#atop the plateau

[snailmusic]

my skin: *gets slightly cold*

my skin: fuck everything i cast BUMPY ASS SKIN WITH GOOSEBUMPS

[blueskittlesart]

can we talk about how rauru is literally like. just zelda’s dad. like in that one scene where zelda looks like she’s gravely contemplating turning into a dragon and then rauru goes “i believe the answer lies in more research and understanding your power!” and she looks at him with such shock and awe. zelda’s adventures in the past are literally like her life but with a better dad. the queen promises her to help her figure out her power but dies before they can figure out a way how to use that power to safely save everyone. zelda desperately wants to help everyone and is clearly feeling the pressure of it all and the king is the one to tell her “hey i understand how hard you’re trying and how much you want to save everyone and we’re thankful for what you’re doing”. rauru actually acknowledges zelda’s dedication and the importance of research and technology, he is kind to her and never blames her for any of the bad things happening. he also never pushes zelda to make sacrifices and is the one sacrificing himself in the end - in botw, all the champions and zelda have to choose to make sacrifices to save the kingdom, but in totk rauru doesn’t ask that of any of the sages, instead recognizing his own responsibility as king and basically dying to save his kingdom. he’s literally zelda’s better dad.

same anon as the one raving about rauru also the differences between how the two kings treat link. they’re both tutorial figures but the way they guide is SO different. pretty much the first thing rhoam does is lie and pretend to be a random old man, being quite annoying as he sends link to do a bunch of challenges for a paraglider. the framing is so fundamentally different, rauru freely offers the information he has to link upfront, he apologises for the body modification, acknowledging link’s potential distress. rhoam basically keeps link on the plateau arbitrarily, presenting giving items and teaching link about things as challenges for link to overcome. rauru on the other hand aids link as best he can, tells him what he needs to do from the beginning (tells him to open the door which is pretty much the last thing he’ll need to do in the tutorial, telling him about the ultimate goal from the beginning), proposes solutions when it doesn’t work out (directs him to the shrines as a way to help him gain the strength he needs, as opposed to making him complete challenges to get a paraglider that in the moment seems like literally arbitrary conditions). rhoam telling link how much responsibility and pressure he has on him all of a sudden and how much he needs to do vs rauru telling link that it was wonderful to meet him and zelda’s accounts of him were all true. like. the framing. the difference in character. the deterioration of knowledge within hyrule falls parallel to the deterioration of its king’s kindness and virtue.

the differences between rauru and roham are crazy to me because one of them was so fundamentally good and one was so fundamentally flawed and yet. neither of them were able to save their kingdom. no matter how good a king of hyrule is, no matter what he gets right or wrong, he is still doomed to die. rhoam tried to sacrifice his daughter to keep hyrule alive. rauru did everything in his power to make sure she DIDNT have to be sacrificed. and in the end the outcome was the same. but the KINGS were not the same, and that difference in framing you mentioned i think is fundamentally a difference in legacy. rhoams legacy is to forever be the king who sacrificed children to save himself and died anyway. rhoam died a loser through and through, a king atop a throne of nothing but failure. i think that’s partially why he appears as an old man at first, because he KNOWS what being the king of hyrule means and he’s EMBARRASSED that his legacy is what it is. but rauru. in complete contrast, rauru was so GOOD. rauru died with his sages and his DAUGHTER alive to see another day. rauru ENSURED they’d live no matter what. he wouldn’t LET them sacrifice themselves for him. rauru put everyone else before himself. he didn’t expect or even tolerate self-sacrifice and yet when the time came he sacrificed HIMSELF selflessly despite knowing that it wouldn’t even WORK. rauru’s legacy is something to be proud of. he’s open to link because he has nothing TO hide. no regrets or stupid decisions. and he is remembered so much more favorably because of it.

[floweroflaurelin]

So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

of

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Alenoah Week 2024: Day 3 - "TDWT Ending Rewrite"

The trek to the top of the volcano was, in layman's terms, agonizing.

Searing heat, somehow simultaneously swelteringly humid and suffocatingly dry, blistered at every inch of Noah's exposed skin and burned through his lungs like hot coals with every laboured breath. The sweat that would've been dripping from his exhausted body like a faulty faucet didn't even have the opportunity to form into pearl-shaped droplets before it evaporated against the overwhelming force of just how fucking hot it was.

And yet he'd made it.

He'd gotten there first, too.

Noah had somehow managed to out-slither the slippery fiend whilst the two were stumbling across the skipping stones of a lava lake, despite the weight of his pineapple dummy causing him to falter after almost every step.

The maw of the volcano bubbled and spat embers at his feet, just a few measly inches from the cynic himself. It was time to end it; the competition, the show, his… rivalry with Alejandro.

As if the mere thought of the Spaniard had somehow summoned him, Noah heard the tell-tale clicking of heeled boots against rock behind him quickly followed by harsh, laboured panting (not nearly as desperate as his own wheezing, but a far cry from the womanizer's usual composure). Alejandro's ponytailed hair rose from the plateaued peak of the volcano, followed by a pair of thick eyebrows furrowed against sweat-sheened skin, then a pair of furious sage green eyes- and sage was the most appropriate description Noah could think of, since they burned with a competitive fire comparable to the all-encompassing heat around them.

"It's over, Alejandro. I have the high ground."

Noah's voice was a hoarse, painful rasp, though whether it was from its unbearable dryness or the tenseness of the situation, he wasn't sure. He stood firmly at the edge of the volcano, searing light illuminating the edges of his form like a foreboding halo as he held Pinealejandro almost covetingly in a bridal carry, hovering the dummy over the scorching cavern of its imminent demise.

Alejandro- the human one, not the pineapple one- continued his unwavering ascent to the volcano's peak until he was but a few insignificant feet away from Noah. His shoulders visibly rose and fell with each huff of magma-scorched breath, and the barbaric snarl he bared towards the bookworm twisted his handsome features into something wild, alight with a passion that burned at white-hot as the lava below.

