#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 !

[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.

[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

[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

[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.” 

[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 heart 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 adorb his skin.

“Hi Jake.” She approaches him with a bright smile, that same bright smile that made his heart meet 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 rest 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 immediately 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 as in 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 not 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 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. After 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 you 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 straling beauty and since you like the book too I think 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 wherever 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, so 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 and 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, boom now owing the entire club ice cream 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 her 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 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 concubines 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 agate 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 is the night, your ring turns back to indigo.”

[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

[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...

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part VII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 400 | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

The two of you sat on the edge of the river bank, watching the water flow. The moonlight reflected off the water’s surface, Azriel’s eyes catching the occasional fish breaking the surface tension. You laughed, shaking your head causing some water to flicker over Azriel. He looked at you, your wet clothes clinging to you, much like his own clung to him. Some of his wet hair got into his eyes, blocking you from his sight.

“I’ll be back.” You whispered, “I have something for you.”

The anticipation ate at Azriel as he waited, the night growing darker around him. He watched the water, the black surface looking almost like a river of shadow. He felt naked, no shadows of his own creation lingered around him. He watched as something floated downstream toward him. He watched it, the shape of a box coming into focus. He stood with urgency, running across the shallow water to get to it.

He trudged through the knee deep water, trying not to fall with his urgent movements. He pulled the box from the water, the box dripping as he walked to the other edge of the bank. It was knotted with a dark blue ribbon, and his heart swelled at your signature wrapping for his gifts.

Pulling the ribbon back, he opened the lid to find your lifeless eyes staring back at him, maggots chewing through the skin of your face.

Azriel jolted upright in bed, his body covered in sweat. His shadows kept prodding at him, bringing him back to the land of the waking. He jolted from the bed, feet landing on the floor as he rounded the bedpost. He darted through the door, stopping right outside your door across the hall after his quick strides. He stood, slowly leaning his head to the door, listening for any sound he could make out. 

He tried stilling his breathing, the erratic shuddering obscuring his hearing. He pressed his ear to the door, listening, praying to hear anything.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

His heart calmed at the sound of your own beating, your slow breathing audible through the wood separating you. His arms begged to be wrapped around you, his wings aching to wrap around your own, the two of you forming a cocoon.

But he can’t.

He walked back to his room, feet silent and slow on the wood as he closed the door, a small attempt to shut out the past long enough to ease the ache of your presence.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

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Thanks for reading 🥰

[echantedtoon]

Caught Once Again

For those who were wondering what would happen IF Y/n got caught again. Sequel to my Yandere Demons And Brides posts and my Escaping Yandere Demons post. Some will be shorter than others.

Warnings for yandere themes, scars and illness mentioned, Douma/Enmu/Karaku ARE their own warnings, possibly some innuendos, kidnapping and entrapment mentions, death mentioned, etc.

Daki n Zohakutan are included with Hantengu's and Gyutaro's part but they're PLATONIC Yanderes.

KOKUSHIBO:

-The demon who had taken you hostage for weeks claiming you to be his wife's reincarnation had never left your mind after you escaped. It wasn't easy either. Kokushibo had heightened senses that were beyond human.

-You took the chance to escape one day after he left just before sunrise, making you hug him and greet him goodbye like a good wife should, before he left locking up the door behind him as he went. You took the chance to poke around trying to find any source of outage. A secret basement, the chimney, ANYTHING! Eventually you managed to find a weakened point on a boarded window. Clawing wildly you managed to tear away the wood, and smashing out the glass to freedom.

-You didn't look back. The small cuts you got were nothing as you ran and ran from that cursed house as far as you could until you collapsed from exhaustion. You made it. You were out but you weren't safe yet. You still moved away far away as you could before the sun sets. Kokushibo didn't come back every night so hopefully you'd have a few days to run. You couldn't go back home, that'd be the first place he looks for you so you decided to run along the river. Eventually coming along to and settling into a small fishing town.

-You decided to just lay low here. Getting a job as one of the net weavers and keeping to yourself in fear of being found out. Weeks passes. Months passed. And you were slowly letting your guard down, believing that perhaps you had hidden well enough to never be seen again. But you still didn't go out at night.

