on directing the ocean

And it’s crazy isn’t it? How much you’ll be able to accomplish in a year. If you’re still the same person from last year, how do you expect to change for the better? Your life will move on without you. How many days will you be on autopilot? How many days will you cry over someone who has moved on? How many years will it take for you to get out of such a mentality? It’s not a sickness. It’s not a disease. It’s not even you. You’re not even yourself nowadays. Who are you? The person in the mirror, there’s been great talks about you. Sinner and angel, two sides to the same story. How badly do you want to change? How far would you go? I want to crack myself open and change as often as I’ll need to in order for me to properly heal from this, I want to rid myself of my depression, I just want to be happy, I want to dissect the anatomy of a memory, I want to remove a lover that no longer exists, I want so many things but I can’t even budge, a nudge from a place long forgotten. The glassy sky breaks into shards of rain, you kiss thy name in order to feel sane. There isn’t a method to your madness, you’ve simply just lost it. But maybe that’s the whole idea. That’s your process. You self destruct to recreate, you destroy who you were to pave way for who you will indefinitely be until the last bell rings and you’re running late, when the test is over, there’s only one real destination and I can talk a big game, I can point you towards the right direction, I can tell you how to love like the way the ocean will always kiss the shoreline with a ferocity, you’ll stay mad at yourself until you’re too far gone to return or just too hurt to want to go back. I’m here to tell you that you’re going to be okay. No matter how shitty of a person you’ve been, no matter how bad you’ve got it, no matter how often you have to relive the same fucking memory, no matter how much you still love them, no matter how long it’s going to fucking take, I promise you. We’re going to make it through this. The winds of tomorrow will scream for your resolution. You’re going to be your own validation. You’re going to feel beautiful. You’re going to own bravery. You’re going to soar. You’re going to bend, but you’re fucking titanium, you’ll never break. You’re going to be molded into many shapes, a butterfly made from pure fucking gold. This depression, these suicidal thoughts, this agonizing process they’ll call art– it’s just your healing process, it’s just you. And that’s the thing. Once I realized that this– the person that I am, there’s only ever going to be one me. I am the only person that’s ever going to truly happen to myself. You’re the only you that’s ever going to get your life together for yourself. So stick it out. Fake smile this shit all the way to mars. We’re going to be beautiful. I promise. I fucking promise you.
—  I promise.
forget me not

Words: 13,500
Fandom: Moana
Category: Gen
Relationship: Moana & Maui

Summary:  Look, normally Maui’s all for humans weeping over his injured body. Hey, he’s been demigod-ing for thousands of years, it’s nice to be appreciated every once in awhile, all right? But this one, this girl, acts like she knows him. He disregards it, because that’s just creepy, until he realizes that he has a tattoo of her - and no clue how he earned it.

Alternate title: “?????? ?? ???”

Main idea co-developed between myself and @paperjam-bipper, title credits entirely to her. For some reason, she has made it her mission to tear out my heart on a regular basis. Thanks, Paper.

A couple of quick notes, i.e. I’m putting the abridged glossary at the top this time: The ‘ava ceremony is a formal one used for a variety of occasions, included but not limited to: bestowing the title of Chief (matai) on a new Chief, welcoming visiting tribes to the island, honoring guests, etc. 
The siva tau is a traditional Samoan war dance, used in the modern-day before sporting events. 
The ailao afi is also known as the fire knife dance. Literally, you take a knife, wrap it and cloth and light it on fire. Performed to demonstrate battle prowess. As the daughter of the Chief, Moana would have had familiarity with it even before the movie. I have a headcanon that Moana and Maui, the two giant dorks that they are, looked at this incredibly dangerous dance and went “time to make a duet out of this!!” They would.

When Maui opens his eyes, there’s someone holding his hand.

Which makes waking up way more awkward than it needed to be. Sure, he’s a demigod of many talents, but he’s gotta say that hand-holding isn’t one too often requested.

Then the situation abruptly gets about a hundred times more uncomfortable, because as soon as he opens his eyes this girl decides that his pecs are a good pillow, wrapping her arms around his chest and wow, she’s got a surprisingly strong grip for a mortal. She’s pretty much squeezing his breath out of his lungs, which is impressive, since he’s got a pretty solid pair. Used for anything from hakas to grand story-reenacting. Not a pair like it this side of Lalotai.

“Hey,” he says jovially, trying to prise her off and failing. Good to know he was missed during his millennium off. “Look, kiddo, I know it’s not every day you meet your hero, but you wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression, now would’ya.”

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I don’t want to be the kind of person that people write stories about. I don’t want my name written on clouds or screamed from the tops of mountains and cliffs. I want to live a simple life with a peaceful mind. I want the roof above my head to be filled with tiny sparkling lights. I want to get all my sleep in your arms - if I could have it, I want my final resting place to be your arms too. I want to go through people unnoticed and unobserved, much like the wind. I want to be able to remain unassuming and unexpecting after meeting a new person. I want to bake cookies and eat them with you. I want to live life sticking to my principles through and through. I want to live life like I want to be after I die; without worry or judgement, drifting in the ocean all alone with you for company, and no end in sight.
—  oscarsins