Then he roared.

"You underestimate my power!"

And lunged towards Noah, carelessly discarding his own pineapple dummy (comparatively twiggier and more feeble looking than Noah's own) as he cleared the space between them in the blink of a cinder-dusted eye.

"I will not lose to someone as infuriating as you!"

Before he could process what was even happening, Noah found himself scooped away from the edge of the volcano and lifted a few extra meters off of the ground, held victoriously above the latino in an overhead lift like he was some sort or glorified barbell. The shock of which inadvertently caused him to drop his own dummy, sending the construct tumbling into the bubbling, gaping chasm below until it plunged into the awaiting magma with a barely audible 'plop'.

For a brief tension-paused moment the two remained eerily still, almost frozen in place with disbelief (an impressive feat, considering it was far too fucking hot for anything to freeze atop the volcano).

Well.

That was that, then.

…It was sort of anticlimactic, really. Noah was almost disappointed.

"Um," The bookworm began, quickly schooling his surprise at being lifted and brandished like a javelin into his usual apathetic countenance, "Are you going to put me down, or…?"

Noah's enquiry was met a bark of high pitched laughter, a sound so entrenched in sardonic humour it was practically swimming in animosity.

"Ah, but Noah," Alejandro preened indulgently, as if he were speaking to a small child, and his snarl curled into a manic grimace. The archvillain's eyes were widened to their extreme, dying wisps of ember light flickering across his gaze which trailed from the waifish nerd held above his head to the boiling magma below.

"I still have a dummy to discard of."

In other words,

THROW THAT TWIG

INTO THE VOLCANO!!!

[celeste-clearwater-06]

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[yjhariani]

Since the fast has just started and I’m obsessed with your Muslim ghosts au , I was just thinking about ghost and reader breaking their fast together

Iftar date with Muslim!Simon? Yes, please.

Frankly, when Simon said that for once the two of you should both go out for iftar, you thought he would just take you to a restaurant.

The journey started with a motorcycle ride. Instead of towards the places you both would usually go for dinner, he drove somewhere more serene. He took you somewhere with fewer people and more trees. You both eventually reached a higher altitude.

No matter how many times you asked where you were going, Simon gave you only a response, but not an answer. You’ll see. Or Just wait. Or We’re almost there.

Simon eventually stopped atop a hill. He turned his engine off and without getting off the bike, offered you a hand to help you get off the bike. Once you did, you removed your helmet and put it on the backseat of the bike.

Whilst Simon got himself of his steed, you looked around the rocky plateau area where you stood. It was spacious and it served quite the scenery. The sun was in the process of retiring into the nearby lake.

“Mind giving me a hand, love?” Simon asked.

When you turned to face him again, Simon was getting some stuff out of the saddlebags. Thermos, food containers, a blanket, and more.

From there, the two of you set up a little picnic area. Simon started a small campfire and soon enough after, the two of you sat next to each other, facing the sunset. Steaming tea had already been poured out of the thermos, food was readied, prayer mats were available nearby for later, a lantern was set aside in case of need.

Simon took his phone out and glanced at the time.

“Two minutes to go,” Simon said. “We should probably check where the qibla is as well.”

“We’ll pray here as well?” you asked, rather excitedly.

“We could probably find somewhere indoor if you want that,” Simon said.

“That’s probably going to push it so close to Isya,” you said. “This is nice.”

“Yeah?” Simon said.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” you chuckled.

Simon only looked at you for a moment, a thin smile on his face. He, then, looked back down to his phone.

“It’s this way,” Simon stated, facing a direction.

With so, you rotated the folded prayer mats to face that direction.

“How many minutes left?” you asked.

Simon glanced back at his phone briefly.

“Still two minutes,” Simon answered.

“It was two minutes some time ago,” you said.

“Still two minutes,” Simon repeated, shrugging, looking at his phone as the time finally shifted. “One minute now.”

“One minute,” you nodded.

“Less than,” Simon said before gesturing at the sun that was almost completely swallowed by the lake. “I mean, we’re also witnessing Maghrib in real life.”

“Waiting for Maghrib while watching Maghrib,” you concluded.

“If we’re in Morocco we’d be in Maghrib as well,” Simon said.

“Like the same word?” you asked.

“Yeah. Maghrib means something that’s related to west, I think. Morocco is in the western part of the continent, sun sets in the west,” Simon explained.

“Ah, I see,” you hummed. “Morocco and Maghrib is kinda far, though.”

“I believe the word Morocco came from the name of a city there called Marrakesh,” Simon said.

“Oh, that makes sense,” you commented.

Just then, both of your phones went off, alerting that it was time for iftar. After turning them off, you and Simon looked at each other.

“Let’s just wait a bit more, just in case,” Simon said.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” you said.

However, Simon still handed you a cup of tea that you both prepared earlier and held the other in his hand. After a moment or two, you both started breaking your fast.

“You know,” you said after your first sip, “if we camp, we could do this for suhoor as well.”

“You actually wanna do that?” Simon questioned.

“Only if you think it’s a good idea,” you said.

“What if I told you I brought a tent?” Simon asked.

“No way,” you scoffed before gesturing at his bike. “I know that a tent won’t fit in those bags.”

“I said what if, love,” Simon said.

In response, you playfully shoved him.

“Fine,” Simon said before he picked up a datefruit. “It’s a date, then.”

“I broke my fast, I could curse you out right now, Simon,” you pointed out.

Simon huffed out an amused air.

[an-actual-attack-helicopter]

Spoiler warning for totk great plateau

Oh my god they did not.

You can find it atop the temple of time. Also while you’re there pray at the statue. She says something interesting.

