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1dpridefest · 10 months

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We want to extend a massive thank you to everyone who participated in the first ever edition of the 1D Pride Fest! Whether you submitted a prompt, wrote a fic, created some art, or reblogged everyone’s works, this fest would not have been the same without you, and we thank you all for helping us celebrate Pride Month together!

Links to all of the fics and artworks that were submitted as part of the fest can be found below. Don’t forget to show our authors and artists some love by leaving kudos, commenting, and reblogging their lovely contributions!

We hope you all had a happy Pride Month!

🏳️‍🌈✨🏳️‍⚧️

Artworks

🏳️‍🌈 Collaboration between @wendersfive & @broken-beak-flower-feast

🏳️‍⚧️ just get there your own way by @nouisforlife

🏳️‍🌈 Drawing by @harryshandbag

Fics

🏳️‍⚧️ Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) by @hellolovers13

Falling in love with Louis is easy enough.

Separating Louis from the singer persona Harry has been a fan of for years, however, is not.

But she's not the only one making assumptions.

🏳️‍🌈 The Magnificent Ms. Malik: A Brand New Era Starts Here by @fifthnormani

In 2013, 1D records the Best Song Ever music video and Zayn feels different after he puts on his Veronica outfit. He doesn't know what to do with these feelings or what they mean; luckily Niall is there to help and gives Zayn a new word that opens up a world of previously unimagined possibilities.

Ten years later, in 2023, she calls Niall up again to tell him her new name.

🏳️‍⚧️ Ask Him by @fxckingprincesspark

When Lewis Capaldi gets pressed for information on who he's dating, he admits it... he's been seeing Niall Horan. The only problem? He jokes so much that no one believes him.

🏳️‍🌈 Inner Crisis by @neondiamond

Louis calls an LGBTQ+ crisis hotline after coming out as asexual to his friends and family doesn’t quite go as well as he’d hoped. Harry answers his call.

🏳️‍⚧️ you made my heart stop by @itsnothesameasitwas

Don’t you ever feel like your life has been perfectly composed until one day it wasn’t, that everything seemed more than fine but it was not, because sometimes as simple as it might sound or look, it could change your life?

OR a Heartstopper AU, but in HarryandLouis Universe.

🏳️‍🌈 somewhere in between and not at all by @greeneyesfriedrice with art by @alphalouis

He’s always known that he’s some sort of queer. There’s no doubt about it. When he was younger, he loved the feeling of his sister’s pantyhose on his legs, and loved to play dress up whenever he could. But it never went any further than that, and as he got older, he hid that part from himself. There were more homophobes than not in his school, and he couldn’t risk anything getting out.

While he was hoping that he would become more involved in the gay scene, he wasn’t expecting it to happen so immediately. He’s barely been in NYC for two days, and he’s now surrounded by all different types of men and…others? God, he isn’t even sure what to call them. He really doesn’t know much.

(or, Harry is new to NYC and discovers something about himself, and Louis is there for him. Always.)

🏳️‍⚧️ Paint A Rainbow Inside My Heart by @cyantific

A story about hiding in plain sight and the journey to revealing your truth, told in six acts.

Or, the five times Harry queer coded with actions, behaviors or clothing and the one time he was too proud to hide anymore.

A 5+1 fic.

1D Pride Fest Collection on AO3

#1d pride fest #final round-up #1d pride fest masterpost #pride fest fic and art masterpost #thank you to all the creators!#happy pride! 🏳️‍🌈

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carrieneuman · 2 years

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New Year - Part 3

Ocuena followed the mysterious path as it bent along the coastline. The water shimmered softly, broken occasionally by the slap of mullet leaping into the sky. Grandma had told her they were once birds who angered the gods and were changed into fish. Ocuena hadn’t believed her before, but after meeting a bobcat-man, she was less certain.

The trees were thin and spindly, and her feet bounced in the thick leaf litter. Fortunately, the path was well marked with puffy deer moss speckled with red flowers. She was surprised to see them down by the water; they preferred the low hills further inland. Then again, she was more surprised to walk down a path that disappeared when she turned around.

The moss led her on most of the day until she reached a cluster of stones. They led right up to the base of them where a deep hole dropped into darkness. Ocuena approached slowly, alert for any danger. Any number of animals might be lurking inside.

She checked the area for branches off the path, but it was unbroken woods and coast. The stones above ground were small and quickly circled. They were unadorned except for a faint painting of a cat just next to the cave mouth.

Ocuena took a deep breath and eased into the cave. She had to scramble down a few feet before the ground leveled off into a smooth slope. The light didn’t reach far, but the cave was shallow. And empty.

She was glad not to have disturbed any rattlesnakes, but she was disappointed not to have found something. Why else send her here?

She turned around in the small space checking for anything she missed. When she turned back again, there was a pedestal about waist high and as broad as her uncle. On top, it was covered in scattered pieces of clay.

Another test to pass? So be it.

The clay pieces were about the size of her palm and had different markings on them. Ocuena began to sort them into types: straight lines, wavy lines, or curves. A few even had full circles.

One piece she set aside from the others. It was definitely a fish tail. Maybe the pieces made a fish? She sorted more looking for scales or gills until she found a piece with a bird’s beak.

That stumped her. Two different pictures? A bird becoming a fish like Grandma’s stories?

Then she spotted a piece that had a cat’s tail on it. She grinned. The others were a distraction. This was a cat’s cave.

With the picture in her mind, Ocuena quickly found all the pieces she needed. She soon had a clay zemi assembled honoring a panther spirit.

With no other leads, Ocuena offered it a prayer. “Please, help me find my aunt.” She did not add her hope that the spirit didn’t mind her being in its house.

The sound of someone moving came to her from the side of the cave. Ocuena turned to see an open doorway into a bright room. A woman not much older than herself was on the other side.

“Can you help me, please?” Ocuena asked the stranger.

The woman spoke without turning. “Of course. Come on in. I’m just getting dinner ready.”

