#This just poured out of me today

[acewithapaintbrush]

I did a thing

This is very fragmented and a little trippy and I don't know where and if I will take this anywhere but I blacked out and woke up to this so enjoy? I guess?

This is based on this post, an AU of my Pedro lives AU where Pedro doesn't find the Encanto on his own but Bruno has a vision pre-movie and sets out alone to find the man and bring him home. Or at least he tries to go alone

*************************************

The harbingers of the vision that will change everything have followed Bruno all day, painting the walls of his home 

(the little hole in the wall he has scurried away to like one of his rats because he is a coward because he is weak and he only calls it home because what else is there to keep him going what else can he call it that won't make him just give up just give in just end it all) 

a greenish tint because the hated color has pressed in on him on all sides, invading the corners of his gaze with its sickly glow. He's tried keeping it back, hasn't wanted to deal with the headache. Hasn't wanted to deal with the heartache of knowing but not acting. Of seeing something and instead of springing into action hiding away, pressing his forehead against the wall, knocking his fist against that same wall until the knuckles are bloody, until the urge to tell someone goes away. 

1-2-3-4-5

1-2-3-4-5

Come on, come on, you can't do anything anyway. No one wants you to do anything. All the times you have tried they have sent you away until you simply stayed away. This is what they have always wanted, this is what you always wanted, just peace and quiet and loneliness and fear and hopelessness. 

1-2-3-4-5

Once upon a time it was 1-2-3-4, but he can barely remember the last time he didn't need the 5. And one day it will be 1-2-3-4-5-6 and then 7 and then 8 and one day he will keep knocking and knocking and knocking until his hands are nothing but stumps, skin and bones scraped off and whittled to nothing and-

Bruno shakes his head, shakes the thoughts right out of his brain and presses a hand against his temple as if to block off a hole where they might creep back in. 

He doesn't have time for spiralling thoughts right now. He has to move. 

For the first time in years upon years he won't just watch, he will also act.

Because this vision is different. No amount of knocking will be enough to ignore this one. 

It starts easy enough. A group of men and women, young and old, walking through the undergrowth. They are carrying so much it seems like they have all of their worldly possessions with them. An escape maybe, but not like his mother has told them an escape should be. There is no fear or rush. No crying or agitated voices urging everyone to hurry up. They are just walking, one step in front of the other, chatting and sometimes even stopping to take a look around. 

Surely not an escape. Surely just people relocating, looking for a new home without any desperation. 

Why is his gift showing him this? This is clearly taking place outside of the Encanto, what does he care for foreigners who will just walk right by them, in and out of the story with no significance to the plot, with no role to play in the tragedy drama comedy musical that is their lives? 

But then a woman shifts to the right and behind her there is a man, very old, but still tall, still carrying his load with no signs of fatigue. He is chatting with a young boy, he is laughing, holding his face into the sun and-

The vision ends there but Bruno knows. Despite the short glimpse, he just knows! 

It's a lesser known side effect of his gift, the way he comes out of the vision with more than just the images on a slab of green glass but also with knowledge. 

How he sees someone being lowered into a grave and despite not seeing how it happens just knowing that it was an illness. 

How he sees nothing more than the image of a woman throwing her husband out of the house and just knowing that it's because of the seamstress. 

Or how he sees an old man and knows, despite everything telling him that it's impossible, despite the fact that the man should be is supposed to be dead. 

Bruno just knows that the man in the vision is his father. 

And he knows that if he doesn't act immediately, he will never see him again. The group will pass them by and never come this way again. They will settle down miles away, build up their lives anew and the man who is his father will die there of old age without ever spending one second thinking about the weird valley they passed by all those years ago. 

So Bruno finally acts. He packs a small bag, grabs his thickest ruana and makes sure his rats have enough food to last them a few days. He is doing all of this in a sort of weird trance. In his head he is screaming and panicking, but the  movements of his body are slow and methodical, his hands are steady and his footsteps are decisive and confident. They echo in the walls of Casita as he leaves his home for the first time in almost ten years. He pushes away a panel and steps into the night. If he leaves now, he will make it just in time to cut off the travelers in a few days. 

He doesn't know what he will do then, what he will do once he stands in front of his father, but if he thinks about that moment too hard he might yet still fall to his knees and not get back up again. 

The panel slips shut behind him and he thinks he hears it slide up and down a few more times than it should. It's probably the wind, but he likes to imagine that it's Casita, wishing him luck. 

"Godspeed my friend. Come back safe." 

Here is where he makes the first mistake of many on this journey to come: He doesn't immediately leave. He stops after about 20 feet and glances one last time back at Casita. 