-One night though you allowed yourself to stay out, after all the small town was hosting a festival and you deserved to have fun after so long. You were playing a small game. Tossing a ball into a pit to win a prize when you saw it. Six eyes piercing through the darkness and staring at you. You didn't even have time to turn and flee when you smacked into the purple and black clothed chest and two strong hands pulled you against him in a possessive hold as you gaze up into half lidded eyes.

"You made a valiant effort to get away however I believe that it's time you come back home, Wife."

HANTENGU(+CLONES):

-You thanked the gods for how easily trickable the demon was, making it so easy for you to run far away. Right past town and towards the nearest safe point you knew which happened to be a grove of wild Wysteria trees. There's no way any of them would suspect that you'd be there and even if they did, what were they going to do? Demons couldn't survive Wysteria poisoning and avoided it like the plague.

-It wasn't bad really. It was a beautiful place. There was always beautiful trees surrounding you, a nice floral scent in the air, and you even found an old abandoned shack that you spruced up to make it livable. Overall it's not a bad life, but you wish it was more open like before. Your ease falters when fall comes and the leaves on the trees wither away and the flowers die. However they're still Wysteria trees so you don't think they'd dare come around your little grove and with each passing day that you never see then again, your mind believes that.

-Until winter comes to cover everything in snow. You're out one night with only the moonlight to see trying to shovel out snow from your front door, shivering in the cold and hair whipping in the wind. Perhaps that's why you couldn't hear the approaching wingbeats until it was too late. Two giant eagle like hands wrapped around your shoulders and in an instant you were sailing through the air. Shrieking as the ground disappeared beneath you and shrieking more as you looked up into the yellow eyes of an overjoyed harpy demon pulling him tightly against his chest with a loud happy chirping sound. "OH GOOD FUCK!! I'D THOUGHT WE'D NEVER FIND YOU, FEATHER! This game wasn't fun when you didn't come home you know!"

-No matter how hard you struggle, Urogi was too strong for you to break free from as he flies you all back to the others. All seven have varying reactions when Urogi just lands down with you struggling to get away and clawing at his arms. He was supposed to grab them someone for dinner but instead he brings back their missing wife. The first ones to react are Aizetsu and Sekido. The sorrow clone balling into your shoulder with a crushing hug making your shoulder wet. "I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE OK!! WE'RE NEVER GONNA LET YOU GET LOST AGAIN!!" Meanwhile Sekido is scowling relieved but still raged. "WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MADE US FEEL?!"

-Urami and Karaku have similar reactions to Sekido and Aizetsu. Urami joins Sekido in scolding you. "DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED WE WERE!? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME HOME ALREADY?! DID SOMEONE PUT YOU UP TO THIS?! YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE!" Meanwhile Karaku is surprisingly calm actually apologizing if it's his actions made you so mad that you left but he was planning on making it all up to you now. "Don't worry, Baby. We got all the time in the world to make up for lost time."

-In the meantime Hantengu is sniveling alongside Aizetsu as both are crying into your terrified form making your dress soaked. "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" Is all he can say in defense. Zohakutan is the most annoyed at all. It'll take hours for him to be able to have a moment to talk to you because of how much everyone else is crowding you for their turn but once he does be prepared for the longest lecture of your life. "Sit down! We are going to have a V E R Y long talk!"

DOUMA:

-If Douma's irratic emotional state wasn't enough to scare you away then his cannibalistic demon nature was. From his sudden mood swings to the unstable bout of love declarations he'd give you out of no where, dropping to his knees to shout out it all or just kissing you unprompted. It was all too much but with so many people surrounding you and a powerful demon how did you get away?

-Simple. You hid inside one of the supply crates. Once and a while some of the cult members would leave to try and recruit more members, on these trips they'd take a crate or two of supplies like pamphlets and food. Well Douma had been busy attending to whatever Muzan wanted and there wasn't anyone guarding the crates, so you emptied one out and snuck yourself inside. No one suspected you were inside when they moved the crates outside and down the mountainside for the long trip to one of the nearby towns. And no one saw it coming when you busted out of the crate once you were placed down and RAN. Disappearing into the crowd of people and using the cover of people to get far away from the demon and crazy cult!

