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sweaterweatherever · 1 year

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Christmas Blues (Xavier Thorpe x Reader)

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x AFAB reader

Summary: In which the reader decides she is going to take Xavier apart to make him forget all about his Christmas blues.

Warnings: Smut. Shitty families. Sub Xavier. Crying. Showering together. (Please, don´t do as the reader and close the taps when you aren't actually showering. Let's not waste water.) Hand jobs. Unprotected vaginal and oral sex. Praise kink. Cum play? (Is that a thing?) AGED UP CHARACTERS. This can be read as a stand alone, but it's kind of a part two to Pretty boy.

Requested: Yes. For the subby crying Xavier anon. Is also the filthiest thing I have ever written.

A/N: To everyone who has a hard time around the holidays, I give you my warmest hug and hope you can find someone like the Reader, who helps take your mind off it. If you have a troubled relationship with a family member, like Xavier or you have lost someone (like me) I hope you find comfort, because I know how hard this time of the year gets.

You had to admit, you were excited about the Christmas break. You normally loved Christmas, being a time of fond memories from your childhood, great food and time spent with your family. And with Xavier. It had become kind of a tradition, you see. The Thorpe's weren’t the most affectionate family, so they didn’t really care where Xavier went for the break. Your mother had decided to take him in when you had mentioned he had nowhere to go in the first year of your friendship.

She had kept inviting him to spend parts of the breaks there because she had loved him. How couldn’t she? Xavier was charming when he wanted to be, and cared deeply about you. That was enough to win her over. This year, though. This year was the first year you were going to be together on break as a couple. Your mother wasn’t going to get home until the 24, being away on a business trip. She trusted you enough to leave you to your own devices, still convinced no funny business was going on between the two of you. This idea was, of course, aided by you. You had conveniently forgotten to mention you were now more than best friends, knowing she would never allow you to be on your own then.

“So, here we are.” You said, paying the cab driver and looking desperately for your keys in your purse, while Xavier took your luggage. The journey had been long and exhausting, but you were in a good mood.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell her.” Xavier holds the door for you, allowing you to pass first and disable the alarm. “She is going to kill us when she finds out.”

“If I told her, we wouldn't have the house to ourselves.” You answered, turning on the lights. The sight of your childhood home made you smile. Your mom had put up an artificial tree before leaving, but had left it bare, with the boxes you knew contained the ornaments beneath it. You would have fun decorating, that’s for sure. “You can’t say how much you disapprove later, when I’m sucking your dick in the shower.” You gave him a blinding smile.

“Oh my god.” Xavier said, looking scandalized, both at the crude words and your nonchalance. “Get me dinner first, at least.” You burst out laughing, and he was unable to contain himself any longer, laughing along with you. “You are a terrible influence.” Xavier stepped closer to you, hugging you from behind. You loved it, he was warm and smelled nicer than usual, having docked the clothes he used to paint and choosing to wear something more appropriate for traveling. The ever present smelt of turpentine was much fainter than normally.

“I know.” You pulled him for a kiss, turning your neck slightly. He looked cute in his winter coat, you couldn’t help it. "So, shower, or dinner first?” You asked.

“Depends. If we are showering together, shower first.” He said, lightly trailing his hands along your ribs and making you squirm. Xavier knew you were ticklish, and often took advantage of it.

“Shower then.” You said, watching him go upstairs, luggage forgotten. “Oh, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.” You shamelessly eyed him as you walked behind him. You might have been teasing, but a plan had already started to form in your head. Holidays were tough on him, filled with bad memories and the longing for a loving family. You wanted to keep him distracted, so the tortured part of the tortured artist didn’t turn too literal. You had an empty house, and you were on break… Maybe you could finally take him apart, which you had been unable to do at Nevermore, the lack of time and space getting in your way. Your reasons weren’t only selfless, though. You wanted to make him cry so badly. You betted he would fall apart beautifully.

You had had exactly one awkward conversation about his sex life with Bianca, back when you only were best friends. From what you remembered, he found it hard to let go fully during sex, not trusting her enough. You had both been drunk, and you wanted to avoid keeping talking about it because you had been pinning for him back then. But you could tell he found it hard still.

“Xavi?” You said, opening the door to the bathroom. He was facing the shower, busy with getting the water at exactly the right temperature. He had taken his coat off. You took out some towels, placing them on a counter near the shower. You also took out a tiny towel because tile floors were hard on the knees, damn it.

“Y/N.” Xavier said, turning to face you. He pulled you in for a kiss, stroking your hair gently. He gave a tug at your sweater. “Let’s get you out of this.” You stopped him before he could take it from you, holding his face between your hands. His pretty eyes peered at you, confused.

“Xavi… I wanna try something." You said, taking his hoodie off. “I want to take care of you tonight.”

“You always take care of me.” Xavier answered, with a puzzled expression, helping you get his shirt off too. You kneeled in front of him, unbuckling his belt. “Oh. Oh.” He said, finally getting it. “I guess… If you'd like to.”

You took his pants and underwear next, gently rubbing his thighs to make sure he wasn’t cold. He was half hard already. You smiled, teasingly.

“What?” He asked, not an ounce of shame. “I got a pretty girl kneeling right in front of me, unbuckling my belt and stroking my thighs. Besides, with you, it’s almost Pavlovian.”

You got up, pressing a kiss to his lips. You kept it short and sweet, not wanting to get him too excited. “Get in, we are wasting water. I'll be right behind you.”

He gave you a long, disapproving look, but obeyed. You started taking your clothes off, focused on efficiency. You quickly entered the shower, watching as Xavier was already in the process of washing himself and unaware of your entrance. Once inside, you took a moment to drink in the sight before you. His tall form, long lean body, glistening from the water. Hair sticking to his shoulders and looking darker, eyes closed in relaxation. You placed a hand on his back, careful not to spook him.

“Hey.” Xavier pulled you for a hug, naked wet body pressing against yours. This way, you were both under the spray of the shower. “You are cold.” He tilted your head slightly backwards, so your hair got soaked too. He took the shower gel, and rubbed it on his hands, making some foam.

“Xavi, give me that.” You said, taking the shower gel from him. “Can I wash you?”

“Sure. You can try, but I think it won’t work.” He gestured to the air above your head, referencing your height difference. Xavier was right, you were several inches shorter than him, which made it harder, but not impossible.

“You underestimate me.” You passed a sponge with a bit of shower gel over his chest, slowly making your way down his body. You stopped when you got to his hips, noticing Xavier had been getting harder by the minute. “I love that you are so sensitive.” You said, but did nothing about it. Xavier was getting flustered, either at your comment or actions. You washed his erection in a completely perfunctory way, barely touching him. You went to your knees in front of him and kept on washing him.

“Y/N!” He whined. You gave him a blinding smile. “Do something.”

“I am doing something, you silly. I’m helping you get showered." You got back on your feet, and gestured to him to turn around. He obeyed, still grumbling. You eyed his shoulders and neck. Now that would be a challenge. You got started at his legs, making your way upwards and noting with interest how goosebumps formed on the skin you touched. When you had him all lathered in soap, except from his shoulders and neck, you pushed him gently under the spray. Xavier tried to grab the sponge from you, probably to return the favor, but you stepped away, cleaning yourself quickly and joining him on the spray as fast as you could. Then, you extend a hand outside the shower, grabbing at the towel you had left nearby just for this reason. “Sit down, Xavi.”

“Like in the towel?” He asked you with an amused smile, but obeyed, long legs sprawling on the shower floor. You climbed on his lap, completely naked and holding shampoo and conditioner. “This is so unfair.” Xavier complained, feeling the way your pussy was resting against his erection. You would only have to align him, and he could be thrusting inside you. But you didn’t, choosing instead to start massaging the shampoo on his hair. His expression immediately changed, eyes closing in bliss. Xavier was such a puppy, you thought, filled with affection, a touch to his hair and he melted. You washed his hair, being extra gentle and massaging more than necessary to get him as relaxed as you could. Xavier kept quiet, only giving slight noises of happiness sporadically.

Then, you applied the conditioner, letting it sit while you washed your hair. Carefully, very carefully, you detangled his hair. He kept his eyes closed the whole time, head laying against the tile, arms around your waist. You applied conditioner to your hair and got up, offering him a hand.

“Come on, babe, time to get up. “ Xavier slowly opened his eyes, a calm, happy expression you hadn’t seen in days taking over his face. The holidays were hard on him, you knew. But you hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten recently. Guilt curled in your stomach, and the resolve finally settled. Tonight, you were going to make sure he forgot all about it.

You helped him get up, rinsing his hair and your own. Then, you wrapped him in a towel and sat him down on the toilet. You quickly dried yourself, and got out the hairdryer, using it to dry his hair. The look on his face made you giggle. With his hair wet, he looked like a disgruntled kitten.

“You are so cute.” You said to him, brushing your hands through his hair. He didn’t acknowledge what you were saying, his eyes closed once again. Good. You were getting somewhere.

You did quick work of your hair, drying it enough to braid it, still wet.

“Xavi.” You said, touching his back gently. “You can go to the bedroom and wait for me there while I pick this up. Don’t get dressed.”

“I can help you.” He pouted, and you couldn’t help but kiss him because he looked too cute. “ I’m serious, you have been doing all the work and I…”

“You are doing perfectly.” You said, stroking his jaw gently. “So, because you want to keep being good, you will do as I say.”

Xavier’s eyes widened, and a blush took over his pretty face. He seemed to be realizing exactly how the night would go.

“Yeah… I’ll… I’ll do that.” He stammered and walked out of the bathroom. You wrapped yourself in a robe. You did quick work of the towels and clothes, carrying them to the first floor and taking advantage of the opportunity to take out a frozen pizza and turn up the heating. When you got back to your bedroom, you found Xavier laying down, covered by the sheets, and messing with your phone. The reason became apparent when some song began to play. You grabbed some of your lotion from your vanity and padded, dropping the robe along the way, towards him.

