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artzychic27 · 5 months

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Blame @msweebyness’s post for this… I call this au Miraculopolis

@imsparky2002

Marinette: Goddess of Luck and Chance. Her symbols are ladybugs and clovers

Adrien: God of Family and Children. His symbols are domestic cats and carnations

Alya: Goddess of Messaging and Facts. Her symbols are spectacles and pigeons

Nino: God of Protection and Defense. His symbols are shields and turtles

Nathaniel: God of the Fine Arts and Inspiration. His symbols are paintbrushes and peacocks

Alix: Goddess of Time and Memory. Her symbols are clocks and rabbits

Juleka: Goddess of Serenity and Inner Beauty. Her symbols are mirrors and ravens

Rose: Goddess of Romance and Love. Her symbols are roses and doves

Sabrina: Goddess of Loyalty and Companionship. Her symbols are rings and wolves

Chloé: Goddess of Wealth and Prosperity. Her symbols are gold coins and bees

Kim: God of Sportsmanship and Victory. His symbols are palm branches and eagles

Max: God of Statistics and Possibilities. His symbols are abacuses and horses

Ivan: God of Poetry and Ballads. His symbols are quills and mice

Myléne: Goddess of Nature and Grains. Her symbols are cornucopias and bears

Marc: God of Literature and Epic Tales. His symbols are fountain pens and roosters

Aurore: Goddess of the Sun. Her symbols are parasols and lions

Mireille: Goddess of the Moon. Her symbols are wool and sheep

Reshma: Goddess of Craftmentship. Her symbols are a needle and thread and spiders

Ismael: God of Mischief. His symbols are apples and foxes

Lacey: Goddess of Siblinghood. Her symbols are rope and frogs

Jean: God of Theater and Entertainment. His symbols are comedy and tragedy masks, and songbirds

Cosette: Goddess of Masking and Adaption. Her symbols are a makeup pallet and chameleons

Zoé: Goddess of Rebellion. Her symbols are broken handcuffs and a tiger

Simon: God of Technology and Surveillance. His symbols are eye-shaped pendants and hawks

Denise: Goddex of Strength and Health. Their symbols are barbells and bulls

Luka: God of Music and Emotional health. His symbols are lyres and snakes

Kagami: Goddess of Combat. Her symbols are swords and dragons

Ondine: Goddess of the Sea. Her symbols are a trident and orcas

Different nations, different mythologies and deities

They’re all powerful deities, but they still act like teenagers, get crushes, drink a lot of wine, have wild parties up in the heavens, and crash mortal parties whenever they please

Being the goddess of Masking and Adaption, Cosette can shapeshift into any animal she pleases while the others only shapeshift into the animals they’re associated with

Cosette: Random animal exit! *Shapeshift into a shark and starts flopping around on the ground before shifting back and gasping for air* Random… Land animal exit! *Shapeshifts into an ostrich and walks away*

Zoé: Even as an ostrich, they’re still gorgeous.

Marc and Nathaniel have been crushing on each other for eons

Rose and Juleka have been girlfriends for centuries now. Juleka is not affected by Rose’s romance-inducing aura, and Rose is not affected by Juleka’s almost ethereal beauty. They just love each other

Adrien has almost this maternal instinct due to being the god of family and children, and as such, he adores mortal infants

A former member of the gods and goddesses of Miraculous is Lila, the goddess of deceit and trickery. Her symbols are jackals and masks. She still has her divine powers, but she’s not allowed back in the skyward abode of the gods and goddesses for a multitude of reasons, and has offended each of the others gods in some way

Also… She was just annoying as hell

*During an outing in the divine garden, long before Lila was banished, Myléne is telling the others about a new tree she had come up with. The others are listening intently when Lila suddenly interrupts*

Nino: Someone, make her stop!

*Nathaniel summons his paintbrush staff and slathers a bit of red paint over Lila’s mouth. It dries in an instant, and her words come out muffled*

Nino: *Sighs* Much butter.

Ismael possesses an object called The Golden Apple of Chaos. Basically, when he throws it, it causes some sort of havoc somewhere

He’s always tempting mortal children to cause a little chaos

Ismael: Just think of it, Manon. You, me. All the chaos. All the discord! ALL THE FREE CHICKEN!

Legend from both Miraculous and Prodigious mythology tells of a monster named Kiku, once a mortal man who wanted to become stronger. One night, he snuck into Kim, Denise, and Kagami’s temples, and stole one of Kim’s medals, one of Denise’s barbels, and one of Kagami’s swords. When they discovered this, the god, goddex, and goddess punished him by turning him into a monstrous bear-like creature. He had impenetrable skin and could tear through entire villages with his claws

One quirk about him is that whenever he gets flustered or excited, a peacock tail will fan out from behind him

A tale from mythology of Miraculous talks about how Nino developed feelings for Alya when she protected him and several mortals from a dangerous monster while they were visiting the mortal realm

Wherever Marinette steps, four-leaf clovers grow

When they arrive in the mortal realm, their entrances are all a sight to behold that you’ll wanna punch yourself if you miss them

According to Miraculous mythology, whenever Rose travels to the mortal realm, she descends from the sky in a flurry of rose petals. And when she lands on the ground, several doves appear at her side, and she emits a pink aura that causes people to momentarily fall in love with the first person they see

When Nathaniel comes to visit the mortal realm, the sky becomes an array of colors as his beautiful, iridescent chariot is drawn by several peacocks.