[sword-is-bored]

HI SWORD OMG I LOVE TLOZ WRITERSS

So i have a request.. I would like to request Link x Reader, where the Reader once saves Link, pretty early after he woke up because he got into a fight with monsters that were too strong for him. After that Link just sort of clings to reader, because he wants to protect them too 🥹

Hope you have a great day!!

HIIII HEHEHE THANK YOUUUU

BOTW!!

A Little Longer?

(Y/n) wandered around the ruins by the Great Plateau. They knew there might be some treasure there, so why not? With their travelers sword and simply shield strapped to their back they were pretty well equipped to deal with monsters. As they rummaged through the ruins, a shadow passed overhead. Bigger than a regular bird. (Y/n) looked up, finding someone gliding. Their eyes widened. No one has been able to get onto the Plateau for years, let alone leave. “Come,” They hissed to their horse, who was lazily chewing at grass. They rushed over, climbing atop their steed determined to follow the person.

They rode behind them, and watched in horror as they dropped from the sky. It was a man! And unfortunately for him, he landed directly in the view of a moblin. The large creature walked over to the man with a club. “Go!” They hissed, snapping the reigns. The man pulled a tree branch from his back, and with one single hit it shattered. He seemed to reach for another weapon and looked surprised that nothing appeared in his hand. (Y/n) leaped from their horse as the moblin raised the club, (Y/n)’s shield met with the wood as it came down. They grunted, pulling out their sword and sliced away at the moblin until it collapsed.

(Y/n) let out a soft breath of relief, turning to the man who still had a bit of panic in his eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” (Y/n) panted, putting away their sword. The man closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before clearing his throat. “Yeah,” He said simply. His voice sounded scratchy, like he’d just woken up. (Y/n) smiled, holding out their hand. “We’ve gotta stick together out here. It’s kind of dangerous. I’m (Y/n).” The man took their outstretched hand and gently shook it. “I’m Link. Thank you.” He said softly. (Y/n) looked Link up and down, finding him in tattered clothes. They were a bit confused, but who’s to judge? “Anywhere specific you’re heading?” (Y/n) asked. “I can accompany you until you find a suitable weapon and shield.”

Link pulled out a weird device and looked at it, before his eyes met (Y/n) again. “Uh… Kakariko?” They chuckled at the way he worded it. More like a question than a request. “Yes, I know where that is. Do you have family there? Friends?” Link gave a blank stare as he seemed to think about it. “I’m not sure, I was just told that’s where I need to go.” (Y/n) hummed as though it’s something they’ve experienced as well. “Alright, no worries. Come on, Star here can hold two people.” They said, walking over to their horse. Link slowly followed, putting away the device. Together they climbed on the horse, and rode off towards Kakariko.

“Well, since you’re here I guess I’ll be taking my leave. I hope to see you around, it was fun.” (Y/n) said, looking down at Link as he climbed off of Star. “No, please don’t go.” He murmured, his face heating up. “I… I need to repay the favor. Since you saved my life.” (Y/n) shook their head. “No, seriously it’s nothing. Just a civilian of Hyrule looking out for one another. You’d do the same.”

“Please, just stay here for a few moments.” Link pleaded softly. (Y/n) let out a sigh and smiled. “Alright.” They agreed, to Link’s delight. He climbed up the stairs to the Kakariko elders house and vanished inside. (Y/n) sat atop of Star, looking around the beautiful town. When Link returned, he requested that (Y/n) stay with him. “Since you know your way around Hyrule a lot more than I do.” Was his excuse. Which turned into (Y/n) being dragged around Hyrule. Link would defend them from monsters any chance he got, going as far as defeating a Guardian when (Y/n) almost got blasted off the face of Hyrule.

“Link, seriously, you’ve repaid your debt enough. Can I go home?” They murmured beside the warm fire as they camped outside of Rito village. Link peeked up at (Y/n) from his cooking, chewing on his lip in thought. “I’m nervous.” He said quietly. “Nervous about what?” (Y/n) asked. “You were the first person to show me kindness and compassion.” Link replied, his shoulders releasing the tension. “You… truly are wonderful. I enjoy having you around.” He murmured, seeming to be thinking of what exactly to say to (Y/n).

“You’re quick witted, smart and funny. I find you immeasurably attractive. I thought that… well I’d gather the courage sooner or later to tell you.” He looked up at (Y/n) hopefully, noticing the surprised look they gave. “So, I was maybe thinking you could accompany me for a bit longer? I think we could have a wonderful relationship, whether it’s romantic or not. If that alright with you.” (Y/n)’s heart fluttered, their ears and cheeks burning up with the admission of love. “Yeah, I think I can do that.” They whispered, staring back into the fire. Link smiled as a comfortable silence washed over the two of them.

“I think we can try romantic.”

[michpat6]

mipha’s happy ending is her death.

had she managed to survive waterblight ganon, she would have been the last champion standing. there would only be one divine beast firing at calamity ganon, but without link there with the master sword to do any real damage she’s just making it easier for zelda to snatch him up and put him on a divine leash, and who’s to say the other three beasts wouldn’t turn on Ruta in an attempt to snuff out the one that got away?

but if she does make it out, leaving Ruta on standby or whatever makes sense, link is dead. zelda is trapped in the castle. the other three champions are ghosts bound to cold, mechanical tombs that do nothing but wait for new victims. she can’t kill three blights if she barely survived her own. she can’t possibly kill the calamity.

so mipha goes back to Zora’s domain, hugs her father and Sidon, and hears from the Sheikah scientists that the Hero has been placed in that cave they found on the Great Plateau, that it’s going to heal him better than her Grace ever could, and that he’s going to wake up soon and retrieve his sword and save all of Hyrule.

mipha holds sidon closer and mipha waits, because she knows link, she loves link, and he always comes back. he never leaves a quest unfinished.

the fields burn, more people die from the Guardian attacks, lynels armed with shock arrows take over most of the woods near Zora’s Domain, and mipha waits.

