#lone cypress

[travelella]

Lone Cypress, Pebble Beach, California, USA

Graddes Pictures

[arcadians0ul]

i wish to visit this place on a summer day

[davetada]

The Lone Cypress

Pebble Beach, CA

[rwimages]

Fine Art Prints | Framed Pictures | Canvas | Metal | Acrylic | Wood | Large Wall Decor Art | Fine Art Photography Museum Gallery Quality | Fast & Secure Worldwide Shipping | Home and Office Interior Design Art | Residential, Hospitality, Healthcare, Commercial, Corporate, Luxury Interior Designer Art Source | Stock Photography Licensing | All Photos @ Robert Wojtowicz / RWIMAGES.COM Top Quality Archival Prints - Classic Silver Halide and High End Fine Art Giclée Photo Paper Prints including True Fine Art Matte, Fine Art Baryta and Watercolor 100% Cotton Fibre Acid Free Archival Giclée Photo Prints, Luster, Glossy and Metallic Classic Silver Halide Photo Prints plus Ready to Hang Wall Decor Art: Traditional Matted and Framed Paper Prints, Framed Canvas and Acrylic Prints or unframed Stretched Fine Art Canvas Prints, HD Aluminum Metal Prints, Fine Art Face-Mounted Fine Art Acrylic Prints - Extra Large Wall Art - Custom cropped print sizes including square and panoramic formats - Home and Corporate Office Decor Art, Fine Art Photo Gallery, Stock Photos (Licensing and Instant Digital Downloads )

[brokenpiano]

[goodspiritsnewsat]

GSN Review: Stellum Lone Cypress Rye & Hunter's Moon Bourbon

GSN Review: Stellum Lone Cypress Rye & Hunter’s Moon Bourbon

Stellum Spirits recently introduced two new Stellum Black specialty blends. Stellum Black specialty blends offer consumers more in terms of rarity, collectability, and insight into the inspiration behind the blends themselves. Blending in steps and with smaller batches allows the team to utilize barrels or parts of barrels that are particularly unique while still having a major influence on the…

[trungles]

Cross-posting an essay I wrote for my Patreon since the post is free and open to the public.

Hello everyone! I hope you're relaxing as best you can this holiday season. I recently went to see Miyazaki's latest Ghibli movie, The Boy and the Heron, and I had some thoughts about it. If you're into art historical allusions and gently cranky opinions, please enjoy. I've attached a downloadable PDF in the Patreon post if you'd prefer to read it that way. Apologies for the formatting of the endnotes! Patreon's text posting does not allow for superscripts, which means all my notations are in awkward parentheses. Please note that this writing contains some mild spoilers for The Boy and the Heron.

Hayao Miyazaki’s 2023 feature animated film The Boy and the Heron reads as an extended meditation on grief and legacy. The Master of a grand tower seeks a descendant to carry on his maddening duty, balancing toy blocks of magical stone upon which the entire fabric of his little pocket of reality rests. The world’s foundations are frail and fleeting, and can pass away into the cold void of space should he neglect to maintain this task. The Master’s desire to pass the torch undergirds much of the film’s narrative.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold Böcklin. 1880. Oil on Canvas. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

Arnold Böcklin, a Swiss Symbolist(1) painter, was born on October 16 in 1827, the same year the Swiss Evangelical Reformed Church bought a plot of land in Florence from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Leopold II, that had long been used for the burials of Protestants around Florence. It is colloquially known as The English Cemetery, so called because it was the resting place of many Anglophones and Protestants around Tuscany, and Böcklin frequented this cemetery—his workshop was adjacent and his infant daughter Maria was buried there. In 1880, he drew inspiration from the cemetery, a lone plot of Protestant land among a sea of Catholic graveyards, and began to paint what would be the first of six images entitled Isle of the Dead. An oil on canvas piece, it depicts a moody little island mausoleum crowned with a gently swaying grove of cypresses, a type of tree common in European cemeteries and some of which are referred to as arborvitae. A figure on a boat, presumably Charon, ferries a soul toward the island and away from the viewer.

(Photo of The English Cemetery in Florence. Samuli Lintula. 2006.)

The Isle of the Dead paintings varied slightly from version to version, with figures and names added and removed to suit the needs of the time or the commissioner. The painting was glowingly referenced and remained fairly popular throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The painting used to be inescapable in much of European popular culture. Professor Okulicz-Kozaryn, a philologist (someone with a deep interest in the ways language and cultural canons evolve)(2) observed that the painting, like many other works in its time, was itself iterative and became widely reiterated and referenced among its contemporaries. It became something like Romantic kitsch in the eyes of modern art critics, overwrought and excessively Byronic. I imagine Miyazaki might also resent a work of that level of manufactured ubiquity, as Miyazaki famously held Disney animated films in contempt (3). Miyazaki’s films are popularly aspirational to young animators and cartoonists, but gestures at imitation typically fall well short, often reducing Miyazaki’s weighty films to kitschy images of saccharine vibes and a lazy indulgence in a sort of empty magical domestic coziness. Being trapped in a realm of rote sentiment by an uncritical, unthoughtful viewership is its own Isle of Death.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

The Boy and the Heron follows a familiar narrative arc to many of Miyazaki’s other films: a child must journey through a magical and quietly menacing world in order to rescue their loved ones. This arc is an echo of Satsuki’s journey to find Mei in My Neighbor Totoro (1988) and Chihiro’s journey to rescue her parents Spirited Away (2001). To better understand Miyazaki’s fixation with this particular character journey, it can be instructive to watch Lev Atamanov’s 1957 animated film, The Snow Queen (4)(5), a beautifully realized take on Hans Christian Andersen’s 1844 children’s story (6)(7). Mahito’s journey continues in this tradition, as the boy travels into a painted world to rescue his new stepmother from a mysterious tower.

