hannah-heartstrings

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Garrus falls for Lecrinn so fast 'cause she swoops in and saves Cheydinhal (and unbeknownst to her: Garrus) from Ulrich Leland, which I think makes her his knight in shining armor. And how could I not randomly post that?

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Cosmos garden at sunset.

Tokyo, Japan.

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I’m a simple human i see sunset and be instantly amazed every time

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instagram

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            The swathes of clouds, with their wispy frayed edges and sunset colors, look like feathers of fire.

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Ah! I didn't know what the blue aura meant, but that makes sense. The other thing I felt like I was missing was the specific reason for the carving over the sword, but that also makes sense. And now that I know Elo's a paladin with a vow of poverty, this line makes so much sense:

But what need had he of adornment when he shone, incandescent, with a pure blue nimbus?

It also has a side effect of giving off a gentle glow. Terrible for sneaking, but great for your feckless party members to use in convincing everyone you're a god or a prophet or something.

That's sounds hilarious and like there might be a story behind it? XD

I think his name being Eli was a good choice and love the "gods love a joke" line because that confirmed to me that Elo is the one she's grieving.

Also, "soul-bound?" Oh. 😭

Time, dust, and sword? With Elo or whoever it fits?

Sorry if this is no help. But good job on how far along your fic has come, and good luck with the rest! :D

It's now apparent I'm incapable of writing drabbles. Also I made myself sad with this.

CW: Grief (v. mild) Notes: From Aurianna's POV, Vanilla Fighting Fantasy setting, waaaaaaay in the future. Tagging: @aquadestinyswriting @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

The Sunbeam

Today a man brought me a sword.

I watched as he climbed the bare, rocky hillside to my cave jutting from the oceans of sand. I measured his determination as he pawed dust from his eyes and fought for his footing on the ever shifting surface. He laid the sword at the entrance to my cave and called out, Wisest of the wise, O Lady of the Gold, I bring you a gift in exchange for your counsel. I waited, to see what he would do, and examined him. His skin was ochre, his hair like black silk, his clothes plain with little personal adornment. But what need had he of adornment when he shone, incandescent, with a pure blue nimbus?

He set up camp, a canvas pinned against the rock wall to keep out the sharp sands skittering in the dry air. The sun set and he made himself the thinnest of fires and ate spare rations. In the morning, he checked to see if I had taken his gift, and when he saw I had not, he beseeched me again: O holiest one, O wyrm of grace, I beg you lend me your counsel! See here, in trade I have brought you the sword of a champion – long gone but not forgotten.

Yesterday, a man brought me a sword.

He thought it a fine gift, this champion's sword. Expensive, yes. Powerful – unimaginably so. A gift worthy of monarchs, of sultans, of wizards… yes, indeed. And to another great, golden wyrm, it may have been. But I know that sword. I know the scent of it, I recall its power; how it banished the darkness of an unholy night. How it banished the darkness from the hearts of mortals. I recall the scent of the one who wielded it. I recall her nimbus of blue. Her recklessness, her drive, her love.

He flitted about his camp, the man who would offer me a sword. He spent his evening around the fire whittling and when he rested, I cat's-pawed to the entrance of my cave. With one lengthy talon, I moved it such that it might catch the starlight from above. You know, cor cordium, they never did get that nick from the blade that pestered you so.

Ereyesterday, a man brought me a sword.

Truth be told, he could do with a little more patience. But then, so did we both, when we were new-made. He came to the entrance of my cave, nearly tripping over the threshold. O mighty one! he cried, as though bereft. Will you not heed my plight? My people are beset by foul, undead things. Our leaders are dead, or fled. Or worse. We know not what to do. Please, I beg you. Accept my gift and help me! He fell to his knees in supplication. But, Beloved, do you know – he shone brightest of all when he spoke of his people. "Who sent you?" asked I. He trembled at the sound of my voice, but spoke true: My Nain. The sword was hers. She would come herself, but for her knees. Please, O Lady, tell me how to break this curse of my people. "You do not wish me to do it for you?" A flicker of uncertainty passed over his countenance. Oh, cor cordium. Were we ever that dumb? You… You could do that? asked he. "What is it you craft, at night about the fire?" Hesitantly he pulled it from his pack, a little rodent with wide ears and long feet and fur picked out in detail. It's a sand rat. I saw many on my journey here.