-Thankfully the town they happened to stop by had a train station. It was easy to trade one of the many stupid, overpriced pieces of Jewelry Douma always made you wear for a ticket and easier for you to hop on the train and get outta dodge. Relief flooding your systems as the mountain side got farther and farther away from you. And compared to your other Y/n counterparts, it was easier for you to start over. Cutting your hair and dying it, going by a sub version of your name, and selling off what was left of the jewelry on you to gain enough money to buy you a nice warm apartment somewhere random in Asakusa city. Hiding in plain sight sounded like the best idea. And eventually getting a job as a seamtress in a random shop.

-A whole year passed on since the day you escaped and it was almost like it never happened. Never once did you hear about the stupid cult or have people worshipping you weirdly or worst of all having the threat of a demon over your shoulders. All you did was keep your head down and minded your own business. It was good. Life was good. It wasn't until your boss mentioned getting a brand new extremely handsome and rich customer coming in that day did things change. You knew what to do so you already prepared yourself to take measurements and the silk fabric he requested for. Not even paying attention to who it was as you prepared your scissors and measuring tape as your boss guided him into the room with just the two of you with a- "Just let me know if you need anything else!"

-You still don't look up at the frozen figure staring down at you as you just instruct him to stand on the stool and hold his arms up so you can measure his waistline instead you're met with a thud as whoever it was drops to his knees and two strong arms ensnare you in a tight hug. You shout whirling around at the inappropriate behavior but freeze as two rainbow eyes filled with anger, sadness, mad love, and tears spear you straight into the soul.

"Lotus Blossom, I thought I lost you forever there! Good thing we're fated to never be separated. A R E N T W E?"

NAKIME:

-(Apologies if her part is short.) Whelp. You made it out. Running and running and running through the woods to get away from the terrible castle and the woman who self proclaimed to be your 'wife'. You almost made it out of there...Almost. Just before your feet hit the dirt road, a door opens up under you and you fall in. Landing face first with a thud in front of the frowning woman.

"Are you quite done with your childish games?"

ENMU:

-You didn't go back anywhere near trains or stations now that you were free. Screw that mess! You were done with stupid trains and their dumb cars and crazy perverted demons who think that's it's flirting when he let's you punch and kick him out of frustration.

-Nope! You stayed FAR AWAY from tracks in general and just kept yourself at home from now on. So how did he find you again? Turns out HE COULD leave the train body. Not very far away just just far enough to get to your house and wake you up during one of the few times you could actually sleep and then squeal in delight again as you curse him out in his grip and kick him to no avail.

"Oh dear.~ You have no idea how lonely it was to not have you in my arms again.~"

AKAZA:

-With your bad leg limping as you ran for your freedom hearing Akaza's concerned voice shriek out before PLEADING with you to come back. "YOU COULD GET KILLED OUT THERE?! PLEASE COME BACK!! YOU'RE NOT WELL ENOUGH TO BE ON YOUR OWN!!" You don't care. You didn't ask him to 'help you'! You never even wanted him to be near you in the first place.

-Instead of turning back you continue to leg it down the hill you were on cursing the demons that put you in this permanent hurt state. You managed to limp half way back to your family's home before your exhaustion and pain makes you collapse against a nearby tree to rest. It was almost nighttime and yet you were still no closer to home. Panting and heaving, you break off a study stick nearby and use it as a crutch to hop along on your good leg trying to get as far as you can before Akaza can come back for you. If you can make it to the town's temple then you'd be safe at least until the next morning then you can get farther away from him and everything else that could lead him to you.

-You make it to the top of another hill overlooking the town just as it darkens and you can see the first few lights of the houses. Relief floods your being as you hobble towards the town until your stick ends up slipping and you fall over. The wind being knocked out of your body by the first hit before your body starts turning, rolling down the hill painfully as you fall. Hitting rocks and sticks and everything in between until two strong hands grabbed you by the sides. Stopping you just in time before your head could crack against a rock with jagged points. Dizzy you glance up with your spinning vision and feel your stomach drop as worried yellow orbs stare back to you.

"It's too dangerous for you to be without me! Don't you see that?!

GYUTARO(+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

-You made it out of that gods forsaken hole in the ground. Coughing and in bad shape but alive and well however escaping was another much harder thing to do with your bad sight. Everything looked the same. Blurs, and colors smashed together. Everyone walking bad blobs of color. No one seeming to care about what happened to you as you stumbled around all dirted from climbing out of the hole and begging anyone around you for help only being met with dirty looks and shouted insults at you.