Throughout the film, Miyazaki visually references Isle of the Dead. Transported to a surreal world, Mahito initially awakens on a little green island with a gated mausoleum crowned with cypress trees. He is accosted by hungry pelicans before being rescued by a fisherwoman named Kiriko. After a day of catching and gutting fish, Mahito wakes up under the fisherwoman’s dining table, surrounded by kokeshi—little wooden dolls—in the shapes of the old women who run Mahito’s family’s rural household. Mahito is told they must not be touched, as the kokeshi are wards set up for his protection. There is a popular urban legend associated with the kokeshi wherein they act as stand-ins for victims of infanticide, though there seems to be very little available writing to support this legend. Still, it’s a neat little trick that Miyazaki pulls, placing a stray reference to a local legend of unverifiable provenance that persists in the popular imagination, like the effect of fairy stories passed on through oral retellings, continually remolded each new iteration.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

Kiriko’s job in this strange landscape is to catch fish to nourish unborn spirits, the adorable floating warawara, before they can attempt to ascend on a journey into the world of the living. Their journey is thwarted by flocks of supernatural pelicans, who swarm the warawara and devour them. This seems to nod to the association of pelicans with death in mythologies around the world, especially in relationship to children (8). Miyazaki’s pelicans contemplate the passing of their generations as each successive generation seems to regress, their capacity to fulfill their roles steadily diminishing.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

As Mahito’s adventure continues, we find the landscapes changing away from Böcklin’s Isle of the Dead into more familiar Ghibli territories as we start to see spaces inspired by one of Studio Ghibli’s aesthetic mainstays, Naohisa Inoue and his explorations of the fantasy realms of Iblard. He might be most familiar to Ghibli enthusiasts as the background artists for the more fantastical elements of Whisper of the Heart (1995).

(Naohisa Inoue, for Iblard Jikan, 2007. Studio Ghibli.)

By the time we arrive at the climax of The Boy and the Heron, the fantasy island environment starts to resemble English takes on Italian gardens, the likes of which captivated illustrators and commercial artists of the early 20th century such as Maxfield Parrish. This appears to be a return to one of Böcklin’s later paintings, The Island of Life (1888), a somewhat tongue-in-cheek reaction to the overwhelming presence of Isle of the Dead in his life and career. The Island of Life depicts a little spot of land amid an ocean very like the one on which Isle of the Dead’s somber mausoleum is depicted, except this time the figures are lively and engaged with each other, the vegetation lush and colorful, replete with pink flowers and palm fronds.

(Island of Life. Arnold Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1888. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

In 2022, Russia’s State Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg acquired the sixth and final Isle of the Dead painting. In the last year of his life, Arnold Böcklin would paint this image in collaboration with his son Carlo Böcklin, himself an artist and an architect. Arnold Böcklin spent three years painting the same image three times over at the site of his infant daughter’s grave, trapped on the Isle of the Dead. By the time of his death in 1901 at age 74, Böcklin would be survived by only five of his fourteen children. That the final Isle of the Dead painting would be a collaboration between father and son seemed a little ironic considering Hayao Miyazaki’s reticence in passing on his own legacy. Like the old Master in The Boy and the Heron, Miyazaki finds himself with no true successors.

The Master of the Tower's beautiful islands of painted glass fade into nothing as Mahito, his only worthy descendant, departs to live his own life, fulfilling the thesis of Genzaburo Yoshino’s 1937 book How Do You Live?, published three years after Carlo Böcklin’s death. In evoking Yoshino and Böcklin’s works, Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron suggests that, like his character the Master, Miyazaki himself must make peace with the notion that he has no heirs to his legacy, and that those whom he wished to follow in his footsteps might be best served by finding their own paths.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold and Carlo Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1901. The State Hermitage Museum. Saint Petersburg, Russia.)

INFORMAL ENDNOTES

1 - Symbolists are sort of tough to nail down. They were started as a literary movement to 1 distinguish themselves from the Decadents, but their manifesto was so vague that critics and academics fight about it to this day. The long and the short of it is that the Symbolists made generous use of a lot of metaphorical imagery in their work. They borrow a lot of icons from antiquity, echo the moody aesthetics from the Romantics, maintained an emphasis on figurative imagery more so than the Surrealists, and were only slightly more technically married to the trappings of traditionalist academic painters than Modernists and Impressionists. They're extremely vibes-forward.

2 - Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław. Predilection of Modernism for Variations. Ciulionis' Serenity among Different Developments of the Theme of Toteninsel. ACTA Academiae Artium Vilnensis 59. 2010. The article is incredibly cranky and very funny to read in parts. Contains a lot of observations I found to be helpful in placing Isle of the Dead within its context.

3 - "From my perspective, even if they are lightweight in nature, the more popular and common films still must be filled with a purity of emotion. There are few barriers to entry into these films-they will invite anyone in but the barriers to exit must be high and purifying. Films must also not be produced out of idle nervousness or boredom, or be used to recognise, emphasise, or amplify vulgarity. And in that context, I must say that I hate Disney's works. The barrier to both the entry and exit of Disney films is too low and too wide. To me, they show nothing but contempt for the audience." from Miyazaki's own writing in his collection of essays, Starting Point, published in 2014 from VIZ Media.

4 - You can watch the movie here in its original Russian with English closed captions here.

5 If you want to learn more about the making of Atamanoy's The Snow Queen, Animation Obsessive wrote a neat little article about it. It's a good overview, though I have to gently disagree with some of its conclusions about the irony of Miyazaki hating Disney and loving Snow Queen, which draws inspiration from Bambi. Feature film animation as we know it hadonly been around a few decades by 1957, and I find it specious, particularly as a comic artistand author, to see someone conflating an entire form with the character of its content, especially in the relative infancy of the form. But that's just one hot take. The rest of the essay is lovely.

