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Fantasy - Blog Posts
Through the Rose Bush (2021)
Love and Nature
Osdea, the god of love, fell hopelessly in love with the god of nature, Ezella. Osdea tried everything she could to have the indifferent god acknowledge her, but Ezella never gave her the time of day. Osdea tried helping the flora and fauna, hoping to appeal to the god of nature through kindness. She tried befriending the different nature spirits, attempting to learn anything about Ezella. She tried just being in the same area as Ezella often, so maybe they'd take an interest in her, like she had in them.
Finally, when Osdea had given up hope in all else, she brought Ezella a small bouquet of flowers, ones she had seen them care for, and tried talking to the god. Ezella curtly turned Osdea down, but Osdea saw this as progress, for she had finally gotten Ezella to acknowledge her! And so Osdea brought another bouquet of flowers the next day, with the same result. She continued bringing flowers every day, each time with the same result.
On the fourth day, Ezella, growing steadily losing what little patience they had left from the frequent irritations said, "Every day you cut and bring me flowers that I have grown. Every day I turn you down, but that still does not seem to dissuade you. Your young naivety seems to know no bounds, so let me put this as plainly as possible. For as long as you continue bothering me and cutting the flowers I have grown and calling it a gift, I will never return your affections."
Osdea, stunned, watched as the god of nature swiftly turned and walked away, her eyes never lingering from their back, not even when her face grew warm or when the world in front of her clouded too an unrecognizable blur of colours. Only when Ezella was long out of sight was Osdea able to move, collapsing to her knees, and crushing the flowers.
She didn't even remember dropping them.
Hastily, she tried straightening the broken stems and rightening the misplaced petals, but the tears and her shaking hands only worsened the damage until her lap was covered in flower petals and leaves. She held the broken and baren flower stems to her chest, head in her lap and arms wrapped around her trembling body.
Gradually, slowly, her tears sprouted new flowers, wrapping first around the edges of her feet, then her dress and legs, her torso, her arms, her neck, her hair, her head. Oh so gradually, the suffocating pain in her chest took on a new shape; a shape that made more sense. Oh so slowly, her tears did dry, and the flowers clinging to her form began to bloom.
The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painted her skin a brilliant golden colour through the shadows of towering trees and their vibrant green leaves. The delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form seemed to sing at their first sight of light. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep.
Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest?
As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the delicate flowers.
The nymphs returned at sundown, the god's chest still steadily rising and falling, eyes closed to the world. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin.
Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god.
'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.
The petite white flowers weaving and sprouting through her skin were not what troubled Osdea. What troubled her was the feeling of small, sharp barbs being dragged through the inner linings of her being. Treacherously slowly, the talons clawed their way up her chest and into her throat. Every tentative rise and fall of her chest, every movement, no matter how small, pressed the stabbing blades in further.
Osdea learned what she could and could not do quite quicky. Movement was strictly forbidden. The god was still allowed to breathe, but gradually even that privileged had been restricted until her breaths were slow and shallow and her head grew light. She was not allowed to speak. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to croak out even a single word. But she was fine with that. She had no one to listen to her words anyways.
The stars above shone so brightly. Somehow, they seemed brighter than usual, almost as if they wept for the god, their small lights ever so slightly growing before trembling and shrinking again. The stars and their weeping slowly began to fade away as dawn drew near, and clouds covered the sky like a heavy blanket. Osdea could feel the plants blanketing her body still in anticipation. The world around her seemed to hold it's breath as she swam in and out of consciousness. She could still breathe. She didn't know why she was struggling. Her head felt so heavy.
The clouds were painted a brilliant ruby red, painting the forest in hues of pink. Osdea had never seen a sky quite like that, and she knew she never would again. A faint smile spread across her lips. This much she was still allowed.
She couldn't breathe.
The world fluttered in and out of existence, as if a butterfly were sat on her nose.
She was okay.
The sun began to crest its head over the horizon, vibrant scarlet to match the clouds above. The birds did not sing, nor did the deer begin to stir. The nymphs would not visit this morning.
She would be okay.
In and out, the world faded and re-ignited repeatedly. Dark crimson shadows fell over the forest. White flowers were painted pink.
It would be okay.
The world of reds and dark shadows swam in front of Osdea's eyes. From the darkness, her eyes landed on one figure, slowly approaching. The darkness encroached and consumed her vision. She pried her eyelids open, even if only once more. She would not let herself be robbed of her sight. Not yet.
She was out of time. She was not okay. She didn't want to die.
