#surreal dreams arc

[gbveryspecialguests]

Matt: Where.. Where are we?

Maggie: We're in your school, duh. You said you're gonna teach us swimming lessons!

Matt: Us?

[Door creaks]

GOOD MORNING, MR. DANIELS!

Matt: Wait... Huh?

Maggie: Don't you remember? You're wearing a suit without even knowing?

Matt: Suit? (Looks at his suit) Oh.. Right. Right! Um.. Thank you, Class? Good morning to you... Now

Let's get into roll call?

Syron?

Syron: Here!

Maggie?

Maggie: Here.

Tylee?

Tylee: Here!

Jeo?

Jeo: Present!

Candee?

Candee: HEHEHEHEHE - Here!

Rocker?

Rocker: What's the Rocker cooking tonight?!

And Uh...

Two are missing?

Hey, where are the other two?

Maggie: They had to be a little late for an appointmen---

(The door crashes open and Keith appears, angrily staring at Maggie.)

[ink-the-artist]

house tour :)

bonus art, lossy versions of the first 2 gifs

[fridayplanet]

My vivid smoking kin memories

[dixons-sunshine]

Hope | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl never would’ve expected that the universe would grant him you, the love of his life, much less a child of his own to love and care for. So when your daughter was born, Daryl felt truly overwhelmed. However, it happened to be one of the best days of his life.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, post Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of childbirth, insecurities.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble but it got longer than I expected lol. I hope y’all like this!

Daryl was in complete awe. His heart was pounding out of his chest. His palms were extremely sweaty. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say or do other than stand motionless and stare. Daryl was a quiet guy, but never before in his life had something rendered him completely speechless quite like this momentous occasion; the birth of his daughter.

It had been a good thirty, maybe forty minutes since the cries of his newborn baby flooded his ears, and he hadn’t been able to say or do anything except look at her and try to wrap his mind around the fact that he was a dad, that he had a daughter now. His baby girl. He was feeling overwhelmed by everything. He had read every pregnancy and parenting book he could get his hands on since you had told him you were pregnant, yet none of them could have ever prepared him for the actual experience. None of them could prepare him for the wave of emotions that flooded through his being when his daughter’s first cries filled the air. None of them could prepare him for the absolute certainty that filled him—he would kill anyone who’d dare hurt his baby girl.

“Dar? You still with me?”

The sound of your angelic voice snapped him from his train of thought. “Hm?” he hummed in acknowledgement, forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings. He was sitting on a chair beside the bed in your home, courtesy of Carol’s kindness. She had taken one look at the archer during your labouring process and had cleverly noticed that he would faint if he didn’t sit down. Thankfully, the crossbow-wielding archer had stayed lucid during the birth, although he was certain that the bones in his hand were cracked from the force you had bestowed on them while you were pushing.

You chuckled fondly as you looked at him through tired, half lidded eyes. “You okay?” you asked him, wincing slightly when you shifted slightly to get more comfortable, the effects of the birth making themselves known to you. Your daughter was busy nursing, her adorable, eager, breathy suckles and gulps the only other sound that could be heard throughout the otherwise quiet room. Carol and Siddiq had left the room ten minutes prior, leaving you and Daryl alone to bond with your new baby.

Daryl cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, giving you his full attention. “M’pretty sure I should be askin’ ya that. Yer the one that pushed a baby out, not me.”

You chuckled again and nodded. “Yeah, I was. And I’m okay. I’m sore, but that was a given. Nothing we could’ve done to prevent the pain.” Your smile dropped a little, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you looked at your husband. “But seriously, are you okay? You seem a little... out of it.”

Daryl let out a small sigh. “M’jus’ a touch overwhelmed, I s’pose, but it ain’t nothin’ I can’t get over. S’jus’... Hearin’ her cries, and seein’ her... I don’ know. It made me realize that it wasn’t a dream. That this is real. That we’re really doin’ this, startin’ a family. S’a bit surreal to me, I guess. ‘Fore all’a this, ‘fore I met ya, when I was jus’ bummin’ it out with my brother, I never would’ve thought that I’d be doin’ this.”

You intently listened to his words, a small, understanding smile gracing your tired features. “Are you scared?”

“Ya kiddin’? M’fuckin’ terrified. I don’ wanna screw it up. I don’ wanna fail either’a ya. If I do... I don’ know what I’d do with myself,” Daryl confessed in a low whisper, his voice cracking towards the end.

Your heart went out for your partner. You were well aware of his fears. You were also well aware of the fact that no amount of reassuring would make his fears go away overnight. However, what you did know was that there was something you could do that could potentially make him feel better at that moment.

“Do you wanna hold her?” you asked him softly, your eyes locking onto his cerulean eyes.

Yes. Daryl definitely wanted to hold her. However, as his eyes trailed down to the small, fragile being that had seemingly had enough to eat and instead opted to slightly wiggle around in your embrace, a new set of worry overcame him.

“Yer sure?” he asked unsurely. “I ain’t gon’ break her or nothin’?”

A light laugh escaped your chest. “I promise you’re not going to break her. You’ll be fine, I promise. Come here. And maybe unbutton your shirt, if you’re comfortable.” Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at that last part, but understood when you explained it to him. “Skin to skin contact helps with bonding. At least, that’s what Carol told me. You don’t have to unbutton your shirt all the way. Just a bit is fine.”

“What ‘bout...” Daryl trailed off, vaguely motioning to his chest. He didn’t need to specify what he was talking about. You instantly knew. His scars.

You sent him a reassuring smile. “She’ll love you regardless, Dar, just like me. Nothing’s gonna change that. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Daryl hesitated but ultimately stood up from the chair, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to a little over halfway, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Remember to support her head.” Daryl nodded and slowly and gently accepted the baby into his embrace, heeding your advice and supporting her tiny head.

Daryl’s awe multiplied by one hundred when he held his baby girl in his arms for the first time. Her tiny head was practically the same size as his hand. Her tiny body lightly pressed against his scarred flesh as Daryl held her, and the archer couldn’t help the small laugh of wonder that escaped him. “She’s so small... She’s so damn small.” One of his fingers lightly traced over her tiny hand, and Daryl smiled when she lightly gripped his finger in her small fist. “She’s got quite the grip, too, and she ain’t even a day old yet. Real strong for her age, I reckon.”

“Definitely,” you agreed with a smile, slowly shifting your body to rest your chin on his shoulder, one of your hands coming up to softly trace over your daughter’s cheek. “She’s so perfect.”

“Jus’ like her mama.” Daryl turned his attention to you, placing a soft, tender kiss on your forehead.

You didn’t argue with his words, instead simply accepting the compliment with a small smile. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, simply observing your little girl as she slowly fell asleep in her father’s arms. However, Daryl soon broke the silence again.

“Hope.”

You lifted your chin from his shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Her name,” he began to explain. “I think we should call her Hope. S’what I feel when I look at her. Jus’ feels right.”

You smiled at him, before turning your attention back to your daughter. “Welcome to the world, Hope Dixon. I love you so much,” you whispered to her softly, quietly acknowledging Daryl’s choice of a name. Hope. It was perfect.

Daryl sent you a small smile. “S’got a nice ring to it. Hope Dixon.”

