#Pit River Falls

[rabbitcruiser]

Pit River Falls, CA (No. 1)

The Pit River is a major river draining from northeastern California into the state's Central Valley. The Pit, the Klamath and the Columbia are the only three rivers in the U.S. that cross the Cascade Range.

The longest tributary of the Sacramento River, it contributes as much as eighty percent of their combined water volume into the Shasta Lake reservoir; the junction of their Shasta Lake arms is 4 miles (6.4 km) northeast of Shasta Dam. The main stem of the Pit River is 207 miles (333 km) long, and some water in the system flows 265 miles (426 km) to the Sacramento River measuring from the Pit River's longest source.

The Pit River drains a sparsely populated volcanic highlands area in Modoc County's Warner Mountains, passing through the south end of the Cascade Range in a deep canyon northeast of Redding. The river is so named because of the semi-subterranean permanent winter homes and large 'sweat houses' that the Pit River Tribe dug, and their pit traps for game that came to water at the river.

The river is a popular destination for fishing, fly fishing, and rafting in its lower reaches, and is used to generate hydroelectricity in the powerhouses below Fall River Mills where the Pit and Fall rivers join, and at Shasta Dam. It is also used extensively for irrigation and conservation purposes.

Source: Wikipedia

[u-friend-or-ufo]

The Bay City Rollers should have done one of those terrifying PSA back in the 70's...Boy oh boy they are sure...something...

[planet4546b]

i dont have any art ideas so im just gonna type up a post about my iterators cause ive been thinking about them.....elo has the iterator version of not having telomeres and knows that he likely is unable to die, his superstructure grounds have been constantly growing (hes like a lobster) through a mix of mysterious means and purposed organisms that are sorta building uselessly but most of those areas are completely nonfunctional. theyre starting to creep towards rivers but i havent decided what river's deal is in the present day. glass went offline a few cycles ago but no one really knows what happened to her and she burned bridges with elo, rivers, and iggy before this so none of them are really trying to figure out what happened to her (fish is the only one who cares, they were the closest but they don't have the resources to do anything about it).

iggy was an extremely recent, 'experimental' model that had a ton of novel systems, and after xyr near-complete shutdown, fish started building a ton of connections straight into xyr experimental power systems to prolong their own life (iggy's can is literally collapsed on top of fish's after long term damage from the seismic event that dropped fish into the pit, theyre in physical contact which is both Extremely unlikely and, in this case, convienent). iggy's 'death' may or may not have been from natural causes and may or may not have been as a result of a scheme between wtg and fish (wtg had a specialty in purposing organisms, which surely has nothing to do with all that!). so elo and fish are the only two left alive and they hate each other the most !

[veunho]

Friendly reminder that Minecraft animals, cows especially, have a really complex soul... that yearns for death. so if you ever think that leaving them unattended for five minutes on a cliff will be fine, THINK AGAIN

[ireadvintage]

🍒 An Excerpt from Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin 🍒

"Giovanni had awakened an itch, had released a gnaw in me. I realized it one afternoon, when I was taking him to work via the Boulevard Montparnasse. We had bought a kilo of cherries and we were eating them as we walked along. We were both insufferably childish and high-spirited that afternoon and the spectacle we presented, two grown men jostling each other on the wide sidewalk and aiming the cherry pits, as though they were spitballs, into each other's faces, must have been outrageous. And I realized that such childishness was fantastic at my age and the happiness out of which it sprang yet more so; for that moment I really loved Giovanni, who had never seemed more beautiful than he was that afternoon. And, watching his face, I realized that it meant much to me that I could make his face so bright, I saw that I might be willing to give a great deal not to lose that power. And I felt myself flow toward him, as a river rushes when the ice breaks up. Yet, at that very moment, there passed between us on the pavement another boy, a stranger, and I invested him at once with Giovanni's beauty and what I felt for Giovanni I also felt for him. Giovanni saw this and saw my face and it made him laugh the more. I blushed and he kept laughing and then the boulevard, the light, the sound of his laughter turned into a scene from a nightmare. I kept looking at the trees, the light falling through the leaves. I felt sorrow and shame and panic and great bitterness. At the same time—it was part of my turmoil and also outside it—I felt the muscles in my neck tighten with the effort I was making not to turn my head and watch that boy diminish down the bright avenue. The beast which Giovanni had awakened in me would never go to sleep again; but one day I would not be with Giovanni anymore. And would I then, like all the others, find myself turning and following all kinds of boys down God knows what dark avenues, into what dark places? With this fearful intimation there opened in me a hatred for Giovanni which was as powerful as my love and which was nourished by the same roots." Scene art of Giovanni and David walking the Boulevard du Montparnasse created by the talented @emilypaik​. Commissioned for Tumblr by Vintage Books in celebration of the James Baldwin Centenary.

[moonlight-prose]

nameless as a river undiscovered underground

a/n: i really wish october could last longer than a few weeks, because i simply want to keep writing spooky stories and logan fics. i keep posting them late, but i'm doing them last minute (bad i know). this one is more a drabble than a fic, but i loved the idea of logan and his leather jacket. especially the thought of him loving you wearing it.

logan promptober: day eighteen - leather jacket

summary: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, p in v sex, reverence, love, fluff, the soft vibes of logan being in love.

You were clad in his leather jacket—swallowed by the heaviness of it—the first time he kissed you. In the rain a mile out from the mansion, beside a broken down car and cell phones that wouldn't work. He'd never seen true beauty until you smiled at him. Drenched to the bone, laughing, and luminant in the dark of a night gone wrong.

At one point in the past, he swore to himself he was safer never falling down that unknown pit. That heart devouring thing that made his insides twist and heart turn inside out. It terrified him. Knowing he could one day lose it all in the blink of an eye—become a shell of himself without the presence of another. Solitude kept him safe, kept him from causing destruction to innocent people hell bent on showing him love.

But then he kissed you.

Mid laughter, with eyes still alight in that angelic glow, Logan Howlett put his heart on the line and pressed his lips to yours. The rain pelted your faces in a cold icy wave of brutal weather. Yet neither of you cared. You dug your hands into his hair matted down with too much water and dragged him close enough to give life to that ache in his chest.

You kissed him without conviction. Instead putting your faith—your entire being—on the steady beat of your heart that echoed loudly in his head. The heat of your mouth, the wet slide of your tongue, killed him on the spot. He was a dead man walking—a corpse without a soul.

All because you decided to steal it away with a grin before kissing him once again.

The leather jacket became a comfort in your relationship with a man who ran hotter than a radiator. He didn't need the heavy weight of it, but he liked it. The color, the detailing, the story encased in the frayed thread that lined the insides.

You still remember discovering the small polaroid kept in the inside pocket, tucked away from sight yet pressed to his heart. It was you. Dressed up for the very first time. Storm took the photo on a whim, Logan stole it from her study two days later. You'd later ask him about the messy heart drawn on the bottom white strip—a scribble of the word sweetheart placed underneath.

He turned fifty shades of crimson the second you brought it up, but the photo still remained in place. Stuck to his body whenever he wore his jacket—a familiar piece of his heart whenever you wore it instead.

Tradition was embedded in the stolen item of clothing. The way he draped it over your shoulders on nights out, the times he spent bundling you up when you conveniently forgot your own sweater in his bedroom. You'd burrow your face in the collar, breathing in the musk of his cigars. He'd drop his head against his shoulder at the fragrant scent of your perfume still stuck to the lining.

Each of you placed your mark on the fabric, intent on leaving small reminders of who wore it last. But his favorite memory still remained in the pocket that still held a little rip on the outer edge—the time he clawed at it to grasp you close until the audible echo of destruction turned pain into laughter.

"You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me," he grunted, fingers sharply pressed into the bare skin of your hips.

You smiled, half lidded eyes glazed over in a cloud of darkened lust. "I thought the Wolverine couldn't be killed."

"That wasn't for you to test."

"Can't say you don't like me like this baby," you sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table placed in your very own house.

A home shared with him.

The cracked groan brought satisfaction right to the top of your chest—love beating its own drum in the depths of your body. Logan came home early to a welcome surprise of you in his jacket...and nothing else on. The plan was to get dinner, go walk the city to find a bit of romance tucked away in the corners of cafes and the lowlights of bars.

Neither of you made it to the car.

"It'll smell like you," he gasped, dragging his cock through your dripping cunt. The head nudging against your clit with each stroke. "I'll smell like you."

"Logan–" You clawed at his shoulders, lifting your hips in the hopes of enticing him to move. To put you out of your misery and slide home.

"It'll drive me crazy." A messy kiss overflowing with the love you felt flicker to life in your chest was pressed to your lips. Messy and needy and filled with the soft moan of his gravelly voice.

You sucked his tongue into your mouth, grinning at the brittle sound that cracked at the base of his throat. "Now you know how I feel."

Sinking into you felt like home. The hot slick grip of your walls clamping down around his cock broke something in the back of his mind. A wire that connected common sense with intellect. He watched it unravel before his very eyes—your lips coated in his spit curling into a grin. A smile that left him breathless and begging for more.

You were rapturous. The embodiment of what he believed hope looked like; the light at the end of his cracked and unstable road.

"So fuckin' pretty," he muttered, his eyes flickering between where he thrusted into you and your breasts covered by his jacket. "Should dress like this all the damn time."

"I'd get cold," you laughed, slinging an arm around his neck.

"You got me to keep you warm."

A harsh thrust sent you higher up on the table, pulling free a high pitched moan that sunk into his skin with a warmth that bloomed towards his chest. He wanted to pour out each emotion and watch you drink it down like the ichor of the gods. The life he led before suddenly felt as if there was a purpose to all the suffering he endured—all the pain that still lingered in phantom wounds long since healed.

You were the purpose he sought.

The person he was always meant to find.

He'd do it all over again if given the choice as long as you were there waiting for him—holding out a hand to bring him home.

You came with a garbled shout of his name, your walls sucking his cock back into you to keep him close. Each stunted thrust lit a fire in his body, his hands gripping any bare part of you he could reach as you fell back against the table. Your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted in a silent scream.

A few more sharp thrusts and he followed you quicker than he expected—practically toppling onto your body as he fucked his cum deep. Enough to have it spilling out and coating the inside of your thighs. He was half tempted to drop to his knees and clean you up, but the tight grip you had on his shoulders kept him in place. The close proximity of his body all you craved in the rolling aftershocks of your orgasm.

"All mine?" you whispered, still gasping for breath.

He smiled, lips brushing across yours. "All yours sweetheart."

This was how he loved you.

Thoroughly, harshly, yet with every part of his being.

[blondejellykitty]

₊ ♡ ˚⊹ I'll be there on their side ₊ ♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ multi demigod x goddess reader ୨୧ the goddess of heroes and the protector of demigods was thought to be a mere myth and that was how she preferred it to be, until the time came when she could no longer stay away. a/n: (1.8k words) my first fic posted !! the title is from 'i bet on losing dogs' by mitski. the ending isn't exactly how i wanted but that's okay :)

Mortal children are told myths just the same as demigods. Usually mortal parents will tell them said stories to help themselves parent them like Jack Frost, to remember to put your jacket on or Santa Claus who won't show unless you behave well.

Parents of demigods however tell them for the child's benefit. Many legends aren't told but are taught at camp, once again to protect the demigods. Very few stories are able to be told without alerting any unwanted attention.

The entirety of the fall of Kronos from Zeus' beginning to his victory and the story of his earliest children. All revolving around Zeus in his prime, probably to keep himself ego inflated and unfaded.

Nevertheless this is another story that circulates the young ears of all demigods. The legend of the protector of demigods. Much is lost to time of the story but not even time himself can rip the hope that the lost goddess can give to the young heroes.

Very few things shocked the Olympians anymore, not in this century anyway. Of course Kronos and Gaea rising was one thing and Percy Jackson himself was another but the whispers from their children that after two titan wars sightings of their lost protector was becoming more frequent seemed to truly shock them.

After a few millennia of no contact from the goddess more than a few gods had assumed she simply faded quietly but now it seemed that wasn't the case at all.

It started as a mistaken identity.

With the son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson had thought she was nothing more than a helpful nymph.

Although the poison from the pit scorpion that Luke Castellan gave him was more than enough of a reason for Percy to not fully take in the figure in front of him.

He could faintly make out the outline of her dress but even that went blurry as quickly as he could blink. After struggling to get to the river in the middle of the deserted forest, he called for help, anyone's help.

So she answered.

In a daze of pain he recalls the feeling of being carried much like his mother used to do when he’d trip and hurt himself. He would have felt embarrassed but with a fading pulse he just mumbled best he could thanks to the tender nymph before his vision was lost to darkness.

After he’d recovered, Chiron told him if he'd been found any later he'd have been dead.

Thirty seconds, he thought.

After he had told everyone, everyone meaning Annabeth about Luke, he went back out to said woods to find the nymph who had helped him.

All he found was a few river spirits nearby who told him that no nymph went that close to the border that day. He’d made the river spirits promise to let him know if the mysterious nymph came back, she never did.

But nonetheless Percy remembered, and held thanks to the helpful nymph.

Mistaken identity shifted to a hallucination.

The son of Hermes, Travis Stoll had sworn himself to secrecy under the impression he'd have imagined the whole encounter.

An embarrassing thought he often let himself drift back to on more than one occasion. It had started when he and Connor had been setting up traps in the woods for the next capture the flag game.

