#cottonwood pass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitten-fruit · 2 months

Note

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

2K notes · View notes

silverskye13 · 19 days

Note

What's water like in your hels? Is there any there? Is it there in limited quantities? Does it rain at all? Is there only water in specific places? Was it brought from the overworld? I'm curious

There is water in hels! Just barely! It was one of Evil X's gifts to the server, getting it there. I imagine the city has a cistern he artificially filled, which is where the water from the fountains in the city and the tap water comes from. Hels is very much like the nether though! So to raise the boiling/evaporation point of the water so it stays liquid where it's supposed to be, the water is acidic. It's not eat-your-skin acidic, but its corrosive enough that using it to, say, polish armor, will lead to breakdown over time. Metals and stones they anticipate coming into a lot of contact with water [fountains, pipes] probably need regular maintenance and water proofing.

It doesn't rain in hels, all water there was brought there artificially, but I do imagine they have some weather phenomena. The peripheral of the city has a small geyser problem [any time water leaks from the cistern and comes in contact with the hotter stone around the city, you get a geyser.] There is still a cycle of hotter/cooler air, so they do get wind, and that wind will bring dust clouds and gas clouds from surrounding lava lakes and things. They get a lot of fog and fog-adjacent weather patterns, and a haze of clouds is often passing through. I also imagine they get "snows" of ash from eruptions around basalt deltas, and there are probably times of year where the different shroom plants release their spores, causing colored snows of red and blue. [We have cottonwood plants around here in the summer that coat the roads in a false snow, especially around the river where I live. I imagine whenever the warped / crimson fungus lets out spores, it would look a bit like that].

#lindentree #rns asks #if you're wondering why the hels i had an answer for this #its because i realized really early on that I said there was a water fountain in hels #and had a small panic when i realized up until this point i had said 'they live in the nether basically'#and had to justify water in hels #so i went on a research spree on how to raise the boiling point of water #and the answers are either dump a lot of salt into it #or make it acidic #drinking water in hels is probably unpleasant -- its probably naturally bitter #its not eat-your-skin acidic #but if everything had the acidity of pineapples i think.....#anyway the wear and tear on the city structures would be insane #i ate through the steering wheel of my car because my hands were slightly more acidic after oil painting #and that was a class i only took for like... 8 weeks #could you imagine acidic water all the time?#there's a plumber/contracter making bank in hels

47 notes · View notes

therobotmonster · 1 month

Text

What do you say to the one who killed Ceasar?

Corruption? Infighting? Communications breakdowns?

That aint' how it happened and that ain't how it is.

Pass me a sarsaparilla and I'll tell you how it happened and how it is.

After stamping westward like the vicious cattle they carried as their symbol, Caesar's Legion found New Vegas their downfall. Their martial prowess and seemingly endless numbers found in that place their nemesis, in the classical sense.

They found the Courier.

They didn't know what they found at first. The initial wound was shocking but not unthinkable. Vulpes Inculta went out to make an example of a local settlement called Nipton and never came back. The scouts that went looking for him found a their staging camp slaughtered. Landmines had been put in their sleeping bags. Their watchman was found in pieces.

Every scrap of clothing and equipment was gone. So it was chalked up to raiders. Patrols increased and the Legion moved on.

The loss of Vulpes Inculta's forces was a tiny cut, but a tiny cut can kill if infection sets in. The slaves at Cottonwood cove escaped, though no one could explain how. The Great Khans turned on Ceasar's Legion, somehow seeing through the Legion's plan for them. The prison break that kept the NCR off-balance just... stopped.

Weeks later, the forces at Cottonwood Cove sickened. By the time they found out their camp was contaminated with nuclear waste they were already dead. Their abhorrence of technology meant they had neither the Geiger counters nor the radaway to save themselves.

Prepared caravaners found Aurelius of Phoenix's wasted corpse, bald, covered in radiation burns, withered to a radioactive husk. He was staring up at one of the locals he'd ordered crucified. On his desk was a note saying "I did this. Signed, the Courier. XXXOOO" right next to a pile of human waste with Aurelius's helmet on it.