Ah… It was foregone, really, from that point on.

"You wish to offer me a gift in trade for my help, is that correct?" I asked of him. He nodded, fearfully. "Then I would like your little sculpture." But… I thought dragons liked things of power, or wealth? I laughed. "Not all wealth is to be found in expense. Not all treasures are gold. Come, place it here, on this shelf for me." Shaking, he did as bade. I nudged it a little into place. "Take up your sword… What is your name?" Eli, my Lady. The gods do enjoy a little joke, don't they, cor cordium? "Well then… Eli. Take up your sword." He lifted it gingerly, then hurried to the side as I stepped out. I shook out my wings – Bahamut! But I am stiff. You would say I've turned into my Father. Grown ponderous with age. I fear you may be correct. "Climb on and hold tight," I told this Eli. "We shall see what can be done about the unclean things besieging your town."

I had thought my time amongst mortals was done. I had thought those days of derring-do behind me. That sword… it pricked my heart anew. It reminded me what was lost… and what may yet be found. Oh, you'll forgive me, won't you, cor cordium? He did blaze so very blue.

[hannah-heartstrings]

Time, dust, and sword? With Elo or whoever it fits?

Sorry if this is no help. But good job on how far along your fic has come, and good luck with the rest! :D

It's now apparent I'm incapable of writing drabbles. Also I made myself sad with this.

CW: Grief (v. mild) Notes: From Aurianna's POV, Vanilla Fighting Fantasy setting, waaaaaaay in the future. Tagging: @aquadestinyswriting @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

The Sunbeam

Today a man brought me a sword.

I watched as he climbed the bare, rocky hillside to my cave jutting from the oceans of sand. I measured his determination as he pawed dust from his eyes and fought for his footing on the ever shifting surface. He laid the sword at the entrance to my cave and called out, Wisest of the wise, O Lady of the Gold, I bring you a gift in exchange for your counsel. I waited, to see what he would do, and examined him. His skin was ochre, his hair like black silk, his clothes plain with little personal adornment. But what need had he of adornment when he shone, incandescent, with a pure blue nimbus?

He set up camp, a canvas pinned against the rock wall to keep out the sharp sands skittering in the dry air. The sun set and he made himself the thinnest of fires and ate spare rations. In the morning, he checked to see if I had taken his gift, and when he saw I had not, he beseeched me again: O holiest one, O wyrm of grace, I beg you lend me your counsel! See here, in trade I have brought you the sword of a champion – long gone but not forgotten.

Yesterday, a man brought me a sword.

He thought it a fine gift, this champion's sword. Expensive, yes. Powerful – unimaginably so. A gift worthy of monarchs, of sultans, of wizards… yes, indeed. And to another great, golden wyrm, it may have been. But I know that sword. I know the scent of it, I recall its power; how it banished the darkness of an unholy night. How it banished the darkness from the hearts of mortals. I recall the scent of the one who wielded it. I recall her nimbus of blue. Her recklessness, her drive, her love.

He flitted about his camp, the man who would offer me a sword. He spent his evening around the fire whittling and when he rested, I cat's-pawed to the entrance of my cave. With one lengthy talon, I moved it such that it might catch the starlight from above. You know, cor cordium, they never did get that nick from the blade that pestered you so.

Ereyesterday, a man brought me a sword.

Truth be told, he could do with a little more patience. But then, so did we both, when we were new-made. He came to the entrance of my cave, nearly tripping over the threshold. O mighty one! he cried, as though bereft. Will you not heed my plight? My people are beset by foul, undead things. Our leaders are dead, or fled. Or worse. We know not what to do. Please, I beg you. Accept my gift and help me! He fell to his knees in supplication. But, Beloved, do you know – he shone brightest of all when he spoke of his people. "Who sent you?" asked I. He trembled at the sound of my voice, but spoke true: My Nain. The sword was hers. She would come herself, but for her knees. Please, O Lady, tell me how to break this curse of my people. "You do not wish me to do it for you?" A flicker of uncertainty passed over his countenance. Oh, cor cordium. Were we ever that dumb? You… You could do that? asked he. "What is it you craft, at night about the fire?" Hesitantly he pulled it from his pack, a little rodent with wide ears and long feet and fur picked out in detail. It's a sand rat. I saw many on my journey here.