They'd been out there all afternoon, they decided to turn back for curfew, best to not tempt the harpies when he'd tripped on a lodged rock in the ground and managed to roll down and crash into a further down tree.

A thick root from the tree he'd fallen against impaled his side making his shirt and the dirt around him to turn a dark red colour. The sight of the root appearing out his side Connor ran towards camp faster than he'd ever seen him run during their pranks yelling for healers and for Chiron.

When he'd think back on it he wasn't sure if it was the quiet of the forest or the numbness of his body but dark spots began to invade his vision and he couldn't help but embrace them without caution.

Until the most beautiful woman came out from behind a nearby tree, rushing towards him in a fuzzy blur. Her elegant hair falling past her face almost making a blanket of warmth and safety around the two of them.

She was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Better than the full moon, the sunrise and sunset. Better than the ocean or a flower. He could hear her softly speaking to him but he couldn't make out the words.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring in awe at the woman. Travis was sure he'd be red with embarrassment if all his 'red' wasn't currently bleeding out of him.

He looked over towards where he heard his brother's frantic voice getting closer to him. The sight of him and a few cabin 7 campers not far behind him did well to ease his own worry. He looked back for the woman but she was gone.

He doubted if he'd seen the woman but shook it off as nothing more than pain induced illusion.

Then from a hallucination to a mortal.

The son of Hades, Nico di Angelo should've known better than to assume that anyone who approached him was 100% mortal.

After spending more time in the demigod world he realized that mortals don't ever come over to talk to demigods, or maybe that was just his problem.

Nevertheless even mortals can see some kind of underworld aura around him even if they don't understand what they're seeing.

Which makes it all the more irritating that his younger self didn't realize the woman who helped him was probably not entirely mortal. He could still remember it so clearly, she was after all one of the few at that time that had been kind to him.

He had spent the night searching for an entrance to the underworld, his father had told him in a dream a few nights prior that it was in the area. He also mentioned that it was supposed to be easier to find for children of his.

Well that turned out to be crap.

Nico had spent all day and now late into the night walking around New york city trying to find a specific street corner. He was tired and hungry but most of all angry.

He called off his search once his eyes started to sting. Finding a bus stop bench to rest at. He pulled his knees to rest his head against. Tears stung his eyes more than his fatigue when a smell of food wafted near him.

Lifting his head he saw a woman, dressed in a cozy cardigan, the beige kind a mother would wear. She was carrying a bag, he could faintly make out the logo of the logo of a restaurant he remembered passing on the contains inside.

She never spoke but her eyes almost made him cry, a look of care and worry. one he'd imagined his own mother having from the stories Bianca would tell him.

She leaned over and rested the beg softly on the bench next to him, he could feel the heat from it warming her leg. He asked her who she was and why she'd given him her food but all she did was smile and ruffle his hair like Bianca used to do.

He could feel his tears roll down his neck as he watched her keep walking down the street until she eventually walked out of vision. He was just glad someone was kind to him.

Even if it was just a friendly mortal.

Then from a mortal to a mother.

The son of Hermes, Chris Rodriguez couldn't believe he could see his mother in the middle of the haunted Labyrinth.

It had been Luke who ordered him to go into the traumatizing maze and he'd done it willingly, so eager to help his older brother for the cause of getting revenge, justice, to be noticed.

But as most things in Chris's life it had gone horribly wrong. He couldn't even remember most of the horror he'd seen in there, the human brain forcing him to forget just so that he can move on from it all.

But one of the few things that stuck with him was the memory of his mother. Now, he knew it was completely impossible his mother, who'd died just helping him to get to camp, was in the labyrinth with him but his vivid recollection of those moments left little doubt.

He remembers leaning against one of the ever shifting walls, ready to give up on getting out for good.

When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he recalls not even flinching from it because of the calming ease it put him in, he could feel himself slurring his word and frantically almost magically speaking but it wouldn't reach his ears.

He had a light aura around her, and a gentle smile as she carefully lead the way through the twists and turns of the darken maze.

He relives the memory as best he can, he could still hear the faint whispers from her mouth, promising she wouldn't let him go and that it would be alright soon.

In hindsight that was something his mother would never do, his mother cared for him not was anything but emotional.

Part of him likes to think that Thanatos had lost her soul for a moment and she'd come to help when he most needed her.

He was just glad that someone had helped him because he hated the thought of what had happened to him if they hadn't.

Finally from a mother to a mourner.

The son of Jupiter, Jason Grace was the lost goddess' last straw.

Too many had already lost their lives in wars fought in seemingly vain. No matter how she felt for them nor how she longed to help them, rules were rules as the King of Olympus loved to remind everyone.

But when the fate meddled day approached and her sweet kind hero had perished, some rules were to be broken in order to do some good.

The day Jason Grace died was a day every demigod remembers, they felt the sadness draped over both camps and everyone in them.

Even demigods who had never even met the fallen hero were mourning him with such intensity.

The lost goddess knew it was because of her her grief was spilling into their own lives, her sadness swallowing them up with it.

Part of her wanted to stop, knowing it was affecting the little heroes but another darker part wanted it to spur them into action, she wanted it to make them want change.

But look how that had turned out the first time. As much as she wanted to change she settled for a medium, she’d change and she'd do what she was meant to.

Help the young heroes live and thrive, no matter the cost to any other immortal in her way...

[cryptotheism]

She awoke to a boxcar full of corpses,

which was damn lucky, because it meant she now had a one-way train ticket to exactly where she wanted to go. All that was left to do was pass the time.

The student took inventory of her body. It was the first thing she knew to do in case of catastrophic injury, but the ritual of it was almost meditative now. Start at the bottom, work your way up.

Feet: Sore from walking. The leathery sheathe of mutagenic skin that ran up to her shins was largely unfeeling scar tissue at this point. They looked and functioned like a pair of high-topped hiking boots, except permanent and a part of her body. They were a rough custom job, designed for traversing the pools of acid that dotted the necrotic swamps common to her homeland. Home. Not much left of home now. She was getting sidetracked.

Legs: Also sore from walking, but less so. The musculature was hers, but the skeleton was reinforced with carbon-steel after a fall when she was little. Shock absorbing hydraulic femurs were nice for someone who did as much walking as she did. Skin was necrotizing again. Gotta get that replaced. Maybe one of the corpses is fresh enough to provide a graft.

Pelvis: Mercifully unfeeling. The surveyor had grabbed her by the hips. Skeleton was completely replaced a long time ago, but she could feel a hitch in the joint of her left leg whenever she moved it just so. An easy fix but time consuming, and not the sort of work to be done on a moving train. No necrotization here, at this point it was all synthetic. Uterus was completely original, not that it meant much. The little bundle of braided tubes that assisted her endocrine system remained stapled to her skin. The jangling was annoying, kept getting stuck on her hatchet, thus, staples. Fluids were looking a little dark, she must be dehydrated.

Torso: Felt fine, aside from the strain on her spine from carrying her things. Even with the augments, spines in general were just poorly constructed. Flesh was scarred, lots of burns, but mostly original. Both clavicles were removed and replaced with cargo sockets. She rolled her shoulders, it seemed like everything was working well. Breasts and sternum had been removed too, replaced with subdermal bulletproofing. She had spent extra for the good stuff there. One solid hand-ground piece of sloped armor. Getting shot in the lung was a lesson you only needed to learn once. Heart was completely mechanical. She even had a backup in her bag just in case. She traded the old lung and the breast tissue for that.

Right Arm: She rolled back the sleeve of her heavy coat and stretched her arm, watching the little electric motors dance. It was strong and dexterous, with half a dozen small tools built into the length of her forearm. No need for skin. In a pinch she could perform everything from network intrusion to basic surgery. Most of it was covered by the sleeve of her heavy coat. The amputation was above the elbow. She had leased her original arm for the current mechanical one when she was working on the pit crew for for an order of knights. She ended up keeping the arm.

Left Arm: She liked her left arm. She was proud of it. The trademark of a sythetimancer. It was pretty. Biological and mechanical features blending seamlessly together. Coils of veins and circuitry making intricate braids up her arm terminating in perfect Fibonacci spirals. Softly bioluminescent blood, filaments formed from calcified nerve tissue, synapse clusters under crystal clear de-pigmented bulbs of alpha-keratin. She concentrated for a moment, allowing the whirls on her palm to twist and readjust themselves with a tingling sensation. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, all recombining into butane. She snapped her fingers, igniting a tiny flame, letting it dance along her fingers for a few moments burning and repairing the flesh as she went, spirals parting and coalescing like leaves navigating the twain of a gentle river. They looked like the little shell fossils she found at the white desert when she was little. Memories. Loss.

The spirals in her hand began to twist and pulse, little corkscrews of bone began to form, growing outwards against the thin layer of biosynthetic skin. It hurt. She winced, and regained control a moment later. Careless. She shook her arm, and the flame on her finger went out.

Head: Still a bit hazy from the pain. Where to start with the head? Neck. Parched. Currently being warmed by a scarf with a length of handmade maille hidden in the folds. Rebreather was working well because it was made well. It was made well because she made it. She made it because it used to be her job. Like everyone of her strain, she had no teeth, only two solid ridges of tough bone, largely blunt and made for gnashing but gradually coalescing into a single triangular point, evolved for ripping flesh. She clacked her jaws together experimentally. Clack. Clack.

Eyes were tired and dry. There was a short mechanical hiss and a snap as she the shields over her eyes retracted back into their sockets in her cheekbones. The only light was from a pair of grates in the ceiling, but the glare nearly blinded her. She snapped the shields back into place, and the heads up display came slowly back into focus.

Originally her skin was the sort of rust color common to her strain. By now it was a deep weather-worn red, except for the parts that were charred black and rotting. Gotta replace that. If she could grow hair, she had done a damn good job of making sure it was thoroughly singed off. It occurred to her that it might be fun to have hair one day. Maybe she could make it herself. Would it grow in spirals? She looked down to open the bag of genebending tools at her waist, and her heart jumped into her goddamn throat.

Staring up at her from the pile of corpses was a pair of bright red eyes on an unnaturally pale face with no nose or lips. Which would not be terribly upsetting or surprising, had it not just said “well met” in an oddly pleasant female voice, attempt to sit up, fail, and then ask politely if its new acquaintance would stop sitting on it.

This is the first chapter of Amber Skies. The complete story can be read here, along with its currently-in-progress sequel, Emerald Seas.

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

[rabbitcruiser]

International Water Fall Day

International Waterfall Day is celebrated every year on June 16 to celebrate these magnificent and scenic beauties. Waterfalls are found all around the world and are incredibly important to the local communities living around them. The cascade of water is not just a wonder for the eyes but they also have a majestic quality to them that’s indescribable. Imagine trekking for miles, drenched in sweat and beaten down by the sun, only to finally walk through a clearing and look up at the sky to see what looks like water pouring from the heavens.

History of International WaterFall Day

A waterfall is usually defined as a point in a river where the water flows over a steep drop. As there are many types and methods used to classify waterfalls, what constitutes a waterfall continues to be debated. Despite being such an important part of human lives and history, waterfalls have not been very much researched, although Alexander von Humboldt did write about them in the 1820s. There is no name for the specific field of researching waterfalls but it is popular to describe studying waterfalls as ’waterfallology.’

European explorers used to document the waterfalls they came across. In 1493, Christopher Columbus wrote about Carbet Falls in Guadeloupe, which could be the first waterfall Europeans recorded seeing in the Americas. However, Geographer Brian J. Hudson suggests that it was uncommon to specifically name waterfalls until the 18th century.

This trend of, specifically, Europeans naming waterfalls is following people’s increased scientific focus on nature at the time, the rise of Romanticism, and the increased importance of hydropower due to the Industrial Revolution. However, European explorers would often ignore the names native peoples had originally given these waterfalls in favor of a more ’European’ name. For example, Scottish physician and explorer David Livingstone named Victoria Falls after Queen Victoria, even though it was already known as Mosi-oa-Tunya by the people native to the area.

Waterfall exploration continues to this day. Waterfalls are visited by people in droves mainly because they make great tourist sites; it is not just because they are beautiful, but also because they are relatively uncommon.

International WaterFall Day timeline

Late 1600sNiagara and Saint Anthony Falls

Belgian missionary Louis Hennepin visits North America and provides early descriptions of the Niagara Falls and Saint Anthony Falls.

1884“Waterfallology”

Geologist William Morris Davis, known as the "father of American geography," writes and publishes an early paper on waterfalls.

November 16, 1933Jimmy Angel Spots the Angel Falls

American aviator Jimmy Angel flies over the waterfall now known as Angel Falls, while on a flight searching for a valuable ore bed.

March 9, 2006The Exploration Continues

The Gocta Cataracts,  a perennial waterfall with two drops located in Bongara, Peru, is first announced to the world.

International WaterFall Day FAQs

How do you survive falling over a waterfall?

Jumping off a waterfall is dangerous and can be fatal. However, if you find yourself in the unfortunate situation of tripping over one, these steps might help: Take a deep breath while you’re still in the air; go over the falls feet first and jump out and away from the edge; cover your head with your arms; start swimming as soon as you hit the water to avoid hitting the rocks at the bottom and continue downstream, away from the falls.

What are the most popular waterfalls?

Waterfalls found on all continents serve as popular tourist sites. Some of the famous ones in the world are Niagara Falls, Victoria Falls, Angel Falls, Yosemite Falls, Jog Falls, Iguazu Falls, and Sutherland Falls, among others.

How are waterfalls formed?