“It’s perfect,” you agreed with a smile. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Nah, I definitely love ya more, Sunshine. I love ya so much.”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Hi lullabyes, would u mind sharing your take on the flashback with young Silco, Vander, and Felicia? :O

It's adorable. It's touching. It's sweet. It's a serene moment of intimacy and family (or polycule) bonding in an otherwise deeply frenetic season.

It's also so surreal it may as well be a fever dream.

I should note, at this stage I've shut off my cognitive reasoning about Arcane and begun approaching this as if it's a series of exquisitely crafted, animated short films that are all about to collide into a beautiful disaster.

Because that's what it is.

S2 has thrown a lot of the intelligent plotting out the window to embrace the chaos.  Whether due to time constraints, intellectual fatigue, or creative indulgence, I feel like we have a show that's now just hurtling breakneck towards the finish line. Previous story threads that once held weight and were the driving force behind character arcs and subplots, have since been abandoned. Nuanced motivations and character growth are being tossed to the wayside for the sake of action, montages, music videos, and a cavalier, anything-goes approach to world-building.

And yet, it's still such an incredible spectacle to behold.

@ravenkinnie delightfully noted that she is now watching this show with her pussy.

I agree 100%. S2 is a full-body experience, and one I find myself wholly consumed by. It's like a one-night stand you weren't expecting to be so fucking good. And when the sun comes up, you know it's going to hurt to say goodbye, and there'll be no follow-up call.

But damn, you enjoyed the shit out of that experience.

So yeah, the flashback was fucking adorable. I love the genuine emotion and closeness between the three characters. I adore the idea of Felicia, Silco and Vander being childhood friends (or, again, a very messy polycule) and both men sort of falling apart without her Manic Pixie Dream Girl presence in their lives. It's a nice little character arc.

However.

I cannot reconcile this scene with the rest of S1. It feels completely disconnected from the reality of the show and the world around them. The flashback has absolutely no impact on the current events, nor does it have any foreshadowing. The flashback exists solely to provide us with a glimpse into the past, with sweet little parallels to serve as bonbons that make us coo and sigh. It completely glosses over Silco's deeply, blackly visceral hatred of Vi in S1, reduces the class struggle culminating in the Day of Ash to "Oh, Silco. If only you've protested for your basic civil rights in a peaceful manner instead of tossing a molotov cocktail, you'd still have your family, a place in the community, not to mention your eye," does not really explain why Benzo reacted to Silco's appearance by calling him an animal, and, most importantly, gives the lie to the entire dynamic between Silco and Jinx.

We were led to believe that Felicia's death was the catalyst for Silco and Vander's falling out.  That if Silco had found Vander's letter in their little Brokeback bunk, they would've worked out their differences and found peace together. That they'd have raised Felicia's anklebiters side-by-side as the Zaundads of the revolution.

Except Silco is also the man selling Evil Anime PCP (Shimmer) as an economic cheat-code to earn respect for his people, and Vander is basically Captain Centrist and traumatized by war, and there is NO WAY they would've seen eye-to-eye on their respective methods. There's no way they would've come to any sort of accord. And there's no way Silco would've forgiven the man who mutilated and left him possibly sheared of half his lifespan, any more than Felicia's children would forgive the man who killed their mother.

It's such an incongruous narrative beat.

Which brings me to the other point:

Silco and Jinx.

imo, while I love the idea of Silco carrying either a secret torch for Felicia, or seeing her as a sister he'll always love, and while I absolutely treasure the idea of Jinx being a daily reminder of what he's fighting for - "I'm doing this for us, Jinx." - it sort of cheapens the key connection between them. In S1, Silco and Jinx's arc is, in my eyes, one of the best things about the series, and so incredibly well-written and executed. Silco is a monster, yes, but his monstrosity is the product of systemic and individual trauma, and the inextricable bleedthrough between the two. Finding this little girl and bringing her up under his wing, he has the chance to be the steadying hand and safe harbor he lost after Vander's betrayal. His monstrousness is not something he inflicts on her; it is something that, rather, grows on JInx like a kudzu vine, as the terrain of her damaged mind is already fertile for his worldview and methods to take root and thrive.

He is, perhaps, the best example of nurture triumphing over nature, even if his nurturing is rather, uh, extreme.

But if their bond is predicated on Felicia, rather than two strangers finding each other in the wilderness of heartbreak and learning to let their black hearts beat, messily entwined, as one family unit, and if Silco's obsession with Jinx is merely a projection of his guilt for killing her mother, and, by extension, a projection of his love for Felicia onto her daughter...

It's just.

Do y'all remember those uncomfortable frames that the showrunners admitted were deliberate, despite the evidence in the written text suggesting a familial bond? The subtext that, all the way into S2, carries the implication of a romantic relationship between a father and his daughter?

Well.

The implications now threaten to melt into explicit text, and the uncomfortable frames have turned into Unfortunate Implications, and I am not sure how I feel about this.

 It's not giving Lily and Snape; it's giving Sansa and Baelish.

It's giving the showrunners a big, fat "YEESH" rating from CPS.

And it's giving us the same, old, tired trope of a monstrous man unable to form an attachment unless it's through the lens of prior attachments, that whole 'You remind me so much of her' and the like.

 (I also admit I am the world's biggest hypocrite as the entire premise of Forward but Never Forget/XOXO is that the core foursome of Vander, Silco, Lika and Sevika knew each other, and that those ghosts haunt the machinery of the present day. But I try my damnedest to make plain there's politics buffeting all these relationships, and despite all their efforts to claw at self-sovereignty, reinvention and a new order, the past is a stubborn bitch that refuses to let go.)

(Also in FnF, Silco is triggered by Lika rather than into her in any affectionate or romantic way, because they're so similar: pragmatic survivors who aren't above rule-bending to get their way, and at their core just want a smoke break, a stiff drink, and a nap. It's a mutual respect rather than an affection, which is why she bestows on him the dubious honor of mercy killing her if she's too wounded on the Day of Ash to continue on.)

(He's the one person who could, and would, do her the service. It's kinship, and Jinx is the bright torch of their shared ambitions and ingenuity given both wing and voice.)

But anyway.

The flashback is a fever-dream. The kind you have when you're high on cold meds and can't think straight, and the world is a blur of sensations and memories that seem vivid in the moment but melt away into madness when you're better. It's a scene meant to be savored rather than interrogated. And I think if the showrunners had the time and inclination, we would've gotten a second episode solely dedicated to the flashback, rather than shoehorning it in. But since they're clearly trying to tie everything up with a neat bow before the finale, I don't blame them for having to skim past it and focus on the vibes/emotional resonance rather than the substance of a meaningfully written scene.

But hey.

Fanfic writers will have a field day with the open-ended dynamic and the fandom will never fucking stop, so that's nice.

Also we got loads of fantastic gifs of Young Silco. Bless.

<3

tl;dr: I've switched my critical brain off and decided to just enjoy the ride. It's so fucking epic. 

Also, Felicia was delightful and I hope her brotherhood/polycule/whatever with Silco and Vander gets its own spinoff, a la Road to El Dorado (or Zaun.)

[aventurineswife]

A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:

Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!

{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}

alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.

but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍

“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”

Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.

Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.

A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪

Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.

You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.

In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.

You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.

Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.

But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.

One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.

“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”

Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.

“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”

In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.

Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”

Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”

Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”

In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”

Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”

Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”

In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”

But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”

He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”

With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”

Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.

And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.

*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖

[separocean-anxiety]

[ start image description: A digital illustration of Lauren Olamina (left) from Parable of the Sower, and Harriet Adu (right) from You're Breaking My Heart.