Inside, the second cave was a cozy home. Deer hide covered the floor keeping out the damp and cold. Hammocks lined the far wall. A raised table dominated the space, covered with a feast of food, most of which wasn’t even in season.

But the biggest surprise was the woman. The moment she turned to face her, Ocuena recognized Aunt Tabichua. Only she was the Aunt Tabi from Ocuena’s memories, completely unchanged from when she left the village years ago.

“And who are you?” Aunt Tabi asked.

“Ocuena. Your niece.”

She knew she should have worded that better, softened it somehow. But she was too stunned to think clearly. This was impossible.

Aunt Tabi frowned. “You can’t be Ocuena. She’s just a little girl.”

“No, I’m not. You left us fifteen years ago.”

Aunt Tabi stepped back. “You’re lying. It’s only been two weeks. I wanted to give Mom a chance to calm down before I went home.”

A part of her managed to find that funny. “Well, Grandma certainly isn't mad now. She thinks you’re dead.”

The color drained from Aunt Tabi’s face. She turned and picked up a metal cat statue and called out, “Mabrayel, come home now!”

Ocuena felt the cool air of the cave behind her. When she turned around, she saw a well built man, tall and broad shouldered. He was also covered in tawny fur, had a sharp, feline face, and enormous yellow eyes.

He offered Aunt Tabi a wide grin. “Dinner ready?”

“Mabrayel, how long have I been here?”

The cat-man tilted his head. “Time, huh? Now that’s a tough one. Time is hard.” He spotted Ocuena. “Hey, we got a guest for dinner?”

“This is my niece, Ocuena. Except she’s supposed to be a little girl, and she says it’s been years since I left.”

Mabrayel looked up from the table. “Oh, you meant outside time? Yeah, that’s definitely different from inside time.” He chuckled and picked up a fish. “You humans all come and go real quick outside.”

Aunt Tabi started to panic. “Come on, Ocuena. Outside. Right now.”

Aunt Tabi grabbed a large bag and tossed a coat in it. She scrambled into her moccasins and pushed Ocuena out the door into the outer cave.

Mabrayel sauntered out, picking the last of the fish off the bones. “You seem upset, Tabi.”

“A little, yes.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I’d like to go home now and see my mom.”

Mabrayel’s face split into a wide grin. “Meet the family? Cool!”

#flash fiction #fantasy #original fiction #writeblr #Timucua

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 3 years

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I'm a sucker for Masquerade scenarios so, Masquerade for PhoWill if that's okay!

You got it @annelaurant, a PhoWill 33-Masquerade coming right up!

Masks.

Odd yet simply beautiful objects used to cover someone up from others. Faces, Emotions, Pain, Thoughts, Memories, Life, Wounds, Tears, History, Beauty, Ugliness, Masks cover them all. . .

Phobos had long since gotten used to every masks over the many years. His fair skin, hair, and eyes forever covered in darkness like a mysterious angel hidden within Hell’s very own shadows. A flower in the deepest, most secret part of a garden. A single star in the night sky.

That was him.

He knew he was going to be alone for many many years, he was alright with that. It still hurts when one wants something warm in the dead of a cold night... It still makes his heart ache when he walks within the fresh air of the castle’s gardens with no one to admire the world around him... It is still cold when there’s no one to talk to during dinner...

Masks are the only things he can truly depend on.

His masks are far more convincing then one would give credit for. Red wine so dark one could assume it’s the entire darkness in a pretty cup, Robes and silks of many dark colors of blacks and red and violets that suits the fairness of his eyes skin and hair so well, Jewels all adored on his body like the steamy waters in which he bathes constantly in and wrapped like thorns on fearsome beautiful roses, Once ruling a entire kingdom and nearly a universe with a iron grip with such masks before those masks shattered all started by one single person who threw him over like all that hard work was nothing...

Her hair red like the finest of blood gems, Her skin smooth and gentle like the fine silk he wraps himself into like a butterfly waiting to become, Her eyes large and round like two soft chocolates he so craves, Her heart, different to the Heart in which she protects, is strong and fierce much like every Queen of his world. Since the very first time he saw her trapped within a few feet from his throne all wrapped in his thornless roses something shifted inside him... A single small crack against his mask. Now the wine he drinks tasted bitter in his mouth, His robes and silks felt like burns against his skin, His jewels no longer giving him the pleasure of beauty when he adorn them. His kingdom, his universe, his life, his masks were all snatched away from his iron grip and broken apart before his eyes no matter how much he would beg and plea. All because of that Guardian...!

However nothing he wanted, desired, craved for most when he was tossed in that cell was walking across his garden’s beauty beside someone dear... Someone to chat and eat a meal at the grand dining hall... Someone to hug close to his body during the latest of cold nights... Someone to see through all his masks even the broken ones so he doesn’t have to pretend anymore...

After years of sitting there in the cell and earning himself the time to wander about the gardens’ air and eat a warm meal within a room and wear the robes and silks he used to adore with his jewels he was slowly getting used to his life as his sister’s personal professor. Teaching her her skills, showing her all of Meridian history and culture, even telling stories of his youth and their parents and family she never gotten a chance to ever meet... Through these times of her caring heart and bright angelic nature he shaped a new mask. One of which he wears only when he can’t bring himself to fully dive into her pond of forgiveness and light. He can’t dare bring himself to answer the question he knows she’s been wondering: “Why do you hate me brother?” How can one answer such a heartbreaking question? He knew his answer, he knew it would bring her pain and misery, and for the first time he didn’t want to do such a thing to her...