Light returned to the god. A soft face filled with love and sorrow stared down at her. For a moment, Osdea forgot about the tearing thorns in her chest, about the flowers covering her body, about the air missing from her lungs. For a moment, Osdea felt like she was dancing through the forest again, wanting nothing more than for Ezella to turn their attention to her.
Osdea watched as Ezella's lips moved, but no sound ever reached her ears. Why couldn't she hear the god? Why couldn't she hear the one person who's voice had rung through her head for days now?
Osdea opened her mouth, but the words she wanted to say were torn apart by the thorns within before they ever knew the breath of life. The scene before her clouded to a blur of reds again with only Ezella remaining in focus.
Ezella leaned down, filling Osdea's vision. Soft lips found her forehead, as if the flowers had parted specially for them. A drop of water rolled down her temple. It was warm. It was cold.
The clouds faded from her vision, and the thorns in her lungs disappeared. The god of love no longer felt the pinpricks of flowers weaving through her skin.
The god of nature rose with the rising sun, and began their daily care for the earth and its creatures.
The sun rose on the second morning. Where had previously laid Osdea, the god of love, now laid a beautiful flower bed, alive with dusty blues and pure whites. Sat in the center of the bed was a bush of roses, petals and thorns dyed the same blood-red colour.
Love and Nature (Pt. 2)
The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painting her skin a brilliant, deep gold underneath the vibrant greens of the stems and leaves, and delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep. Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest? As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the new flowers. The nymphs returned at sundown, and still Osdea appeared to be sleeping. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin. Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god. 'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.
Love and Nature (Pt 1)
Osdea, the god of love, fell hopelessly in love with the god of nature, Ezella. Osdea tried everything she could to have the indifferent god acknowledge her, but Ezella never gave her the time of day. Osdea tried helping the flora and fauna, hoping to appeal to the god of nature through kindness. She tried befriending the different nature spirits, attempting to learn anything about Ezella. She tried just being in the same area as Ezella often, so maybe they'd take an interest in her, like she had in them.
Finally, when Osdea had given up hope in everything else, she brought Ezella a small bouquet of flowers, ones she had seen them care for, and tried talking to them. Ezella curtly turned Osdea down, but Osdea saw this as progress, for she had finally gotten Ezella to acknowledge her! And so Osdea brought another bouquet of flowers the next day, with the same result. She kept bringing flowers every day until finally Ezella grew tired of the frequent irritations and said "Every day you cut and bring me flowers that I have grown. Every day I turn you down, but that still does not seem to dissuade you. Your young naivety seems to know no bounds, so let me put this as plainly as possible. For as long as you continue bothering me and cutting the flowers I have grown and calling it a gift, I will never return your affections."
Osdea, stunned, watched as the god of nature turned and walked away, her eyes never lingering from their back, not even when her face grew warm or when the world in front of her clouded too an unrecognizable blur of colours. Only when Ezella was long out of sight was Osdea able to move, collapsing to her knees, crushing the flowers. She didn't even remember dropping them. Hastily, she tried straightening the broken stems and rightening the misplaced petals, but the tears and her shaking hands only worsened the damage until her lap was covered in flower petals and leaves. She held the broken and baren flower stems to her chest, head in her lap and arms wrapped around her trembling body.
Gradually, slowly, her tears sprouted new flowers, wrapping first around the edges of her feet, then her dress and legs, her torso, her arms, her neck, her hair, her head. Oh so gradually, the suffocating pain in her chest took on a new shape; a shape that made more sense. Oh so slowly, her tears did dry, and the flowers clinging to her form began to bloom.
Osdea, the tender hearted goddess of love, and Ezella, the impartial goddess of nature, were never fated for each other. At least not happily.
Since Osdea first opened her eyes, she had fallen in love with everything around her; The delicate roses, contradicted with their sharp thorns, the forests and meadows with their unique flora and fauna, the seasons, bringing and taking life from the world, and the ever changing state of every living thing.
Ezella, on the other hand, had never been specifically partial to anything she had created. From the foxes, the axolotls, birds, and scorpions to the fir trees, corals, flowers and cacti, every single thing simply was. She neither loved nor hated any of them, and cared both equally and not at all for each of them.
In a world where gods are very casually involved in most aspects of life, but there are also very powerful magic users who can easily mimic the powers of a God, the only difference between a God and a mortal would be whether they can die, right?
So, theoretically, if God's could be born to mortals without ant direct provable divine intervention (like jesus), it's very possible for this God to grow up believing they're a mortal, possibly even being atheist. So when this God is proven to be immortal (rip their loved ones) they simply believe they are immortal. It's just a coincidence that theyre very gifted in this one field, even to the point of being the best in existence.
