Children's-Tales

For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they are born, the city apartment or farm in which they learnt to walk, the games they played as children, the old wives tales they overheard, the food they ate, the schools they attended, the sports they followed, the poets they read, and the God they believed in.
—  The Razor’s Edge, W. Somerset Maugham

Here’s some soft loving pynch headcanons bc it’s something we all need rn:

  • Adam loves holding Ronan’s hand. Where Adam’s hands get cold easily, Ronan’s are always warm somehow, his hands big enough to completely engulf Adam’s and warm them. When Adam laces their fingers together he can feel the slightly rough texture that comes from Ronan’s work at the Barns, and the small scratches at the back of Ronan’s hands because he refuses to wear gloves while he works. He loves the way Ronan moves his thumb in circles against the back of Adam’s hand without thinking. 
  • Adam loves it when his hands are cold and Ronan just seems to know, so he takes both of Adam’s hands in his own and silently holds them until they’re warm again. He loves the way Ronan never fails to gently kiss Adam’s palms afterwards.
  • Sometimes they hold hands without lacing fingers, the way children in fairy tales do. On those days they’re walking through Ronan’s new dream forest with Opal, exploring every corner, laughing and chattering as new creations float into view, and all the while Adam holds Ronan’s hand easily and without thinking. As if they have been walking through enchanted forests, holding hands, for years.
  • One day on finals week in his first year, tired and sleepy from studying, Adam has the thought that the Barns are home the way no where else is. Adam loves his college and his dorm room and the many friends he has there, he’s content in the life he built for himself, happy to be in study halls and in a new city, but no other place has the warmth that the Barns offer. He comes back to this line of thought several times over the next few days, and finally decides that the warmth there has everything to do with the presence of Ronan and Opal. He thinks about the various spaces he occupied, the places he’s been, the way he’s starting to feel like he could build homes anywhere. He thinks back to the Barns and the people waiting for him there. He thinks Ronan is home the way nothing else is, and decides to leave it at that.
  • Ronan uses his phone a lot whenever Adam is at college. It’d be funny if it weren’t something that Adam completely saw coming. Maybe a few-months-ago-Adam wouldn’t have expected it, and last-year’s Adam definitely would have snorted at the concept, but the Adam that left the Barns late August for his first year of college knew without a doubt that he’d be hearing from his boyfriend before the end of the day. A text, a call, a picture, hell maybe even a meme. Adam knew Ronan would be there, several hundred miles away or not. Ronan didn’t disappoint.
  • They are not loudly sappy, per se. They are not fancy love declarations and explicit displays of affection. Instead, they’re steady. Sure and quiet in the way they’re just Adam and Ronan. They’re fingers laced together as they quietly walk through the fields, glances shared across the room in both exasperation and amusement, they’re forehead kisses in the morning, and cheek kisses as one of them leaves for work. They’re soft I love yous murmured against the other’s lips and smiles pressed into each other’s skin. They’re stupid inside jokes and the ability to always always make each other laugh. 
  • Adam and Ronan are best friends. They’re supportive and always there for each other, shoulders pressed together, arms around the other’s waist when one of them needs to be held, or sitting a few steps away waiting for permission to touch but knowing their mere presence counts. They’re Adam and Ronan, a team, even on the tough days when one of them would rather be anyone else. 
  • They are independent each but they choose to share their lives, and to  always be there for each other. 
  • Just. Adam and Ronan. Sure, steady, and in love.

Whoa first thing I’ve drawn unrelated to work in a long time. 

I like imagining that Maui visits Moana and her people now and again–the ocean’s big but you bump into each other now and again. Here he is regaling village children with tales of his adventures while Moana does weird crap to his hair because I like people doing each others hair out of fondness. Might do another one of Maui messing with Moana’s. 

