Hey Guyz Lets Go Im Swagger And Cool And U R Too

hey guyz let’s go i’m swagger and cool and u r too🎊

THESE DESIGNS ARE EVERYTHING TO ME AND THE STYLE IS SO SILLY I eats it

That one funny game

REAL

JESTERS 🌈✨

i forgotten some of they but okay 😭

real bc i am not

RAHH I LOVE BRAVELANDS!! also THIS ART IS FIRE DUDE!!🔥🔥🎉 so glad to see others like this book as well, just finished reading it and let me tell you the hyperfixation is hyperfixating:>/pos also also, TOTALLY AGREE WITH YOU, MAN! this book is so underrated i want more fan content of it so bad AHHH/gen /lh

also also also need to read the second one now, that cliffhanger was wild😭

(forgot to post this here sorry) so hard being the only bravelands fan on earth 💔💔 seriously though it’s so heartbreaking to read a book with so much potential and have absolutely no fan content of it despite how much insane potential there is to make even angstier animatics than the existing wc ones. so many wc fans pass bravelands up because “it can’t be as good as warriors”. like yeah it isn’t. admittedly, it is better. the pacing is better, the characters have some level of depth, it doesn’t just follow one group and their incredibly repetitive “child has a vision of a prophecy and has to save the clans” storyline (I promise I’m a massive warriors fan but come on it’s flawed guys) and dude this book is sooooo much more intense. I haven’t listened to it on audible once without tensing every muscle in my body and tearing up. READ. IT. also sorry for not coloring the lineart I got lazy.

i cannot express the joy this post brings me, it’s so lovely!^^ just like me fr. the gender/otherkin envy from this is surreal

Awaken

Theres a rumble to the earth, a dull, soundless boom felt only by my body as I slowly come to.

Pebbles rattle as my eyes flare to life, vision clouded in a soft, sapphire glow.

My bones feel old and weary, weighted by the damp kiss of moss upon my temple, my jaw creaking with unuse while rot spills from my fangs.

My shoulders click into place as I press against the soft, muddy clay, fingers splayed out into bony talons before my own eyes, a sight that gives us pause.

Our hands are no longer clothed in stumpy flesh, no longer pale pink nubs but now stretch slender ivory sticks, centipedes skittering out from the cracks in the bone.

A gruff, snoring groan like the howl of an elk escapes the corpse we inhabit as we rise, blood and ichor spewing from our sinewy, crooked neck as we rise from the earth.

Dirt and debris spills from our back like the shaking of the earth, matted fur rustling with every shambling shake as we stretch to life under the dawn of the bleeding moon.

It’s cold where we are, where I am, who I am.

Our body is so cold, frigid puffs of air meeting the humid mildew of the crypt we stretch in, our bones clicking and popping into the place they last remember fitting, balls rolling dry in their sockets as the ichor and tendrils of the forest try to sew our pelt back together.

No organs reside any longer, fueled only by the moss and fungi that inhabit old drying flesh turned leather scraps and ebony fur, what remains of our hair feeling like rigid straw beneath our grasp and dyed green by the lichen that clings.

The only flesh that remains moistened is the tongue we expel from my throat like a pungent slug coated in oozing mucus as it gurgles up the staircase of bone and fur that is our neck.

The wet appendage moistens our bones, licks me clean of the cracked mud and rusting blood that clings to our revealed skull.

Another shake frees our tail from the creeping confines of thorny vines.

Our antlers too scrape off the forgotten velvet of ages past and we step our hooves out into the haunting night’s trail.

We are awake.

I am alive.