Snow covered up Meridian like a cold beautiful blanket of pure whites while every guest warms up and dines and dances in the castle’s strong walls, all dressed in fine gowns and smiles on their mask covered faces as the dance and feast and laugh and enjoy the time of Yule within the place that was once a place of evil now a place of happiness and freedom. Prince Phobos watched some from the side lines as music fills his ears and the taste of the ball’s feast dancing across his tongue. He had grown used to no one speaking to him since his invite back to the castle by the Queen everyone loved so much. Much like his past he adorn the outfits of black and deep violets with some flares of red all done in smooth movement of his masquerade costume, his elegant violet and black mask stopping just above his nostrils as it covers the beak of his nose, his fair eyes watching as everyone move about on celebrating this night of the year.

At long last his eyes found themselves fixed upon a certain guest. He watches silently as the Guardian Will accepts a dance with a castle guard, her deep violet purple ball gown so slim it shows her figure perfectly without any means to do so alone swishing back and forth across the glimmering marble floors, her short red hair shining like millions on millions of ruby threads sewed into his pretty head as a flower crown rests softly on top of her dome, her brown eyes now shining with happiness and excitement like crystals within a dark cave, her lips soft to stare upon adoring a smile only she could wear with her lovely light pink and purple mask that just hangs over her eyes. . . Indeed, she was a fine gem to admire from afar.

With a soft shrug of his shoulders he began to make his way out of the party with no one noticing or caring in the slightest of the prince’s whereabouts. The winter sky always brought a strange feeling of light inside his bone cage for his bird like heart, has been since he was a small child watching within the castle gardens during the nights of his parents’ Yule Ball much like tonight’s. There’s just something about the sky slowly turning blacker then the very silks he wore so much with the soft shines and sparkles of the stars mixing so well with the small snow fall that seemingly just appears without a cloud or two to make it and watch as your breath soon becomes visible and more warm against your face and fills your nose that makes all his masks lay across the snow like actors on a play... A calming feeling always entered his soul at the memories of all the times when he was outside for a long time his clothes made him bring the winter with him which forced him to remove each piece and taking a warm bath before wrapping up in a soft and comforting blanket while sitting by a isolated fire.

“Do you always run away from conversation or is it just tonight?”

Phobos felt his skin slowly tug upward as he smiles softly at the voice behind him, knowing very well who it is long before hearing her sweet voice of her tease like tone. He turned his body and head around to face the one and only Will Vandom standing there just like she was before in the enclosed warm castle halls but now added her outer lair over her gown.

“Do you always arrive at events human and in sneakers or is it just tonight little Guardian?” He asked with a smug smile, his smile growing more when her’s drop slightly.

The two, for obvious reasons, hasn’t have the time or pleasure to speak or be around each other since the events of his welcome back into the castle. Though their eyes always lock and smiles are at times exchanged between hall walks and events much like this one, the prince would never admit it but he would be very happy for a moment much like tonight to happen between the two for a long time since he arrived back.

Slowly, he stepped forward and pass the Guardian as his voice only echoed to her, “Well, little Guardian, I shall hope to speak to her again soon enough. But for now, I much stand beside my dear sister?” He let his voice drop some at the wording when speaking of Elyon much to the habit of his new mask does often nowadays.

“Why do you hate Elyon Phobos?” Phobos stopped at his tracks when he hears that question he dreaded leave the red haired Guardian’s lips. “She is your sister after all. She did nothing wrong to you, she even gave you another chance! So why, Phobos? Just tell me why right now, why do you hate your own sister?” Slowly... he could feel the cracks reappearing and slowly began to grow... “I don’t hate my dear sister... I envy her. I despise her.” He slowly mumbled, his cracks growing deeper and long with each tremble of his hands... “What blesses her with ever so much love and joy long before her very birth? Why was I - someone with the same blood flooding my veins as her and share the very same name - be hated and mocked from my own birth all because of what I am?! I never asked to be born! I never wanted to be who I am! It was you who ruined my world! My life! The one thing people can be proud upon me...!”

Will just stood there with her brown eyes now widen and full of sadness and pain as he screamed his words out at her, almost like the hard and sharp broken pieces of his masks stab and hit her like bullets against and within her very flesh. Never once has she seen this side of the man she fought countless times nor has he ever seen such a pitiful expression on her face... Both hearts ached and plushed at these emotions overflowing their bodies but yet neither can dare speak even after the screaming has long ceased... What would one say after all?

The prince breathed in the cold hair and out his warmed up breaths as he stared back at the Guardian for anything at all from her... A scream. A hit. A apology. A cry. ANYTHING would be better then this torture for the poor boy of silence after revealing himself to his once enemy and favorite jewel to watch from afar...

“...Phobos...I-” Will began, her voice leaving off a small crack of emotion as she tried to gather her words for him, but the man dare not want to hear her words anymore as his long since kept emotions flood over him like a ocean against the rocks of a shore as he swoops down and cups her face, forcing their eyes to meet yet again. He grasps onto her mask’s edge and carefully removed it, admiring so closely now the beauty in which she possesses completely once it was removed and discarded to the snow covered ground beneath them, his head slowly moving forward on it’s own just until his lips were barely a inch against her’s.

He could smell her scent of peppermint she most likely wore for this party, He could feel her skin growing colder and her hair slowly going slightly damp from the melted pieces of snow in her red tread strains, Her breath now tickling him softly... The desire was there but how long was it going to take to-

“You know, this isn’t fair.” She said before she grabbed and threw his mask onto the floor like her’s was, once it was done, she then quickly grabbed his costume’s fabric and closed their tiny space with their lips colliding eagerly and warmly for the two.

Her lips taste like warm melted chocolate and strawberry from her treat while his tasted like warm soft fire spice and grape from his wine as their skins endure the warms and the colds of their kiss and touches as the snow fall around them as if the universe was granting them a gift. Prince Phobos’ chest slowly grew warmer and warmer between the soft touches and kisses like a fire creating and spreading inside him... It burns and it hurts but he never wanted to cease the feeling ever. Never again He thought to himself as he feels all his pain and misery slowly melt with the broken rumble of his masks now gone for good...

All he needs as of now is the very maiden within his arms...