Waterfalls are formed when the riverbed suddenly changes from soft to hard rock. Rapids are created where a fast-flowing river cuts quickly downward through a bed of hard and soft rocks. The quicker erosion of the soft rock beneath the hard rock results in the hard rock to be elevated above the stream bed.  Afterward, a vertical drop will eventually (after many, many years) begin to form as more of the soft rock gets eroded.

International WaterFall Day Activities

Visit a waterfall

Admire them from home

Explore exotic places

Fill up your car and drive to your nearest waterfall for a lovely day out. Make a picnic out of it by inviting your friends and family!

Appreciate the beauty of waterfalls from the comfort of your home by hanging their pictures around your house and watching tourism videos on YouTube. Post pictures on your social media to share these wondrous sites with your friends.

Visit other places if you can’t make a trip to a waterfall. Use this day as an opportunity to satisfy your wanderlust and appease the travel-hungry explorer in you!

5 Facts About Waterfalls That Will Blow Your Mind

Angel Falls is extremely tall

There are thousands of waterfalls worldwide

Niagara Falls is very clean

They can be loud

They can  freeze over

Venezuela’s Angel Falls is the world's longest waterfall at 3,212 feet, with the water turning into mist before it hits the base of the waterfall.

There are still many waterfalls in the world that have yet to be recorded and named, leaving the list of waterfalls in the World Waterfall Database to be incomplete.

The water in Niagara Falls is so clean that it can even be used as drinking water.

The roar from the famous Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe is so loud that it can be heard from 25 miles away.

Some waterfalls freeze for at least part of the year,  leaving mountaineers able to climb them to practice and test their skills.

Why We Love International WaterFall Day

They’re beautiful

They have religious significance

They’re important sources of power

Waterfalls are popular tourist sites for a reason. They’re beautiful and can have an amazing de-stressing and calming effect on you. Who wouldn’t want to visit a place like that?

People in different cultures also attach religious significance to waterfalls in their regions. ‘Misogi,’ which means ‘water cleansing’ in Japanese, is a popular Shinto practice in Japan where people stand under a waterfall to purify their souls.

Hydroelectricity can be generated from naturally existing waterfalls, although most hydroelectric plants generate water from man-made falls. They are made by building dams, thus restricting the natural flow of the river into channels where the water can power turbines.

Source

[felassan]

The Slightest Ones bard song:

Arlathan fell so deep onto the ocean floor

Dalish elven lore:

"It is said that the Tevinter magisters used their great destructive power to force the very ground to swallow Arlathan whole"

The Adventures of the Black Fox by Gaston Gerrault:

"The stories all agree that, at some point, the Black Fox disappeared: He and his fellow adventurers voyaged into the heart of the Arlathan forest seeking the sunken city of the elves and never returned"

Solas dialogue:

"Imagine [...] palaces floating among the clouds."

Codex entry: Vir Dirthara: Homecoming

"a city of glass spires so deeply blue they ache. The city's outskirts are wrapped in lakes of mist, and figures stroll along the pearly, glowing strips as if they walked on solid ground [...] other elves walk below a river churning along an invisible shoal in the air."

Tevinter tries to mimic some ancient elvhen magic and Minrathous has a floating castle.

Location in Dragon Age: The Veilguard -

Arlathan Crater: one, two, three

Definitions of "crater":

- a landform consisting of a hole or depression on a planetary surface, usually caused either by an object hitting the surface, or by geological activity on the planet - a bowl-shaped pit that is formed by a volcano, an explosion, or a meteorite impact

Was the city of Arlathan a floating city kept aloft by ancient elvhen magic in a way that was intrinsically dependent on the presence of the Fade, and when the Veil was erected, with that tie severed it crashed to the ground like an asteroid? Did the ground swallow it whole? When Solas created the Veil, in that reshaping of reality was it physically spacetime-displaced deep into the heart of the Fade? When he made the Veil, did it "fall" (warp) into the Deep Roads like the elven library found by Genitivi in Genitivi Dies in the End? Did it fall to the bottom of the ocean? Did it fall into the other ocean, the Fade (the "Waters of the Fade", "the sea of dreams", the "emerald waters", "vast oceans, containing not water, but memories")? The Fade sort've reflects reality and is shaped by dreams, so is The City [by this I mean The Golden/Black City] the Fade-mirror-image or echo of Arlathan as opposed to literally physically it? the wild and fun thing about Dragon Age is that more than one of these things could be true at once.

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead)

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

He had tried to push through, really, he had, but the journey back to the Faerie Kingdom alone is long, let alone Crisipia. It didn't take long for the children to notice his sluggishness, and they insisted they find somewhere for Pure Vanilla to get some well-earned rest before they continue.

He can't be surprised by his exhaustion. Time in the Spire was a strange, nebulous thing, but however long he'd been there, he hadn't had any chance to rest, and he hadn't rested for a good while prior to setting foot in the Spire either. And all that wasn't even considering the exertion that his spar with Shadow Milk had required.

Pure Vanilla winces slightly, a bare twinge of guilt that he brushes past by turning his head against the pillow. They had found an abandoned old cottage, half buried under encroaching plants but fairly untouched inside. Pure Vanilla had helped dust the place off before Gingerbrave put his foot down and banished him to the bedroom. He can hear the children bickering amongst themselves through the wall now, and warmth sweeps through him along with that stubborn little flicker of guilt.

He's meant to be the adult here, but here they are, fussing over him. He's also meant to be sleeping right now, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries. Pure Vanilla's whole body aches like a fresh bruise, something deeper than exhaustion, and the mattress is uncomfortably hard beneath him.

It almost makes him miss his room in the Spire, which is a silly thought, because he barely spent any time in it. He was only able to sit down on the bed for a few moments before the children came knocking, but that had been enough for him to notice how the mattress was as soft as marshmallow, inviting him to sink into in like he sunk into the Yogurt River. He imagines it would be a balm for his pains now.

Even in his listless haze, he remembers being surprised by the effort put into the construction of that room. The care taken to replicate his bedroom in the Vanilla Kingdom, like a reflection of nostalgic comfort. It was thoughtful. Shadow Milk was thoughtful.

Pure Vanilla's thoughts have been full of Shadow Milk, too. They always circle back to him, fragmented into different, clashing tones. There's the horror, the anger, the maniacal cackling, the snarled threats, the barbed jeers, the glint of bared fangs and forked tongue, the children struggling in his grasp, the distress, the despair, the sensation of falling from the top of the Spire for forever and for a second, down, down, down, down.

But- but there's also always, eventually, the snatches of something past the veil of dark and malice. The room, the almost patient way he taught him about the cards, his half-lidded eyes over the game boards, the genuine joy that overflowed out of him, bubbling up like he couldn't contain it. The warmth as Shadow Milk had cupped his face between his palms, noticeably careful with his claws against his cold cheeks. The warmth as he repeated again in a softer hiss, almost a reverent whisper, "Now, you are mine," before pressing their foreheads and Soul Jams together.

The frustration always tumbles into fondness, and the fondness always leaks into the frustration. At this point, Pure Vanilla is certain the merging of the two is creating a new emotion entirely, but he isn't sure what it is, even though he's become quite the expert in merging.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

The guilt hasn't quite subsided yet. In fact, it only continues to curl gently in the pit of his stomach, switching targets with every shift in topic his thoughts take. He thinks, maybe, he should have tried a little harder to stop Shadow Milk when he made his escape from the Spire, or said something slightly different. Perhaps, if he had, Shadow Milk would believe that his kindness was backed by determination, that the offer of friendship wasn't simply a whim of the moment.

But there is nothing to be done about it now. The past is the past, Pure Vanilla is far too familiar with that fact, and no Cookie can live without making a few mistakes. All he can do is accept it, let it breathe and move forward.

Pure Vanilla exhales, laying a hand on his Soul Jam. It pulses faintly beneath his fingers, and the familiar hum grounds him as he focuses his attention elsewhere, away from the hard mattress and the little cottage and the children's muffled chattering. He splits his consciousness in two, peeling away from reality as he wraps himself in his other-realm.

It's a new development, but wielding it is as easy as breathing, like an extension of himself. The bright white that greets him might be blinding to most, but to him, it is welcoming and soothing. Slowly, he blinks dozens of golden eyes open, bracing for some disorientation but pleasantly surprised when there is none.

Instinctively, Pure Vanilla searches for Shadow Milk within the space, because up until now, he has only used it in his presence. Even though he knows better than to really expect it, he is still slightly disappointed when all he sees is white and gold, unrolling smoothly and peacefully outward.

Somewhere in the distant nowhere, and in the immediate everywhere, Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Still, he stretches himself thin across the other-realm, the sensation of his dubious tangibility strange and perfectly natural. He nudges against the wobbly, not quite real edges of the space, feeling along the fuzzy lines in an attempt to find Shadow Milk's other-realm.

He knows the two are connected, because he was only able to discover his other-realm through Shadow Milk's. Technically, it had been a single other-realm then, woven by their joint power, but the emotional fallout of the confrontation that followed had forcibly seperated them. There must still be a lingering connection, some way for him to reach him.

And yet, Pure Vanilla cannot find a single trace of that energy he knows so intimately now, dark and cool and slithering. There is no evidence of the other-realm's other half anywhere - Shadow Milk must have closed it off from him, antsy that he would try something like this. It makes it feel like Pure Vanilla really is alone here, drifting in the glittering waves.

Pure Vanilla wouldn't exactly say that he misses it, but there is a certain nostalgia when he thinks back on his memory of Shadow Milk's other-realm. The weightlessness, the relaxing chill, the suffocating pressure in the air, tightening around him, made to confine, made to protect. Shadow Milk had delighted in inviting him inside it, into something special for just the two of them. It seems the invitation has now been revoked.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla could try and push through to Shadow Milk's other-realm anyway. He has the ability to try, at least, with the power he has now unlocked, to pull at the stitches that keep Shadow Milk's other-realm sealed and see what happens.

Pure Vanilla doesn't. He decides to give Shadow Milk his space - it might have been for the best that he didn't try too hard to stop him back at the Spire, after all. He doubts Shadow Milk would have taken kindly to it then, and he probably wouldn't take kindly to it now, not yet.

Settled by the thought, Pure Vanilla closes a dozen golden eyes and blinks back into reality. The hard mattress and the little cottage and the muffled sound of shuffling through the wall. He wonders what the children are doing out there.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

This mattress isn't helping and neither is his inability to sleep, but he thinks very little would actually help. Despite his strengthened power, any attempt to heal himself with his light had done nothing, since the problem isn't physical. Exhaustion worsens the feeling, but it isn't the core of the issue either.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches, and he knows why.

Pure Vanilla has never felt like he was incomplete or lesser, but in the instant when he and Shadow Milk merged souls, he had suddenly felt like More. More than himself. Like something he hadn't even known was missing slotted into place, bringing sweet relief.

For the first few moments, it had been nothing but an overwhelming bliss, his cunning plan stuttering away with his thoughts under the tide of rightness. Shadow Milk's dark and cool and slithering energy intertwined with his, spilling into each other, trading components like they were old friends that couldn't share everything that had happened since they last saw each other fast enough. In a way, that was what the Soul Jam was. What they were.

It was in the middle of this dizzying exchange that Pure Vanilla had caught that tiny drop of longing buried deep within the twisted rush of the rest of Shadow Milk. It was familiar, so familiar that Pure Vanilla almost mistook it for his own, but no, it was far older than his. Far older than him. It was bitter and crystallised into a hard, jagged thing, warped by the malice of the rest of him.

He had immediately wanted to reach for it, pull it out from where it was lodged, but that was when they had parted, just enough to come back to their own bodies. Souls are abstract things rather than physical, so it wouldn't have worked anyway.

Their power was blended into one, buzzing as a near tangible connection between the two of them, and it was so, so warm. No, maybe not warm as it would be defined as temperature. It was...comfortable. The sensation of being embraced lingered even though Shadow Milk had pulled away, like their souls had remained moulded together despite their physical distance.

Until they hadn't. Until the connection snapped, leaving a ravenous ache behind.

Pure Vanilla isn't actually sure who it was that caused it. He hadn't been meaning to sever it entirely, because he still wanted to fish out that frozen loneliness, but he could have done it accidentally. Shadow Milk could have done it in the flare of his anger, ripping it apart with his growling teeth. Maybe they were both partially responsible, pulling at both ends until it broke. Whatever the case, it leaves him like this.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla is no stranger to loss, and so he is no stranger to longing. It has lived in his heart for most of his life, sneaking in one day as he watched White Lily's back grow smaller and smaller, unsure of what he could do to make her stay, unsure if he should do anything. It is a thing that mutates and grows with every loss he collects, sometimes lying dormant but inevitably rearing its head once more. He is used to the feeling of it, the tender ache that follows him.

This, though, is new and different, incomparable to anything else. It is not a longing of the heart. It is a longing of the soul, engulfing his heart and his head and his body along with it. It is almost unbearable, an absence felt so strongly it is like half of him is gone. Half of him is gone.

Half of him is gone.

It had been fine when Pure Vanilla hadn't known any differently, but now that he has experienced being More, that missing piece is stark and unavoidably painful. And Shadow Milk has been carrying this burden for far, far longer than he has, for thousands and thousands of years. From the moment his Soul Jam was broken down by the Witches.

It's no wonder he's so resentful. Pure Vanilla has barely nursed this ache for a few hours, at most, and it is already agonising. He cannot imagine nursing it for what seems like a stagnant eternity, with no hope of alleviating it.

