âPractically the first thing Hob told me when we met was about youââ Melanie begins, only to purse her lips at a look from Hob, a grin threatening to break through.
Met. Met?
âMet?â Dream asks.
âWhen I was fifteen and my parents kicked me out,â Melanie says, the barest catch in her voice.
She has a nightmare of this incident, now that Dream looks. A rainy evening. A tearful call to a friend. The feeling of being all alone in the world. Abandonment. Fear. Monstrousness.
But then there is another dream. A smiling face, the warmth of which is familiar to the Lord of Dreams himself. Kindness. An umbrella in the rain, a hand outstretched. Hot chocolate. Safety.
Hob. The dream is of Hob.
Willow makes a sound of displeasure, possibly at being ignored.
âShh, darling. Youâre still the most interesting thing in the room,â he says. âIâve known him six hundred years, but Iâve only known you half an hour. Iâve got so much to show you.â
Hobâs voice, thick with emotion, makes something inside Dream ache.
âDo you want to hold her?â Hob asks. âCan he hold her?â
Melanie nods. âDo you know how to hold a baby?â she asks.
âIt has been some time,â Dream admits. This, Hob does not yet know. âBut I do not believe it is something one forgets.â
Hob hands her over expertly, and Willow falls immediately asleep in Dreamâs arms.
Melanieâs mouth falls open again. âHow did you do that?â she asks.
Hob chuckles. âOf course sheâll sleep for you,â he says. âCareful, or youâll end up splitting the babysitting with me.â
âI would consider it an honour to be charged with the care of your grandchild, Hob Gadling,â Dream murmurs, settling Willowâs tiny, warm weight a touch closer to his body, offering her human warmth in exchange.
It takes him a moment to realise Hob is staring openly at him.
âHave I saidâŠ?â
Hob breaks into a soft, warm smile. âIt was just very sweet.â
Dream smiles back, without wholly intending it. âPerhaps there is something to the idea that it is possible to have a sweet dream,â he says.
Hob laughs. âOh, I have no doubt that under all this youâre soft as marshmallow.â
Melanie excuses herself a moment, and leaves the two of them alone.
âYou are a symbol of safety to her,â Dream says. âIn her dreams. When she runs from the worst of her nightmares, it is to you she runs.â
Hob bites his lip. âAre you trying to make me cry in public?â he asks.
âYou took her in when she had nowhere else to go. I am simply marvelling at how you always seem to have come further, in your humanity, each time we meet.â
Hob snorts. âAll your fault, you know,â he says. âStarted back when⊠do you remember Louise Baldwin?â
Dream nods.
âAye, well, she had a couple of kids, turned out. Older. One of them already married with kids of their own. Absolutely useless husband who, I will add, copped his share of black eyes from me and eventually learned to stay away. Anyway. I married her, you know, for the look of the thing, so sheâd have someone who could decently take care of her. Moved to the country for the fresh air and space and so no oneâd know who we were. Had a little family again. She didnât last long, but I set the kids up as well as I could. Took care of them until they were ready to fly the nest.â
Now it is Dreamâs turn to stare.
âThen it just. Sortâve became a habit,â he says. âFought in the Great War. Couldnât do it again when the next one came around. Let the greys show through, carried a cane around and let myself limp a bit more than I wouldâve. Bought a big place in the country, took in kids from London during the Blitz. That was⊠obviously there was a war on, but it wasnât so bad, having a house full of them. Running around the place.â
Dream pauses to picture Hob surrounded by children, being dragged into games and endlessly harassed and smiling all through it, as he is now upon recalling it.
âIâll be the first to admit that the sixties, seventies, and half the eighties are a bit of a blur,â Hob says, grinning. âGot to fall off the wagon occasionally, keep things interesting, and I hadnât had a really good messy phase in a century. Pulled myself together for you, of course,â he adds, this last part gently. Hob knows why Dream was not in attendance at their last scheduled meeting, and in any case had blamed himself the entire time, and harbours no ill-will.â
âAnyway. Somewhere along the line I became the go-to contact for kids that needed a place to stay and a safe adult to be around for a while, but who couldnât have any paperwork involved because theyâd just be sent back. I suppose you know the kind of kids I mean.â
âI understand,â Dream confirms.
âSome of them only needed a couple of nights, a week or two, maybe a few months to get themselves sorted. I see most of them occasionally. Keep in touch.â
âBut Melanie is different,â Dream says.
âA few of them were,â Hob says. âMelanie got herself caught in a dress and lippy when she was fourteen,â he adds softly. âHer dad didnât take well to it. Her mum was a bit better but couldnât stand up to him. So. We just. Fell in with each other for a while. I gave her away at her wedding,â he finishes, beaming proudly. âWith any luck, this oneâll let me do the same. If she ever gets married.â
âAre you marrying my daughter off already?â Melanie asks, returning to her seat beside Hob.
âMm,â Hob teases. âThis one hereâs in the habit of cradle robbing for his brides. Fairies, canât trust âem.â
Dream wrinkles his nose. âI am no mere fairy.â
Hob chuckles beside him. âNo, but you are ridiculously easy to get a rise out of,â he says, warmly. âI think you have to give her back now.â
Dream blinks. He had all but forgotten about the child in his arms.
Once she is handed back to her motherâshe will be fast asleep for some time yet, a gift to both of themâDream misses the weight, and the warmth, and the soft wash of simple dreams filled with new wonder.
Hob says his goodbyes, and returns with a happy sigh and a wistful look in his eyes.
âWould you ever have another?â Dream asks, suddenly curious. âYour own flesh and blood?â
âNot yet, anyway,â Hob says. He pauses a moment, looking carefully at Dream. âYou?â
Dreamâs eyes widen. âHow did youâ?â
âIâm not going to pry,â Hob says. âYouâre welcome to tell me on your own time. Just. Couldnât miss it. One dad to another.â
âI would like to share those memories with you,â Dream says. âOne day.â
âIâll look forward to it. In the meantime,â Hob adds. âI was serious about that babysitting. Drop in for baby cuddles anytime Iâve got her.â
âI will endeavour to make myself available,â Dream says, already fashioning in his mind a host of suitable infant dreams, just for his newest friend.
AU, in which Robert sacrifices himself for Morpheus, but does not die in the usual sense, but falls into Limbo. A place where people's consciousness is in a coma. The dream wants to return its knight, but does not expect to find him...
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
