#sacred stone camp

[willtheweaver]

Some locations and structures to include in your forest

Abandoned shrine

Alchemist’s lab

Ancient ruins

Army encampment

Battlefield memorial

Boathouse

Bridge, log

Bridge, stone arch

Bridge, suspension

Bridge, wooden beam

Causeway

Cablin

Cable car station

Cairns- grave markers

Cairns- trail marker

Cave system

Caved-in tunnel

Cemetery

Clearing

Campsite

Castle (robber baron or otherwise)

Collapsed building

Dam

Dirt track

Ditch, defensive

Ditch, henge monument

Dock

Dragon’s lair

Elven settlement

Fairy ring

Farm

Ferry landing

Ford

Fort, earthen

Fort, stone

Fort, wooden

Game trail

Ghost town

Guardhouse

Haunted ruins

Hermit’s hut

Hollow hill

Hunting lodge

Hunter’s hide

Inn

Logging camp

Manor house

Mine

Monastery

Outlaw’s hideout

Overgrown ruins

Potholes

Paved road

Portal

Quarry

Railroad

Rail station

Raised platform

Roadside grave

Sacred grove

Sawmill

Sky burial platform

Signpost

Stone circle

Summoning ring

Switchback

Temple

Tollbooth

Treehouse

Troll cave

Tunnel entrance

Turnpike

Village

Waterwheel

Watchtower, stone

Watchtower, wooden

Witches’ cottage

Wizard’s tower

Zip line

[ma1dita]

anything you want

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.6k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke!

(posted 1/25/24 unbetad)

—

“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.

“Where you off to, man?” 

“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.

“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.

“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”

“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.

“What’re you teaching today, Trouble?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater. 

You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you. 

Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.

You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred. 

Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt. 

Fuck.

There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.

When did you get so close to him?

“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.

“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium. 

He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair… 

Maybe Chris was onto something…

“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”

Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you.

What a dork.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.

And they always are, whether you can help it or not.

Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.

“Like what, Trouble?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.

“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.

It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.

“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table. 

When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete. 

But Luke’s always been there, watching.

Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.

“You talk too much, you know that?”

Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.

Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.

Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.

Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.

It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.

Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—

“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”

He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.

He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.

—

“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”

-Lang Leav

ask to be put on general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[vintagerpg]

The Hanging Stones (1982) is a wild one, in part because it vibrating on the same frequency as Halloween III, believe it or not, which came out the same year. It’s probably my favorite of the Silver John novels.

So, rich asshole Noel Kottler is building a replica of Stonehenge on Teatray Mountain to serve as a tourist destination for New Age types (Wellman has two head honchos of crackpot mystical organizations on-site to mercilessly mock the entire novel). Kottler is entirely awful, thinks because he has money he can do anything, buy anything and have anyone do his bidding, including John and his wife, Evadare. John immediately loathes him. It is pretty clear the Wellman does too, which makes for some delightfully snide asides.

As if that weren’t enough, the construction project is being carried out on land that is sacred to a local tribe of ectoplasmic werewolves (the don’t change into wolves, they don a wolf-form of ectoplasm summoned by their heightened emotional state, and you can beat it out of them, which is weird but also pretty great) who try to drive John away and eventually kidnap Evadare to leverage his departure (in order to leave the camp unprotected when they eventually attack). Also there is Esdras Hogue, a wandering sorcerer, who does not like the new Stonehenge, nor the werewolves. Also, Wellman’s NYC occult detective Judge Pursuivant, an old man with a magic sword, shows up as well. It all comes down to a big siege by the werewolves versus the unlikely allies at the construction site, who win out because Hogue summons the spirits of the Stone Age builders/protectors of the real Stonehenge to fight on their side. The only person who dies is the millionaire. Boo-hoo.

[achaoticeternal]

caught at a crossroads

prince regent!aemond targaryen x stark!reader

summary: while seeking safe passage down the Kingsroad to Dragonstone, you travels come to a halt. word count: 1.5k a/n: i would consider a part 2 if people are interested warnings: AFAB reader, mentions of violence and death

The journey thus far had been so silent with hardly any issues arising. Twelve men at your aid - six Stark men and six Queen's Guard - were ready to lay down their lives to safely deliver you to Dragonstone. After the eldest of Rhaenyra's sons came to call upon your brother in haste, an alliance was formed through the most sworn occasion. A marriage between the Queen's firstborn and Cregan Stark's only sister would tie your houses together.

Cregan and Rhaenyra had reached such a favorable outcome for the people whom they cared about most. Still, Cregan understood the dangers that came with swearing an oath to the Black council. If the Green's went North, he did not want you to fall into their capture. As such, an agreement was made that the young Lady Stark was welcome to reside on Dragonstone, within the sacred walls of House Targaryen.

Passage of the Kingsroad was a risk for anyone who dared to use. Miles of the path lived anarchic tribes that cared little for the proper laws of the land. With this in mind, the band of men were forged together to keep you safe from those on the road, and from those who would come to hear of the betrothal.

Already, your group had been riding for eight days, traveling south. They decided to avoid traversing the Westerlands, things swaying off the main road would do little to help if word ever got to King's Landing. It was better to take the faster route so that they could escort you quickly to proper safety. Instead, your path would take a slight risk. You would cross over the trident and pass through the villages on the outskirts of Harrenhal.

Harrenhal and its neighboring lands had become greatly abused during the war. The entirety of the Riverlands had been battered and bruised with forests of ash becoming more regular by the day. It was rumored that Prince Aemond Targaryen had laid siege to the region in reaction to the loss of his nephew, Jaehaerys. If you could lay low and stay away from the rotation of troops that came through the area, the remainder of your journey would be guaranteed safety.

At first, the ambush seemed to be nothing. Just a few bandits who were looking to start trouble. Yet when they drew blades of Valyrian steel, your guards had alerted you to seek cover. Metal crashed against metal, the sound echoing through the forest. Luckily, being a northern girl, you had some natural knack for survival. Swiping a jagged rock off the ground, you first hid behind the cart your band had been traveling in.

From the position, you could see how furiously your enemies brandished their swords. The experienced men of the King's Guard had no issue holding their own against the fierce warriors. However, the youngest of the Stark men was the first to meet his fate as a guard slashed his throat open. A broken cry had escaped past your lips, watching the body fall to the earth below. You had recognized him as kin to your dressing maid, a good boy, now dead.

As another Stark man fell, you took this as a warning sign to advance further into the woods. Gripping the stone, you slunk away from the makeshift camp and towards a mixed assortment of oak and evergreen trees. The candle in your lantern would soon be snuffed out by its own wax, but it did aid to light your path. Behind you, more men continued to fight and fall. However, huffs of aggression and assertion echoed towards your ears. The enemies were advancing.

"The scouts said there were thirteen," A voice barked out, "Find the last man. We must know what the Black's are planning."

Quickly, you moved behind the trunk of a large oak tree and immediately blew out your candle. There was just enough bush to keep you covered unless someone was searching intently or you gave any sign. If you stayed silent, maybe they would brush over you.

However, you heard the grunts of one of your guards, his gravely voice panting as you heard him being drug down the road, "Who is your final man? Where were you going?"

A low chuckle resounded from his chest, "Queen Rhaenyra's army is growing, and soon she will march on King's Landing and the Usurper."

As you went to peak upon the seen, you heard the sound of a sword being drawn and plunged through the guard's neck. Now all your guards were dead. You were alone in the Riverlands. Alone in the Riverlands with a two-day journey to Dragonstone ahead of you. If you could make it through the night.

Footsteps filled the area surrounding where you kept hidden. The width of the tree and the bush serve you well to keep you hidden in the dark of the night. With baited breath, you remained on edge, hoping they would soon give up.

"Ser Cole," A guard called out to his superior, "We have reason to believe the thirteenth traveler is a woman. If the raven from this morning is true, then I believe it could be-"

"I'll alert the prince," The other man replied shortly.

Nearly an hour passed with little disruption. Only the chittering of the forest kept you company. That was until a sinister voice echoed through the trees.

"Little wolf... Where are you hiding?"

So they were fully aware of who you were, but they still didn't know where you were hidden.

"C'mon, little wolf, if we don't catch you here, we certainly will before you are ever able to reach Dragonstone."

The voice held some familiarly to you. Though deeper and more confident, the rhythm and tone reminded you of just a few years ago. Your first and only visit to the Capitol.

It had been the King's 65th name day had approached and your father had decided that the three of you would all take the journey to King's Landing. While visiting, you had the honor of meeting the King's children from his second wife. His eldest son, Aegon, and his sister-wife, Haelena, the youngest, Daeron, and lastly, the owner of the current voice...

Prince Aemond Targaryen

"The hunter has become the prey it seems..." He called out to you once more, "It's been quite a few years, little wolf, won't you do me the honor of reuniting?"

Your heartbeat began to increase, hammering against your chest. Part of you feared that he could hear it pumping in your chest, or even the panting of your uneven breaths.

Silence returned to the wood, and you knew it might be your only opportunity to move until morning. As you moved to stand, a twig crunched beneath your boot. A moment later footsteps could be heard running in your direction. It was time to act, time to find a nice place to hide. Your feet carried you quickly and lightly through the forest floor, the feeling similar to chasing your brother through the Godswood as children. A feeling of hope grew in your chest...

Only to be crushed when a sword glinted in the moonlight. You came to a scathing halt as Aemond stepped out from behind one of the trees. His platinum hair and sapphire eye reflected bits of pale light as he observed your movements, "Ah... Lady Stark..."

"Prince Aemond," The lady quickly straightened her posture.

The man sheathed his sword as he approached the lone Stark lady, "Seems you haven't heard the news, it's Prince Regent, now. Though you would know that if you were where you belonged in Winterfell."

"I-" You attempted to stutter out.

"Yes?" Aemond smirked, knowing that he had you practically cornered, "Well, my lady, it seems you should come with me. It is dangerous for a Lady like yourself to be unaccompanied on the King's Road."

Aemond stepped forward which in turn caused you to take a step back. His smirk only remained at this behavior from you, the excitement of it all getting to him. Another step forward and he snatched one of your wrists in his large, callused hand. He tugged you forward to keep you close and minimize your attempts to run.

"I have a promise of safe passage, it's... it's a royal decree," You stuttered out as his glare only continued to intensify, "I have the right to go to my intended destination."

In an instant, his smirk fell quickly, "Your intended destination or your intended betrothed?"

Everything began to piece together as he continued, "That's right, my lady. I received word this morning that a dozen Stark men and traitors were seen along the Kingsroad escorting a young woman. This news arrived shortly after news about my Strong nephew's marriage approached, I simply connected the dots. But it's alright, little wolf, you are now a welcome guest at Harrenhal."

Your head shook at his words, "No, no, I-"

"It wasn't an invitation," Aemond quickly interjected as he pulled you closer, "By royal decree of Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen, you are my guest until I see fit to dismiss you."

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🌾 DEMETER: Goddess of Agriculture and Fertility, of the Harvest & Sacred Law, of the Earth, of the Seasons, Nourishment & Bread 🌽

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you get claimed, the ground beneath you bursts with vegetation. You look around you and notice that among the vegetation, it’s your favourites. Your favourite flowers, fruit, vegetable, and plants. It’s almost like Demeter had been keeping an eye on you this entire time and this was her bouquet for you. A wreath of corn and plants sit upon your crown.

Your siblings cheer and help you take the bouquet of vegetation, taking the roots of each plant to be planted later on, and the rest is gathered. You’re introduced to your cabin and siblings with a small impromptu picnic of said-bouquet as you all break bread together. As you sink your teeth into the nearest food, it fills you with energy you’re not sure how to place other than it’s good. 

There are plants everywhere in your cabin and the inside of the cabin is almost like a botanical garden that is also never uncomfortable to sleep in. You look around and you see plants hanging from above and/or rising above. Your bed smells like earth and flowers, and there are vines curling up around the frames. As soon you touch the bed, your bunk bed bursts into your favourite flowers and plants, providing you a little bit of comfort. 

The wreath you were given hangs above your head and it remains fresh. It’s like a soft reminder of Demeter’s presence.

You help with the camp’s business of growing and maintaining the strawberries they grow, and you find out you and your siblings all get a small portion of the profits. It’s almost like an allowance for doing your chores. 

Being a child of Demeter, you get along with the children of Dionysus and Mr. D. 

You also get along with the dryads at camp, being the child of Demeter. There’s a sense of love and respect directed towards you. If you don’t know, you’re later told by one of your siblings, the dryads, or Mr. D himself. 

Let’s just say, Demeter is very, very terrifying and you know when they say to never mess with Mother Nature. 

Do not mistaken for weakness and unimportance as a child of Demeter. Demeter herself is powerful, and hopefully no one earns her ire. 

People might not find your particularly threatening, but know that when the time comes, your hand that has handled the tools that till the earth, is just as practiced as a sword. 

Flower power to the max. You can sprout the plants beneath your feet, from the smallest of weeds that can tear apart stone through their cracks, to the network of tree roots beneath your feet that grow and grow. Fungi are also on the table and boy, there's no way more terrifying then razing down enemies with the power of fungi. You carry an assortment of seeds with you and let me tell you, a whip made out of Rose thorns go hard.

You looked at the miniature garden beneath your feet. You quickly take in the fact the plants around you are your favourites. Your favourite fruits, flowers, herbs, plants in general. You can’t tell if it is the pollen or dust, but you feel your eyes prickling at the fact that maybe, Demeter had been keeping an eye on you when her claim brought about your favourites. 

You felt the wreath of corn grow on top of your head, the vines and leaves moving and parting your hair behind your ear. It is soft, gentle, and deliberate, almost like a mother’s touch. 

You see a bunch of campers take out shovels, spades, and other gardening tools and begin working at your feet, gathering the plants. A girl steps forward and she had her hands on her hips, giving you a smile. 

“Don’t worry about the plants. Each new child of Demeter’s claim is different and their plants are a representation of them, so we like to gather the plants to celebrate. My name is Katie Gardner, child of Demeter and cabin leader. Welcome!” 

You introduced yourself before catching some of the children of Demeter talk excitedly about what to make with the produce they had gathered. “So what’s going on now?”

Katie gently guides you to the Demeter Cabin as she explains. “To welcome each new addition to our cabin, we also like to hold an impromptu picnic if its early or late enough before meal times, and we use the plants from their claim as the centrepiece. This also lets us get to know each other, a bit of an ice breaker if you get what I mean.”

“That’s actually pretty cool” you said as she led you to your bunk.

“It is, right? I know we may not seem as cool compared to the other gods, but trust me, being a child of Demeter is just as great as the others. We’re just…more down to earth.”

The reaction you gave to Katie as she let out a laugh. “Got you right there” she giggled. “Come on, there’s plenty to show you!”

[fernclans]

A time to start anew.