Enraged, Edward Sallow, the man calling himself Caesar, sent his assassins after the Courier. A squad of four, his second finest men. Then his finest four men. Then his third finest, and his forth. He'd sent his fifth squad before the one of them, the second batch, was found. They were stripped naked, their sun-baked corpses posed humiliatingly in acts of mock-coitus.

The scouts reported dutifully that the squad leader was found sitting atop his own head. The scouts didn't think their commanders needed to know how far down he was sitting.

Sallow watched the reports come in as this phantom cut through his men not with ruthless efficiency, but what appeared to be intentional ruthless inefficiency. The Courier wandered lazily from Legion outpost to Legion outpost without regard to strategy. The NCR would fight with a plan that could be anticipated. They wanted territory, they wanted resources.

As far as Sallow could tell, the Courier just wanted him to suffer.

Nelson's occupation ended in a hail of molotov cocktails and sniper fire. The plot to destroy the monorail ended on the knuckles of a Brotherhood scribe's power fist. As to Dry Wells, and the massive Legion Reinforcements there?

The mushroom cloud rendered a scouts' report moot.

No one really believed that Sallow was stupid enough to invite the courier to his camp. According to the legend, however, that's what he did, thinking he could sway the Courier to his own side with promises of power and wealth.

The legend goes on that the Courier and a vengeful NCR ranger walked in through the gates as welcome guests, only to murder the forces there to the last man. Sallow died, they say, begging. The Courier butchered him with his honor guard's machete, just like the livestock he chose as his symbol.

Sallow, it seems, had been right about what the Courier wanted.

That's pure myth-making, of course. The idea that an itinerant hero hopped up on chems and a vengeful NCR sniper could kill their way through an entire, alerted camp on their own is absurd, power armor or not. It was an obvious coup by Legate Lannius that he blamed on the Courier. It did him little good, as he ruled the Legion for mere weeks before the second battle of Hoover Dam.

Barely literate raiders in football pads and machetes do not fare well against against Vertibirds and Securitrons, it turns out.

They say that it ended there. With the heads chopped off the proverbial brahmin, the Legion crumbled from a collapse of leadership and operational control, with rival raiders, the NCR, and slave uprisings killing their 'empire' via a thousand cuts. That's the official story.

That's a bigger pile of crap than the one on the Aurelius's desk. The cut that killed the Legion was Nipton and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The few survivors of the Legion's Hoover Dam forces thought the Courier would stay in their neon kingdom.

They did not.

They marched East, the Courier and their warriors: Arcade Ganon the Doctor of the Apocalypse, Lily the Nightkin who they call Shadow of Death, the Ghoul Gunslinger Raul who never misses, the Sniper Boone who never forgives, Veronica the fallen scribe, and Rose Cassidy? She's just plain ornery. They marched with a squad of twenty Securitrons at their back and an army of silent, deadly ghosts.

They marched through Arizona, severing Pheonix from settlement after settlement, starving the great bull before descending upon it. When Pheonix fell, they didn't stop. I know because that's how I'm free today. I know how Ceasar's Legion died. I saw one of its deaths with my own eyes in my own village.

When each Legion settlement falls, as the red-bull banners burn atop the naked corpses of those legionaries who make the same mistake Vulpes Inculta made so long ago and far away, the captured slavers that call themselves an empire are gathered in a line leading to the Courier's tent.

Each one is brought, in turn, to the Courier. They stand, a growling half-robot dog at their left hand, a laser-wielding eyebot at their right, as the ex-legionary is commanded to kneel. They obey, as the command comes from behind them. There stands Boone, a gun once belonging to Joshua Graham in his right hand.

There's a moment of silence. Just as the first beads of sweat begin to roll down the prisoner's face, the courier pulls up not a machete, nor a gun, but a simple wooden sign.

