#from wander to; of blessed isles.

[thekeeperofbalance]

on my latest ask:

i want to establish that all four of my writing works are in a way crossovers with my fantasy world, albeit varying levels of interaction and influence (the unending weave is a bit metaphorical but i explain that in a post detailing the keepers and the way the unending weave works)

but, do not fret because i haven't talked about the unending weave, because i will explain everything as it appears in my stories and whenever it appears in my tumblr posts- i will do my absolute best to never leave a reference unexplained because my fantasy world can get complicated mainly because an entire third of it is dedicated to contradictions and paradoxes

i will say that it used to be more complicated, but i've consolidated and cut parts down-

[multi-fandom-imagine]

More dad Ody for the heart's happinnes? I just need this man with as many kids as possible even if i have to get him pregnant

A/n: i love this request and I love you anon.

Odysseus was many things; a warrior, a wanderer, a king...but in this golden moment, he was something far greater: a human jungle gym for seven wild, giggling children.

The afternoon sun filtered gently through the olive trees, casting soft dapples over the courtyard of Ithaca’s palace. A breeze stirred the lavender, mingling its scent with the warm, earthy aroma of summer. The usually stern stone steps leading into the great hall had been transformed into the scene of pure familial chaos and joy.

Odysseus lay sprawled on his back in the soft grass, pinned beneath a laughing, wriggling mass of small limbs and delighted shrieks. His bronze-streaked beard was caught in the chubby fist of his youngest daughter, who squealed triumphantly as if she had bested the mightiest hero of Troy with nothing but a gummy smile and unmatched tenacity.

“Help! Help!” Odysseus cried with exaggerated desperation, though his wide grin betrayed him. “Seven monsters from the isles have me surrounded—where is my sword? My shield? My dignity?”

The children, none of them older than five, shrieked with laughter.

“Dog pile on Papa!” one shouted, climbing onto his broad chest with a warrior’s determination.

“Get his toes!” yelled another, launching a tickle attack that made Odysseus howl with theatrical pain and real laughter as one gummed on his palm.

You stood a few feet away, a serene smile on your lips and your arms wrapped around the tiniest of your brood, still too young to join in the mayhem. The baby cooed contentedly against your shoulder, clutching a fistful of your tunic as you swayed gently, watching the chaos unfold. There was something sacred in the mess—the laughter, the cries, the absolute lack of decorum. And gods, did it make your heart feel full to bursting.

20 years, 20 years of waiting for your husband to return home and this was your blessing.

Behind you, leaning against a sun-warmed pillar, Telemachus stood with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. The teenager gave a long-suffering groan, loud enough to be heard over the laughter.

“Do they always have to scream like that?” he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the truth. His gaze lingered on his father, who was now trying—poorly—to wriggle free from a pile of pudgy bodies. One of the toddlers had somehow managed to tangle themselves in Odysseus’ hair, and he was laughing so hard he couldn’t even pretend to fight back.

Telemachus rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was a softness there. A quiet kind of awe.

He had grown up with tales of monsters and battles, of long years without a father. But now—now his younger siblings would only know this version of Odysseus: the man who could slay mythical beasts but chose to spend his days covered in sticky fingers and giggles.

You caught Telemachus’ eye and offered him a knowing smile. He sighed but walked forward anyway, sitting down beside you, letting the baby grab hold of his sleeve. His expression softened even more as he gently touched the baby’s cheek.

Odysseus looked up at the two of you from under a tangle of tiny bodies. “I think—I think I’m defeated,” he gasped, reaching out dramatically. “Tell my story…”

One of the twins blew a raspberry against his cheek. He roared with laughter.

"I'll let Athena know quickly that you were defeated by a bunch of babies father." Telemachus joked.

You laughed too, leaning your head against Telemachus’ shoulder, feeling your little one’s breath warm against your neck. The chaos, the noise, the love—it was all perfect. Your little empire, noisy and sticky and divine.

And Odysseus, king of Ithaca, the great hero of myths and men, laughed like he had never laughed before.

[clare-875]

Burnt Scarlet (Sugawara x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sugawara x Female Reader Summary: You make Sugawara flustered. Warnings: Fluff [Haikyuu Masterlist] _____

Sugawara wondered if there was ever going to be a sight that could top the one in front of him now. Then he stopped himself and ripped himself free of that thought; because it was stupid. There would never be anything as beautiful, anything as captivating, anything as perfect as you. You. You dressed in a flowy summer dress, the gentle breeze making your hair shine beneath the golden sun; You smiling up at him lips curved upwards and painted ruby red; You and your radiant eyes looking only to him. His heart pounds against his chest, he feels the heat rise in his face, and before he knows it he's facing away from you. You, confused at the sight of him turning away so abruptly look up to him through your eyelashes in confusion just as Sugawara tries to find the courage to look at you once more. His mistake. He tries to hide his face but he feels it, the burn of scarlet that paints his expression.

"Kou, you okay?"

He flusters more at the sound of your sweet voice calling his name, a tinge of worry within the midst of your words; all for him. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." You frown slightly at the sight of him still unturning from where he stood and wonder just what had gotten into him. But you decide to take things into your own hands, literally. You grab him by his right wrist holding it gently but surely and drag him forward towards town where the two of you were going to hang out for the day. "Good, then let's get going!" You smile encouragingly at the man who looks up, eyes widening at the sight of you once more. The sight of your glimmering smile, the adoration etched in your eyes and upon your face. The scarlet remains in place but he finds himself nodding as though in a trance, he would later beat himself up for not complimenting the beautiful outfit you put together; all for him.

"Oh my gosh Kou, look!" He turns at the excitement that laced your tone, the urgency in your hold as you pull him towards a section of the store seemingly covered with all things cute and fluffy. The both of you were now at a mall and had been wandering the isles for several moments. He looked down at your hold. Within it were two matching keychains, almost identical to each other albeit the difference in colour of the ribbon that adorned the small plush attached. "We could be matching!" Your voice is light and bright, and your eyes are filled with joy. Sugawara finds himself nodding before he even registers the words coming out of your mouth. He feels the churn of his heart against his chest, the burning feeling of his face. You would be the death of him. "Yeah, I'll go buy them for us."

His grasp is quick and he takes the keychains from your hold with ease and a swiftness you could not rebuke before he rushes for the cashier who looks up surprised at their determined customer. You look up blankly at his sudden absence and his almost instinctual agreement to buy what you had suggested. Sugawara feels himself flush at his blatant show of weakness to you, but then he is blessed with your airy laugh and a soft hand on his shoulder. "I could've got that you know." He feels the burning of scarlet once more uptake his features as he looks at your hands that gently take one of the keychains he had brought, securing it to your phone. "I-I know," Sugawara murmurs, before taking his own keychain and securing it to his own device. You grin at his obvious shyness grabbing his hand in your hold again as Sugawara feels himself come to life at just your touch. "Let's go!"

The next moment the two of you are at a movie theatre watching a horror movie you should've known would never be good. Although Sugawara feels the shiver down his spine at the scary flux of events on the screen he is almost content just by the tight hold you have on his arm. He feels the warmth of your skin against his, the softness of hair as you basically hug to death his right limb. He knows he should be terrified by the gruelling images in front of him, but instead, he feels like he's in heaven when he looks down on you. The pride he feels that you trust him to look after you even when you're not in any danger is immeasurable. He tries to ease your tension with a teasing comment, "It's not real you know," but then you look up to him glossy eyes and all, a heavy pout on your lips. "But it looks so real." The burn reaches his face again as he notices the proximity of you before you turn back to the screen letting out a muffled yell, oblivious to his mess of emotions.

After the movie he holds your hand in his and fights away the flush of his face to try to put you to comfort; ice cream usually does the trick. He pats your head gently as you sit down at a table and he says he'll be back with your treats soon. You smile up at him gratefully and Sugawara again has to hide his face just so you don't notice the ease of influence you have over him. He tries to be quick, easily having memorised your favourite, now picking out his own. As he waits for his order, his gaze moves fully to you once more. He wonders how he ever got so lucky to learn that his long-term crush felt the same way. He wonders how he ever got so lucky to get a girl as beautiful and perfect as you. His mind wonders only to be awoken by your hand waving to him. He looks up, lost in your gaze as he tries to wave back only to see you laugh. "No, Kou, the ice-creams!" He turns abruptly to see that the cashier has been waiting with his order for several moments now. He feels the burn of scarlet as he quickly apologises and pays before rushing back to you.

He feels the heavy torment of your gaze upon him as he sits down in front of you, but you merely smile and gather the cool treat in your hands thanking the man. "What were you thinking about?" He looks up meeting your wondering gaze, the questioning tilt of your head as he rushes to reply. "W-what?" You laugh breathlessly before shaking your head. "Seriously though, you've been acting strange all day, is something wrong?" Your mind paces through the events of your date, at each moment you tried to catch his eyes he would face away, at every touch you felt his grip tighten slightly and felt the growing warmth of his skin. Sugawara sees the crease between your eyebrows and panic now rushes through him at the sight of your worry for him, now beating himself up for being so distracted, just by your presence. "N-no, I'm sorry you're just- you're just so beautiful today and-" He struggles to strangle together a response and you watch the fight as amusement now lingers at the sight of his flustered state. You lean forward and Sugawara barely has the time to stop his rambling before you surprise him with a soft kiss to his lips.

"Koushi, you do realise we've been dating for six months now."

The burnt scarlet upon his face only grows. 

[willtheweaver]

Welcome to the first day! I hope you are all excited for this. So without further ado, here is some info on the first prompt:

Beltane- Halfway between the equinox and the solstice, the celebration of spring turning into summer has been passed down to us as May Day. While today we me dance around a maypole, Iron Age peoples would build bonfires to drive away bad luck and bring good fortune. And they would not just stand in front of those fires; people would dance and walk on the hot embers, and it was even said that sacrifices would be stuffed into a wicker man that was given to the flames.

-Alternative prompts-

The bog- Neither land nor water, marshland were considered sacred as portals between worlds. On holy days, and in times of great need, the people would give offerings in the form of weapons, jewelry, and sacrificial victims.

Raven- A bird associated with magic and death, the raven was traditionally a symbol of Morrigan and Bran the Blessed. Of the latter, it was said that his head was buried on the spot where the Tower of London now stands, and that his protection was passed down to the ravens that live on the Tower grounds.

Gold- Gold has always been associated with the fair folk. Think about the Court and their fine jewelry, the pot of gold a leprechaun hides at the end of a rainbow, and the gold coins a wandering fairy pays a kind soul. Just don’t get greedy. A good fairy will always have ways of making their hoard untraceable. There is also the fact that much ‘gold’ is actually the result of glamor; take your eye off those coins, and they will revert back to their true form (withered leaves, sticks, or even acorns).

Absinthe- The favorite of Parisian cafe goers was this potent anise flavored liqueur. As it contained wormwood, some cautioned against drinking absinthe as it was said to cause hallucinations, not to mention visits from the Green Fairy.

Henge- The earth and stone monuments that dot the British isles have always been places of mystery. In folklore, exposed tombs were believed to be portals to the Otherworld. Lone standing stones and rings were believed to be meeting places, or else unfortunate mortals turned to stone by magic.

Puck- Wherever mischief abounds, Puck will be nearby. From medieval romance to the stage of the Globe Theater, Oberon’s trusted underling can always be counted on to prank and trick those he comes across.

Time- Time moves differently for Fairies. An hour to them can be a month, or even a year to us. Those who stay too long find the hands of time have erased everything familiar…and when they realize it, time comes for them too.

Iron- This is the only metal that the denizens of faerie fear, and will refuse to touch. As such, people will place knives or scissors next to cradles to keep their babies safe. A nail, or any small piece of iron kept in a pocket would be sufficient to dispel fairy magic.

Offering- It is always a good idea to keep the Good Folk on your side. A bowl of cream for a brownie, blackberries for a phooka, fine garments and gold for a king or queen, they all serve to placate the neighbors who will then leave you alone. A word of warning though; fairies can be contrary and temperamental, and will take offense if offered the wrong thing. Some will also take offense if offered when none are required…so it may be best to ask first.

Oisin- Son of Finn MacCumhil, the warrior bard was the last of the Fianna. His survival was owed to the discovery of a portal to Tir na nÓg. There he stayed for 300 years before returning to Ireland. However, Oisin was warned not to touch the ground upon his return. The reason why became clear when he fell from his horse. Time found him, and he became quite old and feeble. It was said that before passing, he relayed the history and legends of ancient Ireland to St. Patrick.

- Information on the next prompt will be tomorrow at midnight, EST. Have fun and enjoy!-

Event taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @writingrosesonneptune @lefferon @jay-avian @harleyacoincidence @storycraftcafe

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Saorlaith Clannmorna, The Lost Primarch of the Eleventh Legion and Warrior Queen of the Black Eagles

In the annals of Imperial History, there stand heroes greater than any other. These are the Primarchs, the Sons of the Emperor of Mankind, the patriarchs of the Twenty Legions of the Adeptus Astartes who united a frayed and divided galaxy in a long ago age when people still looked to the stars with hope... and the events of the Horus Heresy had not yet doomed the galaxy to darkness, suffering, and despair. But of these, only Eighteen are remembered: The Nine who Turned Traitor, and The Nine Who Remained, steadfast and loyal. Here then is a tale, a tale of the Eleventh Primarch, lost to history and imperial records. It is the tale of Saorlaith Clannmorna, Queen and Matriarch of the Black Eagles Legion.

Saorlaith was always an outlier. As the sole deliberate attempt by the Emperor to craft a female Primarch, it is unclear what he’d hoped to achieve, or what role Saorlaith would have been intended to serve in had events played out their planned course.

Such plans, clearly, were not to be.

Scattered like her brothers by the furious winds of Chaos, Saorlaith was deposited by chance or destiny upon a misty and mountainous world. It was a primitive world not unlike the forgotten highlands of the ancient British Isles of Holy Terra, green with moss and heather, black with stone, and grey with numerous lakes that stretched like battle scars across its face. These endless highlands were called Dún na Badb, a name which carried beneath it the world’s dark and violent history.

