#Clan Campbell

[historicminiaturesnorthernva]

“There is nothing heard now up and down the kingdom but alarms and rumores, randevouses of clans. Montross and MacKoll in every manes mouth, nay the very children frightened"

Clan MacDougall serving under Alasdair Mac Colla in 1644-45, supporting the royalist cause in Scotland.

[vox-anglosphere]

Kilchurn Castle, Argyll - reflected in the serene waters of Loch Awe

[labradoritedreams]

On March 21, 1871, Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll married John Campbell, 9th Duke of Argyll at St George’s Chapel, Windsor, England.

This painting by Sydney Hall shows Princess Louise on her wedding day. Queen Victoria described the marriage as 'the most popular act of my reign'.

The woman in the red dress on the right of the picture is Janey Callander of Craigforth and Ardkinglas, aka Lady Archibald Campbell, wife of Lord Archibald Campbell. Their son Niall became 10th Duke of Argyll.

[dijidweeeb]

A piece of my Scottish Heritage, Clan Campbell: My 7th Great Grandmother is Kathrine/Cathrine Campbell... her father Archibald Campbell 3rd Duke of Argyll, 1st Earl of Ilay is my 8th Great Grandfather, his father ... Gillespie Archibald Campbell 2nd Duke of Argyll who died in the battle of Flodden is my 9th Great grandfather ... my 10th Great Grandfather is Colin Campbell 1st Duke of Argyll ... It moves into a bunch of Earls of Argyll after that. Though my last name is not Campbell & has nor been for 6 generations, I'm still a Campbell.

[numiolaes]

also pulling this from my targaryen ocs lore but i firmly believe there are more targaryens than just the royal line. when they flee valyria it's said that aenar took his "wives, siblings, children and kin". kin when you're talking about what are effectively clans can cover a LOT of people since it includes cousins and then you add in the polygamy thing Welp. Literally look at the freys to see how big ONE house can be.

I firmly believe when the doom happened there were a couple hundred targaryens in westeros. which would have expanded in the 100 years between then and aegon and again between aegon and the dance. it's just likely that especially around the dance a LOT of the cadet branches take loses, then later you get the rebellions, add in how that targs are Kinda Fucking Cursed and boom, you're down to the smattering we see in the 5 kings era.

like, that's realistically how things like houses work. i get why grrm doesn't write about all that because that's a lot of fucking people to work into the fucking timeline but then you shouldn't have made the valyrians polygamous and imply that aenar took basically his whole house over to dragonstone.

[rainbowfoxes]

So a little IDW!TMNT theory I've cooked up

Recently, one of the creators for the comic — One Ms. Sophie Campbell — stated that as of issue #112, about 5 years have passed since the series started. You can see her post here.

Now I've gone back to read the issue to confirm, and it looks like at some point in the process, "5 years" got changed to "several" as you can see on this page.

Now, it seems like at some point, "five years" was changed to "several years" (and we can tell that this was a later change due to how clunky "we're only about several years old" is as phrase. We're going to take Ms. Campbell's word, though because a) I trust her memory and authority on the subject as both the author and artist for this issue and b) it makes things much more interesting.

Here's why:

In issue #69's (nice) Ninja Notes editorial column, editor Mr. Bobby Curnow (at least, I assume it is Mr. Curnow who responded to the letters to the editor at this time. Regardless, the point stands) states that the turtles "span roughly from fifteen to nineteen," as you can see here:

Now, issue #69 came out in May of 2017. Issue #1 came out in August of 2011. Following our 2:1 ratio, that means it had been three years since the start of the series. By extrapolation, that means the boys were twelve to sixteen as of issue #1.

But wait! There's more!

Issue #1 establishes that the turtles mutated 18 months prior to the start of the series, which puts them mentally at ten-and-a-half to fourteen-and-a-half.

And now we draw it all together:

In the IDW continuity, the Turtles and their father are the reincarnations of the Hamato family, all of whom were executed by Oroku Saki several hundred years ago. If the boys were about mentally about ten to fourteen when they mutated? That means they were about ten to fourteen when this —

— Happened.

Now, all this is done without taking into account some in-universe time skips. Comic book time is very Jeremy Bearimy like that. But I think it's close enough that I can confidently say not a one of those boys was over 16 when they were murdered, and I think the younger they are the more heartbreaking everything is. They spent almost their whole lives on the run, training to get vengeance, only to die before they could even be considered adults. And then Splinter goes and sets them on the same path when they get a second chance at life...

(but that's it's own post)

[All images are described. If there is any problem with the descriptions, please let me know!]

[rosella-writes]

Rooooooo it's Friday and could I please have some Loghain & Mahariel for "I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject" from the Florence prompts please!!

awww THANK YOU here you go 💚

Characters: Rhiannon Mahariel & Loghain Mac Tir Rating: G For @dadrunkwriting

~~~

My friend,

They’ve given me the most awful quill. I��d rather have the burnt coal sticks again but they insist on ink. Ink’s for tattooing, not for paper, but whatever. 

How are you? How’s Egg? I don’t miss his barking but I do miss you and how you’d talk to him. I hope Orlais isn’t too awful for two horrible Fereldan beasts. Although you have to admit, the outcome is a little funny. I realise this is unlike most missives you’ve ever gotten, but I don’t care. I need to look busy right now and this will do. And I wish to hear from you. I’m bored. 

Are you happy? Is it possible for you to be happy? I’m curious.

Zevran might steal this note before you get it, just to prove he still can. I apologise in advance.

Dareth shiral (remember what that means?),

Warden Commander Rhiannon Mahariel (Creators, what a title. I hate it.)

[The note has been pierced through with what seems like a cut from a knife tip. The seal is broken, and around it someone has written something vulgar in Antivan.]

Commander,

I’m surprised your note made it to me at all, considering the condition of its arrival by bird. The rain has nearly made it illegible. All I could make out were ‘how’s Egg’ and ‘are you happy,’ which, all things considered, are strange questions to ask me. But I shall do my best to answer. 

Egg refuses to be called by anything else, which gives these Orlesians a good laugh. He is strong and quick and gives his breed a good name. He puts to shame their wasp-waisted little whippet dogs. He misses you somewhat but otherwise grows fat on scraps from the table. 

As for your second question, it is a challenge to answer. I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject, and when I had it in my grasp I did not know what it was. I am unsure if I can currently call this happiness, but at the very least I am oddly content. It feels strange to write, here in this strange land, but to have purpose here in the field once more is Maker-sent. I refuse to say such a thing to the dispatcher from Weisshaupt, however. May they believe they have set me on a task worthy of my many sins, lest they worsen my lot. 

I thank you for your note. Writing my response has filled a dull evening. 

I do indeed remember what your saying means, and raise you an old goodbye of my own people. Clan Clayne may be no more, but my mother would often speak their old words to me in a smattering of bad grammar and loose meanings. 

In any case, mar sin leibh an-dràsta, my friend.

Loghain Mac Tir

~~~

Dareth shiral: farewell, lit. "safe journey" Mar sin leibh an-dràsta: (Scots Gaelic) "goodbye for now"

[the-only-unicorn-cheese]

I Miss Him

this is a verrrry short scene i threw together in Notepad + MS Paint, only 375 words. i’ve decided to go a Direction™ with SunClan’s lore, so i may write more scenes like this one. i’ve come up with a lot of lore for these cats, & i hope you guys like them!

ficbit below the cut:

Whitetrail sat alone, watching the Flatrocks with a weariness in his eyes. It took him several moments to register the distant rustle of ferns as cat's steps were heard from behind. He did not turn to face her; the evening breeze carried Dawnstripe's scent to him easily. Wordlessly, she leapt up to the rock and sat beside him, tail curling over her paws neatly. For a while they sat in silence, listening to the shushing of the trees of late greenleaf.