"Say it." The courier says-

-and listens for the wrong answer.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fanfic #the courier #caesar's legion #tales of revenge #vulpes inculta #you wanted me to tell people what happened there #unreliable narrator

31 notes · View notes

adventurealldays · 2 years

Text

#nature #mountains #hiking #landscape #colorado #road #cottonwood pass #Buena vista #sawatch range

18 notes · View notes

dopescissorscashwagon · 11 months

Text

By Lars Leber Photography: Cottonwood Pass near Buena Vista, Colorado USA - Enjoy your weekend. :)

#Lars Leber Photography #Cottonwood Pass #Near Buena Vista #Colorado #USA #Amazing #Beautiful #Nature #Travel #Adventure

2 notes · View notes

yotenotes · 5 months

Text

pass the yuri !!!

left is mudbug shes a small cottonwood stag beetle her partner is sasha an american cockroach

#oc #oc art #bug #bug art #anthro #furry #bug furry #beetle #roach #yuri #bug yuri #art #doodle #yotenotes

32 notes · View notes

bignaz8 · 11 months

Text

Cottonwood Pass, Colorado 📷 Lars Leber

#colorado

49 notes · View notes

rusalkaandtheshepherdgirl · 1 year

Text

my new magnum opus. What it says on the tin. Timestamps etc beneath the read more

0 to 4; Card Shark; "Darling, come a little closer"

4 to 10; Leviathan; instrumental

10 to 14; 37.7694961, -122.5130832; "The horizon is blurry just like all the lies–"

14 to 16; Thomas the Rhymer (1); "–Lies are hollow, truth is heavy–"

16 to 19; An Interlace of Bones; "–heavy femurs / The chuckle of your fingers leaves me"

19 to 21; The Summer King; "– me lay on the river–"

21 to 25; Jack; "–River king loves burdock best / The Rusalka–"

25 to 28; Rusalka and the Shepherd Girl; "–Rusalka and the Shepherd girl–"

28 to 30; It’s Called ”Helena & Gerard: A Vampire Tragedy In Unmetered Limerick”, Mom; "–girl that I liked made–"

30 to 34; Daphne, "–made her a monster of wood, flesh, and bone"

34 to 39; (Far Away); instrumental

39 to 43; The Dancing Plague; "Someone asked when and the Devil replied, any second now–"

43 to 49; A Lure of Sirens; "–now see / Come sing with me beneath–"

49 to 59; The Fairie Queen (2); "–beneath her feet and take my sweet–"

59 to 1:06; Gay Werewolf Murder Ballad; "–sweet flesh of man / We descended on the town, every wolf in the land"

1:06 to 1:11; The Vixen's Lament; Instrumental

1:11 to 1:18; Persephone; "The flowers are waning, and summer is fading, and–"

1:18 to 1:24; A Wind In The Orchard; "–And I start to fade, and I still love–"

1:24 to 1:34; Truth Be Told (3); "–love, ruin, safety, vice / Just don't–"

1:34 to 1:38; A Charlatan In Red; "–don't stop until you've passed the dawn–"

1:38 to 1:39; Tam Lin; "–dawn broke"

1:39 to 1:44; (A Quiet Night); instrumental

1:44 to 1:47; Cottonwood; "with my own two shaking hands–"

1:47 to 1:48; The Marriage of Bigfoot and Mothman; "–hands, I love the way that he roars. Our love–"

1:48 to 1:53; Everyone Loves You When You Can Turn Into A Bat; "–loves you when you can turn into a bat"

#i thought a little too hard about where each song should fit in but hey if this doesn't give you whiplash nothing will #as i've mentioned i'm a lyrics girl so that's the main blending mechanic #if the instrumentals fit and sound good i must ascribe that to witchcraft not by my hand #the forgetmenauts #rio commits audio crimes #rio remarks

102 notes · View notes

taking-thyme · 2 years

Text

🜁 Air Witch Guide 🜁

Requested by the lovely @wonderfulmangotea, who wanted more elements to accompany my Fire Witch and Water Witch posts. I hope it’s as good as those ones :)

Air Correspondences

🎐 Represents: The Mind, Intelligence, Communication, Telepathy, Psychic Powers, Inspiration, Imagination, Ideas, Knowledge, Dreams and Wishes, Divination, Thought, Mental Power, Astral, Clairvoyance/Psychic Abilities, Travel, Creation, Creativity, Inspiration, Freedom, Joy and Happiness, Laughter, New Beginnings, Change, Teaching and Learning, Dreams

