12 Days Of Writers Self Love - Tumblr Posts

lila's 12 days of writers self love

welcome, writers, to my christmas writing event themed around self love of our writing! far too often during the year (and especially during the holiday season) we put ourselves and our strengths, creativity, and worth last. writers don't appreciate their writing enough, and i would like to make sure some self care is practiced in this stressful time for everyone.

how it works:

each day will follow a piece of writing of yours that fits the prompt list below. these pieces can be 10 years old or 10 minutes old, you can write something specifically for the prompt if you want, whatever!

the prompts are up to your interpretation, meaning they don't have to contain a scene with a hug in it, for example. the scene/piece can represent what a hug feels like to you, and for something for repulsed, the interpretations are endless! there is no wrong way to interpret.

if you want, you can talk about what you like about that piece, how you're proud of it, etc. there is no limit to the self hyping up you can do !!

The event will run from December 1 to 12, to avoid the busyness of the typical 12 days.

here are the prompts:

hug

crown

repulsed

blood

flower

clothing

god

music

dance

magic

kiss

ending

tagging people who showed interest (thank you for all the reblogs, everyone!) @traveler-of-realms @regularfishes @vicstmichael @roselin-books-official @prettyquickpoetry @gay-frog-in-a-swamp @moondust-bard @msfluffy0617 @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @bookish-galaxy @annetilney @dakrapatops @did-i-do-this-write @xxjanoca000 @adtula @verba-writing @winglesswriter @dogmomwrites @pothimi @coffeewritesfiction @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @sleepyowlwrites @writinginslowmotion @starryeyes2000 @miniaturebiscuit @ettawritesnstudies @catkin-morgs

even if you don't want to participate, which is totally fine, boosts would be appreciated!! i'm looking forward to seeing what everyone has to share <3<3 if you want, you can tag your posts with #12 days of writers self love, or tag me if you want me to reblog it!!

12 days of self appreciation day one: hug

From @writeblrfantasy event. It’s a little late but that’s okay. Admittedly I don’t write nearly enough hug scenes so I’m going to rectify that.

Bennie crushed Cuckoo to their chest. Her eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing. Ben’s arms wrapped around her like a viper, one sliding up and dislodging the gold detailed bandana across her hair. Weakly, she pushed against his chest, where her arms were pinned, but she didn’t move. Resigning herself to the situation, she inhaled deeply. Ben smelled like metallic earth and growing things, even though he hadn’t been gardening for a month. Old sweat faintly broke through the green of his scent and Cuckoo wrinkled her nose. Though she was originally resisting this, the hug was kind of nice, not awkward like she worried it would be. The weight of it seemed to be blocking out her worries, the pressure pulling her attention to be solely on the little world in Ben’s arms. She didn’t have to worry about the consequences of her actions, what the others would think of the stunt she pulled, how she would rectify, and wanted to rectify, any damage she had caused. That could be dealt with later. For now, her focus could be on herself and the care she needed, wanted, had from Ben. It would be enough, and things might be okay.

Day #1 of writer self love

Based off this activity here from @writeblrfantasy. Rules: you post snippets you’ve written that go with the themes for each day. The snippets can be as old or as new as you’d like.

Today’s theme is crown!

I don’t actually have any royalty in my books, nor physical crowns, but here’s a cute snippet of Eli comparing Ambrose to a prince in a Rival Most Vial drabble I wrote. Ambrose is trying on a new outfit for a fancy party, and Eli’s smitten:

(370 words, tw romance)

Then Ambrose appeared and every thought in Eli’s head vanished.

The suit led his gaze in a breath-taking circle. First, to Ambrose’s shoulders, perfectly fitted with gold braid against creamy silk. Then down the asymmetrical line of gold buttons, past his slim waist, to the underlayer of embroidered navy. The layer swept across his hips, leading Eli to a half-cape; a tiny night sky draped over Ambrose’s shoulder. Eli took his time here, letting the glittering cape slowly guide him back up to his shoulders, then his gold collar, then his face. His delicate, wonderful face, eyebrows raised in a shy question.

“Well?” Ambrose straightened one of the sleeves—unnecessary, the sleeve was perfect, but it was his habit. “What do you think?”