“Hey. “ You said, sliding under the sheets next to him. Xavier smelt like you, having used your shampoo and conditioner. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Can I give you a massage?”

“Sure.” He put your phone down and looked at you. “How do you want me?”

“Stay on your back.” You answered, and climbed once again on top of his hips. You drew him into a kiss, slowly turning it more heated. Then, you put some lotion on your hands and warmed it up, applying it to his chest with gentle motions. You made sure to rub at his nipples, making him give a startled gasp. You kept on kissing him, pretending nothing was happening. You lightly ran your nails down his stomach, making him buckle under your touch. Afraid of falling off the bed and killing the mood, you tensed your thighs against his hips.

“You said you were going to give me a massage.” Xavier broke the kiss, looking at you with accusatory eyes.

“Oh, but I am.” You pressed a kiss to his jaw, making your way to his ear, hands still running down his torso. Then, you ran your tongue along the shell of his ear. At that, Xavier gave a full-body shiver.

“Come on, please. Don't tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” You kept going, kissing his neck and sucking a hickey in his collarbone. Your hands kept going down too, eventually getting between your thighs and grabbing his half hard cock.

“You are evil.” Xavier said, screwing his eyes shut. “Pure evil.”

“Oh, but Xavier, I am only giving you a massage. “ You smirked, giving a few pumps at what now was an erection. The lotion in your hands made the glide easier, and Xavier seemed to like it because his hips were practically fucking your fist. “Come on, babe, open your eyes. You are only getting a massage, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh god, I hate you.” He said, throwing an arm over his face.

“You don’t. Now be a good boy and open those eyes for me.” You added more steel to your voice. “If you don’t obey me, I will stop.”

At the threat, his eyes immediately opened.

“There's my good boy!” You coed, chucking his chin. Xavier gave you an annoyed eye roll.

“Are we going to get on with it?” He whined.

“Oh, Xavi, you are such a brat. “ You started pumping his length with a more purposeful rhythm. You had a plan, after all. You pulled away a little, sitting on his thighs to have a better view. His eyes almost scrunched closed a few times, a frown on his face from the effort and concentration to keep them open. His breath was more erratic, a drop of sweat making its way down the hollow of his throat. Xavier’s thrusting got more desperate, buckling under you. He started moaning, and you suppressed a smile. You loved him, but god, Xavier was loud. “Close, pretty boy?” You asked, without really wanting confirmation. You knew his tells. His hands were already gripping your thighs hard enough to hurt, and the endearment only made his grip harder.

“Yeah.” Xavier had a pinched expression, lips tight and clearly trying to hold his moans.

“You can be as loud as you want, baby. We are alone.” You said, caressing his jaw.

“Y/N!” His back arched, long neck making a perfect curve and looking good enough to bite. He was on the brink of his orgasm, so of course, that’s when you stopped.

“What the fuck?!” Xavier took you off his lap, angrily, and dropped you on the bed. Something stirred in you at the casual show of strength, but you saved the thought for later.

“Now, that was rude.” You answered, without a care in the world.

“Rude was what you did to me, I was about to…” But Xavier seemed unable to say the word, choosing instead to tear at his hair dramatically. “You are a tease.” He accused.

“About to what?” You asked, sweetly. “Come on, Xavi, you know the word. Come, orgasm, the big O, climax.” Xavier stared at you, mouth hanging open.

“I can't believe you. You are an asshole.” He said instead.

“Oh, I’m so sad. Why don’t I let you fuck my throat as an apology?” You asked, peering at him innocently from beneath your lashes. Xavier eyed you suspiciously. He knew you were up to something, but he liked fucking your throat so much, it was clouding his judgement. “I’m serious, come on, get up. I’ll sit on the edge of the bed.”

Xavier did as you said, still with suspicion in his eyes.

“Come on, pretty boy.” You said, taking him in your hand and giving him a lazy lick from root to tip. You took the head in your mouth, lapping at the slit, and making a face at the taste of the lotion on his skin. It was messy, you licking at him sloppily, knowing the saliva would help later.

Xavier’s hand stroked your temple, looking at you with eyes full of love and the dopey expression he got when you gave him head. You suppressed a snicker, knowing he was absolutely lost on what was going to take place next. Slowly, and doing your best not to gag, you took him all the way in. It was not an easy task, Xavier had both length and thickness on his side, and it made your jaw ache, and your eyes filled with tears. You kept repeating like a mantra in your head, “Breath through your nose.” When you finally got him all the way inside, nose brushing against his pubes and Xavier looking like he had just seen god, you braced yourself and pinched his thigh.

Xavier gave a startled yelp, followed by a moan when the pinch made him thrust inside your mouth. You grabbed one of his hands, placed it in your head, and used his ass to hold yourself. You gave him a look, ordering without words to get started.

And so, he did, hesitantly, pulling in and out so slowly he might as well have been auditioning for a slow motion scene in a porno. You pinched his tight once more and this time, he actually screamed, buckling in your throat. You snickered.

“Can you stop pinching me?” Xavier asked. You gave him a look that you hoped conveyed your displeasure and moved up and down over his length faster, hoping he caught your meaning. “You want…” He said, a little winded. “You want me…” He cut out with a moan, and you rolled your eyes, stopping the motion. “To fuck you harder?” Xavier asked. You nodded emphatically.

“Right.” He said, grabbing your head more firmly and started thrusting earnestly. You gave him a smile, showing pointy canines, dangerously close to his cock. He kept eye contact with you, growing more confident by the minute. When he started to get too confident he was going to come, moans getting louder and louder, you pulled away.

“Fuck.” Xavier sat down on the bed next to you. He was too much of a gentleman to chase your mouth, and too afraid of overstepping or hurting you. “Okay, I'll bite. What do you want?” He pleaded, looking at you with desperate eyes. His fists were clenched, whole face contorted into an ode to frustration.

“You have an interesting reaction to being teased.” You answered, dropping onto his lap once again. Your thighs were wet with how turned on you were. You weren’t a sadist, but the way Xavier looked when he was just on the edge was the prettiest thing you had ever seen, and you were a sucker for pretty things. “I like it. “ You rolled your hips against him, feeling how hard he was, teasing your clit with his tip and barely suppressing a moan of your own.

“Please, please, just let me fuck you.” Xavier begged, one hand going to your breasts, flickering your nipple with his thumb. “I'll make you feel so good, baby, I swear.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” He perked up at your voice, seeing the chance to come.

“Come on, please, baby, let me fuck you, come on…” Xavier begged.

You ground your hips against his cock, giving a low moan.

“Please, you are so wet, I can tell. Please, babe, let me make you feel good…” He begged, voice sounding broken. He was close again, you could tell.

“You are my pretty boy, you know it, right?” You asked, exploiting the vulnerability he was letting show. You knew it wasn’t an easy thing for him… “I love you. You are my partner, my best friend, the best human on earth. You are pretty inside and out.” Your hips sped up, and you noticed how Xavier kept trying to turn his head. You grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to keep eye contact with you. Were his eyes wet? “I love you. I will always have your back, even when no one else has. You are mine, Xavier. I’m not letting go.”

Just as he was about to come, you lifted your hips, evading his thrusts. He gave a frustrated yell, and his eyes filled with tears. You smirked, and felt tempted to make a victory dance. Instead, you kissed him. His tears kept falling, confused little sobs getting swallowed by you greedily.

“Oh, Xavi.” You said, pushing him inside you. “You are a pretty crier.” He really was. His eyes and nose got slightly red, eyelashes looked even longer, green eyes bright.

“Please," He begged, and the look on his face was priceless. Xavier looked lost, completely overwhelmed; you could tell he needed an anchor. So, that's what you became.

“Xavi, Xavi, my good, pretty boy.” You bounced on his dick, harder, forcing him to focus on you, and not to get caught inside his head. “You are being so good, you look so beautiful. Let go, I got you.” You clenched around him, and because he was such a good, pretty boy, he obeyed, coming with a shout and eyes filled with tears. You wished you had a way to capture his expression forever, already knowing it would haunt you. But you didn't say anything, letting yourself fall over his chest. His arms hugged you, his softening erection still inside of you.

“You didn't come.” Xavier said, after what felt like an eternity. One of his hands went to the end of your braid, starting to take it apart.

“It doesn't matter. This wasn't about me.” You burrowed your face in his neck, pressing a kiss there.

“It matters to me.” Xavier said, hands slowly making their way to your core.

“Xavier…” You whined. “I want to cuddle and get some food into you. I don't need it.”

“But I want to.” Xavier ran a finger lightly over your back, and you shivered. You were aroused, that was certain, but you knew it would go away. Taking care of him was more important.

“You are messing with my aftercare.” You settled for that, instead of admitting your thoughts, knowing if you told him, there wouldn't be convincing him otherwise.

Xavier stayed quiet.

“Thank you,” He finally said, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair. “I know what you were doing, and it helped. But I want to thank you like this. Let me? Please?”

“Fine.” You grumbled. You weren't as aroused as before, but wetness was still pooling between your thighs. Part of it was Xavier's cum, part your wetness. “But I'm going to put something in the oven, you have until it is ready.”

You got up, wincing when you felt it drip down from you. You went to grab your bathrobe, deciding to sacrifice it for the greater good, but Xavier stopped you.

“Don't clean yourself up. I like you like this.” You blushed, suddenly self-conscious of your naked body. You put the robe on, and went to put the pizza in the oven, setting a timer.

“Twenty minutes.” You said when you got back. Xavier was sitting on the bed, looking tired. “We can just cuddle.”

“No way.” He said, gesturing for you to lay down. “I bet I can get you to come in less time.” Xavier laid down in his stomach and hooked one of your legs over his shoulders. He wasted no time in getting started, lapping up at your hole, eagerly eating you out. The thought of him, cleaning you up without any care for the fact he was drinking his own cum, shouldn't be as hot as it was.

“Xavier.” You begged, pulling his hair.

“Shhh.” He took your clit inside his mouth, sucking at it. He placed two of his fingers inside you and scissored them, before he started fucking you with his tongue. You were close already, and it only took a couple of circles drawn gently around your clit to tip you over the edge. You moaned weakly.