🎐 Colors: Yellow, Blue, Sky Blue, Silver, White, Lavender/Light Purple, Gray, Turquoise and Violet

🎐 Gender: Masculine

🎐 Direction: East

🎐 Energy: Projective

🎐 Pentagram Placement: Upper Left

🎐 Day: Wednesday

🎐 Time: Dawn

🎐 Moon Phase: Crescent

🎐 Chakra: Heart Chakra

🎐 Life Cycle: Childhood

🎐 Season: Spring

🎐 Zodiac Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius

🎐 Tarot Suit: Swords

🎐 Major Arcana: The Fool, The Magician, The Lovers, The Star, Temperance, The Hermit

🎐 Senses: Smell, Hearing

🎐 Incense: Lilac, Myrrh, Orange, Peppermint, Pine

🎐 Stones: Topaz, Pumice, Amethyst, Alexandrite, Mica, Fluorite, Turquoise, Diamond, Quartz, Aventurine, Azurite, Goldstone, Celestite, Citrine, Dream Quartz, Aura Quartz, Fuchsite, Lapis Lazuli, Glass Crystals/Marbles

🎐 Metals: Iron, Tin, Copper, Aluminum

🎐 Plants: Acacia, (Gum) Arabic, Alder, Almond, Alyssum, Anise, Apricot, Aspen, Baby’s Breath, Bamboo, Benzoin, Bergamot Mint, Bluebell, Citron, Cottonwood, Dandelion, Endive, Eucalyptus, Eyebright, Goldenrod, Hazel, Lavender, Lemon, Lemon Grass, Lemon Verbena, Lilac, Lungwort, Mace, Marjoram, (Gum) Mastic, Mistletoe, Nutmeg, Olive, Oregano, Parsley, Peach, Pecan, Peppermint, Pine, Pistachio, Rice, Sage, Star Anise, Snow Pea, Sweet Pea, Tangerine and Willow

(research plants, herbs and trees before burning, ingesting or using on skin for some are toxic and even lethal)

🎐 Animals: Birds of all Kinds, Hawk, Eagle, Owl, Moth, Butterfly, Bat, Dragonfly, Spider, Crickets, Bees, Wasps, Most Flying Insects, Horses

🎐 Mythical Creatures and Spirits: Pegasus, Griffon, Hippogriff, Sylph, Zephyr, Fairies, Angels, Sirens, Harpies, Gremlin, Garuda, Winged Unicorns, Thunderbird, Most flying creatures/beasts, Most/all Dream related entities

🎐 Instruments: Flute, Panpipes, French Horns, Oboes, Wind Instruments

🎐 Ritual Tools: Athame and Knives, Bells, Besoms and Brooms, Books and Journals, Breath, Brushes, Cotton and Cotton Balls, Dowsing Rods/Poles, Dream Journals, Dream Sachets, Fans, Feathers, Incense, Knots, Masks, Mirrors, Music and Musical Instruments, Needle and Thread, Pendulums, Poetry and Written Word, Reflective Objects/Reflections, Ribbons, Smoke, Song/Voice, Swords, Wands, Whistles, Wind chimes

🎐 The Body: Mind/Brain, Head, Nose, Lungs, Throat, Ears, Hair

🎐 Air-related Magic: Art, Written, Verbal/Spoken, Dream Work, Astral, Song/Music, Storm and Weather, Flying, Illusion, Glamors, Mirror and Divination, Incense

Types of Air and their Ritual Uses

🌬️ Breath: Use for meditation, to cleanse or “breathe life” into an object and charge it. Often associated with life and the soul, and therefore can represent Spirit.

🌬️ Breeze: A distinctly light and gentle wind. Use to send and receive messages, remove negativity from yourself and others, become more gentle and constant, or in spells that require something to be gently removed from your life. Whisper wishes when a breeze passes by to send it to the universe.

🌬️ Tornado/Hurricane Winds: Use to remove curses, banish abusers and bad habits, curses and to drive away negativity or gossip.

🌬️ Wind: Use to carry spell remains and energy away, carry messages to the universe, cleanse objects and people, speed up spells, or add a chaotic element to banishing spells.