(tw for blood, violence, and implied death)

“Cliffpaw, grab the kits and run--!”

A small red tom woke with a start, fear and adrenaline filling his veins as the thick stench of blood filled his senses. The lone apprentice of ▇▇Clan doesn’t even take the time to stand properly, bolting immediately from his nest and sending its contents scattered behind him. He barely has a moment to parse the camp in front of him before whirling on his paws and angling left to the nursery; he couldn’t count how many cats had already fallen, but against such a massive enemy the tom knew instinctively they stood no chance either way.

Misfortune had followed a patrol home; a patrol of young wolves out for a hunt. The packs northward had been growing larger over the past seasons-- more pups meant more prey which needed to be killed. Though predators themselves, Cliffpaw knew it was foolish to believe cats weren’t also prey in their own right.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Let’s get going!” a kit nearly his own size shoved his way past ▇▇▇▇, a smaller she-kit following behind with what could only be a moon-old kit in her jaws.

“Head to the tunnels!” ▇▇▇▇ shouted over their shoulder, just barely audible against the snarling and barking of wolves.

Giving himself a firm nod, Cliffpaw overtakes the eldest kit and begins to pick up the pace. “Follow me-- I can lead us somewhere no wolf can find.” He hoped. He’d only been there once, two moons prior the beginning of his apprenticeship with Magpiestar; The Moonlit Caverns. A place where those blessed with the ability to do so commune with their ancestors, sacred and protected.

A small dip beneath a stone obscured by plants Cliffpaw never learned the name of marking an emergency tunnel into the system below -- it was narrow, and not well-maintained but it would have to do. A shriek sounds from behind him, shrill with terror. “AMBERKIT!” Cliffpaw hears the tomkit shout as his eyes meet the dark stare of a wolf whose jaws clamped around the tail of the white and grey tabby she-kit.

“Take the little one and through that hole and RUN-” Cliffpaw orders, hoping his few moons of training would be enough to save Amberkit and get out of there before the wolf could get a worse hold. Without hesitation, he lunges forward and latches to the large hounds face, teeth fighting for a grip against its massive forehead. 

He looks down at the wolf, eyes black and hollow, and then further down at Amberkit, tiny and helpless within its jaws. His paw begins to slip when an idea strikes him. Leaning into the weight, Cliffpaw scores his left-front paw down the wolf’s left eye and landing with a thud when it pulls itself back, a high-pitched whimper leaving its muzzle, releasing its hold on Amberkit’s tail.

His mind fights to take the moment to look across the camp while the wolf was still dazed -- were ▇▇▇▇ and ▇▇▇▇ still alive? Did they somehow escape as well? Precious seconds are wasted while Cliffpaw fights against himself, muscles tensing in indecision. A growl, deep and low is quick to make the decision for him. The red tabby surges forward, grabbing Amberkit by her scruff and forcing himself through the tunnels.

Whatever happened above, they would have to get through this together.

hiii welcome to my latest little clangen venture :3 this save, i selected a single apprentice and all the kits i could and decided to let it up to fate if they can rebuild from such a tragedy post style will probably change moon to moon while i figure out what kind of flow i like, but i hope you enjoy!

[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | Three

TWO | MASTERLIST | FOUR

SYNOPSIS: Jake and Bradley start to settle into their new home — you’re back.

WARNINGS : smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff; nudity; making out. word count: 6k

…

Orange tinged, the sunlight streams in through the window of his trailer, baking his bedsheets in the perfect kind of warm right before it gets to be too hot. That means it’s still early. Too early.

Hair tousled, shoulders relaxed, Jake sighs a little, his breath fanning out against his checkered pillow case as he shifts to stick a hand between his hips and the sheets, adjusting himself. His dick hasn’t even gotten the memo that it’s morning yet

And still, Rooster’s singing the whole camp awake. That’s what they call their little pitched set-up on borrowed land. ‘Camp’ comes across better after Manson tainted the word commune. Commune would also imply that they’re here for free.

Either way, it’s Sunday fucking morning. That time used to be sacred. As it turns out, no day is safe from Rooster, and there ain’t much left around here that’s sacred either.

It’s a far-away memory, the days that Jake would wake up to the smell of cooking bacon and magnolias. It feels much closer than it was. He was smaller then, he’d been tucked in the nights before, he had matching pyjamas with footballs on them.

Now, his feet push past the edge of the bed as he stretches, nuzzling his cheek into his pillow and remembering what it was like to savour those last moments before his mother called him to start getting ready for church.

His mother isn’t coming for him now; just the mother-hen that has been up since the crack of dawn. Here he comes, singing some Buddy-fucking-Holly.

Jeans clinging to almost-dry thighs, his shirt slung over his shoulder, his feet bare in the grass. He’s coming straight from the showers, before that he had been up by the farmhouse. He trails between trailers and tents and caravans, making a beeline for the one person he knows damn well doesn’t want to be disturbed.

The grass bristles underfoot, the Redbirds join Rooster in his morning fanfare and Jake’s day is already headed south.

“Day of rest my fuckin’ ass…” He mutters out, shifting on his stomach and planting his face into the cloud-like softness of his slept-in bed. It’s only a couple of hours since he tumbled into it, last night’s clothes discarded on the floor with the crisp bills tucked neatly into his wallet.

Rooster cocks his head. With confirmation of Jake’s consciousness, the handle twists and even more sunlight streams in. Rooster ducks to dodge the short, curved doorway and peers around as he steps in.

It’s clean in here. Aside from Jake’s clothes, stepped out of and discarded in place, the place is spotless. Jake’s trailer smells of pine and sugar, the curtains all drawn back and capturing the morning glow.

At the far end, Jake’s laying on his front. Tangled in sheets, naked as the day he was born, now holding his pillow over his ears. Rooster considers finishing his song, making Jake really squirm. Jake’s not much of a morning person. He’s not much of a Rooster person, either.

Rooster only comes knocking this early in the morning when he wants something.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster says, his tone mighty calm for someone who just uttered a cuss word like that. Jake lifts his head and turns to look over his shoulder, stone-faced and arming his sharp tongue for an early-morning argument. Rooster’s face slips into something friendly, a cool smile tugging at his lips. “Feel like makin’ some money?”

Disarmed, Jake doesn’t say what he was thinking. He doesn’t stoop to Rooster’s level. Instead, he huffs out a full-chested sigh and rolls onto his back.

The covers spill back and twist with his body, freeing his legs and catching a bit on his hips. The sun smothers his naked form eagerly, bathing him in morning light.

Rooster looks swiftly away, at the chunk missing in the ceiling, shaped around the spray of buckshot that had hit it years before.

Jake rubs childishly at his sleep-weighted eyes. Then, he tucks one taughtly-muscled arm behind his head and studies Rooster with pursed lips. The morning tobacco craving starts to itch at him, before he even thinks of breakfast. That’s something new too. “Doin’ what?”

“Mending fences.”

The farm-boy Jake once was shrinks away from the idea. He’s got vivid, wide-stretching, muscle-aching memories of spending summers in sprawling fields, wrapping barbed wire around raw planks of hardwood.

He wets his lips with his tongue and sighs, scratching at his bare chest. It’s his turn to take a shot at Rooster now.

“Little early for you to be shacking up with the farmer’s wife, isn’t it?” He teases, peering at Rooster through heavy-lidded eyes.

Spring green gaze, there’s always something taunting in the way Jake watches people. Doesn’t matter what comes out of his mouth when he looks at people the way he does. Usually, it’s just that what comes out of his mouth makes that look a whole lot more grating.

Rooster spoke with the wife for a short time yesterday. Leaning up against the green pickup, she’d been practically drooling on him. Rooster doesn’t play around much these days, but when he does it’s with women with more to risk than he has.

Rooster digs a hand into the pocket of his jeans and retrieves a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes, then checks to see if it’s empty. He rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he’d go for Mrs. O’Malley, but doesn’t shy from it. He lights up and sets his lighter down on the workbench. Silver, engraved with his initials.

He braces a palm beside it and finally looks back to Jake, keeping his eyes strictly above Jake’s shoulders. “Y’think I’d ask you along if that’s what this was?”

No, Rooster doesn’t like to share.

Jake shifts his hips and half pulls the sheets across his waist, the temptation to slip back into the dream he’d just been broken out of starting to gnaw at him. “How much?”

“Two-fifty an hour, bonus if we get it done before lunch.”

Jake groans. Extra couple of bucks would get him out of here for a night — even in the middle of nowhere, there’s got to be somewhere with live music and beer.

“Alright,” He rubs his palms along his face, scratching at the growing stubble on his jaw. Finally, he pushes himself up and nods his head. “Fuck it, fine. Let’s go.”

Rooster could have taken on the trouble for himself. Taken the payout for himself, too. Would’ve been quieter, but as much as he begrudges the work, Jake knows a thing or two about cattle. He steps outside to finish his cigarette while Jake gets dressed.

Jake’s front stoop faces the hill that the farmhouse sits on. Rooster watches Maggie O’Malley stroll through the grass in nothing but her robe, taking note of the fact that Gus’ truck is still missing. Must get pretty lonely sitting on all these acres with a husband who spends more time at the bar than at home.

Their lease stretches into September. Jake’s right, it is a little soon to get tangled up in something like this.

Still, Rooster greets her with a nod as she gets close enough.

“So? — You boys up to the job or do I need to call my nephew?” She hugs the robe closer to her body, chilled by the breeze, regretting her decision. Rooster takes the shirt from over his shoulder and holds his cigarette in one hand as he slips it on.

There’s a stumbling sound and a thud from behind him as Jake struggles into his jeans.

“Jake’s just getting himself decent,” Rooster explains, stretching his shirt down over his stomach, tucking it neatly into his jeans. She looks him over, already thinking to herself that there’s not one thing halfway decent about these boys. “We’ll have it done by this afternoon.”

“The deal was noon.” She reminds him.

He squints one eye at her through the morning sun, his lips tugging at a soft smile. “Was it?”

She looks him over, playing unimpressed while she studies the trail of hair from his bellybutton to the leather of his belt. “Don’t go helping yourself to nothin’ in the shed, alright? — You take what’s on that list and nothin’ else.”

Rooster smoothes his shirt down and she looks him in the eye again.

“Sure thing, Mrs. O’Malley.” Like I’ve been itching to dig through your rusty saw blades and prehistoric shotgun shells anyways. He says it with a cool smile, polite in a way that’s reminiscent of who he was before. She’s not buying it for one minute; she knows troublesome boys when she sees them. Her problem is that she likes them, too.

The door to the trailer swings open and Jake steps down. Maggie catches the way he does a double-take at her spilling out of her robe, and tightens the belt a smidge. He looks across at Rooster and raises his eyebrows. Rooster’s cooler about it.

They watch her as she dips her red, manicured nails into the pocket of the silk robe, daring the clumsily tied belt to break free. Rooster stubs his cigarette out on the tin shell of Jake’s trailer and rests the butt of it on the flower box by the window. He’s polite enough not to flick the butt into her grass in front of her.

She holds her hand out towards him — it would seem that Jake is suddenly invisible. “Here’s the key.”

The fences in the West pasture are in a sorry state, almost as neglected as Mrs. O’Malley herself. Still, for two guys with nothing better to do and a stretching scheme of experience, it’s not hard work. It’s a mild morning, blue-skied and clear. It’d be nicer if they were further out from the cow shit, and if Rooster didn’t keep catching himself on the barbs, but beggars can’t be choosers and such.

Doesn’t help that the O’Malley tool collection is rust-littered and worn smooth from years of use.

Conversation stunted, they work on opposite sides of the barbed wire divide, faces etched with determination, ticking down the time until noon hits. A stretch of old, sagging fence sits to their left — shoddy looking in comparison to their new work.

With all the time they spend together, there isn’t much left to gossip about. Jake has heard all the stories that Rooster has been willing to tell already. The rhythmic thud of the hammer fills the sound just fine, better than listening to Rooster’s sighs of exertion as he rips the nails from the old fence posts, anyway.

Just as Jake is starting to think about spending today’s extra funds on a transistor radio, he glances up. Something tells him that Maggie will have himself and Rooster doing plenty of odd jobs around here this summer. She watches them from her porch, sipping on a mug of coffee. It’s a perfect view from where that house on the hill sits, she can keep an eye on them from all angles.

Rooster’s nose wrinkles at the echoing sound as he hammers a nail into the post they had just replaced. Thud, thud, thud. It’s sadistic, to be making such a racket this early in the morning. Jake’s head turns, twisting towards the main road over his right shoulder.

“Stop,” Jake breathes out, sitting back on his ankles, loosening his hold on the fence post. The thudding slows to a stop. “You hear that?”

Cruel joke, Rooster thinks to himself. He hears it. Worn down wheels on hastily patched up country road. Dusty Springfield warbling through old radio speakers.

His gaze flickers up to Jake’s face with a beat. Jake looks back at him with that taunting, spring-green gaze and raises his eyebrows.

With the windows on the old station wagon rolled all the way down, he can smell you too. Skin salted but not yet dampened with sweat like theirs is, a fresh soap smell tinged with girly daisy-like perfume. The wind catches at your neck and bristles your hair back, and he can really smell every drop.

It sits just above your pulse points, the spray fanned out and dusting your surrounding skin.

Your fingers support Dusty through the bridge of the song, drumming into the faded leather of the steering wheel. Rooster curls his hands around the wood post and looks past Jake, down the hill and toward the driveway.

Camp is slow to rise on Sundays. Other people get the luxury of sleeping in when Rooster doesn’t need them for something. Or when Maverick lets them. You’ll probably struggle to find someone awake. They have the thought at the same time, and drop their positions.

Jake shakes his gloves off and leaves them in the dirt. He wipes the sweat from his palms onto his jeans, and the sweat from his forehead onto the back of his forearm.

“The hell does she want?”

“You.” Jake answers with a chuckle, leaving his shirt strewn against the fence as he turns away, heading right for you. “For now.”

If there’s one way to ruffle that guy’s feathers, it’s to challenge him. Jake knows it well. Like the gloves, he leaves Rooster there in the dirt and heads for the sound of Dusty Springfield spilling into a Cass Elliott track.

Call it a moral compass; call it having a stick in your ass. Jake finds little distinction between the two when it comes to the way Rooster thinks. Jake plays the hand he’s dealt — and Rooster, well, Rooster doesn’t play anymore.

Rooster grabs onto the wooden support beam and hauls his legs over, landing steadily on Jake’s side. He’s not just going to let Jake smooth-talk you, and he’s not going to run the risk of someone else around here finding you first.

The grounds are practically unrecognizable in the daytime. It’s stark, dry grass and dirt ground, stiffened and still fairground rides and deserted posts. This is the closest you’ve ever gotten to wandering through a ghost town.