Saorlaith was found by a local woman, Morna. Enigmatic and feared, Morna was a Queen of a great and remote land, as well as a respected and wise priestess of the Old Deer God and The Horned Huntress. Morna had powerful sorcerous gifts, and used her fell gifts to ferret out secrets from her rivals, deliver sickness and bad luck to her enemies, or heal her friends, and her wrath was swift and fatal if crossed, with powerful armies that crushed her opposition. Yet the imposing woman genuinely loved Saorlaith, and doted on her as a daughter. She inculcated in the young Primarch the ways of blood and sorcery, and the thrill of battle. Saorlaith grew up with many visitors paying homage to her mother or seeking her advice, but few for long term company, leading to a brilliant yet aloof and suspicious young woman who found difficulty connecting with others, especially as few if any ever sought to truly gain her friendship rather than attempt to leverage her position and title in some way. She was always "the Princess" or "the Heirress", and never simply "Saorlaith" to most. Despite her loneliness, or indeed perhaps because of it, she quickly learned the ways of a Warrior Princess, bonding well with her instructors, from whom she knew and understood the social equation and status quo. Never did they seek to use her connections, or use her to worm their way into her mother's favor; they were invested in her advancement and survival, and she was invested in the skills they had to teach her. Progressing quickly, eventually supplanted her mother at the head of her kingdom's vast armies by the age of 16, though Morna remained a close advisor to her daughter long even after she eventually abdicated the throne in Saorlaith’s favor. 

It is said that the day before Saorlaith assumed the throne, she heeded her mother's wisdom and traveled alone into the misty crags and moors to seek the blessing of the old gods and their court. She traveled unarmed and undressed, wearing just a simple and undecorated gown, a mark of humility before the great powers whose favors she hoped to win.

During her wandering, Saorlaith came across a great and vast lake she had not seen before. Taking a moment to rest, she was engaged by a mysterious man and woman. The man was dressed in furs and moss, and his hat was rimmed with the teeth of mighty predators and crested with antlers from a mighty deer. The woman was clad in leather and hides, and a hauberk of green mail. Saorlaith spoke for some time with the travelers, who claimed to be acquainted with Morna. Upon learning that Saorlaith was Morna's daughter and heir, the two became delighted, and engaged the young princess all day and night with conversation and games of riddles and clever wit. As morning came, the travelers thanked Saorlaith for her hospitality, and the woman waded into the waters, and drew from them a mighty shimmering spear, Géar-Anail, the White Breath, bestowing it upon the princess as a coronation gift fit only for the true heir of Queen Morna. As the travelers passed back into the mist, Saorlaith could not help but feel as though perhaps she'd known them when she was very young. Taking her prize back to her home, she was crowned by her mother, and took her place as Queen of her mountain realm and commander of her army.

Saorlaith became known as “The Unbreakable”, as her campaigns claimed triumph after triumph, and though her skills as a strategist and tactician were certainly fitting for her labors when required, her victories came more from her wild and savage charges, overwhelming her enemies in a stampede of relentless violence in simple pursuit of glory and the win, pure battle and conquest for its own sake. Saorlaith was a warrior at heart. A capable queen, yes, but her heart ever longed for greater battlefields beyond. She ached for new battles, new foes, and greater glories. It was not in her restless nature to simply sit on what she had already accomplished, for she knew in her bones that it would be in that way that her victory itself would be the one to finally defeat her.

Having conquered her own world, Saorlaith grew despondent that such incredible success would be the end of her. There were no further gains to make, no great foes to keep herself sharp against. While Saorlaith reconstructed her newly unified planet into a mighty and glittering kingdom where the druidic sorcerous ways of her ancestors ran like blood through the lowest levels, upholding everything, she began to fear that her greatest triumphs might be behind her. All that lay before her had been conquered and reshaped. The occasional rebellion offered no challenge, no real chance to prove what else she might do.

One day, the magic whispered to Saorlaith that a stranger from afar would soon arrive, though her attempts to scry specifics went maddeningly unanswered. Whoever this stranger was, her blood raced at the thought of it. Some great warrior, perhaps? Some mighty challenge to overcome? Perhaps the Old Stag God had finally answered her prayers.

The day the Emperor came to Dún na Badb, Saorlaith was beside herself with anticipation, warmly welcoming the stranger and treating him to the finest hospitality of her people. She could tell at once that glory rode in this man’s wake, and that it was his destiny to show Saorlaith hers. She told him she would follow where he led, but formality required him to defeat her in the holy Carnfēth, the War Judgement – a sacred battle rite to determine leadership. As Queen, she would be shamed if she knelt before another warrior who had not defeated her in battle. Either the Emperor would defeat her in single combat without sorcery, or be denied his Primarch. The duel was the stuff of legend, and it is said to have lasted for nine days. Saorlaith was not the type to show quarter, and nor was the Emperor willing to relinquish his Eleventh to this backwater world. From the lowest valley to the highest peak, the two clashed, neither showing the slightest hint of false judgment or failed skill. Eventually, however, Saorlaith began to worry that the battle might have no end. Perhaps they were equally skilled, and the battle might last forever… neither fit to command or to be commanded, neither able to cow the other. In this moment, the battle was decided, for Saorlaith, distracted for the slightest measure, lost her footing and fell upon the sword she had given the Emperor. Yet Saorlaith was delighted – in having lost, she found renewed purpose. She had not finished her list of glories, and this loss symbolized that for her. The Emperor promised her an army unlike anything she had ever seen, and he promised her not simply a planet to conquer, but a galaxy in which to seek her glory. Saorlaith would never have refused such an offer.

During the ritual ceremony in which Saorlaith returned governorship of Dún na Badb to the Queen Mother Morna, the Emperor visibly recoiled, startled, in the Queen Mother’s presence as she caught his eye. It is not known why. The two leaders spoke no more with each other than the ceremony demanded, and the Emperor uncharacteristically left with barely-disguised haste, as though being in Morna’s mere presence was either panic or pain-inducing.

Returning to Holy Terra with the Eleventh Primarch, the Emperor was pleased to see her eagerness to take up the Great Crusade, and even more pleased to see that she had healed from her battle wound quickly. He judged, correctly, that she would indeed be a force to be reckoned with once paired with warriors who matched her skills and ferocity.

The Eleventh Legion, the Storm Sovereigns, was indeed a fine army as promised, but the largely Terran recruits disgusted Saorlaith. Clean-shaven Astarte warriors and standardized livery made them all look identical in the eyes of the Mountain Queen, and she immediately set about instilling her way and her image among her new army, just as she’d done at Dún na Badb. Her warriors would decorate their bronze-colored armor with personalized and intricate highland knotwork emblematic of her home world. Their hair and beards would be encouraged to grow wild, often being elaborately braided or otherwise decorated with feathers and beads. Before battle, they performed ritual war chants, songs, and dances, and decorated their flesh with blue paint. This was no mere physical affectation, but a vow to become as beasts who knew no retreat or surrender. The act of painting focused the Astarte’s resolve, steeling them for the blood and carnage to come. Further, like her brother Primarchs, she began to draw new recruits for the legion from her homeworld, filling its ranks with boisterous and passionate, but highly skilled, barbarian highland warriors she knew the measure of and trusted more than the "outsiders" she'd been saddled with. These warriors now had the technology and the means to follow their Queen to the cosmos, and to elevate their kind of warfare to a scale and level they had never previously dreamed possible, and the newly forged “Black Eagles” legion took wing to the stars, taking their appetites for blood and battle with them, ready to find glory and conquest wherever they landed.

The Black Eagles were much changed by Saorlaith’s leadership – she brought with her not just the battle traditions of her people, but also their sorcery. Those who she considered the most capable and trustworthy of her “Sons” were inducted into secret rites and taught a kind of magic that exposed weakness in the enemy, by revealing secrets or bringing flaws to the surface where they could do the most damage, in a way that simply appeared to be a horrific “run of bad luck” when it could be least afforded. The mystic chants of the highland marines’ sorcery and eerie bellowing of their animalistic war horns presaged doom to a thousand worlds that dared defy the Legion and the Great Crusade as their imminent assault would batter and break an enemy that was never as ready to face them as they might have believed or hoped.

Despite Saorlaith’s incredible battlefield successes, she found few friends among her Brothers. Angron was too much of a brute in her eyes; she was all for testing her mettle in battle and achieving glory, but Angron was simply about slaughter, like a rabid war dog Saorlaith would have happily put down herself had she been allowed to. Mortarion was perhaps her first real rival among the Primarchs, detesting her and her legion for their Druidic Craft, while Lorgar Aurelian saw in their rites and traditions the mark of heresy. Fulgrim she dismissed as a preening peacock too concerned with glamor to find true glory, Alpharius as a fool and a tryhard leader too clever for his own good by half, wasting his and the Imperium’s time on his overly complex schemes instead of simply winning when a simple win presented itself, and Pertuabo and Ferrus Manus confounded her with their hatred for weakness rather than their love of strength. Roboute Guilliman, Horus Lupercal, and Rogal Dorn all but outright hated her for her unwillingness to yield to their strategies and authority. Even Vulkan’s legendary patience and compassion met its limits with Saorlaith, who was far too independent to listen to his counsel. And in Sanguinius… Saorlaith saw something worrying. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in Sanguinius she saw a lurking darkness that terrified her, and she avoided her angelic brother to no end. She made an effort to befriend fellow outsider Konrad Kurze, but his growing instability brought their friendship to an early end. Corvus Corax’s secrecy and tendency to favor subtler means, as well as his favoring of loyalty and obedience, grated on Saorlaith’s nerves. Jaghatai Khan rubbed her the wrong way, simply by being too much like her for them to have ever gotten along. While she didn’t dislike Magnus the Red, she felt his focus was too much on the mysterious and the ethereal, and the way he regarded her almost as a puzzle box to solve unnerved her. Ironically, Lion El Jonson, who had an upbringing relatively similar to hers, and in many ways might have been considered the other side of her coin, and therefore might have understood her better than any of the other Primarchs, held her in disdain for her “Barbarian ways” even if she secretly admired his results and composure. It was Leman Russ who was perhaps the most kindred of spirits, a true brother to her when all others grated, drifted, or avoided her. The Eagle and the Wolf, the Celt and the Viking, the Queen and the Chieftain, frequently fought alongside each other and for a time, they shared a close friendship, and the Black Eagles and Space Wolves accomplished great things together, but like all good things, this too was doomed to come to an end. Finally, Ailani, Saorlaith’s lone sister, and Primarch of the Imperial Hospitallers, never gave up hope on the wild warrior queen. Despite their frequent disagreements as Ailani’s peaceful healing ways clashed wildly with Saorlaith’s violent lust for conquest, Ailani was always there to listen to Saorlaith’s grievances and frustrations, and while they never saw eye to eye, the two sisters grew close as the Crusade went on.

However, the fate of the Eleventh Legion was already sealed, and they would not see the Horus Heresy play out. With her growing frustrations with her brothers gnawing at her, Saorlaith had become more headstrong and reckless than ever, and Leman Russ began to see her as a liability. Further, Russ began to question her loyalty, as, ever the soul of tact, Saorlaith bitterly complained of the Emperor's crackdowns on the Druidic Craft of her people and their worship of the Old Stag God. In her mind, this was not what she had signed up for. She had been promised glory for her and her people, not this... colonialist cultural censorship that threatened to eradicate keystones of her culture and heritage. As the Emperor began to make increasing strides towards banishing religion and sorcery from the Imperium, Saorlaith chafed more and more, becoming bitter and paranoid towards her brothers. She knew they disliked and even mistrusted her, and some like Mortarion and Alpharius were already claiming they could handle her campaigns more effectively than she could. Saorlaith deigned to let them try.

As Saorlaith and the Black Eagles outright began to refuse orders in pursuit of chasing their own glory independently, Leman's already waning patience wore out, and he brought his case to the Emperor, who advised the Sixth Primarch to “chastise” his sister and her legion. Unfortunately, by this time, Ailani had already begun conspiring with her sister to leave the Imperium entirely with their respective legions and peoples, with a dream to establishing their own free realm in the wilds of space, far apart from an Imperium both had gradually become increasingly disillusioned with. The gentle Ailani's blood boiled at the Emperor's treatment of her; she had never particularly willingly agreed to his Crusade, and for hundreds of years he had taken her home world hostage to ensure her continued compliance. Seeing in her so-perfectly opposite sister such incredible similarity, the two had plotted to desert. Let the Emperor have his Grand Vision. In some back corner of the universe, the two sisters would have theirs: a place where they and their people could live free from the Emperor's tyranny. Saorlaith began pulling her veteran warriors from the lines and assembling a small but elite force meant to safeguard and evacuate Dún na Badb. These were marines recruited from the planet, who had ties and roots and loyalties there. Her Terran recruited marine veterans remained on the front lines, mentoring the youngest and least experienced Marines to allay suspicion that her dedication to the cause might be lacking until she had already left. Let those wayward sons of hers know nothing of her plot, that way they might be kept safe, or as safe as possible, from the consequences of her decisions. Perhaps there would even be room for reconciliation in the future, should the winds of destiny blow in that direction.

However, upon returning home to Dún na Badb to evacuate it, Saorlaith was shocked and angered to find the Space Wolves already assembled there, with Leman Russ at the head of his force to deal with Saorlaith in person. Her heart sank, and her anger soared, as she assumed Leman Russ had already discovered her plot to desert. In fact, he had not, and he had simply been hoping to resolve what to him was a disciplinary matter that had far exceeded an allowable scale. Two clashing sets of intentions and views of reality among leaders neither of which being particularly known for diplomatic restraint is seldom a pleasant matter, and it was not long before an unforgivable mistake was made. Who fired first is both unknown and unimportant, but it was held that the battle was titanic; indeed, it was the most ferocious either the Sixth or the Eleventh legions had ever partaken in, for no Space Marine had ever faced a threat quite like another Space Marine. Yet for all the battle’s horror, it was ultimately mere prelude to the nightmares of the Horus Heresy to come. It is generally held that the Space Wolves emerged victorious. To her own shock, Saorlaith lost a second time, this time to Leman Russ, who gravely wounded her in single combat, though he was either unwilling or unable to complete the kill. Arriving in the Primarch's greatest moment of need was Medrawt, the feared First Captain of the Black Eagles, and her mightiest and most favored champion. Medrawt was a peerless warrior in the legion, long rumored to be the Primarch's biological son. Whatever the case he was among the first to be recruited to the Legion at Dún na Badb, and it was also at Dún na Badb that evidence suggests Medrawt proved his mettle and did the impossible by managing to distract and hold off Leman Russ long enough to facilitate Saorlaith's retreat from the battlefield, and then retreat in turn. Despite her escape with Medrawt and a host of survivors, her legion’s numbers were significantly culled in the battle. Three out of five Black Eagles who took part in the battle perished, crippling the Legion, and the novice Black Eagles and Terran veterans carrying the Legion's part of the Great Crusade elsewhere in the galaxy with no knowledge of the betrayal were no safer, being swiftly turned on by their supposed allies and eradicated without ever receiving an explanation why.