"Greenleaf has been kind to us," she commented finally. "The Clan will be plenty ready, come leafbare."

"... Yes."

There's a pause, a long beat of quiet that weighed heavy in the air.

"I know you came out here to check on me..." Whitetrail mewed dryly.

The warrior shifted her paws slightly. "You've been working very hard since... the incident at the Twolegplace. Maybe a bit too hard." She turned to face him, her amber eyes warm in the dying sunlight.

The pale-grey tom grew rigid where he sat. He wasn't a kit; he didn't need her to dance around the topic like this. "Of course I've been working hard," he began to growl, "I'm Clan deputy; it's my job...!" But as he caught the look in her eyes, his anger softened, his tiredness returning to its perch on his shoulders.

Dawnstripe touched her tail to his shoulder. "I'm sure StarClan is watching over him, wherever he is," she whispered.

"But how will he ever find his way home? We barely made it out of there ourselves! He's all alone!" Aching sadness pulled at his meow, tearing down the walls he put up to shield his Clanmates from his sorrow, to show strength in such uncertainty. But now, in the presence of one of his senior warriors, he could stand to hold them no longer.

"But he is not alone," she mewed, and her voice was steady and kind — though he could smell her fear-scent. "StarClan is with him. StarClan will bring him home."

Longing like claws ripped through Whitetrail. I miss him, he thought, I miss him now. I miss my brother. And as he gazed up to the first stars of Silverpelt, he sent his heart to StarClan. Please... please bring Ghoststar home.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

sometimes the SPN HC Lore that my Research(tm) digs up is fascinating and canon-altering. Sometimes its fluffy and sweet (Cas loves crocodiles. I'm never going to be able to un-know that). Other times.... its just kind of random

Sam & Dean are related to/share an ancestor with This Campbell, Specifically

the reason that this matters at ALL is due to the truly unhinged amount of Campbells that specifically went into folklore/myth studies irl. For that reason, I get the feeling that MOST Campbells in the spn universe are in some way connected to this, butttt J.G. here is the closest match to a direct relative imho, for a couple reasons.

[vox-anglosphere]

The beauty of Glencoe in winter belies the tragic events of 1692

[moonchild9350]

Fate Within the Depths of the Sea

Summary: Minho is saved by you, a siren, while out at sea. It seems like your fate is intertwined as you both fall in love. However, fate never seemed to work out for a pair of star crossed lovers.

Pairing: Minho x Siren gn reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI, fantasy au

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: nudity, brief mention of blood, shapeshifting, violence, coercion, stalking, public sex, unprotected sex (don’t), mention of breeding, creampie, heartbreak, mentions of death

Notes: Week 2 of Spooktober continues, this time with a whirlwind of an emotional ride.

If you enjoyed, please like, reblog, comment as it makes my day ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission ©moonchild9350 (2024)

"What once was had, forever lost; thy fate is destined, thy love star-crossed." -Nenia Campbell

It was a warm, sunny day, the sun beating down on you as you perched upon your favorite rock, watching the sea. There was stillness in the waters, as ships had not passed through for quite some time. It was peaceful, with only the occasional caw of the birds in the sky, leaving you to your thoughts.

You flipped your fins, the hues of blue and purple mixing with the clear water below, causing water to splash up and onto the rock and your body keeping you cool. You had nothing to do at the moment, as there were no humans in site.

Honestly, you were bored, needing the thrill and excitement of messing with humans, their awe and cooing turned to screaming and then silence, simply music to your ears.

You let out a long sigh, flipping your hair back, your chest on display. Oh how you wished a ship would pass through, so you could have some fun.

Turns out you didn’t have to wait long, as a large ship made its way through the waters, the waves picking up at the disturbance. You grew excited as the ship sailed closer. You could see tiny specks walking to and from on the deck, the crew members busy with their chores.

You jumped into the water and quickly swam over to the ship. You saw some of your clan making their way over to the ship as well, excited for the new prey.

Once at the ship, you all swam up to the surface, your heads breaking through the tension with ease. With a deep breath, you and the others began to sing an ethereal song, the notes like soft petals floating through the air as it traveled to the unsuspecting crew members.

It didn’t take long until you all were noticed, the men hurrying to lean over the railing to seek the source of the sound. Knowing that you had them, you projected your voice louder, the song thick like honey, landing on their ears.

One man in particular noticed you. His eyes glued to your form, as it floated in the deep blue sea below. He thought your face most beautiful, the water droplets slowly dripping down your face, the sun catching them causing a rainbow effect.

He thought your voice the most surreal of all, your song luring him in, making him feel as if he wanted to join you, to be near you. He wouldn’t mind to do so, feeling like he’d be the luckiest man alive.

You looked up as you sang, catching the eyes of the man above you. You faltered slightly, the note you were singing breaking off momentarily, as you looked at the beautiful sailor. You felt in a daze, not noticing that your clan had started to attack the ship, trying to get to the men on board.

You watched as sailor after sailor fell into the water, their awes turning into screams as they succumbed to their fates. You watched as the man fell into the sea, his head bobbing above water frantically as he tried to find purchase on a nearby floating piece of wood.

You panicked at his struggle and not knowing what came over you, you quickly swam over to him, grabbed him by the arm, and tried to pull him to safety.

He struggled against your hold, wanting to get away. You listened as he pled for his life, his voice laced with fear. Your heart hurt at his pleas, as you did not want to hurt the man.

After swimming aways, you finally arrived at the patch of land you were aiming for, as you had sunbathed there many times. You watched as the man’s feet touched land and scrambled away from you.

He truly was beautiful, with shaggy hair framing his face. He had dark brown eyes that were widened in terror as they looked at you or…where he thought you were.

After making sure he was safe, you quickly swam away, hiding behind a rock that was little ways off the shore. From this distance, you were free to gaze upon the man. He seemed confused, lost, as he searched for you, his rescuer. You’ve never given a second thought to your prey, content on watching their misery as the succumbed to the depths. So why did you save this man today?