Every living creature's soul can best be represented by a candle, sometimes burning so strong and bright you think it'll never go out, and other times a flame so small you think it'll go out with the slightest movement of air. When that flame goes out, the soul leaves the body like smoke. Although it is possible to revive the flame once it's gone out, it must be done quickly, and even the most skilled clerics and necromancers struggle with it. Once the flame is out with no chance of coming back, the soul becomes one with the magical energy of the world, making areas where many creatures have died incredibly dense with magic.
The Gods and Their Legends: Fate
Fate is an ancient god, older than time and space. It is said that Fate was created by mortals to bring order to a chaotic world. Fate lives, slumbering far out of the reaches of any mortal, creating everything that has and will ever be. Everything fated to come into existence is helpless to Fate and the path they have drawn out, including each of the gods and their creations.
Or that's what legend says anyways.
Here's the pantheon of gods I'll be making content about! This list will expand in the future but here's the first gods!
Fate - god of fate - Dreams everything into existence
Barth - god of impulse - older than time and space
Osdea- god of Love - ❤️
Ezella - god of Nature - 🌳
Celm - god of aquatic life - gender fluid
Miskin - god of space - one of the first gods dreamed into existence
Ias - god of time - Knows everything that has and will happen
Embris - god of arts - had no hand in Lugnist's birth
Lugnist - god of invention - raised as a mortal
All of the gods are nowhere near gender binary, some just lean towards ends of the binary more than others
People like fantasy gods right???? What if they're gay??? Do people like gay gods?????? Guess I'll find out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
The chances of dying to a direct meteorite impact are low, but never zero
He's done :)
I'll never be able to get a picture as good as that first one (I tried)
Goosewyrm progress is going smoothly. He must have wings
Goosewyrm progress is going smoothly. He must have wings
Just delicate fragile elven maiden UwU (And her bigass bright flaming sword) Aka Laurel, my recent new OC sponsored by longing to see more big badass ladies in armor with big swords. And longing to see more buff elves.
Commission for @ghorogue on twt!! It was a challenge to render armor, but in the end I'm happy with result Some face closeups under spoiler!
Here you go, Satyrfied Disco Elysium.
Y'all, It's finally time! I'm on page 159, with 20+ chapters, and I'm here to tell you... The first chapter is edited and ready to be read! Please do bear with me, as this was written probably 2 or 3 years ago, but I hope you enjoy! Now, with no further ado, read on below!
@queen-of-hobgobblers @deadandgaysetanta @redkarmakai
Chapter 1
Florentine
"So, the wounded hero finally dares to stand, eh? I'm almost impressed" the sneer in his words is unmistakable, though my vision seems impaired. My muscles quiver as I rise to face him. Muddy droplets drip from some long-forgotten wound. A sharp, excruciating pain flashes through my leg, centering around my kneecap. I brush it off, because I have to. I have a duty, and what am I if not successful? Who am I if I can’t even protect these people who venerate me? I stand and turn to face my attacker, steel in my heart and fire in my eyes. Their smirk ignites a simmering mix of hatred and envy. Why should they be the one to walk away with their life intact? Why don’t they have to sit and suffer in silence as their other half climbs a ladder so tall that the gods in the sky must crane their heads merely to catch a passing glimpse? Rage pulses behind my eyes, begging for cruel release.
Everything's red. His hand. The ground. The blood red dagger, forsaken long before. The sky. I can't think, can’t hear, can’t see. All that runs in my head is what went wrong. It was fine, we were fine. Everything was good. We were peaceful. Until that day. That horrid day that ripped us apart and set us on our separate, yet morbidly entwined, paths. A voice drones in the background, that one that haunts my dreams and comforts my nightmares. The ground shakes, morphing the landscape. The sky turns black and the trees fluctuate with a wonderlandian determination. The ground twists and tumbles in my eyes, falling away as I attempt to push myself up. My hands scrabble against the softening dirt and I let a grunt escape my lips. His thunderous eyes pierce my heart when his head whips toward me. His mouth moves, but the words don’t register in my ringing ears at first.
I launch myself toward his misty figure. He's waiting, baiting me. I know this. But some things are more important than playing a game. My fist flies past its mark on my first try. A haunting chuckle infuriates me further. I press him, swinging my fists with less accuracy, but I fight harder and harder, I strike and coax more and more and more until he's backed against a wide-trunked oak, trapped between wood and flesh. Blood, beautiful, glorious, shimmering blood, floods down his face as I stand triumphant over theim. Their previous courage dissipates faster than the winds he tries to command. Finally, I hold all the cards. I can be the one to finish a fight, the one to leave them broken, cowering on the ground, weak and worthless in the eyes of the once adoring, now cautious public.