and waits.

and waits.

a hundred years pass. sidon has grown so tall, even taller than her, and she wonders if the sheikah scientists were lying. that woman, Purah, hasn’t contacted her in ages, and the last she heard of Impa, she could barely walk a few feet without needing her cane.

a lynel has made its home atop shatterback point. mipha would feel more confident in taking it down if her Grace wasn’t waning after a century of use healing anyone that comes to her, and if she didn’t still feel the phantom pains of Waterblight’s spear as it pierced her torso. she’s too afraid to pick up a trident, now, because all she can hear is her own screams echoing off of Vah Ruta’s walls.

then link walks right into the throne room and asks after Divine Beast Vah Ruta. why doesn’t he have to worry about this one? why isn’t it infected like the others?

mipha runs up and engulfs him in a hug, tears streaming down her face, and when she pulls back to look at him there’s no recognition in his eyes.

he doesn’t remember her. he doesn’t remember anything. all he knows is that he has to save his princess.

mipha has known that the two of them were meant to be together since she was born. she grew up hearing the legends of hyrule’s royal family, she knows how intertwined their souls are, but still she held out hope that maybe once, just this once, a different princess would catch his eye, maybe one that wields a trident instead of a Sheikah Slate.

but now he doesn’t know anything about that. he doesn’t know anything about anyone, and still the only thing on his mind is zelda. mipha’s happy for her friend, she’s happy that zelda is the one who gets to have him if it isn’t her, that zelda has found someone so devoted, but it doesn’t stop the ugly, jealous part of her from rearing it’s head just a little bit.

she points link in the direction of shatterback point, and watches his back disappear around the corner. he comes back thirty minutes later with twenty shock arrows and a new sword and shield.

he’s going to gerudo town next, he tells sidon, because boys will be boys and the two of them have bonded over the week he’s spent in the Domain. he wants to learn more about Urbosa, and more about Zelda by extension. Those two were close, weren’t they?

mipha wishes him luck. he leaves. so she waits.

and waits.

and waits.

a month later, a message from the Chief of Gerudo Town reaches Zora’s Domain. the Hero of Hyrule went inside of Divine Beast Vah Naboris two weeks ago, and he hasn’t come out. their scouts can confirm that Naboris is back on the prowl, kicking up a sandstorm as it searches for its next challenger.

without mipha’s power to give, without her Grace to guide him, without her to save him, link has died again. they can’t afford to put him back in the shrine of resurrection, who knows how long he’ll sleep this time, and Zelda’s power is growing weaker by the day-

if only she hadn’t survived, mipha thinks. if only she were a ghost, too, and if only she could offer him her Grace so he would survive Thunderblight Ganon. At least he would be alive. At least she would be happy to stitch his skin back together and shove the life back into his body for as long as he needs her to, it would be her pleasure.

mipha’s death is her happy ending, because at least in death she gets to stay by link’s side.

[ancientorigins]

The neolithic site of Çatalhöyük showcases a street-less ‘honeycomb city’ atop Southern Anatolian Plateau, revealing 18 layers of development. With no public buildings, its labyrinthine houses reflect a unique social structure.

Intriguingly, burials, colorful murals, clay balls, and artifacts suggest complex rituals and beliefs. UNESCO hails it as a key to understanding early settled agricultural life. Just why is it so special?

[amnagsv]

proposal 💌 pg10

you had never seen water so blue, so clear and clean right to the sea floor. salty mist and spray from the helm of the boat dusted your neck, décolletage, through the ends of your hair. you raised your chin to the sky, smiling quietly to yourself as you appreciated the perfection of your summer break: relaxing in greece with your love, pierre, close friends and his family.

your two weeks in paradise was suddenly drawing to a close. it had simply flown by. despite the slow mornings in your shared villa, extended nights in nearby party towns, leisurely sensual nights with pierre, the flight back home and the reality of raceweeks and your own chaos were just days away. 

with reality looming, pierre steered the small boat away from the town and across the ethereal greek coastline. fish swam in the clear water. volcanic cliffs accented the shore. you engaged in soft, playful conversation with pierre’s mother, while the rest of the family enjoyed the views. yet just metres away, you were enamoured with pierre before anything else. his trained arms gripped the wheel, veins popping as he turned. your vision fixated on his back - strong, defined, littered with beads of sweat and salt water across his muscles. his favourite orange trunks - matching the bikini befitting your suntanned body - contrasted the blue of the sky and the sea, drawing your eyes back to him at almost every opportunity. he leaned back to smile at you intermittently, a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk on his face that you knew he only drew when he had something up his sleeve.

the engine sighed to a halt as the boat approached a beautiful hidden cove. 

“we’re here, this is the place!” pierre exclaimed as he turned towards you. his brothers and fathers cheered, as if to celebrate something secret, while his mother rose to fetch a small box of local delicacies - meats, cheeses, small salads - to enjoy a family lunch in the beautiful, private little clearing between the cliffs. the sun shone down on the deck as your love approached you, pulling the sunglasses over his eyes to hide a secretive expression.

“i always wanted to take you here, cherie,” the arms you were admiring reached around your waist and a salty, deep kiss was pressed to your lips. 

“it’s beautiful, pierre,” you sighed, leaning into his embrace and closing your eyes in quiet bliss. “this whole trip has been perfect. i can’t thank you enough and express how lucky i am to have you.”

“it wouldn’t have been right without you, my love. the fun isn’t over yet though, come on, swim with me to this rock, the view is incredible,” he pointed towards a platform in the middle of the cove, volcanic rock peering over the waves and plateauing into a little stage. 

with a little breathless laugh you agreed, taking his hand as you plunged into the water together. as you swam away from the boat, his family raised their phones and cameras. maybe something was different about today, but maybe you were overanalysing pierre’s cheeky, evasive approach to the day. you shrugged it off, head down into the waves and towards the rocky platform in the middle of the arc of cliffs. 

pierre beat you to your destination, offering a hand as the rugged volcanic rock pressed into the soles of your feet. he was right, the view over the cliffs, the greenery atop them, the sea and your boyfriend’s family on the little white boat was beautiful. looking into his eager blue eyes, pierre squared his body to yours and unzipped a pocket in his swim shorts. your gazes didnt part as he bowed to one knee, your jaw dropping in unison as he began with your name, and a nervous laugh. 