You’re not sure how long you hid behind that rock, watching the man’s every move, watching as he paced back and forth, back and forth across the sand. He was probably hoping to be rescued, hoping that there was a survivor to take him to shore.

Nightfall was close, the sun casting a golden glow across the horizon, the moon making its appearance in the sky. A small boat made its way across the sea, spotting the man on the island. The man had eventually made a fire, the smoke floating high up into the sky to act as a signal. You watched as he got up and made his way to his rescuers, scrambling to board the ship.

Once aboard, the ship slowly sailed away toward the mainland, taking the mysterious man with it. You decided to follow it, to see where this man lives. It didn’t take very long to get there, as the mainland was not far off. As you watched the men exit the ship one by one, you made a decision here and there to follow the man.

You very rarely visited the mainland, preferring the sea and your natural form over the human form. However, you thought this an appropriate time to transform. You made your way out of the water, your legs slowly taking shape as you made your way further up the bank. You found a piece of cloth on the side of the bank, most likely from a ruined sail, and made a makeshift outfit so you’d look decent to walk among humankind.

While you were disguising yourself, you briefly lost sight of the man, but found him instantly as someone was chastising him. You listened closely, as the other person yelled at the man, telling him he was late and where was the rest of the crew. He kept calling the mysterious man ‘Minho’ and you figured that must be his name.

You tried saying his name, shivers running down your spine as the syllables rolled off your tongue. You said it again and again, a smile gracing your face as you fell in love with the man’s name.

You heard the man called Minho curse and watched as he stormed away, making his way further in land. You decided to follow him, curious as to what he gets up to once the sun goes down. You glided after him, your footsteps soundless as you moved with grace.

Minho moved down the crowded streets, before sneaking down an empty alleyway. He walked until he came to a run down building. Sliding a key into the lock, he let himself in the house before sliding the lock in place. He was home, safely at that.

He sat down in a chair near the fireplace and unlaced his shoes, tossing them aside. He’d need to clean the muck from the sea off of them later. As he sat, he closed his eyes reminiscing on the day. He almost met his fate, as death was looming over his head. It had taken his comrades, but somehow he escaped its clutches.

Minho remembered you, your soft, wavy hair cascading down your back. Your beautiful green eyes on an even more beautiful face. He remembers your body and ultimately your tail, the colors of your fins radiating in the midday sun. Why’d you save him? Why’d you not take him just like the others took his comrades? These were all questions that he wished he knew the answer to.

To make matters worse, no one believes him and his tale. Seungmin definitely didn’t, the man getting angry with him and chewing his head off as to why he was late for his afternoon duties. It sounds almost like a fairytale, he won’t lie. He wonders if he’ll ever see you again? Does he even want to see you again?

These were all questions that ran through his mind as he drifted off.

You peeked through the window, watching as Minho sat down and removed his shoes. He looked relieved to finally be home. His home wasn’t much and honestly looked like it could use some repair. You watched as he drifted off to sleep, his head slightly slumping over, his beautiful, long hair falling in his face, obscuring his eyes.

You were curious, wanting to know more about this man that you decided to save on a whim, and once you decided on something you stuck to it. Seeing that he will most likely be asleep the rest of the night, you made your way down alleys and back to the main street, back to your home, the sea.

You shed your makeshift dress and hid it among the rocks, not wanting it to get ruined. After, you walked into the sea, the waves wrapping around your feet lovingly, welcoming you home. You shifted back into your siren form before swimming away, leaving the mainland behind.

You planned to visit Minho once more. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Everyday since your chance encounter, you would visit the mainland taking your human form, and visit Minho. You’d watch his day to day activities, watch how he’d move lumber to and from, and load boxes onto the ships. You could tell he was strong, watching his muscles bulge as he worked long hours.

You loved watching him within his home, as he busied himself making dinner, as he lounged on the couch reading a book, as he slumbered peacefully, none the wiser to your presence.

You were falling in love with this human, the feelings causing your heart to ache in longing for their touch, their voice, for them. It wasn’t unheard of for a siren to fall in love with a human, one of your clan members having done so not too long ago. Their love didn’t work out, but you knew this would be different. You would have Minho as your lover.

One night as you gazed at Minho sleeping peacefully, you decided then and there to take things to the next step in making him yours.

The opportunity presented itself sooner rather than later, as he came to the sea shore one day. Minho gazed out to sea, his eyes glossing over as he watched the waves ripple and crash onto the beach, the sound soothing to his ears.

Minho often thought of you during his visits to the sea. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wishes he could see you again, he’d do anything to see you.

As he stood there, he noticed movement in his periphery, causing him to look to see who it was. What he saw took his breath away. A beautiful person was walking, no gliding his way, a serene smile on their face. His heart skipped a beat once, twice, as he stared at you. You seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he’s seen you before.

Today was the day you would make Minho yours, you could not fail. Once you were standing right in front of him, you smiled, as you reached out to brush the back of your hand down his cheek.

Minho held your gaze, never faltering as he leaned into your touch. You began to sing a gentle song, one you’d heard your mother sing to your father many times. Your smile widened as you saw Minho shuffle closer to you, his hand reaching up to grasp yours in his.

“Minho,” you breathed, your voice laced with love, “you will be mine.”

Minho nodded his head, surrendering himself to you. “I’m yours,” he breathed in reply.

You leaned forward, bringing your face to his, before pressing your lips to his gently. Minho relaxed further into your hold, chasing your lips as you withdrew. You smiled as you let go of his face and brought your hands to your makeshift dress, unfastening the knot you’d made to keep the dress upright.

Minho watched with bated breath as your dress dropped to the sand, your body on display for him. You seemed to glow, the outline of your body having a luminescent glow to it. His eyes roamed from your face to the swell of your breasts, to your legs. He could feel his cock start to swell, the appendage filling out within his trousers.

You reached your arms out to Minho, watching as he closed the space between you in a few steps. You were met with a kiss, his lips molding with yours, the kiss becoming more heated as Minho gently laid you down.

You watched as Minho shucked his shirt off, tossing it into the sand. In his haste to feel you, he lowered his trousers enough to free his hardened cock. You spread your legs wider so he could more easily slot himself between them.

“Can I?” Minho moaned, stroking his cock through your folds, causing your pussy to quiver.

“Of course my love,” you said, pulling the man to your chest as he pushed his cock within you, your walls welcoming his cock, wrapping snuggly around him.

Minho let out a groan as he began to thrust into you, burying his face in your neck. You cradled his head, a grin on your face. He was yours finally you thought as you moaned out in pleasure. His cock was hitting your sweet spot just right, causing you to clench around him.

You threw your head back to look at the man above you, watching the sweat drip down his face, his beautiful brown orbs dilated as he gazed down at you, love and lust present in his eyes. You grasped his arms, your nails digging into the flesh drawing blood as he brought you to your high, the hair donning his pelvis providing the extra stimulation you needed against your clit.