While Leman Russ and his legion purged Dún na Badb, he was puzzled to find Morna, the Queen Mother, completely absent. Reporting his findings to the Emperor, the Emperor showed a rare and fleeting moment of genuine fear upon hearing that the Old Crone Queen had vanished. But, this soon vanished, as, coupled with his rage at Ailani’s much more successful rebellion and rout of the World Eaters, in part due to the survivors of the battle of Dún na Badb arriving to assist in the evacuation of Ailani’s homeworld of Takiko, the Emperor turned his formidable psychic prowess to burning the errant women from history, along with their traitorous sons. The two had dared defy him. They had made a mockery of his power and authority. Their rebellion and flight from the Imperium threatened to undermine all he hoped to build by showing that ways other than Imperial Unity might be viable. It could not stand. It would not. Even Leman Russ, who personally fought his sister at the climax of the battle, forgot her in an instant. The records were purged. The monuments were destroyed. The Second and Eleventh Legions’ victories were “assigned” to other legions. All evidence of them was destroyed, except for the hole they left behind.

It is no wonder that the Eleventh Legion and their Primarch failed to aid Terra during the Horus Heresy. Of course, they had fled so far it would be ages, thousands of years, even, before they learned of the Heresy. Saorlaith’s feelings on the matter are unknown, but most assuredly complicated as she weeps for her lost people and quintimated sons.

Among those who are able to intuit the existence of the old Second and Eleventh Legions, and their Primarchs, doubtless a sense of wonder must set in.

What must have happened, that nobody can remember their names, their faces, or their deeds? Could it have been even worse than the Horus Heresy? Obviously it must have been, for the Traitor Primarch’s names are still remembered and the Second and Eleventh have been totally buried and forgotten.

Do these Primarchs live still? Do they regret their rebellion and treason? And perhaps… might they one day return? Surely if Guilliman and Jonson have returned in the Imperium’s darkest hours… all things must be possible. What redemption might lie ahead for Saorlaith Clannmorna of Dún na Badb, the Weeping Eleventh?

[p-artsypants]

The Pale Rider (6) When Jealousy Becomes Too Much

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate. Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination. A Beauty and the Beast AU.

Ao3

Not everyone in town liked the Pale Rider. In fact, most of the town didn’t care for his daily presence. 

But they were growing used to it. 

He had a routine now. He had several stops he made, like clockwork. He didn’t stay too long at each one.

Except for the Hofferson residence. 

It had angered a lot of folks, how Astrid could allow this monster around her poor sick mother. 

But then Astrid would give them a glare and retort, “you could always go sit up with her, you know. Then the Pale Rider wouldn’t feel compelled to keep her company.”

That always shut them up. 

It had been about a month since that brave day when Astrid had decided to speak with him in the forge. She only felt more and more certain of his trustworthiness in that time. She had grown rather fond of him as well. 

After their days were done, she’d compare notes with the others, hoping to learn anything she could about his curse. 

On occasion, he’d slip something. It was difficult to tell if he was guarded on purpose, or if he just didn’t want to talk about his tragic circumstances. Most of the information he leaked was about previous generations in the village. An encounter with someone in the woods, a few brave occasions he had wandered through town at night. It was interesting to see where certain rumors seemed to originate from. 

It was a gloomy day. One marked by gray skies, and the faintest drizzle of rain. Astrid’s stall had a little awning to keep her mostly dry, but sales were miserable, and she was excited to call it a day. 

But not until the Rider was gone. 

He came up the road, Toothless trotting with thinly veiled enthusiasm. From here, she could see the Rider’s shiny new leg. A wooden piece with a metal base in a ‘S’ shape. Gobber said it was ideal for riding horses. 

“Afternoon!” He greeted, gleefully. 

“My, you’re in a good mood, aren’t you?” 

“How can I not be? I’m on my way to see my best friend, and all my other friends.” 

Astrid beamed at him, elated at his declaration. 

“I almost left early, I was so excited.” He dismounted in front of her. Toothless immediately got to work on the bucket of poisonous plants she kept just for him. ‘The Toothless Special’ she called it. 

“You could have. It’s been a slow morning.” 

“Everyone expects me at noon. It’s my common courtesy.” 

One thing Astrid noticed taking place was his improved speech pattern. The more time he spent in the village and talking to people, the more normal he spoke. His voice wasn’t even as deep and gravelly anymore. Still deeper than most people, but not bone chilling. He also became more animated, using his hands to gesture. That was a real blessing, as his expression was impossible to see under his mask, so she had to rely on his hand gestures and tone of his voice to figure out what he was thinking. 

He still had his moments, however. A hairpin trigger that would render him silent, stilted, and tense. He’d revert to short answers, or none at all. Snotlout was usually the responsible party, as he had a tendency to point out something ‘weird’ about the Rider that would remind everyone that he wasn’t normal. 

Like anyone could forget. 

After a few words of assurance and a punch to Snotlout, the Rider would eventually come around. 

Overall, she was pleased with the progress he had made in such a short amount of time. 

“Ready for your transformation?” She wiggled her fingers. 

“As ever,” he conceded, bowing his head. 

This was a new tactic they were taking. In an effort to make him less threatening, Astrid had taken to adorning his horns with wildflowers. It hadn’t made anyone else in the town approach him, but she had seen some amusement on people’s faces as he passed by. 

“There!” She declared proudly, gesturing to his head of coneflowers, blanket flowers, and oxeye daisies. “Aww, you look precious!” 

“I feel like a bee buffet.” He reached up and played with the petals. “A small price to pay, I suppose.” 

“You look lovely. Now, everyone’s meeting at Heather’s for afternoon tea. Even Gobber! Ready to go?” 

He nodded and grabbed the bucket Toothless was still mowing through. 

At Heather’s, almost everyone else was already waiting, sipping on tea and relaxing. As they entered, the group cheered, “Astrid! Rider!” 

“Nice pansies,” said Snotlout. 

“You’re just jealous because I can pull it off and you can’t.” 

“Yeah, I’m really jealous of the guy who’s so hideous he has to wear a mask,” Snotlout scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

Astrid feared that would shut him down, but the Rider persevered and stated, “Actually, I’m so handsome under this mask that my face would bring you all to tears.” 

“Really?” said Ruffnut. 

“No, though…I would probably still bring you to tears…” he trailed off. 

“Alright ladies, you’re both very pretty,” interrupted Tuffnut. “But Deer Boy, you gotta settle a debate for us.” 

“D-Deer Boy?”

“Duh. The deer skull? Antlers? Come on!” Tuff flourished his hand. “Okay, so the question is: what was Toothless before he became a horror horse?” 

Astrid scoffed. “What kind of question is that? A regular horse, obviously.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Said Ruff. 

To the bewilderment of everyone, the Rider shook his head. “No, he’s not a horse.” 

“What?!” Shouted Fishlegs, Snotlout, Astrid, and Ruffnut. 

“Yeah!” Said Tuff. “He’s clearly a donkey! I knew it!” 

“No,” the Rider said again. “He’s a dragon.” 

The group went quiet as they digested this information. 

“But…dragons don’t live down this far,” said Fishlegs. “They’re all up in the far northern archipelago. How do you have one down here?” 

“That, I don’t have an answer for,” the Rider sipped his tea. “I’m sorry.” 

“So, a dragon with retractable teeth,” Astrid clarified. “That makes more sense…but why does he look like a horse?” 

The Rider shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Well then, what do you know!?” Snotlout damn near shouted. “How are we supposed to help you break this stupid curse if you don’t remember anything about it?!”

Apparently, that was the hair trigger, although Astrid was the only one to notice at first. The Rider bowed his head and slowly pulled his hands away from his cup and into his lap. “You all are…trying to break my curse?” 

“Duh!” Said Snotlout, again. “You’re not the only one affected by it!” 

There was a short stutter of breath from behind his mask. Then he answered, “of course. You all want to leave the island…I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” 

Astrid punched Snotlout in the gut, making him keel over. “Rider,” she began, sternly. “Yes, we’ve all wanted to break this curse for generations, but know that seeing you motivates us to do so. It’s not a bad thing. You’ve given us hope of change. Let’s work together, okay?” 

He was silent for a long time, twisting his hands nervously in his lap. 

Astrid frowned. “You will work with us, right? You’d tell us if you knew anything that could help, right?” 

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slowly through his unnaturally long neck. “Yes, but I don’t know anything. I’m sorry.” 

Astrid was overcome by the fact she’d never seen the Rider lie before. But at that moment, it was obvious that he had. 

Either no one else noticed, or they were too uncomfortable to call him out. 

“Who wants quiche?!” Gobber hollered, entering the cafe and startling the tense group. Gobber always had a talent for resolving tension, even if it was unorthodox. While everyone was distracted by quiche, the Rider was able to pivot attention away from him. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, Heather,” he noted. “Is everything alright?” 

“What?” She perked up. “Oh! Um, yes, mostly…just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Is it me?” Snotlout crooned, fluttering his eyelashes at her. 

Well that didn’t take long, thought Astrid. 

Heather laughed awkwardly. “Uh no…it’s…well, hopefully it’s not a big deal. You see, my father is sick.” 

Astrid gasped. 

Heather raised her hands in a calming way. “Nothing too serious! Just…Gothi said it’s something in his lungs. He’s very weak and has a fever, but he should recover in a month or so.” 

Astrid rested a hand on her chest. “That’s a relief.” 

“Yes, well…while I am worried about my father, there is something more pressing. As he started having his crisis of mortality, he decided to give my brother some more control over…assets.” 

“What kind of assets?” Astrid asked, dreading the answer. 

“Properties…the kind that other people live in and are paying off.” 

The collective group winced. 

“And that’s why he hasn’t been bugging me lately,” Astrid muttered. “Great.” 

“I’m really hoping it's no big deal, but…it’s Dagur.” 

“I’m afraid I’m lost,” said the Rider. “Dagur owns other people’s homes?” 

“That’s right,” Astrid explained, “Oswald the Agreeable is easily the richest man in town. If you want to buy a house, you borrow money from him, then you pay him back. It seems like he’s given the responsibility to Dagur to collect on those debts.” 

“I see,” the Rider mused. 

“Thanks to all your patronage these last few years, I fully own the forge and everything in it! I don’t owe a dime to those muttonheads!” Gobber cheered. 

“My uncle just paid off the store too,” said Fishlegs. 

“Our shop has been in the family for forever,” said Tuffnut. “Pretty sure our parents own our house too.”

The group then turned to look at Astrid. 

“Well, I was leasing my cart from Oswald…and we owed on our house, but he waved the debt after dad died. So I think I’m okay too.” 

Heather sighed a breath of relief. “Then we’ll worry about the rest of the town.” 

“I can help,” offered the Rider. “I can pay.” 

Astrid patted his shoulder, having long gotten used to the damp texture of his cloak. “Don’t worry about it. That’s not your responsibility.” 

“But–” 

“We vikings are very proud. They probably wouldn’t accept charity from even their best friend.” 

“The best thing you can do, lad, is keep on coming to town. We’ll take you to the fishery next! Or maybe the mill?”

“What about the Great Hall?” Asked Astrid. “After sunset tonight, come with us and have a drink!” 

The Rider twisted the hem of his cloak in his hands. “I don’t know…” 

“That’s not a bad idea, Astrid,” said Gobber. “About time people started seein’ him around in more places than just the streets.” 

“Can you?” Astrid urged him, “can you come out at night? The twins finished my dress, you know. This would be a special occasion I could wear it to.” 

After a tense moment, he sighed. “I cannot say no to you, Astrid. I will come.” 

“Yes!” Everyone cheered. 

—-

After spending the later part of Astrid’s shift with Mrs. Hofferson, the Rider departed from the village as usual, with a promise of returning after dark. 

Astrid found herself unbelievably excited. He was coming to the Great Hall! He was so brave! And Gobber would be there to make sure everything went smoothly. 

It would be great! 

She came home and checked on her mother, who had been doing better since the Rider came to sit with her. Positive company apparently did a lot of good. She dressed in her special dress, twirling as she spied herself in the mirror. 

It was a shame the Rider couldn’t feel love. It would be so fun to flirt with him in this. 

Then again, he was over 300 years old. Maybe he looked like an old man under that mask? 

She shuddered. She dare not think like that. 

Taking a coat, she kissed her mother goodbye and practically skipped down to the Hall. 

He wasn’t there, not yet. But the sun had only just set, and he had time. He was probably nervous anyways, and who could blame him? 

Her friends sat at their usual table, and all smiled and waved as she approached. 

“It fits perfectly!” Tuff cheered. 

“Did you think it wouldn’t?” 

“You know, I often have my doubts.” 

“I don’t,” said Ruffnut. “I knew my half of the dress was going to fit like a dream. You get what you pay for.” 

“And considering you charged the man a house, it better fit!” Snotlout snipped, still sore about it. 

“Alright everyone! The party has arrived!” Dagur’s far too enthusiastic voice called from the entrance.

Astrid’s mood faltered. She should have factored in Dagur’s appearance, but it had honestly slipped her mind. 

The Rider had allowed her to forget about him for a while. 

“Astrid…darling, that is a very fine dress. Where on earth did you get it?” He called, spotting her from across the room. 

She frowned, hard. “It was a gift, if you must know.” 

“From whom? Who in this village would dare give you such a gift? Who could afford such a thing?” 

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. For the man in question stepped through the wide doors at that moment. He stood on the threshold, the breeze outside playing with the torn tendrils of his cloak. 

The room fell into a hush as everyone watched. 

“Rider!” Astrid called, delighted. She practically skipped to him and took his hands. “I’m so glad you could make it!” 

“I promised I would,” he said, keeping his gaze on her. 

“Hey buddy!” Snotlout called, “go home to change into your finest evening rags?” 