The station wagon’s still cooling off in the same place you had parked it the night before, while you’re wandering cautiously through the dead-empty open space. It’s almost polite, the way you’re so reluctant to just walk right in and take what you’re here for. Jake thinks so anyway.

Your fingers brush at the weathered canvas of the big tent, glancing around you before you take the dive and peer toward the darkness inside.

“You look lost.” His voice carries. As intended, it spooks you. You jump in your boots and whip around to face him, eyes wide and stricken with fear.

Jake. He looks different in the daylight too.

Jake’s coming from the West, around the abandoned Hall of Mirrors and smiling at you. You have yet to see him wearing a shirt, as he strolls towards you in stiff denim and brown leather Wrangler boots.

The fear dissipates, you become glad to see him. Practically pinching yourself at your luck, like that’s got anything to do with you seeing him on three occasions now.

“Oh. Hi!” Your heartbeat picks up, kicking like a snare drum as you turn and hit him with that megawatt smile he’d seen back on the road. It tugs at your lips and spreads across your face like fever — your nerves do too. “Sorry, I was just looking—“

“Mornin’,” Jake leans his shoulders back and juts his hips out when he walks, sauntering over there like he’s John Wayne. Rooster rolls his eyes as he walks behind. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“I left my bag.” You tell him, jutting a thumb towards the tent behind you. He cocks his head. You don’t dare take a second look into the empty, dark space over your shoulder. Maybe it isn’t just Georgie who is a little afraid. “Think it ought to be in there.”

Jake’s grin stretches wide and dimples. There’s that look Rooster hates so much too, that bright green glint in his eyes. He shakes his head, still headed right for you.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He’s close enough now that he doesn’t have to talk loud, and close enough that you finally notice who is trailing him. Your smile falters a bit as you spot Rooster, frowning at you as he follows behind. “Sit tight, I’ll get the lights.”

Even with the early morning sun, the canvas is thick and the space inside just seems all consuming — like it swallows the sunlight right up.

Jake pulls back the canvas and ducks inside, headed right for the back. Wearing a ringer tee and looser jeans than Jake, Rooster keeps walking towards you.

“Good morning,” You try, cocking your head and crossing your ankles, shifting sheepishly on your weight. “Sorry if I woke you, or… whatever.”

“You didn’t,” His voice is softer than it was last night. Maybe he’s not in such a bad mood today. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, pausing by the entrance. Thirty yards between the two of you, Mrs. O’Malley watching from her perch on the hill. “Long way to come for a purse, isn’t it?”

You purse your lips and shrug, that feverish smile spreading across your cheeks once again. “My mom’s. Didn’t want her to know I’d lost it.”

His brows draw together, offering you a sympathetic nod. The generators kick in, whirring to life. The lights come with soft thuds, illuminating the tent. Rooster listens for the sounds of stirring. Hushed conversations and doors starting to open, showers beginning or radio playing. Camp starts to come to life, too.

“I don’t see any bag in here,” Jake’s voice snaps him out of it and he finally stops looking through you. Rooster blinks a few times and reminds himself to move, his shoes kicking through the dirt as he walks into the tent. You assume that you’re supposed to follow. “You were sitting around here, right?”

If you thought outside was unrecognizable in the daylight, the Big Top really takes the cake. Dirt dusting the floor, the arena looks smaller when it’s not circled by a packed out crowd. The stalls look smaller when they’re all empty.

Sure enough, Jake’s facing the right section, bent at the knees to peer under the benches.

“Fuck me.” You groan, walking ahead to join Jake in his search. Rooster hangs back and finds a spot to rest up against one of the support beams. As he watches you lean forwards and bend at the waist in your Daisy Dukes — he considers checking if that was a legitimate offer.

The second that the thought crosses his mind, Jake’s looking at him again. Green eyes flicker between Rooster and your ass, a grin stretching across his pink lips.

“Man alive, she’s going to serve me for dinner.”

Wouldn’t that be something. Jake turns his head and smiles at you, then peers back over his shoulder at Rooster.

“Well, hang on. We’ve kinda got a lost n’ found.” Kinda, because it’s all stuff that just hasn’t been claimed yet. If you hadn’t come by so early, it would’ve been someone else’s pretty fast.

Jake straightens up and turns around, slow, jutting his hips out as he reaches into his pocket for the bait tin he keeps his roll ups in. “Rooster, you don’t mind, do you?”

Rooster. It’s the first time you’re hearing any kind of name for him. Mr. Movie Star. Peace-Sign guy. Smart-mouth who completely blew you off the night before. Rooster. Like the bird?

Whoever he is, he smiles like he knows what Jake’s up to. You’re privy to that much too. Jake’s trying to get you alone, and he’s not exactly shy about the way he’s drawing your attention to the big ol’ belt buckle sitting low on his hips.

Rooster turns dutifully, and heads back out into the open. Jake’s got you all alone.

“So, were you ever gonna tell me your name?” Jake asks, popping open the tin. He takes out one of the carefully rolled tobacco mixes and sets it between his lips. You narrowly miss out on being caught checking him out, covering yourself with a shrug.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Bossy thing like you, didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You don’t know if I’m bossy.” You tell him. Hands sitting on your hips, face creased into a soft frown. Jake’s far more shameless in the way he looks you over.

“Just a hunch I’ve got.” Jake answers. He cocks a brow. “So, you have a name?”

His lighter clicks and ignites, he puffs at the cigarette. Even with your hands on your hips like you’re about to tell him where to shove it, all you tell him is the truth. He hums around it.

“Cute,” Jake approves. “You smoke?”

Sometimes. Menthols, though. Greener things, too. Not whatever’s wrapped up in those papers. Olive would say yes. She’d stand here and smoke with him — and maybe blow him behind the bleachers.

“Menthols, now and again.”

His lips stretch around it, dimpling slightly. “Cute.” He repeats.

“This is what we’ve got from last night.” Rooster is back, holding a wooden apple crate. His arms flex against the t-shirt as he hoists it up and leans down to set it at your feet.

There’s a jacket on top, a rogue shoe in there, couple of bracelets and an earring. You crouch down to peel the jacket back. Rooster watches your eyes go round as your fingers curl around the leather strap, and you spring back up like a little rabbit.

“Yes! This is it!”

Rooster smiles. Exactly like he had back on the road, a just-can’t-help-it kind of grin that makes you start to think he might actually like you. You look up at him, glowing with eyes full of mischief. You lick your lips and look between the two of them.

“Thanks, guys,” you huff out a breathless giggle, so calm in these foreign surroundings. Like a little bunny, for sure. Couldn’t spot trouble for the life of you. “You just really saved my skin.”

“No sweat.” Rooster answers coolly. “We’ve got some work to get back to -- you get home safe, kid.”

Your mouth flattens. There’s a sizeable difference in the years you were born, you’d guess. Rooster’s bigger, and wiser if you ask him, with crinkles around his mouth and a tan-line between his perpetually furrowed brows. But you’re all grown, and you have been for a while now. ‘Kid’ isn’t exactly what you had in mind when it came to what you had wanted him to call you.

“Hey, honey,” That tracks better. Your full attention is Jake’s, and Rooster doesn’t like that. Jake flicks ash from his cigarette onto the dirt floor, cocking his head at you. “Don’t suppose you’d know of a good place to get a drink around here?”

There we go. That’s what you’ve been waiting for. It’s as close as you’re going to get to an invitation, and it’s good enough for now. Your excitement is palpable, it buzzes around you like the morning breeze.

“There’s a bar by the firehouse that’s okay,” you tell him. Jake nods with you, quirking an eyebrow, leaving you to fill the silence with more information. “Music and pool. Cheap beer.”

Jake looks at Rooster. He isn’t asking for permission, there’s something more daring in his look. He puffs at his cigarette, then looks at you. It’s unspoken between them — Jake’s only finishing those fences if they go to this bar.

“And you’ll be there, right?” He prompts you.

Rooster looks at Jake. The camp is really starting to move now. He shifts on his feet as tin trailer doors rattle and creak. You should really get going.

You look between them. “Tonight?”

You’re due back at the Pines first thing in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve turned up a little ‘under the weather’. Conrad tends to take pity on you if you look really sad.

Though, if tonight goes the way you’re planning, it’s going to be pretty hard to keep that smile off of your face tomorrow morning.

“Sure. I could stop by.”

And just like that, it’s settled. Jake gets what he wants in the form of you, him and some cheap beer. Rooster gets what he wants in the form of your car finally pulling off of the grounds and back onto the main road.

Jake heads back up to the West pasture to get Rooster his bonus. Rooster watches until that station wagon is back on the road before he turns to join him. Camp livens, the bustle growing, almost everyone awake. The smell of burning pancakes fills his nose as he crosses the fields. That means Natasha’s up.

Olive doesn’t believe you. One minute you’re grinning as you’re telling her, twisting the phone cord around your finger from your perch on the window in your room, and the next she’s picking you up in her white ‘71 Firebird. Her eighteenth birthday present was a hell of a lot cooler than yours.

“So, which one is yours?” She asks, smacking her lips in the rearview mirror as you zip up your boots in the passenger seat. Warm-skinned and dark-haired, Olive knows that yellow is her colour and she glows in it.

“Haven’t decided yet,” you tell her. It’s your secret that one of them has barely shot a nice look in your direction since you first saw him on the road — she’s like a shark in the water when it comes to screwing guys you could have liked. It’s a small pond; half the fish didn’t come back from the wrong side of the Pacific.

“Roger that,” she answers, her headlights illuminating the dark stretch behind Church Street. No streetlights this way, even this close to town. “Both it is.”

Your mouth stretches, silent appreciation coating your face as she turns right and Dutch’s — Atwood’s answer to dive bars — comes in to view. Olive’s the one who introduced you to this place. She’s well-known here.

They’re here. The faded green pick-up that Jake had rolled into town in the bed of is parked at the far end of the lot. It could be just Jake, he could’ve come alone, but you know he didn’t. There’s just a feeling you have that both of them are here, together.

It’s something between triumph and turned-on, buzzing and fluttery in your stomach. This feels kinda like a date. That feeling is kind of like butterflies in your tummy, but better.

Dutch’s is always filled with a cloud of smoke and gas station men’s cologne, bathed in the glow of the neon signs. It’s gritty, and fun — certainly no place for two young ladies, which is why the patrons like it so much when you two show up. Cheap beer and old wood, raucous sounds of laughter and pool balls clacking into one another. That’s where you find them.

Jake, for once, is dressed. He’s wearing a pale blue button-up and a less faded pair of jeans, leaning against his pool cue, watching the door close behind the two of you.

Your heeled boots are lost in the sound, tapping across the sticky, scuffed-wood floor. Olive is welcomed loudly from all angles, guys calling her name and reaching for her hand. She squeezes your fingers and keeps with you, her giggle music to your ears. The weathered regulars aren’t what she’s here for tonight.

The ivory balls clack together and rattle, one goes flying into the far right stomach that now sits right in front of your thighs. Rooster admires his successful shot, his gaze darting up to meet yours before he stands up straight again.

There’s no point in pretending you aren’t nice to look at. His eyes trail your middle. Real slow, taking his time. Dimly lit, smoke-hazed, neon-flushed room, his cheeks are reddish and tanned, his eyes are dark. He has shaved since this morning, so he can’t pretend he didn’t make the effort for you. His jaw is bare, and above his lip is a neatly-trimmed brown ‘stache. Shoulders wide and squared, his worn hands wrapped around the cue.

He examines you like you’re a centrefold — except one that he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be looking at in public — searching your skin, from where those tight jeans sit just below your navel to where the blouse is tied between your tits. He finds freckles, and gold rings on your fingers, smooth skin on your stomach. The softest curve to your breasts, sitting free under the cover of that thin red fabric.

Then, Rooster smiles, almost polite, as he finally finds your face, knowing damn well you saw him looking. More than looking. Studying.

He reaches wordlessly for his Coors, and takes a drink. Shameless.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jake catches your attention. His broad shoulders stretch at the blue of that shirt as he rounds the table towards you. “Must be my lucky day, huh?”

“Sure looks like it.” With Olive here, your confidence surges. She always knows what to say and when she’s around, you do too. “Almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on, you know.”

His gaze lingers, smirk toying at his lips. Just watching. Then, he looks towards Olive. Passing his cue into his other hand, he extends his right towards her. “Jake, that’s Rooster.”

“Rooster?” She challenges, her hand shaking limply at Jake’s as she turns to stare at the quiet guy behind the table. “Like the bird?”

“Uh-huh. Government official, and everything.” He answers her, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he gulps back another mouthful and sets the empty bottle down against the wood. Olive doesn’t like that. They aren’t going to get along.

“This is Olive.” You try to leave the bird comment behind.

“Like the fruit?” Rooster intercepts.

She quirks an eyebrow at him, that was a point in his favour.

You don’t even realise she isn’t shaking Jake’s hand anymore until his thumb strokes at your knuckles. He’s up close, and he smells like a man. He raises his eyebrows at your, linking his index finger around yours.

“What are you girls drinking?”

“Beer’s fine.” Olive answers for you. In a place like Dutch’s, you don’t really sip on Cosmos or Martinis.

As she reaches for it, Jake passes his pool cue compliantly into her hand without once taking his eyes off of your face. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he tracks you.

You glance downward at his finger linked against yours, resting against the denim of his thigh.

“Beer it is. Lead the way, Bunny.” His thumb trails the bumps in your knuckles once again, he lifts his arm and turns you the other way like you’re dancing. With him following close behind, you happily lead him to the bar with the barely-there grip you’ve got on him.

Your front presses to the bar, Jake presses against your backside. He smells like pine, but sweeter. His hand comes to rest on your middle, halfway curved around your hip.

“So, you’re local?” Jake asks.

“Mhm, my parents have a place just a little ways past the laundromat.”

Jake leans past you and flashes four of his fingers to Jimmy, the bartender that you made out with last New Years’. You wince a bit, then shake it off. Jimmy sleeps with almost every girl that enters this place, and you had narrowly dodged that bullet. That’s a feat in itself.

“And you’re what— in college?” He asks.

“Oh, no. I work at the old folks’ home. We both do.” You gesture back across the bar to Olive. Both of you catch the moment she glares at the back of Rooster’s head as he sinks another ball.

Old folks. That’s new.

“… On purpose?” He asks.

Your mouth gapes dramatically, elbow pushing back into his ribs as Jimmy sets down four cold beers in front of you. No, not on purpose. It’s not like the Pines had ever been in your plan.

“Says the Carnie?”

“Oh, ouch,” Jake chuckles, grabbing three of the bottles in one hand. He holds a hand over his heart with the one that he’s got free. “Brutal, baby.”

So, neither of you are here by choice. Jake finds that less funny than his casual grin would have you believe.