Minho was lost, his head a fuzzy mess as he became drunk on you. His mouth gaped open as he watched your breasts bounce with each thrust into your warm walls, your nipples peaked in the cool afternoon air. He fell more in love with you as you sighed out his name, his cock swelling even more at the sound of your voice.

He was close and all he could think of was to breed you full, make you his forever.

“Mm close,” he moaned out as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving at a leisurely pace.

You let out a soft groan at his words. “Let go Minho,” you said, wrapping your legs around him to pull him even closer to you.

“Make me yours as I have made you mine,” you said, feeling the coil in your belly build as you stared into Minho’s eyes.

He never took his eyes from yours as he let out a deafening wail as he came, his cum flooding your walls. The feeling of being full triggered your high as you released around him, your walls spasming around his cock, milking him dry.

Minho collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck once more, as he breathed heavy. You laced your fingers within his hair, dragging them nimbly through the strands. You both laid there for what seemed like eternity as you both came down from your highs, cradled in each other’s embrace.

Finally, Minho sat up, withdrawing his softened cock from you, his release seeping out of your pussy and onto the sand below.

“Come back to my home with me,” Minho said as he fixed his trousers and put his shirt back on.

He reached for your dress and handed it to you, watching as you put it back on.

You smiled, “of course I’ll come back with you,” you said, your heart swelling at the invitation.

Minho stood up and helped you up, ever the gentleman. He took your hand and guided you through the streets, walking the well known path to his home. You feigned ignorance as he showed you where different shops were, explaining which were his favorites. He could never know you have watched him for almost a fortnight go to the said shops and go about his daily life.

You came to a halt in front of his building, Minho stopping to place a key into the lock of the door. He pushed the door open and beckoned you inside, stepping in behind you. Your eyes wandered around his abode, taking in the sights that you have grown accustomed to.

Minho guided you to his bed, pulling you beneath the blanket and into his arms. You laid there in silence, listening to the sound of Minho’s heartbeat, a sound so foreign to you as your heart did not beat within. The constant thump thump, thump thump caused a weird feeling to grow within you.

Listening to his heart reminded you that he was a human, and you a creature of the deep, posing as a human.

“Minho,” you breathed, adjusting yourself so you could see him better.

Minho looked down at you, curiosity in his eyes. You loved this man, loved him with all your being, the short while you’ve known him feeling like an eternity. However, you understood now what your clan members meant, that humans and sirens just couldn’t be. You were about to break his heart, breaking the artificial love between you two.

He could tell something was wrong, as your face seemed pained, a frown etched across your forehead. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, pulling you closer. He desperately needed you, just like he needed air to breathe. He’s not sure why he didn’t realize this sooner, wishing he could have met you sooner.

A part of him knows what you’re about to say, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear the words you will utter that will ultimately break his heart. He just couldn’t take it. He thinks that you both can make this work. He can visit you everyday, and have long chats with you by the sea. Every now and then you can venture on land, stay with him, and let him spoil you.

No, Minho doesn’t want to hear it, not at this moment. He hopes to distract you, as he pulls you ever closer and buries his cock within your walls once more, listening as you yelp in surprise. He buries his face within your hair, the strands tickling his nose as he ruts against you, his cock dragging to and fro within your walls.

He cups your breasts within his hands, toying with your nipples, listening to your sweet moans, the melody causing his heart and his cock to swell. He tries not to listen as you mumble out ‘we can never be, we can never be,’ chanting the phrase like a prayer.

You feel something wet fall down the back of your neck and dribble down your shoulders, your breasts. Realizing that Minho is crying, you squeeze his hand tighter, holding him closer to you as he thrusts into you over and over. You uttered the words that would break him, just as you thought.

No tears graced your face however; after all, you are a siren, a cold hearted creature. You could hear Minho pleading behind you, “please, please, please.” His words went through one ear and out the other. You should have let him be, let him succumb to his fate just like the rest of his crew members.

Minho was close, despite the melancholy within, his orgasm steadily approaching as he buried himself deeper within your walls, giving himself body and soul fully to you. He wanted, no needed you to cum with him, granting him this one wish. Reaching his hand around your body, he found your clit, circling his finger over the nub in gentle circles. He heard your breath catch, his mouth curling up into a smile despite the turmoil he was experiencing within.

With a few more thrusts, he stilled as he came, squeezing you to him as you fell apart beside him. He couldn’t see your face, couldn’t memorize the look of pleasure one last time. He felt more tears grace the corners of his eyes as you disentangled from his arms and got up from bed, leaving him a fraction of the man he used to be.

You couldn’t look at the man below you as you dressed, fastening your makeshift dress to your body one last time. You hardened your facial expression, disdain in your heart for the weakness of the man you thought you loved. You ignored the pleas from Minho, slowly walking to the door.

“Please my love, please, don’t leave!” Minho cried out, his body shaking from the sobs wrecking his frame.

He watched you open the door and walk out, shutting the door behind you. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, squeezing, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. The feeling spread throughout his body, causing him to curl up in a ball. He felt as if he was broken, the effects of your siren charm gone. He didn’t know how or when he’d be able to get up, the pain too much for him to handle. All he understood in that moment was you took his heart through the door as you left for good.

You made your way back to the sea, feeling cleansed after your realization. Yes, a part of you still longed for Minho, the feeling trying to claw its way into your non-beating heart. However, you pushed it down, buried it in the depths of your soul and continued your walk back to your home, back to where you belonged.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months since you have last seen Minho. You were once more perched on your favorite rock, the sun beating down and warming your skin. You fell back into your routine, playing your role of capturing sailors unawares with a new fervor.

You felt at ease, the thoughts and feelings you had for that man successfully buried deep within. You didn’t care at all for the man, not even wanting to think of his name. Despite this feeling, you once more found yourself swimming out to sea and making your way to the main land.

You arrived at the rock you used to hide at and watch him as he labored by the docks. Nightfall was nearing, and the other men were clearing out, making their way home to their families. As time went on, all but one man remained.

You watched as Minho finished up his duties, a quickness to his step. You figured he was ready to go home, more than tired after laboring in the heat all day. Without knowing what came over you, you swam out to the dock, and stopped, your head bobbing above water to gaze at him.

Minho looked up, feeling the intensity of someone looking at him. He dropped the nets he was holding at the sight of you, the siren that once saved him and broke his heart all within the span of weeks.

He felt the healing seams of his heart rip, the pain searing through him once more as it did months ago. Despite this, he felt something else bubble up, a warmth that tickled his soul like a flame to a candle. The thoughts of your love for him occupied his mind, but also the pain of you walking out plagued him as well.

You watched Minho. You knew he was internally battling with himself, the reminders of what was and could have been tormenting his mind. You should have just swam away, leaving the man alone for good on the dock, so he could get home just like any other night.