“Very funny,” the Rider replied, but not angrily. 

“So this is the Great Hall,” said Fishlegs, coming up to join them. “Many a battle was strategized here. Also many a feast! We’re under 18, so our drink selection is small, but you're welcome to order whatever you want at the bar.” 

The bartender waved pleasantly, already having been briefed that the Rider would come. 

“Don’t get the Bloody Mary!” Tuff shouted from the table. “Despite the name, it doesn’t actually have any blood in it! It’s tomato juice!” 

“Though, don’t the farmers use blood for fertilizer?” Asked Ruff. 

“Good point. How much blood goes back into the tomatoes?” Then he shouted back. “There might be a miniscule amount of blood in the bloody mary!”

The Rider laughed. Laughed! “Thanks for the advice!” 

The sound of his laughter seemed to put everyone at ease, even just a little bit. The Rider had a sense of humor. 

As he and Astrid started over to the bar, Dagur made his move. 

“Excuse me, Rider?” He said, politely, and almost meekly. 

The Rider stopped and looked at him, not speaking, but allowed him to go on. 

“I’m Dagur. We met a few weeks ago, though it was brief.” 

“I recall.” 

“And you see, we got off to such a rocky start. You’ve really ingratiated yourself with the young folks of this town. Such a steep hill to climb! Now, I’m sorry for the way I acted back then. But that can all be water under the bridge, right? What do you say? Wanna be my friend?” He held out his hand. 

Astrid held her breath. In her head, she screamed no no no. She didn’t want the Rider to have anything to do with Dagur, but she knew he was desperate for friends, and for acceptance. 

The Rider looked at his hand, but did not raise his own. Instead, he slowly raised his gaze to meet Dagur’s and said, “No. I don’t want to be your friend.” 

The fuzzy feelings that were developing in the room turned to ice. 

People turned their heads to avoid eye contact. Shoulders tensed and throats cleared. 

“Excuse me?” Dagur said, his meaty smile curling farther. “Did you just say…no?” 

“That’s correct.” 

“Why Rider…” he stepped closer. “What a completely ridiculous thing to say! You know, everyone in this town wants to be my friend!” He shouted out to the room at large. “Isn’t that right!?” 

There were some muffled agreements. 

“Barkeep! A round for everyone, on me! Everyone…except the Rider.” 

The room came much more alive then, the drunks cheering for more booze. 

“See? Everyone likes me. Everyone loves me! But you?” He poked the Rider in the chest. “They hate you. They’re afraid of you. And even these so-called friends of yours? They tolerate you. Too afraid of what will happen if they push you away.” 

“Shut up!” Yelled Astrid. 

But he didn’t. “They don’t even have a better name for you. Just ‘Rider’. Because that’s what you do. You ride in, and you ride on out.” He mockingly danced his fingers through the air like someone running away. “You don’t stay here. Because you aren’t one of us. You will never be one of us. Because you’re a monster, and a murderer.” 

“Stop it!” Astrid screamed. 

“You could have been one of us though,” Dagur shrugged. “If you had accepted my friendship. But the offer is rescinded.” 

The Rider said absolutely nothing. Just stood there, expression unreadable behind the skull. 

“Don’t listen to him, Rider! He’s just jealous!” 

“Quiet!” Dagur snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. It made her flinch. “So what are you going to do, Rider? Going to tell me I’m wrong? Because you and I both know I’m not.”

The Rider tilted his head slightly, and the green flames of his eyes dimmed. After a beat, he turned and walked to the bar. 

“Ignoring me!?” 

The Rider held his hand out over the wooden surface and a rain of gold and jewels fell upon it. Some fell to the floor. He looked up at the bartender and explained. “I’d like to pay for everyone's drinks for the rest of the night…except Dagur’s.” 

“Ha! Eat shit!” Snotlout shouted from the corner. 

Dagur whipped his head around to glare at him. “I’ll have your job, Snothat!” 

Snotlout ducked his head, sheepishly.

The Rider then went back to Astrid’s side. 

Astrid grasped his arms. “It’s not true! He’s just trying to get under your skin! I care about you, I truly do!” 

He gripped her arms back with his ice cold hands and dipped his head to speak to her. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, but they just aren’t ready.” 

“But–”

“I knew that dress would suit you. You look breathtaking.” She heard the sound of a kiss, him sending the sentiment into the air when he couldn’t quite reach her. “Goodnight Astrid.” 

Somehow she felt even colder when he pulled away. “Goodnight…” 

He went to the door. Rushing out with an inhuman speed. His cloak almost grew in the wind as he opened the door. Then he was gone in a blink, and only the echoing roar of Toothless signified that he was even near. 

—

Astrid didn’t stay long after. She simply couldn’t. She felt awful, and even though Dagur was the only one hostile, she still felt responsible. 

“You aren’t going to change everyone’s mind on him,” said Phlegma, after Astrid relayed all that had happened. 

“I know! But…I feel like if Dagur hadn’t been there, everyone else may have realized he’s not so scary. Maybe Rider can’t make friends with everyone in town. I know I can’t! But at least I wish people would stop looking at him like he’s some sort of…plague.” 

“Astrid darling, I think instead of getting the town to accept him how he is now, I think you’re better off breaking his curse first.” 

“So, you’re telling me it’s impossible?” 

Phlegma laughed. “No. I’m telling you, that curse is going to halt your progress either way. So…if you really want to help him, set him free.” 

Easier said than done, she supposed. The Rider was locked up tight on the subject. Why? Did he not want to be freed? That didn’t make much sense!

Or maybe…the key to breaking the curse was too steep of a price and he didn’t want anyone to pay it. 

—-

The next day, Astrid stood at her stall. She had been awake all night thinking about what her mother had said. First, she had to find a way to apologize to the Rider and make sure this wasn’t going to deter him from trying to be part of the village. Then, she had to convince him that letting her help was only a good thing. 

It was noon before she knew it. 

Something felt wrong today, as she heard doors and windows slamming shut. People hadn’t acted like that in a while. As she waited for him to round the corner, she heard shouting. 

Fearing the worst, she went to investigate. 

Dagur and several town guards had formed a line across the square, forbidding the Rider from continuing. 

The Rider stood on just the other side, pulling on Toothless’ reins, who whinnied in rage. 

“You are hereby banished from our village!” Dagur yelled, pointing a sword at him. “If you so much as step foot into this town again, you will be attacked on sight!” 

Astrid was enraged. How dare he! How dare he?! A scream of primal rage ripped from her throat and she ran right at Dagur, leaping onto his back and crushing the bone of her forearm against his throat. 

“You leave him alone, Dagur!” She snarled. “He’s never done a thing to you except bruise your ego!” 

Dagur finally got a hold of her and yanked her off, slamming her onto the ground. He delivered three swift punches to her face, and then pinned her to the ground with his boot. “I’ll deal with you in a minute, bitch!” 

Stunned and winded, Astrid let her head fall to the side, looking at the Rider. 

Ever unreadable, he just stood there. Toothless shook his head, agitated, and puffed huge plumes of smoke. 

“You see, Rider? I can hit you where it hurts!” 

Astrid tried to shove Dagur’s foot off of her, but he just ground harder into her stomach. 

“I see that hideous skull around here again, and every one of your little cult members will face my own kind of curse! You hear me?! I run this town, and you’re not welcome here!” 

Astrid pleaded with her eyes, begging him to do something. Anything. He needed to stand up for himself. He needed to put Dagur in his place.

He needed to protect her. 

But instead, he simply bowed his head, and turned. Toothless trotted away, back from where they came, with not a word of farewell. 

He didn’t even look at her. 

Once he was gone, Dagur removed his foot, and then gave her one hard kick in the ribs. “Leave her here. Let her wallow in her misery.” 

Instead, Snotlout appeared at her side. He had tears on his face as he lifted her up. “I gotcha. You’re okay.” 

“Did you not hear me, Snothat?!” Dagur hissed. 

Snotlout adjusted so that she was stable in his arms, then he turned to look at Dagur. “She was right, you know. He never did anything to you. But you? You beat up a woman. You should be disgusted.”

“I warned you before, Snot. I will have your job for talking to me like that.” 

“Fine with me,” he spat. 

Dagur gritted his teeth and raised his sword. 

Luckily, Heather stepped in, blocking his shot at Snotlout and Astrid. “Brother, stop this madness.” 

He scoffed. “Me? I’m the one that’s mad?!” 

Snotlout took the opportunity to back away and take Astrid home. But she could still hear the siblings arguing in the streets. 

“I’m trying to protect this town! How is that a bad thing!?” 

Gobber was already at her house when they arrived. He opened the door so Snotlout could bring her in. 

“Saw the whole thing, but I was too far to intervene,” said the Blacksmith. “That boy is utterly out of his mind!” 

Snotlout set Astrid down in a chair. “Water, she needs water.” 

“Who’s there?!” Mrs. Hofferson shouted from upstairs. 

“Snotlout and Gobber, ma’am! Astrid’s here too!” 

Astrid braced herself on the arms of the chair as her head swam. Her face throbbed, and it hurt to breathe. Dagur really didn’t pull any punches, and it had been a long time since she had been in a fight. 

Absently, she heard the door open and close and the voices of her other friends. It started to give her a headache. 

Finally, her mother was kneeling in front of her. “Astrid darling, are you okay?” 

“Mother, you shouldn’t be up…” she protested weakly. 

“Nonsense. My daughter is injured. I’m going to tend to her.” 

Tears rolled down her swollen cheeks. “He’s gone mama…” she whimpered. “He’s gone, and he never said goodbye.”  

“Oh my baby,” Phlegma embraced her in a gentle hug. Then she asked the room. “What happened? Who did this to my daughter?” 

Astrid rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and listened to the full story. 

“Dagur came to the barracks this morning and told us all that he was going to force the Rider out of town,” began Snotlout. “There wasn’t much protesting, but once he issued enough threats about pay, everyone was on board. Well, not me, but I didn’t know what to do. Right before he came to town, he had them all form a line to keep him from going to Astrid. Then, once the Rider arrived, he gave this long winded speech about how he’s been given power by Oswald and he’s the leader of the town and by his authority, the Rider was forbidden from entering the town.” 

“What a load of horse shit,” Phlegma spat. 

“He told the Rider that if he ever came back, he’d be attacked on sight.” He sighed. “That’s when Astrid arrived. She heard that much and did this…admittedly amazing grapple around his neck. But he slammed her to the ground and punched her.”

“I couldn’t stand by,” Astrid pleaded her case. “I had to fight for him.” Tears welled up again, and she sobbed. “But he just stood there…and then he left.” 

“Astrid,” Snotlout gripped her shoulder. “Everyone could tell he didn’t want to. But you were so vulnerable, I’m certain he was afraid of you getting hurt worse. Dagur had you pinned and had a sword.” 

She weakly wiped her face, her hand coming back smeared with blood. 

“We all know he loves you in his own way. That had to be really hard for him.” 

“I mean,” said Tuffnut. “Dagur basically threatened Rider with Astrid. After he threw her on the ground, he said ‘I know where to hit where it hurts.’” 

Phlegma held her daughter a little closer. 

“I think we need to be vigilant,” said Heather. “I talked him down for today, but there’s no telling when he’ll snap again.” 

“I think Astrid is the biggest target,” said Fishlegs. “We should take turns staying here and watching both of them.” 

Suddenly, the group heard maniacal laughter from outside. There was no doubt who it belonged to. The twins cautiously looked outside. 

“Aww…” Said Ruffnut. 

“That sucks.” 

“What?” Astrid asked, not actually wanting to know the answer.

Ruffnut met her gaze with sympathy. “He’s burning your cart, and all your flowers.” 

Dejected, Astrid hung her head. 

“It’s alright, lass. I’ll build you a new one,” Gobber squeezed her arm. 

“It’s not even mine. I have no way to pay for it…” She hid her face in her hands. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

[quiiettreason]

𖤓 𝓓awn & 𝓓evastation

━━━  part 001. exile

summary — Nikolai Lantsov is saved from drowning and saves his savior from a hungry kelpie.

word count: 1.8k words

warnings — fem!oc ( i know, i’m sorry), death and descriptions of how people died, discussion of su*cide, some (soft) horror elements, blood/gore, book-canon typical violence, mentions of cruelty toward women and faeries, discussion and descriptions of war, trauma so much trauma, and the stages of grief. some pre-canon (book and show), but ends in season two.

good shit — kinda enemies to lovers and fae lore (and lore about Ravka that I made up).

anna’s annotations — there is a prequel to this fic. it's on wattpad, but i'm kinda getting sick of it there. it is linked in the masterlist.

Eulalie wondered if this was how her mother felt when she fled Ravka after the assassinations. Freedom. Anger. Depression. Guilt. 

Eulalie earned her first scars from ripping herself from the enslaved sirens in the fairy caves. Their too-sharp nails had dug into her skin and tore at her unblemished skin. She’d swam for her life through tight tunnels leading out to the sea between the Wandering Isle and Novyi Zem where frigid cold waters met pleasant warm ones. After days of kicking to shore, using a piece of driftwood to help her head above water, Eulalie crawled onto the sandy beach of a Zemini port town called Weddle. 

Exhausted, Eulalie had flopped her arm over her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Well, until a Zemini man started shouting at her in his native language of which Eulalie didn’t know any of. This was definitely how her mother felt. Alone in a foreign country where she didn’t know the language, the customs, or the laws. The only difference was Eulalie was surrounded by humans—some who could be Grisha, or zowa, as the Zemini called them. Blessed. 

The blessed people were the reason faeries fled Ravka to neighboring countries or even crossed oceans to avoid dying terrible deaths. Eulalie’s mother had warned them about venturing outside the Isle, and now Eulalie was paying the price. Maybe, just maybe, her mother had been right. 

But now, there was no going back. 

Eulalie tried not to think about Cecily. It hurt too much to relive her younger sister’s screams as she was pulled down to the bottom of the caves.

The Zemini man neared her, so Eulalie did the only thing she could think of—run. She didn’t know how far away from Weddle when she finally stopped. Eulalie was breathless, hungry, thirsty, and tired. She dragged herself into another port town miles away from Weddle, away from the Wandering Isle. Maybe whatever uncomfortable bed Eulalie crawled into caused the nightmares, but it didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t escape it. He haunted her hellish dreamscape like a phantom. Not Killian. If only he did. 