Phobos felt the warm sunlight touch his eyes as he turn his body inside his soft comfortably warm bed, those said fair eyes slowly fluttering open and staring at the deep red hair that shines in the morning sunlight. He smiled softly as he scoots closer some towards his pretty Guardian, his eyes slowly drifting to the soft shines of something within his finger and her hand and clings to the blankets and his night shirt... Pretty matching silver rings hugging nicely around their fingers. The man let out a soft gasp as he stared at the rings and at the sleeping Will in his bed before his eyes glances slowly at the remembrance of new warmth between the two in the form of a small sleeping child with long red hair like the Guardian that brought him light yet the child’s resting face matches one of which is his soft snarl.

Tears soon peeked in Phobos’ eyes as he stared at everything he woke up to as memories pass that night rush back to him... The many events of their relationship, the wedding, the birth of his daughter, and the announcement as of last night of their upcoming second child... He honestly couldn’t help but let out a soft weep as a smile appear upon his lips as his arms wrap carefully and warmly around his family as his teary fair eyes watch the morning snow against his bedroom window, just wondering to himself how he ever said such a thing back then. He doesn’t hate his sister in the slightest nor does wishes he was never born, for if it wasn’t for either he’d never have ever even met his wonderful wife and have such a beautiful daughter and soon another.

He has been blessed with someone to hold close during the coldest nights.

He now has people to admire the garden’s beauty.

He never has to dread a meal for now it’s warm with love and compassion he was given thanks to the pretty red haired Guardian he was more then happy he met no matter how he wishes it was different...

I hope you like it! Sorry if it’s kind of crummy, I’m running on no sleep and caffeine but seriously I’m happy with this request and hope you and everyone else enjoy!

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athewriter · 3 years

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Two Contrasting Descriptive Pieces I did for my English Assignment

The task was to create two, contrasting descriptive pieces of the same place/ area before and after a “storm”- focusing on movement, light and sound. I chose the same forest scene before and after the happenings of war, developing the five senses: sight, touch, smell, hearing, taste.

WARNINGS: tw: DEATH, tw: GORE, tw: VIOLENCE

DESCRIPTIVE PIECE #1

Jean meticulously stepped through the fragile foliage, skin tingling with every wet lick of the leaves against his hands. Trees towered over him, giant, looming walls of thick, bulging trunks and solid blankets of all shades of green. So densely packed together that not even the most ambitious streaks of light could penetrate through- the realm beneath the canopy forsaken to everlasting shadows. One would think this brought rigid cold and barren lands, yet the humid heat that threatened to overpower him suggested otherwise.

Morning dew dotted the deep veins of broad, wide leaves, soaking it as it ran in lazy rivulets down their faces. A weighted, gentle caress that held them down, forcing the leaves to droop and pave a terraced path to the net of underbrush below. The water pooled on a bed of knee-high, prickly bushes and plants, forming little ponds in depressions woven by their hands.

The earth ceased to exist, seeming to descend far below the projecting, twisted roots that crawled through the underbrush like thick, course, brown snakes. The stench of freshly turned and wet soil and rotting organic material was its only alibi. So soft and malleable, carpeted by threads of wax and thorns, that it gave way an inch or so with every calculated step of hardened leather boots.

A cacophony of bird calls and songs grew stronger, evidence that life could exist in this alien world, rang above his head: the staccato trill of Piqinins, the warbling harmony of Caterwals, and the sickly-sweet chirps of the Nightwing. A choir of vastly different symphonies that clashed and fought over each other, their volume near-deafening amongst the ear-piercing siren of the cicada. An ear-bleeding performance for the lustful and greedy patrolling mere metres below their perch.

And, if choice be, he could look up and see the royal blues, obnoxious yellows, and striking, deep purples of feathers dancing. That is if the birds themselves wanted to be seen, preferring the cavernous alcoves tucked into the intersections of branches.

In the centre of all this chaos was a small, circular clearing. Trees fell away to allow for light to spill in, casting a warm glow over wild, untamed grass of a rich green that rivalled that of an emerald. A single flower, no taller than his waist, grew in the middle. Resembling a jellyfish, bottlebrush like tendrils of flaming reds and vibrant oranges hung from its bowl-shaped cap, barely grazing the floor with its frayed ends. Starting tightly coiled, the tendrils slowly unravelled from the cap, unfurling and unwinding like a spring being stretched; despite their rough and bristled appearance, they were velvety to the touch and silkier than the finest satin.

A honey sweet, sickening odour permeated the air, mixing with the lingering scents of precipitation and wet soil. It left a strong, bittersweet taste of iron in his mouth, drying his tongue out as it stuck to the roof of his mouth. As innocent as it looked, the Royal Adonis’s fumes could kill even the most fearsome of creatures, making it the perfect snack for a passing Drongo*. With an extensive, and very much alive root system, it’s a deadly beauty with hidden, malignant tendencies- Killing you softly as it steals your every last breath.

*Drongo: a creature that brings death wherever it goes, taking to the scent of decay and freshly spilt blood like a cat to catnip.

(548 words)

DESCRIPTIVE PIECE #2

Snow kissed the ground. Little snowflakes of ash drifted, directionless against the inky black of the sky, and settled on barren bows. Those that danced through landed in the deep gashes that wounded the earth.

Jean stood in the middle of it, observing the destruction with blank, grey eyes, shifting his weight as ash dusted the worn leather of his boots.

Thick cracks ran deep, splitting the hardened ground as thinner, shallow cracks webbed its surface. No longer could it hold life, but how would it? As solid as cement, the blackened, bare ground was impenetrable to even the sharpest swords or the strongest hammer; they would shatter into a million pieces on impact, spraying iron, silver, and blood.

Blood. Too much had bled into the land, staining it with the greed, the cruelty of men, and the damned innocent. Crimson brown, it seeped through ancient roots systems, tainting the once crystalline, white red.