Once reunited, Olive takes her beer from your hand and leans in to tell you exactly what she thinks of Jake’s friend. Leaning against his pool cue, Rooster listens as the expletives roll off of her tongue, unfazed. He doesn’t like her much either. He’s not as good at making friends as he used to be.

You get familiar with the worn felt and chipped edges of the table, giggling beer after beer with your newfound friend. Jake, not Rooster, who seems to prefer to just look.

Occasionally, the conversation will be broken by the thunderous clap of Rooster splitting the balls in a fresh game. His competitive streak is not a hit with Olive; you seem to have already made up your mind about fucking Jake.

Now, it’s out of his hands.

Amidst not-so-good-natured taunts and jibes, Olive introduces a round of tequila shots.

Jake complies, so you comply. Rooster has decided by this point to pick his battles, and doesn’t argue as Jake passes him and overfilled shot glass. Without salt or a lime, Rooster sinks the liquid and picks up the chalk to dust off his pool cue.

Salt on your tongue, perched on the edge of the pool table, Jake’s green eyes glisten with oppportunity as you swallow back the warm drink, your nose wrinkling at the taste. Jake lifts the lime wedge, pleased as you open your mouth. You meet his gaze and suddenly all the patrons start to fall quiet at once.

It’s headache-inducing for Rooster, listening to all those butterflies in your stomach. You sink your teeth into the fruit and the burning sensation from the shot starts to subside, leaving you just with the same feeling but this time from Jake.

It isn’t really quiet. Really, Olive swears at Rooster again, a glass smashes somewhere to your left and the band starts to play an original song.

But it all feels quiet.

It feels all-encompassing, and intimate, and hot.

Jake takes the lime away from your mouth, the corner of his mouth twitching. Rooster was right about you. His eyes glint in the neon as your tongue swipes a droplet of stray lime juice from your bottom lip.

“You wanna get some fresh air?” he whispers, dropping the lime onto the window ledge beside him so that he can grab two handfuls of your hips.

Rooster watches you nod giddily at Jake. A pang of jealousy plucks at him; he feels green all over, sick with envy as the two of you slip out of the side exit.

If he’d smiled at you the night before or even if he had just been half as friendly as Jake had, he knows it would be him. He would happily take Jake’s spot, in another life. Not this one.

Instead, he pockets the final ball of the game and stands up straight. Sinking the shot that Rooster had declined, she takes one look at the guy she has now been left alone with and shakes her head.

The premise of fresh air was gone as soon as it was promised. The two of you had knowingly beelined it for his truck before the back door to Dutch’s had even closed behind you.

It’s no surprise to either one of you when you’re huddling into the cab of Jake’s truck at the far end of the lot. He’s kissing you. He has been kissing you the entire time he was backing you over, his hands in your hair and on your waist and squeezing at your ass— everywhere. You gasp as he falls forwards, both of you spilling across the leather seats.

He’s between your legs, pawing at your ass and grinding his belt buckle into your stomach, his hips spreading your thighs wide.

There’s nothing new about this — about a quick fuck in a truck, or about not really knowing the guy you’re kissing all too well, but this isn’t a guy you kind of know. It’s a stranger. A complete stranger, with no last name and no home and no real job. You don’t even know enough about him to ward off the questions your parents would ask.

But you moan against his mouth when he kisses you. You welcome him hungrily, twisting your fingers in his soft, sandy hair and reveling in the feeling of his rough hands exploring your skin.

You’re warm all over, hugged by this new tequila-fuelled confidence. His mouth is a welcome heat, all over and feeling so good. Somewhere between rushed, panting kisses, your shirt goes flying and his goes falling and your bare chest is smushed flat against his. His hips roll languidly into yours, denim on denim and excitement pooling in your panties.

His cool breath makes you squirm against the brown leather of the seat, lips parted and panting. Jake licks a hot stripe along the column of your neck, the tip of his nose bristling against the gold of your hoop earring. He inhales slowly, savouring the daisies and the sweat, the humanity of this closeness. Your heart thuds in your chest. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, hard.

Rooster grimaces from inside, and not just because by this point Olive has ditched him to joke around with some guys beside the bar.

Jake sits back for a moment. Heat flushed through your skin, your teeth pressed into the pillow of your bottom lip, your legs spread for him to fit between. Your shirt sits in the footwell and Jake, for the first time, gets unadulterated access to the beauty of your naked chest.

He blinks, feeling you reach for him. Your fingers follow the trail of soft, blond hair, all the way down the taut planes of his stomach. Your touch is gentle, slowly headed right for his belt buckle. Your eyes catch on a glint of gold.

His cross necklace sparkles under the glow of the streetlight behind the truck. You study the tattoo under it, the crucifix shape hidden by the necklace, right between his collarbones. There’s something off about it. Not just the morals of it. You know plenty of god-fearing boys that would be pretty willing to fuck you in this truck without knowing so much as your last name.

The skin is raised and unsteady. At first you think that maybe it’s a war tat; tons of guys got bad ink while they were overseas. But you haven’t seen it like this.

It’s jagged and scarred, the ink bleeds out over where the tissue is raised. Your first-aid knowledge is limited despite the nurses uniform you spend most of your days in, but you recognise this. The crucifix is a scar, it’s burned into his skin, like a brand.

Your gaze shifts back up to his with a beat, he’s already watching your face. The look on his face is different, suddenly calm and eerily still. He tips his head just slightly to the right, the movement jerky and stiff.

His palms weigh your hips down into the worn leather, feeling heavier than they had before. The back lot of Dutch’s feels darker than it ever has before. You feel a lot further from the safety of its smoky embrace, and a lot further from the one person who knows where you are tonight.

Rooster sinks his beer and watches Olive giggling, obliviously, by the bar.

He can hear you panicking. The sudden spike in your heartbeat and the shallow sound of your soft breaths. Maybe you’re smarter than he gave you credit for.

He thinks that Jake’s going to give you the same line he gives all the girls he fucks who are smart enough to notice the scar. Lost a bet, baby, don’t you worry about it.

Jake, instead, studies the look on your face. He looks down at your fingers still resting on his belt buckle, frozen stiff. His lips quirk at the corners. Your move.

NEXT CHAPTER

TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT

tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1 @a-reader-and-a-writer @breezyweazybeezy @mel119g @hersuitisbanana @one-sweet-gubler @atarmychick007 @ximehs @nnatel @topherwrites @seitmai @yepyeahuhhuh @cherrycola27 @ohtobeleah @roosterbruiser

[incorrect-mtg]

Flavor Text Highlights Bonus - The Theriad

The Theriad is an in-universe epic that exists in Theros, an equivalent to the Illiad. Here are the cards and flavor texts for it, over three sets (with a line break because it's 15 cards and a lot of text:

It was in fields of grain, not fields of battle, that the Champion learned to bear the yoke of duty to the gods. She worked the land long before she was called on to defend it.

The girl who would become the Champion of the Sun hacked furiously at the practice dummy. At last she stopped, breathing heavily, and looked up at her instructor. "So much anger," said the centaur. "I will teach you the ways of war, child. But first you must make peace with yourself."

"Poets speak of your unrivaled speed," the Champion said to the assembled centaurs, "but it is plain to see that your true strength lies in your unwavering loyalty to one another."

After the Battle of Pharagax Bridge, the Champion spent many months among the leonin of Oreskos. She found that they were quick to take offense, not because they were thin-skinned, but because they were always eager for a fight.

On the fourth day they passed through a forest of immense stacked stones. Althemone, youngest of the companions, called these pillars the work of a god, but the Champion knew better. She quickened her pace.

Khestes the Adamant, the Champion's closest ally among the centaurs, took one stone to his shoulder and another to his flank. He held his stride and his aim, and let fly the arrow that killed the giant Grinthax.

The Champion armed herself to face the cyclops, heedless of her companions' despair. "How will you defeat it with only one spear?" asked young Althemone. The Champion raised her weapon. "It has but one eye."

The Champion and the philosopher Olexa returned from the opposing camp at dusk. Behind them, the enemy raised sail and departed, breaking the siege. When asked what the two had done, the Champion replied, "We spoke to them."

The Champion and her companions marched through the night, but the battle was over before they arrived. In the middle of the carnage sat a solitary minotaur, lost in what seemed to the Champion to be thought.

With spear held high, the Champion came to meet Thyrogog of the Ashlands, who wore the old king's skin as a cloak and fed on the flesh of innocents. The foul minotaur raised the great axe called Goremaster and charged.

You have led us to triumph over the forces of Mogis!" said Brygus the Brave, clapping the Champion on the back. The Champion wiped the sweat and blood from her brow. "I count eight graves," she said. "Too many to call this a victory."

At sunrise, the Champion and her companions awoke to find their supplies gone and Brygus, their sentry, dead. Carefully arranged piles of ornamental shells gave a clear warning: go no further.

The hulk rose from the sea and loomed over the Champion. Pinned beneath the twisting, rotted planks of wood was the body of Kaliaros, the helmsman of her former crew, and beside him the captain, Photine.

The Champion stood alone between the horde of the Returned and the shrine to Karametra, cutting down scores among hundreds. She would have been overcome if not for the aid of the temple guardians whom Karametra awakened.

The great hart stood like a statue, its hide painted gold by the dawn. The Champion laid down her weapons and stepped forward within an arm's length of the beast. The hart, sacred to Heliod and bathed in the god's own light, bowed to the Champion, marking her as the Chosen of the Sun God.

[hexpositive]

Hex Positive, Ep. 048 - Land Healing with Dana O'Driscoll

Now available on the Nerd & Tie Podcast Network and your favorite podcatcher!

Multi-talented author, artist, permaculturist, and head of the AODA Dana O’Driscoll drops by the virtual studio to discuss her newest book, “Land Healing: Physical, Metaphysical, and Ritual Practices for Healing the Earth.” Among the topics discussed are processes and procedures for connecting with the land spirits where you live, what’s in a crane bag, and how we can practice good stewardship and become responsible ancestors.

Check out her other works – 

Sacred Actions: Living the Wheel of the Year Through Earth-Centered Sustainable Practices The Plant Spirit Oracle The Druids Garden blog The Druids Garden etsy shop

Visit the Willow Wings Witch Shop on Shopify and check out this month’s featured items. Make sure you also visit the Redbubble page for even more cool merch!

Check my ⁠⁠Wordpress⁠⁠ for full show notes, as well as show notes for past episodes and information on upcoming events. You can find me as @BreeNicGarran on TikTok, Instagram, and WordPress, or as @breelandwalker on tumblr. For more information on how to support the show and get access to early releases and extra content, visit my ⁠⁠Patreon⁠⁠.

Proud member of the ⁠⁠Nerd and Tie Podcast Network⁠⁠.

See you in October!

Upcoming Events:

Styx & Stones on Facebook Follow for upcoming moon markets!

Cottage Witch Market Sunday, July 28 2024, 12pm-6pm Diversity Richmond 1407 Sherwood Ave, Richmond VA Hosted by River City Witch Markets

Free Spirit Gathering August 6-11, 2024 Camp Ramblewood, Darlington MD Free Spirit Gathering Website⁠ ⁠Use my referral link to sign up!⁠ ⁠Free Spirit Gathering Policies⁠  (PLEASE READ IF PLANNING TO ATTEND)

Norse Witch Market Sunday, August 18 2024, 12pm-5pm Diversity Richmond 1407 Sherwood Ave, Richmond VA Hosted by River City Witch Markets

Pumpkin Witch Market Sunday, Sept 22 2024, 12pm-5pm Diversity Richmond 1407 Sherwood Ave, Richmond VA Hosted by River City Witch Markets

CritWitchCon 2024 September 27-29, 2024 Online Gathering via Zoom “Perception / Perspective Check” Hosted by Critical Thinking Witch Collective

MUSIC CREDITS

Intro & Outro – “Spellbound” & “Miri’s Magic Dance” Host-Read Ads – “Danse Macabre – Violin Hook” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

[insirisarts]

Origins of Olympus - Reimagined

Chapter 1: Welcome to Camp Oasis!

The sun beamed down onto the sand; the sky was clear of any clouds. The heat of the desert would’ve been unbearable for any human unlucky enough to be caught in its never-ending expanses. After all, mortals could not find their way to a place like this, especially not to its oasis. Even if they did, the gods would smite them for trespassing onto the sacred land. A place where the finest of greenery and produce grew; food was abundant, the water was so clean, you could drink it from the source, and filled with fauna so docile, even tigers could have been considered house pets. However, these individuals are by no means ‘mortals’. For these people are children of the gods. Blessed to walk the lands of Gaia with the grand powers of their parents. Striking the earth with powerful volts, bringing the motions of the tides, guiding souls to their final resting place, and even becoming the light of the sun themself.

An echidna stood tall on the entrance platform, backlit by the magic doorway behind her. Orange scales shining in the mid-afternoon sun. Her large wings sat solidly on her back, accentuating her posture. The woman's human upper half was covered with a red-orange dress, which was trimmed and decorated with gold. Gold bracelets were also placed on her upper and lower arms, and on the end of her serpent tail. Each of these bracelets were jeweled with three bright orange stones which matched her fiery irises. Scales traveled up the young woman’s body, spotting her shoulders, ears and face with the same burnt orange as the asymmetrical horns buried in her dark brown hair. Her heavy-lidded eyes surveyed over the slowly building group. Demi-gods to be specific.

“Hello everyone, I am Kaykrea and welcome to the Oasis of Demeter.” Kaykrea introduced, catching the attention of the present demi-gods. She had situated herself on the marble steps leading to the entryway of the camp, which was blocked by a form of powerful magic that none of the others could quite figure out. 

Beside her was a girl who had arrived earlier that day, a harpy named Marshie. She was white winged harpy, in a dark crop top with a long striped light purple shawl that fell past her shoulders. Her laurel was decorated with small golden sunflowers and sat atop her long strawberry blond hair, some of which had been pulled back to make a cute loose ponytail. Her outfit was finished off with some jean shorts that stopped above her more eagle shaped legs and taloned feet. They had taken time to chat during the wait and already found that they got along rather well.

“I will be your designated camp counselor.” Kaykrea's large, scaled wings spread to frame her sculpted body; her lower serpent body raising the human half to stand tall over all of the campers. “Today will just be a simple meet-and-greet with a tour of the campgrounds. Then we will have a short session with The Oracle later this evening.” 

Many already had looks of admiration or excitement on their faces; except for a man with long shaggy white and red hair off to the side, who simply rolled his eyes at her. She figured that this one may eventually become a problem and mentally noted to keep an eye on him. “First will be introductions, we will start with you.” She stated, pointing at a man with black hair and yellow highlights, frizzed by what appeared to be static. 