-if no one was going to help you, then you had to make your way out of the E District. You wondered aimlessly. Bumping into everything and anyone. Flinching as people just plain pushed you out of the way knocking you over or leaving you stumbling for balance. Night fell sooner than your terrified mind thought it would. The crowd's became worse, more crowded and so blurry it made your head spin. It made you cry in fear and frustration the longer you stood there in the middle of the street. Eventually turning to leave until you're pulled into an alleyway by a harsh hand. Screaming out before a hand silences you already fearing the worst until a loud familiar yell pierces your ears.

"Helpless without me aren't you?! I hoped you learnt your lesson because this isn't going to happen again. Do you hear me?"

"DO YOU HEAR HIM?! THAT WAS THE STUPIDEST THING ANYONE'S EVER DONE! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE MY FRIEND AND BROTHER LIKES YOU SO MUCH!!"

HAIROU:

-You had one shot and you blew it. It was a long shot anyways. You knew you couldn't get away from him unless you fled in the middle of one of the episodes he had caused by his PTSD hoping that the hours head start you had would be enough to escape him and his hellish hounds. No such luck. You flinch hearing the sounds of gunshots behind you(Hairou shooting himself to clear his panicked mind) but you still don't stop. Just continuing to run and run and not look back.

-As you run through the darkness, you hear them. Howls and the sounds of dogs running behind you catching up to your terrified form to run on either side of you until you're forced to stop as at least five shadow hounds emerge from nowhere in front of your panting form. Growling and barking at your forms getting closer and closer. Backing you up more and more making you scream with every jolt they gave you until your back ran into a chest and an arm suddenly wrapped around yourself.

"That was a cheap trick. Too bad you won't be able to do it again."

GYOKKO:

-You made it out. It was almost impossible for you to escape but you managed to do it. Delayed only by the fact that his vase was turned upside down and it was daylight outside when you ran away. You knew you couldn't return home, that'd be the first place he looked for you. So without any idea of where to go or what to do,you decided to start traveling. Walking down along the road and picking up scraps here and there, stealing a random few dresses off someone's laundry line, and a burlap sack filled with some veggies from a farmer's barn. Now equiped with the items you needed in one bag, you began moving from place to place. Never staying in one place for too long, only traveling during the day and hiding away during the night. This worked out quite well for avoiding him... temporarily.

-You were miserable. Missing the comforts of your home. Missing being able to use your skills and making things. You want to go home, but you can't in fear of the demon still lurking about. Eventually your travels eventually leads you to the dreaded E District. With nothing else to do, you beg the first house master you see for a job any job at wits end. Eventually he does. As a servant. It's not the worst job. You don't have to entertain any guests, only clean floors, bring the ladies food, and help the girls with their clothes and make up if they need it. In exchange you're paid with a small room to sleep in and and one free meal a day. Definitely not the worst outcome. Beats being a demon's 'muse'.

-One day an oirans favorite kimono is ruined. Right before she was to see a special customer too. Well you use your former skills as a kimono maker and offer to fix said oirans dress for free. She's skeptical about it but agrees to let you fix it and is surprised that not only did you fix it but it looked like it wasn't even torn. She's so impressed with it that it starts up a conversation between you two about your skill. You mention used to having a store and making kimonos before misfortune made you lose your job(leaving out the demon art of course). Well she decides that she wants one and so orders you and the house master to get her one that matches her demands specifically.

-You happily agree missing your old job and happily make her one in a few weeks time. She's in love with the beautiful blue kimono with waves stitched on so beautifully that it looks almost real. You're so happy that you don't even realize that the oirans is actually a demon in dequise and she wears her new kimono to a demon meeting. Or that another demon instantly recognizes the work she's wearing. Gyokko compliments and flatters Daki into telling him where exactly she got the kimono and she has no problems bragging about how her new girl made it just for her and no one else. You really shouldn't have been horrified when you retire to your room later that night and is met with a beautiful vade in the middle of the room.

"Really I thought you would've known how tasteless it was to think that you could outsmart me."

KAIGAKU:

-Your first instinct after getting out was to make for the first demon slayer you could find but the problem with that was that you had no idea where you were or where the Haishiras were training. You just dove through the first door you saw leading to the outside and ran. Ran until light peeked into the skies and still you kept going until you came to the first town. Taking shelter in the nearest public room which happened to be a library.