The windows are dark, everyone still asleep. The sun won't be up for a few hours yet, but there is still a muted flicker in the upper most window. 

The candle. 

His mother. 

Bruno falters. Should he really do this alone? Bruno, the black sheep of the family? The weirdo? The bad omen? Shouldn't he wake his sisters and his mother and tell them what he saw, what they have to do? 

But will they even believe him, after all these years? And even if they did, will they trust him to know what he is doing? Won't waking them and explaining things just take too much time? They might miss the group. An opportunity of a lifetime, gone forever because Bruno once again couldn't put into words what he needed to say to convince his family. 

And isn't this the perfect opportunity to get their forgiveness? Bruno, coming home with the long lost father. Bruno, not a bad omen at all but their hero, like in those stories. Returning with the missing piece, reuniting lovers, making the family whole again. 

Maybe even saving the family? 

Bruno squares his thin shoulders and knocks against his head. Only four times, because four is when things were still kinda okay and they can be okay again. He'll make sure of it. 

"I'm gonna save the family." he whispers to himself. 

"Tio Bruno?" 

For ten years he has only seen Mirabel through cracks in the walls, quick glimpses stolen here and there when he was feeling especially lonely, when the longing for his family grew and grew and grew until he could scarcely breathe without choking on a sob. 

But even without those glimpses he would have recognized her immediately. She looks just like her mother and not just her looks. There is that same determined glint in her eyes, the same upturned chin when she decides she is going to be stubborn, the same crossed arms and tapping foot. She is shocked by this unexpected encounter, he can tell, but she has heard him and she can see his bag and the heavy ruana meant for traveling and she is a smart girl, has always been a smart girl. 

Things just got a lot more complicated. 

[thebirdandhersong]

I think the problem. the problem is that I have always been afraid of not being invited into the inner circle. and am always wanting to be part of the inner circle. inner circle being the circle of love and companionship and communion. of course being a TCK and a bit of a sheltered homeschooled oddball child has nudged this further along over the years. but I didn't realise how STRONG that desire still burned. to actually be wanted.

[skitskatdacat63]

2023 Qatar Grand Prix - Podium - Oscar Piastri

[saviourkingslut]

not to be about opera again but to be about opera again. as an art form it has the reputation of being super stuffy and something for snobs who don't know how to have fun only but honestly this was one of, perhaps even THE main theatrical entertainment for centuries. i wish people knew how hard these things can go and how engaging they can be. like characters kill and die and fight wars and (almost) commit human sacrifice left and right. characters fall in love they mourn they're ecstatic they cry they're furious it's an extremely dramatic and emotional art form! and i understand that opera does not appear approachable bc of the general conventions of the art form but i promise old works can be fun and engaging if you go watch them with some preparation beforehand (reading the libretto helps) - not to mention not all operas are old bc there are so many modern operas which engage with topical events! also the music slaps.

[magesmiths]

salt in the wound

twc detective luca stein & rebecca, mother-son relationship rating/warnings: G, rook's death and grief is discussed word count: 1,501 read on ao3

Luca stops short. He should’ve known she’d be here today of all days, but it still comes as a shock. 

Rebecca doesn’t appear to have noticed his approach - that doesn’t shock him. He watches her for a moment, her head bent, shoulders hunched. He rarely sees her like this, a genuine vulnerability in comparison to her pale attempts at reconciliation with him. Only when it comes to Rook does true emotion seem to seep through the cracks in her composure. Luca alone was never enough for that. 

He lingers by the trees for a moment more, taking in an old, familiar sight, before walking back to the path and back around the familiar graveyard. Luca had known it well as a child; in the few years his grandmother had lived nearby, she brought him here frequently. He grew up tending to the plants on his father’s grave with her, listening to stories about a man he would never know. Following her death, his only visits were on this date every year, his nanny holding his hand as they watched Rebecca from a few metres back. 

From his early teens Luca could recognise that the grief he felt was not his own. It belonged to his mother, to his grandmother, to strangers who mourned the absence of a father in a child’s life. His grandmother’s grief was felt the most keenly; she alone spoke of Rook to him. She had shared her son’s life with his son, had given him the recipe books that would let Luca find Rook for himself. 

Rebecca’s grief was unknowable. She was unknowable. 

Luca looks back down the path he’s walked, back towards Rook’s grave, towards Rebecca. He can’t figure her out, can’t understand where her newfound insistence on a relationship comes from. For 27 years his existence has come second to the loss of Rook. No - not second, that was the agency. Third, at best. And yet here she was, time and time again, asking to be closer. 