“I…” Eli trailed off, his thoughts still eluding him. Ambrose’s shoulders dropped, and Eli quickly launched forward, taking both of the man’s hands in his. “I’m sorry. I just…” 

Now that he was up close, he had to take one more look. The glittering embroidery on the cape, the engraved detail on the buttons…

He smiled and met Ambrose’s gaze. “You look like a prince, Ames.”

The half-elf’s fierce blush only made the gold shine brighter. “You don’t think it’s too much?” He looked down at himself. “I’m a shopkeeper. I don’t—I don’t wear things like this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend brewing a potion in it.” Eli ran a finger over the shoulder braid—cool and smooth, just as he expected. “But with something like this, you’re going to fit in with all the actual princes in attendance.” His grin widened. “All I ask is that you don’t accidentally seduce one of them while you’re there.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes, his blush creeping up to his ears. “Please, I don’t seduce people.”

Eli bit his lip. In that suit, he was doing it effortlessly. It was taking a significant amount of effort not to just throw money at Mr. Swift and carry Ambrose back to his place. “I’m just saying, if they ask you to dance, then take a turn with them in a moonlit garden—“

“All right.” Ambrose let go of Eli’s hands with a barely concealed smile. “Mr. Swift, I believe we’re all set.”

12 days of writer self love day 2: crown

I saw the time and wrote this in a rush and I’m obsessed. This scene takes place after the narrative and is just so soft and sweet and domestic.

“This is so frustrating!” Alex fumed as they snapped another dandelion stem.

Cuckoo watched them upside down from the tree they were hanging from, two completed flower crowns layered over their bandana across their forehead. “I’m sure you’ll get it. You’ve always shown such prowess for fiddly tasks. Your skill with detail is unparalleled.”

Ben, sitting behind Cuckoo, shuffled forward and tugged on their dangling arms. They fell down with a thump into his lap and glared up at him good-naturedly. He ruffled their hair and turned back to his own garland. They had a dwindling pile next to them as what had been taught to be a flower crown was now turning into a rope taller than they were. Cuckoo picked up part of the chain and twisted it between their fingertips, squishing the petals out of shape.

“Don’t be cruel, Cuckoo,” Stella admonished. “It’s okay if you don’t finish. We have plenty to go around.” She tossed a finished daisy crown at Alex where it landed lopsided on their head. They grimaced cheerfully in thanks, brow furrowing again as Alex turned their attention back to their four linked dandelions.

“You mean you have plenty to go around,” corrected Maggie. A stack of flower crowns adorned her heads, all unique. Her braids were hidden and her eyes were partially blocked from the sheer volume of them.

Stella, offended, said, “I do not! I don’t have a single flower crown to my name. So, I’d better make one.”

“And declare me ruler again?” Maggie suggested with a knowing look.

“You do rule my heart,” Stella said, tilting Maggie’s chin up to give her a kiss.

“Get a room!” Cuckoo yelled from where they were still laying on Ben’s legs.

“You dare order her majesty around?” Stella flew to her feet, the half finished crown falling to the floor. She tackled Cuckoo onto the ground, and the crafting fell into giggles as the sun sank in the sky.

12 days of writer self love day 4: blood

This is an angsty piece I wrote 3 years ago, and was the first thing I thought of with the prompt. When I wrote it I was super proud of it, so now is its chance to see the light of day.

Bella was making breakfast in the kitchen when it happened. It came out of the blue since she hadn’t had a blood surge in a while - the last one happened a few days ago before she met Zach. As unexpected as it was, she’d had some warning; a slight dizzy spell which prompted her to set down the pot she’d been preparing on the paraffin stove which she’d found in a junkyard and miraculously managed to salvage.

She let out her breath in a huff as her joints and muscles tightened. She tried to keep herself upright, but the pain surged and she collapsed with a dull thump, which alerted Freddie, who was reading on the couch waiting for breakfast.