No guardians loomed over him, no protective walls of green and brown. And no loyal, gentle lick of the playful, entangling foliage. Instead, charred sticks of charcoal stood in their place. Broken and beaten, they swayed in the chilly evening breeze of June, so brittle they would crumble with the slightest touch. No longer did the water hold them captive, having no hands to shackle, nobody to bend. Just a hollow, empty shell of what used to be. The blankets of ash were their only comfort.

The haunting wails of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak sent cold dread through him, ghostly fingers tracing up the back of his spine. Its song of death a beautiful, yet fear-inducing melody: a warbling howl that gradually rose in volume before suddenly dropping into curt, cut off choked squawks. Thick, white plumage sat on a low hanging branch, a black hood stretching down to its wings as large, glazed eyes stared at him with unnerving intelligence. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the rosy patch on its breast coincidently matched its red-lipped, bone-white beak.

Beneath it, a carcass lay- a dier*, to be precise. Its intimidating, golden antlers lay broken by its massive head, deep, fleshy holes peering up at the sky as ash sprinkled its beige, near white, fur. That was its only identifiable feature. A horrific gash stretched across its belly, skin peeled back off of bone as organs slopped into a pool of deep red. Glistening intestines, kidneys, and bladder were pulled from the opening of torn flesh and skin, littered with numerous scratches and tears that matched the ones on its head. On closer inspection, Jean could see the claw marks that shredded the flesh of its neck, jagged, messy bite marks piercing the thick hide of its flank. More blood coated its mouth and splattered on the ground, an indication of ravenous, vicious feasting whilst its heart still beat.

�� The stench of iron and death was strong on his tongue, lingering heavily in the air around the duo. A sickening mix of pungent, rotting flesh and freshly shed blood was something one did not scrub out so easily.

*Dier: closely resembles what you would call a deer except has a beige-golden hide with massive, majestic horns of presumed medicinal benefit.

(519 words)

#my original work #about me #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: gore

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evenasyoungastheyare · 8 months

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Nick and Charlie for the lovely @broken-beak-flower-feast

#heartstopper #heartstopper fanart #nick and charlie #drawing #this is for you #broken-beak-flower-feast #coloured pencils #oil based charcoal #i am sorry it took so long #i have a version without the rain and hearts as well if you like

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wendersfive · 10 months

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List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last ten people who reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals & followers!!✨ (no pressure if you don't want to do this!)

Good day @fishandfrog, Thank you for stopping by! Oh, I see I must have reblogged something from you. That is not a surprise, 💕your blog.

What does make me happy. (I tried to not over think this.) I kinda grouped items together so I could do way more than five.

1 - Music, reading, art, photos, old postcards, productions. 2 - Vacation time at the lake. 3 - Tea, honey, chocolate, pasta, salad, fresh bread, cheese, cookies. 3.1 - Game night - board games, cards, darts, puzzles, bowling. 3.2 - Nice people being nice. (thank you) 4 - When you're done work and you can take your socks off. 5 - Flowers giving and receiving. Harry has a lovely bouquet for you.

Thank you for sending this my way. It is nice to take a moment and think/remember what does make one happy. Sadly - I currently have no honey, fresh bread or cheese in my house. I need to start making lists again.

Take care. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. W

PS - Thanks to the lovely @broken-beak-flower-feast, they sent me the flowers link x (nice people being nice).

PSS - I'm really bad at passing these things along. (I will try) I haven't sent George a message lately. (maybe not)

#Happy List #5 or more #nice people being nice

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jtl-fics · 8 months

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Ahah and I am not built to have emotions but here I am embarrassing myself on other people's blogs in order to profess my platonic love for their writing/art

An endless thanks for what you share, it really does make a difference on the worst days.

I simply don't want to take your (and others') talent for granted

Happy Sunday 🤍

You always have such great ideas so I always love getting your asks <3 I love it when I saw the white heart at the end of a message and now I can be as excited when I see your S/N.

#White heart anon #Broken Beak Flower Feast now #Happy Sunday to you as well!!

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freddy-hughes · 3 years

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Yr Olwyn Wedi Torri

Freddy sat quietly beneath the willow tree outside his farmstead. The sky was overcast, and the distant roll of thunder over the hills threatened rain that had yet to come. The trowel in his hand dug deep into the earth, and pulled grass, clover, and roots free from the damp dirt below. A mindless melody sung in the back of his throat as he worked. Beside him, wrapped in linen, and wreathed in flowers was a small bundle with the ears of a hare peeking from the edge of the cloth.

“There,” Freddy said with satisfaction, weight falling back on his heels as he looked down at the small grave he had dug. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and then reached over to tenderly pat the little bundle beside him. “Soon, you’ll be at peace little friend. Where you can frolic to your heart's content in the great forest beyond.”

With reverence, Freddy gently scooped the bundle from the ground, and laid it in peaceful repose within the earth. The flowers were lovingly arranged around it, and once finished Freddy set his hands upon the body, and closed his eyes for a prayer. “Ashes, to ashes, and dust to dust. As the forest gave you life, so too must your life be given back to it. As you return your life to the earth, the grass above you will grow. From the grass you will feed the critters, and the critters feed the beasts, and the beasts feed men. In this endless cycle, we are one. Lie now in peace, and rest my little friend. We will meet again in the forest beyond.”

Freddy opened his eyes once his prayer was finished, fully intending to continue his burial, but what stood before him shocked him nearly to the point of tears.

There, behind the willow, and looking back at him with piercing red eyes was the Stag. The entity whom he thought would never bother with him again, the being who ferried him back to the land of the living, who judged the length, and breadth of his soul, and found him worthy. It’s great body was bisected by the thin trunk of the willow, antlers caught in the trailing limbs like a shag of messy hair, but it’s human like eyes bored into Freddy’s soul with an unexpected weight of expectation. “Great One,” Freddy whispered, his own shock dissipating to disbelief as he slowly bowed his head in reverence to the presence before him. Its human like eyes blinked against its owl like face, beak chittering in a language not even Freddy could parse.