As she's imagined here, Lauren's hair is styled in short cornrows; she wears an Earthy green t-shirt with spiral designs on the sleeves, and an acorn earring. In her hands, she clutches a green book with "Book of the Living" written on the front. Her face is in profile, while her body is angled toward Harriet.

As she's imagined here, Harriet's hair is styled in flowing goddess braids, with two braids on the side of her head making the form of a heart. She wears a neon yellow tank top with the words "Just keep swimming" written on the front, as well as a silver necklace with a half-heart charm. Her face is also in profile, while her body faces frontwards.

Both girls are smiling with their foreheads pressed together—Lauren's eyes are open, while Harriet's are closed. They're at peace in each other's company. The pair stands waist-deep in water, with a radiant ripple of sun rays behind them. In the foreground are the words "I feel, therefore I can be free," a quote attributed to Audre Lorde, a Black lesbian poet and essayist. This specific quote derives from her essay "Poetry is Not a Luxury," which you can read in full through the link below. /end image description ]

"The white fathers told us, I think therefore I am; and the Black mothers in each of us- the poet- whispers in our dreams, I feel therefore I can be free. "

"Poetry is Not a Luxury" by Audre Lorde

This piece is dedicated to all the Black artists who inspired it, as well as all who continue to express themselves unapologetically.

Lauren and Harriet are two characters I hold close to my heart, and have been wanting to imagine design-wise for some time. Their emotional journeys lie at the heart of their respective stories, with Lauren having the ability to involuntarily experience the pain and pleasure of others, and Harriet contending with grief and remorse in the form of a voice in her head. Both are teenage girls who navigate an uncertain, tumultuous world, and reckon with this in different ways. Lauren creates the religion Earthseed to make sense of her reality and build a community with her fellow uprooted strangers; Harriet seeks closure by tracing a path of strange clues to a dreamlike underground world of surreal parties and intersecting dimensions. Lauren writes; Harriet swims. God is Change; Just Keep Swimming.

I want to briefly shift focus over to You're Breaking My Heart, the more obscure of these two incredible books. Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich weaves a story so deeply affective to my soul it was surely a synchronicity that our paths collided. I first met Harriet at a bookstore at the beach, and was hooked on this tale the moment I met eyes with Briana Mukodiri Uchendu's ethereal cover art. And this story. This STORY!!!!!!! Everything from the characters to the pool symbolism to the portal mysteries to the underground world to the everyday liminal to the experimental chapter structures to the fact that Dory's mantra is a motif whose meaning transforms in tandem with Harriet's arc... THIS BOOK CHANGED MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is mayhaps the first time I have ever burst into tears for several minutes after reading the last line of any story. Oh my god. Oh my God.

Harriet's path to self-love is a veritable labyrinth of memory and mending ties and crowns denied and imperfect love and visitations from the past and every step of the way you're rooting for her to find the happiness and closure she deserves. Likewise, Lauren too embarks upon an uncertain course in the wake of tragedy, and forges her future in verse alongside the found family she cultivates. Both Lauren and Harriet are young Black girls who often mask their emotions—for the comfort of others, and the safety of themselves. In the line of the white gaze, Black expressions of emotion—especially those of Black women and girls—are either written off, ignored, or disproportionately and unjustly demonized, which leads many to mask, as Lauren and Harriet do, out of societally imposed necessity.

To the Black readers of this post, your emotions, your expression, your perspective, your spirit, YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! belong in every space which calls your heart. You deserve to be welcomed with open arms—anything less isn't worthy of your time. When a space feels disingenuous, claustrophobic, you hold within yourself the power to create something new—something better. And you never, ever have to do it alone. All of this goes without saying, of course, but it bears repeating. Your emotions are precious, and deserve a place to flourish. You deserve to see yourself reflected in the narratives you love!!! Always and forever!!!!!!!!!!!!! And when something doesn't measure up, the onus is on its creators to put in the time and effort to ensure you feel seen, welcome, CELEBRATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much to @creatingblackcharacters for hosting this event, for your comprehensive lessons and advice, and for sharing your love and passion with the world.

Without further ado, here's some awesomesauce artists you should go check out!!!!!

@oakwolves

instagram | twitter

The best of the best when it comes to characters!!!! The dynamics she explores are unmatched—if you love (and miss) Infinity Train, so much of her art is dedicated to imagining what it would be like if different characters from different books had encountered each other at just the right time; what friendships, families, and rivalries would arise. If you dig all that with a dash of mystery, check out her fic Train Chasers (it's got a website and everything)!!!! Her character designs—both OC's and reimaginings of existing characters—are endlessly inspired and creative. I'd be remiss not to mention her High School Story works—a world that grows more and more vibrant with each passing day!!!! You can learn more about all her creations at the site below!

Zeinab Diomande

instagram

I had the honor of discovering her works in the real at the Magic Gardens! Many of her pieces are fantastical and dreamlike self-portraits, envisioning Black womanhood as a limitless and vibrant spectrum of possibility. If you visit her Instagram (and I highly recommend you do!!) you'll see that each painting holds a story, a train of thought, a revelation. Stars, smiley faces, and spiderwebs are just some of the motifs she employs; my words truly can't do her work justice. Each piece feels like a window into a new realm. Fun fact: a number of the colors in the above piece were actually drawn from her painting, "Caring for yourself is making room in your life for it"

snowgirl

Snowgirl's awesome and experimental compositions are utterly indescribable. Each album is an experience in itself, and all seem almost nostalgic in the strangest of ways. There's something unspeakably sublime in these notes, abstract sounds, and visceral poetry. Among my personal favorites are fertilizerface and we spring from our sleep like it matters. Please give them a listen—something here will surely speak to you.

Briana Mukodiri Uchendu

instagram

I mentioned her stunning work on the cover of You're Breaking My Heart, and I highly recommend that you explore the rest of her oeuvre! She works first and foremost in pastels, and the softness of the medium translates beautifully to her digital illustrations as well. Her artistic philosophy—art-as-connection above all—resonates profoundly with me, and shines through every piece she creates. In the illustration above, I wanted to emulate the cross-hatching sort of texture she used in her own rendition of Harriet. You can explore her works here!

Paul Lewin

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Lewin's work truly speaks to the heart of Afro-Futurism. I phased in and out of discovering it, seeing his signature gorgeous style on a number of books, such as Ebony Elizabeth Thomas's The Dark Fantastic, and even some versions of Parable of the Sower! There came a point when I realized all these works stemmed from the same hand. There's an enchanting elegance to it, and one could spend hours studying the details of his painting (yes, paintings!!!!!!!!!!). This interview gives so some stellar insight into his artistic process.

Both Parable of the Sower and You're Breaking My Heart are phenomenal books I couldn't recommend enough; that being said, both also deal in some heavy topics, so if you need trigger warnings, by all means, reach out!

Here you can read the Book of the Living 1, which Lauren writes over the course of her story:

Here's a preview of You're Breaking My Heart you can listen to!