However, you decided you couldn’t let your prey go, not this time. Therefore, you stayed in place, treading water as you watched Minho.

‘Fuck it,’ Minho thought. He could be with you. He wants to be with you. Before he knew it, he was making his way to the sea, putting one step in front of the other. His eyes never left your form, not wanting to blink and then open his eyes and find you gone.

You watched as Minho got closer to you, as he waded out to sea, the water getting higher and higher around him until he had to swim.

Minho began swimming, pumping his arms and kicking his legs, propelling himself further out to you. He could feel the burn as he swam further and further away from the shore. He didn’t care however, as long as he was closer to you.

You opened your arms, awaiting Minho, as he was closer than ever, hope written on his face. As he reached your arms, you wrapped them around him, bringing your forehead to his. You felt Minho’s breath against your neck as he breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“We can make this work,” he breathed, his eyes pleading you to understand. “Please don’t leave me again.”

You nodded your head, as you played along, the ruse only a trick to capture your prey. You held him tighter in your embrace, feeling him shake within your hold.

“We can be together forever Minho,” you whispered.

Minho looked at you with tears in his eyes, elated that you were not going to give up on him.

Fate has a cruel way of making its face shown, sometimes ending in a not so happy ending. You felt it was your fate to love this man but also be his downfall. Holding onto Minho ever tighter, you placed one last kiss on his lips and began to swim down into the depths of the sea.

Minho’s face widened as he realized what was happening, his body beginning to twist and turn as you swam deeper into the sea with him tow. He didn’t want it to end this way. You had tricked him and he was too late to realize it. He thought you both were destined to be together but maybe he was wrong after all. Alas, it was too late, as his struggle was moot.

Fate brought you both together, but fate also took away everything. How cruel can fate be.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @seungfl0wer @velvetmoonlght

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Throughout the many iterations of TMNT the four Turtles of the Hamato Clan have always been iconic but Leo, Donnie, Raph & Mikey aren’t the only Turtles of the family & there have been other mutant Turtles throughout the different iterations of TMNT

Another mutant Turtle is one that has been seen a few times in different TMNT iterations either following a ‘separated at mutation’ plot line or have the mutation happen later in the story

Venus

One of the other mutant Turtles that is quite well known within the TMNT fandom would be Venus De Milo who was the 5th Turtle in the Next Mutation show.

Her background was that she was a 5th Turtle that was mutated with Leo, Donnie, Raph & Mikey but got swept away in the sewers until she ended up in China Town where she was found by a Shinobi master & taken to be raised in Shanghai, she would later make her way back to New York & join the Turtle’s team.

Venus also makes an appearance as a character in the IDW comics as a former Punk Frog who was made into a Turtle by Dr Barlow using Donnie’s old shell.

Leo: What are you doing!? That was Venus De Magic the Queen of Quick Change!

There’s a slight possible reference to Venus in Rise with one of Leo’s favourite magicians being called Venus De Magic with Leo cradling the bust of one of his favourite magicians feeling a bit similar to Venus holding the statue head that gave her, her nickname & many people believe that there were plans to include Venus in Rise due to the plot of season 3 being the Turtles finding out they had two missing siblings but due to Rise not getting the season 3 it had expected we never got to find out if Venus really was one of the missing siblings in Rise.

Kirby

Closely related to Venus is the mutant Turtle Kirby a 5th Turtle that had been planned to be introduced in the 1990′s film series before the fourth movie was cancelled, named after the comic book artist Jack Kirby, Kirby was meant to be a Turtle from another dimension that would join the Turtles. There was talk of Kirby being the 5th Turtle in the Next Mutation but Saban Entertainment refused to do the series unless the 5th Turtle was a girl leading to Venus being created.

A version of Kirby was designed for the IDW comics where he was meant to be shown as part of the Splinter Clan in Future Lita’s future however though a design was created for Kirby he was not included in the actual comic.

Funnily enough Kirby the Turtle is not the only TMNT character to be named after Jack Kirby as April’s father in the 2012 series also shares the name Kirby

Jennika

Jennika is the 5th Mutant Turtle on the team in the IDW comics, she is a former Foot Clan Ninja who Splinter took under his wing & was mutated into a Turtle when Leo gave her a blood transfusion to save her life.

Before her mutation Jennika had been a friend of the Turtles & the idea of Jennika becoming a mutant Turtle had been tossed around for three years before it was finally finalised.

Jennika’s mutant form was originally designed by Sophie Campbell & coincidentally bares some resemblance to a fan character that Sophie Campbell designed named Artemisia (most likely named after the Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi), the similarities between Jennika & Artemisia’s designs are said to be a coincidence as it was requested that Jennika’s bandana colour be yellow to match her hair from when she was human.

Sophie Campbell actually did get to include a canon version of Artemisia in the IDW comics by giving her a cameo in Future Lita’s future as a member of the Splinter Clan in the future.

Slash

Slash is arguably the 5th Turtle that has appeared in the most iterations of TMNT appearing in both the 1987 & 2012 series as well as appearing in both the Archie & IDW comics

In the 1987 series Slash was Bebop’s pet turtle who was mutated by Rocksteady & would later become the Turtle’s enemy, in the 2012 series Slash was Raph’s pet turtle who was mutated accidentally & would act as an enemy to the Turtles before becoming their ally & becoming the leader of the Mutanimals.

In the Archie comics Slash is an alien who was banished from his planet in the IDW comics Slash was mutated by StockGen who ended up following Hob & becoming an ally to the Turtles

Slash has even made a cameo in Rise appearing in the episode Bad Hair Day with a character meant to look like Mona Lisa.

Lita

Lita is a little girl who was mutated into a Turtle & taken in by Jennika & the other Turtles, she was named after Lita Ford (Jennika’s favourite singer), & she seems to view Jennika & the other Turtles as family as the Future version of Lita referred to Jennika as ‘mom’ & has called Raph, Donnie & Leo ‘Dad’.

It’s been shown that at some point in the future Lita becomes the apprentice & assistant to a grown up version of Renet

It appears that the future version of Lita is arguably especially close with Leo due to him being her Sensei

Uno, Yi, Moja & Odyn

Uno, Yi, Moja & Odyn are Turtles raised by Casey Marie Jones as the second generation of Ninja Turtles in the Last Ronin universe. The Turtles each seem to take after one of the original four Turtle’s with Uno taking after Leo, Yi taking after Donnie, Moja taking after Raph & Odyn taking after Mikey.

Each of the Turtles are named after the number one in different languages.

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay.

Sorley (Somhairle MacGill-Eain)was brought up within a family and community immersed in Gaelic language and culture, particularly song. Sorley studied English at Edinburgh University from 1929, taking a first class honours degree and there encountering and finding an affinity with the work of Hugh MacDiarmid, Ezra Pound, and other Modernist poets. Despite this influence, he eventually adopted Gaelic as the medium most appropriate for his poetry. However, it should be noted that MacLean translated much of his own work into English, opening it up to a wider public than the speakers of the Gaelic language.