“What do you require of me, Great One? I have finished my trials, and I have come home. Is there more I need to do? The Horned One dogs my steps, but the Forest is slowly returning to harmony...I was just about to return this hare back to --”

The Stag blinked, and stepped forward, causing the words to die in Freddy’s throat as he sat ramrod straight. He watched as the Great One slowly leaned forward, the serpentine length of its neck coiling out from its body to press its beak against the center of Freddy’s forehead. A loud ringing erupted in Freddy’s ears, and the solid earth beneath him gave way to a vast nothingness as he felt himself plummet like a stone. He grasped, and grappled at nothing, a vain attempt to slow his fall, but the eventual crash to unforgiving earth never came. Instead, Freddy felt himself buoyed by some unknown force, suspended upright as he dared open his eyes to see what was before him.

A once mighty forest lay barren before him. Trees withered to husks, their branches gnarled like skeletal fingers as their leaves decayed in a vast blanket as far as the eyes could see. Voices danced upon the wind, crying out in hunger, and desperation, while others rattled their death for none to hear. Freddy felt their hunger like his own in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him like a pestilent rot that would spread through his veins. Desperately he searched the vast forest for any signs of life, but there was naught by decay wherever he looked. The essence of any life that clung to the forest breathed its last, the cacophony of their death rattle shaking Freddy to his very core. He felt himself be pushed by a powerful wind deeper into the forest, and the dizzy sensation of being weightless, and pushed, and pulled like a rag doll nearly sent Freddy heaving. When his eyes focused, he saw before him the body of the Stag, withered to near bones, with fungi, and rot eating away at the flesh.

Crowded around the body of the once majestic creature, where figures Freddy knew intimately well. Their bodies formed of wood, and foliage, brought to life by the ancient magics he knew. The Drust. They feasted on the body with elation, bones snapped to get to the marrow, soft tissue pulled apart like paper to get to the life blood beneath. Savagely they devoured, uncaring where, or to whom the lifeforce once belonged. Red hot tears stung the corners of Freddy’s eyes as he tried to scream at them to stop. This isn’t the way. The cycle could not be broken. What they were doing was wrong, and throwing everything off balance. However, no words left his throat. He struggled against the invisible strings that kept him upright, but they held him fast.

“The Cycle is broken. The wheel is incomplete. Love thyself the forest? Thy work is not finished. North, where the frigid gale would freeze thy blood, the veil is pierced. Hither, and thither are one, and the same. Go, little mortal. Go, lest thy life be forfeit as the Stag before thee.”

Freddy jolted back into his body with such force he doubled over. Frantically, he looked around, but found himself once again alone with the hare in the earth. Freddy breathed deeply, tried to stop his racing heart, but what he had seen shook him down to his very soul. The Great Forest beyond was in danger. The Cycle at risk of being broken. The Stag would not show him such visions without purpose, but there were questions that needed answers. Quickly, Freddy finished his burial of the hare, and then rushed inside his home. Right as he closed the door behind him, a knock at the front heralded a visitor. He blinked, and slowly made his way to the front door, only to see Dierdre on the other side. He blinked, surprised.

“Grams? What are you doing here?”

“Oh come now - don’t tell me ya forgot about our weekly tea? Got a few things here for ya. Now, be a good lad and show this old woman to the nearest chair so she might rest her weary bones.”

#Freddy Hughes #| My Writing |#| The Broken Cycle |

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crociincovid · 3 years

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I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines. Now ere the foreign singer thrills Our vale his plain-song pipe he pours, A herald of the million bills; And heed him not, the loss is yours. My study, flanked with ivied fir And budded beech with dry leaves curled, Perched over yew and juniper, He neighbours, piping to his world:- The wooded pathways dank on brown, The branches on grey cloud a web, The long green roller of the down, An image of the deluge-ebb:- And farther, they may hear along The stream beneath the poplar row. By fits, like welling rocks, the song Spouts of a blushful Spring in flow. But most he loves to front the vale When waves of warm South-western rains Have left our heavens clear in pale, With faintest beck of moist red veins: Vermilion wings, by distance held To pause aflight while fleeting swift: And high aloft the pearl inshelled Her lucid glow in glow will lift; A little south of coloured sky; Directing, gravely amorous, The human of a tender eye Through pure celestial on us: Remote, not alien; still, not cold; Unraying yet, more pearl than star; She seems a while the vale to hold In trance, and homelier makes the far. Then Earth her sweet unscented breathes, An orb of lustre quits the height; And like blue iris-flags, in wreaths The sky takes darkness, long ere quite. His Island voice then shall you hear, Nor ever after separate From such a twilight of the year Advancing to the vernal gate. He sings me, out of Winter's throat, The young time with the life ahead; And my young time his leaping note Recalls to spirit-mirth from dead. Imbedded in a land of greed, Of mammon-quakings dire as Earth's, My care was but to soothe my need; At peace among the littleworths. To light and song my yearning aimed; To that deep breast of song and light Which men have barrenest proclaimed; As 'tis to senses pricked with fright. So mine are these new fruitings rich The simple to the common brings; I keep the youth of souls who pitch Their joy in this old heart of things: Who feel the Coming young as aye, Thrice hopeful on the ground we plough; Alive for life, awake to die; One voice to cheer the seedling Now. Full lasting is the song, though he, The singer, passes: lasting too, For souls not lent in usury, The rapture of the forward view. With that I bear my senses fraught Till what I am fast shoreward drives. They are the vessel of the Thought. The vessel splits, the Thought survives. Nought else are we when sailing brave, Save husks to raise and bid it burn. Glimpse of its livingness will wave A light the senses can discern Across the river of the death, Their close. Meanwhile, O twilight bird Of promise! bird of happy breath! I hear, I would the City heard. The City of the smoky fray; A prodded ox, it drags and moans: Its Morrow no man's child; its Day A vulture's morsel beaked to bones. It strives without a mark for strife; It feasts beside a famished host: The loose restraint of wanton life, That threatened penance in the ghost! Yet there our battle urges; there Spring heroes many: issuing thence, Names that should leave no vacant air For fresh delight in confidence. Life was to them the bag of grain, And Death the weedy harrow's tooth. Those warriors of the sighting brain Give worn Humanity new youth. Our song and star are they to lead The tidal multitude and blind From bestial to the higher breed By fighting souls of love divined, They scorned the ventral dream of peace, Unknown in nature. This they knew: That life begets with fair increase Beyond the flesh, if life be true. Just reason based on valiant blood, The instinct bred afield would match To pipe thereof a swelling flood, Were men of Earth made wise in watch. Though now the numbers count as drops An urn might bear, they father Time. She shapes anew her dusty crops; Her quick in their own likeness climb. Of their own force do they create; They climb to light, in her their root. Your brutish cry at muffled fate She smites with pangs of worse than brute. She, judged of shrinking nerves, appears A Mother whom no cry can melt; But read her past desires and fears, The letters on her breast are spelt. A slayer, yea, as when she pressed Her savage to the slaughter-heaps, To sacrifice she prompts her best: She reaps them as the sower reaps. But read her thought to speed the race, And stars rush forth of blackest night: You chill not at a cold embrace To come, nor dread a dubious might. Her double visage, double voice, In oneness rise to quench the doubt. This breath, her gift, has only choice Of service, breathe we in or out. Since Pain and Pleasure on each hand Led our wild steps from slimy rock To yonder sweeps of gardenland, We breathe but to be sword or block. The sighting brain her good decree Accepts; obeys those guides, in faith, By reason hourly fed, that she, To some the clod, to some the wraith, Is more, no mask; a flame, a stream. Flame, stream, are we, in mid career From torrent source, delirious dream, To heaven-reflecting currents clear. And why the sons of Strength have been Her cherished offspring ever; how The Spirit served by her is seen Through Law; perusing love will show. Love born of knowledge, love that gains Vitality as Earth it mates, The meaning of the Pleasures, Pains, The Life, the Death, illuminates. For love we Earth, then serve we all; Her mystic secret then is ours: We fall, or view our treasures fall, Unclouded, as beholds her flowers Earth, from a night of frosty wreck, Enrobed in morning's mounted fire, When lowly, with a broken neck, The crocus lays her cheek to mire.