Xavier dragged himself upwards, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smelled like you and him combined. You eagerly kissed him back, groaning when you felt him smile smugly.

“I told you I could get you to come before the timer went off.” You rolled your eyes.

“You are so smug.” You complained, pushing him a little. “Anyway, these sheets are ruined, but there's pizza downstairs.” You tempted him.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Xavier asked, cupping your face between his hands. “Because I do.” Then, just as the little kid he still was at heart, he got up and jogged out of the bedroom. “Race you to the kitchen!”

You got up, hurrying behind him. Happy that he wasn't thinking about his shitty home life and instead, only thoughts of pizza, and you remained.

#wednesday tv show #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday netflix #xavier x you #xavier thorpe x fem!reader #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe #xavier x y/n #wednesday 2022 #wednesday #my writing #xavier thorpe imagine

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yoga-onion · 5 months

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Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (27)

A for Ailm (Pine) - December 23rd Birth of the Divine child

“The birth of the King of the Flourishing Half Year - The Celtic Tree Calendar”

Stars: Mars & Sun; Gender: female; Metal: gold; Patrons: Artemis, Ariadne, Rhea, Cybele, Druantia, Dionysus, Bacchus; Symbols: foresight, purity, objectivity, birth

The Ogham alphabet has 5 vowels. The number 5 is the sacred number of the 'White Goddess'. Like all five vowel trees, pine is a female tree. And it is also the first vowel A, the tree of birth.

In ancient Greece, the pine tree was the goddess of the moon and dedicated to Artemis, who was responsible for the birth of children.The birth of Christ is celebrated on 25 December, and the Christmas tree decorated on this day is Norway spruce. The spruce is a member of the pine tree family. Although Christ's birthday is now celebrated on 25 December, it is believed that in earlier times our ancestors celebrated the birth of the Son of God on 23 December.

23 December marked the beginning of the 'Half Year of Light' and the birth of the "Son of God, the King of the Flourishing Half Year", and a gift of the wisdom of our ancestors.

On the winter solstice, druids (Ref2) in Europe lit large bonfires of pine and yew. Around the same time, the festival of the Druid Queen, Druantia, also took place. These large bonfires, which were built on the winter solstice, were passed on to the Yule Log. While the Yule festival lasted, people lit candles on pine trees and decorated them with glittering objects. The Christmas tree is the successor to this custom.

The ancients believed that the pine cones were cleverly guided by magical powers, as they spiralled and followed the same clockwise direction on their trunks as the earth around the sun. Yellow pollen was utilised in the 'money-accumulation spell' as yellow attracts gold. Pine branches are said to prevent evil from entering the house if hung over doors and windows, and old people are said to be rejuvenated if they carry pine cones.

Futhermore, Native Americans put a bag full of pine needles under their pillows on the floor when they have insomnia. In ancient Egypt, doctors in the Pharaoh's service used pine tar and turpentine oil to treat pneumonia.

The ancients learnt from the towering pines the importance of looking at things objectively and from a broad perspective. Pine teaches that you have to be positive about things, correct mistakes immediately and chase responsibility yourself.

So, have a happy Christmas everyone, surrounded by the tree again this year.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (27)

AはAilm (ﾏﾂ) - 12月23日神の子の誕生、ケルトの木の暦（参照）

星: 火星＆太陽、性: 女性、金属: 金、守護神: アルテミス、アリアドネ、レア、キュベレ、ドルアンティア、ディオニックス、バッカス、シンボル: 先見の明、清浄、客観性、誕生

オガム文字には5つの母音がある。数字の5は「白い女神」の聖なる数字。5つの母音のすべての木がそうであるように、マツも女性の木、そして最初の母音のA、誕生の木でもある。

古代ギリシャでは、マツは月の女神で、子供の誕生をつかさどるアルテミスに捧げられた。キリストの誕生を祝う12月25日、この日に飾るクリスマス・ツリーはノルウェートウヒ。トウヒはマツ科の木である。現在、キリストの誕生日は12月25日とされているが、その昔、祖先は12月23日に神の御子の誕生を祝っていたとされる。12月23日は「光の半年間」の幕開けと「神の子・盛りゆく半年の王」の誕生を一緒の祝う先祖の知恵の産物であった。

冬至の日、ヨーロッパのドルイド（参照2）は松やイチイの大きな焚き火をした。これは、太陽神を冥界から呼び戻し、この世に再生させるためであった。ユール祭が続く間、人々はマツの木に蝋燭を灯したり、きらきら光るものを飾ったりした。それは、生命の源である太陽神の聖なる光を守るためであった。また、その光は暗い冬の間も常緑樹の植物に蓄えられると古代人は信じていたからだ。その習慣を受け継いだのがクリスマスツリーである。

松ぼっくりは、螺旋を描きながら、太陽の周りをめぐる地球と同じように時計回りに幹につくため、魔法の力を巧みに導く存在であると、古代人は信じていた。黄色い花粉は黄色がゴールドを引き寄せるとして「お金がたまる呪い」に活用された。マツの枝はドアや窓にかけると邪悪なものが家の中に侵入できなくなり、老人は松ぼっくりを持ち歩くとして若返ると言われている。

さらに、ネイティブ・アメリカンは不眠症のとき、マツの葉が詰めた袋を枕の下に敷いて床につく。古代エジプトでは、ファラオに仕える医者が肺炎の治療に松脂とテレビン油を使ったという。

古代人は広い視野に立って客観的、長期的にものを見る重要性を、高くそびえる松に学んできた。物事には前向きに取り組み、過ちはすぐに正し、責任は自分で追わなければならないと、マツは教えている。

さあ、今年もまたツリーにかこまれて、みなさん楽しいクリスマスをお過ごしください。

#trees #tree myth #tree legend #folklore #celtic tree calendar #celtic belief #mythology #legend folklore #pine trees #nature #art

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daisychainsandbowties · 11 months

Note

ava only fully understanding now what mary had lost in shannon, having picked up more of the story than mary had been willing to share in those scant few weeks before her disappearance. having had time to sit with herself and be able to look back and see the way mary had been so thoroughly wrapped around an absence, a corpse, and now in the aftermath clinging so tightly to her, to this idea of what she could have done to bea had she not survived

picking the story out of bea like unwrapping a wound. nights in switzerland with the windows open and the lights off and the whole world reduced to beatrice’s voice.

talking about mary so precisely, never slipping on the grammar. always mary is, like words alone could bring her home. but then the shift, inevitable, as beatrice draws the past out of her pocket like an old receipt and smooths it onto the table so that ava can look, breathing in a half-forgotten scent.

cedarwood and oil paint drying (‘it takes a very long time’). turpentine and a mug full of paint water and shannon’s mouth against it. charcoal dust and pencils scattered over her desk. boots propped by the door.

how mary would look at her. the glancing touches, the way they’d hold each other after missions and it made beatrice think of atoms colliding at great speed. turning into light, turning everything to dust.

beatrice looking down at her hands as the grammar shifts to shannon was.

when ava phases, her body turns to diffuse light, threads of scattered gold. she wants to ask beatrice if there’s ever a trace, a sketch, a silhouette of someone else inside that light.

she doesn’t ask, but when mary comes back she tells ava that she sees shannon everywhere. in the light falling down behind the hills. in roof tiles and old hoodies and too many pairs of boots.

‘do you see her in me?’

‘i see her in beatrice. with you it’s… more of a feeling.’

‘like a vibe?’

a slow, fond smile. ‘sure. it’s like a vibe.’

both of them roasting marshmallows on a campfire and beatrice just visible between the trees, stooping to collect more wood. when mary speaks again her voice has an ache inside it.

‘sometimes when i’m standing next to you i forget where i am, and it’s like i’m catching her light, casting her shadow.’

ava taking her hand, putting her head on mary’s shoulder and feeling a sudden surge of warmth in the halo. like a hand reaching out to grasp them both.

but all she says is, ‘you fucked up your marshmallow.’

they swap sticks so that when bea comes back she kneels next to ava, puts her hand over ava’s hand to teach her how to do it right. mary shaking with silent laughter as ava pretends to be clueless for the sake of bea saying, ‘here, like this. close but not too close to the flames.’

ava thinking too late, i’m already in the fire. i’m already alight.

kissing bea when she’s finished her demonstration and making her taste-test the perfectly cooked marshmallow. mary groaning and ava laughing into bea’s mouth, tasting sugar, carbon, fire.

watching mary sit next to the dying light as bea sets up their sleeping bags. ava privately of the opinion that they definitely don’t need two of them. then turning, seeing mary upset the ashes, look into the sky, lips moving.

maybe it’s prayer. ava knows she prayed to beatrice on the other side.

going into the tent and kissing bea slow, tender, hiding an apology in her mouth, on the inside of her arm, between her breasts. knowing she was almost an absence, like shannon. a loss, a thing of light and dust. knowing mary will never unravel it from her bones. but knowing, as she did when she kissed bea the first time, that love is worth holding, worth having. even for an instant, for the length of a kiss and a goodbye.

that a house is only ever haunted because someone lived in it, slept in it, painted its walls and ate meals in the kitchen. she wakes up in the morning and mary’s there, making coffee, telling ava that shannon always put a spoonful of sugar in hers, but no milk.

‘bittersweet?’

‘yeah.’

and ava knows from bea that mary drinks her coffee unsweetened, but sometimes with a little milk. and yet watching as mary pours out the coffee and empties a sugar packet into hers. sipping it and looking out at the trees, at the forest, at all these places shannon has never touched.