Reshma descends from the sky, performing aerial tricks using spider web silk. Her feet never touch the ground as a clutter of spiders carry her about, almost making it look like she’s gliding

Lore has it, that centuries ago, Denise nursed a young injured bull they named Aithen back to health, and infused him with some of their divine magic, helping him grow stronger over time until he was able to pull their heavy two ton chariot on his own

And, there is a tale stating that Simon won Denise’s heart after using his wits to vanquish a monster attacking the mortals

According to mythology, Lacey bestows blessings on mortal children and their siblings, helping to strengthen their bonds and know when their siblings are in need

While Lila may be the goddess of deceit and has done some terrible things over the centuries, she still has standards. As such, she refuses to ever interact with Lucien, the god of Onedience and Power, and Emani, the god of Manipulation, who were also ousted from their heavenly abodes

Max’s sacred object is his golden abacus, gifted to him by Kim. Centuries ago, Kim melted several of his prized golden medals to create it for him

During the annual Olympics hosted by the Miraculous, teams from different nations come to compete for glory. The gods and goddesses watch from the stands while disguised as humans or the animals they are associated with. Kim, meanwhile, is in his god form and loudly cheering for the team representing Miraculous

While Nathaniel is one of the kindest gods of Miraculous, but he also has a fiery temper. When provoked, he’ll fly into a rage, and even the other deities know to approach with caution

One way to piss him off is by claiming you’re a better artist than him. He’ll curse you so that any piece of art or art material you touch will turn into dust. *cough* Louis *cough*

Due to being the Prodigious god of not only Theater, but also Entertainment, whenever there’s a party happening in the mortal realm, Jean is known to make a grand appearance. This is usually when he feels as though the party’s reaches its peak. Guests are to be advised that whenever Jean attends a mortal party, it doesn’t stop unless he wants to stop. The longest was a week

Zoé, the Prodigious goddess of Rebellion is also known to frequent parties, usually ones thrown by teenagers who plan and attend it without their parents knowing. From the heavens, she descends using a charriot drawn by two majestic tigers. She describes parties such as that as, “Rebellion in its most premature form!”

#greek mythology #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb au #akuma class #science kids #mlb ocs #I like Greek mythology #random au

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queen-of-sand-castles · 1 day

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Gothic Chronicles: Midnight's Veiled Secrets

This is a collection of poems that explore themes of loss, love, and the supernatural. Each piece offers a unique perspective on the complex emotions that accompany these experiences. As you read through this anthology, you may find yourself connecting with the universal truths that resonate within these lines.

1st poem: **Crimson Manuscripts**

In ancient halls where silence reigns,

Dust-laden tomes breathe secrets, unrestrained.

I walk the edge of lore, long since forgotten,

My heart inscribed with desires begotten.

With quill in hand, my constant guide,

Into the well of night, I confide.

A scribe of echoes from the void,

Crafting words, in melancholy alloyed.

"Unveil your stories, O manuscripts of red,

Your vellum skin to my soul is wed.

A nomad I, charting celestial designs,

In the margins of sonnets, my spirit aligns."

Shadows dance in the candle's fickle glow,

Over leather-bound legacies of long ago.

My pen bleeds ink, as if it were life,

Carving my essence amidst existential strife.

Epochs lost, their essence I distill,

In a whirlwind of memories that time can't kill.

An alchemist of words, in the arcane I delve,

Turning longing into verses, transiently shelved.

"Speak, O crimson tomes, your veins wide spread,

Upon your pages, my yearnings are said.

A wanderer am I, through constellations I roam,

In the forgotten verses, I find my home."

Gargoyles stand guard, stoic and grim,

At the gates of forever, their visages dim.

Their stone-cast gaze, the moon's sorrow reflects,

As I seek comfort in ancient dialects.

The piano's lament, the violin's cry,

And the cello's deep thrum under centuries lie.

On the brink of the void, I dance alone,

My steps resounding in a timeless tone.

"Reveal your depths, O manuscripts of hue,

My longing etched on your surface true.

A traveler of the stars, in your words I'm dressed,

In the forgotten poetry, my journey's expressed."

As the last note into silence wanes,

Within these lines, my spirit remains.

A ghostly minstrel serenading the night,

On eternity's parchment, my soul takes flight.

2nd poem: **Eternal Shadows**

In this manor, I wander, through silence and gloom,

Footsteps echo softly in each abandoned room.

Moonlight bathes me gently, as I softly tread,

Among the living's memories, I whisper with the dead.

In the moon's soft glow, my secrets unfold,

A phantom in the night, a story left untold.

Eternal shadows, where I roam free,

In this house of spirits, it's just the ghosts and me.

Through halls of mystery, where silent echoes play,

We're the souls of forever, in the night we stay.

Dust dances in the beam, time seems to freeze,

In this place of stillness, where moments cease.