During the Spanish Civil War, MacLean was torn between family commitments and his desire to fight on behalf of the International Brigades, illustrating his left-wing - even Marxist - political stance. He eventually resigned himself to remaining on Skye. He fought in North Africa during World War Two, before taking up a career in teaching, holding posts on Mull, in Edinburgh and finally as Head Teacher at Plockton High School.

It is often said that what Hugh MacDiarmid did for the Scots language, Sorley MacLean did for Gaelic, sparking a Gaelic renaissance in Scottish literature in line with the earlier ‘Scottish Renaissance’, as evinced in the work of George Campbell Hay, Derick Thomson and Iain Crichton Smith. He was instrumental in preserving and promoting the teaching of Gaelic in Scottish schools. Through the diverse subject matter of his poetry, he demonstrates the capacity of the Gaelic language to express themes from the personal to the political and philosophical.

MacLean’s work was virtually unknown outside Gaelic-speaking circles until the 1970s, when Gordon Wright published Four Points of a Saltire - poems from George Campbell Hay, Stuart MacGregor, William Neill and Sorley MacLean. He also then appeared at the Cambridge Poetry Festival, establishing his fame in England, as well as Scotland and Ireland, where he had become something of a cult figure thanks to a fan base including fellow poet Seamus Heaney. A bilingual Selected Poems of 1977 secured a broader readership and a new generation began to appreciate his work.

Latterly, he wrote and published little, showing his concern with quality and authenticity over quantity. Never a full-time writer, he was also a scholar of the Highlands with a vast knowledge of genealogy, and an avid follower of shinty. Amongst other awards and honours, he received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1990. He passed on in 1996 at the age of 85, and was survived by his wife and two daughters.

I have posted many times about Sorley, and probably overused Martyn Bennet’s Hallaig, but if you haven’t heard it, please go to Youtube and search for it, you won’t regret it.

The Two MacDonalds Sorley MacLean

You big strong warrior, you hero among heroes, you shut the gate of Hougomont. You shut the gate and behind it your brother did the spoiling. He cleared tenants in Glengarry – the few of them left – and he cleared tenants about Kinloch Nevis, and he cleared tenants in Knoydart. He was no better than the laird of Dunvegan. He spoiled Clan Donald.

What did you do then, you big strong hero? I bet you shut no gate in the face of your bitch of a brother.

There was in your time another hero of Clan Donald, the hero of Wagram, Leipsig, Hanau. I have not heard that he cleared one family by the Meuse or by any other river, that he did any spoiling of French or of MacDonalds.

What a pity that he did not come over with Bonaparte! He would not clear tenants for the sake of the gilded sheep, nor would he put a disease in the great valour of Clan Donald. What a pity that he was not Duke of the Land of the Barley And Prince of Caledonia!

What a pity that he did not come over with Bonaparte twenty years before he did, not to listen to flannel from the creeper Walter nor to gather dust from the old ruin but to put the new vigour in the remnant of his kinsmen!

What a pity that he did not come to succour his kinsmen!

Dá Dhómhnallach Somhairle MacGill-Eain

‘Na do ghaisgeach mór láidir; ‘Nad churaidh miosg nan curaidhean, Dhùin thu geata Hougomont. Dhùin thu ‘n geata ‘s air a chùlaibh Rinn do bhráthair an spùilleadh. Thog e tuath an Gleann Garadh – Am beagan a bh’air fhágail dhiubh – Is thog e tuath mu Cheann Loch Nibheis Is thog e tuath an Cnóideart. Cha b’fhearr e na Fear Dhùn-Bheagain: Rinn e milleadh air Cloinn Domhnaill.

De rinn thusa ‘n uair sin, A churaidh mhóir láidir? Fiach na dhùin thu aon gheata An aodann do ghalla bráthair?

Bha ann ri d’linn-sa fear eile, Curaidh eile de Chloinn Dhómhnaill, Curaidh Bhágram, Leipsich, Hanau. Cha chuala mi gun do thog esan Aon teaghlach mun Mheuse No mu abhainn eile. Cha d’rinn esan milleadh Air Frangaich no air Dómhnallaich.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Le Bonaparte a nall. Cha thogadh esan tuath Air sgáth nan caorach óraidh, ‘S cha mhó chuireadh esan gaiseadh Ann an gaisge mhóir Chloinn Dómhnaill. Nach bochd nach rodh esan ‘Na dhiuc air tir an Eórna Is ‘na phrionns air Albainn.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Le Bonaparte a nall Fichead bliadhna mun táinig, Cha b’ann a dh’èisteachd sodail O’n t-sliomaire sin Bhátar No a chruinneachadh na h-ùrach As an t-seann láraich, Ach a chur an spionnaidh ùrair Ann am fuidheall a cháirdean.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Gu cobhair air a cháirdean.

[andromedasummer]

oh fuck OFF my grandads side of the family are fucking campbells

i just found out im from. 2 fucking Scottish clans. not one (my nana aka my mums mum was the one i knew) and SOMEHOW my grandad (dads dad) only thought to let us know NOW

[thefandomwritersblog]

Ghost of the Ten Horizon: Forbidden West Hekarro x Fem!OldOne OC Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort Chapter 25

Part 3: Ghost of the Ten

“To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.” ~Thomas Campbell, "Hallowed Ground"

~~

There was a palpable sense of relief when the rain finally stopped almost two weeks later.

The aftermath of the flooding, while not catastrophic, had left its mark. For days on end, a relentless effort was poured into draining the waterlogged lower levels and salvaging what remained of the collapsed walls. Petra took command of these tasks with a practiced ease, biding her time until the arena dried out.

Not long after everything dried, she rallied the Oseram to work. They brought with them a forest of cranes and lifts, wood and metallic structures stark against the skyline. From sunrise till sunset, the noise of their labor echoed through the Grove - a cacophony of hammering echoes that marked their progress. Petra's team worked meticulously on the battered arena walls, each stone examined for integrity before being placed back into position. New stones were hewn from the nearby quarry– rough-hewn chunks transformed under skilled hands into blocks that fit seamlessly into gaps left by those beyond repair. Steel supports were added too; a modern touch to ancient architecture that delivered on Petra’s promise to guard against future calamities.

Hekarro often watched from a distance, his gaze following every movement with quiet admiration. He marveled at how each day brought visible changes – new sections of wall rising from rubble-strewn ground, steel girders gleaming where there was only debris before. Yet despite this whirlwind of activity and palpable progress, it was clear that full restoration would be a long journey still. The arena bore scars deep enough to require time and patience for healing, but as Hekarro observed Petra and her team working tirelessly day after day under the scorching sun or oppressive humidity, he felt reassured.