“Bella?” he called out, concerned. Through the fog of pain, Bella heard the creak of the couch as he got up and the padding of his feet on the metal floor. With what little concentration she had left, Bella tried to reach for the chair near her to prop herself up before Freddie saw her helpless form sprawled out on the floor. She didn’t want to worry him, he had enough problems; even if he didn’t share them she could see the melancholy in his eyes. Unfortunately, another wave of pain washed over her and her outstretched arm hit the floor, creating even more agony. She groaned quietly. A gasp moments later told her that Freddie finally found her.

“Oh my goodness,” Bella heard the panic build in his voice. His book fell to the floor with a thud, not helping her throbbing head. “Zach? Uh, Zauch?! Can you come please? Now!”

Zach tottered out from his section of the bunker. Grumbling and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Freddie, what is it? I just woke up. Can’t this wait?” Zach’s footsteps stopped abruptly, before growing louder and faster, banging across the floor, slightly increasing Bella’s pain.

“Shoot! What happened, Freddie?” he sounded more awake now.

“I have no idea,” Freddie replied. “I heard a thump and come over, and she was just lying on the floor.”

The next surge brought the pain level close to the blood surge, which had made her black out. Her ears started ringing, and the boys’ voices grew muffled. She caught the words “move” and “couch”, before feeling pressure by her ankles, a light touch behind her head and a sudden weightlessness. Mere moments after leaving the cold, hard ground she barely felt the embrace of the couch while her pain level peaked. Lights and voices swam about in her mind, memory and present mixing together, imagination and reality becoming an indistinguishable blur as she flitted in and out of consciousness.

Slowly, the pain reduced and Bella regained some control of her muscles. She opened her eyes gradually, not realising she’d shut them under her body’s stress. She sat up gingerly, propping herself against the back of the couch, swinging her legs onto the floor, and twisted her neck slightly, hearing the joints pop. Bringing her attention in front of her, she saw Freddie and Zach sitting cross-legged on either side of her feet, looking expectantly up at her. Freddie looked lost and a little traumatised, his world shaken up by Bella’s weakness, while Zach seemed concerned and somewhat angry.

“What the heck was that?” Zach demanded hotly.

“Uh, to be honest, I’m not really sure,” Bella answered honestly and vaguely, grimacing at the scratchiness of her voice, which sounded like she’d been gargling nails and only amplified Freddie’s uneasiness.

“Well, tell us what you do know,” Zach’s tone took on what Bella could only describe as an air similar to an official interrogation, which was a skill she attested to being learned from his police officer father.

“Give me a second,” Bella stalled as she got up, wincing at the lingering ache in her muscles. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a swig as she sat down with a hiss, her body protesting at the movement. She waved Freddie away, who’d gotten up to help her, before continuing.

“I call them blood surges. It’s the most accurate description I could come up with - it feels like my blood is boiling in my veins, and there are random surges of pain during it.” Zach frowned at Bella’s words. She kept speaking, disregarding the older boy’s darkening expression, before continuing her explanation.

“I lose most sometimes all control over my body, which is why I collapsed before.”

Zach cut her off before she could continue, “So this isn’t new. It’s happened before.”

Bella nodded, “The first time was right after the green gas was released and I had a few more after that, sometimes while running from the infected.” After grimacing at the memory of the panic she’d felt in those situations, she gave Freddie a weak smile, hoping to cheer him up by using his terminology. However, his expression remained shell-shocked.

“So this happens regularly?” Zach tried to specify.

Bella shook her head no, “This is the first time it’s happened since you’ve arrived. So it’s pretty irregular, and I generally have little to no warning beforehand.”

“Why didn’t I notice?” Freddie spoke up for the first time since the incident started.

Bella shrugged, “You were out scavenging I think.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” hurt and heat built up in his voice.

“It was unimportant.”

“But I could’ve helped. Saved you some pain. Something!” Freddie’s voice cracked.

Trying to remain calm, but struggling slightly Bella replied, “I had it under control. It didn’t endanger us. Besides, we’re all entitled to some secrets. Don’t pretend that you’ve told us everything about you, I’ve seen it. You’re not the only genius around here!”

“Yeah, well-”

“ENOUGH!!” Zach interrupted, sensing the situation escalating. Freddie took a calming breath, he seemed to be tense, a little jarred after losing his cool. Bella saw the wheels start turning in his mind, thinking over solutions for a problem he was yet to share, and she smiled slightly, comforted by the return to order.