#i love you dearly but i'm not sorry #'anon'#avatrice #shannon x mary #warrior nun

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mr-mandalorian · 2 years

Text

dream x immortal f!reader, lots of pining, dream decides to ignore his own feelings and play matchmaker, word vomit and typos, maybe some incorrect lore

he’s met her once in the waking world. dream was trailing after death and her many errands when she informed him of the second undying mortal. the encounter was brief yet somehow far too long. dream barely said a word as the two friends embraced, unable to tear his gaze away from the human woman.

she was a painter. well, she wished to be. dream needn’t to look at the dark circles below her bright eyes to know she wasn’t getting enough sleep. with little money and many responsibilities, life left little time for her to paint. but the few creations y/n put out, posing under a title of a man, have been applauded and praised.

she asked of death to let her be, to endlessly live and endlessly create.

after centuries, dream found himself thinking of that short encounter. liked it or not, something changed in him after his imprisonment. his heart was set on giving humanity another chance when his mind could not forgive or forget.

he tested the waters firstly checking up on her in the dreaming. dream or nightmare, they were always incredibly detailed. she and morpheus were alike in that away, seeking perfection in anything they created.

only a month later, she stopped coming. dream would look for her every night only to find a blank canvas. so with a little push from lucienne, dream ventured to meet the undying mortal in the waking world for the second time.

y/n held an unlit cigarette between her lips, too enamored by her work to smoke it. she ran out in the garden barefooted, spotting a raven perched on the tree that grew in the middle. with a pencil at hand and one eye closed, she measured the bird from far away.

“you haven’t been sleeping.” she jumped at the sound, a deep voice sidetracking her concentration.

when she turned around to face him, dream found himself holding his breath. she looked unrecognizable yet completely the same. the red of the apples of her cheeks, the feckless that littered her skin, the brightness in her eyes was just as he remembered. but her hair was different and she was covered in paint, smudged all over her face and clothes. dream had to steady his gaze on her face, the overalls she wore had nothing underneath. if she turned a certain way, he could see the soft curve of her breast.

she didn’t respond, only removing the cigarette from her lips to press a finger to them, silencing dream not to startle the raven. she turned away, quickly scribbling down the image before her on a sketchbook.

“can i see?” she flinched the second time as the raven opened it’s mouth. “i know of your work from when i was human, so don’t blame me for getting a little excited.”

“s-sure.” y/n nodded as matthew jumped to sit on her shoulder, bowing his head to peak into the painter’s sketchbook.

“morpheus, come look at this! can we frame it? hang it in the library or something?”

“you need her permission, not mine.” the king of dreams finally stepped further into the garden, coming to stand close to the not so ordinary humans.

“yeah, sure, you can have it. that is if you comeback sometime, not everyday do i get a talking animal to pose for me.” y/n smiled sweetly at the bird, morpheus silently observing them. it was overwhelming standing so close, she smelled of smoke, turpentine and sweet molasses.

“what uh- what made you visit, if i may ask? not that i’m unappreciative-!” she felt her cheeks heat up immediately, fearing of sounding ungrateful under dream’s attentive gaze. “you’re welcome to visit anytime!”

“as i said, you haven’t been sleeping.”

“and you visit every human that has trouble? there must be so many-“

“no, just you.”

she was sweating now, completely turning red. she took a step back, matthew leaving her shoulder as she lifted a leg to rest her sketchbook on. it’s been quite some time since she’s interacted with someone, yet alone an endless being hinting at her special treatment.

“well-“ she took a big breath, focusing all of her attention on the sketchbook instead of dream. “it’s a little difficult to sleep when someone keeps spying on your dreams.”

it was morpheus’ time to grow sheepish. he was so careful, hidden and silent when attending her dreams. he shouldn’t have come, he’s only embarrassing himself.

“it’s only my duty.” relief flooded him, his voice unwavering and convincing.

“y-yeah, i understand.” she quickly nodded, an unreadable expression on her face. “i’ll work on it, okay? sometimes i genuinely forget, being undying and all. but how have you been? how’s death? do you know if she’s doing alright?”

morpheus couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him how he was doing. but he skipped right past the question, hung up on the longing in her eyes when she spoke of death.

“are you two…?”

“what?” y/n looked at him questioningly, the gears slowly turning in her head. when she realized the true intent of his words, she nearly burst out laughing. “you’re asking if i’m dating you sister? i’m forever in debt to death, and as beautiful as she is, we’re only friends.”

relief flooded him once more and he did not know why. he couldn’t have been jealous, after all, death did give him an undying human of his own.

“i only ask because she hasn’t visited in sometime. i get it though, she has a big job to do. but you can’t control-“ y/n pointed down to her chest, smiling softly. “-what’s happening in here. my mind knows she’s busy, but my heart can’t help but miss her still.”

morpheus stayed silent for a minute, watching her smooth the pages of her sketchbook. he could not understand how she could understand him so well without knowing him.

“has it been lonely?“ morpheus found himself asking before he could think it over, before he could consider if it was okay to do so.

“undying has its ups and downs.” y/n simply shrugged. “i get to observe people viewing my work from afar, have genuine reactions, unknowing that the supposedly dead author is somewhere in the crowd, her heart swelling at every gasp, smile or frown.”

she stopped to ponder for a moment, morpheus absorbing her every word like a man starved.

“it must be why i saw you in my dream, you too observe people having reactions to your creations.”

her passion was intoxicating. but she was only partly right, he was in her dream because it was her dream.

“anyways, that’s the best part of undying. does it get lonely? sometimes. i’m in the crowd, but i’m never part of it, you know?” she smiled sadly, ripping out a page from her sketchbook, a simple offering to the king of dreams. “a small price to pay for immortality, i suppose.“

the drawing of matthew was framed in the library as promised.

the same night morpheus saw her back in the dreaming. if she sensed him, she didn’t let it show. but he was right next to her, a brooding shadow contemplating her words. in his yearning heart he knew how to settle her troubles, but in his mind he had a completely different plan brewing.

he met her in the waking world for the third time weeks later. matthew had to bite back a comment about the endless’ trembling, finding his master’s pining unbelievably amusing.

y/n wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm, the summer heat unbearable as she prepared a few paintings for shipping. she loved the challenge of finding ways to make her art different from the last half century, always posing under a new pseudonym to publish. a soft knocking from the open door caught her attention, finding the king of dreams stood before her. he only seemed to visit when she looked her worst.

she stood, dusting off her knees to quickly meet him outside. dream swallowed thickly, she looked ethereal in her summer dress. her skin was glistening from the heat, her chest rising up and down from work. dream could only let his mind wander and before he could snap out of it, he reached out his hand to wipe some paint that was smudged on her cheek.

silence filled the air, none of them breaking eye contact. dream wished to stay planted here forever, enjoying the sweet domesticated moment. but matthew croaked loudly from somewhere in the garden, breaking the suffocating quiet.

“i’ve come with a proposal.” dream cleared his throat, finally speaking up.

“oh?”

“i think i know of someone that might help with the plaguing longing feeling.”

“you do?”

“there are few beings that can truly understand us. one of them would like to see you this weekend.”

“like uh- like a date?” her cheeks burned red but she couldn’t blame the summer heat.

he slipped a piece paper with the time and date into her hand and left without another word. at first she thought of him as shy, but she should’ve known better than to go looking for reason in a god’s actions.

the bar didn’t seem out of the ordinary to her, she couldn’t wait to ask dream why he had picked it. but as she waited for the endless, his seat was being filled by a man she’s never seen before.

“are you by any chance y/n?” she didn’t respond, her heart rate picking up at the fact that a random man just uttered her name. “sorry- should’ve probably mentioned, i’m dream’s friend.”

he offered her his hand to shake, a genuine smile on his face. she took it hesitantly.

“hob gadling, also undying.”

her grip on his hand loosened as realization washed over her. she replayed her last conversation with dream, wanting to laugh at her own stupidity, her own delusion. how could she so foolishly believe that the king of dreams could return her feelings?

“hey, are you okay?” hob asked, gently placing her hand on the rounded table in between them. “i’m sorry if-“

“no, no-! it’s quite alright, i’m sorry. i-“ she tried her best to put on a smile, feeling absurd in her tight silk dress. “dream didn’t- he didn’t… i’m so sorry, this is not what i thought it was.”

“well, if it’s any consolation, he looked seriously torn up playing matchmaker.”

y/n apologized once more. she didn’t know what else to do, the shame was eating her from inside out. luckily, hob didn’t take it to heart. they exchanged numbers and agreed to meet under different circumstances.

when dream asked his trusted raven to check up on y/n, matthew could only sigh. morpheus couldn’t face her himself, what if he found her happy with another man? it is what he wished for her, but he did not understand why his heart felt so heavy with the thought of it.

death found him sulking in the waking world, visitors of the art museum bustling around him, looking over the many paintings y/n had created over the centuries. yet morpheus could only look at his hands, paint still tinted his fingertips from where he touched y/n’s skin.

“i’ve been counting down the days until i got to visit y/n. i missed her dearly, eager to spend all my free time with my vibrant friend. but why is it that i found her in complete disarray, the bluest i have ever seen her in centuries?”

morpheus didn’t acknowledge his sister standing beside him. he could not understand her words, why would y/n be blue with sorrow? dream found her a perfect match, someone human and undying just like her.

“as amusing as i find you trying to do something nice, i am in disbelief at how dense you can be.”

he looked at her, eyes stormy and insulted.

“why do you think i took you to meet y/n all those ages ago? i could’ve kept her to myself, but as i got to know her, she reminded me of you. at first i assumed to be wrong, seeing as centuries passed and you did nothing about it. yet here we are, both of us dismissing our duties in this very moment because we’re soft on one particular painter.”

“you did this to me? you toy with my heart for your own entertainment?”

“do you think so little of me, little brother? it is not entertainment, it is a mere hope to see my favorite people be happy together.”

death’s words are confirmed when matthew returns. he’s silent for a moment and morpheus wishes to strangle the raven for keeping the king waiting. matthew tries his best to keep his tone cheery, explaining that humans often feel things they can not fully understand. it is how y/n explained it herself, she can not control the beating of her heart.

he seeks her in the waking world, y/n not dreaming again as if to vex him. she’s in her garden, summer heat diminishing with clouds pouring down from above. morpheus watches as she gets soaked by the rain, the cigarette between her lips damp and unusable.