6 - Miyazaki loves this movie. He blurbed it in a Japanese re-release of it in 2007.

7 - Julia Alekseyeva interprets Princess Mononoke as an iteration of Atamanov's The Snow Queen, arguing that San, the wolf princess, is Miyazaki's homage to Atamanoy's little robber girl character.

8 - Hart, George. The Routledge Dictionary of Egyptian Gods And Goddesses. Routledge Dictionaries. Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. 2005.

[amourdivine]

୨ ♡ ୧ WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE THEY?   ઉ   PAC

Hello, angels! I hope you're well. I'm bringing in another nosy type of reading. We'll look into who this person really is and if any advice comes up. If you liked this reading, please consider tipping me at @ amourdivinetarot@gmail.com via paypal! xo ♡

›    none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise. ›    personal readings are closed as of march 2024 ›    navigation ♡ masterlist ♡ payhip (extended readings)

HOW TO CHOOSE YOUR PILE.  take a few deep breaths and look at each picture separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later!

amourdivine 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content!

୨୧ PILE ONE

who is this person, deep down? two of cups ✧ the hermit ✧ judgement

This is someone who values meaningful, deep, soulful relationships. They do not crave the buzz of parties or endless chatting with strangers. They don't like small talk. Others may describe this person as an old soul, someone introspective and wise. Their friends turn to them for honest and sensible advice; they may be an older sibling, or someone who's seen as a role model in some type of way.

Unfortunately, this wisdom came at a cost. They have endured a thousand inner deaths in life. This person had to start over many, many times, but they always got back up. As strong as they are also loyal, they're mature and still believe in the magic of being surrounded by good people. Strong Virgo and Scorpio energy, given the cards you got.

It's likely they came from poverty or are enduring a financial loss at this moment in time. Since this person is hardworking and independent, I don't think you have anything to worry about - sadly or not, they're more than used to the weight of their shoulders.

Although they're not expressive with their emotions or thoughts, you can count on this person to be sincere. They seem heavily protected by something greater, something bigger. For most of you, this person is spiritual, but not religious. They're very private and you may have a hard time understanding them or figuring them out.

channeled words & songs: black and white, heavy as led, test of time, a drop of water, night of the soul, life path 7, seek solitude, "i'm always okay", read my mind by the killers, runaway horses, small towns.

quotes that remind me of this person

Tell me, Atlas. What is heavier: The world or its people's hearts? — Darshana Suresh.

I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses. — Friedrich Nietzsche.

Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me. — Sigmund Freud.

୨୧ PILE TWO

who is this person, deep down? five of swords ✧ the world ✧ the moon

Accomplished, but lonely. It's how this person feels as I shuffled. They have seen and known so much, but it came at the cost of their morals. This person holds many secrets - even from themselves. Nothing dark, but they do regret their ways at times. With how competitive and aggressive they can be, it's difficult for them to hold onto anything but their success.

They may be famous or well-known in some way. Renowned. A lawyer, a judge. Someone with a fair share of experience and authority in a certain field. But my God, how their words can hurt. Have you ever heard that the pen is mightier than the sword? Yeah, that's this person.

Even when they bask in the glory of being so accomplished, no one really knows this person. Not even themselves, as I said. They're scared of vulnerability, emotions and intimacy. They're scared of the things the Moon tries to show them: their deepest fears, the nightmares and past traumas they've tried to bury deep down.

Interestingly, despite the cards, I get heavy Aries energy. This person may be an Aries Moon, quite a complex placement to have. They're good at being logical and practical, good at the doing, at the speaking, but they don't have the time for people, for emotions... for friendship or family. Given their history, it's likely they shut themselves off from connections out of fear.

I don't think they're happy. They look happy, they look so beautiful, so otherworldly, but inside of them there's this urge for something else. Something more meaningful.

channeled words & songs: ambitchous, aries, sagittarius, "i want it i got it", "let my money talk", chest pains, life path 8 or 9, neon pink, overprotective, oh no! by marina, terrible love by the national, bank account.

quotes that remind me of this person

I live to succeed, not to please you or anyone else. — Marilyn Monroe.

My worst fear - that's anyone's worst fear - is to lose myself and become an empty person. And that happens a lot when you're very ambitious. — Marina Diamandis.

୨୧ PILE THREE

who is this person, deep down? two of pentacles ✧ the sun ✧ four of pentacles

What an interesting contradiction, it seems. The person on your mind is generous, extroverted and.. quite the busy bee. Their outer persona remind me of J-Hope from BTS, very caring and extroverted - someone who's got an infectious laugh, but despite his bubbly appearance, he's actually very caring and protective.

Although they may seen foolish, this person is anything but. They're quite careful and at times, intense. However, I don't think many people get to see this more serious and protective side of them. They seem guarded for the right reasons, because they know their heart is quite precious and too much of a good thing to be given away so easily.

It's possible they come off as brain-scattered or high maintenance to you, but they're genuine and one of their main purposes in life - whether they know it or not - is to bring joy to others. They're so good at it. It's not a party without this person, with or without alcohol, they know how to lighten up the mood and are an amazing team player.

It feels cheeky too. I think they like the dad jokes, the lighthearted atmosphere, but they know when to be serious. If I am to be honest, this person is an amazing partner (in case you're asking about a romantic interest) and an even more amazing friend. Someone who'll cheer you up and stick by your side through thick and thin. A very dear friend.

channeled words & songs: heart-shaped, light up a joint, weed, recreational drugs, easy breezy, life of the party by shawn mendes, 9 to 5, bisexual, lgbt+, rainbow, friend-shaped, dogs, cats, energetic, rap.

quotes that remind me of this person

The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.— Bob Marley.