Portraits watch silently, as I pass them by,

In the manor's heart, where old secrets lie.

Shadows cling to my steps, as I tiptoe through time,

In this spectral dance, where memories chime.

In this realm of silence, where I drift unseen,

Amongst the echoes, a solitary queen.

In the mansion of whispers, where secrets sway,

We're the timeless wanderers, in the shadows we play.

Feel the past's chill, as it draws near?

In the wind's whisper, it's our voices you hear.

Shadows stretch eternal, in this spectral ballet,

With the phantoms, my companions, in the night we sway.

Through corridors of enigma, where muted stories say,

We're the everlasting echoes, in the twilight's gray.

In the moon’s waning light, I catch a fleeting glimpse—a face unfamiliar, yet tethered to my soul.

The manor murmurs secrets, and I am but an echo, lost in its labyrinth of forgotten moments.

3rd poem: **The Raven's Whisper**

Beneath the silver veil of moonlight's kiss,

Where shadows merge and secrets intertwine,

I wander through the garden of forgotten dreams,

Seeking solace in the petals of night-blooming flowers.

The moon, a silent witness to my yearning,

Whispers ancient verses to the restless wind.

Its luminescent fingers trace delicate patterns,

Weaving tales of love and loss across the sky.

In this nocturnal sanctuary, memories bloom,

Each petal a fragment of a fractured heart.

I pluck them one by one, like fragile confessions,

And scatter them upon the dew-kissed grass.

The nightingale, perched upon a moonbeam,

Sings a requiem for love's ephemeral dance.

Its melody weaves through the jasmine vines,

Echoing the ache of longing in every note.

I trace the constellations with trembling fingers,

Mapping out our celestial rendezvous.

Did you once stand here, beneath this same moon,

Whispering promises that time has now erased?

The night wears on, and I become a ghost,

Drunk on moonlight and the fragrance of roses.

Perhaps, in this enchanted hour, you'll return,

And we'll dance once more in moonlit reverie.

4th poem: **Whispers from the Veil**

Beneath the moon's soft veil, we gather,

In the dim-lit chamber, secrets tethered.

A séance of souls, both lost and found,

Where spectral echoes dance, unbound.

The crystal ball, a portal spun,

Holds reflections of lives undone.

Its facets catch the flicker of stars,

As we seek communion beyond the bars.

The medium's breath, a whispered plea,

Invites the unseen to speak with glee.

Their voices rise from shadowed past,

A chorus of memories that forever last.

"Tell us," we implore, "of love's sweet pain,

Of promises broken, of longing's refrain."

And the room trembles with their reply,

A symphony of whispers, reaching sky-high.

The air thickens, charged with their essence,

As they recount tales of love's evanescence.

Their fingers brush ours, a spectral touch,

And we glimpse eternity in moments such.

The séance chamber hums with cosmic threads,

Binding us to realms where time unweds.

In this dance of spirits, we find solace anew,

As moonlight weaves stories, both old and true.

5th poem: **Portrait Of Despair**

Whispers haunt the hallowed space,

A gallery where time's embrace

Has left a mark on every face,

Each portrait tells of sorrow's trace.

A viscountess, her gaze so stern,

Her lover's touch she did spurn.

Now in her eyes, the cold fires burn,

For his return, she'll always yearn.

A captain, lost to ocean's wrath,

His ship did stray from charted path.

In stormy seas, he met his fate,

His portrait speaks of storms innate.

A child, with eyes so wide and clear,

His innocence was held so dear.

Yet fate was cruel, the night unkind,

His story leaves tears behind.

A maiden fair, with golden hair,

Once danced with grace, a pair so rare.

But love was lost, the dance did end,

Her silent song, it does transcend.

A poet's quill, now still and broke,

His verses lost, like vanished smoke.

The inkwell dry, the parchment torn,

For his muse, forever mourn.

A duelist with rapier drawn,

Stands proud and fierce, yet all forlorn.

His honor kept, his life forsworn,

In morning's light, he lies forlorn.

A widow's veil, her somber shroud,

Her whispered grief, it speaks aloud.

Her heart entombed, her love enshrined,

In painted form, her woes confined.

A jester's laugh, forever mute,

His mirthful mask, a grim dispute.

Behind the paint, the tears dilute,

His joy's facade, now destitute.

Each frame, a window to the past,

Holds echoes of a spell once cast.

The gallery, a somber host,

To each despairing, silent ghost.

So tread with care through memory's lane,

Where painted eyes live on in pain.

For every tale the portraits share,

Reflects a soul once trapped in despair.

The gallery grows, the walls extend,

New portraits join, old stories blend.

In this domain where spirits send

Their silent pleas, their hearts to mend.

Here, time stands still, the world outside

Fades to a whisper, hushed and wide.

Each canvas breathes, each shade confide,

The depths of pain they cannot hide.

So linger long, and gaze upon

The faces here, not truly gone.

Their silent mouths may yet respond,

In this gallery, they live beyond.

6th poem: **Cryptic Alchemy**

Shadowed chambers, whispers weave,

A blend of dark synth and mysterious chants,

Forbidden knowledge etched in cryptic runes,

Where secrets stir and ancient echoes dance.