No, Pure Vanilla would never have been driven by this ache to do the things Shadow Milk has done, but he can sympathise with it. He can understand it.

Of course he can. He's the only one who can, because now it is not only Shadow Milk's ache. It is theirs. It has always been theirs, even when Pure Vanilla was unaware of it.

Pure Vanilla sighs shakily, fingers idly tracing the smooth surface of his Soul Jam. Its pulsing rhythm syncs with his careful breaths. He shifts, grasping it and gently pressing it closer to his chest, as if that could somehow help alleviate the ache.

It doesn't. He knows what would, he knows who would, but he isn't here.

It's alright though, he tells himself. They will see each other again soon. Shadow Milk promised it, and even if he hadn't, they would have been drawn back together eventually. This feeling is proof of that.

And when they finally meet again, Pure Vanilla can reach out for him again, and keep reaching out until Shadow Milk believes him when he says he understands. Until Shadow Milk sees his sincerity. Until Shadow Milk takes his hand.

Then, and only then, they can become More again. Not a Beast of Deceit. Not an Ancient Hero of Truth. Just the two of them, together, a fragmented Soul Jam of Knowledge made whole.

Pure Vanilla's whole body is warm, chest bubbly like soda.

He knows it won't be easy. Shadow Milk is lonely, but he is also not good, not as he is now. He is prideful, arrogant, controlling, sadistic and cruel. Pure Vanilla knows all that first hand. Friendship will not fix everything, but it is a good starting point.

Besides, he feels like he owes it to Shadow Milk to try. Or, rather, he owes it to himself.

His desire to befriend Shadow Milk is mostly out of kindness and partly out of selfishness, he is self-aware enough to admit that. In doing this, he is proving a point against Shadow Milk's cynical philosophy, and he is ridding himself of this soul-deep feeling. As long as he can convince Shadow Milk to give him a chance, to stay, then neither of them will ever have to feel this way again.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches with warmth.

He is pulled from his drifting thoughts by shouting in the other room, followed by an audible squeak and a loud crash. Pure Vanilla sits up in the bed in alarm, already leaning over to the cabinet to reach for his staff, even though he was supposed to be asleep. If he was, that certainly would have woken him, anyway.

"What was that crash?" He calls, concern thick on his tongue. "Gingerbrave? Wizard? Strawberry?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Gingerbrave replies, with a yelp to his voice that makes his words very unconvincing. There's a scuffle in the next room, before loud footsteps hurry over to the bedroom and the door opens, Gingerbrave standing in the opening. His grin is sheepish. "We were just trying to get a book from the top of the bookshelf, but we were all too short."

"I could have gotten it with a spell, if you'd given me any time at all to think before you tried to lift me on your shoulders, you brute!" Wizard berates him, marching up from behind to wack him on the head with his Candy Wand. Little sparks of lightning buzz out, and Gingerbrave yelps again at the harmless shock, turning around with a petulant frown.

Before the two can inevitably start arguing, Strawberry pops up between them, fidding with her sleeves as she looks at Pure Vanilla with worried eyes. "Um, we didn't wake you, did we?"

Gingerbrave jolts up at that, whipping back around to face Pure Vanilla with a guilty look. "Ah, shoot, that's right! Sorry, Pure Vanilla, we didn't mean to be so loud."

"We wouldn't have been so loud if you hadn't acted stupidly." Wizard grumbles at him, but the way his shoulders hunch give away the fact that he feels bad about it too. Gingerbrave spares him a pout, and Pure Vanila chuckles, endeared by his children as always.

"No, no, there's nothing to apologise for." He reassures them. "I was just waking up, anyway."

A simple little white lie, just to keep them from unnecessary worrying. Another gentle chuckle, quieter, swept away by his breath – Shadow Milk should be proud of him.

The children, at least, instantly ease. Pure Vanilla continues, shifting to get out of bed, staff in hand. "How about you three take a turn of the bed and have a nap? You haven't had a good opportunity to rest either."

The children blink at him, exchanging some silent glances as if communicating telepathically. Eventually, Wizard pipes up, "Well, it would be nice, but are you sure, Pure Vanilla? You haven't been asleep for all that long."

"Yeah, do you feel any better now?" Gingerbrave tacks on, placing his hands on his hips, trying to put on a stern face.

Pure Vanilla smiles, fondness filling him once more at their blatant care for him as he softly replies, "I do, I promise."

For every lie there is a truth, like how a coin has a heads and a tails. So Pure Vanilla means it when he says that, flipping the coin of his white lie to a sincere truth.

He does feel better.

Pure Vanilla's whole body still aches, but it has lessened slightly at the reminder of their inevitable next encounter and the opportunities that come with it, almost as if relieved.

[amyzworldds]

Part Two: From Classmates to Soulmates

Masterlist | Part 1

Y/N, a vibrant solo artist, and Wonwoo, the reserved Seventeen member, share a bond that blossoms from high school friendship into something deeper. Her chaotic energy clashes with his quiet nature, but their connection—full of teasing, cat photos, and unspoken sparks—grows through years of laughter and challenges, proving opposites can be inseparable. Pairing: Wonwoo x reader Genre: Fluff

The internet was buzzing. Fans who’d once flooded Y/N and Wonwoo’s old posts with “bestie goals” emojis now noticed the silence. No more candid stories of Y/N crashing Seventeen’s practice, no more Wonwoo lurking in the background of her vlogs. Instead, her feed was full of Jaehyun—laughing on Star Buddies, sharing smoothies, posing with peace signs. Hashtags like #Yaehyun trended, while #WonYN faded into memory.

Y/N saw the speculation but brushed it off. They’re just bored. It’s fine. But it wasn’t fine. Wonwoo’s absence left a hole—his dry texts, his rare replies. He’d gone cold, and she felt it like a winter she couldn’t shake. She’d catch glimpses of him on Seventeen’s lives, his quiet smile unchanged, but his eyes seemed... distant. Angry, even. At her? At himself? She didn’t know, and it killed her.

Wonwoo wasn’t oblivious either. Every Jaehyun story she posted twisted the knife deeper. He’d scroll past, jaw tight, hating how he’d let her slip away. Why didn’t I say something? He was mad—at her for pulling back, at himself for not stopping her, at Jaehyun for being there when he wasn’t. His members noticed too. Mingyu’s teasing about “Yaehyun” stopped after Wonwoo snapped at him one night. “Drop it, Gyu.” The room went quiet, and no one brought her up again.

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Y/N and Jaehyun grew closer, bonded by Star Buddies and late-night chats. He was sweet, attentive, everything a friend should be. But every time he laughed at her jokes, she’d think, Wonwoo would’ve rolled his eyes. When he let her ramble, she’d miss Wonwoo’s sarcastic “Are you done?” Jaehyun was great, but he wasn’t him. And that realization hit her hard—she didn’t just miss Wonwoo as a friend. She loved him. Not the safe, platonic kind. The kind that made her chest ache.

Jaehyun, though, was falling. He’d light up when she texted, save her favorite snacks, linger a little too long when they hugged. Y/N didn’t see it—or maybe she didn’t want to. She was too busy gaslighting herself into thinking her heart didn’t belong to a certain bespectacled introvert.

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One chilly autumn evening, Jaehyun texted Y/N to meet at a park near Han River. She showed up in a oversized hoodie, her hair messy from a long day, expecting a casual hangout. They sat on a bench, eating kimbap from a convenience store, laughing about their latest episode where Y/N accidentally tripped into a foam pit.

“You’re a walking disaster,” Jaehyun teased, handing her a soda. “How do you survive?”

“Pure luck,” she grinned, nudging him. “And good friends who save me from myself.”

He smiled, but it faltered. The air shifted, and Y/N’s stomach twisted. She knew that look—too serious, too soft.

“Y/N,” Jaehyun said, voice low. “I need to tell you something.”

She froze, chopsticks mid-air. No. Please don’t.

“I like you,” he said, eyes earnest. “Like, really like you. I thought maybe you felt the same, but... I just had to say it.”

Her heart sank. Jaehyun’s confession hung between them, heavy and fragile. She liked him—his kindness, his laugh—but not like that. Never like that.

“Jaehyun...” She set the kimbap down, voice trembling. “You’re amazing. Really. But I... I like someone else.”

He blinked, processing. Then, with a sad smile, he asked, “It’s Wonwoo, isn’t it?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She hadn’t said his name, but Jaehyun knew. She always mentioned Wonwoo—how he’d hate this spicy snack, how he’d love that stray cat they saw. It slipped out, and she never noticed until now.

She looked away, cheeks burning. “I... I don’t know.”

But she did. Admitting it to herself felt like jumping off a cliff—she loved Wonwoo. Not just as her best friend, but as the one who made her world brighter, louder, better.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, masking the hurt in his eyes. “It’s okay, Y/N. I see it. You light up when you talk about him.” He paused, then added, “I’ll be here, you know. As a friend, or... if you ever change your mind.”

Her throat tightened. She hated hurting him—Jaehyun, who’d been nothing but good. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, don’t apologize for how you feel.” He stood, brushing off his jeans. “It’s getting late. Let me drop you home.”

“No, I... I wanna stay here a bit,” she said, voice small. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Text me when you’re home, okay? And don’t overthink this. I’ll be alright.”

She forced a smile as he left, but the moment his figure faded, the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands, tears spilling. She’d hurt Jaehyun, and worse, she’d hurt herself by pushing Wonwoo away. This park—it was blocks from his and Mingyu’s place. The realization hit like a wave, and before she could stop herself, she pulled out her phone.

Her thumb shook as she dialed Wonwoo. It rang once, twice, then—

“Y/N?” His voice was low, cautious. Weeks of silence, and now this.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a sob. She couldn’t stop—tears, guilt, everything pouring out.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Panic crept into his tone. “Where are you?”

“The p-park,” she hiccuped. “Near your place.”“Stay there. I’m coming.” The call ended abruptly.

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Wonwoo didn’t think—he just ran. Heart pounding, shoes slapping pavement, he cut through streets until he reached the park. The night was cold, but he barely felt it. All he could hear was her crying, echoing in his head. She’s hurt. She needs me.

He spotted her on the bench, shoulders shaking, face buried in her knees. His chest ached—anger at himself, at her, at everything fading into worry. He slowed, catching his breath, and approached.

“Y/N.”

She looked up, eyes red and puffy, mascara smudged. “Wonwoo...”

Her voice broke, and before he could say anything, she stood and threw herself into his arms, hugging him like he might vanish. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his jacket. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you. I didn’t mean to—I just—”

He froze, then slowly wrapped his arms around her, one hand resting on her head. “Hey, slow down. Why are you crying?”

She pulled back, teary eyes meeting his. “I hurt Jaehyun. He... he likes me, and I told him I don’t feel the same. It hurt him, and it hurts me because I hate hurting people, but I can’t pretend I like him when—” She stopped, biting her lip.

Wonwoo’s heart thudded. When what? But he didn’t push. Instead, he brushed a tear from her cheek, his touch gentle despite the storm in his chest. “You didn’t mean to hurt him. You were honest. That’s enough.”

She shook her head, clinging to his sleeve. “It’s not just that. I messed up with you too. I pulled away because I was scared, and now you’re mad at me, and I don’t blame you, but I—” Her voice cracked. “Do you still want to be my friend, Wonwoo? Please?”

He stared at her, something breaking inside. Mad? He wasn’t mad—not really. He was terrified of losing her, furious at himself for letting it get this far. Her question, so small and raw, undid him.

“Y/N,” he said, voice soft but firm. He cupped her face, wiping another tear with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She blinked, lips trembling. “Really?”

He chuckled, a low sound that warmed the cold night. “You think I’d let you ditch me that easily? You’re stuck with me, chaos and all.”

She laughed through her tears, a shaky, relieved sound, and hugged him again, burying her face in his chest. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” he murmured, resting his chin on her head. His heart screamed to say more—to tell her how her distance gutted him, how Jaehyun’s name in her stories felt like a punch, how he loved her in a way that wasn’t just friends. But not now. Not when she was hurting.

They stood there, her sobs quieting, his arms steady around her. The park was silent, save for the rustle of leaves, but to Y/N, it felt like the world was right again—Wonwoo was here, and that was enough.

For now.

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Y/N and Wonwoo were back to their old rhythm—or close enough. The park reunion had patched the cracks in their friendship, and Y/N, true to form, dove back in with double the chaos. She was a whirlwind again, flooding Wonwoo’s phone with texts, voice notes, and photos of every stray cat she’d spotted during their months apart.

One afternoon, she barged into Seventeen’s practice room, arms full of convenience store snacks. “Wonwoo! Guys! I got jjajangmyeon-flavored chips and those weird gummy worms you like!” she announced, dumping the haul on the floor.

Wonwoo, stretching nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You bought the whole store again, didn’t you?”

“Only the good stuff!” She grinned, plopping beside him and launching into a story about her Star Buddies taping. “So, I tripped on a rope during this obstacle course, and Jaehyun caught me, but I still faceplanted into a pile of balloons. Balloons, Wonwoo! I looked like a human piñata!”

He chuckled, patting her head absently. “Sounds about right. You’re a walking disaster.”

She stuck out her tongue but leaned into his touch, unbothered. The members exchanged glances—Hoshi’s smirk, Jeonghan’s knowing nod. Wonwoo was smiling again, his quiet warmth back. Y/N’s energy filled the room, and he soaked it up like he’d been starving for it.