My eyes shut, as a way to preserve this perfect, wonderful scene in my memory. I open them, punching in front where he should be, but the scenery has changed. No longer am I in a mournful wood, surrounded by splintered trees and freshly slaughtered rodents, but rather a village. Run-down huts flood my peripheral, and a young boy looks up at me. He grins, and I stumble back at the mania in his eyes and the blood on his teeth. His golden hair is matted, but his shoes shine with care and polish and his hands have never known a day of work.
"Hey, mister! That was one nice punch you got there! Look, it even made me bleed!" The bloodlust in his eyes is unmistakable, and I collapse to my knees while my younger self drones on about my attack. It was all a dream. Just a dream. Always so close, and yet they’re always one step further. The town is still decrepit, the villain is still on the loose, and I'm still the one to blame for it all. The one who let him go, let him break me a thousandfold just for a sense of my past life. How?! How could I have been so blind?! So…
The sound of my voice breaks the trance of misery and I allow tears to flood my face, my all-too-real facial incisions burning. The sobs that wrench from my body surprise even myself with the desperate plea behind it. My screams are swirling and writhing with the pain that only a truly tortured soul can contain. Horrid, deep sobs wrack my body while thorny vines, red as blood, climb up my shuddering form. The pain cuts me to the bone, but I don’t care. It grounds me. No, what I beg for is a floundering force of strength who long since abandoned me. I scream, louder than I ever have, louder than I thought I could. Even when the tears stop flowing, dry, throaty sobs and screams rack my soul and the vines tighten, clasping at my throat. Air. I need air. There's no air. A name, unintelligible, shrieks out of my mouth. I cry for him, want him, need him. I need their kind eyes, the prim distaste they hold for everyone but me. I need his voice, his heart, his love and lust. My lone earring, a silver, triadic swirl, dangles. It shines as if a beacon might, glowing with false promises. The vines know what I want, what I need. They guide my hand, tearing the piece of jewelry down, flinging it, getting lost in the heartbreak of first love, first trust, and first pain. The screams have become comforting. I know them. I know pain, and I welcome it. Grey shadows creep into my sight, and I gladly welcome them, too. They encompass my vision, and I lean into the cold, slate shadows, reminiscent of stones chilled by a frosty winter air.
"USELESS!"
I've reached page 143, so the time to vote is nigh: once I reach 150, do you guys want
Awesome, great to see this! Now that that's settled, who would you want to learn more about first?
@deadandgaysetanta @queen-of-hobgobblers @redkarmakai
@deadandgaysetanta @queen-of-hobgobblers
"Only write to progress the storyline"
Complete and utter blasphemy. I will be writing entire chapters on the lore of why a character has died hair or why they only talk a certain way, and it will have absolutely nothing to do with the overarching plot. Because who needs the dark and creepy murderous Fae cult when you could read about GAY!!! :] :] :]
writing advice that doesn't work for you
my fellow writers, what is a piece of writing advice that never did it for you?
I go first: "don't edit, rewrite".
If anyone would like to follow on Wattpad, I'd love to be moots there as well! I don't write often, but I do have one book that's ongoing and recent which screenshots are above ^^
Okalivember day 17, colorful!
The purple-legged limuli lives in brackish waters, feeding on dead plant matter. They bright colors hide them among the colorful shore plants that grow in their environment.
The dokilkulla is a mischievous little animal, that spends its days doing elaborate dances to communicate with members of its flock. Surprisingly sneaky despite its colors, it often steals food.
The tiya is a piscivore ungulate that lives in mountains. often diving into the lakes full of rainbow-colored fish, mussels and freshwater shrimp common where it lives. It's known to scrape mussels off of rocks with its antlers.
My dear little dear
just need to let out some not so family friendly thoughts
cuz my hormones are not letting me rest tonight.
cw: sexual content below the cut
18+ only, MDNI with this post
PLEASE I JUST WANNA GET RAILED SO BAD, MY HORMONES ARE MAKING ME FERAL I JUST WANNA- ugh- please just put a cock inside me 😭 i don't care if its real i just need to feel little and safe, even if you call me your whore 😭🫶🏼 please i just wanna get railed till tomorrow. every surface of the damn room. messy. wet. loud. rough. soft. anything. please 😭
gods of chaos, by sexulayeti
e t e r n a l b l i s s
Me writing (i LOVEE writing)