Kaz Brekker. 

Even though it was her fault, Eulalie hoped that he could hear her sisters’ screams. Kaz was probably incapable of feeling guilty for what he did, but Eulalie still wanted it to hurt him as much as it did to her. Maybe he did. Eulalie couldn’t shake away the fleeting feeling of relief when she’d seen Kaz during the fire. He would have helped her rescue Pollyanna and killed Dara for her, wouldn’t he?

Was it all a lie?

Kaz had let her run back into her burning home to get Polly, and Eulalie had been the one to kill Dara. Eulalie had heard whisperings that there wasn’t a sin Kaz Brekker wouldn’t commit if the price was right. She supposed the price was her reputation and the sin was false hope that not all humans were vile creatures. Eulalie couldn’t even be angry at him—she had been the one to bring him to Hiraeth, and conning was Kaz’s specialty. Still, she wanted to scream at him and beat him until he was nothing more than a mural of blues, blacks, and purples. 

Instead, Eulalie spent the remainder of the winter and entire spring working in a library where she spent her days shelving books, organizing maps, and lying low. The two ladies she worked with befriended her—now, since Rhiannon died, Eulalie had someone to share her love for poetry with. What’s more, they didn’t seem to care that she was fae. But it all felt too good to be true, so she took on her sister’s name. 

“Just Maeve,” she’d tell people who asked. 

Summer thunderstorms were relentless in Novyi Zem. Eulalie's soaked hair clung to the skin on her face and dripped down her back as she hurried through the port town's harbor. Shriftport was bustling with varieties of people, but if they had one thing in common among their differences, everyone was human. It seemed that Eulalie kept learning the most roughly in the last eight months that no one could be trusted, especially not in a town scattered with Ravkan refugees. Thunder cracked above the rooftops, followed by a bright flash of lightning. Eulalie flinched from the sound, nearly dropping the crate of ruined parchment. She needed to find somewhere dry to put the crate and get out of the storm that chilled her to the bone. Eulalie looked out over the harbor. Swells of seawater were barreling toward two ships just off the shore. Pirates. It was one thing to raid another ship so close to shore; it was another so close to a well-established harbor. Eulalie fidgeted with her gilded anchor necklace she’d stolen from Rhiannon’s jewelry box before she disappeared forever. It was the only thing she had from home. An emblem that was probably cursed or haunted, but then again, Eulalie was already both of those things. At some point, Eulalie must have put down the crate because suddenly, she was empty-handed and heading towards the piers and the angry ocean that dangerously bobbed the docked dinghies and ships. She wasn’t alone. Others amassed on the boardwalk to watch the raid. Free entertainment, but Eulalie was genuinely concerned, and for good reason. Eulalie watched one of the ships tip to one side, and a person either fell into the watery depths or maybe was thrown. She heard some gasps from behind her, and she sprung off the creaking pier, diving head-first into the turbulent sea. Eulalie ducked under the swells, trying not to drink in the briny water. Her eyes and nostrils stung as she finally approached the ships. Eulalie gasped and searched the depths around where she’d sworn someone had fallen. She ducked under the water and found him unconscious under the surface. Eulalie dove down to the man, hooked her arms under his, and kicked for both their lives to the surface. 

It was a struggle to keep both their heads above the uneven surges that crashed into them and tried to pull Eulalie under. She took in mouthfuls of ocean water, burning her throat worse than the Kaelish whiskey at the Mumming Ball. Eulalie adjusted her grip on the man, his tacky clothes weighing them both down as the push of an undercurrent led them away from Shriftport to a rocky shore. She tried to listen for a sign of life. He wasn’t breathing, but his pulse was trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen. Eulalie hoisted herself higher and tilted his head back enough for her to open his airway. She’d learned from Mr. Lynch how to recusitate someone in the water after Saoirse almost drowned the summer after Maeve went missing.

Eulalie was grateful they were nearing the rocky beach—performing mouth-to-mouth was much easier on solid ground. She took a breath and crashed her mouth against the man’s, forcing air into his lungs. Then, she pulled back, catching her breath before repeating the action until they reached shore. Eulalie used all her strength to drag the man onto the beach but only halfway, saving the rest of her energy for reviving this bastard. She knelt beside him and hovered her hands over his chest, chewing the inside of her lip as she thought of how this would work. 

Just imagine the water flowing out of his body, her mother’s voice rang in her head. 

It sounded easier than it was. Carefully, Eulalie felt the water gurgling in the man’s lungs and moved the flow out through his throat. Then, urgently, she rolled the man onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on the fluids she was trying to expel from his lungs. The man sputtered and vomited the seawater onto the sand beside him. Relieved and a little satisfied with her work, Eulalie sat back on her heels, taking in the moment of peace. 

Which, like all things good, was fleeting. 

Something in the water stirred, and Eulalie felt the air chill, sending prickles over her damp skin. She didn’t want to look as if she already knew, but it couldn’t be. Right? Still, Eulalie dared to rake her gaze over to the creature standing in the shallow waves. A gray horse with sunken black eyes covered in dark green kelp stared Eulalie down like it knew what she was. But it seemed more interested in the human boy she had rescued. 

Kelpie.

Rumored to only inhabit lakes and rivers. Eulalie had been told that she was safe from them as they never came near saltwater or other fae, much less higher fae. She knew she could not just stay frozen on the sand like a coward. No, Eulalie could beat the kelpie. She was sure of it. 

Slowly, Eulalie rose to her feet, but the man on the sand stirred awake. He grumbled something in what she presumed was Ravkan. Eulalie’s heart thumped louder now. She dug her wet boot into the handsome man’s chest. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t feed you to that kelpie, Ravka,” Eulalie said to the man in modern Kaelish, hoping he understood. 

He did and wheezed. “Kelpie?”

The kelpie stamped its hooves into the water, splashing Eulalie and the Ravkan man. It neared them and snorted as if challenging Eulalie to choose an enemy. Whose side are you on?

She looked down at the man—he was a boy, really. He couldn’t have been older than early twenties, and probably not older than Eulalie. She reluctantly took her foot off the boy’s chest and faced the kelpie. 

“Saints, that really is a kelpie,” the boy rasped weakly as he tried to prop himself on his elbows. 

In an instant, the kelpie lunged at Eulalie, and she did the only thing she could think of, which was use the ocean to defend her and the Ravkan boy. Once he realized what was happening, he scrambled further onto the shore. It was at that moment that Eulalie felt like a total idiot, trying to fight off a particularly hungry kelpie by herself. Her spine cracked into a large black rock covered in barnacles. Eulalie’s eyes widened, and her arm came up to cover her face. 

The kelpie’s jaws unhinged, revealing a set of sharp, jagged teeth that sunk into her skin. Crimson beads oozed from the punctures and rolled down her arm. Eulalie tore her arm away, but that only made it worse. Instead of a regular bite mark, there were deep lacerations. 

The kelpie lunged again, grabbing hold of the same arm and dragging Eulalie into the watery deep. Her head plunged under the surface. This was it. The brutal death Eulalie always knew she would have. The kelpie bit into her stomach, then her legs. She couldn’t tell what the kelpie’s strategy was. Maybe it was to make her bleed out. Eulalie thrashed in the water, the salt stinging her already excruciating wounds. The pain was clouding her mind and couldn’t stop her from gulping down more seawater until she passed out from blood loss.

part 002!

[pincherry]

edgar/alan/sebastian, 20

this is my oc blog, main is @graciouswings

if you send me an ask it will make my day no matter what :]

various stories, universes, and ocs are under the cut!

original stories & worlds!

the death of pallas (tdop) - 19 year old zagreus calvarius is killed, and brought back unwillingly as a prophet of the god of endings, telíkos. his duty is to stop a ragtag group of travelers who want to kill telíkos, and quickly finds himself caught between which side deserves his loyalty.

crow's coin - set in an ambiguously magical, vaguely historical version of earth. a disgraced bird god, asteria, is trying really hard to get his godhood back, and has killed children to do so! uh oh!

viadhah - this is my d&d world! it's ruled directly by the 14 gods, after a war that killed almost all of them. more about the world and the campaigns in it tba

ttrpg characters!

dogbane solarsky - human bard. he's a 58 year old toymaker who is extremely miserable all of the time. nothing horrific has happened to him, he's just kind of like that. he/him.

cassandrias stormsight - blessed (homebrew) oath of devotion paladin. prophet of the god of trust, unity, and loyalty, ozymandias. he was found by the church 40 years ago, with amnesia. he/they.

primrose auprealis - half elf half dragonborn bloodhunter. she was put into an arranged marriage so her parents could more or less get rid of her. she thought her husband, sevastiel, was annoying at first, but eventually came to love him. and then they sent his ass to war. and then The Horrors. she/her.

D35-D3-M0N4 - robot (warforged + homebrew) path of the wild soul barbarian. extremely mean and judgemental bunny robot who constantly vows itself to protect people, and always fails. it/its.

rook berger-bernstein - 17 year old boy (for now) from rural vermont, in 1997. his dad sucks, he has no friends, and is accidentally way too mean to everyone around him. he/him (for now).

almueth rathenou - shifter (half were-fox, half elf) drakewarden ranger. product of an affair between prominent nobles, was raised by her mother, maternal grandparents, and uncle. her family was killed & her younger cousin abducted by a dragon when she was 14. after killing the dragon (sleeping, already very injured), she found its child and decided to raise it because she felt guilty. now she's traveling to find her cousin. also she became a pirate along the way. she/it/he.

mosley doe von der ahe - basically a pied piper themed magical girl. she has really bad anger issues. she/her.

anwynn - for a guardians of ga'hoole campaign! a stygian owl, raised in a weird secluded owl commune that was obsessed with preventing death and bringing back the dead. she eventually realized how bad that is, and ran away. she/her.

other stories!

albion garden (his dark materials) - set 1 year after the end of the first trilogy. albion garden is a defunct predecessor to oakley street, revived and headed by desmond letlow and his wife cerridwen. they function as spies and vigilantes, not beholden to any government.

watchers & wanderers (his dark materials) - a d&d campaign, set at the same time as albion garden. a variety of travelers from a variety of worlds find themselves dependent on one another to get back home, before the angels close off all remaining gateways between worlds.

new ebeltoft (his dark materials) - set in 2014. half of the population of a small new danish town, new ebeltoft, has disappeared. or, more accurately: a quarter of the town had disappeared completely, and another quarter have been split in half— either a person or their dæmon has been left behind, while the other disappeared. hershell mateschitz is trying very, very hard to find out what happened, as his daughter is among the missing.

vigils over verdant isle (guardians of ga'hoole) - far from the lands of ambala, tyto, the north, or any other familiar owl kingdoms, lies verdant isle. it's ruled by a collection of parrots, who consider themselves the best and brightest of all birds, and claim to be royalty.

cloverclans (warrior cats) - collaborative warrior cats story with @sillymeter! tensions are growing between hareclan, owlclan, and berryclan, which is totally & 100% helped when they discover there's a fourth clan, clan brewer, living In The Fucking Mountain.

norem (pokémon) - based on new england, the norem region is a fakémon project i've been working on with friends since 2022! three teenagers are hired by professor pincherry to conduct fieldwork with ghost types, investigations into alleged hauntings, and compiling local folklore. their work is greatly impeded when norems princess goes missing, and the royal family places a ban on the training, raising, breeding, and trading of ghost type pokémon.

lupi maris (pokémon) - set in the distant past of the taryse region. big pokémon war, very bad, very sad. palmyre is a priestess of arceus, who is made to send racham, her lycanroc, to war. it sucks for him. so bad. it sucks so fucking bad. It sucks. It's so bad. They send that Dog to War.

misc ocs!

feivel leukolapin (saintverse, @ethanscrocs universe) - he's if the white rabbit was a human man with every single mental illness and disorder. his job is delivering messages and things between the realms, and he is EXTREMELY bad at it. he/her.

ambrose rosesmosesamos (saintverse) - magician themed superhero. he's a 16 year old seeker, though he's usually in the form of an incandescent because both of his adoptive mothers are incandescents. he/him.

nestor (pokémon) - he's 22 year old unovan, who begins looking into his father, who has never been in his life, and discovers that his father, pierrick, disappeared without a trace before he was born. he/him (for now).

jagoda popiela (a crown of candy) - candian (strawberry almond cake sheepgirl) oath of conquest paladin, extremely loyal to the sugar-plum fairy. her duty was to kill mages to keep them preserved within the fairy's domain, but after she was killed by house rocks, jagoda has instead set herself on revenge. she/her.

trixie sarcophaga (fantasy high) - flesh fly thri-kreen grave domain cleric. trixie is originally from the red wastes, attending aguefort on a scholarship. her passions are fashion and rotting meat, and her father is a giant talking fly. she/it.

shrimp (burrow's end) - erythristic stoat, and resource allocations worst member. rather than gathering anything of value to the stoats as a whole, shrimp uses her time to collect flowers and other knick knacks to decorate her quarters. she/her.

charlie chutzpah (mentopolis) - personification of self aggrandizing/narcissism (i have npd don't worry). formerly a respected prosecutor under the thumb of mark bition, charlie has since been outed as corrupt, accepting bribes and forging evidence. now he's on the run. she/him.

johannes truth (mentopolis) - the honest truth. originally charlies secretary, she turned charlie in when mark bition was arrested and she learned the truth of her bosses corruption. despite being a humble secretary, johannes is determined to bring her evil, gay boss to justice. she/her.

philip "pip" andraemon thornecroft (the magnus archives) - eccentric and extremely wealthy, pip frequently hosts themed parties reminiscent of times gone by. they have an interest in history, an obsessive passion with the occult, and a deep loathing for anything that could be aligned with the extinction. they/them.

[fictionkinfessions]

(victor frankenstein kinnie) i had a really weird dream where i organised a reconciliation meeting with the creature in a shed near the alps. i had an apology script and kept fumbling it and everything, it was incredibly awkward. but then two other creatures showed up from "different adaptations" and had different art styles and everything. when i saw the other two i was like "ah god. look its one thing when i see my creature but i feel really bad dealing with another two" a bunch of random dream nonsense happened, and then i ended up lost on the shores of the orkney isles. i was looking for my family and mary shelley and ...also wednesday addams? was there. and they couldnt help. after wandering for a bit i could see the three creatures wading out of the water to me and i went "ohh, i see. you guys are my family. i get it now :]" and then i hugged them, they started crying because they havent recieved affection ever. it was like an otherworldly renaissance painting. a blurry cloud manifesting in the shape of satan came down and blessed me saying "the curse is now lifted..." and i woke up drenched in sweat. erm. melatonin am i right

s

[fairy-verse]

I don't know if my inbox just straight up ate this ask, or if I accidentally deleted it, but luckily I'm smart and save all the questions in a word document when I answer them, so hah! I still got it.