You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it. — Robin Williams.

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always. — Unknown.

୨୧ PILE FOUR

who is this person, deep down? ace of cups ✧ ten of swords ✧ seven of cups ✧ the lovers

I feel like whoever you're asking about is in a brand new mode. They seem to be someone who was previously overburdened by their past. This person is in a major transformative phase, both physically and internally. They have endured so much, it's heartbreaking just thinking about it. I don't think they're very open about it though, at least, they weren't before.

Honestly, this person may have suffered from addiction, major losses or betrayal. They're getting back up after a period of darkness. Spirit's referencing their current phase more so than they actually are, because I believe they haven't yet fully come to really be who they are. They're shedding the person they had become, in order to be who they were meant to be.

They seek a new beginning, new friendships, good, better choices. It seems this path they're on has just begun, so they're a bit.. amazed at the options being offered. Still, this person wants to choose well for themselves and the people they love. They've regained a great love for the world. I feel filled with wonder, with enthusiasm for what's to come. Like anything and everything is possible.

Although they may seem immature, they've seen a lot. They've had to fight to survive through their worst and now, they're learning to let joy and love in. They've come to realize their power, the magic in who they are and learning to accept that this too shall pass. However, this person feels peaceful yet determined, broken yet healing, quite balanced in their aspects. A thinker and a feeler.

channeled words & songs: ego, healing, therapy, six of cups, innocence, yet to come by bts, mbti types, dancing in the dark by bruce springsteen, "a do-over", "maybe", shufflemancy, spiritual, 777, 333, psychedelics, hippie, hologram, offline, nature.

quotes that remind me of this person

I go to seek a Great Perhaps. That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps. — John Green.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. — Steve Jobs.

I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love, you won’t be able to see beyond it. — Warsan Shire.

୨୧ PILE FIVE

who is this person, deep down? two of wands ✧ six of wands ✧ page of cups

A courageous, successful individual. This person has a lot of wanderlust. They are in love with life, in love with themselves, in love with the world. They like to be on the move, to party and be around other people they also admire.

However, they have an impulsive, non-committal side to them that is expressed mainly in the way they approach relationships, especially romantic wise. They have a fear of settling, so they're always on the go, on the search for the next best thing in every way. They may move a lot or have a different crush everyday. Although it isn't inherently bad, I think this person may come off as hard to pin down.

In reality, they're enthusiastic and ready to take on the world. They like the spotlight, they have big dreams too. It gives me Leo energy, in the way they love to be praised, to be adored. Depending on who you're asking, this may be polyamorous or they just enjoy being single and free. Many people describe this person as free-spirited and bold.

At times, their words and behaviors get the best of them. They're not good at keeping secrets and may have quite a temper when angered. They mean well, but there's a diva-like side to this person that can be egocentric or immature, since they've got a bit of a one track mind when it comes to their dreams. They're also very beautiful and they know it. It's also quite the ego boost to be around them - they love to give out compliments and flirt.

channeled words & songs: bisexual, "himbo", bucketlist, pinterest, clean girl era, "i want everything", poetry, interlude: shadow by bts, parallel universe, edm, party girl, wild, erratic, center of attention, instagram, social media influencer, blogger, barbie movie, hungry heart by bruce springsteen, rumors by ross lynch (this song started playing after i finished the section above! very relevant).

quotes that remind me of this person

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days. — Sylvia Plath.

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. — Audrey Hepburn.

amourdivine 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content!

DISCLAIMER. tarot is a divination tool, it’s not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i don’t take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. be mindful ♡

[starlightandetherealshadows]

☾. DEMO (24k) ☾. CHARACTERS ☾. PLAYLIST

Latest Update: Chapter 1 released on 08/25/2023

Your story starts like any other. Your life was normal, until it wasn’t. Two years after an invasion ravaged the Earth, you’re struggling to find purpose. The lonely life of struggle and survival is not for you. You’d promised yourself that if there was an apocalypse, you’d end it. That was then. That was when hypotheticals existed. Instead of dying, you lived against all odds and continue to do so.  Why? You don’t know. You wake up fortunate to be alive. Everything between the sunrise and sunset is white noise. Insignificant. Now, your normal shifts again. You’re surrounded by a group of strangers, their faces unfamiliar except for the exhaustion in their eyes. There's something coming, something worse. It isn't hard to believe. After all, still water is an infested one. For the first time in two years, you aren't sure who is a predator, and who is prey. Caught between a millennia-long war, the human race is but a spoke in the wheel, narrowly avoiding being crushed by powers beyond your comprehension. At the end of the world, there is only one question. Who is running from whom?

☾. FEATURES

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or nonbinary. You can determine their appearance and personality, updating it (voluntarily and involuntarily) as the story progresses. Are they charming or intimidating? Do they use their fists to solve problems, or their keen mind and deductive reasoning? Can they talk their way out of trouble, or do they avoid it in the first place? 

Become an asset to your group. The perfect team has balance. Choose your MC’s strengths and weaknesses; develop them as you see fit. Make decisions that change the lives of your found family, or sit on the sidelines and watch chaos unfold. Do you believe in fate, or will you change your future by force?

Engage in romance, or keep it purely platonic between 5 love interests. There are two options for short term flings, and one poly option available.

Survive. Easier said than done.

☾. ROMANCE OPTIONS

For each of the romanceable characters, there will be options to increase flirtation, friendship, or antagonism. 

☾. Ayana Tsosie (F)

Compassionate, intelligent, tactical, and ambitious, you have no doubt that A is a natural born leader. Despite her warm, welcoming demeanor, A is reluctant to pursue close relationships for fear of it interfering with her sense of responsibility to the group. You catch her crying in the early hours of the morning. Whose ring adorns her necklace?