Even though this is the last day of the event, I still want to tag @r4trave and @okapi8 just to let you know about some awesome artists and stories!!! I invite everyone to share your favorite Black artists and creators in the comments of this post🌟

[sluggybunny]

posted a buncha rambling about this on my other blog but i want to be very brave and try to post about it here. warning it's very yappy, i'm not in a good headspace and i esp wasn't last night. but i want to talk about it anyway

this month i started a new little project/interactive game type stuff. it started because i was struggling to write cj and I was in the mood for dark fantasy (turns out that's my niche, i just start TYPING AWAY when it's that). it kind of spiraled and now i'm 120k deep

I don’t have a name for this project, I am very bad at naming things. But the premise/setting is a grimdark fantasy esque world. And there’s this type of magic that is actually more like a parasitic disease.

I really love the idea of magic as something that represents mental illness. And writing surrealism, dreams, memory issues, etc is my fave.

Combining it with a dream I had a long time ago of a world where they used children in war, this type of magic can be learned by anyone but they have to “survive” the initial sickness. And children are more resilient to surviving.

Because magic becomes a useful commodity in society (military, industrial, labor) there is an incentive to have a lot of magic users. So you end up with a society exposing children to a dangerous, not well understood phenomenon in order to shape them into something useful. A lot of children die or suffer very severe side effects that permanently alter their mind or body

That’s the setting, though. The main plot is more concerned with other stuff.

I just like world building fantasy stuff.

I wrote two origins the player can pick but one is sort of shelved until I can figure out the family situation. That one is the noble background and has deeply fucked family dynamics and I’m stuck on 1) did I make this too fucked up 2) I want to use character sprites because I’m an artist(tm) but if they’re related to the protag, how do I make it inclusive

The other one is you’re an orphan sent to a nice orphanage that’s really there to produce magic users. This one has the most content for now, since orphan means no family members I gotta worry about. further background customization would include having beef with the church, evil magic... stuff. this is called the scholar origin

Then there's the main story after all the origins (i want the origins to be kind of lengthy so they can deeply effect all the stuff on the main story, since there are lot of choices within those origins to shape your character) and I started writing it in a sort of episodic way or "arcs". The first arc is in the mountains with a necromancer.

I'm trying VERY HARD to not include complicated mechanics, I just looove coding so much. But I did include some exploring and stats/skills that are chosen in the beginning and can later be influenced... can't help it! 🥲

other stuff:

I kinda wrote in-universe misogyny . Maybe it’s wrong of me but I like settings that include that. Again kinda makes it hard for player options... also i know that's not everyone's jam but i'm writing for myself since I have no plans on making a commercial product

In the scholar origin, you get close friend, your mentor, a knight, and a priest. You can choose a variety of interactions with the, dynamics, etc

If you play female, the knight might be creepy to you. Otherwise he’s actually very likable and cool. I thought that could emphasize the reality of those situations If that makes sense (the predators/creeps in people's lives appearing as Just A Chill Guy To Everyone Else) Your childhood friend has potential to be an incel-like guy, a rival, or truly your closest friend depending on the choices. And the mentor is a major character to the main story and his dynamic with the player is variable. I put in so many options and branching stories, that's really what ended up making the word count when I started writing the script lol. Idk how to put a percentage on it but most of the background/origins are done and i'm midway into the first arc.

I haven't designed any visuals yet, I'm super focused on writing. WILD since i am an artist, you'd think that's what i go to first. But I get stuck in my head too much when making A Public Thing and not just my personal ocs so I'm constantly worried about the designs being palatable. I got to 120k now. It's impressive from an output number but i feel like game itself is barely any content... there's just A LOT of player reactivity. that's my fave thing in any rpg and i always crave more, so that was a leading factor in writing.

if you read any of this, i love you lol

I struggle to complete projects sooo bad but the amount i made for this gives me confidence it's going somewhere. also setting limits on myself so i don't add too much rpg elements (I wanna code a combat system sooo bad but that is some difficult work and I want to actually write interactive fiction pls)

ok good bye thanks to anyone who read it. let me know if it interests you, i'm looking for some homies that like this stuff and would be down to discussing it with me because feedback is key with games

also if anyone wants to be tagged when i talk about this let me know. two people showed interest and i got so excited over that hsfhshrh

[peppymintdreams]

Lessons in the Sky

Simeon x Mc

The warmth of celestial light bathed the heavenly gardens in a soft, golden glow. Everything felt surreal, like you had stepped into a dream—one where the sky stretched infinitely, inviting you to become a part of it. Your heart raced, not from fear but from anticipation. Today was the day Simeon, the angel who had stolen your heart with his gentle kindness and radiant smile, would teach you how to fly.

"Are you ready?" Simeon’s voice floated toward you, as soothing as the breeze that rustled the flowers around you. You turned to face him, and your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, a vision of serenity and grace, his white and gold robes flowing like liquid light. His wings, vast and majestic, glowed softly in the sunlight. But it wasn’t just his celestial beauty that made your heart flutter—it was the warmth in his sapphire eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in all realms.

"As ready as I’ll ever be," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. Simeon stepped closer, his presence grounding you, his every movement exuding calm and reassurance.

Gently, he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, tender, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You have nothing to fear," he said softly, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over your skin. "I’m here with you, every step of the way."

You met his gaze, finding comfort in the quiet confidence that radiated from him. "I trust you," you whispered, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

A soft smile curved his lips, one that made your heart swell. "Good," he murmured, his voice like a gentle caress. "Come with me."

He led you to the edge of a cliff overlooking a sea of clouds. The view was breathtaking, but your focus remained on him—on the graceful way he moved, on the soft glow of his wings. He paused, turning to face you, and cupped your cheek in his hand, his touch feather-light.

"Flying isn’t just about spreading your wings," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "It’s about trusting yourself and the sky. And if you ever feel uncertain, remember… I will always be here to catch you."

Your heart melted at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I believe you," you said, leaning into his touch.

His eyes softened, filled with something deeper, something that made your chest ache with affection. "Let’s take this leap together," he whispered, his forehead gently resting against yours for a brief, tender moment. The world seemed to still, and all that mattered was him—the warmth of his touch, the steady beat of his heart so close to yours.

"On the count of three," he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Are you ready?"

You nodded, your confidence growing in the light of his unwavering support. "Ready."

"One…" His hand slid from your cheek, but he kept one of your hands in his, fingers interlaced. The contact was a lifeline, grounding you in his presence.

"Two…" His wings unfurled, a magnificent display of grace and power.

"Three!"

Together, you leapt. For a moment, there was nothing but the exhilarating sensation of freefall, the wind rushing past, the ground far below. But then, the sky embraced you, lifting you, holding you aloft.

"Spread your arms," Simeon called, his voice warm and steady beside you. "Feel the air around you."

You stretched your arms out, mimicking the graceful arc of his wings, and to your amazement, you began to glide. The wind carried you, cool and exhilarating, and laughter bubbled from your chest.

"I’m flying!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide with wonder.

Simeon’s laughter, soft and melodious, joined yours. "Yes, you are," he said, his eyes shining with pride. He flew beside you, his movements as fluid as a dance. "You’re doing beautifully."

His praise made your heart soar higher than the sky itself. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers once more as you glided side by side. His touch was steady, reassuring, and filled with a quiet affection that made you feel like you belonged here, in the sky, with him.

"Try angling your body to the left," he instructed, his voice gentle but confident. You followed his guidance, and together, you weaved through the clouds, the world below a distant memory.

Time seemed to blur as you flew with him, your hearts beating in rhythm, the sky your shared sanctuary. Every glance he cast your way, every brush of his hand, was filled with a tenderness that made you feel cherished, safe, and free.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Simeon guided you back to the ledge where you had started. You landed softly, your heart still racing from the exhilaration of flight—and from the lingering warmth of his touch.