The man stood a bit straighter now that the attention was on him, his black eyes widening slightly from being singled out, “I am Mario, son of Zeus, God of storms and lightning!” Mario proclaimed. His looks only pushed the idea. His toga was black and yellow with hints of white under the garment and light blue accents. Lightning motifs could be found in his laurel, arm armor and his white sash in the form of a lightning shaped fibula brooch. Throughout his arms and legs, his veins seemed to glow an electric yellow on his sun-tanned skin. He stood with confidence, almost looking like he was about to burst with unstoppable energy.

The Echidna nodded in approval; a child of Zeus was sure to bring some excitement. “Thank you, Mario. Now you, the one in blue.” She moved on, gesturing to a man with a much shyer demeanor, as he sat much more hunched over compared to the rest of the group.

“Uhm… Jakey, one of the sons of Poseidon.” Jakey mumbled, just loud enough for Kaykrea to glean. Besides the small, high collard coverup on his shoulders, he was shirtless, showing off his swimmer's body. The armor over his left pec was layered and traveled over to part of his back, with large light blue inset jewels glittering in the light. At his hips sat a blue 5-layered skirt-like bottom that split at his right hip, the exposed part of which was covered by a cloth tied to the skirt. His arms and legs were protected by silver armor shaped like fish and similarly jeweled like the rest of his armor; his hands were covered in dark blue fingerless gloves. A tasteful crown was planted in his brown and blue hair with the same light blue gem, his hair had been put into a french-styled braid on both sides of his head that then came together into a long skinny braid in the back. On his back, sat a long bident with jewels spotted on the head, and the end had a shark fin shape.

Kaykrea nodded in satisfaction and was about to move on to the next camper when a new voice joined the group.

Distant shuffling sand could be heard from the distance. “I’m sorry, I’m here, hold on-!” Shouted a young man with short white hair. His ears were pierced with round red earrings and accompanied by golden ear clips covered in rose leaves. His neck was adorned with a red choker. A cropped himation draped over his right shoulder which was pinned by a sort-of star shaped fibula brooch. His two-layered red skirt with gold trim swayed with the movement of his legs. He had shoulder pads that appeared to have rose designs that matched the rose on his dark gray belt, which matched the leather armor on his arms. Small white wings flared from the shoulder pads and his golden shoes. Two hooked swords were connected at the hilts which gave the shape of an S sat on his back along with a small satchel, assumedly a physical god pocket, likely it had all of his other essentials in its magic confines. He skidded to a stop with the rest of the group; bending over to catch his breath, using his knees as support.

“I, huf, apologize, hrff, I was distracted, hooh…” He rushed between labored breaths; his body lightly shook from overexertion.

“And… who might you be?” The orange serpent inquired, drawing out her sentence. 

With one last deep gasp of air, the white-haired man responded, “I’m Bryan, the son of Aphrodite; the goddess of love, beauty and passion herself!” Bryan flicked his hair back haughtily and stood with his head held high. The motion made him look back and lock his eyes onto Jakey. This made him freeze in the middle of his display; a light pink softy grazed his face, and he awkwardly took a few steps back to get a proper look at the other man, honey brown eyes holding an intense stare.

‘…Poor guy…’ Kaykrea sympathized, even though the boy in blue didn't even seem to notice Bryan. However, she quickly corrected herself and went back to the meet-and-greet. “Thank you, Bryan. Now then, let's move on to… you.” She brought attention to a man with ashy skin.

The man with the sides of his head shaved and a braid going down the back of his scalp, a chunk of which was bronze. Thick sideburns lead to a scruffy but well-trimmed beard. He awkwardly lifted his hand in a wave. 

“Ah, Xylo. Son of Apollo.” Xylo greeted. His laurel also had a bronze color, sporting, strangely enough, pomegranate leaves. Bronze spartan armor on his torso and lower legs, along with a layer of leather pteruges at his waist along with shoulder pads that had sun designs glazed on. Over his protective layer there was a bright multi-colored sash, going from a dark purplish blue to a bright sunny yellow curving around his body to also become his belt and dangling the leftover fabric in the front. The cloth was pinned down by bronze peronai on his right shoulder and where the cloth hung off at the belt, they were in the shape of the sun with four points, inside being bright yellow glaze. He had single point claw gauntlets in a similar sun shape attached to thick fingerless leather gloves. At his hips, an open hip cape hung to his knees, a bright pattern depicting a sun in a wavy sky adorned the garment. Another odd part of his look were his dark purple eyes, it almost looked like they didn’t belong, or that he didn’t belong.

Kaykrea had scrunched her nose in frustration, heavy lidded eyes glaring aggressively, bowing her head to show off her dark orange horns at the ashen man. Apollo… Apollo… Mother…

“Ah… thanks.” She bluntly stated.

Xylo had an expression of mild offense but decided to leave it be for the time being.

As the rest of the meeting went on, more of the godly children introduced themselves. A second son of Poseidon named Mitch. He too, lacked a shirt and wore a coverup on the upper part of his torso and wore a far more gaudy golden crown. Although, his face was half covered in black scales. He was much darker than Jakey, with a more deep sea/ocean look to match with his black and blue clothing, with small bioluminescent adornments. He also held the trident, at this mention, Jakey made his own snide remark about poor choices in part on their father. 

The man KayKrea had taken note of earlier was named Brandeen, who was a son of Ares. His style leaned towards more human than Olympian it appeared, not that it was any concern to her as plenty of gods and demi-gods had spent at least some time around mortals and their ever-expanding culture. His overall appearance was dark, his disheveled black and white striped shirt and ripped black pants made up part of his look. A dark red pleather biker jacket with the sleeves measly ripped off, which was accented with smaller bits of a brighter red, brought it all together. Around his arms were bandages with blades tied at the ends that pulsed with divine energy; those must be his weapons.

Further back was a Satyr woman named Relena, the adopted child of Artemis. Her hair was a subtle mix of light and dark brown and subtly blended into the fur on her ears and face; which were both rather animal-like. She was dressed in much more casual human clothing, having a halfway split turquoise and light pink short jacket over a plain white crop top, the pink matching her horns. The jacket had its sleeves ripped off, showing her strong arms. Her jeans were intentionally ripped at her knees, keeping it out of the way of her more animalistic legs and hooved feet. An attempt was made to paint her hooves the same pink as her horns. Slung across her hips sat an ornate silver bow with a quiver of arrows.

At the end of the lineup stood a man almost completely clad in black, battle armor being placed over his original clothing. His name was Brick, one of the very few children of Hades. He had a black war helmet with the holes for the face covered by a bright purple energy. His speech was short and abrupt, only giving his name and heritage in a sharply cold manner.

Kaykrea knew there were other campers yet to arrive, but she had to start with the tour before it got too late in the day. So, with a large flap of her orange wings, she instructed the present campers to follow her for the tour of the grounds. With an expert waver of her hand, she dispelled the magic that blocked off the entrance to the camp.

Entering through the enchanted doors of Camp Oasis, guarded by large spear-wielding statues, they followed a small path. The path led to a sort-of roundabout, which had small sections of path that lead away to other parts of the camp. Surrounding the group was a quaint little garden, and at the roundabout’s center was a marble fountain that poured water as blue as the sky. Many flowers covered the area surrounding the outer rim of the path around the fountain. However, Bryan took particular interest in the Rose bushes.

“Oh, I heard about the nature here!” He exclaimed with adoration and fondness, earning him odd stares from the others. “About how it all seems to live or even thrive! These roses are beautiful, what do you do to make them grow like this?” He would have continued to fawn over the red flowers if he weren't interrupted.

“Bet you sure know a lot about this junk, huh?” Mario taunted. It sounded playful, but that didn’t stop Bryan from shooting the other with a sharp glare.

“Sure do…” The white-haired man mumbled. Mario sucked in his lips, like how one would with something sour, he figured that he shouldn’t have spoken up.

“Alright!” Kaykrea interjected, clapping her hands together to catch the two boys' attention. “Let's get a move on up the path!” She ushered, wanting to avoid a first day conflict.

Up the path was the training area. Fully packed with dummies, targets and even a small sparring ring with a little viewing area. A good handful of campers took potshots at the targets, using either their weapons or godly powers, with varying rates of success and accuracy. Further down was a sports area, consisting of both old Olympic sports and modern human sports. Next to the sports fields were the cabins. They were charming, being made in a rustic style and crafted from the same wood as the surrounding towering trees. She said that cabins would be assigned after the tour, during dinner. Most were able to house two or so people and stood overlooking the surprisingly close gulf that led out into the ocean. Nearby, a dock sat with fishing boats stranded on the shoreline. Fishing equipment had been provided on the dock, along with some outdoor cooking equipment in a small shed nearby. Next was the camp hall, for campers to meet and socialize. A bonfire circle sat just beside the mess hall, it had yet to be lit, although it seemed to have been recently stocked with firewood. 

“This is where we will have our rendezvous after you settle in and have dinner this evening.” She explained, letting everyone gather before continuing. “Then The Oracle will come and give us a free prophecy. Afterwards, you will earn the right to meet with them eventually, but that is a discussion for later throughout your stay.”

Then the mess hall. The Hall was very large, it would have no trouble fitting the entirety of the camp once they were all there. A heavenly smell came from the building, a mixture of sweet and savory that caused the campers mouths to water with anticipation. Finally, was the shower and bathroom area, having both separate and unisex washrooms, and a small bath house.

She pointed to a distant building. It was a small temple, with a securely locked door. So secure in fact that there was no lock, only magic.

“That is where The Oracle resides. You are not to bother them unless you are given passage, or they decide to summon you.” She declared with finality. Asserting that the building was fully off-limits otherwise. 

  With that the campers were released and left to their own devices. Some had gone to chat by the cabins and others went to either look around the camp or to use the training area. Kaykrea herself went to the mess hall to finish preparing for that night's feast.

Soon enough, they were brought back to the mess hall, where an entire buffet was set up. Different tables had different types of food. Fruits and vegetables were set to one side of the buffet. Large fruit bowls held exotic fruits not even native to their part of the world, and the veggies had been grown right on camp property and harvested that day. A range of different meats sat in the middle of the arrangement, from the finest steaks to moist and well-seasoned fowl and poultry, to fish from both fresh and saltwater. At the other end were deserts and drinks. Pies, cakes and pastries alongside juices, nectar and ambrosia. It was now bustling; some others had arrived at the camp over time and joined in on the festive atmosphere.

During this time, Kaykrea went around telling campers to take a card from a small deck. The cards were in pairs of colors and a cabin number, and those with matching pairs would bunk together. On occasion, some did not get a cabin mate, not that any of them seemed to mind, like Mitch. However, most did have two people. Xylo and Jakey, Relena and Brick, even Brandeen had a cabin buddy. Although, she had not learned his roommate's name yet. Glancing around, she could see the Demi-gods socializing, looking for anyone who had a matching card or simply enjoying the food. Bryan approached her to receive his card, fittingly, red. Not that she knew if anyone else had a red card, but she had caught a glimpse at his. She internally chuckled at the mild irony.

“Did anyone else get red?” He inquired over the crowd, causing a brief awkward silence as everyone else double checked their cards.

“Over here!” A voice replied, a hand darting up over the crowd to display their card.

Bryan made his way over to his roommate for the summer. Only to come face-to-face with Mario. He could hardly hide his disappointment. Obviously still salty about the comment made earlier that day. Mario held a poorly disguised expression of awkwardness, not knowing how to tackle the subject. Kaykrea was about to confront the two about perhaps changing cabins before the man in black and yellow asked if the shorter boy would be willing to meet with him outside. With a stiff nod, Bryan followed the fellow demi-god out the door. Just to be safe, the serpent woman discreetly accompanied the two.

The full moon hung at the edge of the sky, the final dim glow of the setting sun moments from vanishing. Cool night breezes chilled the earth from the heat of the summer day. The pair stood in silence, not sure how to begin the conversation. The tension was thick enough to be sliced by any blade. Which Mario dared to do.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier… I thought it sounded joking enough, but I could tell it flumped entirely.” He kept his warm black eyes on the ground, not really wanting to see the look the other man was possibly giving him.

“Yeah, I get that.” Bryan spoke blankly, staring off in a random direction. “But it still hit a cord… kinda sounded like my mom…” This came out far more dejected.

“Really? Why would Aphrodite, of all gods, judge flower stuff?” The raven-haired man replied in mild shock.

Kaykrea was inclined to agree, very odd for the goddess of love.

Bryan continued, waving his hand in circles to sort his thoughts. “Not so much the flower thing, more so just not really understanding or accepting my interests…” The other supplied, “Me not being like my siblings… or her.”

“Whoof, I feel you there, my dad doesn’t really give me much thought. Given that he has so many other kids.” Mario chuckled at his little jab at his father; he was right after all, Zeus wasn’t known for his… marital devotion.

Kaykrea had to quickly stifle laughter at the thought. She couldn’t risk getting caught.

“Not to mention that a lot of them have become either legendary heroes or have impacted history in some major way.” Mario ended his sentence with a light huff of amusement and an awkward lean “Those kinds of expectations can make someone pretty awkward huh?” he asked rhetorically, obviously trying to railroad to find common ground. 

Quickly, under his breath the black-eyed man added on, “and dad can’t keep his clothes on so-”. The smug smirk that plastered his face made the other demi-god snerk a little, a light red came to his cheeks and ears in embarrassment as his lips scrunched to a futile attempt to hide his amusement.

“Gross-“ the man in red shot back with a humorous sly grin, gently shoving the other. “-but… same… only with my mom.” He amended, “Anyways, no one likes to think of the goddess of love and beauty being a violent god, despite her history. I just can’t help but wonder about it.” This came in a more soft-spoken cadence, walls starting to fully drop.

“Yeah?” Mario tentatively eased. “I’m sure it must make things awkward?” He raised an eyebrow. Although drama in the Aphrodite family was not surprising, nor unheard of, seeing that outward facade be shelved for honesty and openness took Kaykrea aback slightly. Maybe she shouldn’t have eavesdropped on this conversation. It was beginning to become a little too personal and raw.

Bryan began to lean in, speaking both softer and with sincerity, the haughty persona being fully abandoned before responding.  “Mhm.” He started with a small nod. “You see, I’m a huge fan of the legendary wars and heroes of the past. That led to me digging, especially since my mother was one of the main causes for the biggest war in our history…” his eyes seemed to shine excitedly, passion bleeding from his slight movements and the small grin on his face.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Bryan continued, “I just wanted to understand why we had to throw that part of our past away. Just because our family represents the many forms of love doesn’t mean we couldn't enjoy combat or sparring. Heck, I even got a gift recently that-”.

All of a sudden, Bryan trailed off, his eyes becoming listless, losing that excited bright shine. The feeling of discomfort filled the still air, and his muscles tensed.

“What?” Mario cocked his head, “Something else on your mind?” He pushed.

Bryan backed off, glancing to the side in embarrassment. “Sorry, shouldn’t have said anything…” he muttered under his breath, shoulders sinking subconsciously.

