正夢(まさゆめ)は、 夢に見た通りのことが現実になる夢のこと.

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France is not just Paris.


THANK YOU I’m always kind of enraged when I see France represented by only the Eiffel tower. I mean ok we all love the Eiffel tower, but come on. Paris is more than the Eiffel tower and France is more than Paris. There are many wonderful places here, and this post shows a few. Oh and, breaking news but officially Corsica is in France too, just fyi. So yeah THANK YOU (I’m also super happy because I get to show off where I come from : the last picture !)

Fun fact, when I was in college my dad was assigned to work in France for almost two years, so he and my mom were living in Strasbourg which is in the Alsace region. I got to visit twice and both times were for a number of weeks. We did everything BUT go to Paris and it was fantastic. I absolutely love France but Paris is completely overrated. 


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Zutara Week 2014 – Melancholy


Summary: Set in the episode “The Southern Raiders.” A scene that takes place after Katara walks away from Yon Rha. 

Author’s Notes: I missed out on Zutara week! :( I was out of town (FOR THAT WEEK SPECIFICALLY URGH UNIVERSE WHEN HAVE I WRONGED YOU) and deprived of my laptop and time. I just had to get my ever-present Zutara feels out so I’m posting this up anyway before I can panic and regret it. This is my first time participating in Zutara week ever! And first time posting anything of my own on Tumblr ever! And first time writing a one-shot ever! Big day today. Oh, and this was written at about 2 AM this morning…so yeah. I’m a night-time writer. Hopefully that’s justification enough for what I’ve done here.


It was getting darker, the gray clouds rolling and tumbling thickly across the vast sky. Lightning split the air like a forked tongue and the flash seared itself into the backs of his closed eyelids. The fine hairs at the nape of his neck tingled at the charged energy that hung in the air, leaving a metallic tang on his tongue if he opened his mouth to breathe in. The thunder was a constant presence, a low rumble in the background, lashing out every few beats in a cosmic boom that rattled his bones and stuttered his heart.

They’d been walking for what felt like a while now. He was soaked to the core and although he wasn’t exactly pleased by it, it didn’t bother him too much, either. He’d remained silent after the occurred event, and the quiet trip back to where they’d hidden a stationary and sheltered Appa was ideal for him to deal with the burning emotion that squeezed his ribcage like an invisible fist. Gone was the wrestling urge to leave Yon Rha with a tangible memory that stung more harshly than the one that the origin of his scar had.

He could only assume the walk had done the same for Katara. But her silence, in comparison to his, was as loud and angry as the rain that fell in hard sheets over them. (She had made no move to put up a shield around them. And he hadn’t said anything, either.)

The waterbender remained a few steps ahead of him. Her stiff shoulders and arms ramrod at her sides were enough of an indication for him to keep the faint distance. He understood it. In this moment, she was an open book to him.

Another flash.

As the next churning tumble of thunder eased away, a different sound reached his ears, made his lowered eyes snap up to the girl ahead of him.

Katara had stopped, and he heard the same sound tear from what he could only assume was the raw edges of her soul. Her hands were up at the sides of her head, fingers twisting into her matted hair and knuckles almost whitening from the harsh tightness of her fists.

His body reacted before he had. In a blink he was caught up to her, hand pulling at her shoulder and turning her halfway to meet him.

Her eyes were wrenched closed and Zuko was blinded by another blue-white flash that made colorful spots splash across his vision. Her mouth opened again and she was drowned out by the roar of the next wave of thunder.

Katara,” he said, loud enough for her to hear, but soothing enough for her to feel the weight of his empathy.

It suddenly quieted. He was so focused on her (cold fingers numbingly holding at her shoulders, eyes watching her face that was streaked with tears and rain, heart thumping in rhythm with the storm) that it took him a few seconds longer than necessary to notice the dome that had curled like a protective hand over them. The rain seemed to lighten up with every passing breath.

Yes, it was quiet, except for the hysterical sobs that shook her shoulders and forced her to gulp for air as though she was drowning.

Air, he thought, where was Aang when she needed him?

“Katara,” he repeated, because he had no idea what else there was to do, what else he could possibly say without sending her emotions toppling over the edge again.

Maybe he had said the right thing (or maybe he hadn’t at all) because she was suddenly grabbing at him – no, she was pulling herself into him, fingers curling into the black of his drenched robes and bumping her forehead clumsily into his collarbone. He could feel her quaking as she cried, and the force of it bewildered him.

I’m sorry,” he heard her get out. The words came out chopped and accompanied by her wretched, broken sobs as she gulped in snatches of air into her ragged lungs, and she repeated them over and over and over, and he somehow knew it wasn’t an apology directed at him.

Zuko allowed his stiff arms to squeeze the tops of her shoulders tightly, and her own limbs hooked under his arms to wrap her hands over his shoulders. Her pain went further than what had (and hadn’t) happened today. She didn’t have to tell him that her tears were for all the times – the important times – she hadn’t cried, for the sake of protecting the ones she had left to love.

In this moment, she was an open book to him. She was permitting him to read an untouched, shadowed chapter he felt somehow no one else had been allowed to completely see.

So Zuko stood there, silently holding onto her as firmly as she did to him, so that she wouldn’t drift away.


 Later that night, back at the Island, he was on the sand watching the tides when she wordlessly joined him. The water was drawn to her, and so, he realized, was he.

And that was gorgeous. I never get tired of reading Southern Raiders pieces.


登録カテゴリ: zutara zuko katara atla avatar the last airbender

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Imagine this:
Instead of waiting in her tower, Rapunzel slices off her long, golden hair with a carving knife, and then uses it to climb down to freedom.
Just as she’s about to take the poison apple, Snow White sees the familiar wicked glow in the old lady’s eyes, and slashes the evil queen’s throat with a pair of sewing scissors.
Cinderella refuses everything but the glass slippers from her fairy godmother, crushes her stepmother’s windpipe under her heel, and the Prince falls madly in love with the mysterious girl who dons rags and blood-stained slippers.

Imagine this:
Persephone goes adventuring with weapons hidden under her dress.
Persephone climbs into the gaping chasm.
Or, Persephone uses her hands to carve a hole down to hell.
In none of these versions is Persephone’s body violated unless she asks Hades to hold her down with his horse-whips.
Not once does she hold out on eating the pomegranate, instead biting into it eagerly and relishing the juice running down her chin, staining it red.
In some of the stories, Hades never appears and Persephone rules the underworld with a crown of her own making.
In all of them, it is widely known that the name Persephone means Bringer of Destruction.

Imagine this:
Red Riding Hood marches from her grandmother’s house with a bloody wolf pelt.
Medusa rights the wrongs that have been done to her.
Eurydice breaks every muscle in her arms climbing out of the land of the dead.

Imagine this:
Girls are allowed to think dark thoughts, and be dark things.

Imagine this:
Instead of the dragon, it’s the princess with claws and fiery breath
who smashes her way from the confines of her castle
and swallows men whole.

'Reinventing Rescuing,' theappleppielifestyle. (via theappleppielifestyle)