Later, as they sat eating, she scrolled through her phone, shoving it in his face. “Look at this cat I saw yesterday! Orange, fluffy, total Wonwoo vibes. I named him Glasses Jr.!”

“Stop naming things after me,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, and he zoomed in on the photo. “It’s cute, though.”

“Right? I have, like, fifty more. Hang on—” She swiped through her gallery, narrating each cat’s imaginary backstory while Wonwoo listened, nodding like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Mingyu leaned over to Vernon, whispering, “They’re back to normal. Thank God. Grumpy Wonwoo was getting old.”

“Normal?” Vernon snorted. “They’re one step from holding hands and calling it ‘friendship.’”

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But normal wasn’t quite normal. The spark was back—stronger, brighter. It was in the way Y/N’s laugh made Wonwoo’s chest tighten, or how her arm brushing his sent a jolt through her. Their hugs lingered a beat too long, their smiles carried a weight they didn’t name. When she’d fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights, he’d freeze, afraid to wake her but memorizing the moment. When he’d adjust her scarf on a chilly day, she’d blush but pretend it was the cold.

The members saw it—Seungkwan’s eye-rolls, Dino’s not-so-subtle “Just date already!” when they bickered. Even fans noticed, old #WonYN clips resurfacing with comments like “they’re soulmates, fight me.” But neither dared speak it. Not yet.

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Then, in early 2020, a storm hit. A blurry photo surfaced online—Wonwoo at a café, a girl leaning close, laughing. The caption? “Seventeen’s Wonwoo spotted on a date!” Fans exploded, some defensive, others shipping the “mystery girl.” It spread like wildfire, and Y/N saw it before Wonwoo could explain.

She was at her dorm, scrolling Twitter, when the photo popped up. Her stomach dropped. The girl was pretty—smiling, casual, someone who looked like she fit his quiet world. Y/N’s mind spiraled. Is he seeing someone? Did I miss my chance? The thought of him with someone else—someone not her—stung more than she’d expected.

She didn’t text him. Didn’t call. Instead, she pulled back again, slower this time. No practice room visits, no cat photos, no late-night rants. Her texts became polite, short. “Busy today, talk later!” She hated it, but the fear was louder than her heart.

Wonwoo felt the shift immediately. Her silence was deafening—worse than before. He’d scroll through their old chats, her absence a weight he couldn’t shake. The rumor? He barely cared about it until he realized she did. And he hated himself for not seeing it sooner.

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One evening, fed up, he grabbed his jacket and headed to her place. No plan, just a need to fix this. When he knocked, Y/N opened the door, her hair in a messy bun, eyes tired. She didn’t smile—just stepped aside and shuffled to her couch, curling into a blanket.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door. “You’ve been... quiet.”

“Just busy,” she mumbled, staring at her TV. It was off.

He frowned, sitting across from her. “Y/N, what’s going on? You’re doing it again—pulling away.”

She shrugged, picking at her blanket. “I’m fine, Wonwoo. You don’t have to check on me.”

“Bullshit,” he said, sharper than he meant. She flinched, and he softened, leaning forward. “Talk to me. Please.”

Her eyes flicked to him, guarded. “I saw the photo. You and that girl. Everyone’s saying you’re dating.”

He blinked, then groaned, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what this is about? Y/N, it’s not true. She’s a friend of a friend—Seungcheol’s, actually. We were at a group hangout, she went to the bathroom, and some fan snapped a pic. That’s it.”

She bit her lip, unconvinced. “It looked... real. You were smiling.”

“Because she told a dumb joke!” He laughed, exasperated. “I wasn’t on a date. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, heart pounding. The words were there, heavy, begging to spill.

Y/N stood, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t what, Wonwoo? It’s fine if you’re seeing someone. You don’t owe me anything.”

He shot up, frustration boiling over. “I wouldn’t date someone if it wasn’t you.”

She froze, eyes wide, breath catching. “What?”

He stepped closer, voice low but steady. “You heard me. I don’t want anyone else, Y/N. I never have. It’s always been you.”

Her heart raced, the room spinning. She’d spent months—years—burying this, convincing herself it was just friendship. But here he was, saying it, and it unraveled everything. “Wonwoo, you... you can’t just say that.”

“Why not?” He closed the distance, eyes searching hers. “I hate this—watching you slip away, pretending I’m okay with it. I let you go once, and it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I’m not doing it again.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she laughed, shaky. “You’re an idiot. I pulled away because I was scared—scared I’d ruin us. I love you, Wonwoo, and not just as my best friend. I’ve loved you for so long, and it terrified me.”

He stared, processing, then broke into a soft, disbelieving smile. “You love me?”

“Duh,” she sniffled, poking his chest. “Why do you think I was such a mess about that stupid rumor?”

He caught her hand, pulling her into a hug. “We’re both idiots,” he murmured into her hair. “I love you too. More than you know.”

She melted into him, clinging like she used to, but this time it was different—raw, real. “So... what now?”

He pulled back, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Now? We stop being dumb. Be with me, Y/N. No more running.”

She laughed, loud and bright, the sound he’d missed most. “Deal. But I’m still sending you cat pics.”“I’d be pissed if you didn’t,” he said, and when he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, the spark they’d danced around for years finally caught fire

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The past years was a soft kind of chaos for Y/N and Wonwoo. From their high school days—her loud chatter breaking through his quiet world—to their confession that finally set their spark ablaze, they’d built something unbreakable. Now, as lovers, they were a study in contrasts that somehow fit perfectly. Wonwoo, once allergic to skinship, melted under Y/N’s touch. Y/N, always a clingy whirlwind, was now extra—draping herself over him like a human blanket, stealing his hoodies, and demanding his attention with a pout that could topple empires.

Tonight, they were at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s shared apartment, a cozy space cluttered with gaming gear, Seventeen merch, and Y/N’s stray hair ties. Mingyu was off filming some solo schedule, leaving the place to them. Wonwoo was glued to his gaming setup, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard as he battled in some online match. Y/N, sprawled on his bed in one of his oversized shirts, was... less than thrilled.

“Wonwoo,” she whined, kicking her feet against the mattress. “Did you hear what I said? So, at the studio today, they tried to make me do this weird choreography, and I was like, ‘I’m a singer, not a contortionist!’ I swear, I almost fell on my face.”

“Mm,” he mumbled, eyes locked on the screen. “Cool.”

She huffed, sitting up. “Cool? That’s it? I could’ve broken my neck, and you’d still be like, ‘Nice, babe.’”

“Yup,” he said, clicking furiously. A victory screen flashed, and he leaned back, smirking. “Got ‘em.”

Y/N glared at the back of his head, then at his gaming PC. If that thing were a person, she’d have words. Harsh ones. “You and that computer are in a serious relationship. I’m just the side chick.”

He snorted but didn’t turn around. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re ignoring me!” She flopped back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m literally right here, looking cute, telling iconic stories, and you’re out here marrying your keyboard.”

“Five more minutes,” he said, already queuing another match.

That was it. Y/N had enough. With a theatrical groan, she rolled off the bed, snatching his blanket and—most importantly—Foxdungee, the Miniteen character plushie she’d gifted him last Christmas. “Fine! If you’re gonna be like that, I’m taking your kid and leaving!”

She stormed out, blanket trailing like a cape, Foxdungee tucked under her arm. Wonwoo’s room fell quiet, but he was too deep in his game to notice—yet.

--------------------------------------------------------------

In the living room, Y/N flopped onto the couch, cocooning herself in the blanket until she was a burrito of pettiness. She hugged Foxdungee tight, its little glasses and fox ears squishing against her cheek. “Your dad’s the worst,” she muttered, glaring at the plushie. “All he does is play that stupid game. What about me, huh? I’m fun! I’m adorable! But nooo, he’s too busy being a nerd.”

She grabbed the remote, scrolling through streaming options. “If he wants to ignore me, you’re my date now, Foxdungee. We’re watching Barbie: Princess Charm School because it’s a classic, and you deserve culture.”

The TV lit up with Barbie’s sparkly world, and Y/N settled in, narrating to the plushie like it was a person. “See, Blair’s got dreams, just like me. And she doesn’t need a dumb gaming boyfriend to shine.” She giggled at a scene where Blair tripped, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I trip like her too. Don’t tell your dad.”

Halfway through Barbie’s makeover montage, the room felt... too quiet. No keyboard clicks, no Wonwoo muttering about “lag.” Y/N’s pout deepened. She missed him, even if he was a distracted nerd. She hugged Foxdungee tighter, whispering, “He’s probably still playing. Jerk.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Wonwoo, meanwhile, had noticed the silence. His game ended, and the absence of Y/N’s voice hit like a dropped beat. No chatter, no giggles, no dramatic sighs. He pulled off his headset, glancing at the empty bed. When did she leave? Guilt crept in—he’d been deep in his zone, but he hadn’t meant to ignore her.

He wandered into the living room, pausing at the sight. Y/N was a blanket burrito on the couch, Foxdungee clutched like a lifeline, laughing at Barbie outwitting a villain. Her hair was a mess, his shirt dwarfed her, and she looked so adorably grumpy that his heart did a flip.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

Y/N glanced up, spotted him, and—petty queen—rolled her eyes before turning back to the TV. “Oh, look, Foxdungee, it’s your dad. Too bad we’re busy having fun without him.”

She hugged the plushie tighter, muttering loud enough for him to hear, “At least you don’t ignore me for pixels.”

Wonwoo bit back a laugh, her sulky vibe too cute to handle. He crossed the room, crouching in front of her so she couldn’t avoid him. “You’re really mad at me over a game?”

She refused to meet his eyes, chin tilted up. “I’m not mad. I’m thriving. Me and Foxdungee are having the best date ever. Right, buddy?” She wiggled the plushie’s arms, making it “nod.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and her resolve wobbled. That laugh—her kryptonite. “Y/N,” he said, voice soft, “I’m sorry. I got carried away. Didn’t mean to ditch you.”

She finally looked at him, pout still in full force. “You said ‘five minutes’ an hour ago. I was telling you about my day, and you were like, ‘Mm, yup.’ I’m not a podcast you can half-listen to, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He winced, rubbing his neck. “Fair. I was a jerk. But you know I love your stories.”

“Do you?” She hugged Foxdungee closer, eyes narrowing. “Because your computer seems to get all your love.”

He grinned, leaning closer. “Jealous of my PC? That’s a new one.”

“I will fight it,” she huffed. “I’ll smash it with a hammer and dance on the pieces.”

“Please don’t. It’s expensive.” He reached out, tugging Foxdungee gently from her grip. “And stop stealing my kid to make me jealous.”

She gasped, grabbing for the plushie. “Foxdungee chose me! You don’t deserve him!”

They tussled lightly, laughing until Wonwoo let her win, Foxdungee back in her arms. He sat beside her, pulling the blanket over both of them. “Truce?”

She side-eyed him but scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe. But you’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Noted.” He wrapped an arm around her, fingers tracing circles on her arm. “What’s Barbie up to? Catch me up.”

Her face lit up, and she launched into a recap, voice bright and chaotic. “Okay, so Blair’s at this fancy school, right? And there’s this mean girl, Delancy, who’s totally jealous—”

He listened, nodding like it was a TED Talk, and she melted into him, her earlier grumpiness fading. This was them—her loud, him quiet, but always tethered. Wonwoo, who’d once flinched at hugs, now craved her closeness. He glanced down at her, eyes soft. How did I get this lucky?

The movie played on, but Y/N’s narration slowed, her head heavy on his chest. “You’re comfy,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer. “Better than Foxdungee.”

“High praise,” he teased, kissing her temple. Her hair smelled like his shampoo, and it made his heart do stupid flips. “Sorry I got sucked into gaming. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” she yawned. “I want breakfast tomorrow. Pancakes. With chocolate chips.”

“Deal.” He pulled the blanket higher, tucking her in. “But you’re not allowed to hog the syrup again.”

“No promises,” she giggled, voice fading as she drifted off.

Wonwoo watched her sleep, her lips parted, Foxdungee squished against her cheek. Barbie’s credits rolled, but he didn’t move, just held her closer. The world could wait—this moment, her warmth, her chaos, was all he needed.

--------------------------------------------------------------

an: Hello! I've been receiving requests, hehe. Please bear with me—I'm a bit busy right now, but I'll get to them all. Just drop your requests, and I'll write them one by one hehe. I hope you like this! I feel like something's missing here, but yeah, HAHAHAH

[yeonmuse]

𓍯 — Girl Of My Dreams 𖡎

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x sim jaeyun ── 𝒢enre. angst. fluff, non idol enha. ᭙ᥴ 5.4k Not proofread [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary

authors 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 so recently I watched this film called dr birds advice for sad poets and I fell in love with it, the somber romance and dependency of one person to another to keep them mentally stable just stuck with me. Though this isn’t as somber to the movie the limerent romance is similar.

IN WHICH Jake finds himself deeply in love with a girl that has a somber heart but a love for poetry. She uses words to mask the pain that hides behind her angelic smile, and the closer the two get the more dependent she becomes on him.

🏷️ : @jwonistic @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @butterflywonz

In all honesty Jake knew absolutely nothing about poetry, he had never even found himself interested in a single poem until he had laid eyes on her. Though he was a man of books and literature, never in his life had he picked up a book of poetry. Even so he found himself attending every meeting of the dead poets society, all out of hopes that he could finally get closer to her.