The black clothed man quickly waved his hands, trying to brush off the others embarrassment. “No, no! I was just… uh.” He took a pause; he was ruining this again.

“It’s ok. Not many people know about my mother’s past with war. Especially after The Iliad was published.” The shorter man chuckled, starting to backtrack “But I want to know… even if she doesn't really like me digging into it.” Bryan was standing normally now, a lot more bashful and uncomfortable talking about his family.

Mario planted his hand on the other in a comforting gesture, rubbing small circles into his back. In return, Bryan leaned into the touch slightly, the muscles near his shoulders flexing oddly. It was like he wasn't used to touch, or at least it had been a while since he's been comforted. Although, from what Kaykrea had observed, and her prior experience with the Olympian gods. The awkward nature of the white-haired man seemed to suggest the former.

Bryan lifted his head to look at Mario, taking a small calming breath before speaking again. “To be honest, I don’t think I know much anyway. A lot of my own memories are fuzzy…” This earned him an odd look from Mario, and Kaykrea couldn’t help but do the same. It is rather strange that he would have a bad memory. Was this what the smaller was trying to talk about before? Well, whatever the case may be, the black-haired man let it be and merely nodded in acknowledgment.

It seemed the two had spoken their peace. Overall, a little more comfort had been built between the two. Mario stuck out his hand, offering an apology and a truce to their minor conflict, which Bryan accepted with a small smile. Kaykrea huffed a small sigh of relief, glad that a fight hadn’t broken out on the first day, nor that any enemies were made. She made a quick escape back into the mess hall, moments before the other two made their reentry. It was felt in the room, everyone could tell that whatever issue was happening between the two, it had been sorted out. They went off to join the others again, starting to take far more enjoyment in each other's company than before. At least that was resolved.

About two hours had passed at this point, Kaykrea taking the time to clean up as the festivities came to a close. Many campers had joined together into small groups or cliques and every once in a while, there would be thunderous laughter that would trail back into a comfortable buzz and light chatter. She was frankly quite surprised; no fights, mild and quickly resolved conflicts, and not a single misunderstanding! It was almost as if they were in a normal human camp and not a camp full of physical embodiments of natural concepts. Although she knew that it all had to come to an end soon, it was almost time to meet with The Oracle and she needed to pick up the mess hall before then.

“Okay, everyone!” Kaykrea called, waiting for the campers' conversations to end before she announced, “It is almost time to meet The Oracle, I would like all of you to go to your cabins and drop off your things, decide who wants what bed and such. We will meet back at the bond fire, I will move on with the night whether you make it or not, so be there if you wish to listen to The Oracles’ predictions.” With that, she went to clean the tables of the leftover dishes and scraps of food.

The campers had left for their cabins to drop off their things and to get sorted before heading to the large bonfire. When it seemed that all had arrived, Kaykrea used her flaming blade to ignite the kindling, and soon enough, a fire was brought to life. The flame was large and danced with the slight breeze of the night. Cracks and pops from the wood soon followed, allowing the meeting to officially begin. Xylo, with hardly any regard for the current evening event, suddenly pulled out a large bag of marshmallows, announcing a query of whether anyone wanted some. Most around the fire whooped at the human treat, receiving their share from the armored man.

Mitch had grabbed two and offered one to Jakey, who had taken it upon himself to grab his own from the son of Apollo rather than accepting one from his brother, Mitch practically looked scandalized. Mario had done the same with Relena, who happily accepted the offer, and Bryan, who simply denied the sugar pillow after giving it a questioning glance of uncertainty. Brandeen seemed all too eager to receive the food from the violet-eyed man. The two had been talking a lot earlier and appeared to have hit it off in some fashion, although Xylo did give him a standoffish look. Kaykrea was far from amused, seeing how all began to disregard what this meeting was about. She simply rolled her eyes and slithered away when Xylo attempted to offer her the bag's contents. In return, he merely shrugged and received a plush confectionary for himself.

The fire in the center of the gathering began fully burning in a bright blend of reds, oranges and yellows. Accenting the woman's appearance and making her look just as bright as the flames. With a faux clearing of her throat, she called to attention all of the present campers for the night's announcements.

“I’m sure some of you all are anticipating the reason as to why we are out so late.” She began, more so wanting to give a reminder to the campers. She continued “First, I do have a few announcements. Starting off, in a few days we will be having the Trial of Ares, which will be a sort of… death match.” This statement brought a few panicked faces and alarmed exclamations to the campers “However, with less… death involved. Close to death, I should say.” Her amendment melted some tension, but the atmosphere still weighed heavy in the group. “It will allow us to see who is at the top, and where others' experiences lie before we get into the real training.” Uncertainty followed the final word of the first announcement, nervous glances were shared between the others.

“Will we get anything?” Was a quick question from Xylo.

“Excuse me?” Came the indigent reply from the camp counselor.

“If one of us wins the trial. Do we get anything?” He clarified.

“That will be discussed at a later time” Was the firm response from the brunette woman.

“Now then. Secondly, as you all know, there is a special guest for you all tonight. They would like to pay a visit to all of you.” Suddenly the meeting area was filled with gasps of awe and excited mermers at Kaykrea’s reveal, some nodding that they did, in fact, remember the prior mention. “There is a message that they would like to give you all, a prophecy.” Her voice suddenly hardened as she followed up with a demand. “I do ask that as a way to show respect to The Oracle, you must stay completely silent, and to not have… snacks, while they are here…” This prompted Xylo to quickly hide the bag of marshmallows and for everyone else to swiftly finish their part of the treat. “Are we clear?” The serpent finished, allowing for any present questions.

Xylo ended up asking another query, the primary one on everyone’s minds. “What if we have questions about what they say?” Soon pipings of agreements followed and Kaykrea was quick to respond.

“There will be no questions for The Oracle at this time.” she asserted. “Although, perhaps in the future, but not today. Am I clear?” She took a pause so the campers could give their affirmation, albeit tentatively. “Alright. Introducing… The Oracle.” The winged woman slithered back as the flames of the bonfire began to grow unnaturally, responding to the approaching powerful presence. The once gentle breeze started to pick up and blow back locks of hair. Even the moon appeared to shine brighter as a soft flapping of wings could be heard just over the cracking and popping of the fire. A small shadow formed in the glowing space above the flames, and as it came closer to the light, The Oracle was revealed.

They were small, looking no bigger than the length of an arm vertically and horizontally if the wings and tail were fully stretched out. Right, they had a tail, covered in small iridescent scales that transitioned from black to a deep blue to a bright green, speckled throughout were small white spots, it’s unclear if those were the scales shining or just part of the pattern. Underneath was a black belly with long smooth scales that came up to the main ‘head’. The bat-like wings shared similar traits to the tail, with the black, blue, green with white speckles, pattern. Their head could hardly be considered a ‘head’, since it was just a single large eyeball. The unnerving sight was only enhanced by the odd shaped iris and pupil, which had the shapes of diamonds. The iris itself shared the previous color pattern of the tail and wings. The eyelashes themselves didn’t help either, being large and thick. The top half was long and had two protruding chunks on either side that enhanced the bat-like look. The bottom came to multiple sharp points. Large openings where the eyelids met showed the connective corners. It all was so disproportionate and unnatural, yet here they were, right in front of the small crowd.

A voice, as soft and smooth as the nearby ocean waves, whispered through the open air. Despite not having a mouth, The Oracle spoke as though projecting their message straight into the minds of the camp's inhabitants. “Ah, and so arrive the children of the gods…” Like a knife through butter, the voice cut through the silence, demanding the attention of all those present. The single eye glanced with a piercing gaze over the group, barely stopping on anyone specific. But still, The Oracle already was seeing the future of the campers. “How interesting… hmh… very interesting.” The eye began to glow in rings, looking like the flaring of the sun when looked at through a window or from a recording. The fire began to build, and the smoke rose in large plumes as the small bat-serpent form took to hovering over the pit. Finally, they spoke of what they were seeing. “Darkness looms over the future for one of you, and with it will come terror and destruction. Greatness follows another, a coming day where you will become a great hero. But, not without great loss of those who you love and believe to be close friends. And one of you will assist to break open the earth, and free The Titans from Tartarus. The Future is filled with bloodshed.”

With the final declaration from The Oracle, the fire suddenly is extinguished, leaving all to be shrouded in the darkness of night. The Prophecy held very few good omens it seemed. An unnerving silence filled the air as the small eyeball-bat disappeared into the star-filled sky, swiftly blending in and vanishing from the scene. Soon hushed whispers filled the area as uncertainty and fright began to grow. Kaykrea was quick to initiate the ending statements for the night and sent the campers back to their designated cabins to rest. Although, it would best be assumed that not many got much rest, whether if it was discussing the words of the Oracle, concerns on the upcoming trial, finishing unpacking, or ponderings on how the summer may be more interesting than at first predicted.

Kaykrea stood at the shoreline straddling the camp, nearby was The Oracle’s abode, where the small creature was resting. She didn’t want the others to see, but the prophecy frightened her. She knew that the lives of gods and demi-gods could get dangerous, but… bloodshed… terror… The Titans. What would this mean? Was everyone here doomed right as they crossed the threshold? Perhaps even before they arrived? Not only that, but nothing said that The Oracle was safe either. It appears that maybe She has bitten more than she could chew. But she would do anything for the camp, anything for The Oracle.

Next chapter

Previous chapter

First chapter

Please watch the original Origins of Olympus series, while this story does make major changes; the series made by the Origins MCRP crew is important to understanding the Reimagining, and it's good to support the original material if you can. It's free on YouTube with multiple perspectives. If you see any way that I can improve my writing, or any grammar/spelling mistakes please let me know!

[crowroboros]

Tears of the Kingdom, Master Works, and the Zelda Timeline

Okay! So the Tears of the Kingdom Master Works has dropped and some translations have popped up online, including the Hyrule Chronology section of the book.

Why am I making this post? Simply put, I just want to get my thoughts on how the lore presented here and other materials such as interviews have changed my perspective on how Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom fit into the greater Zelda timeline.

Before TotK's release, I was in the camp that Breath of the Wild was in one of two places; At the end of the Child Timeline long after Four Swords Adventures in the same Hyrule. Or in a convergent timeline. I leaned more towards the Child Timeline placement however, as there being no mention of an inciting event that would merge all three timelines didn't sit right with me. Furthermore, I didn't think that the old world—the Hyrule that was established after the Interloper War—would survive such an event, and everything we had up till that point suggested that this was the same Hyrule as the past games.

With Tears of the Kingdom's release, I no longer believe that to be the case.

This stance has only been backed up as more and more lore details have been released. Everything points to the Hyrule we see in Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom to be a separate kingdom than the one present in the old games. So what makes me think this?

Well to start, let's cover Hyrule's history as seen in the old games and compare it to the history that Tears of the Kingdom presents.

The Repopulation of the Surface and the Birth of Hyrule:

After the events of Skyward Sword, humans returned to the surface after millennia and began settling alongside the Goron, Parella, Kikwi, and Mogmas. These different groups end up developing and creating their own civilizations with the Triforce in the hands of the Hylians. Now, despite the defeat of Demise and the Era of the Sky having mostly faded into myth and legend, word of a powerful artifact still floated around the surface. These rumors fed into the greed present in some people, wishing for power to do with what they wish. Of course, the artifact in question was the Triforce. A group of sorcerers known as the Dark Interlopers began to organize and raged war against the Hylians in order to obtain the Triforce.

This is what is known as the Interloper War, and which led to the birth of the Kingdom of Hyrule.

To protect the Triforce, the Three Golden Goddesses sent in the Spirits of Light—Faron, Eldin, Lanayru, and Ordona—to use the Mirror of Twilight to banish the Interlopers into the Twilight Realm. After the Banishment of the Twili, the Hylian ancient Sage of Light Rauru hides the Triforce within the Temple of Light within the Sacred Realm, which could only be accessed from the Sealed Grounds within the Light World (Hyrule). Rauru then constructs the Temple of Time over the ruins of the Sealed Grounds and uses the Master Sword, the Pedestal of Time, and the Door of Time as a gateway and the Three Spiritual Stones serving as keys to opening that gateway.

To protect the Sacred Realm, the Master Sword, and the Temple of Time, the descendants of Skyward Sword Zelda—the Goddess Hylia reborn—then establish the Kingdom of Hyrule and entrust the Three Spiritual Stones to the Zora, Gorons, and Kokiri as a showing of trust between the groups.

This is the birth of Hyrule as we see it in every Zelda game prior to BotW/TotK. With the Kingdom being established long after the events of Skyward Sword, and before the events of The Minish Cap. So how does this compare to what Tears of the Kingdom and it's book Master Works presents?

The Zonai, The Imprisoning War, and the birth of Hyrule:

To start, we actually have to go back to the Creation of the World. The Creation Myth of the World presented here is pretty much identical to the one seen in Ocarina of Time and other Zelda games with one key addition: The Golden Goddesses also created the Secret Stones and put them in the care of the Goddess Hylia.

While the Triforce isn't mentioned here, I have no doubt that it exists as well in the same state as it did in the past games: Triforce imagery is seen all throughout Hyrule in both Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. So while it isn't directly mentioned, I don't doubt that it exists as well.

Long after the Secret Stones and the Triforce were created and the Golden Goddesses left the world to the Heavens, Hylia entrusted the Secret Stones to the Zonai people to protect and use them wisely. The Zonai then populate the surface and the depths, beginning their own civilization and mining operations for Zonaite to power their machinery. Eventually the Zonai abandon the surface and ascend to the sky, however their mining operations in the depths continue. During this period many different tribes spring up and form communities on the surface; The Rito, Gorons, Zora, Gerudo, and Hylians.

Facing the danger of a collapse, the Zonai abandon the depths and begin mingling with the surface people. They help out where they can using their knowledge and powers, however their population rapidly declines. Eventually, Rauru of the Zonai people and a Hylian Priestess Sonia meet and fall in love. The pair get married and begin the Pilgrimage of Light, purging the surface demons and placing Shrines of Light over the demon's point of destruction to prevent its reappearance.

The two, having gained a lot of respect and trust for their efforts to protect the surface-dwellers from dark forces, ascend as King and Queen of the Hylian people in a new Kingdom known as Hyrule.

However, not everyone on the surface is happy about the cleansing of the demons: Ganondorf, King of the Gerudo, sees the change as the weakening of the surface-dwellers. He believed that only the strong had the right to exist, and that by exterminating the demons and dark spirits that terrorized the people of the surface that it would weaken the world and those within it. Thus he began a plot against Hyrule and the Zonai, which we see in Tears of the Kingdom as The Imprisoning War: Sonia is killed by Ganondorf—who takes her Secret Stone and becomes Demon King Ganondorf. The Gerudo split into two groups, those who are against Ganondorf and those who are with him. The Rito, Zora, Goron, and anti-Ganon Gerudo meet up with Rauru and the Hylians to stop the world from falling back into the war-filled, chaotic land it was before the Pilgrimage of Light. One member of each tribe becomes a Sage entrusted with a Secret Stone to help fight against Ganondorf. Rauru sacrifices his life to seal Ganondorf in the Temple of Light deep in the depths underneath the surface, and Zelda transforms into the Light Dragon to repair the decayed Master Sword that was sent back in time.