“from the moment i met you, for three whole years, you’ve been the centre of my world. i hold in my heart every minute we share together, because from the first time you looked at me, i was totally overwhelmed by you. i was so proud to make you meet my family because i was certainly sure that they would love you” he opened a small shiny box, home to a beautiful diamond ring. “i realised i had never met anybody like you before, when i laid awake one night and was just thanking god that i had even met you, that our paths had crossed, even if i could never call you mine. but i am the luckiest man alive to have fallen in love with you, and i fall harder and harder every day.  you are my inspiration, my motivation, and my goal. i want to be with you forever, as our dreams come true, as we expand our family, as we take on new adventures. will you marry me”

you had dissolved into tears before his speech had finished. your knees were weak and you sunk into his embrace, smiling and laughing and crying all at once.

“of course i will, yes, please, absolutely...” 

pierre absorbed your elation in a long, deep kiss. for a moment, you had felt like the only two people on earth, radiating your own magnetic field, but the boat’s eruption into cheers and the pop of a champagne bottle echoed across the cove and brought you back to reality. pierre slid the ring onto your finger as you basked in the moment - surrounded by people you love and documented from a distance on the boat, but the moment itself, and the words exchanged, between you and your new fiancé only. 

[mapsontheweb]

Mountains in the Contiguous U.S. by Rise Above Surroundings / Jut

by u/Gigitoe

Jut is an indicator I developed to quantify how sharply/impressively a mountain rises above its surroundings, factoring in both height and steepness. A mountain with a jut of X rises as sharply/impressively as a vertical cliff of height X. Roughly speaking, the higher the jut, the "bigger" and more imposing a mountain appears.

Some things to note:

Jut hotspots (places with the most impressive mountains) include the Cascade Range, North Cascades, Glacier National Park, Grand Teton National Park, Yosemite National Park & Central/Southern Sierra, and Mount San Jacinto. The highest jut in the lower 48 is measured atop Mount Rainier (jut = 1312 m), a massive stratovolcano in the Cascade Range of Washington.

Even though the Colorado Rockies have a high elevation, they have a lower jut than some other mountain ranges in the West, as they rise from a high plateau. The Grand Canyon in Arizona has similar local rise as the highest peaks of the Colorado Rockies, despite having a much lower elevation.

A point with a jut of 10 – 100 m is perhaps more aptly described as a hill. Points with a jut below 10 m do not rise significantly above their surroundings, so they were not included.

Mountains in the rest of the world can have a significantly higher jut. The Matterhorn in the Swiss Alps has a jut of 1451 m. Aconcagua in the Andes of Argentina has a jut of 1827 m. Mount Everest has a jut of 2211 m. The North Peak of Denali in Alaska has a jut of 2549 m. Annapurna Fang in Nepal, the apex of the biggest mountain face on the planet, has a jut of 3395 m, the highest in the world.

This visualization was made possible with Google Earth Engine, MERIT DEM, GeoNames, and QGIS.

[paganimagevault]

The Princess of Ukok (aka Siberian Ice Maiden & The White Lady) 500 BCE. Tumblr image limit only allows 30 photos, I will include a link to my blog, at bottom, with more photos and more organized descriptions.

"In 1993, Russian archaeologist Natalya Polosmak and her team discovered an ancient tomb at the Ukok Plateau, in the Altai Mountains region of Russia near the border with China.

The ‘Maiden’ belonged to the Pazyryk culture. The Pazyryk people, a congregation of Scythian nomadic tribes, lived in the Altai mountains in the 6th to 3rd centuries B.C.

The woman’s body, carefully embalmed using peat and bark, was laid on its side as if she were asleep. She was young and her hair was shaved, but she wore a wig and a tall hat. She was 167cm tall. Some tribal animal-style tattoos remained on her pale skin: creatures with horns that evolved into floral shapes. Her coffin was made large enough to accommodate the 90cm felt headdress she wore. She was also wearing a long wool skirt with red and white stripes and white felt stockings.

'A mop of hair on top was tightly wrapped around with a woollen cord, which helped this mop to stand upright,' she says. 'On top of this mop was worn a red 'nakosnik' (a braided decoration made from threads), and atop of this structure was a bronze pin with a deer, standing on a sphere. The deer was made from wood, and was covered in golden foil.' Yet it was more intricate, still. 'The wig had another very important detail,' she says. Its crowning glory looked like a giant feather, 68.5 cm long, made from felt and covered with black woollen fabric, with a stick inside it to help it stand straight.' she says. 'This feather had the figures of 15 birds attached to it, which like in modern Russian Matryoshkha dolls with one inside another, were each of smaller size compared to the previous one. The birds had leather wings, tails and legs, and long necks, which most likely meant they were swans. 'This feather can be interpreted as a symbol of the Tree of Life - a healing tree which existed in so many cultures all around the planet. By the roots of the tree there is a wooden figure of a deer with a Capricorn's antlers. 'There was also ... a cap for the wig.... some 84 cm tall. It was found in Princess Ukok's burial chamber.'

The Altai princess became the second mummy found with a tattoo (tattoo had not yet been found on other, earlier mummies in the Hermitage). Kurgan 1, burial ground Ak-Alakha-3 (Ukok Plateau, Altai). Tattoos were inked on both arms from shoulders to hands. The drawings were blue and stood out against the white skin. They were preserved only on the left hand, on the right they were almost completely destroyed. Drawings were also applied to some phalanges of both hands. Archaeologists saw the tattoos during the opening of the wooden sarcophagus, then the mummy's skin began to darken, and the tattoos disappeared, subsequently they were restored in the laboratory. When other Pazyryk mummies were found, the tattoos were not visually noticeable.