Despite his friend group Jake had always been a socially awkward person, being around others that weren’t his childhood friends made him absolutely anxious. When he became overwhelmed it was like Bees swarming a comb of honey, his thoughts sent into an immediate frenzy. To outsiders because he was quiet and just had always remained in the books it made him weird. He hated the unwanted attention that surrounded him, the negative and positive attention that seemed to surround him like a heavy fog, there was only person's attention he truly wanted and didn’t mind having and that was hers. Everything about her was vibrant and the complete personification of what sunlight was to be in human form. First time their eyes met he felt he had experienced what it was like to come face to face with the stars, to stare into the heart of space itself. She summoned an endless swarm of butterflies in the pit of his stomach every time the two crossed paths. So imagine his feelings when she approached him and his friends during their study session; a study session during which only two of them seemed to be studying.

Jake had been so entirely invested in his book that he hadn’t even realized she approached their table. It wasn’t until his nose had sensed the sweet smell of her perfume that he realized she had been nearby. Sunghoon slaps at Heeseungs shoulder as if to bring his attention to the scene before them. All of his friends were well aware of the massive crush they’re friend had on her.

“Jake?” His heart had begun to beat so fast that he felt he was experiencing heart palpitations, as he heard his name spill from her plump lips, a sound that was absolutely angelic falling upon his ears. The way his name melted off her tongue sending his burning stomach into a frenzied state.

“You’re Jake right?” As he finally tore his gaze away from his book and forced them to focus on her face, he froze up on the spot.

“You are so breathtakingly beautiful.” The words spilled from his lips before he himself could even grasp the fact that they had.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“..Okay, anywho..Jake.” She says it again, the butterflies in his stomach rampage upon her calling his name again. He'd have sworn he had honey dripping from his ears by now, having heard his name from her once again.

“You work in the bookstore downtown right?”

“Right, yeah every week.”

“Perfect, um so the poetry club has been looking for a new place to meet after hours since the campus library is usually closed, and since I’ve seen you around there I was wondering, do you think we could use the bookstore?” Her every word has slipped through one ear and out the other, all he could do was stare into her doe eyes and wonder what thoughts were running through the forest in her head.

“Uh y-yeah I guess I could ask the owner?”

“Yes, yes yes! Thank you.” With the smile that spread across her face she was like the true embodiment of an angel. Before he had any sort of time to react she had kissed his cheek and ran off.

In that moment he had experienced over a thousand flames igniting within him, his heart entirely set ablaze.

The next morning he sat in class contemplating the ways he could ‘accidentally’ run into her outside of her classroom once her lecture had been over. He stood pacing the floor, his thoughts nearly swallowing him whole like a sea of irregular waves. He did that often when it came to her, constantly overthinking, always questioning whether or not she’d ever truly be interested in him. If he would ever actually man up and tell her he had adorned her for quite some time.

“Jake?” Her voice instantly pulled him from his head, forcing him to focus on something other than his thoughts of her and remain in the present. As his eyes fell upon her she dismissed her friends and made her way over to him.

“Hey, I was looking for you this morning, usually you’re in the courtyard with your friends but you weren’t there this morning.” She noticed that? She noticed him enough to realize that he wasn’t in his usual place.

“Ah right I got here a little late, my shift last night ran kinda late. I did get the okay to have you guys use the store though, as long as everyone is out by 12 the place is all yours.”

“Oh my god! You’re literally the best!” Jake found himself lost in her smile, lost in her dimples as she cheerfully pulled a note from her bag.

“This is the poetry club's schedule. I made this extra one so that you would be aware of the days we’ll be attending, since you’ll already be there. Maybe you should listen to it every now and then?” She hands over the invitation with a smile, his gaze remained glued to her as she brushed the loose strands of hair away from her face.

“Ah yeah, Maybe I should. I've been wanting to get into poetry lately.” A blatant lie, he had never ever thought to get into it.

“Oh? Then tonight will be perfect for you. We're discovering the works of Edgar Allen, starting off with simple works since we’ve gotten new members.” The only time he had ever picked up any work by the former writer he had been in middle school, it was the only time he had ever read poetry in his life and it had been forced upon him.

“Save a book for me then yeah?”

“I’ll get there early tonight, maybe you can help me set up before everyone gets there?” He couldn’t possibly deny her request, with the way her beautiful eyes gazed at him expectantly, he was forced to crumble under pressure.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Of course he’d be there he had to fucking work. He swore when it came to her all his logic was immediately thrown out the window.

When Jake had finally arrived to work his thoughts were rampant once more, with no way to silence them. He was nervous to say the least, he had never experienced love, nor had he ever experienced what it was like to love someone this much, let alone someone like her. She was like a rare flower that only bloomed upon the night of a full moon. Her energy was always infectious to anyone that had crossed paths with her. She had a way of making even the saddest of man smile.

The ding of the front bell drew Jake out of his ongoing thoughts, and as she walked wearing her white button up and black skirt, a red sweater adorned around her waist. His eyes drink her in, as if snapping a picture with his pupils and engraving the sight within his mind for eternity. Everything about her was sweet, her plump lips, the dimples that poked out when she smiled, the freckles that adorned her face, and don’t even get him started with her laugh or her voice, that melted off her tongue like sweet honeysuckle.

“Hi Jake.”

“Hey, you actually really did come earlier than expected.”

“I’m a girl of my word.” She responds with a smile as she sits down on a box of books on the only empty table in the store.

“So there's a room in the back, where we keep the old books, but there’s enough space for all of you to gather there, and it's somewhat secluded if you all don’t want to be bothered.”

“Thank you I honestly owe you one, I really do appreciate us letting you use the place.” She responds with a smile, taking the sweater from around her neck and placing it on the table.

“I’ll take these back there for you, feel free to look around.” He lifts the box with ease, not seeming to realize the way she observes him curiously. She had always seen him around campus, or in their shared lectures, his head always buried in a book when he wasn’t studying or hanging around his friends. She always thought him to be cute, though she wasn’t the type to simply crush on someone all because they were cute, she liked to take the deeper dives. To fall for anyone she needed to fall deep into the abyssal vortex of their minds.

She trails him, strolling through the aisles, eyes scanning through the ongoing shelves of books, her fingers dusting over each outdated and upgraded cover, or spine.

“Do you like it here? I mean you must love books a lot to work here of all the options in town.”

“Yeah it’s not bad, I mean the pay could be better but I’d rather be surrounded by something I love than getting higher pay for a shitty job that leaves me miserable.” He responds by taking one of the books into his hands as he sits down the box full of them. He had seen poe's work countless of times, his poetry above all being one of the recent purchases from the store, though he himself had never been intrigued enough to even spare it a glance until now.

“Do you have a favorite work?”

“Favorite work?”

“A favorite piece of his? Poe? Or any poet for that matter if you prefer others.”

“Ah, I’ve actually never even bothered to pick up any poetry, don’t think I’ve read any since I was in middle school.”

“Seriously?”

“I guess I just never got the point, to me they were always just mindless words put together on a page.”

“Then that means you just haven’t written the right works.” She disappears from sight leaving Jake confused as he hears rustling down one of the aisles until she returns with a book.

“This one is one of my favorites.” She steps at his side pulling the book open to one of the first pages inside.

“She walks in beauty, Lord Byron.” As she began to read he found himself captivated, near hypnotised by the sound of her voice. Partially distracted how close the two of them now were, close enough for him to detect the aroma of her perfume almost immediately. As her arm brushed against his own it sent shivers up his back.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent”

Once she finished reading her gaze shifted from the book in hand, over to him who had already been looking at her.

“Beautiful.” He wasn’t talking about the poem, he meant how captivating she could look standing there. How angelic her voice had sounded as she read through the lines of the page. Of course the poem itself was beautiful, it resembled the exact way he thought of her, but having her standing here she looked all the more beautiful.

“It may sound beautiful, yes, but the words where you hear them, what do you think? What did they mean to you?”

“Sounds to me like he’s praising a woman for her beauty, the unfathomable realization that one could be so beautiful, that they could look so sweet and angelic, she must be praised for her visuals and attributes among all.”

He responds, tearing his gaze away from her and looking at the book, part of that had been solely his thoughts towards her.

“Well, the piece is meant to praise the inner and outer attributes of a woman, to admire her beauty, innocence and purity. The admiration of a woman and all that she may be, adorning her inner and outer beauty.”

“It’s beautiful.” He responds looking back at her, her eyes had nearly met him until the bell at the front door rung and slowly but surely members of the club began to trickle in.

Though work pulled him away from the ongoing meeting it didn’t stop him from stopping in every now and then nor did it stop his ears from listening in. He never thought he’d ever find himself interested in poetry but the way she talked about it, how passionate she got when it came to each poem, it drew him in.

By the end of the night when everyone had left and the meeting had come to an end, she was the last to stay behind.

“So what did you think?” She sauntered over to the checkout counter, resting her elbows on top and her head in her palms.

“I guess it’s not as boring as I thought.” He responds, trying to act cool at which she only laughs at his attempt at being nonchalant.

“There's no meeting tomorrow, but do you work?”

“I open tomorrow, yes, though Someone else will be closing.”

“Perfect, I’ll swing by and pick you up after your shift, I’ll make sure that by the end of this week you’ll absolutely love it by the end of this week.”

“Yeah? If you can get me to like it, I'll take you and the whole club out for ice cream, my treat.”

“I hope your wallet is ready by the end of the week then.” She grabs her things, throwing her sweater over her shoulder before making her way to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“You promised her what??” Heeseung and Sunghoon were sent into a fit of laughter as Jake went over the events of tonight.

“Oh you’re so whipped it's insane.”

“Im pretty sure I’m fucked, even if I don’t like anything she shows me tomorrow I know I’ll just give in and tell her I like it anyways.”

“How many people are in this club anyways?”

“Including her, twenty.”

“So basically he’ll be buying two hundred dollars worth of ice cream.”

“Isn’t that like your whole paycheck? You only make 350 a week.”

“Well at least he’s finally got a date with the girl of his dreams.”

The next morning Jake found himself watching the clock, waiting for the time to trickle down, his eyes often shifting to the door as if he had been waiting for her to walk right through it. Eventually he forced himself to keep himself busy, dusting shelves and rearranging books out of hopes that it would make the time go by faster, though it just continued to go agonizingly slow. As the front bell dinged he quickly rushed to the front, his heart nearly falling from his chest as she entered. With her green topped button up and brown skirt, this was the first time he hadn’t seen her in some sort of formal attire, honestly it was the first time he had ever been seeing her outside of a scholastic setting. She looked beautiful as always, but something about the revelation of skin made goosebumps adorn his skin.

“Hi Jake.” She approaches him with a bright smile, that same bright smile that made his heart beat every time he laid eyes upon it.

“You look, you look beautiful.” He spoke absentmindedly, earning a smile from her.

“Not that you don’t look beautiful all the time- just today you..today I actually. You know what I think they need help over there I’ll be right back.” Jake silently curses himself as he slips from behind the counter and escapes the aisle to help an elderly couple that had just entered the store.

Meanwhile she sauntered down the aisle, her eyes trailing the shelves until landed upon something that was worthy of a read in her eyes.

“Stealing beauty.” A book she herself had read time and time again simply to feel something, a reminder to her that love existed, that even the most foreign loves could be real.

“Have you read it?” Jake asks, stepping behind her he takes one of the five copies of the book into his hand.

“Mm I have, more times than i’d like to admit.”

“There's something about italian romance that is above all other types, summer italy. Maybe it’s the fact that Italy itself is more beautiful that makes the romance so breathtaking.” He continues on as he puts the book back in his place, this was the first time that she was getting a good look at him now that they had been this close. As he spoke she found his words tugging at her heartstrings, she was getting a glimpse into his own mind.

“Do you like them? Romance books?”

“I’ve read them since I was younger, I’ve always had a knack for them, I’ll read any genre but there’s something about romance that makes you feel hopeful about your own love life, helps discover the things you yourself might like to experience with another person.” The more he talked the more his thick accent melted her ears, there was something infectious about the way he spoke, it was quite obvious that he was a man of books.

“Jake! You can clock out now. I'm sorry for being late.” A tall male who she assumed to be his coworker yells from the front counter, neither of them knew when he got there but he had now made his presence known.

“Soobin you do realize you don’t have to yell, I wasn’t even that far back in the store.” Jake walks away and she lets out an unknown sigh of relief.

For the first time since knowing about him, she found herself becoming more and more interested in Sim Jaeyun.

“So you mean to tell me you’ve really read books all your life and never picked up one poetry book?” She asks, as the two walked down the street side by side

“I’ve never found any interest in it. Why read something so short and inconclusive when I could fall into the world of a book, stimulating my imaginative side.”

“Poems may also be short but they tell a story as well, it may not be as long and drawn out as the chapters of a book, but if you find the right one you’ll fall in love with them.”

The two of them found themselves walking down the street market, her immediately stopping as her eyes fell upon the jewelry cart and he instantly took notice at what her eyes fell upon.

“Do you want one?”

“What?”

“The ring, did you want one?”

“As beautiful as they are, I can't have you buy this Jake.”

“I’ll take two of them.” He tells the seller, completely ignoring her disapproval of him spending money on her.

“Thank you.” Jake gives the seller a charming smile below continuing their walk.

“Here.” He stops only a few feet away to slip the ring on her finger before slipping one on his own.