No sun's embrace, no moon's soft kiss,

Only shadows' veiled embrace and moonless nights,

The alchemist, a weaver of enigma, chants,

Arcane melodies that pierce the void's veil.

Ebon potions simmer in onyx cauldrons,

Their essence distilled from forgotten realms,

Each drop a tincture of forgotten memories,

A concoction of lost dreams and starlight's breath.

The astral symphony crescendos, spiraling,

As darkness and light entwine, seeking balance,

The alchemist, eyes ablaze with ancient fire,

Unravels the cosmic threads, seeking truth.

Glyphs etched on obsidian tablets sing,

Their meaning veiled, yet yearning to be known,

For Cryptic Alchemy weaves the fabric of existence,

Where shadows birth illumination, and silence speaks.

So listen, mortal seeker, to the whispers of the void,

For within their echoes lie the keys, the ciphered codes,

Unlock the gates, step beyond the mundane,

And become the alchemist, weaver of mysteries.

7th poem: **Whispers from the Attic**

Creaking floorboards, distant voices,

A symphony of past choices,

Echoes of steps that once did pace,

Through corridors of time and space.

Above, where dust motes dance in light,

The attic holds its court at night,

A realm of silence, still and deep,

Where secrets their sacred vigil keep.

What tales are etched within these walls?

Of grandeur's rise and empire's falls,

The gentle touch of a lover's hand,

A sailor's journey to distant lands.

Here, the whispers are not of dread,

But of life's tapestry, finely thread,

A dressmaker's needle, a writer's pen,

Moments captured, again and again.

The attic, with its musty scent,

Is a treasure trove of times spent,

A chest of memories, locked away,

Awaiting the light of day.

Photographs in sepia tones,

Love letters in heartfelt overtones,

A child's toy, long forgotten,

In this space, nothing is rotten.

Each creak a word, each shadow a story,

A chronicle of both joy and worry,

The attic speaks to those who hear,

Its whispers clear, its message dear.

So venture forth, if you dare,

To uncover the mysteries waiting there,

For in the whispers from the attic's heart,

Lies a world set apart.

8th poem: **Gargoyle's Serenade**

I was supposed to be sent away,

To lands where stone figures don't sway,

But here I stand, a guardian grim,

Upon the cathedral's highest rim.

Carved from the earth's own rugged bone,

I watch the city, silent and alone,

A sentinel in the sky's expanse,

Overseeing the human dance.

My gaze is fixed, my purpose clear,

To ward off evil, to calm the fear,

With guitar in hand, I play my part,

A serenade from the stone heart.

The melody weaves through spire and stone,

A song of ages, through winds blown,

It tells of battles, of love, of strife,

Of the endless ebb and flow of life.

The chords resonate, deep and profound,

In every corner, the notes resound,

A testament to the watch I keep,

While the city below lies in sleep.

By day, I'm still, a figure austere,

By night, my music, the heavens hear,

A symphony for the stars above,

Played with a touch of eternal love.

The moon bathes me in silver light,

As I play on through the quiet night,

A gargoyle's serenade, pure and true,

For the cathedral and for you.

So let the guitar's voice rise and swell,

Let it break the night's silent spell,

For in this song, you'll find ensnared,

The spirit of the guardians paired.

And when the dawn paints the sky anew,

And the city stirs, life to pursue,

Remember the music that filled the air,

From the gargoyle's perch, high up there.

9th poem: ** Midnight Masquerade **

Under the moon's silver gaze, the night unfurls its cape,

A ballroom emerges in the forest's embrace.

"Midnight Masquerade," whispers the wind's soft escape,

Where shadows and starlight waltz in silent grace.

Masked figures glide, their steps a silent plea,

To the rhythm of hearts, to the pulse of the night.

Each turn, a story, a hidden fantasy,

Faces veiled in mystery, souls alight.

The moonlit sky, a witness to their dance,

Casts a glow on masks of velvet and lace.

In the masquerade's enchanting trance,

Time dissolves in the dancers' harmonious space.

A clock strikes twelve, the spell gently breaks,

But the dance lives on in dreams it awakes.

For in the night's tender, fleeting sweep,

The masquerade's magic is ours to keep.

10th poem: ** Fading Candlelight **

Quiet whispers linger in the room's embrace,

Where the last candle's flame begins its trace.

"Fading Candlelight," it hums with grace,

A tale of twilight, in the evening's chase.

Its flame dances with a tender, wistful air,

A ballet of shadows in the dimming lair.

Each flicker, a memory, each spark, a sigh,

A symphony of moments, as time ticks by.

The wax drips slowly, a river of tears,

For the passing days, the fleeting years.

The light wanes gently, a golden hue,

A silent sentinel in the dusk's purview.

Around the flame, the darkness creeps,

A cloak of obsidian, where daylight sleeps.

Yet in its warm embrace, the candle stands,

A beacon of hope in the night's vast lands.

The room breathes softly, a lullaby's tune,

As the candle's aura fills the cocoon.