The tattoos on the left shoulder of the 'princess' show a fantastical mythological animal: a deer with a griffon's beak and a Capricorn's antlers. The antlers are decorated with the heads of griffons. And the same griffon's head is shown on the back of the animal. The mouth of a spotted panther with a long tail is seen at the legs of a sheep. She also has a deer's head on her wrist, with big antlers. There is a drawing on the animal's body on a thumb on her left hand.

Somehow, many Pazyryk burials in this region were flooded, possibly with underground waters, and then froze – so the organic remains were preserved almost untouched by decay.

The embalmed body was buried at least three months after death. All this time, the mysterious woman continued to play a special role in the life of her tribe — for example, she was put in some chairs, which can be seen from the traces on the body. At the same time, a complex, time-consuming ceremony of embalming is a sign of the extraordinary status of the deceased. However, the scientists deny her status as a ‘Princess.’

“It’s not accurate to call her a ‘princess’. She was not a princess, she was a representative of the middle layer of the Pazyryk society,” archaeologist Vyacheslav Molodin, academician at the Russian Academy of Sciences, and Natalya Polosmak’s husband, told “Expert-Siberia” magazine in 2012.

Studies of the mummified remains extraordinary advances in our understanding of her rich and ingenious Pazyryk culture. The tattoos on her skin are works of great skill and artistry, while her fashion and beauty secrets - from items found in her burial chamber which even included a 'cosmetics bag' - allow her impressive looks to be recreated more than two millennia after her death.

The princess' cosmetic kit included a black horsehair brush with a thin wooden shaft inside, tied with a (disappeared) leather cord, completely studded with cylindrical marble beads, and handfuls of scattered powder of bright blue-green color. There were also the remains of a broken thin rod of flat metal rings filled with the same blue-green substance (that is, in fact, it is a pencil for drawing lines or drawings like our eyeliner).

Analysis showed that it was vivianite (blue iron ore). Such a powder, closer to modern times, was used to obtain green paint. In the Altai Mountains, it is known as a satellite of gold-bearing sands. Perhaps this powder had a sacred meaning. The vivianite pencil may have been used for face painting, possibly for people with special functions or gifts. Among the Pazyryks, face and body painting has not been recorded, partly because not a single mummified face has been found. But among the peoples close to the Pazyryks, such a tradition was recorded, in particular, the painting of the face with two spiral drawings. There is a weak association with the blue-green turquoise Hathor from the Sinaiand numerous Sumerian green cosmetic "shadows" in boxes discovered during excavations in Ur and other cities of Sumer.

It is believed that she was not in fact a royal but that her use of drugs to cope with the symptoms of her illnesses may have given her 'an altered state of mind', leading her kinsmen to the belief that she could communicate with the spirits. Her lavish grave suggests she was someone of singular importance.

The MRI, conducted in Novosibirsk by eminent academics Andrey Letyagin and Andrey Savelov, showed that the 'princess' suffered from osteomyelitis, an infection of the bone or bone marrow, from childhood or adolescence. Close to the end of her life, she was afflicted, too, by injuries consistent with a fall from a horse.

The mystery was solved only in the 2010s with the help of a computed tomography scan. It showed that the maiden suffered from breast cancer that killed her in about three years. She was 25 at the time of her death.

'During the imaging of mammary glands, we paid attention to their asymmetric structure and the varying asymmetry of the MR signal,' stated Dr Letyagin in his analysis. 'We are dealing with a primary tumour in the right breast and right axial lymph nodes with metastases.'

'The three first thoracic vertebrae showed a statistically significant decrease in MR signal and distortion of the contours, which may indicate the metastatic cancer process.' He concluded: 'I am quite sure of the diagnosis - she had cancer.

'She was extremely emaciated. Given her rather high rank in society and the information scientists obtained studying mummies of elite Pazyryks, I do not have any other explanation of her state. Only cancer could have such an impact.'

'When she arrived in winter camp on Ukok in October, she had the fourth stage of breast cancer,' she wrote. 'She had severe pain and the strongest intoxication, which caused the loss of physical strength. 'In such a condition, she could fall from her horse and suffer serious injuries. She obviously fell on her right side, hit the right temple, right shoulder and right hip. Her right hand was not hurt, because it was pressed to the body, probably by this time the hand was already inactive. Though she was alive after her fall, because edemas are seen, which developed due to injuries.

The DNA research performed on the remains showed that the ‘Maiden’ is genetically closely related to contemporary Selkup and Ket peoples – indigenous Siberian tribes still living in Russia.

'There was a moment of gross misunderstanding when a legend came about this mummy being a foremother of people of Altai,' said Molodin.

'The people of Pazyryk belonged to different ethnic group, in no way related to Altaians. Genetic studies showed that the Pazyryks were a part of Samoyedic family, with elements of Iranian-Caucasian substratum.'

So perhaps more Samoyedic than Scythian.

'We tried to overcome the misunderstanding, but sadly it didn't work.'

The Altai authorities have now declared the remote mountain area from where the princess and her kinsmen were buried as a 'zone of peace' where no more excavations will take place, despite the near-certain treasures lying in the permafrost.

Such work amounts to plundering, they believe.

To Molodin, who found the male mummy several years after the princess, this deprives the world of a valuable scientific inheritance. He argues, too, that the issue is critical since global warming means the ancient bodies will decay.

Scientists reckon there are thousands of burial mounds here, hundreds of which date to the Pazyryk period, many of which may contain answers to questions about where we come from.

The ancient mummy of a mysterious young woman, known as the Ukok Princess, is finally returning home to the Altai Republic this month (The Siberian Times, August 2012).