☾. Cecelia/Chase Quinn (F/M)

Always up for a laugh, C isn’t interested in the doom and gloom. That doesn’t mean they lack competence. C is damn good with technology, able to rig up electricity seemingly from their back pocket. They take their friendships seriously, and will be the first to defend you when trouble comes knocking. Still, you wonder why they flinch at any sudden movements.

*C is demisexual; it takes a high friendship for them to reciprocate any romantic/sexual feelings.

☾. Delphine (F)

A succubus alien from the planet Cypress Velo, Delphine has been on Earth long before the Nion 8 invasion. At the end of the world, the seedier clubs and places of indulgence stand; Delphine works as a bartender and dancer at said places. Wealthy, gorgeous, and playful, Delphine can flash her fangs and have the world on it's knees. You can't help but gravitate towards her. Is she using her powers on you, or is her magnetism all natural?

☾. Zero Chevalier (M)

Having been plagued by night terrors since they were teenagers, Z can't close his eyes without hearing things. Seeing things. His parents, friends, and psychiatrists tell them that it's all in his head. Z prefers the shadows to the spotlight; at least the nightmares hold him close.

*Zero is locked in a v-type polyamorous route.

☾. Xa'eks/Xa'veed (F/M)

X never wanted to be in the military; they didn't know that until their species invaded Earth and they realized that others have a choice. Those words: choice, love, want, fear, longing, regret. It is all foreign to them. X knows their people cannot hide forever. The time for war is coming; but what sort of militia would they be if they couldn't see a lost battle a mile away?

*Memento Mori is a 18+ interactive fiction game that is best suited for the genres of sci-fi, romance, and horror. Wrecked and ravaged by an alien invasion, Earth is on the brink of war. War with who? That is yet to be determined, as no one knows who is the predator, and who is the prey.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Thank you all so much for your interest and support. It means the world to me!! ♡ ♡

All my love,

Cheye (she/her) :･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･

[bonezone44]

Beneath the Mire (18+)

Ezra x Swamp Monster!afab!Reader

Word Count: 3162

(Ezra img from pedropascalsx)

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. Tags: Non-con somnophilia. Blowjob. Unprotected p-in-v.

Summary: You're a human-turned-swamp monster and a man crashes into your corner of the bayou. 😈

A/N: I'm too lazy to edit this, lol ! ENJOY!

—--

Heavy storm clouds rolled inward and a highly motivated Ezra couldn't get back to shore fast enough.

He had been out on his jon boat in the bay, fishing all by his lonesome and without much to show for it. Some days, the fish just aren't very hungry, he reasoned to himself. But it was no matter to him. He was the kind of man who loved to bask in the biosphere. He let the sound of the swaying grasses on the shoreline brush along his eardrums. He watched herons snip at bugs in the water and gobble them up, one by one. The chirping crickets and singing birds added to the chorus of croaking toads hopping around and splashing in the mud puddles. He enjoyed the symphony so much, he allowed it to lull him to sleep, slouching in his seat with his fishing rod in his hand. He figured the tug of a fine catch would rouse him from slumber. He wasn't even that tired. He only wanted to rest his eyes. But as he said himself, some days the fish just aren't very hungry.

Ezra was instead awoken by a loud clap of thunder. His eyes grew big and worried when he saw darkness engulfing the southern horizon. He scrambled to the back of his boat and started his trolling motor. It was weak and feeble against the untenable waters and he barely made it out of the bay before the rain. The rain, when it fell, fell like it was being poured outta buckets and straight onto Ezra’s head. He tried as he could to move his boat steady, but the wind and waves tossed him up and down and around in all the wrong directions. “This is not the end of my tale! This is not how I depart!” he growled to himself with crazed ferocity. One hand gripped the aluminum seat beneath him and the other clung to the starboard edge. He cursed the storm. He cursed God. He cursed his own dead Momma for testing him with such a treacherous event. He swore to not only survive, but to become stronger, more cunning. He swore to check the goddamn weather report before falling asleep all alone on his boat. "Goddamn piece a shit trolling motor," he groused, adding that he'd buy a better one of those if he survived, as well. 

His heart and body were long weary by the time he made it into your little corner of the bayou. And when he crashed against the knobby roots of one of your favorite cypress trees, his spirit seemed to vanish right before your very eyes.

----

You had been in the swamp for many years now. Too many to count. You had been banished there at a young age, having been deemed unfit for the world of humans. But the swamps… they loved you. They embraced you. They evolved you into something wretched and powerful. 

It began in the mazey waters of Louisiana's bayous. In the thick clouds of humidity that soaked the air between the land and sky. That was where you transformed-- where you were born anew. Your skin grew a coat of slimy, green algae and fuzzy gray lichen. All the hair on your head had fallen out and was replaced with short grasses and leafy clovers. Your eyes developed second eyelids: A yellow film that illuminated the world around you in darkness--even allowing you to navigate late at night and through debris-filled, murky waters. 

Your friends were the alligators. Together you hunted deer and wild turkeys. After so many meals of bloodied meat, your teeth turned sharp and vicious. You could stick out your tongue and taste your prey in the damp, night air--taste their pheromones and dander. You would sense them from miles away and then go running madly through the bogs, chasing with pleasured vigor until you bit into their flesh and rendered them asunder. 

Parts of you were still human, though. Your intelligent mind. Your lonely heart. In your early years as a newborn creature of the swamp, you would sneak around the towns and watch them–the people–talking to one another and going about their days. You would listen to them tell stories and talk shop and chit chat. You would hide in the tall grasses or beneath the shoreline piers. You would follow the fishermen in their boats, the lovers in their canoes, swimming with your alligator friends through the waterways. And when your body burned and craved for human touch, you would wrap your legs around the knobby roots of the cypress trees and rub yourself til your body shook and both your eyelids drifted shut.  