“you haven’t been sleeping.” he starts with his usual line, but this time y/n doesn’t jump or flinch at his words. she only purses her lips, her eyes empty as she finds his.

“i’m undying, forgive me my king, for not wanting to spend my time trapped in unpleasant dreams.” her formality is mocking and distancing at the same time.

“forgive if i have overstepped, i only thought… i thought i was doing what was best.”

“there’s nothing to apologize for.” dream wanted her to be angry, wanted her to shout. but she only smiled, the saddest smile dream has ever seen. “it was my own stupidity that lead me to believe that the being to cure my loneliness could be you.”

morpheus couldn’t breathe, his throat dry and chest heavy. guilt had rendered him static.

“it was i who was foolish, y/n-“

“really, we don’t have to do this. i appreciate the gesture, but i think it would be best if you didn’t come around anymore. i just need time to-“

“i can not bear another second away from you!” she’s startled as morpheus raises his voice, a load crack of thunder following after him. “i was foolish to ignore the feeling in my chest, foolish to ignore your warning about the uncontrollable heart. i was prepared to spend my days miserable only to see you happy with someone else. but it was wrong of me to decide for you, i understand that now. if my absence is truly what you desire, i will take my leave, but first i must ask you to forgive me.”

“not another second? we have all of eternity, dream.”

“and yet it will never be enough if you’ll allow me to spend it all with you.”

#sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #dream x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #dream of the endless

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moominofthevalley · 5 months

Text

Turpentine

While snowed in together, Trystan asks his friends a morbid question.

trystan thorne, emily rose, ruby webster, luke watanabe

teen | wc: 2.1k | cw: spoilers for book two, chapter fifteen, and talks of death

cfwc prompt: stuck in a snowstorm

Glistening fairy lights cornered all four walls of Luke and Ruby’s apartment, the yellow bulbs warming their hearth. A tree dusted with faux snow and wrapped with pink garlands sat by the TV, brimming with gifts underneath. Honeysuckle wine and a charcuterie board made by Emily were set on the table, crackers and prosciutto splattered across. The surly detective giggled, crossing her arms at Trystan’s creation.

“You are such a showoff.”

Trystan laughed at her remark as he set the main course on the dinner table. Husks of steam slipped out of the honey-glazed duck, leaving their mouths watering. Roasted pears and plump blood sausages sat beside it, the heavenly aroma wafting around the air.

“You know I live to boast, darling.”

“I think my dish is way better,” Luke beamed, setting his strawberry spongecake beside the duck. Ruby giggled, laying a batch of cookies on the table.

“It certainly looks amazing,” Ruby said, “I can’t wait to try it, honey.”

“Ah, yes, but did you spend two days making it?” Trystan teased, pouring himself a glass of wine — a floral zest with a crisp aftertaste, exquisitely sweet and spirited. Emily elbowed him, playfully furrowing her brows.

“Anyways,” Ruby cleared her throat, “I’m so glad we’re finally home.”

“Agreed,” Luke plopped a grape into his mouth, “I don’t think I can ever handle being in a room with every Thorne again.”

Emily and Trystan shared an uneasy glance, silently unveiling mutual sorrow. Months have passed since their ungodly case in Trystan’s homeland, though the time spent there forever stained them. Emily’s mouth ran dry as Sebastyan’s and Vasili’s corpses rushed through her mind. The dagger tight in Vasili’s chest, the petrified eyes of Sebastyan as he died at the hands of another Thorne. Two ghosts clinging on their shoulders.

“It’s hard to believe our little stint in Drakovia is over,” Emily shook her head, “I wonder what our next big case is gonna be.”

“No more cheating husband cases for you?” Ruby asked, her brow cocked amusingly. Emily grinned with a mischievous shrug.

“As tempting as that sounds, I might need bigger fish to go after.” Trystan chuckled, splaying his hand on top of Emily’s.

“Drakovia has spoiled her. Good luck getting her to take the common cases again.”

“Do you think you’d ever look into…your dad’s murder?” Luke asked, almost nonchalantly. Ruby sent him a warning glance, lightly bumping his feet underneath the table. Trystan’s hands curled into Emily’s, solace in his eyes.

Emily gulped. Each time she debated looking into Jimmy’s death, there were far too many holes, far too many questions, and not enough evidence for her liking. Distant memories of bickering with Uncle Tommy and Trystan struck her, and she cringed at how horrible she became. Desperately hungry to solve the only question she had left. She refused to let her and Trystan turn into a pair of tectonic plates – subtly rubbing against each other, then drifting away forever. To not catch the death of a relationship until it’s already rotting, staining every moment with resentment and twisted words. Even the slightest possibility of another heartbreak sent her spiraling downwards.

“I’ve…thought about it,” she frowned, “One day, though.”

“One day.”

The heavy moment passed, and the Ginovesi crew - bar Mafalda - began their feast. They all vehemently agreed, to Luke’s dismay, that Trystan’s duck was the clear winner. Luke’s shortcake was no match for the savory and crisp flavors of the traditional Drakovian dinner. Though his cake appeared light and fluffy, it was overly dense and oddly sour. Ruby’s cookies and Emily’s board tied for second place, both sweet and made with love. A blend of cookies framed like snowflakes, snowmen, Snoopy in Santa hats, and candy canes bunched together on a plate. The charcuterie board was a splendid still life, adorning moon drop grapes, saltine crackers, and sprigs of rosemary. Plates were stuffed and spirited laughs rang across the warmly-lit home.

“Good God!” Emily groaned, swallowing a bitter slice of Luke’s cake, “What the fuck did you put in this?”

Luke’s eyes widened, “Do you not like strawberries?”

“Try it yourself! I don’t even…” Emily spat out the remaining bits, nearly gagging.

Reluctantly, Luke cut himself a small serving. Trystan and Ruby cackled as his face turned red, spitting the remains onto a napkin.

“Jesus!” Luke shivered, “Okay–I think I know what happened.”

“What did you do?!”

“...I may have used salt instead of sugar.”

“Oh my God!” Trystan laughed, slapping his knee, “You are a horrible baker!”

“It-it’s not my fault!” Luke said sheepishly, throwing his hands in the air. Ruby snickered, patting his shoulder.

“Babe. You literally made the cake.”

Rounds of laughs echoed through the kitchen, contentment and joy present on the soft New York night. Blissful moments fell around them as heaps of snow tumbled down like raindrops, piling up minute by minute.

* * * *

Standing by the window sill, Emily’s eyes tracked the ebb and flow of snowfall. Faint Christmas tunes slipped through the window crack, presumably from the neighbor. She hummed delightedly, eyes shut at the still moment. Moonlight burst into the room, dimly lit and warm despite the glowing chill from the glass before her. The swell of nearby trumpets and saxophones and Earthly beauty brought her to ease.

“Don’t tell the others, Detective, but your charcuterie board was my favorite,” Trystan grinned, sitting beside her.

“Oh really?” Emily smirked, “Are you sure you’re not being biased?”

“Hm,” Trystan gave her a so-so gesture, “Definitely not.”

Cupping both sides of her face, Trystan’s pupils widened fondly. Emily turned slightly, kissing his palm.

“Your hands still smell like garlic!”

Trystan chuckled, sniffing his hand. Sure enough, the pungent odor attacked his nose. He shrugged it off, focused on the gruff detective.

“I love you, my little moon!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know! You’re a bit…glum. And very short.”

“I am 5’3, you tall shit!” Emily swatted his arm, “I would call you my ‘sun,’ but you’re more like a little dog.”

“What? How?”

“You follow me around all day. And listen to my orders – for the most part.”

“Not to ruin the moment,” Luke announced as he pointed to his phone, “There’s a snow squall warning. It’ll clear up tomorrow morning, but you guys will have to stay the night.”

“How fun!” Ruby squealed, “It’ll be like a sleepover! I’ll go get blankets so you two can sleep on the couch.”

She disappeared into the hallway closet, hunting for the thickest blankets and pillows possible. Luke cocked an eyebrow, unamused as Trystan and Emily sat on the couch across from him.

“So when you said you loved Ruby’s cookies you were lying?” He asked Trystan, crossing his arms in faux-anger. Trystan chuckled, unashamed.

“I did love Ruby’s cookies – they were phenomenal. Much better than your shortcake anyway,” He teased, “Emily’s just happened to be my favorite.”

“You two are literal children,” Emily snorted, “I–”

Darkness surrounded them. The only light left was the waning candlelight on the kitchen table. Gusts of wind flickered from the cracked window, a biting chill creeping up on their skin. Concerned, Ruby poked her head out of the closet.

“Hot-diggity-daffodil!” Luke proclaimed, “I guess the power’s out, too.”

“We can see that, Luke.” Ruby returned with a bundle of blankets. The crew settled in the living room, the window now shut, bottles of wine and lively candles by the coffee table. An easy silence shrouded the room, with only the croaking rats in the walls and the crackling candles to distract them. They all sipped the remains of the honeysuckle wine, sweetness trickling down their throats like candle wax melting onto the table.

“I have an idea,” Trystan cleared his throat, “It is a bit morbid, though.”

“What is it?” Ruby asked, curious.

“In Drakovia, we go around in circles asking certain…questions. Usually around New Year’s, but we’re in the middle of a snowstorm. It’s not like we have much else to do.”

“What type of questions?”

Trystan sat still, contemplating. An eerieness in his eyes, a peculiar tenacity about him. He flinched at the briefest second, then shrugged.

“If you were dying, how would you like to pass away? What would you like to have with you?”

Quietness surrounded them once more, their breaths slightly more tense and strained. Emily sat closer to Trystan instinctively, craning her head against his shoulder. The candles continued to wail, as Ruby cleared her throat with somberness in her eyes.

“I think…if we ever got one,” She glanced at Luke, “I’d like to have a little cat in my lap. And Luke to hold my hand. And maybe a cup of tea, but only in that calico-print mug you got me for our anniversary.”