On 19 May 2014, during a speech at the museum, (Alexander) Berdnikov reminded the crowd and media that the renovation and repatriation of the Altai Princess was one of his most important accomplishments, of course aided by Gazprom:

We should be proud that we have such a museum. A great accomplishment; we thank the management of Gazprom. When I was appointed as the Head [of the Altai Republic] one of my main goals and dreams was to have a bright opening of a renovated museum and that we could welcome the “Siberian Ice Maiden” home again. Today our museum is the best one east of the Urals and is the only one that has been restored in Russia in the past twenty years. (Government of the Altai Republic 2014)

The museum, the repatriated Altai Princess, and a vibrant cultural life, all indirectly bankrolled by Gazprom."

-taken from The Siberian Times, Russia Beyond, Taylor & Francis Online, world-jewellery livejournal, and peaceandjustice

[evilvillain123456789]

6000 years ago, the more intrepid farmers of the Yangshao Culture ventured west, eventually settling atop a vast plateau where life is harsh and a nearer sun beats upon frostbitten skin. They looked down on the cozier existence of their brethren who remained in the lowlands.   Thus you have the origin of all conflict between Tibetans and the Han

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part II.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25

GIF: Originally posted by @beaulesbian​

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: As mentioned in my post earlier today, I have completed my do-over of the chapter I released yesterday. I am much happier with this version and it will definitely make next chapter feel like a natural continuation rather than whiplash. Have a great day, Saskia.

P.S For all you Placebo fans out there, how good is their cover of Tears For Fears’ Shout? I was literally squealing with joy this morning

Sandman Masterlist

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

There’s a croquet knitted blanket on the ground before you.

The colours are bright, mismatched, verging on garish. But you love it. It’s reminiscent of the one used at picnics that you shared with your grandparents during your youth.

You can almost taste the tangy prawn cocktail crisps and the tropical squash that came in those straw-pierced pouches on your tongue as you think back to those simpler times.

You turn to gaze out across the wilderness behind you. You're atop a mountain. Where you are, there is a grassy plateau that is a perfect place to rest and appreciate the view.

You kneel down to unlace your chunky walking boots and pull one off before planting the now sock-clad foot on the woollen rectangle. The other boot follows as you stand in perfect flamingo style. You then sink into a cross legged position and survey the landscape properly.

Craggy obtrusions punctuate the rolling vista. They are made of a type of rock that tells you that they were formed by volcanic activity. The shapes themselves are inspirational yet also a touch intimidating.

You look further still and see a coastline. Blue on blue, as sky sits upon sea. It is miles away but just being able to see the horizon is pleasure enough. It is uncommon for you to see an uninterrupted skyline. Your city is a confinement of tower blocks and ringed suburbs of houses.

In comparison to the rocks and water with their dominating natural splendour, you cannot help feeling exceptionally tiny and insignificant.

But you know how important it is to feel that way sometimes. To be humbled by things that are greater than yourself. To appreciate the power that Mother Nature has over all things. It was a comfort to know that if humans pushed their boundaries too far, she would step in and take care of it.

You shift your focus to the details closer to you. The soils here are fertile. There are swathes of wildflowers and grasses supporting all manner of trophic levels, from the tiniest beetle right up to the most majestic bird of prey.

You spy one of the latter mentioned in the distance as it soars in the slipstreams. Its white-feathered underbelly winks at you as the bird spins into a dive.

It disappears into a cluster of butter coloured gorse and you feel a pang of sorrow when it resurfaces with something brown and furry in its talons.

The circle of life. You justify internally, before remembering that the hunt you just witnessed was not actually real. You were most definitely tucked up in bed, not soaking up sunshine in this rugged countryside.

Despite the comfort of your lucidity, your sadness persists.

You can't help but draw a parallel between the images and your recent decisions in the real world.

The sudden and unexpected snatching away of a way of living.

You were the raptor.

Eyelids close as you try to screw the lid back on the jar of memories.

"Just a dream," you say. "No need to over analyse."

When your eyes open again, you notice a book has appeared beside the blanket. Its cover is pristine, spine un-creased, pages devoid of pressure dents.

An invitation to stay a little while longer. One that you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. The temptation was too much.

Reaching for the volume, you flip it over, pausing as you notice a few pieces of desiccated grass on the multicoloured surface you are sitting on. You brush the strands off with the heel of your hand.

You begin by inspecting the blurb. Tracing the pads of your fingers over the illustrated borders. They were full of jewel toned flowers. Drawings of cream coloured ribbons had been threaded lazily between the pictures and offset the darker palette nicely.

The passage of text had done its job and hooked you right in. You open the book gingerly and find the first page.

You read. For how long, you cannot tell. Time never felt the same in dreams as it did when you were awake.

Then, you see something in the corner of your eye. A few paces away, stands a person.

The glorious sunlight backlights the sharp lines of a figure into a perfect, angular silhouette. It’s dressed head to toe in black, a colour match to the crown of messy hair that flutters ever so slightly in the breeze.

It was the same man as the one from your bedroom.

You’re a little taken aback but you go with it.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

His face is quirked by a crooked smile.

"Like what?" His voice sounds muted and wobbly compared to when you imagined him in your bedroom, like there’s a wall of water between the two of you.

"In my dreams, of course."

His eyes flick around, processing your surroundings with speed.

"You are quite certain that this place is fiction?"

"Of course I am. There is no way that a spot this beautiful and sunny would be this empty in the real world. And I’ve definitely been here before when I’ve fallen asleep. It's one of my favourite dreams."

"It's an admirable choice."

You tilt your head to the side slightly in surprise.

"Oh, so you're no longer arguing with me about the status of my subconscious?"

"You are correct."

You smile triumphantly. Your dormant brain finally appeared to be listening to reason.