Deities for Air Witches

🌬️ Hermes

Culture: Greek

God/Goddess of: Messenger of the God, Heraldry, Omens, Animal Husbandry, Poetry and Fables, Trade, Travel, Boundaries, Thieves, Wit, Language, Education, Psychopomp

Offerings: Wine, Olive Oil, Water, Strawberries, Foreign Foods and Items, Honey, Water, Fruit, Chocolate, Wheat, Lemons, Almonds, Cinnamon, Coins, Dice, Beer, Meat, Chamomile Tea, Pineapple, Bread, Milk mixed with honey

🌬️ Arianrhod

Culture: Celtic

God/Goddess of: Fertility, Fate, Reincarnation, Beauty, Difficulties

Offerings: Silver Coins, White Candles, Wheat, Fruits, Home-cooked meals, Salads, Wine, Water, Hot Teas, Smoothies, Study the Constellations and the Zodiac

🌬️ Rhiannon

Culture: Welsh

God/Goddess of: The Moon, Horses, Songbirds, Wind, Gates and Horseshoes

Offerings: Soft-sounding Music, A white candle with the number 7 carved into it, White Flowers, Apples, Willow, Ivy, Evergreens, Caring for Horses, Caring for Dogs, Studying liminal spaces and astral work

🌬️ Nut

Culture: Egyptian

God/Goddess of: Night

Offerings: Milk, Cool Water, Star-shaped Foods, Blue Goldstone, Blue Flowers

🌬️ Thoth

Culture: Egyptian

God/Goddess of: Knowledge, Wisdom, Writing, Mathematics, Science, Magic, Truth, Integrity, Time, The Moon

Offerings: Black Tea, Water, Honey, Blackberries, Apricots, Salmon or Tuna, Oranges (and orange-flavored things), Walnuts or Cashews, Quills, Fountain Pens, Leather-bound Books and Journals, Books you think he’d enjoy, Silver, Poetry, Dark Chocolate, Whiskey, Gin, Mead, Mint Tea, Moon Water

🌬️ Odin

Culture: Norse

God/Goddess of: Wisdom, Healing, Death, Royalty, The Gallows, Frenzy, Knowledge, War, Battle, Victory, Sorcery, Poetry and The Runic Alphabet

Offerings: Red Wine, Mead, Beer and Ale, Quality Alcohol, Whiskey, Smoked Salmon, Red Meat, Beef, Leeks, Asparagus, Garlic, Honey

🌬️ Nyx

Culture: Greek

God/Goddess of: Night

Offerings: Milk, Black Coffee or Tea, Dark Chocolate, Silver Jewelry, Dragon Fruit, Dew gathered before the run rises, Wine, Dark Beer or Liquors, Starry and Celestial Items

🌬️ The Morrigan

Culture: Celtic

God/Goddess of: Magic, Battle, Life and Death, Sovereignty, Fresh water, Prophecy, Fate

Offerings: Red Meat, Red Wine poured into the ground, Apples, Mead, Milk, Whiskey, Mead, Storm Water, Crow Feathers, Knives and Daggers, Artwork

Common Signs of an Air Witch

🍃 You LOVE to study and make art

🍃 You’re very creative and free-spirited

🍃 You believe communication is key to a good life and are good at communicating with others

🍃 You are open-minded, caring and non-judgemental

🍃 You’re very intelligent and a free spirit

🍃 You have a fast metabolism and are very agile and active

🍃 You get stuck in your head and daydream a lot

🍃 You suffer from: skin dryness, blood pressure problems, lung disorders, dry cough, bloating, constipation, lethargy, insomnia, muscular spasms, depression

Ways to bond with Air

🍃 Go cloud watching

🍃 Spend time around birds

🍃 Open the windows and get some fresh air

🍃 Breathing meditations

🍃 Listen to wind chimes

🍃 Practice mindfulness

🍃 Use incense

🍃 Go with the flow

🍃 Sit outside during a windy day

🍃 When you go outside, try to notice what direction the wind is blowing

#long post #air witch #air element #air elemental #elemental witch #elemental witchcraft #air #witch #witches #witchcraft #baby witch #witch tips #witchblr

250 notes · View notes