If you want more in-depth descriptions of the different races, then please send individual asks for them.

evethepoptwist asked:

What do season fairies work for like what do they harvesting for, what do they make for their own little inventions and crafts, or how do they take care of animals by their own ways, depending on each seasons other than singing, dancing, laughter, etc. And can you tell us more about trolls, flower people, and mushroom people, and what do they do for the living? Since we barely know these guys other than talking so much about season fairies and the big folks

It is important to remember that the fairies mostly just create and work for the fun of it. Once they’ve made anything they require to survive for the seasons they do not belong to, then they’re free to just craft and create things that they love. They will harvest whatever food they can find within their respective season, and oftentimes trade with each other should they desire anything that belongs to the other seasons.

The animals care for themselves, but some fairies will take extra care in aiding them through life to ensure their survival, though it all depends on how much they love said animal. Most of the time, they will simply flutter around them and bring them as much luck as possible. Fairies possess an extra amount of luck compared to other beings, after all!

The trolls are night-dwelling creatures that hide in caves, holes, and makeshift homes that they create out of fallen trees, moss, sticks, and mud. Sunlight will turn them to stone, which is a painful process that cannot be undone. They prefer deer, moose, and rabbits as food, but have acquired a taste for humans, too. Fairies are mostly seen as tasty sweets to them. They have been known to create clothes and weapons, and they can speak to each other, though this is through grunts and growls. Most of the time, they fight amongst themselves and prefer solitude to companionship.

The flower people were born from the magic of the Luna tree on the Isle of Luna, and from said tree, they are granted immortality. They rarely leave the island, as what often happens to those that do so, is that they fall in love and will inevitably be cursed with heartache for eternity. They are the same size as fairies, and legend has it that they’re all blessed with the ability to communicate and manipulate the nature around them. No one fully knows what they do on the island, as no one has been able to cross the mist surrounding it.

The mushroom people are essentially just mushrooms with stumpy legs and arms that wander the forest floors. They will squeak, though no one yet knows if this is a form of communication or not. Sometimes, they may sit for hours and days without doing anything. They are popular pets among the fairies, especially the spring and autumn fairies.

There are also:

The Stonemen will appear as boulders, rubble, and mountains when asleep. The sleeping sisters are believed to be Stonemen who fell into a deep slumber many hundred years ago, and some think they will cause havoc once they awake again. This theory hasn’t yet been confirmed. Stonemen in general are peaceful and stationary, though when awake, they have been observed to find pleasure in watching fairies play together.

The small people/monsters look just like the big folk, only the size of fairies. They live in holed out trees and tiny houses on the forest floor. There are not that many of them on Fairy Island, as they’re not native there. They’ll live simple lives, preparing for winter, sewing clothes, creating fun projects they can play with, and sometimes even trading with fairies.

Gnomes are odd winter creatures that have their eyes hidden by pointy hats in the colour of either, red, blue, or green. They live in holes in the ground, though said homes look very cozy, often with a fireplace, a place for a kitchen, a big bed for the whole family, and such. They only come out once the snow lays thickly on the ground, and then they’ll collect sticks, frozen berries, and other trinkets they can find on the ground. Very little is known about them, though they’ll sometimes trade with the winter fairies.

Monster fairies can often be found close to Big Folk villages, and sometimes even in them. They like to settle within their attics for warmth, though there are still those who prefer to live in the forest away from them. Most can be found in Willoway Forest, though there are those who live in the Singing and Kval hills. They often steal food and clothes from the Big Folk. These fairies are the ones that look like variants of Papyrus, Toriel, Asgore, Temmie, esc…

Human fairies/Fae are in small numbers and can only be found within Ink’s domain, as he is the father of their race. They have blacked-out eyes and silvery blue wings, and they should never, under any circumstance, be trusted to make a deal with. Luckily, it’s difficult and extremely rare to ever meet with any of them.

[thekeeperofbalance]

7: Are there aliens?

8: Are there yokai/magical beings?

Questions from the ask game for secret garden

7) yes there are aliens, the kraang do exist here (and, as this is heavily rise influenced, they are more like rottmnt's kraang than any other canon iteration) and they are important to the lore

edit: you can tell i Did Not read the ask game thoroughly before answering this- outside the kraang (which are strictly aliens in the gardens saga, there is no dimension trapping or anything) there are no aliens- like, outside one's that are important to the kraang's backstory (yeah they have a whole-ass backstory and it's kinda tragic, i.e. lost/forsaken potential)

8) there are multiple different magical beings, as secret garden/the gardens saga (as i am now calling it, because i was never really happy with secret garden) is technically a crossover with my fantasy world meaning it has the unending

minor tangent to explain the unending:

so. in the unending weave, there are two types of immortals, the divine and the unending.

the divine not being truly immortal (such as the greek gods in pjo, who fade if their seats of power or domains are destroyed or if they aren't remembered) meaning they somehow enter nonexistentance. they also are limited to their specific universe, while the unending exist outside the multiverse.

the unending being just that. the unending cannot die, they cannot be destroyed, they cannot fade, they have no end and are truly immortal. they will exist without humanity, without the universe, without time, without physical existence. they cannot become nonexistant. they are truly without end.

anyways, other than the unending (there are no divine beings in the universe of the gardens saga), there are the emayi which are humans blessed/cursed by the keepers (basically the protectors, priests, rulers, and almost gods of the unending who exist to keep their domains, which i will discuss in some other post because who the keepers are isn't really important to this universe) to be stronger, faster, more durable, have better senses, and far longer lifespans, at the cost of the appearance of humanity (aka they're anthromorphic beings that take an android form of a specific species of animal or are too other to be considered human aka they are like the unending in appearance but not immortality).

they inspired the yokai in japanese mythology and are the ancestors of the fae- the fae also exist in the gardens saga btw

i think that's it- this iteration has so much magic and so much influence from the unending weave-

tdlr; 7) yes, the kraang exist

8) yes, there are the unending (basically gods), the emayi (the humans blessed/cursed by the keepers (basically the unending's gods, even if they are unending themselves) to be a species of the unending without the immortality (just extremely long lifespans)) and the fae (descendants of the emayi)

this has nothing to do w/ ur ask but if i had to rank my stories by level of influence from the unending weave it would be: (warning: this is a bit spoilerly)

this hope rising like sparks. (one of the many larks (almost mc of the unending weave) across the multiverse befriends hisirdoux casperan before camelot)

in the gardens we grow of starlight. (the turtles are literally sponsored by the keepers, and everything to do with the hamato family lore has some time to the keepers)

within waters of the underworld. (magic is a blessing from a keeper, and every mage has a specific keeper as their patron, of which there are thirteen keepers)

homes; these places we've hoped for. (just background influence and worldbuilding, otherwise there would be too many gods/god-like beings)

[lonesome-witching]

A Play in Three Acts

This might have been the most ambitious prompt I've gotten so far. Which is why this is quite long. Shockingly long actually. And I even tried to shorten it. Thank you for the prompt @allnewtpir. Hope this fits with what you had in mind.

You can send me prompts or find the previous ones right here.

Robin’s mom had often described her love story as a play in three acts. It was a story Robin had grown sick of. As a child she had hoped she’d be granted the same type of love story. But that was before her mother had started to sound like a broken record and long before Robin realized she’d never be granted that same fairytale. Because Robin wasn’t like her mother, she wasn’t like most girls. And while some saw that as a blessing, Robin knew it as a curse. So, she’d bury that stupid play in three acts into the depths of her memory and hoped it would fade away.

But it never did. She could still recount the three acts and how they were supposed to unfold. 

Act I

The first meeting 

The first time Robin met Nancy wasn’t really the first time they met. Their real first time meeting was in kindergarten when each of the children in the circle had been forced to state their name as they were introduced to each other. Nancy had been sitting neatly on her chair, her hands clasped in her lap and Robin had thought she looked so mature. She herself had sat with one leg pulled up on her chair and hugging her knee, a habit she still hadn’t gotten rid off. 

But it wasn’t about that first meeting. It was about the first time they really met, the first time they actually spoke to each other, the moment they went from strangers to acquaintances. 

That happened at the beginning of Christmas break 1984. Robin had been in no mood to leave the house, the cold kept biting into her skin whenever she so much as opened a window. But despite the fact her winter coat had torn at the seams, her parents thought it was a great idea for Robin to walk to the grocery store for some last minute shopping. Very last minute, seeing as her extended family was already on the way to Hawkins. 

So, Robin found herself wandering around the endless isles of chips and drinks and candies. She was searching for orange juice when she noticed her. Standing in front of the fridge filled with different brands of orange juice and sodas stood Nancy Wheeler, eyes glazed over, staring at something beyond the glass. 

“Are you alright?” Robin approached cautiously, keeping her voice low and kind. She never liked being pulled out of her own concentration and she probably wouldn’t have even said anything if she didn’t need the access to that particular fridge. 

Nancy jumped back, her eyes now directed at Robin. She wasn’t sure whether she should be grateful or ashamed to have Nancy’s attention. 

“Huh?” Nancy frowned and Robin thought she might have been crying. 

“Are you alright?” Robin repeated, just as soft as before. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” 

She didn’t look fine. “Are you sure? Because I’m not. My partners are being… they’re acting like they know how they’re supposed to act but all it’s doing is making me do stuff I don’t want to do. Like I didn’t even want to leave the house today and I begged them to not invite my drunk aunt over for Christmas but mother knows best, you know? She does whatever she likes and then pretends it’s for my own good.” Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Why was she still talking? 

“Who are you?” Nancy asked and somehow Robin sensed that Nancy was wondering the same thing, why was she still talking to her? 

“Robin. Robin Buckley. We have chemistry. The class. We have chemistry class together at school. Hawkins High.” She refrained herself from adding Go, Tigers to her speech. 

“Right.” 

“Sorry, you probably have your own holidays to get to, let me just…” She pointed her thumb toward the fridge and Nancy stepped aside. 

Robin looked at the different selection of bottles. She wasn’t sure which one her cousins would prefer. At least she assumed she was buying it for the minors and not for some type of special cocktail her mom was thinking up. Those never tasted good. She noticed a bottle that looked somewhat familiar, maybe a brand her parents had bought her when she was a kid. Her hands grabbed it, all under the watchful eye of Nancy Wheeler. 

She knew Nancy was still watching her, could feel those blue eyes staring holes in the side of her face, which is exactly why she continued staring at the bottle she now held in her hands. 

“Robin?” Something had changed in Nancy’s voice and Robin wanted to learn what it was. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” 

Act II

Strangers to friends

Everything had changed after that first meeting. When school started up in January, Nancy sought her out. Third period on Monday, Nancy dropped down in the seat next to Robin for their shared chemistry class with a shy smile. Robin’s own smile bright enough to light up the Christmas tree her parents forgot to take down. 

“Is this okay?” Nancy had asked. 

“Of course, this is great.” Robin replied and maybe she shouldn’t have sounded so eager. But her words eased the tension in Nancy’s shoulders and she really couldn’t regret anything that had that effect. 

So, they sat together during chemistry. And then they started sitting together during lunch twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays, the two lunches Nancy’s boyfriend spent in the darkroom to develop pictures. And then they started sitting together during lunch all the time. Even when Jonathan sat next to her, Nancy’s attention wouldn’t waver from Robin. And then they started calling each other, late at night. 

It was during those calls that Robin really got to know Nancy. Somehow the distance between them made it easier for Nancy to open up. Robin learned that Nancy wanted to become a journalist, that she’d always loved writing in any capacity but that with age and experience she had gotten addicted to diving into mysteries and unraveling them for all to see. Robin had wanted to ask about this experience but she had bitten her tongue. 

She learned that Nancy didn’t like the cold. And the way she had said it made Robin wonder if there was a reason for it. 

She learned that Barb hadn’t run away. The night they had that conversation they both ended up crying on the phone until they fell asleep. According to Nancy, Barb had gotten into an accident. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Robin didn’t want to accept this answer but she didn’t really have a choice. 

She learned that Nancy was determined and stubborn and smart. She learned that Nancy didn’t see herself that same way. She learned that maybe deep down she was falling in love with Nancy. 

And then summer approached and Nancy got a wonderful internship at the Hawkins Post, she had been ecstatic when she called Robin to tell her the good news, and Robin… Well, Robin had applied to every single store that had opened at the mall and had only gotten a chance from Scoops Ahoy. It hadn’t been her first choice, or her second or third, but it was a job and she needed the money. 

Nancy had been sitting on the Buckley couch when Robin had gotten the call. Nancy had seen the way Robin wasn’t all that excited for her own summer endeavors. And Nancy had tried to cheer her up instantly. 

And Robin had appreciated it. 

It was only when she learned that Nancy had gotten Jonathan a spot at the paper that something started to burn in her chest. It hadn’t helped that she had been informed of that on the same day Steve Harrington was hired at Scoops Ahoy. She’d be spending her summer with her nemesis while Nancy and Jonathan got to live out their dream, and it stung a little. 

It stung a little less when Nancy came into Scoops Ahoy on her days off. Always right around Robin’s lunch break. Always ordering a different flavor and tipping royally. Always wearing a skirt. 

“And I know I shouldn’t care what they think but it’s too much for me to take at this point. It’s humiliating.” Nancy pushed a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 

“Who said you shouldn’t care?” Robin frowned at her lunch, no ice cream for her, she’d gotten sick of the treat after two weeks. 

“Jonathan. He said I shouldn’t care because they don’t know what they’re talking about but-”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care. I mean yeah, fuck these man for talking shit about you. You are better than them. But that doesn’t mean they should just get away with it. You’re brilliant and they should regret ever saying otherwise.” 

Maybe that had been a bit too much. There would come a moment when Nancy saw right through her and maybe that would be now. Because Nancy was looking at her with her mouth slightly agape, the spoon still resting on her tongue and her eyes wide. 