But too much time around humans only made you ache more for them, so you resigned yourself to nature. Where they had banished you. And where you believed you truly belonged.

—-

You were relaxing in your shack when you first saw his approach. You loved storm season. The summer heat would give way to cool breezes and chilly water would shower down from the heavens. And if the winds were gusty and there were flashes of lightning? That just made it all the more exciting for you. So your eyes were already watching the rain show, enraptured in the chaos of nature when you saw a man in his boat intrude upon your swamp. Your home. Your safe haven from the human world that had rejected you. You wanted to stomp and roar. You wanted to bare your teeth and swing your paws and shove him and his boat back out to where he came from.

But something inside of you sank into your belly when you saw him crash. Something tender and fearful swelled behind your vision. You weren't sure why, but you needed to make sure this man would be okay.

You pulled him from the wreckage and dragged him to your hovel. It was made from parts of broken boats and sheets of metal that you had collected over the years. It wasn't much, but it was dry enough for a human like him. You rested him gently on your bed woven from moss. 

Outside the storm wreaked havoc, but as you closed the door to your little shack beneath the strong canopy of cypress trees, a calm and peaceful quiet took over. Droplets of rain sang sporadically on your tin roof. The ground beneath you was covered in planks of wood decking that you had tied together with strong kudzu vines. Rusted scraps of metal hung like chandeliers from the ceiling--like moss hanging from the oak trees.

The poor man was out cold. Well, that was how the saying used to go anyway, when you were around the humans more.  It had been many years since you had seen a man this up-close. You had forgotten all about the pores that dotted their faces. The hairs that protruded from around their mouths and chins. And even how their noses had hair coming out of them, too. 

This man's hair had a blonde patch above his right temple. And little white hairs peppered along his jaw. He had a pretty nose with a strong curve resembling the bow of a boat all turned upside down. His top lip looked like it had been curled and there was a divot at the center of his bottom lip that was deep enough to hold a whole puddle of water in it. There was a thin scar on his left cheek that looked like a fish hook. You traced it with your finger--leaving a trail of slime behind. Your touch caused no reaction from him. 

You wonder how he got so far from the rest of civilization. Maybe he was like you–all alone and aching. Who would go fishing all by themselves when the cloud patterns foretold stormy weather? Who could be so oblivious to the dangers of nature? You held his jaw and brushed your thumb along his cheek. This poor man… he had to be pained. He had to be hurting. There had to be kinship between the two of your despondent hearts. 

Why else would your beloved swamp allow a man to trespass its tangled gates?

You sighed with relief.

“A gift,” you smiled to yourself. 

At long last, the swamp that had first embraced you so long ago has offered you a companion. Another banished human to mold and articulate into an amalgamation of photosynthesizer and carnivorous beast. Another banished human to sate the needs of its first ape-turned-slimy-hybrid (you). 

You leaned forward and pressed your lips into his. His soft, dry lips. You giggled when you pulled back–his mouth now green with your algae. He would be even more appealing once the swamps began to turn him. But for now, it was enough to have him donning a small coating of you. You kissed his cheeks. His forehead. The empty patch along his jaw. Each caress of your lips grew the fire between your thighs.

His neck was long and his veins were like pulsing rivers--veins that disappeared beneath a soaking wet t-shirt that clung to his skin. You looked down further and--oh! Right. Men have nipples, too. You saw them budding hard like cypress roots and something about it made your lips point and pout--made your teeth want to bite and chew. And although his face remained expressionless, you knew your betrothed. You knew he would enjoy your affection. He would understand your ache and your need–for it exists the same in him. It has to! How could your swamp gift you with anything less?

You tongued his right nipple through his shirt. You pinched and toyed with it, rubbed it in circles with the pad of your finger. It made you burn, but you didn’t want to stop. It had been so so long since you were with another human. It had been so so long since you allowed yourself to ache in this way. You wanted to revel in the rarity. Bask in your hunger. You wrapped your lips around his left nipple and sucked it into your mouth, pulling it between your teeth. You sucked in the salty, brackish water from the cloth of his shirt. You huffed. It wasn’t enough. You pulled his shirt upward and there it was–bare for you! A deep russet color and sparsely circled by coarse dark hairs. Oh! The taste of his skin was something immaculate. You sucked his nipple into your mouth again and pulled your head back, yanking it with you—

!!!!

His body twitched and you immediately released him. Air caught in your throat as you froze in place awaiting his waking eyes, but… 

Nothing.

You sighed in both disappointment and relief. You wanted to meet his eyes and hear his voice, but you were also very pleased to continue sating your curiosity. You were too eager to cease indulging your human-side’s desires.

His chest moved slowly and evenly with his breaths. His belly, too. His arms laid flaccid at his sides and you picked up one of his big hands and held it in your own, wondering how he got so many little knicks and scars and calluses. You kissed each one–coating them in your slime. Soon it would be his slime, too. 

You laid his hand back down and that was when you saw it. 

Something you had long forgotten about. 

Something hypnotizing and stupefying. 

Something that... bulged below his waistband.

Saliva pooled on your tongue. You tugged and yanked desperately on his pants–which were soaking wet and clinging tightly to his skin. You grappled with the strange fastenings that kept them secure. You fiddled and fussed until finally his bottom was as bare as his torso and the bulging thing you desperately sought was set free.

You swallowed thickly at the sight of it. Nearly as russet as his nipples. The muscle stood tall and thick, engorged with rushing blood. A bulging sack of skin hung around its base. Your body shook with temptation and confusion. You wanted to swallow it whole and you wanted it deep between your legs. You wanted to lick and taste the skin and massage it desperately with your hands. You rested your cheek against it, longingly. Hungrily. Cravingly. You breathed deep his cloudy musk with your nostrils–moaning and pouting to yourself. 

