─ · · ✦ INTRODUCTION 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 .ᐟ hi ! i go by atlas on all platforms. this is my main personal blog. mostly animanga-esque focused but i kind of delve into whatever really has my interest at any given time. i interact with dc on this blog! all of which will be tagged appropriately (to the best of my abilities.) i selfship and yumeship, if you are non-sharing please block me. i reblog much more often than i post. for more information, visit my carrd.
─ · · ✦ SIDEBLOGS 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 .ᐟ
╰┈➤ i have two sideblogs currently. only one of which will be linked, as the other is a work in progress.
@/celestial--canvas ─ an archive for all art posted on the main blog.
@/abyssal--gateway ─ selfship specific blog for ramblings, shitposts, my own artworks and commissions, and potentially my own fanfic.
─ · · ✦ TAG DIRECTORY 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 .ᐟ
╰┈➤ atlas.txt ꒰my main tag. any post i make where i'm chatting, rambling, or otherwise shitposting will be tagged with this.꒱
╰┈➤ my_art.png ꒰ my artwork tag. any of my own original pieces will be tagged with this.꒱
╰┈➤ atlas.mail.txt ꒰my tag for answered asks.꒱
╰┈➤ reblog.txt ꒰all my reblogs will be tagged under this.꒱
╰┈➤ nsfw.txt ꒰for any text posts that contain nsfw.꒱
╰┈➤ nsfw.png ꒰for any posts that contain nsfw images.꒱
╰┈➤ user.(blank) ꒰custom tags for my mutuals. (blank) will be filled in with a nickname. will use this tag in posts i've tagged or otherwise interacted with mutuals in.꒱
╰┈➤ my_heart.xoxo ꒰custom f/o tag. feel free to block this tag if you don't want to see my selfship ramblings. (primarily of rerir.)꒱
gooooood morning my sweet strawberries… happy mating press monday!! 🍓🤍 oh my goodness, i am verrrry sleepy.. me and mister lily didn’t go to sleep until after the match was over.. but TAT going back to work after time off is always rough anyways, but i think today will most definitely be survived with lots of caffeine!!!! fingers crossed it won’t be all that busy today either 🙂↕️… but anywho!!! hope you all have a very awesomesauce day — love you lots n lots, mwah mwah 🫂
no because it’s the way i was so bored the last twenty minutes of the odyssey and started daydreaming about viking!mydei and sitting on his lap while he’s on his throne and being all wrapped up in loads of furs
i should perhaps mention this may or may not also involve me wearing absolutely nothing underneath and i am subtly cockwarming him while there are people around
no because it’s the way i was so bored the last twenty minutes of the odyssey and started daydreaming about viking!mydei and sitting on his lap while he’s on his throne and being all wrapped up in loads of furs
i should perhaps mention this may or may not also involve me wearing absolutely nothing underneath and i am subtly cockwarming him while there are people around
disclaimer: this short story is a work of fiction, taking place in a made-up universe. it is inspired by, but is predominantly independent of real-world folktales, mythologies and cultures. everything is a product of the creator's imagination used in a fictitious manner. it is not intended to misrepresent / trivialize any historical belief systems.
note: yayay !! >w< i haven't written anything proper in years so please please be kind if you decide to say something. all art is mine — do not save, thank you !! ♥︎
in lands of the far north, where snow never fully melts and berries red like blood grow even in the harshest of winters: for many generations, the first breath of spring was as feared as it was revered.
long before any villages existed in this corner of the world. before any sheep hooves grazed these lands or farmers built their huts by the frozen lake — the dragon had always been there. it once roamed freely across northern pine forests and mountains blanketed by pristine snow, sleeping for decades at a time, waking only when something threatened the balance of its land.
centuries later, humans began coming with axes and fire. forests cut down for villages, lambs feeding where sacred herbs grew. it woke, lashing out when its domain was being destroyed, attacking the village in retaliation… cries echoed, fire spread, smoke curled high in the sky.