"You did it," he said, his wings folding gracefully behind him. His eyes were filled with pride and something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

"Only because you were with me," you replied, your voice soft with gratitude and affection. "Thank you, Simeon."

He stepped closer, his hand once again finding your cheek. "You had the strength within you all along," he said, his voice a gentle murmur. "I simply helped you see it."

His thumb brushed over your skin, and for a moment, you were lost in the warmth of his gaze, in the quiet affection that radiated from him. "I’m proud of you," he whispered, and then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

The world seemed to hold its breath, and all you could feel was him—his warmth, his kindness, his love.

the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you stood together, your hearts intertwined. And in that moment, you knew that as long as Simeon was by your side, you could soar anywhere.

[gbveryspecialguests]

Matt: Keith?

KEITH!

KEITH!!!

KEITH!

[Matt's voice bounces off at every corner, unusually vibrating back. Even though he finds himself in a large liminal backroom-esque space, he still finds his voice faster than Keith...]

[A lot of thoughts rambled on his head. Did Keith drag him here? Was he planning to do the same to others? But the most important question spun around Matt's head as many times as a horse race.]

[Was... He... Lonely?]

[Matt could've realized something was up with Keith, when he spent time with him more than others. Even after the shit they pulled at Thanksgiving, Matt always had that big brother view on himself to everyone around.]

[He needed to talk to him... Now.]

[Just then]

"See ya, Maxine! Remember to take care of him!"

[Off in the distance, Matt spotted an Audi 1984 near a random house's driveway, and surprisingly a new - Wait.]

Matt: Pat?

WAIT! PAT!

[Matt ran his bullets towards the car, seeing Pat brush her hair back. Unlike the other Pat he knew back in Horrorland, this one seemed rather young. Too young. Like she's around 16-17. Matt then took note of her outfit.]

[A pink and white striped T-shirt over pink pants, and there is an ice cream logo printed on the back.]

[Did Pat get another job? Oh was this her old memory? That didn't matter at the moment for the Daniels boy]

Matt: WAIT! PAT!!

[Just then, the car backed away and Pat drove off out of sight. Once the car faded, Matt fell to his knees, panting heavily.]

Pat: (Humming)

[Hm?]

[Matt picked himself up, then he saw Pat, dressed in gardener's clothes, raking the already clean ground. He assumed this is a memory, a version of her that's raking leaves..]

Matt: Pat, you need to wake up! We have to find Keith-

[He reached out to hold her, only for his hand to phased through. Shocked. he immediately pulled back, his heart skipping a beat twice. Matt looked at his hand, safely not cut or bleeding.]

Matt: What the hell -

[Dozens of voices rang around Matt, and he turned to see the series of cardbord houses sprouting out clones of Pat, all wearing various work outfits. They all started working in unison, crowding the whole street.]

[Matt, stepping back, took off and went to find Keith on his own]

[hyog-blog]

The Dream Realm [fic]

Dreamcore and Shared Dreaming, Throuple & Polycule but with a heavy accent on Zhuo Yichen/Zhao Yuanzhou. Bear with me, guys, it's 60 pages of fic :D It traverses a vast landscape of emotions, relationship-building, and a different type of Li Lun's redemption arc closer to the end.

Ultimately it's about LOVE ETERNAL and gut-wrenching intimacy I tried to describe as best as I could. Also, Zhu Yan's ID is almost a character of its own (but not really, but he's there and his presence is real) and he's also head over heels with our boy ZYC (but in his own demonic way). Also, there's some Dream Realm lore I invented/adopted just for them to play with.

It's the closest to a fix-it fic I could get (anyway they were just doing whatever they wanted and I love them so much for it).

If you read it (any part of it :D) and like it - come to the comments and celebrate this crazy show with me :3

Summary:

Demons don't need sleep, but they can dream for eternity Zhuo Yichen opens his eyes to see Zhao Yuanzhou in bed lying next to him. He felt lazy and soft inside, not threatened in any way, apart from the obvious surrealism of it all. There was not a single reason in this world for the Great Demon to be here right now, which made Zhuo Yichen instantly relax even more than he already was. It was, after all, just another of his weird incomprehensible dreams.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

Do you have a favorite story that you've written?

answer under break bc wiyllt is a yapper

I only post my writing if I think it is to my standards. A big part of my standards is my own personal enjoyment in some way. I write a lot, not all of it is posted, and so I yap.

I believe a lot of you know me from my 'a-dick-ted' series. It is one of the stories I am the most proud of. Although I feel like my writing style is different now, I still probably wouldn't change it as there is something about the choppy style that adds to the surrealness of it.

'a–dick–ted' > dancing on dreams > dreaming in reality > was it a dream > lucid dreams > dreams are made of this > dream sirens > wildest dreams > nightmare > the dream ends

The other one many know me from is 'twelve hours' (part i and part ii). Fun fact: I wrote this in 3 days (and probably in an episode of mania tbh). I remember writing this one vividly; I took the images from my head to transcribe into words and it felt like my hands couldn't keep up with my brain (even more than usual XD).

Next one I want to note is 'gotcha' and 'the days without you'. I did not intend to write 'tdwy' from the start but when I finished it I realized it made the entire arc complete. Sex is typically tied to romantic love (or casual flings or in some cases weaponized), however 'tdwy' contains sex with platonic love that I felt was appropriate for the characters in question. Some readers have asked questions about it as it isn't something that is usually depicted. It is unique in that way.

A more recent one is 'peppermint gum' (part i and part ii). It's basically about love and life and what we concede in the face of reality (which can be argued is a prevailing theme in my work, although this one is more straightforward about it). To love someone is to realize both of your realities are not the same, but despite the differences you may find yourselves aligned at just the right time.

And there's a special place for 'journey (to the dick)'. Is it a literary masterpiece? You decide. But it led me to writing 'the hell house' (hyung line >> maknae line) and having a silly excuse to write ridiculous monster sex was a highlight in my life. Which probably says a lot about me. Eh.

[krispdreemurr]

in my head like, dark is the raw stuff of narrative and imagination, the loose clusters of ideas and thoughts - dreams, etc - while light is the rules and the structure that holds it all together into something coherent with goals and a narrative arc (hopes etc). dark fountains basically draw out raw dreams and anchor them to the solidity of light. this also means that as we go deeper/whenever there's fountains in fountains things will get progressively more surreal

[askthesunjackers]

Stars | THE END

So, quick aside!

This story arc is over - Sunjackers Volumes 1-3 - but I'm not finished with this world, or these characters. I love these doofy little babies too much to abandon them. They just need something new to tackle, rather than the scrambled together story I improvised out of whatever bits and pieces I had lying around after a year of just throwing stuff at the wall. Nighthaze is also not going anywhere. However, that will be at some point in the future - in the short term I need a break from this world, and I'm going to spend some time focussing on other projects. You'll be hearing more about those very soon, at most I'll need like, a month to six weeks to get that prepared.

Also, I can't let it be unsaid: the internet is kinda undergoing some... instability right now? Tumblr included. Know that I have not rushed the ending here to move on with dealing with that - I've had this ending in mind for years now, it's just fortuitous timing that's let me stop this particular ride just as it's getting rough. That said, the break will give me the time I need to assess the situation patiently, without also trying to keep a comic updated at the same time.