You positioned your head above his cock and wrapped your long, forked tongue around it. Viscous saliva rained from your lips as you licked and squeezed his hardness. The world around you disappeared as you drank and devoured. Warmth expelled from your cheeks, heating the room. He was delicious! He was succulent! The salty syrup that oozed from his tip made you dizzy with lust. You sucked him all the way into your mouth so you could feel the fullness of him–taste him on every sensor in your maw.

His flavor was elysian.

You looked up briefly from your inebriated haze and gasped–his heavy cock falling from your tongue. 

Your man! Your betrothed!

His lids had risen to reveal blurry brown eyes!

“My gift!” you cheered.

He didn’t respond–not verbally anyway. But his eyes did move from side to side. His breathing was heavier than it had been before, but he was not fraught with panic. He blinked.

“My gift!” You praised again and kissed his cheeks with your wet lips. “You’re safe!” Tears welled in your eyes and you felt as if something was soon to burst from your chest. “You’re home now,” you smiled and pressed your cheek against his own. Small noises escaped his lips, but no words. You pulled back and saw his brows pull tight and his lips twitch. “It’s okay,” you soothed. “We’re not alone anymore.” You leaned forward again and kissed him more deeply this time, slipping your tongue into his mouth to taste him. He choked and coughed and you startled. “I’m sorry, my gift!” You shrank away with shame. “My-my tongue is different than it was when I… when I was… just a human like you.” Your face shined bright. “Soon, your tongue will be just like mine!” You opened your mouth wide and let the muscle roll from your lips. It went down past your chin and you could almost touch your own chest with the forked tip. His eyes slightly widened and you threw your head back, laughing. Then his eyes looked past you, looked down between his legs and your gaze followed. You giggled shyly. “I’m sorry, my gift. I couldn’t wait. I knew you’d understand what loneliness I felt,” you sighed. You held your bottom lip with your razor-sharp teeth and your eyes glittered. “May I finish?” you asked. “The mouth between my legs is hungry, too,” you grinned. You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t need to. You knew he’d understand.

You scurried back down his body, which had become smattered with green splotches of you, and straddled him. You pressed your clit against his thick member and moaned. “Oh, my gift, you feel so much better than the tree roots. Oh you feel so good,” you spoke through gritted fangs as you moved your hips back and forth. Your hands were planted firmly on the moss bed beneath him. The man hissed and panted–his fingers twitched. His eyes remained blurry and searching. You whimpered above him, chasing your pleasure until your insides clenched and spasmed. Waves of delight pulsed through your body and you looked at your half-naked gift with loving tenderness and passionate desire. 

“I waited so long for you,” you said tearily. “My gift. My love.” You leaned forward and kissed his lips. As you moved your hips, you felt the tip of his member catch on your hole. It startled you–it invited another appetite for feasting. Your upper half rested against his torso as you reached down and took his member in your hand. Your hole drooled with slippery filth and when you sank onto his cock, loud squelches echoed around the metal walls of your hovel–along with your gift’s deep, guttural groan. You whimpered, “Oh, your voice! I want to hear you. I want to hear everything!” You bounced your lower body up and down, maneuvering in whatever way made him make the most noise. Pained and raspy sounds expelled from his pursed lips. His breaths were shallow and rhythmic. “Is this good? Is this good, my love?” you asked with your chest high. He nodded and you shook your head with glee. “Yes!” you hissed. “My gift loves me! My gift adores me! I am his gift, too!” His thick fingers wrapped around your slimy thighs and although his grip was weak, it was fervent. He nodded more steadily and you fell to him–cheek-to-cheek–and rode his thick cock–chest-to-chest. “Forever, my gift!” you hissed in his ear. “Together until the end of time!”

He groaned and grunted, although you were doing all of the real work. His hips were hardly thrusting, but his noises were that of agreement. “S–ss—” was the closest thing to words he expressed, but you knew he wanted you. He wanted you just as deeply. Just as infinitely. 

You cried out sharply with your orgasm–a tension snapping from your body and billowing out. You sighed delightfully and rested your body on top of your new companion. 

“...no…” he whispered.

“What?” you were shocked and excited to hear real words.

“....d-don’t…” he swallowed. “.... stop…. don’t… stop.”

You leaned back with confusion. 

“k-keep…. goin….” he rasped.

The realization hit you and you bashfully covered your face. “I’m so sorry, my gift!” You giggled. “Now it’s your turn!” You reached down with your free hand, keeping your eyes on his. You gripped his hardness, which was coated in your green mucky slick, and mimicked the movements of your hips. You moved your hand up and down as you stared into each other’s eyes. 

“yes… yes… yes…” he whispered into your lips until suddenly his eyes squeezed shut. 

You looked down and a creamy white ooze dribbled heavily from the tip of his member. You could taste his salt by simply sticking your tongue in the air–but it wasn’t enough. You licked up his release as it mixed with the remains of your own. So delicious! Every part of him made you hunger.

You sighed contentedly. He seemed rather content, too, as far as you could tell from his soft eyes and deep breaths. “It is good to rest after a satisfying meal,” you told him as you laid your head on his chest. “When the storm is over, we’ll add your boat to our home. And I will show you how to hunt the deer and you will meet all of my friends and we will be very happy.” You wrapped your arm around him and snuggled close. “You are my gift and I am your gift, too.”

++++++++++

[pudding-parade]

That's one seriously orange sunset. There must be a wildfire somewhere near Shang Simla....

(Also, that lone tree on that peak always makes me smile. I have named it Cyrus the Cypress.)