Stories unfold in its radiant bloom,

A dance of life in the encroaching gloom.

The flame leans low, a lover's caress,

Against the night, a silent confess.

Its brilliance wavers, a faltering heart,

A sign that soon, it must depart.

But oh, the tales it could tell,

Of love and loss, of heaven and hell.

In its light, life found a stage,

A book of hours on an ephemeral page.

Now the candle's breath grows thin,

A final flicker from within.

The shadows lengthen, reaching out,

Embracing all in a silent shout.

And as the last ember takes its bow,

The room is shrouded in the now.

"Fading Candlelight," a whisper's trace,

Leaves behind a darkened space.

Yet in the black, a new day stirs,

For life persists, it still endures.

The candle's gone, but in its wake,

A new dawn blooms, for us to take.

So let the night claim its due,

For with the morn, we start anew.

In the heart of darkness, find the light,

And hold it close, through the longest night.

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ravenpostpublishing · 6 months

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Writers, Lend an Ear (or, Rather, a Quill):

Do you have a Gothic tale dark and terrible? Or, perhaps, a twisted and tempting poem? If so, you are in luck, for those are our bread and butter—and we’re ever so hungry.

Allow us to introduce ourselves: We are the humble staff of The Raven Post, an entirely electronic anthology of ghoulish tales and grim poetry from antiquity and the present day. Within our many pages, you’ll find tales from Poe, Blackwood, Wharton, and others (including our loyal readers), as well as the occasional bit of news from our esteemed Editor-in-Chief.

We are currently seeking to grow our anthology and are thus accepting short-story and poetry submissions from writing hobbyists with a knack for the macabre and morose. If this sounds as though it’s up your (dark, grimy, and likely haunted) alley, do visit our Submissions page for further information and instruction.

Please, take a peek if you dare—we're simply dying to have you.

Warmest regards, The Raven Post Staff

#prose #poetry #reading #writing #gothic #scary stories #ghost stories #publishing #short story #writers wanted #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #horror #short horror story #writeblr #dark academia

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outofangband · 9 months

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Birds of Estolad

Written for @melestasflight

Flora, fauna, geography and environment Masterlist

Other bird posts: Himlad, The March

Other information in the Estolad tag including my environment posts

I love doing general flora and fauna posts but I can’t fit everything in them so I’m trying to make more specific ones as well! please please feel free to send categories to work on with locations! Or any environmental world building asks!

Estolad is a region in Northeastern Beleriand. It was a wide plain located between the river Aros on the west and the river Gelion on the east. It was south of the March of Maedhros and north of the Andram.

We have little canonical information about the environment or ecology of Estolad. For this post, I have primarily used the environmental information for other locations in Eastern Beleriand (though it should be noted that the climate of Ossiriand does differ greatly from the areas between the March and Maglor’s Gap and the Andram). I have also used geographic information and the environmental world building I’ve previously done

Tolkien primarily used plains, prairies and grasslands of North America and parts of Europe and Asia

Like my other similar posts, I’ve included world building notes at the end so it’s not just a list of species! A lot of aspects and species are similar to Himlad but I didn’t repeat all of the same because I didn’t want to get too repetitive! Because of this, I don’t have quite as many birds and some of my notes are a little more frivolous which I apologize for

On the plain: common quail, corn bunting, common buzzard, steppe eagle, hazel grouse, grey partridge, pallid harrier, steppe eagle, black grouse, great grey strike, crested lark, golden eagle (rare), common cuckoo (migratory), lesser kestrel, great bustard, pale backed pigeon, imperial eagle, white throated bushchat

Water birds (on the river banks, in wetlands closer to the Andram and Ossiriand, and in small lakes and ponds): white stork (migratory), common crane, mallard duck, white tailed eagle, water rail, glossy ibis, common loon, gadwell

In trees around the rivers and by the Andram: long eared owls, common bullfinch, grey wagtail, mountain accentor (in the north and south of the region), common hoopoe (migratory), little owl, grey headed woodpecker, common raven, merlin, common golden oriole, common nightjar

World building notes:

-The Noldorin host of Estolad rely on birds for food (meat and eggs), feathers (for down, quills, etc) and companionship/aid

--Among the Noldor in Estolad, birds of prey are used for hunting. The species most commonly used are the pallid harrier and the steppe eagle

-The small population of green elves in Estolad do not eat birds however they do eat eggs of some species including ones they’ve domesticated. They also use feathers in and on clothing and with down.

-Birds are common in the folklore, language and art of both elven peoples of Estolad. Though most of the established Noldorin lore originated before their settling there, some tales and phrases and art do develop among their host. Some of these develop in connection to the lore and traditions of the green elves there

One such tradition are styles of paintings of birds, similar to the bird and flower or Huaniaohua in the real world. These developed in part inspired by spoken poetry and song by the green elves, particularly those related to their spring gatherings.

-The green elves of Estolad likewise have an abundance of lore and beliefs about the animals around them including many about birds and symbolic meaning given to species. White storks for example are symbolic of approaching death, winter or other natural changes of a somber nature. Common golden orioles are signifiers of late summer and early autumn. They are associated with the increased pressure to forage and store food for the winter and their image often appears on the cloth bags that hold certain items

-There is a tiny lake near where the initial settlements by Amrod and Amras’s host was. During the first spring, baby cranes were seen on the water. Some of the advisers and higher ups became very fond of the little family.