How does this connect?

So we have two very different origin stories for Hyrule that have some strong parallels: A Sage of Light named Rauru is alive to see the birth of the Kingdom and a war against dark forces; the war centers around mystical, powerful artifacts created by the Golden Goddesses; The Temple of Light plays a major role in the war; and stone-like artifacts are entrusted to different tribes across the land as a sign of trust and community.

What do I make of this? If one thing is clear, it is that these two origin stories parallel each other. One of the meta themes of the Zelda series at large is the idea of the cyclical nature of the world: The Curse of Demise, the rebirth of the Spirit of the Hero, the way Hyrule is locked in a cycle of prosperity and decline, etc.

It is my belief that the Hyrule we see in Tears of the Kingdom and Breath of the Wild are yet another example of this. It is a kingdom that mirrors the Hyrule from past games with a similar, yet notably different, history.

Under no circumstances can one claim that these are the same event. Even if you ignore all the differences between the origins themselves, the aftermath still shows that these two stories surround two different Hyrules: In TotK's Hyrule, after the Imprisoning War the Gerudo outright banned any male Gerudo from being king and established the Chieftain position to take over rule. This cannot happen if these two Hyrules are the same as in both Ocarina of Time and Four Swords Adventures, Ganondorf is the King of the Gerudo before becoming Ganon. Hyrule Castle was also built over the Temple of Light to hide away Ganondorf's sealed body and Rauru which survives over 10,000 years till the events of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. Whereas in the other Hyrule, there are several different Castles that are destroyed and built elsewhere. These cannot be the same origin story and these kingdoms cannot be the same Hyrule. But when what about the clear references to games such as Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Wind Waker, A Link to the Past, and others? How can they be referenced as real events while also being in a different Hyrule?

Well that is when we turn to an interview with series director Eiji Aonuma and the director of Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Hidemaro Fujibayashi. When asked about how this version of the Hyrule origin story connects to the version seen in the past games, Fujibayashi states that the lore and story of the series is meant to fit together and not to collapse on itself. He says that perhaps there was a Hyrule before the kingdom we see in Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, that maybe it was destroyed and forgotten to time.

So is that it? Case closed? Maybe! But I'm hesitant to say so, what could've caused such an event? Why was it forgotten to time yet events that came before it wasn't? Well, it is this and Master Works that push me to two different ideas for how BotW/TotK fit into the overall Zelda timeline: A timeline convergence, and a new timeline split. Each with their own pros and cons and evidence.

The Timeline Convergence Theory

I think the Timeline convergence theory is the easiest one to articulate so lets start there.

It really is just as it sounds; Sometime long after Adventure of Link, Four Swords Adventures, and Spirit Tracks the three timelines converge into one, collapsing the civilizations of the Old Worlds and bringing things to a similar state seen back during the Era of the Sky. From there, everything we get in Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom occurs. Legends and myths of the world long past still persists, but no one is able to prove that these events actually occurred. I have made a graphic to show what the timeline would look like in this scenario.

(You may have noticed that I put Echoes of Wisdom—a game that has not released—on the timeline after Four Swords Adventures. I'll make a comment thread on this post explaining why I think that the game might take place there. That too is just a theory.)

What does this theory have going for it? Well it seemingly explains any contradictory evidence: A Link to the Past, Twilight Princess, and Wind Waker are all heavily referenced despite all three of those games taking place in separate timelines? Not a problem if all of those merged back into one! An event such as that wouldn't be smooth sailing for the people alive during it either, Hyrule is in such a different state in all three branches of the timeline that if they were to converge again it would be akin to a universal reset. It also follows the series trend of death and rebirth and story parallels: The convergence—which I have called "The Great Consolidation"—would be a parallel to the three Golden Goddesses creating the world. The event would have killed off the Old Worlds, yes, but it allows for something new to spring up in its place—which the series again is no stranger to with the Adult Timeline.

Things like the Rito and Zora coexisting, the Tunics of past heroes found in the depths, locations referencing characters across the series; It can all be explained if it all simply happened.

But my biggest issue with that theory was this; Why would the timelines converge? What event could cause this and why is there not even a hint of such a thing occurring? It just doesn't make sense to me that three timelines with hundreds of years worth of history would all be remembered and passed down through legend, yet the incident that brought them together with such force and chaos would be completely forgotten.

That just doesn't sit right with me, and I have no answers to any of those questions even though it is what I had settled on for the past year or so.

Which leads me to the next theory.

The Era of the Goddess Hylia Timeline Split Theory

This theory proposes that the events of Skyward Sword—much like that of Ocarina of Time—create a timeline split. This one however as a result of Link's use of the Triforce at the end of the game.

Just like with the timeline convergence theory, I made a little graphic of what the Zelda timeline would look like if this theory would end up being true.

Like I said earlier, this theory centers around the idea that a timeline split occurs during the events of Skyward Sword when Link uses the Triforce to kill Demise in the present day. Now to be honest, before recently I did not subscribe to the idea. I just didn't think there was much merit to it. But recently I had thought about it a bit more, and I'm much more open to the idea now.

It isn't killing Demise in the present with the Triforce that is the cause of the split, but rather the aftermath. To recap the end of Skyward Sword for anyone who hasn't played it or may have forgotten; After using the Triforce to eradicate Demise, Zelda awakens from her slumber and reunites with Link, Groose, and Impa. Ghirahim however is pissed that his Master is dead and thus swiftly incapacitates the four before taking Zelda through the Gate of Time and thousands of years into the past during the Era of the Goddess Hylia, shortly after Demise was imprisoned in the Sealed Grounds.

It is here that Ghirahim uses Zelda's soul to bring back Demise, freeing him from his prison and revitalizing him. Groose and Link follow Ghirahim and Link fights Demise. Using the Master Sword, Link kills Demise in the past—freeing Zelda's soul—before returning with Zelda and Groose to the present day.

The theory is pretty self-explanatory now isn't it? It is a similar premise to the Child/Adult Era split in Ocarina of Time; Something happens in the future, and characters do something in the past that would stop that future from occurring—splitting the timeline as a result. In this case, rather than closing the Door of Time and then warning the Royal Family of Ganondorf's plans, it is the killing of the Demon King Demise in the past that splits the timeline. He can't die in the present if he's already dead after all.

This would then lead to a completely different history, one that mirrors the one that we have come to know in love over the past 38 years of this series. Hyrule is established—this time by the Zonai—Ganondorf threatens the Kingdom, and the Princess and Hero group up to stop him time and time again. It allows for both the TotK Hyrule origin story to occur as well as the original Hyrule origin story without having the big massive question of how the timelines could converge and not be remembered.

But what about the Twilight Princess references? Or the Wind Waker references? Or the Tunics we can find? What about the "Whether Skyward Bound, Adrift in Time, or Steeped in the Glowing Embers of Twilight" line from Breath of the Wild? This theory doesn't explain why the past games are referenced time and time again, it only explains the two different Hyrules...right? Well that's where we return to the idea that this series likes to tell stories that parallel each other. With TotK's Master Works again confirming that there were many appearances of Calamity Ganon before the creation of the Divine Beasts, I believe that the past games did also happen in this timeline—or at least, a version of them.

Let's go back to the beginning when I was comparing how similar the two versions of Hyrule's origin story are and how they're distinctly different enough to clearly be two different events despite their broad similarities. Well, the story of The Imprisoning War doesn't just reflect the Interloper War; It also reflects the story of Ocarina of Time.

After a failed attack on Hyrule, King of the Gerudo—Ganondorf—swears fealty to the Royal Family of Hyrule. This is a ruse, however. One that conceals his true plan to betray the Royal Family and steal a mystic artifact that the Royal Family safeguards to gain godlike power and to take the land for himself, shaping it with his own views. Zelda sees through this ruse, and tries warning the King of Hyrule to Ganondorf's plan. The King of Hyrule doesn't take action however, leading to Ganondorf taking the artifact and gaining immense power. Ganondorf with his newfound power wreaks havoc across the land, forcing other groups living in Hyrule—including the Gerudo—to band together and form the Seven Sages and defeat Ganondorf. There is also the Master Sword traveling through time.

Which story did I just explain? The answer is both Tears of the Kingdom's Imprisoning War and Ocarina of Time. Of course, there are some differences; The Sages in OoT are Light, Forest, Fire, Water, Shadow, Spirit, and Zelda (implied to be time). In TotK the Sages are Light, Time, Wind, Fire, Water, Lightning, and Spirit. Notably there is no Hero present during the Imprisoning War, which is likely a reason why the Sages were getting their asses handed to them until Rauru sacrificed himself. Not much time travel happens beyond Zelda getting sent to this era from the future before the War broke out and the decayed Master Sword being sent to Zelda from the future shortly after the War. And King Rauru is also aware that Ganondorf is not to be trusted, while the King of Hyrule in OoT outright rejects the idea.

But the broad strokes still remain, and it cannot be denied that Ocarina of Time was a major influence on the story of the Imprisoning War.

So if these major events can be paralleled, then why not others? Again, we know that there were many appearances of Calamity Ganon; Perhaps one of those appearances broke the barrier between the Light world and the Twilight Realm? Maybe another caused the Hero to have to traverse the seas beyond Hyrule to try to stop it? Maybe another caused the Royal Family and the Hero to journey to the Sacred Realm? Under this theory there is still a Hero of Twilight, a Hero of Winds, a Hero of Legend, etc. But they aren't the ones we're familiar with. All the references to past characters and events are still canon, though the stories surrounding them might be a little different.

It could explain why the Rito and Zora can coexist; In this timeline, they simply evolved separately rather than the Rito evolving from the Zora. Perhaps they shared a common ancestor in the Parella in this timeline rather than just the Zora evolving from them.

Now there are a few issues with this theory as well.

For starters, I admit the idea of the references to the past games not actually being the past games but rather some similar version of the past games kind of feels like a cop-out and likely wasn't the original idea when making Breath of the Wild (whether that changed later on is to be debated).

Furthermore, the Gate of Time was opened when Link killed Demise in the past, and we know that the Door of Time was constructed over the Sealed Grounds where the Gate of Time used to be. So it could be argued that it follows similar rules to the Door of Time in which if the Door/Gate is opened, then one can freely do what they need in the past and the future that has already been created would then reflect that. But I don't think that alone disproves this theory. If that is the case, then Demise being killed in the past should then completely change everything that happens after. Skyward Sword as it is occurs because Demise isn't dead and is Imprisoned in the Sealed Grounds.

Killing Demise in the past means that Link then wouldn't need to go on the journey to find Zelda in the present because she never would've been captured to begin with.

It's a paradox.

And while the series isn't new to tackling paradoxes (The Song of Storms and the events of BotW/TotK are both examples of Bootstrap paradoxes; With Adult Link learning the Song of Storms from Guru-Guru and then going back in time to teach Guru-Guru the same song; and Zelda in TotK going back in time to help imprison Ganondorf which led to the creation of Calamity Ganon and the events of BotW which then led to Zelda finding Ganondorf and getting sent back in time), I don't think that this aligns with those paradoxes. The two deaths of Demise is much more similar to Link preventing Ganondorf's rise to power at the end of OoT, thus preventing much of OoT from happening. And yes, that happened after Link closed the Door of Time so it can be argued that it wouldn't have caused a timeline split if he did it beforehand. I just think that it makes a bit more sense that a reality following Demise's death in the past would be created separate from the reality we follow throughout most of Skyward Sword.

However there is another issue with this idea: At the end of Skyward Sword, Link puts the Master Sword in her pedestal in the past before returning to the present, where the Master Sword still stands in the very same pedestal—suggesting that it is the same continuity as the one in which Demise was killed in the past.

This one I admittedly have no answer for.

All I can say is that we again see a similar thing in Ocarina of Time. Link takes the Master Sword back to the past and puts her in the Pedestal of Time and then the timeline splits, yet the Master Sword still exists in the Adult era. Maybe the sword's status as The Sword of Time means that she isn't bound by time and is a constant in every timeline? I'm not sure.

The TotK Master Works book is also ambiguous as to how long after the Creation of the Secret Stones by the Golden Goddesses it took for the Zonai to then populate the surface and the depths. It could be a few hundred years, or a few hundred-thousand years. There just isn't enough to say.

Conclusion:

As of right now, these two theories are what I operate around when it comes to the placement of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom in the Zelda timeline. I've been a massive fan of this series for most of my life, and it really sparked my love for storytelling and lore. So while the contradictions and confusion that Tears of the Kingdom's lore and story has caused in the Zelda community has admittedly been terrifying, I do think that it still has its place and that the Zelda universe is still in one cohesive piece.

I'll definitely be making adjustments to this when Echoes of Wisdom releases and I can really dive deep into that game! There are already parts in the trailers that has me questioning if this game has any lore connections to Tears of the Kingdom and Breath of the Wild and I'm excited to learn more about the Zelda universe when that game releases. Maybe it'll completely change my stance once again.

[nickeverdeen]

Cabin 2, Hera

Credits: me

Hera can’t have any demi-gods children

Hera’s Cabin feels less like a place to sleep and more like a sacred temple

The cabin is always spotless

It’s unclear who cleans it, but dust never seems to settle on any surface

It has an almost ethereal cleanliness, like some kind of magic keeps it perfectly maintained

In the middle of the cabin, there’s a small shrine with statues of Hera, a peacock (her sacred animal), and a hearth that burns with an everlasting flame

Campers often leave small offerings—flowers, pretty stones, or trinkets—hoping to earn her favor or out of respect for the goddess

Despite Hera’s reputation as a fiery goddess, the cabin radiates calm

Stepping inside feels like entering a safe haven

The air smells faintly of jasmine, and campers feel a sense of peace washing over them when they visit, as though they’re in the presence of an incredibly powerful but calm force

It’s a bit of an unspoken rule at Camp Half-Blood that anyone struggling with family or relationships can visit Hera’s cabin

Campers leave symbolic items at the shrine for luck or guidance, like rings, heart-shaped stones, or notes about their loved ones

Hera’s sacred animal, the peacock, is honored throughout the cabin

There’s a mysterious boundary around the cabin that makes it very hard to lie while inside

Campers often avoid the cabin if they have something to hide, but others use it to their advantage—those looking for honest conversations or clear resolutions come here to talk things through

Occasionally, a single golden feather will appear by someone’s bunk or on a camper’s bed

People say it’s a blessing from Hera, usually given to someone who’s shown loyalty or kindness to their friends and family

No one dares disrespect Hera’s cabin

Rumor has it that Hera placed an invisible guardian in her cabin, and anyone who’s tempted to disturb it feels an immediate chill or finds their mind foggy, making them forget what they were doing

It’s become an unofficial tradition for camp couples to stop by the cabin when they want a bit of luck

Some say Hera’s cabin subtly reinforces the bonds of those who truly care for each other, although it also tends to push apart relationships that are on shaky ground

At dusk, the light hits Hera’s cabin just right, casting it in a warm, almost regal glow

People say dusk is the best time to visit, as it’s believed Hera’s presence is strongest then

[anavilante]

December Drabbles. First Snow. Angst

The first snow of winter had fallen, gentle and pure, settling over the world like a quiet blanket. Gale stood by the window, staring out at the white landscape, his heart racing with an old, familiar fear. The chill in the air was nothing like the freezing cold of the Stalag, but it still made his bones ache with memories.