“What is the significance of these anyways, what’s special about them?” She had been so busy staring down at her hand that she nearly ignored his question.

“They’re mood rings.”

“Like the rings that change with your mood right?” She gives him an absent nod and he looks down at her ring before looking at his own.

“Mine is dark green? What’s the meaning of it?”

“Means you’re feeling mixed emotions right now, in that case the ring can’t pinpoint any exact emotion so it turns a darker green.”

“And yours?” He responds glancing down at her ring, he nervously bit his lip, as he awaited her answer.

“Indigo.”

“What does indigo mean”

“Means I'm happy, that i'm at peace.” Jake's chest heaved a relieved sigh upon hearing those words, she was happy, and he didn’t care if it was because he had gotten her that ring or if it was because she was with him, all that mattered was she was happy.

The evening had gone by far too quick for him, she spent the entire day making him read different poems, showing him different arts and music pieces. They talked over dinner, both of them sharing their interests and talking about some of their favorite works and films that had cause their spark for the things they were so passionate about, and when they finally bid goodbye to one another Jake went home with a smile on his face while she herself went home with a feeling of dread. Before meeting Jake Poetry had been her only escape, of course she had her friends but they had their own lives of course, they couldn’t always be there when they had lives to live as well. Today with Jake had been so perfect, it wasn’t until she got home that she realized she didn’t want to leave him.

As she stepped into her home, the overwhelming sense of dread and immense sadness had overbared her. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet and the sound of yelling in a nearby room caused her to clamp her ears shut as she ran up the stairs to her room. You’d think she’d be used to it now, the constant screaming and yelling, the violently laced exchange of words between her mother and her father. She had been dealing with it since high school, so she couldn’t understand why now in her twenties she still couldn’t handle the way they talked to one another. She had no one, her little brother was never home and it's not like she wanted him to see her like this anyways, after all the oldest daughter was meant to bear all of it on her own. So she plugged her ears with her earbuds, hoping to drown out any sound of the ongoing fuss as she cried herself to sleep.

The prettiest of smiles hide the saddest of hearts

The next day she decided to lock herself in her room, it was a sunday. She should have been out and about, enjoying her day off before returning back to school, yet there she lay wasting away in her room, starving herself. Of course she couldn’t leave her room, she didn’t want to face either of them, she wished that they would just make it easy on everyone in the house and divorce but part of her also knew that that would hurt her too.

Jake on the other hand could only think about her and the previous night, he regrets not getting her number, because now he sat behind the bookstore counter wondering if she had as good a time as he did.

The next day when everyone had returned to campus Jake was quite surprised to see her joining him and his friends for lunch.

“Hi Jake. These are your friends right?” She flashes each of them a smile as she introduces herself to them. In all honesty every one of them had been quite shocked at the fact that she had been sitting at their table, it left them to wonder what exactly happened between her and Jake the day before that the two were now close.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m all ears.”

“There's a film convention coming up at the end of the month and I usually get tickets early, I was wondering if you wanted to go? They're showing stealing beauty and since you like the book too I thought we could go together?”

Jake had frozen on the spot, she was asking him to a movie?

“Yeah- yeah I’d love that it sounds fun, i'll be there.”

For some reason she found herself letting out a relieved breath she didn’t even know she had been holding in. It would have been absolutely humiliating if he had rejected her in front of his friends.

The week had gone by pretty quick, a week in which she hadn’t had much time to think about her family because she had been drowning herself in school work, poetry club and none other than Sim Jaeyun. He became her rock, someone she found herself depending on whenever she felt overwhelming sadness or dread. Whether it was the two of them reading together, watching movies, or simply sharing interests it always tore her mind away from the dreadful things in life.

The two had become quite close, so close that it was obvious to any outsiders that the two had formed some sort of feelings for one another. If it wasn’t obvious enough, the handholding, whispering to one another, or her giggling whenever he smiled or looked at her would absolutely give it away.

As she struggles to place a book onto the top shelf Jake steps behind her, taking the opportunity to snake an arm around her waist and take the book from her hands, placing it up on the shelf himself.

“You know you could have just used the stool.”

“Then how would I have gotten you to come over and help me?” Her words earn a chuckle from Jake, who brushes her hair behind her ear as she turns to face him.

“I think I deserve some sort of reward for helping you put it up anyways.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm.” He hums, leaning in pressing her against the shelf as he presses his lips against her own.

“Please don’t fuck in here I don’t think the owner will be too happy with seeing that on the cameras” Soobin chimes in from down the aisle, causing the both of them to jump.

“Ah what did I tell you about yelling bin.” Jake complains, rubbing his head after having hit on the bookshelf, which only makes her laugh.

The two walked hand and hand to the ice cream parlor that was a mere two blocks away from the bookstore, him now owing the entire club ice cream all because he had indeed, fallen in love with not only poetry, but with her.

The month had gone by smoothly, and the closer the two had gotten, the more in love they fell with one another the worse things had gotten in her family. She had been on her way out when she heard the two of them screaming their lungs out in the kitchen, her mom throwing things as per usual. It was like she couldn’t get out of the house quick enough. Jake had been making his way to the door when she stepped out, she forced a smile on her face as she saw him approaching her with flowers in his hand.

“Hi beautiful.”

“Hello handsome.” He hands her the flowers before tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Are your parents working late again? I was hoping to meet them tonight but if they’re busy again then I guess I’ll just have to catch them another time.”

“They’re gone to my brother's game.” She lied, she hated lying to him but she refused to let him see how fucked up her family had been right now, she didn’t want him looking at her differently. The entire car ride she had been silent, seemingly lost in thought, that was when Jake realized that something had been off. He took her hand into his own, rubbing over her knuckles with his thumb before bringing it to his lips for a kiss, it was then that he realized the color of her mood ring was one he had never witnessed on her finger before, Gray.

“Sweetheart you know you can tell me if something’s bothering you?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Your ring, whatevers stressing you out, whatever’s got you nervous, anxious you me you can tell me?” That was it, she shut down on the spot. It wasn't a lie she could lie to him; he had already known something was up by her silence and the color of her ring, but she couldn't bring herself to say a word.

How could she sit right here in the passenger seat of his car and tell him that she had been lying about her parents. How could she tell him that she’s always avoided the topic when he talked about making things official because she was scared. She was scared that this wasn’t really a romance, that she was only dependent on him to feel something other than sadness. That she was scared that if she really did love him; they would end up just like her parents. Before she had even realized tears had been streaming down her face and it sent Jake into an instant panic.

He immediately pulls up into the driveway of their destination and stops the car.

“Sweetheart, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry love i didn’t mean to-“

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what sweetheart, why are you apologizing?”

“For using you, for depending on you to make my shitty life not so shitty.”

“What are you talking about sweetheart you aren’t making any sense.”

“I’ve been lying to you Jake.” Her tearful eyes staring at him made him suck in a breath.

“My parents, the reason I never want you to come over or meet them is because they’re always fighting, they’re always down each other's throats, and it’s the reason my brother never even bothers to come home. I tried, I tried to be happy, you made me happy, but I- I’ve been relying on you like some sort of drug. I’ve been pretending all this time to be happy and cheerful, I’ve smiled when all I want to do is break down.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I just- I didn’t want you to look at me differently, to not like me anymore because I wasn’t the happy cheerful girl you met on campus.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks, though endless tears continued to fall he still wiped them nonetheless, holding her head in his hands he forced her to look at him.

“Why would I give up on you for something that’s out of your control? I’ve liked you for longer than I could remember, sat alone sometimes constantly overthinking if you would like me with all my own flaws and anxieties. How could I ever stop loving you or look at you differently for showing aspects that make you human. Your parents actions or words don’t define the person that you are, so what they do I don’t care.”

“Jake.”

“I don’t care, I love you, I fell in love with you and I’m going to love you through sad and happy moments, do you think I’m always happy? That I don’t sometimes feel the stress or dread of life just crushing me, it's part of who we are, part of who all of us are, and you aren’t using me. I’ve looked into your eyes many times, and it's not guilt or deceit that I’ve seen. You love me.”

“Jake I”

“Saying it won’t make me disappear, telling me you love me won’t drive me away, you love me.” There was an overbearing silence after his words. As scared as she had been the entire time to admit it to not him but herself, he was right.

“I love you.” Her voice cracks as she finally speaks the words aloud. Three words that made Jake's heart beat faster in his chest and he was finally able to feel some sort of relief hearing her say it.

“Don’t think about anything going on at home tonight, just be in the present.” He spoke softly, a loving undertone to his voice as he cleaned her tear stained cheeks.

“Let’s make sure that by the end of the night, your ring turns back to indigo.”

[serpentandlily]

Untouchable - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand's Sister! Reader ✨

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your heart was twisting in your chest, a sick feeling curling in the pit of your stomach, as you hurried down the dimly lit hallways of the River House. You held a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break loose and the bile that stung the back of your throat. You could do it, you could hold it in. At least until you got back to your room. And then you’d be free to cry and cry and cry as much as you wanted to.

You had spent years trying to bury your feelings for the shadowsinger. What had started out as a harmless crush on your older brother’s friend when you were just a girl had blossomed into true, real feelings since you had come of age. But despite your best efforts, Azriel still never seemed to notice you. Not like that anyways. 

Him and Cassian had adored you the moment you had entered their life as just a babe and the sister of their best friend. You had been born during a time of peace, decades after the war. The three of them had been nearing two-hundred. They had watched you grow into the female you were today. Had been there through your toughest years after watching your mother brutally murdered in front of you at the age of thirteen, barely saved before your own life was taken.

It was a good thing Rhys had become High Lord before the time you reached eighteen or your father would’ve had you married off, no doubt for some political alliance. You had hoped your brother would’ve given you a role in his court once you were of age but after almost losing you, he had become increasingly protective. 

So instead of being sent on missions, or used as an emissary, you spent most of your time volunteering in Velaris—helping to build the sanctuary into what it was today. You had eventually stopped arguing with your brother to loosen up his hold on you when he had broken down crying in front of you simply at the thought of you never returning if he was to send you out in the world. 

And how could you complain when Velaris had been your cage? So you learned to play your role, for him, for your brother. The pretty little sister of the High Lord. Never known for anything but your beauty. The beauty that had males sending your father marriage propositions since the age of ten. 

But there had only ever been one person you wished would see you that way. And he never had. You had to watch him pine after your own cousin for centuries. Never once looking your way. You feared he’d only ever see you as that little girl—the one who used to climb all over them at the cabin, the one who had the three males wrapped around her finger since she had been born. 

Only ever just a girl in his eyes. 

And you had made peace with that, as much as it hurt to be looked over by the one person you wanted the most. It still bothered you to watch his eyes track Mor all the time, to stare at her in a way he would never look at  you. You had made peace with that…until tonight.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you hadn’t seen the shift in him when he started looking after the middle Archeron sister. You had once believed he only had eyes for Mor, and it had brought you some solace in knowing that might be the only reason he had never looked your way. 

But then Elain showed up and those affections shifted from Mor to her. Suddenly he was always with her, spending hours in the gardens with Elain. Staring at her the way he would stare at Mor. Your heart had started crumbling all over again with the realization that he could move on from Mor, could fall for someone other than her—and it hadn’t been you. 

You had left your bed chambers tonight to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you would’ve walked in on. You had smelt them before you opened the doors. Azriel’s cedar and night-chilled mist and Elain’s sweet jasmine and honey. 

You should’ve left then but something had compelled you to open the kitchen doors just a hair. 

And there they were. Elain seated on the counter, Azriel between her legs. Her skirt has been pushed up to her thighs, his hands tangled in her hair, as they kissed like two starved animals. 

You were lucky you had spent years learning how to keep a strong mask like your brother, for it allowed you to slip away without them ever noticing you. 

You finally made it to your room, shutting the door and locking it behind you. You were grateful for the sound wards you had put up because the minute you stepped over that threshold you collapsed into a heap on the floor as heart-wrenching sobs erupted from your lips.

It felt like you had been stabbed in the heart with a million knives, like someone had gutted you and twisted your insides. It hurt so much to think that Azriel would never want you the way you wanted him. He didn’t want you. He didn’t crave your presence the way you did his. He didn’t want to touch you the way you wanted to touch him. He just didn’t want you. 

And he never would.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Send me somewhere,” you said, pressing your palms onto your brother’s desk as you stared at him right in the eyes—the eyes you shared. “Anywhere, I don’t care. Just send me somewhere.”

Rhys frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “What has gotten into you? Did something happen?”

You let out a sigh, collapsing in one of the armchairs. You couldn’t tell him the real reason you wanted to leave. It was embarrassing. “Nothing happened. I’m just…tired of being cooped up here. Please, Rhys. It doesn’t even have to be far—just please.”

“Where is this coming from, y/n? You haven’t asked this in years. I thought you were happy here.”

“I am happy here. But I want to see the world, Rhys. And we’re finally in a time of peace. So let me, please.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed, taking in your appearance. The slightly swollen eyes, the dark circles, the haphazard way you had braided your hair this morning. “Did…did someone hurt you? Did someone do something to you?”

“What? No!” A lie of course. But what could you say? Azriel had hurt you but it wasn’t like it was his fault. It wasn’t like he owed you anything.

“You know you can always talk to me about anything. Right, dove?” The use of his nickname for you nearly caused the tears you were fighting back to escape. 

“Of course, Rhys. But I promise you. No one did anything to me. Please. The war is finally over and I think I’ve spent enough of my life here. I want to see what the rest of the world has to offer.”