villagers feared it. blamed gods for sending such terror.
angry gods demand blood, they said.
and so every year, they sent a maiden — dressed in white like a betrothed, adorned in rowan, believing it would please the divine wrath behind the dragon's rage. a bride for the beast.
fur-lined cloak sweeping over the threshold, the village shaman entered shepherd's home, his robes heavy with ceremonial bells chimed softly against the wooden floor. the shepherd's daughter sat by the hearth, her hands tightly clutching her dress. he didn't greet her. he never did during these rituals; words were wasted on sacrifices. just studied her face — the quiet acceptance surprised him, but he traced symbols on her forehead without further ceremony: threads cut, peace in death. he placed a single wintergreen twig tied with red thread in her trembling palm and closed her fingers around it gently. hope remains, even where dragon dwells. the last feeling of home she would have before being sent to her doom by boat across frozen waters.
no maiden before was ever so quiet while facing death. without another word, he turned and left the hut — his bells silent now as snow fell heavier outside.
soon after came the village elders: three stoic figures wrapped in furs, wooden animal masks covered their faces. a stag, a bear and a wolf. they carried no warmth with them either as they motioned for her to rise without speaking. she stood smoothly — the weight of her embroidered dress unfamiliar on her body, and followed them out into the courtyard where villagers had gathered near a waiting boat drawn onto the icy water.
wind howled across the frozen waters. ahead, a dark silhouette of an island surrounded by heavy fog rose against gray sky above the lake's surface. the shepherd's daughter hesitated. the fear in the villagers' faces was overwhelming. they stood in silence, no cheers and no goodbyes. only clenched jaws, faces pale beneath the winter sun watching her as if she was already a ghost. children peeked from behind their mothers' skirts, old women clutched amulets carved in bones under their woolen shawls. a young boy, red of hair, took a half-step forward before his older brother yanked him back by the arm. no one touched her, smiled at her.
no one dared to embrace her or speak to her directly anymore — not since she was chosen to satisfy the dragon's hunger this year.
she took one slow step. then another. she stepped into the boat carefully — and sat on the cushioned fur placed at its center. the shaman raised both hands towards the sky and began chanting ancient words, two strong fishermen shoved off the boat from the shore using long poles against the thinly ice-crusted bottom of the lake. she didn't look back. she kept her eyes forward: on the dark horizon where jagged ruins rose from snow-dusted land.
ahead, the island’s shore rose sharply: black rocks jutting from snow like broken teeth. at its center loomed the cavern entrance — a gaping maw of stone and shadow. no firelight flickered within. no sound came out. the fishermen slowed as the boat neared land, they were not to step foot on sacred ground. with careful hands, they helped the maiden onto the wooden dock half-buried in frost.
“may your soul return swift if it must…”
leaving her alone, both men turned their backs and slowly returned to the village. the maiden watched as the boat dissapeared from the horizon behind the thick fog, her fingers long trembling from the cold. her footsteps crunched softly on the frost-covered earth. no birds sang. no wind stirred the snow-laden trees. only vast silence of a dead island where nothing lived but ruins and memory, and perhaps something far older, deeper in the cavern's throat.
the great dark opening between towering stone arches was covered in ancient carvings. images of dragons coiled around symbols of power long forgotten by man. the air grew heavier as she approached, colder presence pressing down on her shoulders.
the sulfur scent grew stronger, thin wisps of smoke curling from deep within the cavern, barely visible in the dim light filtering through cracks above. bones littered the ground: deer antlers, wolf skulls, some too large to be animal. human femurs half-buried in ice, rib cages picked clean by time, weathered by centuries. offerings left behind. no birds came here to feast on them, nothing dared to live near this lonely cavern anymore — not since he had claimed it hundreds of years ago.