-Naively you thought you were safe there. You were just a healer after all, you didn't know that demons could track by scent. So when you fall asleep amongst the books as night falls, and you wake up two angry hands yanking you up to him bridal style. You can't help but scream.

"Do I look like a dam idiot to you?! You're going to regret being so dumb!"

KYOGAI:

-You had one shot at it. When Kyogai's distracted by an intruder in his house, you make for the nearest room with a window you can find. Opening doors in a panic, eyes looking around wildly for any way you can leave until you see it. A window that's right in front of you and it's open! Without hesitation you run towards it and jumped out. However what you didn't know was that you were on the second floor so when you jumped out, you had a painful landing.

-You didn't break your leg but it was either severely sprained or fractured from the pain you felt. Your pained scream alerting Kyogai to the nearest window to where he looked on in horror as you struggled to get up. It burnt him badly, but he immediately ran out in the sunlight to get you and drag you back inside. He can regenerate in a few minutes, your leg would take much longer.

"That was incredibly stupid of you,Water Beetle."

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Deep in the Woods in the Dark of the Road

Everyone talks about the fear of hitchhikers. Parents and urban legends repeat, Never pick up someone on the side of the road. Like food from the floor, you don’t know where they’ve been. Smiling ghosts, prison breakouts, serial killers on the lam. Very few stories talk about the edge of the road, the place where you lose yourself to these strangers in a stranger’s land. The ones that pick you up. I tell the story to anyone who will listen.

First, I have to tell them, “of course I don’t hitchhike anymore,” condemning my youthful folly for them before they will consider me a credible source. As someone worth listening to. My sister likes to remind me I was on the type of adventure only clean-shaven young men can get away with in the first place.

I like to remind her that I’m not sure I got away with anything.

May 12th, everything else shifts around it like the light, but that date might as well have been printed on the back of my hand. 

May 12th and the small Canadian town I had been staying in had a high school graduation, the place swelling with relatives and well-wishers. There was only one high school and their hockey team seemed to be the one big rallying point the people shared. Everyone became a grandkid to every aging adult and I knew it was time to move along in the same breath.

I meant to leave early in the day. Meant to leave earlier in the week too. Nonetheless, when you're on a country-long trek you do start to appreciate the little things and the Johnsons’ had a high-pressure shower. The Johnsons were a family of pit-stop angels for hikers and bikers, turning their home into an invitation. Hippies, aging athletes, and former-vagrants were the main types of pitstop angels–literal angels in my mind at that point. I told myself a second shower was indulgent and then I gave myself another shower. Me and time we’re never really on the friendliest terms, especially when I was a thru-hiker that had lost the trail.

I stood under the burning hot spray and melted. During the first shower, the water always runs brown and muddy, sloughing off layers of dirt and dead skin. I think I understood religious resurrection after showers like that. 

This one though, a second shower, ran clear and crystalline and perfect. 

Hot, steaming water and a steady drumbeat of pressure. Heaven. Heaven though, eventually turned cool and then freezing. A cold river from every faucet. I jumped out and had a mild freakout session. Leaving someone’s worse-off than when you found it was a big taboo. 

Plus, I was young and still embarrassed by everything. I wrote a hasty apology note, and then packed up as quickly as I could. It’s the type of age where you’ve started to realize you are responsible, but not old enough to know how to go about doing it correctly. I left a note. I scrubbed their counters and stripped the sheets off the pull-out bed. I scrubbed the counters a second time and then tripped out the door before they could get back. The day had turned into late afternoon. A spring chill seeped across the land and I took a backroad to the highway.

Originally, I had told my parents I’d be back by the end of season. Then I told them I deferred my college start date to the second semester. Then deferred again to next fall. Bumming around ski towns during the winter and making just enough money to get back on the trails in springtime. I had been skipping around different trails since then.

I needed to get on the road. I needed to find another car.

One of the tricks to getting picked up is to be clean, so I had that much going for me. Boiled like a lobster in oil, I felt new and good and I walked confidently backward with my thumb out. The second trick is to smile. I smiled and waved and walked along a long stretch of highway bordered by dense conifer forests.