Rhys’s head fell in his hands. “I-I don’t think I can let you go, dove. I’m sorry but I can’t bear it…I can’t bear not having you here where I can protect you.” 

“It’s not fair!” You shouted, standing up. “I’m not a child anymore—I’m nearly three hundred years old for Gods sake! I’m suffocating here, Rhysie. Please.”

“Rhys,” Feyre said softly, placing a tattooed hand on her mate’s shoulder. “Perhaps it is time you let y/n make her own choices. You promised me you’d always give me a choice—would always let me decide what to do with my life. Why can’t that apply to your sister?”

You shot her a grateful look, hoping she would make him see reason. Rhys stayed silent and you knew he had been struck by her words. “I can go to Mor, on the continent. Then you don’t have to worry about me being alone. I can help her try to form alliances there.”

Still he said nothing but judging by Feyre’s narrowed eyes, you could tell they were having an argument mentally. You wiped your sweaty palms on your dress, wishing that he would listen to his mate about this. If anyone could talk Rhys into something, it was her. 

It felt like an eternity went by before your brother finally looked up at you. His eyes were full of sadness and guilt and you knew in that moment, you had won.

“Fine, fine. But you will go to Mor in Vallahan and stay with her the whole time. You will listen to her at all times and never go anywhere alone. And you will write me twice a week,” Rhys growled. “And I swear, y/n, if you even miss one letter, I will come get you myself. Those are my rules—take it or leave it.” 

A genuine smile bloomed on your face as you jumped to your feet and ran around the desk to embrace your brother in your arms. “Thank you, Rhys! Thank you! I promise I’ll do as you say. I promise.”

He held you tightly as if he never wanted to let go and you peered at Feyre from over his shoulders to mouth her a small ‘thank you’.

This was it. You’d finally be able to leave this city after three hundred years. Finally see the world! And most importantly: be far, far away from the shadowsinger that had won your heart but fallen for another. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Three months went by in the blink of an eye. You had spent the entire time traveling with Mor from Vallahan to Montesere, where you two had just settled down when Rhys had contacted you both, asking for your return home. Apparently he had big news to share but he wanted to do it in person. So now you were packing up your things, getting ready to return back to Velaris for the first time since you had left.

It had been annoying how much you thought of Azriel still. But it was getting easier to ignore the longer you were away. You hoped those feelings would eventually disappear entirely—but every time you thought of moving on, something in your chest would ache and ache. 

That didn’t mean you hadn’t taken lovers in your time here. It had always been hard to find males to mess around with in Velaris considering they all knew who your brother was. The last thing they wanted was for Rhys to come looking for them after sleeping with you. So you’d only taken a few lovers here and there throughout the years.

But on the continent, no one knew who you were. Had no idea that you were the younger sister of one of Prythian’s High Lords. And Mor had been sure to teach you all the ways to have someone wrapped around your finger. You had never felt so confident in yourself as you did now. Finally becoming the female you wanted to be without your brother or the two other bats watching you over your shoulder. It was exhilarating.

But the thought of returning home had dampened some of your newfound joy. You were worried about slipping into your old role—being that sweet, pretty, little accessory they all expected you to be. 

You wouldn’t allow that. You couldn’t. Not after having a taste of what it could be like if you became the female you always dreamed you’d be. Someone who knew she was desired for more than just her looks. Someone interesting. Someone smart and witty. Someone brave. You tried to ignore the part of you that hoped Azriel might see those things in you now.

“Are you ready to go, y/n?” Mor asked, leaning against the doorframe of your room. 

You took one last look at yourself in the floor length mirror. You were wearing a dress that was typical of what they wore here in Montesere. If you could even call it a dress. It was white, the bodice dipping into a v-shape and clinging to your body with gold embellishments and blue gems decorating it. It had long sleeves that connected to a hood, stitched in glimmering gold. It cut off right under your breasts, exposing your toned stomach until just slightly passed your belly button. 

The skirt was held up by two thin gold straps that criss-crossed over the sides of your hips to connect it to the top part of the dress. The skirt itself traveled to the floor and had two long slits on either side to show off your legs. The white color complimented your tanned skin and the kohl you had lined your eyes with made the violet color of your eyes glimmer even brighter. 

You had left your hair down in soft curls, only pinning back two strands on either side of your face with some gold pins. More than happy with the way you looked, you turned back to Mor with a grin. 

“I’m ready to go home.” 

[dangerous-yam-fries]

Mothman x Male Reader - NSFW

 Asks and Suggestions are open and encouraged!

Warnings: terato, monster fucking, oviposition, ovipositor, kidnapping, noncon/dubcon, MINORS GET THE F OUT BEFORE I BRING OUT THE LADLE!

You were a rather outdoorsy person, camping, hiking, backpacking, the works. You had planned a trip to the famous Blackwater Falls state park of West Virginia, in hopes of seeing the 62 foot tall Blackwater Falls before tourist season sets in.

The hike was rather long, you passed a few other campers on the way there, exchanging nods. The setting suns light filtered through the leaves making dots and beams all around you. You didn’t stop to think about heading back, you had been hiking many times before, and the chances of anything bad happening were slim. Besides, you were wearing bright clothing as well as reflective gear, so you pressed on. Taking a swig of your water bottle to combat the warm sweat building up on your skin, shivering as it cooled when it got darker.

You were disappointed when you got to the waterfall. Sure it was beautiful, especially in this lighting, but It wasn’t as grand as the photos. That’s to be expected though. The river had dried up quite a bit since fall, so it was nowhere near its supposed glory. You took a few commemorative photos before making the trek back to your campsite, making sure to get the thin waterfall in the background.

You took more pictures on the way back down, you were no professional but you thought they were pretty good. You were relaxed, maybe even too relaxed. So when you took a moment to stop and appreciate the darkening scenery, your blood ran cold.

You couldn’t hear a single thing. No birds. No buzzing of insects. Not even the rustling of leaves in the wind. It was dead silent, and that was never a good sign. ‘Maybe it’s me they’re scared of…’ You tell yourself as your pace quickens. ‘It’s getting dark, maybe they’ve all… gone to sleep?’ Telling yourself things to soothe your growing anxiety only manages to deepen the pit in your stomach, churning with every passing second.

You have a ways to go before you reach the entrance to the trail, and then some to get to your campsite. ‘Everything is fine, just calm down, nothing is going to happen.’ You try to stay firm in your affirmations, but you start to believe your words less and less, losing all faith when you hear the creaking of branches.

Cold sweat drips from your pores, making the scary chill down your spine even more frigid as you lay your eyes on the canopy of the trees.

A large, fluffy mass towered above you, the sight made you feel vertigo, staring up at large, red, eyes. Neither of you moved, like you were locked in some sort of trance together. The creature looked almost… humanoid in its shape, shoulders and chest covered in a downy fluff. It had legs, and arms, which looked lean and strong, its hands looked like a mix between normal hands and that of insects. You could see it had sharp hooks on the end of each long, fuzzy, finger, of which it only had four.

It had two long fringed antennae poking out of its forehead, and its ears were large and pointed, almost like a dogs. And there were its wings. Massive, even folded behind it you could tell they were ginormous. Then it starting making an odd shrill noise. That’s when your brain started working again, unfortunately, your legs took a little longer to catch up. It wasn’t long before you ran, though it felt like forever.

When the Mothman first caught sight of you, he wasn’t sure what to think. You were a slew of bright colors, so you were either extremely poisonous, or trying to attract a mate. He decided to watch you, inferring based on your actions. He desperately hoped you were looking for a mate, because he was as well, and he had been having some very bad luck before finding you.

So when you had taken such profound notice of him, he was simply elated! He started trilling, making excited chittering sounds as the two of you inspected each other from a distance. He wasn’t surprised when you ran, after all, any good mate is worth a chase! Besides, it wasn’t odd that you were feeling skeptical, you had to make sure that your mate was worthy of you, running to size him up, making sure he wasn’t inferior.

You were running for your life, looking behind you once to see the moth-like creature close in tail. You didn’t dare look back after that, focusing all your willpower on your legs, silently begging that they somehow run faster. They do, but not for long. Soon after you trip, a jagged branch in your way, sending you right into the ground while your ankle throbs in pain.

Your adrenaline is wearing off, but you try to get up, only to have a stretch of white-hot pain run up your leg and an aching scream leave your mouth. The Mothman didn’t have much trouble catching up to you, landing right behind you, tucking his wings in as he does so. Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re covered in dirt and sweat, too horrified to look behind you.

It isn’t until you feel a soft nudging on your cheek that you realize how screwed you are. More trills and burbles come out of the creatures mouth, which has a sickly sweet smell of nectar and a meaty flavor to the air around it. You don’t notice you aren’t breathing until you feel its monstrous hand on your chest and it’s hot breath on your neck.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what’s to come. You can feel it’s antenna on your face and chin, downy flush rubbing on the back of your neck as its hands caress your stomach. You expect it to bite into you or tear you to shreds, but it lifts you up, cradling you against its chest.

It’s gentle, and soft, and if you weren’t being kidnapped by a monster to presumably be eaten, you might’ve even found comfort in it. Mothman was trying to comfort you, making trills and purrs to soothe your fearful scent. As you new mate, the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him, and in the coming weeks, he was sure to gain your trust.

You weren’t sure if you were even in West Virginia anymore, maybe you were in another dimension where the trees are taller than skyscrapers and thicker than houses. Because that’s where you were living, hundreds of meters off the ground inside of a tree, being held captive by a rather amorous ‘Mothman’.

You had long since dissolved your fear of him, now he kind of just made you uncomfortable. He might’ve been tall and muscular, but he was so fluffy and affectionate that he only reminded you of a big dog, a really, really, clingy dog at that. He always had to be near you, forcing you to lay on his chest, moving your hand to caress his soft, downy fluff while he chortled and purred.

Right now you were sat on top of him, his large hands squeezing and rubbing your stomach, kneading the squishy flesh like a cat. Your hands were forced into his soft mane, you quickly learned that you should just keep them there, as he would pull your hands back to it whenever you pulled away. Besides, it really was fuzzy, and quite clean.

Now was the time. You had obviously gotten accustomed to being his mate, and Mothman was eager to fill you with his clutch of eggs, especially now that he was sure you’d accept them. Before you were too scared to even touch him, but now, you hardly put up a fight, you didn’t even kick him away when his hands started traveling to your crotch.

It was common for the Mothman to feel you up, palming at your dick while your body heated up. But today felt different, he went slower, you felt his straw-like tongue on your cheek as his hands rub gentle circles into your growing erection. Each one of your moans sounded like a sweet song, the scent of your arousal better than any flower he had come across. Your underwear was dampening with precum as he pressed into it, rubbing the bulge until you were clutching fist fulls of his fur and shaking with pleasure.

You bite your lip and clamp your eyes shut as you cum, a strangled moan leaving your mouth as you coat the inside of your underwear in white. “Dammit…” You cried, Mothman did wash your clothes, but he always took his time with it, leaving you naked for days. That and creaming yourself was embarrassing as all hell.

You sighed as you slipped them off, wiping up the cum with the fabric as you throw it to the side, not wanting that cum to stick to you. Mothman was even more excited, you had taken off your covering in preparation to mate, right? He let his penis slip out out of his slit, it was already wet and very much erect. You didn’t notice the appendage until it was nestled right between your legs. You looked down and froze, staring at the clear liquid it was lathering all over your thighs.

And then you looked at the actual dick itself. It was a fleshy pink color, it was thick and ribbed with a chitinous layer of plates protecting the slit it came from. You started to struggle a little, but the Mothman simple took this as a sign that you were nervous. After all, this would be your first mating session, so he would have to take good care of you.

You let out a few wails and cries as he lines the pointy tip up with your hole. You don’t think he understands that it needs to be stretched out, instead he merely rubs his cock on your hole to get it wet, considering that lube to be enough prep. You let out a breathy yell as he starts pushing into you, his intense purring makes his dick vibrate slightly inside of you, making you moan loudly, hurting your throat.

The ribbed texture scraped your insides, it feels like he’s crushing your organs when he pushes in, and sucking them away when he pulls out. When he bottoms out you can see a very conspicuous indent in your stomach as it bulges out obscenely, you sob at the sight. Crying even more when you see how hard your dick is, getting more aroused by the second.

The Mothman lets out a slew of chitters and purrs as he kneads your stomach and thrusts into it, delighting in the way your insides clench around his member. Drool and spit fall out of your mouth along with your screaming moans, you can feel his dick thrusting gently inside of you, the texture stimulating you perfectly, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. Darkness fills your vision as you cum, shooting your load onto your stomach, heaving and sobbing as you feel another orgasm build up.

He rocks you into his body, being very careful with you and moving slowly, barely picking up the pace when he fills you with a warm liquid. You think it’s his cum, and so your breathing calms a little, but he still thrusts gently into you, and your eyes widen when you can feel something being inserted inside of you. You choke and moan at the feeling of his egg being pushing inside of you.

You whimper when he begins thrusting again, being far more gentle than before and not going as deep. It seems like he’s ready for another round. By the time you’re finished, you’re covered in all sorts of liquids, you don’t know if you’re breathing heavily or hardly breathing. Your hole is loose and your dick is covered in your own cum, and your stomach is bloated with Mothmans clutch of eggs.

His dick lays inside of you, unmoving, but still very hard. You can hardly think, and so you drift off to dreamland while his eggs begin to incubate.