she stepped over a skull without flinching, tension built in her body beneath the stillness. her knuckles turned red from the biting cold air, her breath formed soft clouds with every exhale. she crossed fully past the threshold into darkness — a tunnel widening ahead into a chamber where shadows pooled like oil. she was not being brave. it reeked of a quiet surrender of someone who had already mourned themselves before even having the chance to breathe their final breath…
dragging her feet further, with chest feeling heavier than ever before, she dug her fingernails deeper into the skin on her palms and her teeth gritted against each other. the brumal winds were piercing her ears, and the many layers she wore underneath the ceremonial dress did nothing to keep the cold at bay.
once her foot reached the debris and rubble on the ground again, a shiver ran down her spine and her breath shuddered in fear. snap and crackle. under her feet lay a dry bone, snapped in half, covered in ash. the shepherd's daughter quickly shut her eyes tight, as images of many maidens before her screaming in pain and terror flashed in her mind and she had to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.
she heard the stories many times: young maidens placed upon an altar, given away like an offering to gods. some of them dragged screaming to the altar by the boatmen, some of them pleading the village shaman on their knees. some had to have their feet and wrists tied with old straw rope, writhing until their skin bled raw.
the shepherd's daughter, although she had seemingly long accepted her inevitable death, was not any different.
she too, like many others every year, felt her heart break into tiny pieces when the black ram tugged her dress. it didn't care for her tears, it didn't care for her cries. it dragged her through snow towards the men in animal masks, away from the other screaming girls. the sinister bells on its horns echoed in her ears, as if the old gods themselves were laughing at her helplessness.
marzana! marzana! women and children shouted. winter demanded a sacrifice in order for spring to come.
weeping herself to sleep, praying to no one — to save her, to burn the village to the ground. it is a blessing, a benediction, an acknowledgement by the gods — they said. but why should anyone suffer if acknowledged by the gods? why should innocent maidens take the blame, be sent to their doom like lambs to the slaughter? some gods simply relish in playing the role of an executioner.
but even the gentlest yearnling might gore its caretaker if backed into a corner…
a raven cried out somewhere in the distance. a gush of warm wind from the unseen depths made the small pieces of gravel shake and roll towards her. taking a half step back, she covered her face with arm, keeping the dust from invading her eyes. a deep rumble reverberated in the deepest parts of the cavern, followed by debris falling from the ceiling.
the ground shook beneath her feet, tension grew in her body as something ancient emerged from the darkness into the dim light.
the shepherd's daughter stood frozen in place. her heart hammered against her ribcage, wanting to escape. fear clawed at her chest trying to keep it locked inside.
from the darkness, reflected in the light coming from the cracks, two big ice-blue eyes stared straight at her. the creature emerged from the nothingness, its claws dragging on the stone made a grating sound that echoed in the desolate cavern. its scales: the rough, leather-like plates generated unfamiliar warmth. it towered over her like a mountain would, as if it was meant to be the altar itself. altar which takes, and never gives anything in return.
she felt small. smaller than a lamb that can already feel the wolf's teeth sinking into its flesh. the dragon's presence caused her to waver. is this really what the gods wish her to undergo? stray not from the path, the elderly women said. may the old gods stand by your side and our ancestors show you the way. bow, if you must.
and so she did.
ever so slowly and carefully, she knelt onto the freezing ground, dirt and ash staining her ivory dress. laying her forehead down, she fully offered herself to the dragon — and thus accepted the silence that came after death. she feared looking into the creature's eyes again, at the monster that killed the maidens before her without any hesitation.
she muttered ancient prayers under her shaky breath over and over, songs she knew ever since she was a little girl.