If worse came to worse, I’d set up my tent somewhere among the tree trunks. A dampness coated my skin. Strong wind rustled the branches. A minivan approached and I smiled wide enough to make my eyes water. The van passed.

I took a break to chew down an energy bar and some Slim Jims. Drivers normally don’t stop if you’re chewing furiously and an internal sigh was building in my core. I wondered if the Johnsons’ were toasting their daughter right now. Giving a cheer. Making plans for dinner. I’d miss their dinner.

When I stood up again, the sun had dipped toward the steep mountains. I shielded my eyes and scowled. How the hell did so much time pass? I hurried to the side of the road, thumb out, smiling, rehearsing some of my best stories in my head. I liked telling stranger’s stories, a “thank you” for the ride. I had learned the best ways to spin terrifying encounters with mountain lions and the chipmunk trapped in my sleeping bag. Most drivers seemed to like it too. 

The sun disappeared behind the first peeks and the temperature plummeted. Pockets of darkness spread out before me between the shards of sunlight quilting the land. My teeth chattered.

The dusk had a feeling to, a weight. A car approached from behind me and I whipped around, hands too cold to be out. A beat-up Hyundai, off-green and compact. A tacky Sasquatch air-freshener hung from the mirror and the person behind the wheel wore sunglasses. He looked like a young guy, early 20s, with long brown hair down his shoulders. The hair reminded me of a girl, curly and well-kept, shiny in the dying light. The dusting of a beard offset the look. 

Several cars lined up behind the Hyundai. Their lights were all on, shining like a procession of lanterns. This is where they all were apparently. Figures, I thought, and I stuck my thumb out.

My stomach sank when the Hyundai swerved off to the side of the road. I was hoping he would pass and let one of the others pick me up. I usually preferred families, women, couples, and the like. I would like to say it was the romantic in me, wishing for ladies or aging lovers, but the truth was I had never really gotten along with guys my own age. But beggars can’t be choosers.

He honked the horn once and grinned at me. I checked over my shoulder like the trees might turn into a Holiday Inn, and then approached the window. 

He cracked the door. “Where you headed?”

“Vancouver,” I said, which was true enough. He gave the horn a second honk. “Alright, alright, alright, my brother. Going to the same jungle. Hop in.”

I gave him a crooked smile and avoided responding by opening the back door. Storing my enormous backpack was always a challenge, but the back seats were down and I slid Jessica, my pack’s nickname, right in. 

“How’s it going?” The guy had both a California accent and swagger to him. I ran a hand through my hair, already on guard.

“Cold as a witch’s tit out there.” I might as well get the bro-ing over with. The driver had holes in his faded band shirt and board shorts. Sandals probably too. 

“Only if you're walking down the side of the road like a lost kitten, my man. Here.” He cranked the heat in his car and I exhaled, gratitude shining from my center. 

“Thanks,” I said, showers and warmth and soft beds having changed me. I swallowed a couple times, not sure if bros even thanked each other. “So, what are you doing out here?” I asked, already formulating my story about the mountain lion. And yes, I do embellish just a bit.

“You know, this and that. What are you doing getting yourself ax-murdered all the way out here?” I shot him a look. “You know, this and that.” I cleared my throat, mimicking his tone, “Ax-murdering. Collecting hooks for my right hand.” He lets out a big laugh and that’s a relief. I grow emboldened. “What are you doing to avoid getting hook-handed this late at night?” He chuckles, chest rumbling like a car engine. Taking off his sunglasses, he places them in the cupholder. “Distract them. Ask them what ACDC they are into.” His gaze flicks to the back as he says it.

I noticed for the first time a guitar case wedged into the back. My eyebrows raise. “Sweet. You playing gigs?” “Just coffee shops and anywhere that will take a burnout with a dream.” I copy his tone. The swagger. “You any good?”

“Hell if I know. Coffee shops aren’t Juilliard.” He winked. “But don’t tell my mom that.”

My arms gooseflesh and at least my teeth stopped chattering. “Good to know. You have an LP? CDs?”

“Not yet. Still working it out.” “Nice. Well, I’m Ben. Not really a music guy, but an appreciator.” I realized I had gotten all jumbled by being freezing and messed up my usual intro. “Hailing from Boston by trying to be anywhere else.” He chuckled again. “Christopher.”