“What do you think this is linked to?” asked Freddie. “The gases perhaps? Seeing as that’s when you said it first occurred.”

Bella’s curiosity was kindled. She tilted her head back to rest on the back of the couch and started to ponder the seemingly endless possibilities for her “affliction”.

Zach awkwardly cleared his throat, intimidated and isolated by knowledge he didn’t understand, and interrupted Bella’s train of thought. “Is something burning?”

“Oh no!” she cried. “Breakfast!” She started to stand up, but Zach pushed her down gently.

“I’ll get it. Don’t strain yourself after what just happened.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” Bella reassured both boys, brush Zach’s hands off and standing up fully. She staggered, what she hoped was the last of the pain hitting her like a wall. Zach shot up and grabbed her shoulder, stabilizing her. He seemed skeptical of her proclamation.

“Really,” she insisted. “It’ll be okay. You don’t know how to do breakfast anyway.” With that she strode off to the kitchen leaving behind a frowning Zach and Freddie reading on the couch once more.

12 days of writer self love day 3: repulsed

I know, I know it’s late and out of order, but I’m kind of okay with that. At least it’s here. I really like this piece. I think I almost imagined myself in this situation if I hadn’t found out about my orientation when I did, or if my attraction turned out slightly different

It was an alien and unexpected feeling when it happened the first time. Bendis thought it was attraction, but when the other boy went to kiss him, his initial reaction was to pull away. The other boy, the baker’s son, Francesco, mirrored his action, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Are you okay?” Francesco asked, rubbing the back of Ben’s hand with his thumb.

Ben’s hand went tense under the contact, then relaxed somewhat stiffly. He nodded, swallowed once, then leaned in. “Fine. I’m fine,” they reassured, voice shaking. Francesco pretended not to notice. “Now what were we doing?”

As they kissed, Ben tried not to squirm at the contact and the sheer amount of fluids being exchanged. That night, he lay in a resting patch of his garden and shoveled dirt onto himself as he fell asleep watching the stars.

The next time it happened, they again tried to stifle their reaction. The bard was charismatic and patient, and frankly very good-looking. They’d laughed and joked together for hours, Ben lamenting his lost potential at a similar career path. Ben had even taken a day away from the apothecary to spend time with them.

“It was a pleasure getting to know you, Du Kahoari,” they said, as they raised Ben’s hand to their mouth and pressed a kiss on it.

Ben retracted his hand as calmly as possible, resisting the urge to wipe it on his skirt. Similarly, they hid the tremor in their voice. “Likewise. I wish you happy travels.”

The bard bowed, and as soon as Ben was out of their line of sight, he ran back to the apothecary to wash his hand.

The time after that it wasn’t even happening. It had been a months-long relationship with Sonya the blacksmith’s daughter, so it was bound to come up in conversation. She sat them down on the haybales behind her mother’s shop, taking their hands in her own.

“So, we’ve been together for a while,” she said, pausing to wait for Ben to nod. “So I think it’s time to talk about…”

Ben’s eyes glazed over. His hands went clammy and he pulled back. They tucked their knees against their chest. His breaths came in small bursts. “Say… say that again?”

“...? That’s what I feel like we should talk about,” Sonya said, cautiously now. She shuffled around to face him, careful not to brush their skin.

Swallowing hard, Ben opened his mouth, shut it. His adams apple bobbed again. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that,” he managed.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Sonya said, words rushed. “We can take as long as we need.”

Under his breath, Ben asked, “Is this what you want from a relationship?”

Sonya was caught off-guard and stopped moving towards Ben. “I- I think so?”

“Then I don’t think I can be with you,” choked Ben.

“Oh, um,” she stalled. “Are you sure?”

Ben hid his face in his knees. “No,” he said. “I’m not. And if you ask me again, I’ll do it. I’ll say yes. Because it’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

“Can I touch you?” Ben’s head snapped up at Sonya’s words. He nodded. She placed her hand on their back and rubbed circles into it. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ in any relationship. Relationships are whatever you make of them And if two people want different things, they can compromise. Sometimes that means they keep going as they are. Sometimes that means doing things differently. No one knows what they’re doing all the time. But if you think we don’t work, then we don’t work. That’s okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Okay?”