“Thank you. I think I really needed to hear that. Jonathan keeps telling me to suck it up because it’s such an amazing experience but I can’t just sit still and look pretty and do nothing.” 

Okay maybe Robin got away with it this time. 

“Don’t suck it up, Nance. Stand up for yourself. If you think there is potential in this article then write it and please, Nance, don’t give up. If Jonathan won’t stand by your side, I will.”

Nancy smiled. “Enough about me, tell me about your week. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

So Robin did. “Somehow Steve is getting worse at flirting and I didn’t know that was possible. I still can’t believe he got you to date him.” 

“He was different in high school, you know that.” 

“Was he really that different?” 

“I guess so.” 

And maybe it was wishful thinking but there almost seemed to be a new glint, a new spark, in Nancy’s eyes. 

Act III

Love confessions

“Have you ever been in love?” Robin wasn’t sure where the words came from. Maybe because in the back of her mind a soft voice kept chanting Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. 

“Yep, Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” Steve followed the words with a sound that must be mimicking a gun. And Robin felt her own heart break. 

Somehow she and Steve had become friends. Through the translations and the scheming and the Russian layer with its doctors and drugs, it really wasn’t that hard to bond. 

“Oh my God, she’s such a priss.” And maybe the truth serum was wearing off because she didn’t really mean that. Nancy was more than a priss. 

“Turns out, not really.” 

Robin wanted to know more. But her own envy got in the way. She couldn’t bear to hear of all that Steve and Nancy had gotten up to. 

“Are you still in love with Nancy?” 

Please say no, please say no, please for the love of God say no. 

“No.” 

Oh thank God.

“Why not?” How could anyone not be in love with Nancy Wheeler? 

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” What? “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying ‘you know you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie’-“

“Wait, who’s Suzie?” Robin interrupted.

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I’m not 100% sure she’s even real. But that’s not- that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is there is this girl, you know, the one that I like, it’s somebody that I… didn’t even talk to in school.” 

Oh God no, don’t say that. Robin exhaled, feeling this anxious tension crawl up her body. 

“And I don’t even know why. Maybe cause Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me or… I wouldn’t be… prom king. It’s stupid, I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyway. Because when I think about it I should’ve been hanging out with this girl the whole time. First of all, she’s hilarious. She’s so funny. I feel like this summer I have laughed harder than I have laughed… in a really long time.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile a little. She did like Steve. She liked Steve a lot. Just not like this. She had finally found her people. Nancy and Steve. And yet she had fallen in love with the first one and was about to be forced to reject the other. Life wasn’t fair. 

“And she’s smart. Way smarter than me. You know, she can crack, like, top secret Russian codes and… you know? She’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.” 

Goddamit Steve! Why? 

Robin put her head in between her knees. She was going to throw up. 

“Robin?” Steve knocked on the wooden stall. Robin looked up, but Steve couldn’t see that. He couldn’t see the uncomfortable smile on her face. “Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No.” Robin sighed heavily. “I… am still alive.” Unfortunately. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. 

And then Steve was sliding under the stall toward her. 

“The floor is disgusting.” Robin said, more out of instinct than anything else. She’d never been good at keeping her mouth shut. 

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so… What do you think?” 

“About?”

“This girl.”

“She sounds awesome.” 

“She is awesome. And what about the guy?” 

“I think he’s on drugs, and he’s not thinking straight.” 

“Really? Cause I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual.” 

“He’s not.” Robin prided herself on her stern gaze. “Look… he doesn’t even know this girl. And if he did know her, like- like really know her, I don’t think he’d even want to be her friend.” Was she actually doing this? Was she actually about to confess her biggest secret to Steve Harrington in the dirty Starcourt mall bathroom. 

“No, that’s not true. No way is that true.” Steve leaned forward. 

“Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends.” 

“Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.” 

Oh God, she was actually going to do this. “Steve, earlier when I talked about being jealous and, like, obsessed, it wasn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because you got to kiss her.” 

“Who?” 

“Nancy Wheeler. You got to kiss her and hold her and you got to call her yours. And all I can do is be her friend and endure the lengthy conversations about her boyfriend just so she’ll look at me. Because it might be torture to hear about Jonathan or about what things were like with you, but it is worth it for that smile on her face and that spark in her eyes. I’d give everything for her to feel that way about me.” 

“What?” The door to the bathroom fell shut. Steve and Robin turned their heads towards the intrusion. There stood Nancy Wheeler for once sporting a pair of high waisted pants and a black and red striped shirt. 

“Nancy?” Robin exhaled the name. “I can explain.” 

“Okay.” Nancy stood there blinking at her and Robin wasn’t sure she could explain, her mind was still fuzzy. 

“What are you doing here?” She said instead and maybe she should have started with that question. She crawled to her feet. 

“Dustin, he radioed. He was worried. I rushed over as soon as I could. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, just injected with truth serum.” Robin chuckled uncomfortably.

“Is that why you said… what you said?” 

Robin wasn’t sure what to reply. She wasn’t even sure that was why she had said it. Indirectly it surely had been the cause. So, for perhaps the first time in her life, Robin said nothing. 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy took a careful step forward. 

“Of course I like you, we’re friends. I like my friends, everyone likes their friends.” She quickly looked at Steve but saw nothing but confusion on his face. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Another step. 

“Oh.” 

“Robin, do you like me?” Nancy repeated, slowly closing the distance between them. 

Her mouth felt dry, like she had been roaming the desert instead of a Russian layer under the local mall. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t get a word out. With a resigned sigh she nodded her head. 

“Oh God.” Nancy exhaled as if she had been holding her breath. “That’s good. That is so good.” She laughed softly. 

“It is?” Robin croaked out. 

“I thought… I thought I was imagining things. That you were just being nice when you complimented me and made grand speeches but now I know I wasn’t going crazy.” 

“You weren’t.” 

“I like you too, Robin.” 

“You what?” Robin nearly shouted the words. There was no way. Nancy must have misunderstood her. 

“I like you. You listen and you always know what to say. You know a little bit about everything, you’re so smart. You’re so beautiful. How could I not like you?” Nancy was standing close now, very close. 

“But you’re Nancy Wheeler?” 

“I am.” 

“What about Jonathan?” 

“We broke up. He didn’t understand me. Not like you do.” Nancy was staring up at her through her lashes. And then she was leaning in, closing the last bit of distance between them and pressing her lips against Robin’s in a featherlight kiss. 

“Oh my God, I’m never going to hear the end of this.” Steve groaned. 

“What?” Robin had almost forgotten he was there. 

“I’ve been flirting with girls all summer and they’ve all turned me down. You flirt with one girl and she ends up kissing you. We both know you are never shutting up about this, Robin.” 

Nancy laughed as she intertwined their hands.

[princess-ibri]

Sorry it's taken so long to do another Disney Parent Backstory. Took a while to get back in the mood, but here we go:

Cinderella 's Parents

Her mother was a woman named Margaret, and her father was Lord Augustin Tremaine (I'm going off an older Disney book where Tremaine was Cinderella's family name, not originally the Stepmother's).

Margaret worked as a lady's companion for a noblewoman who Augustin's extended family wanted him to marry (he was an orphan by then), and so the two saw each other frequently whenever there was a social event 

Augustin found himself more and more drawn to the charming and kind Margaret over his intended, and she found herself drawn to him as well

Eventually Augustin announced his love for her, and his intention to marry Margaret instead of the noblewoman chosen by his parents

This was of course something of a scandal among the gentry, and Augustin's family cut him off for it, but he had his own fortune and title and most importantly his True Love, so they lived quite happily for many years

At some point Margaret did a kindness for a fairy in disguise, who in turn promised her a boon. Margaret asked only that the child she was expecting would be watched over and aided if she was ever in great need, as neither she nor Augustin had family willing to care for the child if anything should happen to them

The pair began  calling their daughter "Cinder-Ella" after a memorable occasion when she wandered off and was found asleep by the kitchen fire (thankfully long died down) with her face all smudged and the name stuck 

Unfortunately, Margaret died when her daughter was only four years old, and Augustin died four years later, after an ill advised second marriage to the widowed wife of an old childhood friend… 

Prince Charming's Parents

Young King Maximilian fell in love with Lady Constantina at first sight, the very day they were introduced as young royals at a diplomatic meeting

She was a beauty from the Southern Isles, a cousin to their Royal family, and her lively spirit and wit immediately captivated him

She in turn found his brashness and blustery ways, which had often alienated him from others, to be charming, and the soft heart hidden beneath them enduring

They spent every hour they could together during the event, and afterwards, they entered into a correspondence that rapidly became romantic on both sides and were married as soon as the necessary protocols could be undertaken

They were very happy together, and were blessed with one son, Henri-Christopher, whom they doted on, though Constantina sadly passed away a few years before the events of Cinderella took place

[cozycomet22798]

I had ai make a desc for my oc in mind because I dont feel like doing all that writing, shes a goddess character from botw. I bended its words to how I prefer and I also added side quests for her because I can so here it is (do not come for me writing takes awhile but for now I have this and if you repost this give me credit.)

Name: Narella, the Tidebound

Title: Forgotten Goddess of Shores and the Sea

Domain: Beaches, tides, coastal winds, and shallow waters

Appearance: Narella appears as a graceful, ethereal figure draped in flowing garments that ripple like waves. Her skin has a sun-kissed, opalescent sheen, and her long hair shifts color from sandy gold to seafoam green. Seashells and bits of coral adorn her crown and jewelry, and faint bioluminescence glimmers across her body at night. Her eyes are a deep cerulean, swirling with ancient sorrow.

Personality: Once worshipped by fishing villages and coastal settlements, Narella was a gentle but proud deity. Now forgotten, she is wistful and soft-spoken, often seen alone along quiet shores, whispering to the waves. She is slow to trust but deeply compassionate, with a fierce protectiveness toward marine life and those who revere the sea with respect.

Lore: Narella was once honored with driftwood shrines and pearl offerings by early Zora and seaside Hylians. As time passed and her temples eroded, her name was lost to the tide. Some say her essence lingers in hidden tidepools and uncharted coves. During fierce storms, sailors whisper prayers to her out of instinct, not memory.

Abilities:

Tidecall: Can summon and manipulate ocean tides, creating paths or revealing sunken ruins.

Seaborn Veil: Cloaks herself and allies in mist, granting stealth and calming foes.

Echoes of the Deep: Communicates with sea creatures and reads the memories of the ocean floor.

Pearl of Remembrance: A glowing relic she carries that can restore fragments of lost history or bring peace to wandering spirits.

Location: Narella’s last known domain is a secret cove hidden beyond the Palmorae Beach in the Faron Reigon in Lurelin Village, accessible only during a rainy day at low tide. Worshippers:

🌊 The Wavecallers of Lurelin

Description: A secluded fishing community on the southeastern coast, the Wavecallers were known for their reverent relationship with the sea. They believed Narella blessed their nets and calmed storms.

Rituals: They placed conch shells at the water’s edge each full moon and sang “The Hymn of the Shore” while casting their nets. Elders taught that her spirit would guide the fish to honest hands.

Fate: As Lurelin modernized and adopted newer fishing techniques, their traditions faded. Only a few elders still hum her songs.

🐚 The Shell Maidens

Description: A secretive order of all-female monks who once lived on the remote Crescent Isles (now submerged ruins east of Eventide Island).

Role: They acted as priestesses, tide-readers, and guardians of ancient water scrolls said to be written in Narella's own script.

Appearance: Wore robes dyed with sea ink and adorned with silvered shells. Known for carrying coral-bladed ritual knives.

Beliefs: They believed Narella whispered fate through waves and interpreted dreams cast during high tide.

🌊 Common Offerings at Narella's Shrines

🐚 Seashells and Coral

Symbolism: Represent the sea's beauty and fragility.

Use: Arranged in spirals or circles, often forming patterns meant to mimic tidal flow.

Special Items: Rare, naturally occurring blue or pink shells were considered sacred and placed at the center of offerings.

🐟 Pearls

Symbolism: Purity, hidden wisdom, and the sea’s gifts to those who wait.

Use: Kept in small stone bowls carved into the shrine base. One legend says Narella wept pearls when she was forgotten.

🐬 Water from the Sea

Symbolism: A direct link to Narella's domain.

Use: Collected at dawn and poured into tidebowls—shallow stone basins built into shrines. Offerers would whisper thanks or prayers as the water evaporated or rejoined the tide.

🌾 Dried Sea Grasses and Driftwood

Symbolism: The connection between land and water.

Use: Used as incense or kindling in ritual fires. Shrines often had driftwood frames or chimes.

🪨 Smooth Stones

Symbolism: Longevity, patience, and memory shaped by time.

Use: People would write short prayers or names on the stones and place them at the foot of her altars, sometimes stacking them into tiny cairns.

🎶 Shell Chimes and Wind Instruments

Symbolism: Her voice carried on the wind and waves.

Use: Hung around shrines so her presence could be felt when the wind stirred them. The melody was said to bring peace or attract sea creatures.

🌕 Offerings of Moonlight

Symbolism: Her connection to tides and hidden things.

Use: Shrines were often visited at night during full moons. Devotees lit small lanterns with pale blue flame or luminescent fish oil, letting their light reflect on the water.

📍 Shrine Locations

Her altars were typically found:

In sea caves carved by the tide

Beneath overhangs on quiet beaches

Atop cliffs where sea breezes blew strongest

On boats or docks, especially among traveling fishers

🌊 Prayer to Narella – “Whisper of the Shore”

O Narella, Lady of the Tides, Whose breath stirs wind and wave alike, Hear this shell-born voice of mine, Carried on salt and silver light. Guide our boats, calm our seas, Bring the fish, and hush the storm. In moon’s pull and ocean's song, Let your grace once more be born.

Traditionally, this would be said while placing a shell or stone at the shrine, and during full moons, it might be chanted by groups in a slow, rhythmic cadence to match the waves.

🐚 Questline: “The Tidebound Remnants”

A forgotten goddess stirs as the sea begins to whisper once more...

🌀 1. "Whispers in the Wind"

Location: Lurelin Village Quest Type: Discovery / Mystery

Description: Villagers report hearing strange songs carried on the sea breeze at night. An elder named Mara asks Link to investigate the cliffs east of town.

Objectives:

Climb the sea cliffs and find a shell chime swaying in the wind.

Examine a weathered shrine hidden in a rock alcove.