[detectivejay]

Detective/Mystery Media List

Open to more recommendations if I’m missing any favorites I should check out, let me know! Particularly any other good Sherlock adaptations, but also interested in finding more female, PoC and/or queer-led detective media.

Watched/read/played/etc:

Sherlock Holmes (ACD canon)

Sherlock - Basil Rathbone adaptation film series

Sherlock - Granada, Jeremy Brett adaptation TV series (some episodes, need to rewatch) - shoutout to @thegreatandlovablespacedorito for reminding me to revisit this one

BBC Sherlock TV series

Sherlock - Robert Downey Jr movies

Enola Holmes (movies)

Moriarty the Patriot/Yuumori (manga and anime)

Ron Kamanohashi: Deranged Detective/Forbidden Deductions aka RKDD (anime, need to read the manga)

Hercule Poirot novels (not all but a large portion) - need to watch more of the TV show Spenser novels by Robert B Parker (not all but a large portion)

Auguste C Dupin - The Purloined Letter by Edgar Allan Poe (short story)

The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett (book)

The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler (book)

Case Closed / Detective Conan (anime, some episodes/seasons)

Knives Out movies

Psych TV series

Only Murders in the Building TV series

The Dresden Files books

Brookyln 99 TV series

House MD TV series

Monk TV series (watched some episodes)

Murder She Wrote (a few scattered episodes)

The Clue movie

Anita Blake book series (up to book 10)

Some Nancy Drew books

Ace Attorney video games

Professor Layton video games (not all but I believe at least the first 3)

Sherlock Hound

The Great Mouse Detective

Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century

Inspector Gadget cartoon

Scooby Doo cartoons

The Boxcar Children

Detective Pikachu movie

The Case Study of Vanitas (anime/manga)

The Millionaire Detective - Balance: Unlimited (anime) - @prapo237 got me into this one x3 so silly

Currently watching/reading/playing/etc:

Sherlock - Elementary TV series (on 2nd season)

The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (video game series, includes Herlock Sholmes)

Persona 5 recommended by friends on the JR Discord

To watch/read/play/etc:

Detective L - Chinese Sherlock-inspired TV series on Youtube recommended by @meg-pond

Miss Sherlock - Japanese series also suggested by @meg-pond

Bodkin TV series on Netflix - Irish, female-led, recommended by @rubycountess

Sherlock Holmes and Co - podcast (seen a lot of posts about this, but I’m terrible at following podcasts so TBD, going to try some suggestions from @wasabitheweirdo to help with this)

Columbo tv series

Murder on the Orient Express movie

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes film

Bonnie MacBird Sherlock Holmes books recommended by @romanathree

Soviet made Sherlock Holmes film recommended by @imlostatau on Youtube

Baskerville play by Ken Ludwig suggested by @wolfyraged

Without a Clue suggested by @helloliriels

Young Sherlock suggested by @helloliriels

Charlotte Holmes books by Sherry Thomas suggested by @lej418

Sherlock Holmes stories by Anthony Horowitz ("House Of Silk" and "Moriarty") recommended by @bringerofworlds

Miss Marple novels by Agatha Christie

Any other Agatha Christie novels I haven’t read (Sad Cypress recommended by @romanathree )

AJ Raffles books by William Hornung recommended by @romanathree

Dead Boy Detectives on Netflix

Elemental Masters by Mercedes Lackey

Holmes, Marple and Poe by James Patterson - curious to see how this book treats these original characters inspired by the greats, the new characters are Brendan Holmes, Margaret Marple (maybe related to Jane Marple?) and Auguste Poe (takes his first name from Poe’s detective, Auguste Dupin)

The rest of the Dupin stories

The rest of the Raymond Chandler books

More Arsene Lupin stories (including ones vs Herlock Sholmes)

Nero Wolfe novels by Rex Stout

Pet Shop of Horrors anime/manga recommended by @eden-falls

Otherside Picnic recommended by @eden-falls

Lonely Castle in the Mirror recommended by @eden-falls

Phryne Fisher's murder mysteries books and TV show recommended by @milenathebrave

The Angel of the Crows by Katherine Addison, saw this one posted recently by @seeingteacupsindragons and I'm curious so added it to the list

Magnus Archives horror/thriller mystery podcast recommended by @writingandwritten

[davetada]

The Lone Cypress

Pebble Beach, CA

[norcal44]

AllClear...Lone Cypress Pebble Beach

[our-trans-youth-experience]

hi! i’m cypress, a nonbinary kid who’s been dealing with depression. i’m pretty new to tumblr but i just wanted to come out of the cracks and say that blogs like this.. people who share similar experiences and are so kind and supportive of each other.. it’s a big part of what keeps me going. often times i really feel like i’m alone in my struggles, and my anxiety gets the best of me and starts telling me that the world is doomed at it just… isn’t worth it to go on. I feel like a worthless individual who won’t survive in this horribly wrong body for the next who knows how long. But reading these stories.. it really does help sometimes. I’m grateful to know that i’m not alone, and i wanna make sure anyone else who’s in a situation like me, dealing with the pain of dysphoria and depression, knows that they aren’t alone either. We’re all in this together. Thank you.

-Cy

Hey Cypress (thats such a beautiful name btw, I love it),

thank you so much for your kind words and support of this blog, and I am glad that it has helped you a little. The sense of community that you (over 750!!) guys create is what makes this safe space the brilliant thing that it's become and keeps me running it <3

As someone who also has pretty severe anxiety and other mental health issues, you are not alone. As you said, we are all in this together, and as lonely as it can feel sometimes, this space is always here.

Stay safe kiddo, ily so much and my inbox and messages are always open,

Sage [he/they] 🌿

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush.  A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”