Ben nodded into his knees.

“Do you need space?”

They nodded again.

“Alright,” Sonya said, groaning as she stretched out of the haystack, pulling a few pieces of straw from where they stuck into her skirt. “I’ll be in my mother’s shop if you need me. And for what it’s worth, these last few months were amazing. I hope they were for you too.”

Shoulders curling inwards, Ben couldn’t bring themself to reply. All his partners, fleeting or long-lasting, affectionate and timid, had been so wonderful. There was no reason for him to feel like this. But he did, and it ate him up inside. They rolled over and screamed into the straw, trying to free himself of the fundamentally wrong feeling inside him.

12 days of writer self care day 5: flower

This is just so cute!! Maggie and Stella’s families are very involved in flowers, so i felt it would be perfect to write about them. this was such a joy to write and explore more character backstory

Stella’s papa knelt down and held a closed fist in front of her. “Open it,” he said.

Her tiny eyebrows knit together as she pulled at his fingers. They didn’t budge. She grunted and pulled harder, tongue poking out from between her teeth. His pinky budged, then his hand opened all-of-a-sudden. Cheering, Stella seized the small, thin, wooden box.

“‘Tis it?” she asked, struggling with the clasp on the lid.

Taking the box from her, opening it, the handing it back, Stella’s papa asked, “You know how I grow pretty things in the garden?”

Stella bounced on her toes, the contents of the box rattling. “Yeah!” she said. “With Maggie’s mummy and daddy.”

“That’s right. So I took some of the flowers and I mixed them with water,” he explained.

“Like I make potions!”

He grimaced, but continued, “Exactly. And I let them dry. So now if you take this magic wand-” he placed a paintbrush into her hand “- and you add water to the paints, you can make pretty pictures.”

Stella’s eyes widened. She dashed to the kitchen and dunked the box in the bucket of water. Stella’s papa raced behind her and fished the paints out. 

“How about I show you how to do it,” he said, shaking the water off.

“Okay!”

That’s how they spent their afternoon. He started Stella on paper, and when she seemed trustworthy enough to leave, he went back to the gardens to work. This was a mistake. When he and his husband came home, the walls were covered in paint up to their knees. As was Stella. The paint palette was empty, and she was in love.

A few years later, Stella was knee-deep in flowers. Dirt was caked under her fingernails, and laughter bubbled within her. Maggie sat beside her, gathering flowers too. Finally satisfied with her haul, she brought the bouquet back inside.

“Just these please,” Stella piped up, setting the flowers on the counter.

Maggie’s mama smiled and said, “Of course.”

She wrapped the flowers up with paper and handed them to Stella, who struggled to make eye contact, hindered by the bundle. “Thank you!” she said.

“Do you want me,” Maggie asked, blushing, “to walk you home.”

Stella’s cheeks went hot too. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

Their hands swung together as they walked back to Stella’s home where she would make her first batch of paints; Stella dropped some flowers without an extra hand to secure the bundle, but with Maggie picking them up she didn’t mind.

More years passed. Stella planned an outing with her lifelong best friend and longtime crush. She invited Maggie to go material gathering — she collected all her own art supplies and regularly ran out of paint. Ensuring she had express permission from her parents given Maggie’s delicate state, Stella was delighted when Maggie agreed to the invitation.

She took her to her favorite meadow an hour before sunset. Softly rolling hills were covered in a sea of green and orange and gold, swaying in the breeze. It was almost hypnotic. Bouncing on her toes to get a better look at the field, Stella finally tugged Maggie down to sit. She ran her hands through her hair, disrupting the carefully manicured state she’d put it in before the outing. Her hands twitched on her leg. 

Reaching out to run her thumb along the back of Stella’s hand, Maggie’s brow creased. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Stella melted. “I’m fine,” she said, lingering in Maggie’s grip. Jerking her chin towards the flowers, she said, “Well? Let’s get picking.”