-Estolad was also inhabited by humans. Several cultures lived there for a time after coming west from over the Ered Luin. Just like other aspects of the environment and life of Estolad, the birds of Estolad entered the lore and knowledge of the Edain hosts, combining and joining with the lore and knowledge from their old homes beyond the Ered Luin.

Note: I want to go more in to their relationship of the humans here with the environment, including with birds on another post so I can do that in more depth

#the silmarillion #fëanorians #Estolad #beleriand #amras #Amrod #musing and meta

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rosesloveletters · 11 months

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Dear Reader.

What a tragedy it is to be cursed to feel, purging, verse by verse, the intravenous conviction with kisses of ink, dropped your weapon just to cradle me: pens are mightier than swords, indeed, because words are daggers, but prose is the flesh wound of fiction.

Locked away, chained to inspiration-less nights, before my name became a sign of something clandestine and manipulative, but I don’t take responsibility for what I write. It is a sickness, a lust for what is hidden within plain sight, so do not look for a bloodied reprieve; these violent hands will take what’s mine.

Parchment tears easier than skin, featherweight fingertips persistently spark the grin of self-righteousness and, fitted to your jawline, smear ink across your lips. I’m starved for a storyline and clothed in decorative script, before I am stripped bare of syllables, forcibly undressed.

Cursive letters form the tightest knots and you’ll find that I am relentless when all I have are my own ravenous thoughts of you trapped in an insidious, inescapable plot calligraphed by a delicate hand driven victoriously to simulate distress.

With a visceral longing to fill the page and rewrite the wrongs this shuddering, soiled soul so evil drove you to in the first place, out of misery or rage, I cut out my heart and locked it in a gilded cage, because I only flirt with death and make love to the devil.

Martyr.

My name is a constant reminder of that crisis of faith: stifled to save my soul in death and freed of iniquity and reminded that this material world was not meant for me. I reached into the word, not of God, and defined faithlessness.

That lily-white pallor is familiar on my face, but I’m not allowed to swear so I grit the petals in my teeth. One cannot know virtue without vice, let that sink in underneath the very flesh on my bones, a clear-cut example of His greatest work in progress.

I loved you so well that now I am so foolishly scathed by a brutish, violet, violent bruise, a blemish on my record, but the price I paid for redemption was far more than I could afford and I’ll be a private contender with God in the process.

In a perfect world, I would fall to my knees, permanently, heaven-saved, but this is my confessional, and my patience has run thin. I had one chance to get it right and I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll be a martyr for injecting a little life into this mess.

@jokerownsmysoul — I hope it’s alright to tag you. I believe we had a discussion about writing poetry that is inspired by the movie Quills and that I promised to let you know when/if I wrote any. This is me doing that 💜

[disclaimer: cloud divider created by firefly-graphics on tumblr. ]

#poem #poems #poet #poetry #my poetry #original poetry #spilled ink #writer #writing

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ravenstakeflight · 2 years

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5 - sandalwood

it was just an experiment in the beginning. the sandalwood shapoo reminding him of his first home centuries ago, his mother's loving - then horrified, angry - kisses. an experiment, to see if he could handle it after all these years.

he couldn't, but he was a masochist and kept at it, and it almost broke him until alec stumbled into his life. his boyfriend - husband, eventually - loved magnus' sandalwood scents, always taking an appreciative, slightly longer kiss every time magnus covered himself in those aching reminders.

it didn't take long for magnus to add another thought to his sandalwood:

alec. his kisses, healing long-scarred wounds; his warrior's hands gently roaming over magnus' brown skin. the memory of him saying they're beautiful. you're beautiful. like it was just that simple to him.

sandalwood is so many homes, his first home [the blue, blue water, his mother's brown eyes and gentle hugs turned harsh punishments] to alec's simple i love you, like magnus hadn't fought and bled to make his own family for centuries.

sandalwood is home.

[@malectober]

#malectober2022 #raven quills: fanfiction #raven quills: prose #alec lightwood #malectober #magnus bane #magnus lightwood bane #tsc #malec fanfic #raven quills: poetry #prose poetry #sandalwood

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deathleadsarc · 1 year

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✦ 𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

spice: Baharat weather: blizzards color: gold sky: deeply blue, rumbling black clouds in the distance shoe: barefoot house plant: snake plant, cacti weapon: alchemy subject: chemistry, poetry social media: N/A makeup product: rose oil candy: N/A fear: Lonliness ice cube shape: shattered method of long-distance travel: carriage/basker art style: art nouveau historical period: early medieval mythological creature: witch piece of stationery: raven feather quill three emojis: N/A celestial body: charon

stolen from @cantuscorvi

#ooc.

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isawhitney · 1 year

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Musing

Come, Calliope, fill me up

To the brim of songstuff and

Mirth. You too, Melpomene,

Incite me to art. Strike me in the

Heart with your joyous gifts

And make me breathe poetry.