Your playful tone persists, "Wonderful. I'm going to return to my book now. Please feel free to stay if you wish."

You look back down at the tome. Your index finger tracks down the page as you search for the last sentence you remember reading.

But within seconds your eyes are pulled upwards once more by a movement in your peripheral vision.

The man is now standing over you.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

The book falls to rest on your thighs.

"Really? And why is that?"

"It's time to wake up."

You pick up the volume again and hold it up in front of your face.

He calls your name. Your lips purse at his tone; you feel like you're back at school, when you were scolded for reading a book under the table in maths class.

"You have to return to the waking world.”

You lower the object a fraction so you can look him in the eyes as you deliver an assertive response. 

"No, thank you."

Your barricade of pages is put back in place.

You speak again, "This is my dream. I am in control here and I want to stay."

The man sighs softly. He speaks again but not to you, "Humans are so stubborn."

You concentrate harder on reading, hoping that ignoring him will make him acquiesce.

But then his left hand is on yours, the other easing the book from your grasp.

Your mouth drops open.

"Umm, rude."  

His impassive face is infuriating.

"Please can you give that back?"

"I could, however there would be little point."

You get ready to query his cryptic statement but the reason soon becomes clear.

The words begin to fade from the cover. One letter at a time until it becomes a blank block of card-bound paper.

You don't have to check inside to know that the pages would be completely desolate too.

"Fine." You throw your hands up in defeat and push yourself to a standing position. You situate yourself right in front of him.

"Do you realise how annoying you are?"

"It has been inferred," he deadpans.

"You're funny too, you know... for a figment of my imagination."

He speaks your name again. "I am real."

"As you keep saying. But how am I supposed to believe that when I'm clearly not awake right now?"

"Do you remember what transpired in your bedroom?"

The absurdity of your imminent response is not lost to you. Humour glistens in his ocean eyes as you rattle through the list.

"You appeared, I told you that you were attractive, we argued a bit, you blew sand in my face and then I found myself here.”

He nods in agreement.

“I used the sand to make you sleep. To dream of this place. The only reason you are here is because I made it so and now, this dream has served its purpose."

Your voice becomes a whisper, "What is that supposed to mean? What purpose?"

"You'll find out soon enough.”

If it wasn’t for his comforting smile, you would have found his words a little disconcerting.

“Are you ready to wake up?”

You fiddle absentmindedly with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes.”

He waves his hand and speaks in his wistful voice.

“This dream is over.”

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

"Like the stars chase the sun. Over the glowing hill, I will conquer. Blood is running deep. Some things never sleep."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch  @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93

[thetismcave]

Another dramatic drabble with some more headcanons

Session 7 spoilers :)

It really is an apocalypse, Scott thought, watching the carnage from atop the cliffs.

The world had gone mad. The plateau below was splattered with blood, and death was spreading like an infection through the ranks of the players.

He was hiding in his own base, from his own teammates. Maybe it was stupid to keep hanging around, but he knew this place well, and he was pretty sure they didn’t think he’d come back. He’d nearly been killed getting chased out by his own teammate, for fucks sake.

He’d gone to ground after that, but he knew that without info he was a sitting duck. So, here he was, on one of his increasingly rare ventures to the surface, crouching in a tree and watching the grasslands below.

When Cleo dug through their wall, he couldn’t help but be relieved. His instinctive reaction was affirmed when they, treading just as lightly as he was, showed no signs of hostility or of alerting the hunters.

“Hi,” he grinned at her.

“Hi, hi!” They replied, a stressed little laugh in their voice as they creeped through the new opening.

“What’s happening? Why is there a Warden now?” Scott asked softly as she filled in the wall behind herself.

“They’re trying to get me,” she grimaced, easing into a crouch beside him, sheltered under the trees. “As the last- the last green.”

Scott hummed a tense reply, leaning against the rough bark of the oak, slowly creeping further into his- the base.

“Gem also has no band loyalty anymore,” he said nonchalantly, not looking at Cleo, “Because she died, came back as a red, and tried to kill me. So, I had to flee. I’ve been skulking around my own base all day.”

He said it offhandedly, like it was just another anecdote. Like it was an interesting tidbit instead of a near deadly betrayal.

He knew they could see right through him.

She knew what was genuinely laidback and what was a coverup. She knew how much he hated this, how deeply his loyalty ran.

“Widow’s Alliance?” She offered, holding out her arm. The shifting moonlight hit a tattoo, a blue rope winding down the inside of her wrist, its end frayed and orange. He’d known it was there. It’s partner was on his arm, after all. He could barely see his own now, however. The lava from his latest capital ‘D’ Death had burned away most of the skin on his arms. It was there though, the orange strands twisting along his forearm, just a little buried by scar tissue.

(The care was still there too, even though at the start they’d promised to go their separate ways. Even though their bond had been tried by nearly five of these damned games.)

If there was one constant in this mess, it was Cleo, and he could really use a damn anchor right now. He trusted her, and he hoped the feeling was mutual.

“I guess so.” He took her forearm, and the frayed ends of their ties met.

Later, after they joined up with BigB, the infected began closing in again. As they took shelter behind the walls, Scott let the other two know about his makeshift bunker, the one not even his teammates knew about.

“You know me, I’m not gonna go after you.” Cleo said, casually, as if it was a given, a law of nature that he could show her his secrets, his backup plans, without fear. And really, it was, wasn’t it? Even if Cleo didn’t have clear memories of the games before, they knew, somehow, that they could put their back to his and be defended.

He’d wondered sometimes if Cleo, ever the survivor, trusted him as implicitly as he trusted them. As they descended into the mines, he realized that now he knew. Even if neither of them realized it, they were each other’s safety net, a soft place to fall that went beyond alliances, or games, or even memories.

And even though they were being hunted, even though the rest of the world was baying for their blood, Scott felt, impossibly, like they could weather anything this apocalypse could throw at them.