Careful to guide their direction, Stella began filling the basket Maggie had woven for her last birthday. Maggie helped, though slower as she checked each flower met Stella’s approval. This was why she was doing this. 

Finally, the pair stepped into a flattened part of the meadow. The flowers were bent in the shape of a heart. At the top of the heart, between the bows, a large piece of paper rested. It was decorated with intricately painted flowers surrounding words in a curling script. It read “Will you be my beau?”

“I- you- for me?” Maggie stammered.

Stella stared pointedly at the raked earth beneath her feet. She nodded.

“Of course! I’d love to be!”

Maggie launched herself at Stella. They tumbled down the hillside, laughing until their sides ached. The flowers danced around them, bouncing in the warming light of a setting sun.

12 days of writers self love day 6: clothing

This serves two purposes: I am getting to sleep at a decent time, and I’m promoting these two cuties. I love their dynamic to pieces, and it’s nice to look back and reflect on what I’d do differently now.

April Prompts Day 3 - pastel

Featuring: Nala, Fera and Vera (@pagesofcursive character)

"I just don't know what to get." Nala paced nervously in the open plaza.

"I'm sure you can think of something," Vera's voice was tinny over the phone.

Nala groaned and sat down on a plastic bench facing a pathetic fountain, "I'm sure I could, but it's just… I don't know. Pressure? I want to impress her. It's just our anniversary, and I'm sure she has something amazing and-"

Vera interrupted with a chuckle, "I'm sure she definitely does. Hey, Fae!" she yelled away from the phone. A distant "yeah?" was heard in the background. Vera continued, "Have you got something for your and Nala's anniversary tomorrow?"

Nala heard stomping approach the phone and her heart fluttered in anticipation. "Not yet," she melted at Fera's severe tone. She was super cute most of the time, but when she was ticked she had had a lot of steam to blow off. "But I'm coming up with something. Besides," Nala could almost hear her glare at her twin, "why is it your business? I appreciate the concern, but you have your own relationship."

"Oh, no reason," humor was obvious in Vera's voice. "You see? Nothing to worry about, Nala."

"Wait, you're on the phone with Nala?" Fera's voice softened, but grew louder as she approached the phone. Nala let out an uncharacteristic squeak and hung up the phone, not ready to be confronted by a potentially judgemental girlfriend. She was probably overreacting, probably overthinking, and probably blowing it out of proportion. She took a breath. Calm. Steady. Rational. Ready to make a choice. Well, maybe not that far.

She heaved herself off the tacky green bench and meandered towards the shopping centre. A pair of basketball shoes caught her eye in a sports store window, but she stayed strong and kept moving. Maybe she could get Fera clothes? Was that too simple? She always did well with bright colours and pastels, right? That seemed too easy. But it was still better than nothing. Sighing heavily, she turned into the shop.

Half an hour later, she drooped out, empty handed. She had a dozen photos of ideas she came up with inside, but none of them seemed right. A tie dye shirt, lavender overalls, a pack of rainbow socks that would've been absolutely adorable, a baby blue circle skirt and a couple of other options for good measure. They all seemed too simple alone, but too busy together.

They twisted their mouth as they wracked their brain for more ideas. Wait. An orchid! Fera has been telling her about them for weeks. Her flower garden was flourishing, but she was missing an orchid from her patch. She beelined to the hardware store at the edge of the mall, which had a greenhouse next to it. She fought through hoards of people before squeezing into the shop. Five minutes later, she triumphantly strode out, a thigh high orchid in arm. It was gorgeous, even for someone who wasn't well versed in flowers. The centre petals had pale purple streaks, and the backing petals were a precious pastel pink. She did end up with something pastel after all. Should she get the socks? Would that go with the flowers? She decided to consult Vera again. She walked to her car and delicately placed the flowers on the bonnet and snapped a photo.

Nala: what do you think

Vera: really? You couldn't think of anything else

Nala: nice to know how much you think of me

Vera: it's my baby sister, what do you expect?

Vera: but it's a cute gift. i think she'll love it.