“Not a Chris, I take it. The whole thing?” “All the way through, brother. Think you can handle it?”

I clicked my tongue. “I usually stick to single syllables, but I’ll make an exception for you.” “From my new friend Ben? Can’t complain about that. Damn, can’t complain about a long night on the road. Nice to pick you up.”

“Nice to be picked up.” I realized too late the way that sounded and rubbed the back of my neck. “Beats walking. Or have to hook-hand my own damn self.” “Heh.” His inky eyes flicked my way and then he grins. I looked away at that, gently embarrassed in a way I couldn’t explain. I had gotten pretty good at the chameleon act but still wasn’t finding my footing here. His eyes were deep brown, inky-almost, and deep-set in his face. 

The beat-up Hyundai rumbled up a mountain pass and the sky turned the blue-black of a bruise. I tear my eyes back to the window. The conifers appear larger–like everything does at night, and pass in a blur on the back-forth mountain road. I spy a river through the trees and birds taking flight from somewhere in the distance, lights of tucked-away homes even further up.  

Christopher turns the music up at that. “You ever listen to house music?” “Can’t say I have.” I turn back, mountain lion stories forgotten. “Ben, my guy, you’re missing out. You don’t do German house music either, I take it.”

I put a hand over my heart. “Purely provincial.” “I’ll play the good stuff.” He grins. “Make an exception.” “You usually play your hitchhiker’s mediocre playlists?” “Exceptionally mediocre. The last one didn’t even make it beat drop.” “I’ll sit and take notes.” “Don’t let me down, Benny.”

“Now who’s not going all through?”

His dark eyes flash. “Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“For you?” I gave a sardonic half of a smile and then let it fall.

Noises with bumps and chs played out over the speakers and I had to wonder why Christopher had a guitar instead of a DJ soundboard. Maybe he had both. A hand placed on my knee and I jumped. I went to brush it off, God, I didn’t need this to get unpleasant, but when I looked down nothing was there. Christopher’s hands were lazing on ten and two and he raised an eyebrow.

“You still headed all the way to Vancouver? It is a long drive.” he asked slowly and I nodded, unwilling to say my real plans. To just keep going. I started on the east coast and wouldn’t mind making it to the other ocean. “Good.” He turned the music up a second time. Despite the grating techno and sense of still not having found my feet here, the heat of the blowers washed over me. The rocking of the car and dull humming of the driver next to me. The lights of cars wound through the roads behind us and my eyes fluttered closed.

You don’t sleep in stranger’s cars. It’s rude for one thing and dangerous for another. Yet, the cold leached out of me and a drowsiness sent me over the edge into a deep abyss.

—----------------------

I heard humming now and then, dreamlike and threaded through my personal abyss. I cracked open my eyes, glanced at Christopher, humming to himself and tapping a beat on the wheel. And then drift off again in the very way I shouldn’t.

—-----------------------

A hand shook my knee. I had no idea what time it was and the weight of night startled me awake more than anything else. A pair of headbeams blared into my face and I brought up one hand. “What the hell?”

“Hey, Benny, buddy,” the driver, Christopher, said. It took me a moment to turn toward him. His sunglasses were back on and he was frowning. “Do you think you could mess with my phone? I’m not getting anything up here. Do you have service?” I blinked rapidly and pieced together the back of tail lights in front of us and head beams behind. “Traffic?” I croaked, rubbing my throat. “Here?” Only three cars ahead were visible, disappearing up a mountain bend into who knows where. However, I get the sense of lights lined up like little soldiers through the night, long and duckling-like. 

“I know, it’s whack. I was looking for a sideroad or something to get us out of this.” “How is there traffic in the middle of the mountains?” I rubbed my eyes until I saw spots, feeling groggier than ever.

“Probably a rockslide up ahead or a truck fell over, who knows. I think someone’s cleaning it up now but at the pace of, like tomorrow morning.” “What the hell?” “Now you’re getting it.” The line inched forward and Christopher refreshed his phone with one hand. I fumbled for my own phone in my small pack and cursed under my breath. “What?” Christopher prompts me.

“Out of battery.” I shake it like that might do something. “Hold on, I have an Anker in my pack.” I turn to climb into the back and dig through everything for my charger. 

“Wait, wait, I think I see a road. Put your seatbelt on.”