Ah… It was foregone, really, from that point on.

"You wish to offer me a gift in trade for my help, is that correct?" I asked of him. He nodded, fearfully. "Then I would like your little sculpture." But… I thought dragons liked things of power, or wealth? I laughed. "Not all wealth is to be found in expense. Not all treasures are gold. Come, place it here, on this shelf for me." Shaking, he did as bade. I nudged it a little into place. "Take up your sword… What is your name?" Eli, my Lady. The gods do enjoy a little joke, don't they, cor cordium? "Well then… Eli. Take up your sword." He lifted it gingerly, then hurried to the side as I stepped out. I shook out my wings – Bahamut! But I am stiff. You would say I've turned into my Father. Grown ponderous with age. I fear you may be correct. "Climb on and hold tight," I told this Eli. "We shall see what can be done about the unclean things besieging your town."

I had thought my time amongst mortals was done. I had thought those days of derring-do behind me. That sword… it pricked my heart anew. It reminded me what was lost… and what may yet be found. Oh, you'll forgive me, won't you, cor cordium? He did blaze so very blue.

[hannah-heartstrings]

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Just because you don't have a "thing" to show for all your hard work, does not mean you weren't working very hard. Plenty of things like clarity, knowledge, or balance, are not tangible, but very worthwhile

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Rolling hills of Mid Devon, United Kingdom by Simon Ward

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hng. last paragraph. and it's so important, y'all. this has to wrap up right -- pretty bows, corner tucks, and cherries on top.

IS2G getting a good last line is actually harder than getting a good first line...

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So ever since I saw that Bread Seller Miraak mod, he's become a baker in my heart.

Poor guy probably didn't get any good food in Apocrypha for ages. And the first time he got a nice piece of pie after all these time, he's became obsessed with baking goods. Then he dedicated his life to learn the art of baking, get himself a bread stand, moving forward to a Bakery down the Whiterun stables, and live happily ever after. Eating pie for the rest of his life.

He even made whipped cream by hand for you. That's how much he loves you <3

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A thiefguard snippet I wrote last year for the tescheer prompt: snow

I didn't post it then because I thought it needed editing and especially an intro to set the scene, but now I think it's fine. I mean it could use some editing but I don't think it needs it. The intro however I like better as is. XD

@druidx @babyblueetbaemonster @inkysqueed

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            Splat!

            Garrus was startled from his thoughts as a snowball burst against the side of his face. He shook his head, flecks of snow sticking to his hair. Turning to Lecrinn, she smiled oh so innocently. He smirked slightly. “I think you just committed assault.”

            “Then I’m resisting arrest,” she walked backwards with a wide smirk, daring him to come get her.

            Smile widening, he ran at her.

            She turned and ran, snow crunching under her boots. “Ah!” she screamed and laughed as he grabbed her waist from behind. Struggling to escape, she slipped and fell in a snowbank.

            He paused, worried. “Are you all right?”

            She rolled onto her back, still laughing a little.

            Worry relieved, he smiled again.

            “Help me up?” She held out a hand, as he took it she smirked.

            “Wait,” he tried to step back, “don’t-” Into the snowbank he went, landing on his side beside her. Looking annoyed, he grabbed a handful of snow and flicked it at her. “Scamp.”

            She turned her face away from it, giggling.

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you are allowed to be proud of the victories that no one else can see. like showering without completely hating your body, not breaking into tears at the thought of the future, talking yourself out of a dark mindset, calming yourself down in public, or like waking up every single day and choosing life. be proud of the progress no matter if it is visible for others or not. you’re doing great, keep up the good work!

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Haddon Hall, Derbyshire, UK

cr: peakdistrict_lady

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Reenactor throws a spear at a drone