Nala: thabks

Nala: *thanks

Nala opened the passenger door and put the flower on the seat. Briefly contemplating, she pulled the seatbelt down to secure it. It might be silly, and possibly ineffective, but on the off chance it worked, it was worth the slight degredation. Nala slid over the bonnet to the other side and flung herself into the driver's seat. The pale petals caught the corner of her eye and she grinned giddily, imagining the look on her girlfriend's face when she'd see them.

12 days of loving my writing day 7: god

I ADORE this piece. It was incredible doing such a detailed exploration of the lore in A Quest of Cards and Calamity. World building normally isn’t my favourite thing to do, but this brought me so much joy. I love the whimsical, impersonal narration style. I can see this being told around a campfire to the children by a village elder some decades after the goddesses are banished

There are realms beyond the plane we know. They are filled with awesome creations beyond our comprehension that would break our very way of existence. Places such as these began differently than our home, with flashes instead of bangs, beginning existence with a whisper instead of a roar. They grew differently; some lasted a breath, others into forever, evolving into crabs or bears or unfathomable creatures, becoming as fragile as a bird’s bone or as powerful as a tsunami.

It is from one of these realms that our gods came from. Though they impart few secrets to our people, some priests have been given wisdom that they shared across the land. Four sisters were united under shared distaste for mundanity. They combined their great and awful power of battle, family, growth, and light, and traveled to our realm, a new playground to explore their abilities in an isolated setting.

In the beginning of their domination, the quartet was benevolent and generous. They lent their seemingly boundless magics to the people, growing crops, lighting nights, securing victories, and strengthening communities. A golden age began. Dedication and reverence was widespread, leading to an abundance of people that obtained the goddesses’ blessings, wielding powers lesser than theirs, but power nonetheless. Great acts were performed in their names for people across our plane, creating prosperity that has never been seen before or since. Impossible vines grew into their kingdom in the sky, where patrons visited and paid homage to the goddess’ greatness and were returned to the world below bearing gifts of gold and light bringing music. Enlightened thinkers battled against the pull of nothing that the overabundance of knowledge creates, and their victories brought back revolutionary theories improving the world before them.

As time wore on, the interest of the goddesses waned. They were not so generous with their boons, instead letting people fester in their ineptitude. When praised, sometimes they paid attention, granting year after year of bountiful harvests. But they were careless in their gifts, sometimes flooding the banks of rivers and drowning crops that the river otherwise provided for. Sometimes they forgot to send in the sun, letting part of the world fall into darkness for months on end until the people learned to live without it and stopped asking for help. While they never intended to hurt the people wholly sway to their every whim, their disinterest cost many lives and caused swaths of people to lose faith. Gifts were inherited among the people, and those carrying old blessings were heralded as heroes as they saved the ordinary from the wrathful apathy of the four goddesses.

As the people lost their faith, the goddesses grew bitter. They were empowered by belief and devotion. Heroes and all the other people grew in strength, numbers, and will. They boasted of their gifts, claiming independence from the goddesses. They paid for the arrogance dearly. A simple ungifted weaver who battled simple nature to create complex tapestries bragged about her skill and thus was transformed into a horrifying beast as payment. Light was woven into delightful displays, bringing awe to so many in ways beyond the goddess' previously shown skill that she was forgotten about. Cruelly, she stole the light she gifted back, leaving the people to fester in the darkness until a mighty hero stole it back. Heroes committed untellable feats and were whispered about in reverence across the land until their names became synonymous with legend.

They demanded more and more from those under their jurisdiction, demanding unmeetable standards that tore apart the continent. Tribute was wrenched from followers' hands and sacrificed to serve no purpose; communities were torn apart to feed an entrapped beast cursed to an existence torn between two forms. The world split between anger, indifference, and reverence. The goddesses expected absolutes in success and potential, and perpetual acknowledgement and inclusion. All were tortured with the inconstant moods of the goddesses, buffeted about by their rage.

Mighty champions arose to beat back their abuse. It took years of near endless travel, great leaps in strength and skill, and profound luck to reach their end goal. Finally, miraculously, they defeated the goddesses in an earth scarring battle. They banished the goddesses to another realm and never hurt the heroes’ home again.

But still there is a battle: are the hardships worth the destruction wrought by the goddesses, or should they stay away and out of our homes affairs forevermore?