“the weaver of the thread of life, the giver of the water of life. our earth, drowned and enflamed, bringer of death. i honor the stillness of your winter and the dew that comes with your rest. grant me strength, you who take life, and courage, you who root life. guide my childlike mourning through the dark with your bitter caress, for all that that comes is spring after freezing night.”
there was a hollow in the arteries of her heart left by everything she ever dared to hope for. for warm sun on her cheek after a long winter, to lay in fresh spring grass again, to live without any irrational fear entwined in her soul. fear that was once sowed in her heart by hearts prideful and greedy, watering it with daunting talk of gods and monsters.
mortals are fools woven by madness and greed, their avarice and unquenchable thirst for more and more and more always leads to their destruction. the dragons were no strangers to human greed — they saw fragile civilizations crumble under their claws like glass, civilizations that once held them in high regard turning their back on them and destroying the vast lands they guarded. with time, their ancient hearts that were once gentle became cruel and merciless, yearning to scorch everything and all instead for calm forests and moonlit nights.
the silence was unbroken. it gave nothing, it took nothing.
somewhere in the distance, maybe in the very cavern's throat, maybe just a few feet away from her, she could hear water dripping. once, twice, it echoed against the walls. dead leaves refused to rustle on, only the booming, swirling wind hummed in the cracks between old stone. time itself held its breath with the kneeling maiden.
the dragon didn't react harshly. it lowered its head slightly and exhaled sharply through its nostrils — the warm air lifting the thin veil from her hair, making it flutter against her head. it didn't outwardly show any signs of malice or anger.
she shut her eyes tightly. chill ran up her spine. the silence was suffocating.
the warmth coming from the dragon was unsettling, for something that often brought comfort to many. her fear combined with the heat made her feel trapped as she tried to stay still, fighting every instinct that screamed at her to move. she never thought that warmth, which she so dearly loved, could create a tangible sense of cloying claustrophobia, even in the stretching emptiness of the cavern.
the dragon watched the shepherdess with placid curiosity for what felt like hours to her. a rattling, almost threatening noise came deep from within its throat. it hissed softly, lifting its long neck back up towards the ceiling. with a slow swish of its tail against the walls of his lair it turned its back towards the maiden and silently retreated back into the shadows.
she stayed still for a long while after the ground stopped shaking. her mind felt dizzy, dozens of flies circling around in her head. she could still feel the dragon's intimidating presence and its gaze on her, but it didn't show itself anymore. did the dragon refuse her? she did everything like she was supposed to…
both relief and guilt pooled over her chest — she looked the death in her face and lived. not many people get to live past a meeting with the harbinger of death itself.
she dared not to hope lightly, the girl was never loudly defiant of the traditions set in stone by her ancestors. if she were to live, she would have to carve her way out of this mess with her own hands and steal her life back even if it meant to dig through ash and bone.
she was not ready to leave her life behind after all.
no pins and needles were piercing her lungs anymore, no heavy stone where her stomach should be. outside — a sharp snowstorm, the eddying cold showing no mercy, snow-swirls hiding chaos beneath a dense blanket of makeshift peace. inside — warm darkness that could turn crimson at any time, waiting, uncertain.
cautiously, hidden in a dark cloak of shadows, she scurried towards the cavern entrance.
all she could see were endless swirls of white, the howling wind pressing deep into her ears, ripping and tearing at her clothes. cold cutting like blades on her exposed fingers, making her eyes water. her throat tightened: nothing but cruel, slow death awaits out there.
once she placed her foot on the stone threshold, a menacing snarl stopped her from taking any step further. her blood ran cold. the dragon shifted its weight.
you are not to leave this place.
dragons hoard things. they do not value riches and gold, instead they seek what they cannot take — what they cannot grasp within their claws. a valley or a forest. a song, a memory, trinkets with history and tomes with tales of old. their hearts have became cold, but they were once gentle and delicate. perhaps some of that unconditional love remains hidden somewhere deep, where none of them dare to look, gnawing its way onto the warm surface. however, they are also avaricious and will not want to part with anything they claim as theirs.
and so instead of being reduced to ashes, the shepherd's daughter has been given an ultimatum, a blessing in disguise — and becoming one of the dragon's valuables.