Luke wiped tears from Ruby’s cheek, a rare solemness on his face. He grinned weakly, pressing a kiss on the side of her face. Ruby’s heart swayed in the lull air, her hand tight in his.

“I need Ruby next to me, laying by me. And I want it all to be quiet,” Luke murmured, “I don’t want to be able to hear anything. But I want there to be a window. So I can look up at the sky one more time. I don’t care if it’s day or night…that’s all I want.”

Silence lay steadily upon them, the croaking rats having vanished. The candles remained lit, embers mute and growing frail. Warmth bloomed between them, huddling closer together. The moon climbed further into the night sky, its silvery rays illuminating the apartment. Trystan fiddled with his fingers, as Emily rubbed circles around his legs. It was like muscle memory. Rituals and silly minuscule traditions became more familiar to the two of them with each passing month. Chopping garlic cloves, peeling oranges, collecting ugly trinkets.

“I’d want someone to play old Drakovian music…the songs my father showed me as a kid. And,” Trystan grinned at Emily, a smile so unabashedly bold and bare it nearly brought her to tears, “I want you to kiss my forehead. And rub my feet.”

Emily pecked the top of his head, her eyes burning as Diana’s kind words echoed in her mind. Trystan wiped away her tears, tenderness with every touch.

She was familiar with death. A one-sided friendship, a shadow lurking behind her with every step she took. It offered no hope and no excuses. The only things bereavement brought were ghostly memories and pearls from the past rolling in her hand, daring to be dropped. Her fingers trembled, her mouth dry as she urged herself to go on.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” Emily said finally, slightly panting, “Every single one of them died in pain. And alone. Sonja. Bethany. Nadja. Sebastyan. I don’t want it to be like that. I want to be ready. And...Trystan next to me.”

They all leaned against each other. The candles shined well into the night, fickle and bright. Empty wine bottles scented the room, warm and heady. Emily shut her eyes, picturing herself as a sleeping child being carried to bed after a long drive home. Laughter through the walls, the ticking of a nearby clock, soft jazz slipping through the window, a kiss on her cheek. Perhaps it’d be good to her. Just a brief second and all that’d remain was a tombstone with her name.

Emily unveiled her vision, the rest of her friends in tears. Trystan stroked her hair gently, still smiling. It was simple. It was clear.

“All we want is everything we have,” He said, their faces inches apart, “And I’m the richest man in the world.”

* * * *

Ruby and Luke shut their bedroom door, Emily and Trystan now alone on the couch. With her legs in his lap, he rested a hand on her thigh, tracing lazy circles. The candles had long died out, leaving only moonbeams and constellations to light up the room.

“Em?” Trystan whispered as Emily moved over to lie on his chest. She gazed into his argent eyes, exasperation clear on his face.

“Mhm?”

“Do you remember when I refused to go on that plane? All those months ago.” Emily snorted quietly, Trystan gliding his hands along her back.

“Of course I do. I knew you weren’t going to.”

“Do you remember what you said to me after that?”

“Mhm. I told you there’s a reason partners and romance don’t mix well. That it’s trouble waiting to happen.”

“And then I told you that I just so happen to like trouble.”

They smirked, noses crinkled and eyes bagged. Trystan cupped Emily’s chin, palms still smeared with the scent of garlic.

“I’m glad we’re partners.”

“I am too.”

* * * * A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! Thank you for reading this – I came up with this idea FOREVER AGO but was never able to execute it until now. I’ve always loved the idea of thinking of death, not as something to fear (though I still struggle with that), but rather as something that is just a little moment. That’s painful, and maybe not necessarily beautiful, but something that just happens organically. Like that one poem that’s like “I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom as a child.” I actually wrote a poem about that, if anyone would be interested in me posting it. Anyway – thank you again for reading!

Click here for a list of all my works so far!

Tags: @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @stars-are-within-me @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @calisomnia @kyra75 @icarusfallsforever @inlocusmads (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

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magicaguajiro · 3 months

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Swamp Witch’s Guide to Pine Trees

For this post, I will be talking about lore of Pine across cultures, with a focus on my local species here in Florida, the Slash Pine (Pinus elliottii). I highly recommend researching the species native to your area, and forming a relationship with those trees.

Ecology:

Slash Pines are known to grow very tall and quickly, and thrive in the Scrub and Flatwoods. They have an avg. lifespan of about 150 years. They reach up and chase the Sun, and call down Lightning. This Lightning starts Fires that prevent Hardwood Hammock Species from moving in and dominating the scrub effectively protecting the biome. It is an evergreen and a conifer.

Pine as a Healer and Protector:

Pines are a common symbol of pushing through the winter, and its never fading needles remind us of the Sunny days to come. In my experience, Pine can have a very Solar nature when approached in matters of cleansing and healing is a very fiery cleansing energy, swords come to mind. Pine has been burned used in crosses and strung about the home to dispel melancholy it has also been used as medicine by Indigenous People in FL for centuries. This is where I draw my associations Avich healing from. This Solar energy can also cause it to come off a bit posh, but you just have to pay appropriately.

Slash Pine is known for its hard, dense wood. Also, as its role as protector through bringing fires to fend off the encroaching Oaks and Palms, clearly has the virtues of a Fighter and Protector. Once you have established a connection with a few dices, call on them to gaud you or to burn up any hexes with the next fire the call! Burning some needles or bark is also a great way to call the spirit into your space for workings and

communication.

Pine and the Otherworld

Pine being associated with the Otherworld is a mix of UPG and Tradition. In some places, Pines are considered Saturian and Connected to the Dead. Personally, I do consider Pine an Ancestral Ally as my family are Pineros from Isla de Pinos Cuba. I find Pine helps to be an intermediary between a practitioner and Spirits Ancestors and Others. The Seminole and Miccosukee tribes have belief regarding Pine as it relates to some of their Land Spirits. The type of spirit who live in the Pine are called 'Este Lopocke' and are 'little people' similar to the Fair Folk in the mischief and connection to the Plant world. This further shows its quality as an Otherworldly plant.

Offerings T have made to Pine Spirits:

-Tobacco, Loose or burned

-Alcohol, on an altar or sprinked on the plant

-Copper Coins

-Water from a Local River

-Prayer and Song

-Blood, your water

-Devoted and dedicated time

It can't go unsaid when talking about Florida Pines that many people, mainly poor black folks, unjustly lost their lives or became disabled from working in Turpentine plants in the 19th and 20th Centuries. This tragic history is intrinsically linked to the Tree now. You can read some of the recorded folklore from these Florida Turpentine Farms in the book ‘Of Mules and Men’ by Zora Neale Hurston. Pine is a great ally to have in your spiritual court and I love working with it as a protective, cleansing force.

Luz y Progreso 🕯️

#witchcraft #florida #bioregional animism #bruja #brujeria #florida witch #santeria #swamp witch #witch #traditional witchcraft #folk witch #folk magic #dual faith

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yearningforunity · 1 month

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Turpentine worker’s family near Cordele, Alabama. Father’s wages one dollar a day. This is the standard of living the turpentine trees support 1936.

Ph: Dorothea Lange

#Cordele #Alabama #Turpentine #Worker #1936 #1930s #Jim Crow #Great Depression #African Descent #African Diaspora #American South

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aisling-saoirse · 3 months

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Pitch Pine - Pinus rigida

Today we have a resilient tree, one which grows in some of the harshest environments in the northeast, the Pitch Pine. This species of pine is well known as the most common tree in both the New Jersey and Long Island Pine Barrens. Growing in sandy, fire frequent, bare rock, and occasionally ultramafic conditions

Pitch Pine is a kind of extremophile, it excels where others cannot survive. The pine exists in fire ecologies and is adapted to these conditions: they retain cones up to 15 years on branches that open in the event of a fire, dormant buds protected underneath that thick bark can produce new leaves directly from the trunk quickly after major burns, and a very fast growth and reproductive maturity peroid.

The Pitch Pine itself is generally scraggly in appearance and usually stops growing at around 60 feet with a maximum lifespan of maybe 200 years, after that it's usually out-competed by deciduous trees (this only happens with limited fire). Its bark is thick and heavily plated, its needles come in groups of three and are much more rigid than other pines. Cones are nearly circular and fresh ones are covered in spikes (very painful to handle!).

Distribution is from Maine to Georgia, only really growing in the Appalachias South of New Jersey. As for habitats I've seen this tree in the Virginia Blue Ridge, the seprentine barrens of Pennsylvania, everywhere in the pine barrens, dense south facing bare rock zones of the catskills (image above), and sporadically mixed in a forest in Maine. It's very common to find this species around blueberries, huckleberry, various oaks, Virginia pine, eastern white pines, and near atlantic white cedar swamps.

Onto usuage, the Pitch Pine gets its name for its resinous pitch saturated wood. Indigenous peoples (Iroquois Confederacy, Shinnecock, Lenape to name a few) wrote about utilizing the pitch to seal canoes, as a laxatives and to treat boils/burns. Settlers often saw this species as a decent waterproof lumber and a source of turpentine but mostly utilized pitch pine in long burns in large piles for charcoal production.

Pitch pine is a pretty great pioneer species within its range, My great grandfather discussed his attempt to keep the roads clear of these trees by his house only to destroy his chainsaw with the resinous pitch. He failed to actually keep the road clear and lost not only a few acres of Christmas tree farm (visible with a large pitch pine outgrowing some douglas fir above) but also an airport runway which a local wealthy family owned...50 years to this day I still haven't found the airport on maps or walking.

The only major danger to this species is from an introduced ambrosia beetle which has been killing large numbers throughout its range, but otherwise this species is not at risk.

So visit your local northeast mountaintop or barrens, the noise the wind makes when passing through pitch pine forests is hauntingly lovely, and keep an ear out for the subtle calls of the whipoorwhil as well.

#pinus rigida #pitch pine #plant profiles #trees of the northeast america #pine barrens #new jersey

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rusteddreamsstories · 1 month

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The Indifferent World

Summary: The tale of a person who falls into another world with an entirely different set of physics. A cosmic entity is soon to eat the sun and it is up to her to change the world's thinking by her very presence in time to change it's fabric and to save it. (Based on a dream I had, old work).