One of the things I will be trying to jump on during the intermission will be the print edition so keep your eyes peeled for that - but also brace for a roughly 70 page book, so it's going to be more expensive than the other two. I also need to reform my shipping pricing on Etsy because shipping has gotten so much more expensive in the last two years. Given the up-front expense of printing I'm considering running an Indiegogo for it instead of doing Etsy pre-orders, what do people think about that?

Anyway. Boy howdy. This is kind of surreal. Finishing my second comic, and the first one I've managed to make a living off of. Being a full-time webcomic artist was like, one of my childhood dream jobs and here I am. I'm gonna sit down with a nice cup of tea and uh... try to have a normal one.

See you soon!

[pikuna]

DanDaDan Fanfic - You, Me and I - Chapter 2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Dandadan (Anime)

Relationship: Ayase Momo/Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Characters: Ayase Momo, Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Shiratori Aira (Dandadan), Enjouji “Jiji” Jin, Vamola (Dandadan), Sakata Kinta (Dandadan), Ayase Seiko, Turbo-Granny (Dandadan)

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Yokarun, Youkai Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Protective Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Doppelganger, Soul Separation, Post-Space Globalists Arc (Dandadan), Dandadan Manga Spoilers, Pre-Relationship, Awkwardness, Yokarun is too honest and Okarun attempts damage control

Summary:

A lot of weird things had happened in Okarun’s life since he met Momo.

Befriending ancient ghosts, stopping an alien invasion and being able to travel telephone lines.

This has become his new normal.

But seeing a version of yourself holding the girl of your heart in a tight hug and purring like an overgrown cat was still very surreal, even for his new standards.

Could you be jealous of yourself?

AO3 Link

Prev Chapter | Start | Next Chapter

The woosh of the ocean.

Momo's brilliant laugh.

Those were the last echoes of his dream Okarun could still hear when he slowly started to wake up. The sun was shining into the room, right into his face. That was okay, he wasn't one to sleep that long anyway. And he was surprisingly well rested. The fear of a restless sleep or horrible dreams seemed to have been unwarranted. Such was the power of thinking happy thoughts about Momo.

He felt around for his glasses and slowly sat up when he found them. Rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses on, he looked towards his friends.

Jiji was yawning, stretching under the blanket of the futon and mumbled a good morning.

Kinta was still deep in slumber.

Smiling, Okarun wondered what they would have for breakfast.

Suddenly a shriek rang through the house. It was a girl's voice.

Any sleepiness was instantly gone. Okarun and Jiji looked at each other and then jumped to their feet, running out of the room.

Kinta kept snoring.

Adrenaline rushed through Okarun. It probably was nothing, but with the events from yesterday still fresh on their mind, they were still easy to spring into action.

Slower than he would have liked, they reached Momo's door, Jiji being first. Just a small part of Okarun wondered how he was able to be faster than him.

"Momo, you alright?" Jiji shouted into the room as soon as he opened the door and entered, Okarun right behind him.

What the boys saw made them stop in their tracks.

"Momo, what are you doing? Let go of Takakura this instant!" Aira growled.

"I'm not the one who is hugging here!" Momo bit back.

"Hugging!" Vamola exclaimed happily.

They were not looking at Okarun. They were looking at a figure with grey skin and white hair: his Yokai form, cuddling up to a very flustered Momo.

A few minutes earlier

Momo grumbled in her sleep. She had forgotten to close the curtains of her window completely last night, so the early morning sun was tickling her nose, trying to wake her up. But she didn't want to, her body still feeling a bit achy and she was just comfy in her bed. With another grumble she turned around, facing away from the window.

A cool thumb stroked over her knuckles.

That was part of her dream, right? Her whole dream had been of her and Okarun holding hands, talking about everything and nothing while walking past different sceneries. Just the two of them. No annoying skanks or vicious aliens.

"Momo-chan~"

A delightful shiver ran down her spine when he whispered her name like this. His raspy voice tickled close to her ear, making her hum in contentment.

But...he never called her Momo-chan. Only when he was transformed. And that was exactly what his voice sounded like.

Confused about this, she slowly started to blink the sleep away. A pair of gentle vermillion colored eyes looked at her, a hint of a smile in them.

Huh, how odd. Aren't his eyes more glowing red when in this form? Was it because his black maw was missing?

"Good morning Momo-chan," he greeted her, voice still low, only for her to hear.

"Mrning Okarun," she slurred sleepily.

Then it hit her. Okarun was here in her room, transformed for whatever reason and very close.

Her eyes shot open, wide awake and she flinched back. She could see now that he was kneeling in front of her bed and when she flinched back, she noticed that she was actually holding a hand in hers. His hand. She was so confused. And her cheeks were so very red.

"Hope you had a nice dream," he almost purred at her, unfazed by her flinching. Unlike her.

'How can his voice sound like...that,' she panicked and shuddered pleasantly. It felt like the vibration of his voice gently brushed her ears and then danced down her spine. 'Stop focusing so much on this!' she chided herself and managed to sit up.

"Okarun, what the hell are you doing here?" she quietly hissed. Her eyes darted to the two futons on the floor, which luckily did not move aside from slowly raising and falling.

"Watching over you." His voice and also expression were so matter of fact. As usual.

What was not usual was how he stood up and sat down on the bed right beside her. She just looked puzzled at him. Because he had never been so bold before and because she didn't get what he was saying.

"Watching over- What do you mean?"

But then it dawned on her and she looked down. She had dreamt of holding Okarun's hand. And here she was, still holding his hand. And she didn't feel like letting it go yet.

She looked back at him. His eyes never left her, but she noticed how his shoulders slouched a bit. Did he look...guilty?

"You were having a nightmare. Thought I could help you with that."

Momo let out a small, breathy laugh. Somehow he knew she had a horrible nightmare, came to comfort her in the gentlest way and now felt guilty for it. He was so sweet, even when he was in his Yokai form.

"You did. Thank you Okarun," she said with a smile. This perked him up visibly, his slouch gone again.

But speaking of his Yokai form...

"That aside...any particular reason why you're transformed?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. He just answered with a shrug and a simple "No."

Then why was he transformed in the first place?

She wanted to question more, but he was moving now. Letting go of her hand, something she did not like but would not utter out loud, he scooted back to sit more comfortably on her bed. Before she could ask what he was doing, one hand was on her lower back and the other one went under knees. He gave her no time to protest and honestly, she was too stunned to do so and was only able to squeak in surprise. He picked her up to set her down between his legs, making it so she was sitting sideways against him. Having her placed where he wanted her to be, Okarun moved the hand from under her knees on top of them and wrapped his other arms around her back, hugging her close to him.

"You're so warm~" he hummed and nuzzled his face into her hair.

"Okaruuun..." she whined, her voice very high pitched. Her brain was short circuiting, not knowing if she should enjoy the attention or flee his arms.

It was not like she disliked being cuddled by Okarun, very much the opposite. She had thought many nights about cuddling with him. But she didn't know if he had wanted it. And if at all, she had expected it would be with his more shy self. Not the one that would just casually pick her up and make her skin tingle with his voice. She was sure she felt warm for him, because she was boiling in embarrassment. Not even his cool touch could change much about that.

Before she could even begin to calm her nerves and maybe even enjoy the cuddle, she looked towards the futons and saw that Aira was sitting up, her back to them.

'Fuuuuuuuu...'