An odd tranquility draped itself over Hekarro's clan and the Grove as the Tenakth fell back into their everyday routine. The constant cacophony of disputes and tribulations that usually consumed his focus were now replaced with a stillness that felt almost ghostly. It left him on edge, like a bowstring pulled to its breaking point, waiting for some unknown disaster to strike. Yet, at the same time, he found a certain solace in this newfound tranquility. Lately, Victoria occupied most of his thoughts, changed in some way after that night on the rooftop. He couldn't help but steal glances at her in the corners of the Grove, where she no longer carried the weight of her grief on her shoulders, but it still lingered behind her stormy eyes.

And today it was no different. He watched from a distance as Victoria and Ivvira trained together. An activity the pair of them had been doing for several days now. The sun was still low on the horizon, its golden rays casting elongated shadows while the jungle around them was slowly waking up. The coolness of the night was reluctantly giving way to the warmth of a new day. Leaves rustled softly as unseen creatures stirred within them; birds began their daily chorus high up in the canopy. Victoria led their exercise, laps up and down the long weathered road in front of the Grove, her strides long and powerful. Ivvira followed closely behind, matching Victoria’s pace with ease. Sweat gathered on their foreheads, dust clung to their legs and clothes but did nothing to diminish their energy or determination.

Victoria's laughter rang out then - not a polite chuckle or coerced giggle but a genuine laugh that bubbled up from her core. It echoed through the morning air, vibrant and unrestrained. As he listened, he couldn't help but smile, realizing it was the first time he had heard her truly laugh.

“She seems to be adjusting well.”

Hekarro looked down to find Dekka standing at his side, joining him as he watched Victoria and Ivvira talk on the road. She bore a basket at her hip, filled to the brim with golden orchids. He nodded, his gaze returning to the pair on the road,

“So it seems. I am glad to see it.”

“As am I.” There was a long pause. “She seems different.” He nodded. Dekka hummed for a moment before she added, “You are different too.”

He looked back down to her, “How do you mean?”

She considered her words carefully until a sly smirk upturned her mouth, “Now that I think on it, I do believe you’ve actually been getting decent sleep these days. I didn’t find you up before dawn today, and last night, why I almost fell over in shock when I learned you actually went to bed at a decent hour!”

Hekarro resisted the urge to roll his eyes, a half smile on his lips at her teasing, “Careful now, Chaplain.”

“Aye, I should be. You might actually stand a chance in beating me in a fight now that you’re well rested for once.”

A deep, loud laugh erupted from him as he threw his head back. His shoulders shook with the force of it, and he couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. When he finally looked down at her, Dekka was beaming, tears of joy mixed with happiness in her eyes.

“Blood of the Ten….” She whispered, almost amazed, “I can’t remember the last time you laughed like that. It’s good to hear it again.”

Hekarro struggled to find words, knowing deep down that Dekka was right. Since Tarrik's death, Hekarro had lost most of his joy. With the constant turmoil and chaos of the Red Raids, Derangement, and Civil War, it seemed almost impossible to find it again. But then he heard Victoria's laughter, echoing through the morning air, and he turned to see her smile. It stirred a warmth and comfort in his heart.

Dekka brought his attention back to her as she shifted the weight of a basket on her hip. Hekarro tilted his head inquisitively. "That's quite a haul you have there, Chaplain. Dare I ask what project you're working on?"

His chaplain chuckled and shook her head, "It's not my project. It's Victoria's; she was collecting orchids the other day. She said she needed quite a few for an altar she was building."

He blinked, "An altar?"

"Well, that's not what she initially called it, but from what she told me it seemed like some kind of altar." Dekka gave him a curious look before suddenly thrusting the basket into his hands. "You should help her. I need to fill up another basket anyway, and I know she's eager to start."

Hekarro raised an eyebrow, inspecting the contents of the basket in his hands. Surprisingly, it was heavier than he expected. Upon closer examination, he found leather-wrapped items at the bottom and could smell a faint aroma of food. “It amuses me that you don't think I'm busy…”

Dekka chuckled, playfully teasing him. “Oh yes, so busy with your oh-so-important tasks. But I'm sure you can squeeze this into your schedule.”

She left him there with a chuckle and a smirk, disappearing like the whisper of the wind sweeping through the Grove. With little else to do, Hekarro turned on his heel and descended the stairs down to the road where Victoria and Ivvira were talking. His marshal saluted him at his approach, prompting Victoria to turn. She offered him a smile, a small thing but still warm enough to just reach her eyes now.

“Chief,” she greeted, “Good morning so far?”

“So far,” He agreed, “Dekka says you’ve been working on a project and that you might need help.”

Victoria nodded and reached for the basket, giving him a stern look when he pulled back out of her reach with a smirk. “Yeah, I was and I do.” She said, crossing her arms, “I figured Dekka would be the one to help me out though.”

“My Chaplain,” Hekarro mused, nodding onec to Ivvira as his Marshal quietly excused herself with a smile, “In all her infinite wisdom, has decided that this task is best suited in my hands. I fear you will have to endure my company for the time being.”

A scoff of amusement was his reward for his teasing, the warmth of her smile reaching higher into her eyes even as she rolled them at him. A warmth that spread through his chest as he tore his gaze away from her and she brushed past him towards the interior of the Grove. He fell into step with her as she walked, their pace an easy one.

"I have another basket in my room that I want to grab before we leave," she explained, greeting each guard they passed with a small smile, and they responded with silent nods in return. Hekarro followed dutifully, ducking into her room when she held open the curtain for him. The canvases that had covered her roof during the rains were neatly folded in the corner. Her desk still lay cluttered, pieces of parchment scattered across the surface, smudges of charcoal fingerprints dappled along the wooden surface. He smiled as he spied a set of Strike pieces in the corner.

His eyes found Victoria once more, as she retrieved another basket from under her bed. A soft wind snuck through the worn walls, agitating the branches above. Sunlight danced and played on the walls, swathing her in its comforting warmth. An orchid tumbled from the overhead vines, drawing Victoria’s gaze. He observed her extend a hand to cradle it gently in her palm. Her smile - though soft - was a sight to behold as she carefully laid the flower on her bed before rising to stand. When she turned to face him, time seemed to stand still. Her eyes were like a peaceful sea after a storm - so clear and blue that he could lose himself in their depths.

It took all of his willpower to tear his gaze away. “Ready?” He heard himself ask, heart stuttering in his chest. She brushed past him once more, the scent of wild orchids following in her wake, clinging to her skin and hair. The fragrance was both sweet and tart, vibrant and resilient, yet also fragile. It was enough to stop his heart completely when she pulled back the curtain to exit her room, looking over at him expectantly while holding it open.

"Chief?" Her voice sounded distant, as if it were coming through water. He felt like he was drowning in her eyes. "Hekarro?"

All at once, he snapped back to the present and shook his head. “Apologies. My mind is elsewhere today.”