I know Moana’s clothes are different at the end of the movie but the ref isn’t quite out there yet

Night Terrors

Something children comes for us,
Don’t make a sound,
Don’t make a fuss,
What it is I do not know,
No place to run,
Nowhere to go,
What’s in the dark you must fear,
Is that a growl
that now I hear?
Will it take one or take us all,
this beast that lurks
out in the hall?
Hear it scratching just outside?
It’s far too late
to try to hide,
It seems the door I did not lock,
come in my love
no need to knock,
I’ll give you children to the beast
and laugh out loud
to watch him feast,
You’ve burdened me for far too long,
You thought I loved you
but you’re wrong,
Well perhaps I should feel bad,
Except this monster
is your dad

One day, the wise woman of the village called all the children to her house.

She sat with them in a circle, and they ate and sang together until the moon was high in the sky. The children had never been allowed to stay up as late. They were excited. Their tongues prickled with the spicy soup that the wise woman had given them.

When the fire was just a low glimmer of ash and wood anymore, the woman lifted her hand.

The children that had been laughing and chattering fell quiet.

The woman said: “Show me the palm of your hand, and tell me only the truth. Swear on it.”

“I swear,” said the children. Some whispered it, some barely got out the words, but all of them were shivering because they felt something old and large reach for their hearts. They didn’t know if it was the soup, the woman’s power, the moon, or just their own awe before the world and the night that made them speak truthfully.

The wise woman lowered her hand. She looked at one after the other. Her eyes were warm as the fire, dark as the moon’s shawl above.

“Speak what you wish to raise in your life.”

Everyone was silent for a long time.

The woman turned her head towards the first boy.

“Family,” the boy mumbled. Then, a bit louder, clutching his empty soup bowl, he looked at everyone with honey golden eyes, wide with kindness. “Mine and others.”

The old woman said nothing. Only her head moved from then on, and it pointed to the next, the next, one after the other.

And the children spoke.

“Health.”

“Knowledge.”

“Happiness.”

“Imagination.”

“Adventure.”

“Fun.”

“Strength.”

“Animals.”

While the children said their words, the old woman drank them in. She let then settle into her memory, anchored them where they were safe.

One day, when the children were of age, she would ask them again.

Some would have changed. If they had lost their path, she would remind them of their old words, of the dreams their hearts had forgotten about. That there was a way forward, in whatever direction it may run. If they had found another way for themselves, she would gift them their once-adored word still, so that they had something to always return to and would know that once feeling something did not mean that you wouldn’t ever feel something else.

And if the children still chose the same way, then it would be their time to raise something.

So the children spoke their words. Only two were left now and before the woman could turn her head, they spoke at the same time.

“Hell.”

“Myself.”

The other children shivered. For a long time, nothing moved. Even the fire seemed frozen in the moment. Finally, the woman tilted her head.

“What do you mean?” she asked the two. She hadn’t asked anyone else.

The first child stood up, hands curled into fists, eyes burning. “If anyone gets in my way, I’ll bring all of the world down on them!”

“I’m scared,” whispered one of the children.

The woman looked at the other child, whose eyes were calm as the dark sky above. “And you?”

“Myself,” said the child once more. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

The first child laughed. “That’s stupid. Just yourself? What can you do with that! When I’m older, the world won’t stand a chance against me.”

Before the second child could speak, the old woman stirred. She reached out for the child’s fingers and took them into her own. The other children watched, wary and confused.

“Before you raise any of your dreams,” said the old woman, a smile on her fire-warmed lips, “I want all of you to remember this.” And when the child who stood glared at her, she took its hand as well until it sat and put its head against her shoulder.

“Raise yourself, children, and you will stand against anything. Raise yourself, and the whole world will rise with you. Hell and heaven and every fear will fall if you hold yourself upright and look to the stars. And if you cannot rise anymore, stand. Stand. The horizon has been born for thousands of years, every morning and every night. Admire its strength, when you are weak, but do not forget:

You are the dawn. You are the dusk.

The world will follow. Raise all that you are, before anything else.”