The sun is cutting through the tall trees on the outskirts of the graveyard, dappling the moss covered path. His grandmother had loved that about this graveyard, the way the late afternoon light made its way through the leaves. She had been meticulous in her care for Rook’s grave, had even picked the spot for him herself. ‘High enough on the hill to give him a good view, away from trees where the birds perch.’ She and Luca had picked out every stray leaf and trimmed the foliage on every visit. And then they would walk through Rook’s final resting place, noting his neighbours, greeting everyone they came across to know who he was here with. 

It had never been the same with Rebecca who simply stood in front of Rook’s grave alone and spoke to no one. Though she had never said it, Luca hadn’t felt welcome at her side. This was her husband, her grief, her time. He was the intruder, the leftover, the afterthought. 

He passes familiar graves, smiles at a family he recognises, and circles back to Rook’s grave. If he’s lucky, Rebecca will be gone. If not… Well, she’d probably not notice anyway. 

She’s not there. He’s not sure why relief isn’t the only thing he’s feeling. 

Kneeling in front of the grave, he begins plucking the dead leaves from a couple plants, careful to place them in the bag he brought with him. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him. 

“I didn’t know you came here.” 

Luca’s jaw clenches and he freezes in place not needing to turn around to know who the words belong to. “Who did you think looked after it?” He glances over his shoulder at her and sees Rebecca look away at his words, arms folding over her chest. 

He stands, taking a moment to gather himself whilst looking at Rook’s grave, and then turns around to face her. She’s still not looking at him and after a minute, when she still says nothing, he begins to walk away. 

It doesn’t take long before he can hear her heels on the path behind him. He makes it all the way to his car, hand on the key, before she says something. 

“He really wanted you, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Rook - he - I.” Luca watches as she stumbles over her words, makes to walk closer to him, then seemingly changes her mind and comes to a halt a few metres away. Rebecca takes a deep breath before trying again, eyes on the gravel in front of her. “Your father, he really wanted children.”

When Luca doesn’t respond but also doesn’t leave, she seems to take this as a sign to carry on. The words come out quickly, as though she’s not sure how much time she has to convince him to hear her out. “I knew he’d be a good dad from the first week we dated. He was so great with kids, great with everyone, really. I felt selfish even seeing him when I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted.” 

He’s never heard her like this before. A little desperation to her voice, words less measured. Yet there’s still no warmth to it and Luca’s not sure why she’s choosing this to tell him. This isn’t affection, it’s confession. 

“He wanted children, and I…” Rebecca looks up and makes eye contact with Luca for the first time that day. He knows she’s thinking about his eyes and, not for the first time, he wishes they weren’t Rook’s replicas.

“You wanted him.” 

Silence stretches and stretches between them, cavernous. 

“Do you know that’s the first real thing you’ve ever told me about him?” She flinches but doesn’t yet look away. “I know you lost your husband and I’m very sorry. But it has been 27 years and if it were up to you, I would have been deprived of even the memory of my father.” 

“Luca…” 

He closes his eyes and turns away. “You keep asking if we can become closer.” 

“Because I want to be.”

“Is that because of me? Or because I’m the closest you will get to having a piece of Rook back?”

His heart is beating so loud it feels like that’s all he can hear for a moment. He looks up and sees Rebecca’s reflection in the window of his car, frozen a few steps behind him. He waits. If she’s going to deny it or try to reach him or do something, it would be now, right? She doesn’t move.

He lets out a sharp breath, finally opens his car door and gets in. Before he closes the door he turns back to her. What more can he say? This feels like a chance to break it permanently or extend a hand to her, a tightrope he feels like he’s walking endlessly. But it’s harder to sever it either way, so he’ll continue the charade, allow them both to teeter helplessly until a later date. He closes the door. 

As he drives away, he can’t help but replay the conversation over and over until it starts to give him a headache. Confirmation that she’d never really wanted a child repeating itself on a loop. 

He pulls out his phone, eyes still on the road, and calls the first number on his speed dial before he can think twice about it. 

Adam picks up on the second ring. 

“Detective?”

Luca smiles despite himself at the formality. “Hey.”  

“Are you okay?” 

“Just peachy, thanks.” 

Adam doesn’t reply and they both let the silence hang for a moment. He wonders for a second if he should've called Farah instead. She's perceptive, but willing to go for a distraction rather than silently interrogate. But he can't help but feel lighter for hearing Adam's voice.

“You really should not speak on the phone while you’re driving.” 

Luca snorts. “What are you gonna do, call the cops?” 