The Indifferent World Shadsie

“My universe doesn’t work this way.”

“How, pray tell, does it work?”

“It is mostly indifferent.”

The man guiding Kris gave her a perplexed look, furrowing his brow even as he passed a viciously-pointed stave into her hands. Explaining “home” had been hard enough so far in a world where the laws of physics as Kris had known them seemed to be at work only in selective intervals. Certainly swords and poleaxes worked the same way here as they did at home, as did horses and wind and the general layout of architecture. Gravity worked, for the most part, and the birds looked and worked like normal birds although the young woman had found some things to use as improbable gliders when trying to escape the ramparts of the castle where she was being held. She’d have probably broken bones if that aspect hadn’t been at least a little bit as “cartoonish” as it was, although she was caught and brought back again, anyway.

She was not treated poorly here, quite the opposite, but she wished to go home. There had to be a way, she only had to find it and suspected it lay somewhere in the Eastern Woods, where she had first arrived. There were no light portals or swirly things. She suspected she was asleep because her arrival here seemed to coincide with her getting droopy-eyed while doing a painting. Around-and-around her brush went over a circle of yellow-white paint representing a fading sun in a darkened sky – around-and-around until she’d felt as if she’d been drawn into the world of the painting, stepping out into a dappled wood.

She vaguely remembered an old book series she’d read. Yeah, the Pevensie children got into Narnia by staring at a painting in one of those Faerie stories. Kris had been actually creating a painting. She was sure she was not high at the time: At least as not as long as fumes from the linseed oil and turpentine weren’t getting to her too much. She always worked in well-ventilated areas. She was also pretty sure that this wasn’t Narnia.

Her captors called their world “Earth.” It wasn’t home, though - it definitely wasn’t home.

When she’d found herself fully upright rather than sitting at her easel and her boots were crunching the dried detritus of a forest floor, what she could see beyond the upper trees was blue. It wasn’t the sky of her painting, although the trees were similar. When the soldiers had arrested her and taken her out into the fields surrounding Highwater Castle, the sky was as blue as any she’d seen, dotted with puffy clouds that seemed to mirror the numerous sheep grazing the lawns.

The sky was rust-bloody red now and the sun was dim. Pietro, the guardsman with her, regarded her seriously in the stormlight as he strapped plates of armor over her arms and shins. “How is it different?” he asked, wondering if she had some kind of answer that would win the coming battle. Perhaps he was trying to goad her, to get her mind to work the way the people here wanted it to.

“For one thing,” she answered, “our sun and the light that it gives us is not tied to the welfare of a maiden.”

“Even so, Outlander, if you continue to value your life,” the man said with a shiver, “you will assist in protecting Lady Umbra – even if you do not think she should exist.”

Kris could not tell anyone entirely how she’d wound up at a Medieval-looking fortress in some alternate version of Earth and the Universe – or wherever she was. She’d tried waking up several times. Pain was real here and she could tell time and read books without the numbers and words jumbling together. She pinched herself and water was cold and she was still here. Most things worked by regular logic, save those few things that were very different, but differed in the way of a constructed world – like that of a book or a game or a film. The “rules,” even the ones that did not make sense to her, were consistent. One thing that she knew that was strangest of things about this place was that all the people here spoke and wrote in perfect English in the style of her era, so she had no problem communicating here.

The other thing she knew was that the world was about to end.

She looked up at the wounded sky to the dying sun. People were screaming behind her. There were rally-shouts to defend the castle and its inmost sanctum where the ailing Sun Maiden was guarded. The clouds moved like black smoke over the red face of the sky. Kris could have sworn she saw the darkest of them form into a maw with fangs briefly over the sun before a wind blew them back into something paler and more amorphous. The forces of Darkness had been winning most of the battles of late. Smoke-Ghosts, eyeless beasts and human troops of surrounding kingdoms who were loyal to the End for their own mysterious reasons had taken the mountain fortresses and were quickly encroaching upon the Center of the World. The war seemed nearly at an end, one that would see humankind and most animal and plant life defeated and eventually extinct.

The Beast of Entropy was nearly upon the Kingdom of Light. If the Beast swallowed up the Maiden or if she died from the bombardment of malevolent energies surrounding them all, the sun itself would die forever, flickering out like the flame of a spent candle. First would come the heat as the Beast would revel in his destruction, stirring up the fire-mountains with his great paws. Of course, the people would scramble to build fires to keep themselves warm and lit for as long as possible from any consumable source, fighting the Night as living things do by mad instinct. After that, the cold would come and then the bitter deep chill. After that the silence would fall.

The laughter of Entropy filled the air, although nothing was seen of any great creature. Kris wondered at what the personification of a cosmic force was supposed to look like, anyway. The myths she’d been told described this particular god as being both draconic and catlike, but that he could take the form of any fear. It seemed kind of hokey to Kris. Then again, just a few days ago she’d met a young woman close to her age whose fate was connected to the sun and whose life guaranteed its place in the sky.

As soon as she’d arrived in this world, she’d been taken by soldiers to Highwater Castle where the local royalty were inexplicably quick to make friends with her. Apparently, she was a part of some sort of prophecy. They’d spoke of having “Outworlders” arrive before – typically from other planets with other suns that were guarded by Maidens. Only a few came from places such as hers where the laws were different and it was only people who came from these places that had a chance, they believed, of “breaking the Cycle.”

She was set to be one of the guardians of a woman named Lady Umbra. She’d met Glace and Matilda, the girls’ other bodyguards and both natives of the land. Glace experimented in something she called “science” that seemed much more to Kris like magic – mainly in developing technology to control her naturally-occurring ice-powers. Matilda was a standard ax-wielding warrioress. Their charge, the Lady Umbra, was a pale-skinned, dark-haired, dark eyed youth and was slated to succeed the previous Keeper of the Sun. She was to become nothing less than a goddess – “Sol-53,” to be precise, after her powers fully manifested and after a ceremony. “Sol-52,” her predecessor, had passed away recently from the Darkness-sickness before the girl could become a full-fledged replacement.

The Beast of Entropy had sensed this weakness and had sped across the Void to begin his assault upon this Earth’s sun and its light.

Lady Umbra had not been trained to her destiny specifically. She was, however, since birth, heavily scrutinized along with many other girls as a member of a genetic line from which any member displaying certain attributes could be chosen. Her mother and father had named her “Umbra” – a name denoting shadows – specifically to try to spare her the “blessing” of being chosen to become a goddess of the sun. Unfortunately for her, she had the correct traits for it in the end and had been born in a world enslaved to Fate.

“So you are the latest one they dragged in to try to break the chains of Fate?” Umbra asked as she poured Kris a dainty cup of tea from a delicate ceramic teapot painted with pink roses. Kris took the cup, unsure of proper teatime etiquette. She’d had plenty of tea in her time, but it was typically Southern iced sweet-tea or it was hot but taken in a huge coffee mug because even while Kris preferred tea to coffee, she was a less-than-polite American who liked all drinks that sat beside her while she worked to be nice and big for the sake of not having to take refills.

“I guess so,” she replied. “I just really want to go home, actually. Even exploring this world outside these halls and towers would be nice, but it seems that I am a prisoner until I serve some kind of use. I am confused by all of this.”

“Everyone is,” Umbra said as she sipped her cup of spiced oolong. “The king and the priests just love when someone crosses over from a world where stars are not connected to people such as me and you said that you come from such a place, correct?”

“I do,” Kris answered. “Where I come from, the sun is a mass of fire.” She wasn’t entirely sure if this was the correct terminology – she was certain that it wasn’t and that it would make anyone she knew who had any kind of interest in even rudimentary astrophysics tear their hair out in frustration with her. She thought it best to keep the conversation simple. “What I learned in my childhood schooling, anyway, is my world’s sun is a ball of burning gases. It sometimes flares up, causing problems in our… communication-magic. But… it’s not connected to anyone’s life. Our lives depend upon it, but it doesn’t depend upon us at all. It was there before we were and will spin on long after we are gone. It’s set to die one day, but long in the future – likely after my people will meet extinction by natural causes or after our descendants have colonized other worlds and have transformed into different kinds of beings.”

“Our priests pray for our world to become such an indifferent one.” Umbra stated.

“What’s funny,” Kris replied, “Is that so many of my people get the existential shivers when they think of how indifferent our universe is to them. The sun and the stars will spin on long after them. Some of the distant stars they see in the sky are long dead, themselves, the light oblivious to their watching even if those stars were ever conscious to begin with. Entropy exists, but not as a beast with a will to destroy. It is indifferent, as well.”

“Does your world not have gods?”

“We have gods… sort of. There are many kinds of beliefs in my world, many gods, one, none… It’s nothing like what this world runs under. No one seems to be sure of anything and people who act all cocksure that only they are right are the people I’m most suspicious of. That’s just my personal view, though.”

“Hmmm.”

“What I’m trying to say is that, no, we do not have Sun Maidens or Star Maidens. If you’d been born in my world, the sun would give its light with or without you. You wouldn’t have any powers over it. You’d have to find some other thing to carry for people to count on you.”

Kris said this last bit with a smile, a full believer in the concept of kindness carrying kindness and that no one was ever a hero or a villain on their own, but shaped by the circumstances and other people in their lives. She’d wanted to find something to do to be helpful to the world. So far, she was only an art student, having chosen that field over anything her parents thought was useful. Her aunt who’d once been a graphic designer had actually tried to discourage her, telling her that the working world with that was a “plane full of predators” that would chew her up and spit her out. It was true that she could have tried for something better suited to her world like becoming a doctor or joining the military – things most people thought “counted,” but she was drawn to the pencil and the paintbrush in a way that wouldn’t’ be denied. She mused that she might be as much a prisoner to her “calling” as the Sun Maiden was to hers.

The difference, of course, was that her curses were taken on by choice. They had not been forced upon her.