Collect three “Echo Shells” washed up on distant shores.

Outcome: The chimes sing when the Echo Shells are placed, revealing a poem that hints at Narella’s name. Mara speaks the name aloud—and the wind dies for a moment.

🌊 2. "Offerings to the Tidebound"

Location: Multiple coastal regions Quest Type: Gathering / Lore

Description: The shrine awakened in the first quest is dormant. Mara believes offerings may rekindle Narella’s spirit.

Objectives:

Place specific offerings at three ancient coastal shrines:

Lanayru Bay (Zora stone + pearl)

Martha’s Landing (seagrass bundle + driftwood fire)

Eventide Island shore (stacked stones + moonlit water)

Defend the Eventide shrine from monsters who were drawn to its reawakening.

Outcome: Each shrine gives Link a “Sea-Marked Stone.” When all three are placed in the original Lurelin shrine, a faint voice calls his name.

🌫️ 3. "Veil of Mist"

Location: Necluda Sea Quest Type: Puzzle / Stealth

Description: A ghostly figure is seen walking on the water during foggy nights. Locals call it The Sea Bride. Link must follow the mist path without disturbing the fog.

Objectives:

Use stealth and wind-based tools to follow the figure.

Avoid aggressive sea spirits (fog wraiths) by staying within Narella’s mist trail.

Discover a hidden island cove only accessible during fog.

Outcome: Link reaches a sealed shrine where Narella briefly manifests. She speaks in fragments—grateful, sorrowful—and asks Link to retrieve her lost relic.

🐚 4. "The Pearl of Remembrance"

Location: Submerged ruins east of Hateno Quest Type: Diving / Combat

Description: Narella’s sacred pearl lies deep in a sunken temple, guarded by ancient sea guardians. Link must dive and solve water puzzles using Cryonis, Ultrahand, or similar tools.

Objectives:

Navigate the broken, submerged corridors of the Tidebound Temple.

Solve puzzles using flowing water and reflections.

Defeat a cursed sea spirit: Abyssal Remnant, a corrupted guardian beast.

Outcome: Link recovers the Pearl of Remembrance, which glows with her divine power. Returning it to her shrine restores her full voice.

🌙 5. "The Tide Rises Again" (Final Quest)

Location: Original Shrine, Lurelin Village Quest Type: Spiritual / Reward

Description: With her pearl returned, Narella awakens in spirit form. She thanks Link, warning of growing darkness at sea—ancient monsters rising as the balance falters.

Objectives:

Help Narella sanctify her three shrines by activating protective sigils.

Witness a vision of the world when her faith was strong.

Choose to accept her blessing or let her spirit fade peacefully.

Reward Options:

Narella’s Blessing (Passive): Water-based enemies deal less damage, and sea creatures occasionally assist in battle.

Tidebound Cloak: A tunic woven from sea mist, enhances swimming speed and stealth near water.

Pearl Blade: A one-handed weapon made of coral and light, especially strong against cursed or aquatic foes.

With Narella’s shrines restored and her voice returned, she gently asks Link for one final act of kindness—not for her, but for the world.

"My name is a ripple in memory. But the tide flows both forward and back. If hearts still open to the sea, let them remember me... not as a goddess, but as a song."

She asks Link to carry her story across Hyrule, to plant seeds of remembrance—not in temples, but in tales, songs, and signs.

🧭 Quest Objectives (Can be completed in any order):

Tell the Story to the Rito

Location: Rito Village

Speak with Breoli, the songstress.

Help her compose a ballad of Narella using lines from the earlier poem and local lore.

Outcome: She performs “Whisper of the Shore” in the village square at night.

Bonus: Link gets a Shell Flute that can play a fragment of the melody.

Rekindle the Zora’s Memory

Location: Zora’s Domain

Find an elder named Laeren, a retired Tidebinder.

Bring him a Sea-Marked Stone and help him repair an old underwater shrine.

Outcome: He holds a quiet memorial, and younger Zora begin adding shells to their armor in tribute.

Inspire the Artists of Hateno

Location: Hateno Village

Show Narella’s Pearl to the painter Mondé, who sketches her shrine.

Outcome: He posts the painting at the inn, and rumors begin to spread.

Bonus: Travelers start humming a mysterious sea-song.

Restore a Shrine in Gerudo Territory

Location: Kara Kara Bazaar

Help an old sea trader named Nali, who remembers Narella’s name from stories told by her Hylian grandmother.

Rebuild a small shrine using coral tiles and shells.

Outcome: She leaves water every morning and starts a ritual greeting: “Salt and wind guide you.”

🌕 Final Outcome: “When the Tides Return”

Once at least three of the four tasks are completed, return to Narella’s original shrine at night under a full moon.

The wind carries faint songs from distant places. Narella’s spirit appears, not as a goddess, but as a figure formed from water and memory.

She says:

"You gave me no temple. You gave me no crown. But you gave me voices. That is enough."

She disappears into the sea breeze—leaving behind a small, radiant item: the Tidebound Sigil, which glows when near any coastal shrine or hidden memory related to her.

🏆 Rewards:

Tidebound Sigil: Illuminates faint glyphs and echoes of forgotten spirits by the sea.

Title: Bearer of the Saltwind – Some NPCs may now recognize Link as a teller of old sea tales.

Small changes in the world: children in coastal villages play “goddess of the sea,” a traveling bard sings about a "lady in blue mist," and more conches appear at docks.

[willtheweaver]

-Day 7-

Hooray! To everyone who either joined recently or has been here since day 1, cheers! Here is today’s prompt:

Finn MacCumhil- Back when the blood of the Tuatha Dé Danann still flowed strong in the people of Ireland, Finn was a legendary figure. From facing Benadonner on the Giant’s Causeway, to slaying the fairy Aillén at Tara, there were many deeds associated with the leader of the Fianna (the personal guard to the High King). His demise is the subject of many stories, some of which say he was slain by rivals who wished to see the fall of the Fianna, who they saw as too powerful.

-Alternate prompts-

The bog- Neither land nor water, marshland were considered sacred as portals between worlds. On holy days, and in times of great need, the people would give offerings in the form of weapons, jewelry, and sacrificial victims.

Raven- A bird associated with magic and death, the raven was traditionally a symbol of Morrigan and Bran the Blessed. Of the latter, it was said that his head was buried on the spot where the Tower of London now stands, and that his protection was passed down to the ravens that live on the Tower grounds.

Gold- Gold has always been associated with the fair folk. Think about the Court and their fine jewelry, the pot of gold a leprechaun hides at the end of a rainbow, and the gold coins a wandering fairy pays a kind soul. Just don’t get greedy. A good fairy will always have ways of making their hoard untraceable. There is also the fact that much ‘gold’ is actually the result of glamor; take your eye off those coins, and they will revert back to their true form (withered leaves, sticks, or even acorns).

Absinthe- The favorite of Parisian cafe goers was this potent anise flavored liqueur. As it contained wormwood, some cautioned against drinking absinthe as it was said to cause hallucinations, not to mention visits from the Green Fairy.

Henge- The earth and stone monuments that dot the British isles have always been places of mystery. In folklore, exposed tombs were believed to be portals to the Otherworld. Lone standing stones and rings were believed to be meeting places, or else unfortunate mortals turned to stone by magic.

Puck- Wherever mischief abounds, Puck will be nearby. From medieval romance to the stage of the Globe Theater, Oberon’s trusted underling can always be counted on to prank and trick those he comes across.

Time- Time moves differently for Fairies. An hour to them can be a month, or even a year to us. Those who stay too long find the hands of time have erased everything familiar…and when they realize it, time comes for them too.

Iron- This is the only metal that the denizens of faerie fear, and will refuse to touch. As such, people will place knives or scissors next to cradles to keep their babies safe. A nail, or any small piece of iron kept in a pocket would be sufficient to dispel fairy magic.

Offering- It is always a good idea to keep the Good Folk on your side. A bowl of cream for a brownie, blackberries for a phooka, fine garments and gold for a king or queen, they all serve to placate the neighbors who will then leave you alone. A word of warning though; fairies can be contrary and temperamental, and will take offense if offered the wrong thing. Some will also take offense if offered when none are required…so it may be best to ask first.

Oisin- Son of Finn MacCumhil, the warrior bard was the last of the Fianna. His survival was owed to the discovery of a portal to Tir na nÓg. There he stayed for 300 years before returning to Ireland. However, Oisin was warned not to touch the ground upon his return. The reason why became clear when he fell from his horse. Time found him, and he became quite old and feeble. It was said that before passing, he relayed the history and legends of ancient Ireland to St. Patrick.

-As always, I will be posting information on the day’s prompt at midnight EST, and the elective prompts weekly-

Event taglist (Let me know if you want to be added) : @aalinaaaaaa @bioniclechronicles @writingrosesonneptune @lefferon @jay-avian @harleyacoincidence @storycraftcafe

[aylen-san]

The Last Sunset of the Western Isle

Epigraph

"Not all who fell were evil at heart. But those who turned from the light rarely find it again." — From the Tales of the Last Days

CHAPTER I: A Shadow over the West

Many years had passed since Númenor was gifted to Men, and the glorious isle that crowned the waters of the Great Sea rose above the storms in unparalleled majesty. Its cliffs gleamed at dawn like sentinels guarding the border between sea and land; its mountains, clad in pine and laurel groves, pierced the clouds, and its valleys drowned in fragrant flowers that never faded throughout the year. Sunlight filtered through the canopies of ancient trees, playing in drops of dew, and the light breeze carried the scent of the sea mingled with flowers and resin. Númenor’s harbors rang with the chains of silver anchors, and ships with pennants like the wings of giant birds crossed the seas, bearing gifts to every corner of Middle-earth.

The Men of the West lived under the blessing of the Valar, and the wisdom of the Eldar was with them. Their houses shone with marble and precious wood, their libraries held the songs of the stars, and their crafts were skillful as if wrought by the Maiar themselves. Their days were long, as if time itself slowed for them, and in their speech rang the music of the ancient world. But the heart of Man is a fragile vessel, and even in the hour of greatest glory, doubt may take root. Subtle and hidden, like shadow beneath gold, it may grow even in the noblest souls.

In the days of Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, thrice-praised in victory, the pride of the Númenóreans soared higher than the clouds. He was great in body and spirit, with a gaze that pierced the horizon, a voice that bore command, and hands strong as the roots of oak. He raised towers on cliffs, temples on peaks, roads through impassable forests. His banners — purple with the golden sun — fluttered above cities, and his name rang in hymns and the blades of victory. He gathered under his crown all lands his ships could reach, and no mortal realm could rival the power of Númenor. And when word came from the East of Sauron, lord of the land of Mordor, wreathed in smoke, steel, and terror, Ar-Pharazôn was not afraid. He deemed that shadow trifling, and turning to his counselors, declared:

— No mortal dares call himself lord while I yet live.

Equipping a great host and a fleet like a moving city on the waves, he set foot on the shores of Middle-earth. The sky darkened with the number of sails, the wind howled in the rigging like war-horns, and the ground shook beneath the boots of thousands of warriors. Their armor gleamed like moonlight, and their spears were sharp and flawless as intention. The peoples of the East fell to their knees, not daring to meet the gaze of the army that came from the West. Sauron did not come to battle: he knelt, veiled in submission, and in chains was brought aboard the flagship — a mighty ship with a prow carved like an eagle with outspread wings — and carried to the white walls of Armenelos, the proud capital of Númenor.

But Sauron rose not in wrath. He bowed — and smiled. His chains were light as spider silk and did not bind his spirit. Beneath the crown of humility hid the sting of darkness, sharp and unseen as the needle of a poisoned thorn. Those who looked into his eyes forgot who stood before them. They saw not a foe, but a strange wanderer, whose knowledge was deep, whose speech refined, and whose manners rivaled the greatest sages. He spoke softly, his word like honey poured into silver cups, and his voice like a brook murmuring in forest shade. He did not raise his hand, but every gesture was dignified. He did not command — he suggested. He did not compel — he persuaded. He did not threaten — he stirred thought.

He did not utter the name of Melkor, but he sowed the seeds. He spoke of death — not as a curse, but as an unsolved mystery, a fundamental injustice of fate. Why, he asked, are mortals granted reason, valor, and love — but not immortality? Why have the Valar closed the gates of the West? Why is Aman — the land of light and immortality — forever hidden from Men? His words were warm and sincere, as if he himself suffered from these thoughts. And the people listened. Those who once scorned fear and doubt began to ponder. Those who believed in the Valar began to waver. Those who once saw Sauron as a prisoner now viewed him as a philosopher.

And Ar-Pharazôn listened. He, mighty and sovereign, felt no fear of Sauron, yet something in the words spoke to the depths of his soul. Despite his victories and the crown that shone upon his brow, within him dwelled a longing, voiceless as the murmur of the surf at night. He saw his finest warriors die, his counselors age, the flowers in his gardens wither despite all skill of the gardeners. And though he was in the prime of strength, he knew: his hour would come. And he desired no end.

One evening, Sauron reclined in the gardens of the royal court, beneath the shade of trees brought from Aman in ancient days. Flowers gave off a gentle fragrance, fountains murmured with the crimson light of sunset, and birds sang in tongues now unknown even to the Elves. He gazed westward, at the thin golden line where the sky touched the Great Sea, and beyond which lay Aman. And in that hour, when shadows grew long and the last light touched the petals of the flowers, a strange sorrow came into his eyes. Perhaps in his soul — if still there lingered a spark unconsumed by the Eye — there whispered: "What if the path had been different?" But perhaps it was just another mask.

And Ar-Pharazôn, great and glorious king, felt something unknown enter his heart. He, once unshakable, now wavered. And without knowing, he yielded to the counsel of the enemy. It was no command, no decree, no summons — but a surrender of spirit. He let doubt in. And in that moment, the last hesitation in the Dark One’s heart vanished.

Then Sauron decided: there would be no peace for Númenor. He knew — the seed had fallen into fertile soil. He would break their greatness not by sword, but by word; not with fire, but with shadow. He would not stand at the head of armies — they would go where he directed on their own. For no mortal dares defy Melkor and live. And though his hands held no blade, his words would be sharper than any sword, and his silence — more terrible than any threat.

And the sea, eternal witness to fate, kept its silence. In its depths, the waves were already gathering.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65331838/chapters/168097138