If Momo had been nervous before, she was full on panicking now. It was one thing if Okarun suddenly wanted a cuddle, but absolutely not with an audience. She started to squirm in his arms, but his hold was firm.

"What's with all that noise?" Aira grumbled and turned around to look disgruntled at Momo, who went completely stiff in Okarun's arms. A few seconds went by, in which Aira was processing what she was seeing. And then she let out a shriek, one that startled Vamola awake, looking around confused.

Momo sank even more into Okarun with a groan and covered her beet red face with her hands.

"What a bummer..." Okarun grumbled into her hair.

Back to present

"Why are you even in here Takakura? This is the girls room!" Aira complained. It was very visible that she was jealous of Momo's position.

The Yokai Okarun opened one eye lazily to look annoyed at the girl.

"Don't bother me, yo. Sat on the floor the whole night. Want to cuddle with Momo-chan now."

To emphasise his statement, he raised Momo up with his legs and now nuzzled his cheek into the nape of her shoulder. Aira let out a shocked gasp, hurt at the words and the action.

Okarun, the human, just looked shocked at what was happening in front of him. His thoughts ran a hundred miles per hour. How on earth was he standing right here...but also over there at the same time? Cuddling Momo nonetheless, a fact that stung. Not because of jealousy. Absolutely not. But who or what was he? A clone? A time traveller?

Having apparently enough of the humiliation, Momo forced her way out of her captors arms, albeit he let her go with a displeased hum as soon as he realised she really didn't want to be held anymore. The moment Momo was standing up, Aira went up right into her face, demanding to free Takakura of whatever spell she had him under.

While the two girls were squabbling, cheered on by Vamola, the eyes of the two Okarun met.

Okarun gulped. He had never been at the receiving end of the piercing stare of his Yokai form before. There was never time to look at himself in the mirror when fully transformed and he had never changed outside of combat or training. His face was very hard to read. A lack of expression, just as the others had described to him before. How could they handle this? It was kinda unnerving.

Beside him, he could hear Jiji mutter: "This is wild man...," looking between the two Okaruns.

And then suddenly, the other him nodded. "Yo."

Was he...greeting him?

Polite as ever, Okarun couldn't help but raise a hand to return the gesture. "Uhm...hi."

The girls had noticed that Yokai Okarun had addressed someone, so they stopped their fighting and looked over to the door. At first, they only spotted Jiji.

"Enjouji!" Aira shouted, letting go of Momo and stomped towards him. "This is the girls room! Neither of you two should be...here..?" That's when she noticed Okarun behind Jiji. Her eyes went wide.

"Takakura? But...how..?" She looked between him and the other one still sitting on the bed. Momo craned her neck behind her to see what got the other girl so bewildered. Her eyes also went wide and darted between the two Okaruns.

The Yokai was unbothered by all the stares, while the human scratched his head awkwardly.

"Why are there two Okaruns?" Momo asked the question out loud that went through all their heads. The others looked at them, waiting for an answer. While nobody was outright in a fighting stance, Okarun could tell that they were tense, aside from a very puzzled Vamola. And he couldn't fault them. Who knows who that other guy was and what he wanted.

"W-well, he could be a shapeshifter?" he tried to provide some possibilities. "Or someone cloned me? Maybe the Serpoians got some DNA from-"

"And who says that he is the fake one?" He flinched when Momo suddenly interrupted him. Her eyes had a hard glint to them. He didn't like it at all that she looked at him like this.

She stretched her arms out and two psychic hands wrapped around the Okaruns, lifting them up from the ground. Not gripping hard, but in a hold that made it impossible for them to move.

"M-Miss Ayase, what are you doing?" he asked her confused, his legs wiggling in the air. His counterpart just sagged forward like a rag doll and muttered: "How depressing..."

"Just making sure neither of you can run away until we know who the fake one is. Sorry Okarun."

"No one here is a fake, yo."

The Yokai got ignored, as Momo was closing her eyes in concentration and the others mulled over how they could identify who was the real Okarun. Jiji was the first to come up with an idea, tapping his fist into his flat hand.

"How about we ask questions that only the real Okarun knows?" he suggested with an enthusiastic smile. Aira looked a bit sceptical at that. "We don't know how much the fake one has spied on us, he could have loads of information."

While the two discussed how effective questions would be, Okarun just hung forward like a wet dog in the grasp of the psychic hands, mimicking the other Okarun. He was not happy with this situation at all, how his friends talked about him like he was not there. He had hoped they would see that he was definitely not the fake one. Never would he transform and just strutting into Momo's room to cuddle with her!

....

Okay, maybe he would do that, only when he was transformed. The non-existing filter in his Yokai form did not apply only to what he would say, but also what he would do. Most of the time he had managed to keep anything under control that would result in unnecessary physical contact that was not battle related, even though his body was literally screaming at him to nuzzle up to Momo post battle.

Letting out a deep sigh, he looked up to see his counterpart still just hanging there, his eyes fixed on Momo. Okarun did not like this at all and glared at him. The Yokai must have sensed the glare, as just his eyes moved towards him. Usually, when something was a threat, especially towards Momo, his Yokai instincts would prickle in the back of his mind. But the whole time, he had felt nothing of that sort.

"Hey, Okaruns!"

Jiji's cheery voice snapped them out of their staring contest and they looked towards him.

"What's my favourite football team?" he asked them with a wide grin, seemingly very proud of his question.

Is he serious? Not only was that a very simple question for a friend of his, but it was also the same the Kita family had asked him back when they tried to figure out if he was a friend of Jiji.

"Paris Saint Germain," Okarun answered without hesitation. Same time as the Yokai.

"Wohoo, ten points to both of you!" Jiji cheered, pointing finger guns at them.

"The perv could have answered that question," Aira growled at him. "It defeats the purpose if you ask such simple questions." She tapped her finger against her chin while she raked her brain for a good question. She let out a satisfied hum when she got an idea: "This is something only Takakura should know: How many musicians did we fight in school for the old cat's training?"

A relieved sigh escaped Okarun. Luckily she didn't ask which musicians they had been. He might know half of them.

"Six of them." Again he answered in union with the Yokai, which in turn made Aira groan in frustration: "This is getting us nowhere!"

Now Vamola chirped up, waving her arms: "Secret!"

Well, Okarun did tell Vamola something that he hadn't told anybody else...yet. But he would absolutely not reveal what it was in these circumstances and definitely not to their whole friend group. He squirmed slightly in the grip of the spectral hands. Surely there was a different way to solve this?

Apparently the Yokai had far less hesitations to speak of the secret he had shared: "We told Vamola that we lo-" "ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Everyone in the room looked startled at Okarun, even Momo who had been silent the whole time. He had interrupted the other Okarun the second he realised he was about to spill the beans.

"There are NO secrets I shared with Vamola. Absolutely nothing!" he insisted with burning cheeks and shot the Yokai an angry glare, daring him to continue to speak. He was actually opening his mouth, ready to speak up again, when Momo interrupted him: "Forget those stupid questions. Okarun."

Both of them looked at her expectantly, but her eyes were on the human one. "Can you transform?"

"Huh?"

What would prove that? Maybe that he wasn't a clone, but a shapeshifter could kind of transform. But he could see it in her eyes that she had an idea and so he did as she asked...or at least he tried.

If he wasn't transforming automatically due to danger and instinct, he usually just had to summon that tickle of power from the back of his mind and he would change. But nothing happened. His bones stayed the same, not even the slightest tingle under his skin. Confused, he looked down at his unchanged body.