Victoria quirked a brow, a smirk on her face. He easily fell into stride with her as she led their way back through the Grove and out towards the front road. “Want to tell me what’s got you so spaced out?”

Was his face warm? He prayed he wasn’t getting sick. Hekarro shrugged, “A multitude of things these days. Though, my worries seem to lessening as time goes by. So I will count my blessings where I find them.”

They strolled along the road until they reached the exterior walls of the Grove. Victoria veered off the path and towards the cluster of trees near the lake, with Hekarro dutifully following. "Dekka did mention that you've been sleeping better," she teased.

“I really should have a discussion with her about her gossip-mongering.” Hekarro muttered. Victoria laughed and playfully nudged his arm with her elbow.

“She cares about you.” She shook her head as they passed the treeline. They passed under tall tree trunks and over tangled roots, the world around them falling into a solemn quietness. Colorful cloth tapestries hung from the branches above, representing different clans and varying in hues from vibrant to faded by time and weather. Under some of the trees lay mounds of earth covered in green grass, serving as cairns for offerings and gifts to the dead.

“It's obvious when she talks about you,” she continued. “It's almost as if you're siblings instead of just friends.”

“That’s what happens when you spend your whole life with someone.” Hekarro replied thoughtfully. As they strolled leisurely, they eventually reached the very back edge of the Burial Grounds. There, he spotted a stone altar beneath one of the trees, carefully built and smoothed down by hand. A woven cloth tapestry covered the top, laid out flat and empty. “Out of all the challenges I've faced in my life,” He reflected, “Dekka has always been the one constant that’s kept me grounded. There are few people I respect more than her.”

Victoria fell silent, and they both stopped in front of the stone altar. She knelt on the soft grass, placing the basket beside her as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the tapestry. Hekarro mirrored her actions, kneeling beside her and observing her with care. There was a deep sorrow in her expression, evident in the tears that welled up behind her eyes.

“How do the Tenakth remember their dead, Hekarro?”

He considered Victoria’s question for a moment before he finally replied, "For the Lowland Clan, we honor our dead with ocean burials. The body is wrapped in canvas and cloth, armed with their weapons, and set out to sea with the tide." He gestured to the grove around them, “Here, we bury our honored dead. Whose deeds in life will be told for generations to come, whether in reverence or cautionary tales."

He suppressed a shudder that threatened to creep up his spine. Resisted the urge to look behind him where he knew Tarrik and Regalla were buried, finally reunited in death among the Fields of the Ten. Victoria dipped her hands into the basket at her side and procured a series of small carvings, crafted from wood and steel, and set them out on the altar until five in total were placed.

“But how do you remember them?” she asked again. Victoria reached for the basket by his side, and he passed it to her with a smooth gesture.

"Through action." Hekarro replied. "We honor their values and strength by living our lives in a way that emulates theirs." He paused as she pulled out candles from the basket and arranged them on the ground. "Although I must admit, it's not quite the same as it was when I was younger."

"War has a way of changing our perspective." Victoria commented, and he nodded in agreement. She then reached into the basket again, this time pulling out fresh food - warm loaves of bread from Rikka's kitchen that filled the air with an inviting aroma. As she continued to build the small altar, Hekarro couldn't help but ask,

“How did your people remember their dead, Victoria?”

Her smile turned sad at his question as she carefully plucked petals off of orchids from the basket beside her. She placed each one on the altar and scattered some onto the ground. "In my time, there were countless cultures, each with unique ways of honoring and burying their dead," she explained softly. "For my family, we celebrated Día de los Muertos - The Day of the Dead. It’s believed that the soul lives on after death, waiting to be beckoned back each year by loved ones still living. And as long as someone is alive to remember and tell their stories, they continue to live on."

"It differs from family to family," she continued, rising up to scatter more petals around her, creating a path from the burial ground to the altar. "But the Ofrenda is essential." She motioned towards the altar. "To call the spirits home, you have set out their favorite foods and drinks, photos, and other things they loved in life. Marigolds are meant to guide them with their bright colors that can be seen in the spirit world. That's why you’re supposed create a path with them."

Victoria let out a heavy breath as the final orchid petals fell from her fingertips. She made her way back to his side, settling onto the grass amidst the scattered remains of the orchids that adorned her altar. She then retrieved flintstones from her basket and carefully attempted to light the candles placed before the offering.

“But I don’t have marigolds,” She muttered, striking the stones together and scowling as the wick refused to ignite. “So I hope orchids are okay. They were the brightest I could find.” Tears streamed down her face as her voice broke and she tried again to light the candle. “I can’t even make their favorite food. I don’t think any of the ingredients even exist anymore, and I don’t even have photos to display. What if it’s not enough to bring them back? What if they’re forgotten because I wasn't there to remember them?”

Hekarro moved without thinking, his hands covering hers, halting their fruitless efforts. He met her gaze and something in him reached out, his hand rising to cup her face, thumb brushing away the trails of her tears. She leaned into his touch and he felt a warmth bloom within him that he didn't understand but selfishly welcomed nonetheless.

He then gently took the flintstones from her grasp and managed to summon a tiny spark that caught on the wick of the candle she held out for him. Together they lit each candle until finally they sat before the glowing altar—this ofrenda, its soft light dancing in rhythm with the gentle breeze.

"You still have their stories." Hekarro murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper against the quiet morning air. "That has to be more than enough." Her eyes found his again, capturing him in a shimmering whirlpool of pristine blue; there was an ache in his chest that tightened with every heartbeat. "Would you share them with me?"

And then, as if pulled from its moorings by her hesitant yet beautiful smile, both his world and heart fell away beneath him.

[verecunda]

I've been flicking through Gaelic Proverbs and Proverbial Sayings (1926) by T. D. MacDonald, and there are some crackers, especially when it comes to the clans.

Leathaineach gun bhòsd Dòmhnullach gun tapadh, Is Caimbeulach gun mhòr-chuis, Tri nithean tha ainemh. A MacLean without boast, A MacDonald without cleverness, A Campbell without pride- Three rarities.

Heh.

Spagadagliog Chloinn Dòmhnuill, Agus leòm nan Leathainich The MacDonald swagger, And the MacLean airs.

So, what I'm getting is that the MacDonalds and MacLeans were all gallus bastards. XD

Cha bhi gean air Granndaich gus am faigh iad lìte. Grants are never gracious till they get their porridge.

Not morning people, then? (Me neither.)

Camaranaich bhog an ime is sliomaran a chàise. The Camerons - soft as butter and fawning for cheese.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?? Would be great to work into a Heron fic!

And, oh, I am definitely working this into a Kidnapped fic somewhere:

Stiùbhairtich, cinne nan righ ’s nan ceàird. Stewarts, the race of kings and tinkers.

I guess there must've been lots of Stewarts who went around reminding everyone that they bear A King's Name™. :D