-- The Thrush in February, by George Meredith

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palindromepaladin · 6 years

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The Village of Stones or A Watchman’s Tale

By Rixon Grey

I could not look back to my village when I left. The shame I felt for my banishment left me with too much pride to believe that I was in the wrong. I trudged forward, with heavy shoulders and an upturned chin. Never again would I be welcome to my friends or family, and a new life would be waiting for me beyond them.

For my good luck, the land was full of fruits among bushes and trees, and it was spring time. I did not want for sustenance or clean running water. I was familiar with all vegetation around me, and had been taught about the dangers of poison and wild animals. I knew how to survive in the wilderness. Against my good luck, however, I knew not where I was headed.

The hills around me were set into the earth like so many hairs on the back of a frightened tomcat. As I climbed the peak of one, another sprung up in the distance, as were they to my sides. The very country around my birthplace was a tumult of steep hill and small mountain. After days of travel I wondered less for why I had never before left, and why banishment was reserved for punishment worse than death.

I walked until my beard grew thick on my chin, and until I became more familiar with the tongues of animal than of man. At night I found myself lying next to the dens of wolves, as my fear for them fell in proportion to how much their fear grew for me. I was a wild man. In my mouth protruded fangs instead of teeth, and I took to hunting hare and badger on all fours. The smell of blood overwhelmed me at the time of my wild man hunting.

Out of this arose a pattern, hunting, sleeping, and walking. I walked because I felt that travel was inherently a human trait, as only birds traveled as men did, and I could not fly. At this point I came across horse-packed paths and wooden signposts nailed together by human tools. Though the woods around me were still thick and pocked with hillocks, and I still had no direction in my heart.

To any passerby I may look friendly enough, if not ragged. To two men and one old man I had snarled when they greeted me. I meant it respectably enough, but the anger and shock which was drawn upon their faces was enough to remind me of the home I had been turned away by.

I resignedly strayed off human paths, understanding now that the banishment was not just from my own village, but from all humanity. I ran into the forests, deeper than ever, and into the wilder terrain.

The lack of paths left me even more lost in the hills and valleys littering the world. Now so more than ever had I embraced the wild nature which had planted inside my heart. I ran with the wolves as they hunted; not accepting me themselves I forced myself beside them. I began to feast on predator flesh.

A time passed, and I am now ashamed to admit that I do not know, nor will I ever, how long I stayed as a beast. Seasons did not change, but where I was I was not surprised. I was out of reach from the world of men and sense. Sometimes night lasted for weeks. Thoughts only poked their noses into my brain to try and see just how lost I was. In response my inner beast would growl and the human thoughts would dissipate.

After however long, I stumbled stupidly upon a human path. As I was then, I would have normally ignored it, shied away from it, or would have pissed and left. This path, however, was special. It drew up within me human feelings, which shot through my heart as a geyser of hot longing and despair. Only men know sadness of the past, and I knew it then stronger than any animal lust.

I needed to follow the path, and wander to wherever it may take me. I did so on two legs.

The path was packed dirt. The dirt had been piled and shaped to seem more like a tapestry than a walkway for simple peasantry. Stones lined the sides, giving definition to the otherwise beautiful and free dirt. I was not ashamed to walk on a path so glorious, and instead kicked my feet with each step as if to skip like a young girl. I was flushed with excitement and feverish wistfulness.

Winding up into the hills, the path took me around bends and overhanging hillsides. I marched and danced within valleys and fissures. The path only grew more charming the longer I traveled on it.

