#flutters lashes

set the scene... You, are elsewhere. A lush landscape that feels abnormally still. There is only the sound of wind, and even then it is stale and otherwordly. The sky is covered in debris of rock formations and running water that is going nowhere. Greats swathes of earth and flora have been unrooted and stays suspended in air, held by nothing, but nothing is making it drop to the surface either. As colorful and bright as the scenery, the solitude can easily become unnerving as for the landscape being pure and untainted, there are no animals around either.

You are given an audience with an otherworldly entity. A deity of sorts. A creature of humanoid shape and is lavishing in it. Decked in gold and turquoise, an opulent godling who's existence is slowly be funnel away, it's personhood ripped from their clay-forged body and siphoned in is an omnipotent god that has no full sentience in of itself. But Dawa as of now, still remained, a minutia of Gods reside within them, and within thousands of hundred of thousands of years they will no longer be Dawa. they will be GODS, THE MYRIAD, ONE AND MANY. but right now, they are still mostly Dawa, off-kilter and struggling in their off world, no-contact with intelligent life for the past several hundred years. They are welcoming a strangle little man into their makeshift homestead that they are to sit in and wait for their very slow and extisentially harrowing demise. But despite that fact, they deity seemed rather chipper.

"I don't know of any 'hole'! Are you sure it was a hole? And not something else. It could have been a slip, which is like a little flap, so it open an closes! But it's not like a sphincter, it doesn't open and close like in a hole way but um...

like a flap on clothing! It's a little seam that came undone and sometimes you can see it and sometimes not. That sort of thing. I think you slipped in here! I'm not too worried about it then. You can slip right back through if you want..."

Dawa explains in gratuitous detail. They're big brown eyes blink owlishy at the stranger from elsewhere. There is an incessant sound of cattle mewing in the background. A yak is currently trying to come inside the humble diety's abode and this stranger in blocking it's path. The yak (who's name is Jinpa by the way) has started nudging the stickbug-esque weirdo in the doorway with his head and by extension, horns. Jinpa huffs.

this tiktok slideshow made me think of you :3

When you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself publicly. Then send this to your 10 favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool). 

My ability to chill out and enjoy long-haul travel (won’t need this for a while, alas). The way cats like me. My sense of verbal metre. My nervous system, which does a great job and I appreciate it, thank you nervous system! And my eyes, described now and then as ‘enormous’, ‘piercing’, and ‘glowing’.

sparring & training prompts. - 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 / @ujima

steel   sings   the   moment   they   meet   —   her   blades   flashing   silver-white   as   they   catch   his   strike,   then   slip   free.   the   rhythm   returns   like   breath,   effortless   and   inevitable.   step,   turn,   yield   —   reclaim.   she   moves   with   him   rather   than   against   him,   redirecting   force   instead   of   meeting   it   head-on,   skirts   of   fabric   and   intention   brushing   danger   as   if   daring   it   to   follow.   the   sound   of   metal   on   metal   marks   a   tempo   they   have   carried   in   their   bodies   for   years,   a   language   learned   long   before   crowns   and   councils   complicated   things.

when t’challa   presses,   measured   and   relentless,   each   advance   deliberate.   ororo   answers   with   grace   rather   than   haste,   twisting   out   of   a   lock   and   forcing   his   weapon   aside   in   a   smooth   arc   that   brings   her   shoulder   nearly   to   his   chest.   she   feels   it   then   —   the   heat   of   effort,   the   familiar   pull   of   proximity   —   and   the   corner   of   her   mouth   curves   despite   herself.   “   you’re   still   predictable   when   you   think   you’re   being   clever,   “   she   murmurs,   voice   light   even   as   her   blades   rise   again.