“Yes, very funny. Are you sure everything’s alright?” 

He pauses again for a moment, chews on his lip and finally says. “It was Rook’s birthday today.” There is a small release of breath on the other side, but Adam doesn’t say anything. He’s giving Luca time. “I went to visit his grave.” He leaves out that Rebecca was there, tries to forget her presence himself. 

“Do you go there often?” 

“Every couple of months. It’s nice, quiet. A place to reflect, to remember.” 

“I’m glad you have that place.”

Luca smiles, “Me too.” 

He watches the sun set in his rear view mirror, thinks about asking Adam if he could come to the warehouse, maybe bake something.

“If you would allow, perhaps I could come with you next time.” 

His first instinct is to say no, to keep this part of Rook to himself. His father, his ritual. But then... it's Adam. Adam, who hasn’t shied away from this, who wants to know, who, despite his insistence on calling Luca ‘Detective’, wants to be let in. 

“I’d like that.”

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

posting this wip before i go to bed cause i'm so so tired aughgah<333

[saetoru]

anyway it’s been. a day. to say the least. i’m gonna answer asks later i am not living my best life 🥲

[princepestilence]

Thinking about it, I’ve decided: cute guys be nice to me challenge 2023. I manifest this.

[painsandconfusion]

What's wrong with comfort?

Aaaaaalrighty then - that caught attention fast.

I know I joke about being hurt/nocomfort like it's edgy or something, but in reality comfort is far too close to real life for me. I've been a caretaker far too much and through far too intense of situations for me to find anything but pain and panic in those scenes.

I absolutely understand people wanting comfort and I'm not saying it shouldn't be there by many means. It's just not healthy for me in fiction. I can emotionally distance myself from the hurt. I can't from the comfort. It puts me back into trauma responses and it hurts. Badly.

Every once in a while I do comfort because the plot demands it or I'm having a very very very hard time and I need a little bit of softness. But those are situations where I'm not able to emotionally connect with the caretaker and I can't be triggered by it.

So that's why I don't do comfort.

I'm very sorry I'm not able to write the content you want to read. It's not healthy for me. It's a personal thing, not by any means objective.

[semiotomatics]

lol, new fear unlocked: disappointing my therapist when i have bad days -_-

[codecicle]

Do you know any good qsmp lore supercuts? I want to watch more qsmp content (since i've really only been following along with liveblogs; i only really watched wilbur's vods almost up to when the eggs were first supposed to disappear) but there's so much to watch and it doesn't all hold my attention.

https://youtube.com/@QSMPInfo?si=FUrtOTX89-XRWLvF

^^ this is the official qsmp lore recap channel!! honestly the best source I think you could get they condense so much of it so well. as for more recent stuff they haven't gotten to yet I'd recommend going on twitter (yeah i know I'm sorry 😔) and looking through your language of choices update accounts!! they're all run by official admins and have translated updates on every streamer per day. its a lot of lore but also liveblogging is how most people consume other lore, since there are people constantly streaming on the server. i look through the qsmp tag when i wake up in the morning and get home from school like a newspaper LMAO

typically I'd just suggest the twitter accounts, the recap channel, picking at least 2 or 3 different streamers to watch casually and looking through liveblogs. im a huge charlie guy obviously but I've literally never seen a cellbit stream before despite him being one of my favorite characters, I only know him through other streams and liveblogging. my spanish streamers don't stream on there anymore (cmon mariana and rubius D:) and so i mainly get Spanish updates from Spanish speakers on here!! point is you're doing great already LMAO just watch some of the recaps and look through the update accounts and you'll be fine.

(plus every stream they have to relay old information from one person to another so eventually you will get a lore info dump if you want to or not)

[ilovefredjones]

on having a sister

tennessee williams, a streetcar named desire / brother, sister, rival, friend: the longstanding effects of sibling relationships / natasha, pierre, and the great comet of 1812, sonya alone / frozen ii, the next right thing / me / mitski, i will / louise glück, tango

[the-kipsabian]

done with the second worst part of cleaning, i have vacuumed

[justjoshlynaround]

How do you feel about missing out on the eclipse?

man. dude. anon. buddy. how do YOU know, huh? this is worse than a hate message man what the hell. I'm NOT TELLING YOU HOW I FEEEL

[qilinkisser]

I feel bad blocking my friend on this blog. but she can't see this anymore.

[im-still-watching-anime]

turns out i am NOT immune to mob mentality because i keep seeing people order stuff on our menu and convincing myself i would like it because! look how popular it is!! it HAS to be good! and then it simply is not no matter how many times i try it