“So, in your world, I would be free…” Umbra said softly.

“Probably not entirely,” Kris said, “because no one is. Limits exist everywhere, even in my world, but, as much as any living creature can have freedom, I’m sure you would be free if you’d lived in my world.”

“I never asked to become the sun,” Umbra said ruefully. “I never asked to be its light in human form upon the Earth, to convey to it the needs of the people. Those are the duties set before me once I become strong. The sun will give its power to me to protect my people with divine Fire and Light, to protect my people from the Darkness. I will be given higher regard than the king and the queen – but I never wanted it. My parents are merchants. Is it strange that I desired a peasant’s life?”

“Not at all.”

“I like chickens. I wanted just to have a cottage somewhere and raise chickens. I know all about different breeds and the different kinds of eggs they lay. I’m not ashamed to clean a coop.”

“A simple life is as proud as any other.”

“I also wanted to know what having sex might be like someday.”

Kris snorted and spit out all of her tea.

Umbra laughed. “Too blunt?”

“A little. You mean, you dreamed of marriage to some gallant young man and all that?”

“Not necessarily. As the Sun Keeper, I am slated to remain ‘pure.’ It’s said that when the sun chose young men that it was the same deal for them – the whole virginity thing.”

“I’ve never actually been much interested in losing it in a hurry, myself,” Kris said. “I haven’t found the right person, I guess, but since I became an adult, I’ve at least had the choice in that.”

Matilda entered the room without knocking. “It is time your bed rest, M’Lady,” she told Umbra.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replied.

“The Outworlder shall leave to her own quarters at once.”

With a glare, Kris departed as asked, to be led by Glace, who was waiting at the door. Neither of them trusted her completely, but they seemed to have an awareness that she could be the key to their world’s salvation – and the salvation of their beloved young mistress.

Kris thought about it as she was taken back to her chambers. She was a prisoner not because she was a threat, but because she was a commodity. In her months here, she had learned all she could – or at least, all that her captors would tell her.

People from worlds without celestial Keepers were said to potentially possess the power to undo the cosmic Fate simply by not believing in it. There was some prophecy in the ancient archives that held that when the right Outworlder came along, one coming from a world in which the sun, the moon and the stars operated completely without tether to any mortal’s soul nor to any of the cities or kingdoms, their sheer disbelief in the world they now walked in could loose the sun and free its goddess to remain a mortal.

In other words, it was Kris’ own logic, imagination and her very longing for her own world that could defeat the ages-old threat of the willful Beast of Entropy.

As it was, the sun and the Light were vulnerable prey. Even when any Sun Keeper came into her own as a physical goddess, there were things that could kill her – such as sicknesses with their origins in dark energies. The blades of swords might bounce off her milk-soft skin when she came to that point, but the energies were always present and were always in danger of growing – particularly with their connections with the morality of the local people and their morale in general.

As it was, Lady Umbra was still fully mortal. She felt not only the bombardment of cruel energies, but could be slain by any means that would kill any other young girl.

Kris tried for the sake of them all to imagine herself out of this quagmire. She thought of home and let her sickness for it consume her hours in hopes that she would find it, but also that this world would become more like it. This was an entire world full of desperate people. She could not blame them for trying to use her. It was also a fact that she liked Lady Umbra a great deal. Her visits with the kind, intelligent and occasionally blunt young woman were the highlight of her days even as the girl was ill often and the skies grew ever darker.

Kris tried to imagine the Beast away, but the more she tried, the more she saw his shadow on the moon and the more she saw him in the clouds. The ancient scribes that had illustrated the ancient texts she was given to read did not help. They’d drawn the damnable thing – as a dragon mixed with a cat, full of horns and hair and razor-spines jutting off its shoulders. It was a big-eared whiskered demon.

The artist imagined the creature taking the sun up as ball and batting it around like a cat does with a toy. She immediately regretted it when she was sure she saw the noonday sun flicker outside her tower window. No, the sun was still there and not being batted around like a ball. There was a cry from Lady Umbra’s chamber, as if the girl was having a nightmare.

No… she couldn’t give him power. She couldn’t give the ways of this world power. She had to free it. She was in a world that was unbelievable. It was a world like a book, a game or a film. “This cannot be a real world,” she told herself, “That is the only way I can change it – if I keep thinking of it as unreal.”

She was escorted to the castle’s altar-area where the Kingdom of Light’s priests prayed for an indifferent world – not caring that such a world could make someone feel utterly alone. Kris did wish she could go back to being insignificant again. She preferred it to having a world set upon her shoulders.

When the Smoke-Ghosts and the Dark Alliance breached the Kingdom of Light’s mountain passes, they came upon Castle Highwater like a wave. This is how Kris the Outworlder found herself in the broken armory with the old soldier named Pietro. This was how she found herself trying to explain what she already had tried to convey to many others.

She thanked the man and took spear he’d given her. She ran back toward Umbra’s chambers over rubble and the ruin. Her ears rang with cannon-fire as Hightower’s soldiers tried to combat the physical dimensions of the onslaught. She looked above and saw the clouds form into lithe and dark cat-shapes to play and dance and hide in a disturbing manner.

Kris tried to avoid the fighting, not being trained from youth in melee combat in the same manner as the men defending the fortress. She was not a magical creature, either and felt like she was carrying the spear as a prop. She decapitated a Smoke-Ghost and watched it dissipate into the ether. Two formed from the shimmering air in its place.

A roar shook the castle and a wall fell. Instead of running from the disaster, she ran toward it because she spied Lady Umbra – carried in the arms of Glace, who was fighting off a group of eyeless lizards with the ice-channeling guns on her wrists.

“I am trying as hard as I can to make sense of this!” Kris called as she ran toward the two. “I am so sorry! My mind cannot seem to stop this!”

“Don’t worry, just fight!” Glace shouted.

Kris held her spear out before her, certain that if this was a dream that it must be her death-dream, either that or she was going to awaken as soon as she died – that tended to happen to her whenever she dreamed of her own death, which was why she never believed in that whole “You die in your dream, you die in real life” malarkey. At the same time, she did care – at least for Umbra – just a little and did not want to just vanish and leave the girl to her fate.

That was when the smoke of hundreds of Smoke-Ghosts turned upon the wind and gathered into an enormous, beastly shape. It roared and was blacker than black, deeper than night – Kris felt like she was staring into a black hole when she beheld its flowing fur which strangely shimmered in the outlines of its windblown locks. It was a giant cat – though its muzzle was burly and wide, resembling the snout and mouth on certain kinds of dogs. It had four long horns like those of a four-horned ram, two upright, two curved back and forward like hooks. Its eyes glowed like a pale winter moon until they flashed “out” into a deeper black-hole void than its wild hair.

It rounded upon the figures standing in the rubble of the castle, including Kris. She trembled. She found within herself a fiery will, a sudden surge of passion.

“You aren’t supposed to exist!” she screamed. “You are just a force! You shouldn’t have a will of your own! You are no breathing beast!”

Before she knew what she was doing, she was running forward with her spear and thrust it right into the giant cat-nose of the Beast of Entropy. It shook its great head in annoyance and shifted around her, opening its maw and showing its teeth. When she thought she hadn’t seen anything blacker, she beheld the Beast’s throat.

The last thing she heard was a horrific crunch as Light went out. ________________________________________________________

Kris and Pietro wandered around for neither of them knew how long – hours or days. The last survivors of Highwater were scattered and they didn’t see another soul, even when they could find enough fuel for torches.

The image of Lady Umbra and her guardian Glace at once being taken by Entropy haunted Kris’ memory. It was her last flash of daylight-sight before the Darkness had fallen like iron. She did not know why the creature left her alone – perhaps it was because he had gotten what he’d came to this world for. The sun had vanished in an instant, dying with the Maiden. None could tell what was going on in the precious little light to see by the torches and fires raging on the castle grounds in this new deep night. Entropy and his forces had vanished completely, leaving the world to die off. Presumably, he was off to other planets that hung in this universe, to other suns, to devour other Sun Maidens.

Pietro, the soldier, didn’t even have the will to kill her. She had failed to protect Lady Umbra, but all he could do was to walk with her and to rest at will, not that there was anywhere to go.

Kris watched her companion lay down beyond the last embers of a dying campfire. The last bits of orange glow upon the hills had long gone out. The heat of high summer was fading quickly, although Kris was surprised at how long it was lingering. She’d failed in her duty – the role having been thrust upon her without much knowledge aside.

She remembered the words that everyone had feared – “First the heat, then the cold, then the <i>deep chill</i> and then the silence.”

At present, the night was cavernous. The only light was from the pitiful campfire, losing the last of its fuel and of the distant stars. Perhaps other worlds in this universe would have better luck with their own Sun Keepers – if that is the way it worked. Kris wondered if any of those stars was the one connected to her Earth, shining into this universe somehow. If she could not go home she could at least dream of it.

It was strange, she thought, how so many of the people here had prayed for an indifferent world, a world like hers where the celestial bodies spun along without anyone’s life or death being involved and long after anyone’s lifespan. She thought, ruefully, that they had gotten an indifferent world of a differing kind. Entropy had his way – stalking in on cat-feet to pad away, leaving any survivors to an enduring darkness. The air was already growing cold enough for Kris to shiver beneath the wool blankets that she’d hastily grabbed along with the other early survivors, wondering when the shivering would fail to warm her body and wondering when she’d just go numb. She was already so tired.

“See you in the morning,” her companion said from behind the almost-dead fire. Both of them knew that there would be no actual morning. It was doubtful that either of them would get through the requisite sleeping hours.

The last of the summer crickets chirped – just one playing his song to some mate that would not hear him in the deepening darkness. Kris listened to the bright chirp-chirps until they grew more distant with a greater gap of time in between.

The chirping stopped and the silence fell.

#short story #fantasy #fantasy short story #apocalypse #isekai #the sun #sun #stories based on dreams #solar eclipse special!#solar eclipse #not written for the solar eclipse #this is very old work #I just thought it appropriate to post on this day

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