"I...I can't," he stammered.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Aira asked, baffled.

"I don't...I don't know. It's like...the spiritual energy is...gone."

He felt nothing at all. Even when Momo was suppressing Turbo Granny's curse in the beginning, he could always tell that something was there. Right now he felt...nothing. Normal. Just like before the curse ever happened.

Confusion and a bit of panic rose in him and he looked at Momo. Her face was in a frown, like she just received news she didn't like.

"You!" Now her attention was on the Yokai. "Can you change back?"

"Sorry babe, ain't happening," he just answered, looking rather bored and resting his chin on the spectral hand.

"How is this possible?" she muttered to herself.

"Penny for your thoughts Momo?" Jiji asked her.

"She probably spotted something with her aura sight."

Everyone in the room jumped as Seiko suddenly chimed in. Turning around, they saw her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You kids can't go one day without something weird happening, huh?" She looked from one Okarun to the other and then at her granddaughter. "So, what's the deal with them?"

Everyone's attention went to Momo, who thought about the best way to describe what she discovered. While she did so, she lowered her arms, the psychic hands letting go of the two and vanishing.

"Yeah, I checked their auras. Everyone's unique, you can't copy that. At least I don't think you can." Her grandmother nodded in confirmation, so she continued, looking at Human Okarun: "His aura is the normal Okarun aura. He is the real deal."

Okarun put a hand on his chest and exhaled, while Aira, Jiji and Vamola cheered. Good that this was solved. And without having to spill any embarrassing secrets.

"The problem is just..." Momo spoke up again. She was chewing her lips, annoyed at a riddle she couldn't solve. "Turbo Granny's spiritual power. I can usually see it within Okarun, but it's completely gone. That's why he can't transform."

"Huuuuhhhhhh?!" everyone exclaimed in surprise. How could the power just be...gone?

"I assume that has something to do with him?" Seiko jerked her chin towards the Yokai and Momo nodded.

"Exactly, he-...uhm..hi." She had turned her head around to look at the Yokai, but stopped with her words when she noticed that he was standing right behind her, almost looming over her. Not that she felt intimidated by this at all. Just slightly warm.

"Hi~," he replied, looking down at her. Again with those gentle eyes. Yep, she was just a bit warm.

Clearing her throat, she continued: "His case is a bit weird. Usually Turbo Granny's spiritual power is intertwined with Okarun's. When he is normal, his own aura is more dominant, when he is transformed her spiritual power is dominant. But he," she pointed with her thumb behind her at the Yokai, who decided to slouch forward and rest his chin on the top of her head with a hum. Momo was very proud of herself for not squealing and keeping her cool. She focused on Okarun's very appalled expression, which looked funny. "He technically has no own aura. Most of him is made of Turbo Granny's spiritual power, contained by a few layers of Okarun's aura to make him look like...him. At least that's the best way I can describe it."

Seiko hummed in understanding at that explanation, while most of the others scratched their heads, trying to wrap their heads around this information.

Not Okarun. He only understood that the Yokai powers he had were not with him anymore. They were loose. He knew best how dangerous and uncontrollable they could be. And they were standing way too close to Momo.

"So, he is just a Yokai with Turbo Granny's powers that manages to look like me??" he said and walked towards the Yokai. In an attempt to get some distance between him and Momo, he grabbed his upper arm and pulled him away from her, to stand between them. To protect her of course. Not because he could feel a prickle of jealousy. Not at all.

Momo blinked confused at Okarun, manhandling his other self, who didn't seem unfazed by this as usual.

"Bit more complicated than that kiddo," Seiko said. She lit a cigaret that she had in her mouth. "He basically is you. Well, your Yokai self. You two simply split up."

His angry stare softened a bit.

Split...up? So that was him? At least some part of it? So he would not dare to hurt Momo, right?

"But how?" Aira asked with a whine, not liking how confusing this was. "How can his transformed form split up from him?"

"Ikiryō."

Again everyone was startled. Turbo Granny had appeared behind Seiko's leg, staring at the two Okaruns.

"I told you to get a hold of yourself four-eyes. Tch, what a mess," she groused. "And we haven't even had breakfast yet."

[vikwrites]

Copacabana - Tony Stark

Summary ➣ A letter to Tony Stark, 16 years after his death. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Widowed! Reader Word Count ➣ 681

October 17, 2039.

Dear Tony, 

It’s been 16 years since you left this world, October 17, 2023, 16 long years. 

It's surreal to think that it's been this long. At times, it feels as if we're still the teenagers who first fell head-over-heels for each other, dreaming of a future without any obstacles in our way. 

The memory of our first kiss still lingers, like a cool breeze on a warm autumn day, in the midst of an October rain, our clothes soaked and sticking to our skin. Young and reckless, having just graduated from MIT with bright futures ahead of us. But in that moment, all that mattered was the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against mine. The world faded away as we stood there in the rain, lost in each other's embrace.

I watched as you slowly rebuilt Stark Industries after the passing of your father. We had just eloped to California, swept away by our passionate love, keen for a fresh start. But money had changed you. I tried to understand the pressure of carrying millions on your shoulders, but it became harder to reconcile with who you were becoming. Yet, despite it all, my love for you never wavered. 

I remember when you were captured in Afghanistan. Those 3 bitter months, I didn’t know if you would return or not. Then you came back, and in your chest was embedded an arc reactor, a false, mechanical pump; keeping you alive, but deep down, I knew you still had a heart. You changed so much after that, like you lost a part of yourself in that cave.

Then the world crashed upon us—aliens, Avengers, and everything in between.

The moments in between felt like a hazy blur, my mind struggling to hold onto the images as they slipped through my fingers like sand. I remembered catching glimpses of you on the news, especially in your impenetrable armour, well. We thought it was, but that fateful day on Titan proved otherwise. 

And it hasn’t been the same since.

Morgan, our little girl. She’s just been accepted into MIT, just like you’ve always dreamed of. In a few years, she’ll be getting her PhD in electrical engineering, just like her father did; hopefully, she’ll inherit Stark Industries and continue on our legacy. As proud as I am, it's bittersweet, to see her follow in your footsteps. I know you would have been so proud of her. But at the same time, it brings up all the painful emotions of losing you and wondering how different things would be if you were still here. 

Morgan misses you a lot, she really does.

On rainy days, we’d sit outside the cabin. As rain splattered against the wooden porch, Morgan would curl next to me, tucking her small hand into mine. She would turn to me with big, curious eyes; "Tell me about Dad," she said, wanting to know more about the man she never got to meet, and I would weave fantastical tales of his bravery, how he fearlessly battled against evil to protect us, but deep down, I knew that he had been just as scared and uncertain as the rest of us, scared that he would lose us.

The humidity feels nice, we seek solace these days, finding comfort in the melancholy beauty that accompanies them. But my heart aches as I think about how much you loved these moments, we used to sit by the lake, talking about how we’d get older in each other's arms, yet you're no longer here to join us. 

Occasionally, we’d still leave a cheeseburger out for you, hoping that somehow you can still taste it in another world. It's a silly habit, but it's all we have left to cling to your memory. We know you're no longer here with us, but our hearts refuse to accept it. It's our way of holding onto you, even though we know you're gone.

We miss you, Tony, and I hope I’ll get to see you again. 

I love you 3000.

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