He’d always hated the snow back then. A reminder of hunger, pain, and the suffocating cold. The thick, heavy coat he had worn back in the Stalag did little to protect him, while John had always seemed to survive with nothing more than a thin jacket, as if the cold had no power over him. Gale had envied that. He still did.

The memories of that first snow in the camp were still sharp. The way the cold dug into his skin, the sharp, biting wind that cut through everything, and the fear that had settled deep in his chest every time the snow started to fall. It had meant more than just winter—it meant suffering.

But now, there was warmth beside him.

John stepped up behind him, his presence solid and reassuring, his hand settling on Gale’s shoulder. “It’s just snow, Buck,” he said softly, as if trying to pull him from the grip of the past.

Gale’s throat tightened. It wasn’t just snow. Not for him.

John seemed to sense the tension in his body, and without a word, he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. Gale leaned into him, feeling the warmth bleed into his skin. "You don’t have to get used to the cold," John said, his voice calm and steady, offering the kind of comfort that only he could. “Not when I’m here. I’ll keep you warm. Always.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Always, Gale thought, staring at the snow-dusted ground of Arlington Cemetery. John had died in April, yet every time Gale visited, it was always in winter, always during a snowfall. It felt like fate had decided that this would be the moment he'd confront the memories—the biting cold that pierced through his chest, making everything feel raw again.

He crouched down, removing his glove to carefully brush the snow from John's headstone, as if handling something sacred, something that still belonged to him.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against the cold marble. "Cheater," he whispered, the word bitter on his tongue.

Why did you leave me, Bucky? How could you? Gale’s throat tightened as the burn in his eyes flared up, the raw pain threatening to break free. Why did you...? The thought spiraled, suffocating him, and he tried to hold it in, struggling to steady his breath. But the sob caught in his chest, relentless, shaking him to the core.

Gale's palm pressed against the stone, and for a fleeting second, he felt warmth—impossible—but real. His hands didn’t feel the cold anymore.

[vxredemption]

New True Heretic by vxredemption (Warmund)

A COTL AU fanfic, character introduction esquire writing, based on @gorjee-art COTL AU. All properties and ideas go to their respective owners.

The wind softly swayed the tall grass near a vineyard of grapes, their own weight just about approaching to produce the finest wine one could muster by its farmers. A elk in robes marveled at their natural color, happy that he, despite his duties being never-ending, is finding the time to relax and enjoy what their God has given to them... even if they were silent for sometime. Taking his ax, he soon resumes on heading down south from camp to cut a fair deal of wood, passing by the great temple that is everyone's purpose in this world within the camp's borders. For years since he was indoctrinated to the New Faith, he did everything he could to appease his silent God and (to a degree) their disciples that are closest to them. However... as he approached closer to a great pine with plentiful branches and its wood being sufficient for what the camp needs for a few nights... he sees someone behind the tree's great base and shadows... staring onto him. The elk assumed it was one of his fellow companions, taking shade and trying to enjoy the presence of the tree. This... was not the case. Their shadowed stance was clearly facing toward him, their hooded gaze already going past what was comfortable to him by his standard. He merely took a few more steps before stopping completely, two meters away in front of the tree and the shadowed figure. This is when the elk made a sudden observation to this sudden feeling that struck their heart like a cold knife: The figure's size was not perspective... they were nothing short but massive. The elk could barely move before soon realizing his hands felt lighter... his legs fleeting as he is now running away from the figure, leaving his ax on the ground as his heart raced. He dared not to look back... a presence that struck his very being could only be nothing short but horrifying. He ran quickly to the temple, barging through the great double doors with a loud slam, the sound echoing the stone aisle on sacred ground as it caused the few followers attending to quickly turn and murmur in hushed voices. The elk huffed as he shook where he stood... and heard a familiar jingling sound come from his left side, his breathing steadied just a bit as a soft voice is spoken to him on the side. It was the Preacher of the New Faith... Narinder... leading the midday prayer for the day until the sudden interruption of the norm. "What is troubling you enough to disturb the devotion of the New Faith?" The elk collected himself just enough to speak back to the preacher, theirs eyes doing as much as they try to look through the preacher's mask. "Father Narinder... there's someone... something out there by the tree... not a part of faith." This detail perplexed the Preacher of the New Faith, frowning at the elk's reason on stirring up the followers within the temple. It seemed completely impossible for such a event to occur, especially when there many eyes during a day where the sun shined everywhere with little clouds in sight. Narinder then makes his to the double doors of the temple as to look towards the area the elk has ran, the feeling of skeptical annoyance was quickly replaced with irritated opposition... as now standing in front of the shadow tree, flourishing a ax slowly that the elk has dropped earlier with one hand, was this unwelcomed being. The preacher frowns at them, his hands curling into tight fists as he calmly spoke to the elk, not looking towards them as his voice lowered in a commanding temperance. "Stay here... be sure to close the doors unless I deem so." Narinder would soon make his pace towards the figure, the doors of the temple closing behind him as now on top of all things on his shoulders, he must be dealing on inquiring the beings trespass on consecrated ground with his shepherds staff on hand rigging its bells.

When Narinder finally faced the hooded figure, who is still flourishing the ax slowly as to keep their hand busy, he remained firm on keeping a calm (but irritated) expression as they would have to look up to them... noting the height difference about a foot and half from where his eye level is at. The hooded cloak the stranger is wearing is old, yet is maintained to the seams, the patterns and design having no resemblance ton any kind of attire Narinder was familiar with the land. They were tall and built, being about to be six and a half feet tall, their shoulders broad like a cattle yoke and their true definition being hidden within the fabric... yet Narinder knew the stranger has a great deal of strength within them. The Preacher could not easily tell what kind of species this stranger is with their concealed attire from the waist up, but he was quick to note the figure's hands and paws that barely show from the clothes to be in the lines of a canine... perhaps the largest ones he has seen compared to the other followers in the cult.

"You are certainly bold to come here... causing distress for the flock of the Lamb... speak your business. This your only chance to do so before I do so in turn." Narinder was ensuring to keep the talk moderated, giving the figure a means to be peaceful in their actions. The figure notes this, seeing Narinder's intentions and surely, they spoke in a direct manner that both got the preacher a answer and be offended by their words in but a few sentences. "I am here because the world is in need of a better peace... a peace that is established by the one you call God to... or rather, bring back to their mortal view of the world before becoming what they are now. I am here not as friend nor foe, but I am certainly not here to belittle myself with words that would see me that of a follower." Narinder gave a slight sneer on one side of his face when this stranger clearly disrespected their God and their God's ascension, yet they hold some reservations for a bit as they have details of a past few know about... and fewer still to be told by any means, being considered as a whispered rumor by those who seek to waiver those who follow the New Faith, leading to their silencing. Narinder adjusted his expression, remaining conscious yet appalled by this stranger's words for these words that come from his own mouth: "Well then... enlighten me. I am sure we will both be entertained on what we have to say to one another." "I am sure, preacher... I am sure we will..."

(Been on/off for a fair bit... so posting this now as to get off my chest!) ((If I made a mistake in regards of style and other matters of writing... well apologies!))

[neoninky]

TWST Shenanigans: League of Antagonists (and some actual Villains)

I'm back with another long winded, stupid thought that I may draw some day but in the mean time, here's this lol (also spoilers for my Sacred Crown fics if you haven't read them?? Just FYI)

Scene: Antagonists from canon TWST side events all hang out in a bar and talk about how they fucked with the main characters for reasons unknown

Ashton Vargas: *reminiscing about the Camp Vargas event(s)* HA HA Man you should have seen their faces! We gave those punks a good ol' fashion trauma haunt in the woods. Classic. Divus Crewel: And we looked damn good doing it too. *Camp Vargas Part 1 and 2 Crewel definitely made those costumes* Vargas: Sigh...of course we got a temporary dock in pay to help provide the whimpier ones with therapy sessions but eh totally worth it. Random group of fairies all sharing a bar stool: *makes a bunch of tinkly noises talking about the Fairy Gala* Translation: That's cool but we almost ruined the entire school's ecosystem because we gave into our baser instincts and stole the mage stone cuz it was shiny... damn those kids for crashing our party with their incredibly well made outfits and near flawless sashays (Crewel: I would be more upset if not for the fact I finally got Kingscholar to have proper posture for at least 14 hours.)

Ghost Princess Eliza: *still boohooing over the Ghost Marriage event though technically she is happily married in the end* I just wanted to marry my perfect prince after years and years and YEARS of waiting!! What's a little first-degree murder in the name of true love?! (Fairies: damn gurl / Crewel: that's a mood.) And those horrible boys just kept coming to ruin my wedding! Accosting me with their unprincely behavior! What kind of man doesn't have a legendary sword or a faithful dog that comes at his beck and call?! (Vargas: she does make a good point...) Oh well, in the end, I did find my real prince so it all worked out. We'll be returning for the baby shower they promised to host! (Crewel: the school and every person on campus has at least three restraining orders against you...) - jaunty music suddenly starts playing out of nowhere and the entire room groans - Fellow Honest: *cane twirls his way on screen, ready to spill the deets on the Playful Land event* Trauma, theft, delusionally murderous courtship? That's cute. I suckered a whole group of those dumbasses into a human trafficking con disguised as a theme park! And I did it so well that I basically hijacked 90% of all social media for MONTHS while doing it! Everyone: *disgruntedly* we KNOW Fellow Honest: *much smug* Did I mention how I also cursed the whole place to turn them into wooden puppets if they broke the backward ass rule system I put in place as well? (Vargas: dude what the actual hell?) Sigh...and it would have all gone off without a hitch if it weren't for those damn kids fucking up the entire park (Crewel: our students are pretty much all assholes, yes.) ...I mean sure, in the end, I did tell my shitty boss to suck it and encourage those brats to do exactly that. But then they dared to extend a hand of friendship and understanding to ME?! Entitled, fancy boys with their fancy schmancy education *grumble grumble* Vargas + Crewel: *side-eye glance at each other at the mention of a shitty boss* ..... *both take long sips of their drinks*

Rollo: *appears with sudden intense mood change in the atmosphere* Hmph. I understand your contempt for those frivolous magic users completely... (Fellow: THANK you!) ...I invited a select few of them onto my campus under the pretense of uniting our schools in harmony and camaraderie. In actuality...I wanted to destroy them by taking away their magic and then wiping magic off the very face of the planet. Fellow Honest: ...ok well damn that's a bit harsh- *the group of fairies moves as far away from Rollo as possible*

Rollo: and I would have gotten away with it too. Had it not been for that Malleus Draconia *name said with such distain Rollo might as well be a friggin Batman villain* ...on the other hand, I did completely get away with it. Cuz they tried to guilt trip me by letting everyone believe I was this upstanding person who isn't capable of heinous acts. (Fellow: HA stupid) ...that is until karma bit me in the ass and then my childhood magical dragon friend that I don't absolutely abhor ended up bonding with the magical dragon that I hate with every fiber of my being... *talking about my OC in Her Devoted Throne hitting it off with Malleus lol* Crewel: To be fair, if watching your BFF get with your sworn enemy after you tried to commit mass genocide of magic is the worst thing to happen, you are one lucky bastard.

Rollo: Oh I'm barely as horrible as they are... *scene pans over to another group seated in the Really Fucked Up OC Villain section*

Queen Alva from Her Ivory Crown: I not only gaslighted and emotionally abused my own daughter into working herself to the bone to prove herself as the heir to my throne, I then threatened her and tried to take everything she fought for away from her the minute she had a meltdown and wouldn't marry the boy I picked out for her. Not to mention potentially damning my own Queendom by trying to deprive them of a far better queen than I in the future....now I'm divorced, shunned from society, and living alone in the countryside, forced to do my own housework *has to fetch her own fainting couch so she can dramatically swoon* Zehn Cavaliar, the 'boy' in question: ...yeah I wouldn't take no for an answer so hard that I harassed the crown princess into an Overblot state which could have killed her. I also attacked and injured her while she was in that condition. Her new boyfriend got all his friends to kick my ass before and after I lost everything.... *has the expression of someone going through a Vietname flashback* Don Muraeni from Her Lost Voice: *sitting in a large fish bowl on the counter as a shriveled up sea polyp* I literally paid and sometimes forced several women to bear my children - who I let abuse and murder each other all in hopes of earning my approval btw. I even killed a guy who owed me money and then took his wife and child, made said wife have another one of my kids - who I also abused and forced to do underhanded tasks through the majority of her childhood. I also tried to use my son to get at my sworn enemy after not shedding a single fucking tear after his brother was brutally murdered by said enemy...*stops to think* More child abuse. Collecting siren mermaids and forcing them to be sex workers. Trapping my wife for several years while letting her children believe she was dead....so yeah all that backfired horribly and now I'm trapped as this weird lil slug thing until I die. Or something. Ghost of Don Muraeni's right-hand guy, Proteus: I was a total creep who abused his power and was brutally murdered for it in the end. Also I stole magic from a defenseless, traumatized child. Everyone else: *staring at all of them in horror* .....JESUS CHRIST

Dark Fire is hot but Hell is hotter *sips tea*

Also tagging people for reasons @iscarlettappel @foxwitchaine @wysteriadelights @nuitthegoddess @victoria1676 @1ndigowitch

[contremineur]

Iron meteorite from Henbury, Northern Territory (Australia)

Henbury is one of the greatest known meteorite showers. Following a multimillion-year sojourn through interplanetary space, the mass of iron octahedrite fell in Northern Territory, Australia about 4,200 years ago, creating a field of thirteen craters measuring up to 180 metres across and 15 metres deep. This crater field is considered a sacred site to the Arrernte Aboriginal people whose elders would not camp near the craters nor drink rainwater collected there, referring to them as chindu china waru chingi yabu, roughly translating to 'sun walk fire devil rock'. Although the craters were discovered in 1899, the first meteorites were not identified until 1931 following reports of metal stones being used by Aboriginal Australians.

image and adapted text from here