The path started to slope upwards. I climbed up with lunges the side of a mountainous mound among hillocks. Grass and white flowers specked the graveled earth around me. Images of chanting women and goat-horned shamans swirled in my wilderness-weathered brain. So peaceful I was at that moment, I could have been dead and that would have been my treasured end. If only.

The path, now dirt only, leveled out to the top of a plateau. Built into the grassy hilltop were shaggy huts. Each had thatch walls and rooftops, no stone was used to build them. Tools of wood and grass littered the ground around the hovels. The path ended in front of me and I looked down vacantly at my feet. At the path’s end, spreading out to my left and right, was a thin ring of pebbles and gravel, cutting a distinct line in the thick grass on either side.

I took a step into the ring of stones, towards the grass village, and the air around me changed. I tasted a pressure around me, heard less noise, and could breathe in only the air which my lungs would allow. There was a haze of lightening about me, which one can feel seconds before feeling raindrops from dusky clouds.

A thought put itself into my head without my permission: to go back and be wild once more, to forget this place. But why? I admit that the time spent as a manling among wolves had left my heart empty in the places where human love is held. So much I wanted to see a smiling face, a set of large and gentle eyes from a woman or child, that I disregarded my intuition and continued further into the village.

At the first hovel I came to I shyly looked inside. I was aware of my ragged appearance and wanted to avoid startling anyone. However, the hut was empty, so I moved on to the next and peered in the same way. The next was empty as well, and the one after that. I looked around and around but there was no person to be seen or heard. The only noise was a clinking, like a small tool on a stone.

I crept inside of a hut, and there I saw a wooden table and small cot. On the bedding was a pebble not unlike those I had seen at the edge of the village. It was particularly round. I had come across as many rocks as any other person in my lifetime, both wild and worked, and none had been as spherical as the one on the bed. I pondered this as I revisited the hovels I had passed by. All had similar furnishings: beds, chairs, tables, a small chest in some, and each house had stones inside. The stones were the size of my fist and round like the moon.

The clinking continued steadily, and I knew then that only men worked on stone so arduously, surely that must have been a craftsman at work.

I rushed to the source of the noise. While fumbling through a shock of thick grass I happened to step on a sphere of granite, similar to those in the hovels. Below my foot I heard it crack and wetness flooded between my toes. Blood. My heart curled up behind my chest bone, and I waited impatiently for the pain to come. My foot, however, did not sting or cry out for help. There was no damage on my part. I looked closer. The stone was hollow, and had shattered open.

Bending down I rummaged through bits of broken stone and found blood still pooling around it. A shell of broken granite was faced toward the ground and I flipped it around. On the inside, like a little pearl in the shell, was a twisting organ, still twitching. I threw it away. I took deep breaths, and quickly, but the air around me was stifling my thoughts with its electrical charge.

The clinking was mere yards away, I could tell, just around one more hut. Forgetting momentarily the stone, I walked blindly to the noise. I came to the center of the village, which was open with dirt instead of grass. All around were the corpses of sheep and goats, long dead, and little flesh remained on their brown bones. The horns of the goats were carved with runes.

A long twisting dagger was half buried in the middle of the center, along with the source of the pounding.

I saw a bird the size of a man, hunched over and stretching its neck to peck at something in front of it. It was turned away from me, so I was able to steal a long look at it. Its wings were small compared to the rest of it, and were covered with feathers the shade of ink. Its body was featherless and leathery, it was fat and misshapen. At the base of its spine a thin and gangly tail twitched as a cat’s does.

I put my hand to my mouth and felt tears welling up from the fear in my skull. I moved to lean against the hovel I had been crouching by, as my legs were losing strength. The side of the hut was weak and my leg pushed through the material knee-first. Broken thatch cut deep into my thigh and knee, and I growled. Blood gushed down my leg and onto the ground. I pulled myself up and snapped my neck to the monstrous bird.

Its neck had twisted grotesquely and its face was pinpointed to my own. Its eyes were like that of a fish, vacant, bulbous, and hungry. Guts flecked its long, thin beak, and it dribbled gore down to the ground in clumping strings. Around its feet were the living stones, each cracked open and drained of their viscera. I roared and began to flee back to the path from which I had arrived.

My leg ached and threatened uselessness, but my animal spirit took over and drove strength down into it. I felt the tingle of my teeth turning into fangs and my hands into paws once more, I was ready to be a wolf if I had to be.

I reached the stone circle at the edge of the village and burst through it. As I did so, my blood caught in my veins and the barrier withheld me halfway through. The blood which had soaked the side of my leg drifted down as sand and dust. I flailed my body to the side and heaved against the million barbs of the invisible wall pulling against my innards. I had peeled most of my body free, but my left hand was stuck on the barrier by the wrist. I tasted ash. Something was inside my palm, under the skin, among the bone and muscle.

I pulled and pulled, needing desperately to escape, remembering how intelligent the face of the bird looked to me. Not in its fish eyes, but its mouth, which curled into a smile at the corners of the beak, at least that is how I saw it.

I put all of my body weight and strength behind one final tug on my hand, and from the back of it exploded a glob of blood and grit. A pebble, no larger than a robin’s egg, black and sick, fell to join the other stones in the circle. I could not comprehend what that meant, and all I knew was escape.

I ran deeper and deeper into the hills, into the shadows of tree and boulder to protect me, even though I never heard anything give me chase. After weeks of living close to an animal once more my wounds healed well enough, though my left hand since then has been lame. My leg never healed as well either.

I carved a walking stick out of a large branch and found myself traversing wide open plains and flat-earthed woods. I stuck to the paths of men. I wound up in a city and found that they had need of a guard to patrol a wooden tower out in their surrounding woods.

There I stay to this day, watching with an eye much keener, and with more fear than the younger men. They tease me, and I let them, because they will never know exactly why I watch so diligently the skies instead of the ground. If ever trouble may find my new home I will always have my fangs, and a sling with stones at the ready

#original content #My writing #short story #rixon grey #palindrome paladin #fantasy #horror

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