Erato, I’d like to love you, want

You to move me into balladic

Rhapsodies, to lusty chants,

And Clio - oh, throw off all

Your bloody quatrains, bestow

Them on me in battle so that I

May rage at the wine-dark sky.

Let Uralia cast aside her cumulus

Skirts and I will draw my quill

Across the dawn and write in

Scarlet ink. With Terpsichorean

Steps I’ll stride the spheres of

Sonnets, with Thalia I’ll slip

And try a pratfall in the grass.

Euterpe will chant with me

Of the oldest gods, of the

Raven hair of heroes, while

Polyhymnia sings of the deaths

Of kings and glory. O muses,

Daughters of the world, come

Let me fill my aching place of joy.

#poem #poetry #poems on tumblr #books & libraries #literature #poems #words #spilled ink #spilt ink #libraries #Greek myths #Greek myth #muse #muses #this is a poem that doesn’t really know who it is i think #but I’d like to write some better ones soon

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eclipsecrowned · 2 years

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“It’s been a strange century for all of us.” // @versin-surfin

“Mm.”

Threading fingers through thinning hair, the Librarian almost frowns at the words. It has certainly been that, a long discordant symphony trying to weave its way back to music. Still, he reminds himself with the twitch of his quill on paper, it could have been worse. Even if the tune has changed irrevocably, most of them found their way through it. That was always preferable to silence.

He had known that, too, and had decided to hold it in contempt. What that said about his skill at his function, well... At least his Lord had never complained about the low hum of a wayward fly, or how Lucien might permit children who found themselves in the Garden of Poetry to laugh within reason. What a century, indeed. May there never be another like it.

Pausing, Lucien peered at Matthew over his spectacles, before adjusting his posture.

“Matthew,” he murmured, looking at the Raven head-on, “You’ve only been with us for thirty-eight years.”

#i have always been the librarian. [ LUCIEN THE LIBRARIAN ; asks ]#versin-surfin

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the-wytch-is-back · 9 months

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The Origin of Magic

[[ Short story from 5.4.2018 that I was thinking of expanding on at some point. Maybe I still will, the concept is still really special to me. ]]

There always has been and there always will be only two true types of magic. Magic that borrows, and magic that takes. Some choose to call magic that borrows white magic, while some call magic that takes dark or black magic. They are far simpler, and far more dangerous than people choose to believe.

Dark magic takes, and dark magic leaves a bloody stain wherever it sets its hand. Yet, the first user of dark magic remained more beautiful and lovely than any other woman in the land of Heln. One could take more easily if they appeared kind and beautiful.

Dark magic took forcefully from the lives of others, and that often meant getting one’s hand dirty. Dark magic, like white magic, is temporary. There was a rumor of a stone that might amplify the effects of one’s magic, allowing one to thrive off the lives of others and gain immortality. The stone was said to be held by the family that bore twins who were so different, yet in such a harmonious state that they would never leave the other’s side. If the twins had been royal princesses or brave knights fighting together on the battlefield the quest would have been easier, but when was fate known to make things easy? Instead, fate set the twins down where she thought they might be safe, but fate underestimated how selfish and resilient dark magic could be.

There were two sisters, Alayne and Selena. The eldest sister Alayne woke early with the sun and thrived in its morning light, her golden hair silhouetting her face in a halo as she embraced the outside world. The younger of the sisters, Selena stayed up late into the dark night, writing and reading until she fell asleep at her desk. Her raven hair was often pulled up and away from her face, her eyebrows always furrowed in a look of deep concentration. The sisters existed beside one another in harmony. Alayne and Selena shone differently, but brightly all the same.

Their parents were not noble, but they did not want what they did not have. They ate when they were hungry, and they had a warm bed to lay their heads down when they were tired. Their home was simple, yet comfortable. Their only wealth was the small treasures and heirlooms that had been passed down from each generation to the next. The family knew not the worth of the treasures they held, and the greed of others would be their downfall.

***

“Selena… it’s time to wake up.” Came a soft voice as the young woman sat up at her desk. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and turned to look towards her sister with a playful scowl. She loved to sleep, especially when the sleep came during the early hours of the morning. The sun filtering through her shudders made her groan as she stood from her chair. Her sleeping gown brushed softly against her ankles, as she attempted to ease the stiffness from her back. It was a bad habit to fall asleep at her desk, but she couldn’t help being drawn to her writing desk in the comfort of the night.

Selena often did not know where her ideas came from; only that they came to her at night. The full moon aided her hand, and let her ideas flow freely. Their family did not have much to read, but her mother and father brought her back what books they could afford. The ideas that spilled from her quill hardly seemed inspired by the books that she devoured. They were random and full of things she had never seen and never heard of, yet they presented themselves in the form of poetry and stories.

“Oh, come now, Alayne. Just a few more moments of sleep would not have ended the world.” Said, Selena, as she shook her head at her sister. She stepped over to her to their shared dresser and retrieved a pale blue frock. She changed quickly since Alayne was already dressed, and judging by the state of her bare feet already out and about.

