I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. There are paranormal shows about finding Bigfoot and there are too many ghost hunters. But faerie hunting is an untapped medium. I need a team. Faerie Finders. Let’s get abducted on a shaky cam.
Me, *setting down bowls of milk and honey*: come get y'alls juice !!
Me, *laying down in a mushroom circle in a puffy dress with the sleeves seductively slipping down to show my bare shoulders*: oh dear me I am so tired I suppose I’ll take a nap right here
maybe wander around the house/stretch a little if you’ve been sat at the computer a while (artists especially: sTRETCH THOSE WRISTS)
reply to that text/message from earlier you’d forgotten about
maybe send a nice lil message to someone having a bad day?
I just would like to thank everyone who ever reblogs this so that it somehow ends up back on my dash because I usually need the reminder (especially the drinking water one)
He finished his book almost an hour ago, yet he didn’t put out the candle flame illuminating his desk.
He didn’t know exactly why, maybe he thought the way the little flame flickered was pleasant, perhaps he enjoyed the way the thin trail of smoke danced above it.
Perhaps he was distracting himself from going back to sleep, the latest nightmare still fresh in his mind. He could almost feel the cold water invading his lungs.
So he distracts himself with the little flame.
“For how long, I wonder, can I keep this flame alight?”
He stayed awake all night, observing the little flame, feeding it small scraps of paper when it flickered too weak, gently patting it down when it consumed it’s candle too fast.
Exhaustion was creeping on him, he could barely keep his eyes open anymore, his common sense telling him he should put the little flame out before he fell asleep on top of it.
He ignored this advise.
Instead, he so carefully moved the little flame from it’s almost completely melted candle to a new, unused one.
Hopefully big enough to last quite a few hours.
Almost fearfully, he collapsed in bed, waiting for the horrible and familiar feeling of the icy waters encasing him on his sleep.
Instead, he dreamt of warmth.
—
Another day went by, then another, then a week, then two.
He learned how long each type of candle lasted, what sort of fuel feed the little flame the best.
It was now a bit of a pet project, to see how long he could make it last.
He remembers fondly how the little flame once encased the entire candle at once, flickering almost playfully.
Or how it hissed almost in annoyance, when he had to flicker it with water dropets to get it to a manageable size again.
He wasn’t sure when the pet project became just a pet.
Perhaps it was when he caught himself thinking up names for the little flame.
Perhaps it was when he decided on Orion.
In the following months not once did he dreamt of all encasing cold nor the impenetrable darkness of the depths.
He dreamt of warmth and light.
—
It was a holiday night, the kind that had most houses empty as entire families flocked together.
He was alone with Orion when the burglars broke in.
They weren’t expecting witnesses, just an easy job.
Though a single terrified man wasn’t too hard of a job.
They bought him down easily, and violently, demanding riches he didn’t have.
Orion gave a fearful flicker with each hit, it shook with each threat.
But when the bored and disappointed burglars took out the weapon, Orion roared.
The candle was ablaze in one second, the desk in two, and the burglars in three.
The little flame, now a massive, enraged inferno, embraced him fully and protectively.
He felt as much heat, as one would fill drinking hot chocolate in a cold winter night, with the company of a fully stocked fireplace and a warm blanket.
Orion’s body grew and grew, soon encasing the entire house, the flames growing so high and wide, and flickering so violently, they almost looked like flapping wings.
Later they will find nothing but an empty, charred plot of land, and blackened trails following the direction of the wind.
He left with Orion that night, never to feel cold again.
—
There’s the common misbelief that dragons hatch from eggs, when in reality, the infant form of a dragon is so frail, so small, that a misplaced breath might be enough to extinguish them.
But if one were to care for them long enough, love them long enough, the dragon will grow big and powerful, and return the favor.
Don't give up. Unless you have to for a little while. Then don't panic. CONTAINS: Star Trek, Dungeons and Dragons, Critical Role, History, Current Affairs, Space, Cats, and Etc. Adult.