“Sister, you cannot just sleep the day away.” Said, Alayne, as she shook her head and looked towards Selena with a more serious expression. “I know I was a bit quick to wake you up… but there’s a woman here, and she’s saying that Mama and Papa are to be away for a few weeks selling their goods in the capital.” She said, her hands wringing together before they went to brush through her golden hair. The look in her eyes showed her twin how suspicious she was… it was too early in autumn for their parents to be selling anything. Their mother and father often traveled north to sell crops' yield, which mostly consisted of pumpkins, carrots, and turnips. One would hardly guess it from looking at their fields, since the pumpkins were still small and green which made them blend into their vines. No crops had grown large enough to harvest, and while their mother did have some fur clothing she had made before the end of winter, it was not something that would bring in much money on its own.

“A woman?” asked Selena, her dark eyes widening. “Mother and father said nothing of going to the capital… that’s a few days ride north, why would they not have told us?” she asked, her lips pursing as she opened the shutters and glanced at her reflection in the small window beside their bed. She took the dark green ribbon from her hair and held it between her lips as she brushed her hair out and tied her hair back into a tight ponytail.

“I do not know! It seems so strange… it’s not the right season, and Mama and Papa seldom act so rashly.” Said, Alayne, as she let out a sigh. She glanced towards the door of their room which was slightly ajar, a voice rang out calling her name from downstairs.

“So… you just left the strange woman in our kitchen, then?” asked Selena, cocking an eyebrow as she shook her head. She started towards the door, beckoning her older sister to come along after her. Despite being born a few minutes earlier, it always seemed that Selena was acting the role of an older sister. Alayne was far too carefree and forgetful, but the same might be said about Selena’s seriousness and biting attitude.

As they approached the small kitchen a woman came into view. She sat beside their hearth, and they did not think they’d ever seen somebody who looked more outlandish in their small home. The style of her clothes was not strange… but the materials they were made of were lavish and looked soft to the touch. The green of her gown was more vibrant and shiny than anything either of the sisters owned. Her perfect curves hinted at a corset, finery that the sisters only wore on special occasions. A farmer’s daughters would be too confined in a corset if they were trying to work fields. If a princess was ever to play the part of a peasant in jest, they were sure this is what she would wear. Her hair fell loose around her face in dark brown waves and her eyes were a piercing emerald green. Her face was especially odd, it seemed young and old all at the same time. There was only the slightest hint of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, yet her skin was smooth and unmarred. Her eyes seemed wise, but her body was too delicate and well-manicured to hint at old age.

“Oh, my darling nieces. How good it is to see you out of the cradle and standing tall and beautiful.” Said the strange woman as she rose up to her feet and rushed over to embrace them both. Her eyes flashed to both of their necks for a moment before she moved back to retake her seat. They both stood, dumbfounded and unmoving. Their shared glances spoke volumes to one another, and it left the stranger in uncomfortable silence.

“Of course, you two would not remember me… you were only wee babes when I last saw you.” She said, shaking her head. “It is I, your aunt Layla. I am sure your mother mentioned me, we are dear sisters just like yourself, after all.” She said.

“Yes, of course! Aunt Layla, Mother speaks of you so fondly.” Said, Selena, as her eyes seemed to haze over for a moment. Alayne looked at her in disbelief before she looked back at the woman. People were always mentioning how she forgot things… perhaps this was just another of those things.

“Yes, most fondly.” Said Alayne, her bright smile lighting up the room as it finally graced her face. This seemed to cause their aunt to smile in return and eased some of the uneasiness from the room. Layla looked towards them with a similar smile, although it seemed… different from Alayne’s. It did not hold the same kindness that the younger woman’s smile did and was so easily wiped from her face after a few moments.

“We shall be spending most of the autumn together, it seems. Your parents are gone to the capital since your father is interested in some new business venture there.” She said, acting as if this was common knowledge. Her expression turned to a slight frown as she looked over the two young women, “Oh… did he not tell you?” she asked, “He probably just wasn’t sure it would work out… don’t blame the man, I’m sure he’ll write in a matter of days. Perhaps you’ll receive a letter by nightfall tomorrow.” She suggested. The way she spoke made it seem as if everything she said she was sure of, and the sisters didn’t doubt they’d have a letter in their father’s hand by the end of the day tomorrow.

Layla stood and walked to the window, “I am a dressmaker… so if my appearance surprises you, that is why.” She said, “Sometimes I come across strange and beautiful fabrics and cannot help but make them into something beautiful.” She suggested. “This also means my clients will visit your home… I hope you do not mind.” She said, turning back to the sisters, her hands clasped politely in front of her.

“Oh… that will be no problem at all!” said Alayne, seeming rather excited at the idea of having a dressmaker stay in their home. It might mean all sorts of interesting characters stop by, and maybe she’d even get to meet a princess or a prince… but they had people to go and fetch their dresses for them, didn’t they?

Layla clapped her hands in excitement, “Oh, this is going to be wonderful! I do hope we might become the best of friends.” She said, stepping to her two nieces and clasping their hands in her own.

#writing #fantasy #fantasy fiction #short fiction #short story #spilled ink #my writing #writer #author #prose

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