“We can’t just,” Christopher grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me back to my seat. I inhale sharply, remembering I am in a car with a stranger–maybe getting too close for comfort. I sputter out my protests, “we don’t know where we are. Where that goes.” Christopher was already turning off the side. “I bet I’ll get some signal if we head down the mountain. That’s headed down. Don’t worry about it. Put your seatbelt on Ben from Boston.” The nose of the car dipped down and I clenched my teeth, clicking my seatbelt in place. We rocked, boat-like, and the wheels fought against the dirt until we were level again. 

I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about Christopher at that moment. I wish I could charge my phone or maybe get out and walk. There were plenty of cars to hitch a ride from by then. Too late to make up my mind, the car’s wheels crunched on a new gravel road and our headlights streaked against an empty dark. The car behind us drove forward to take our place.

“Don’t you think other cars would go this way,” a bump in the road sent me jostling, “if it leads to the main road again?” “I’ll just get us some signal,” he mumbled. “Better than sitting in traffic.” I huffed, “Right.” The gravel road had the feel of a worn-down side street, probably leading to a series of fancy mansions or off-the-grid weirdos. Nowhere real. Christopher took off his sunglasses all over again and met my eyes.

“Sorry to get you take you on a side adventure.” He cleared his throat. “And wake you.” I remembered myself all at once and ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry,” I said, giving a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m normally a better house guest. Promise I don’t normally pass out in stranger’s cars.” “What do you normally do?” I shift in place. “Convince them to go off-roading in the middle of the night,” I deadpan. “Keep things interesting.” “That’s my line.” He laughs. Before we can really get back to normal and I can push away the dark flick of his gaze, Christopher slams on the breaks. “Holy hell!”

I grip on to the seatbelt, jostling back and forth, eyes go wide. “What?”

A line of cars appeared up ahead. My whole system tingled. “Were those there before? I didn’t see those before,” I repeated the phrase like a fool, “I didn’t see any of those cars a second ago.” A long line of cars, trailing off ahead and into the hills. “Out of the frying pan and into . . .” he trailed off. Christopher’s gaze lost its humor. He put his sunglasses back on. “Get out.” “Excuse me?” I definitely shouldn’t have taken that nap. “Get out.”

The hairs on my arm stood on end, breath catching in my throat. I glanced into the woods. The trees were tall here, leaving little undergrowth, and a sliver of moon lit barely penetrated the textured black. I could still make out headbeams, bright here, blaring, and moving through the trees. I reeled back, watching the lights bob in place. A few minutes ago, I had been chomping at the bit to get out of the car and find someone else to ride with. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Head Beams swayed. Oddly. Unnaturally. Too far off the ground. Head Beams that couldn’t be headbeams when I squinted and looked. I gulped.

“Sure man, just give me a second.” I clutched at the seatbelt. A hand squeezed my knee and I glanced down, almost grateful if he was going to keep me for this reason or that. Nothing was there. 

I buttoned up my jacket, readying myself to walk until I couldn’t walk anymore. Get ready to be eaten by a mountain lion because I sure as hell wasn’t setting up camp any time soon.

“Nevermind.” Christopher grabbed the back of my head. His hand was large and firm around the nape of my neck. “Too late. Get down.” The lights bobbed and weaved around us and I didn’t need to be told twice. Better to be hunkered down than out in the open. A second later, a knock came at the car window. The type you might hear from an officer in a tv show. I hoped. Just a regular official telling us the roads weren’t clear, the rockslide was too big. Go back, go home, all of this was explainable.

“Can I help you?” Christopher’s window rolled down. I tucked myself into a tighter ball in the foot space. 

“Do you want to be loved?” The voice was sharp, a splash of cold water cloying through my senses. Branches against glass, more garbled than real. Then the words righted themselves in my head and I wished I was back at the Johnson’s. I could be with their family right now, however out of place, holding up non-alcoholic champagne and telling her life after graduation wasn’t so bad. Didn’t have to be.

“No, I’m all good.” “Do you want to be loved,” the voice said in an insistent tone.

“I don’t want any.” He cleared his throat. “We’re running behind, anyway. Have to go. You could tell th–” “Seven years. To be loved, do you want to be loved,” I peaked up from my fetal position, a thing bent into the car, “Seven years and a day. To be loved.” Christopher rolled up his window, slow and deliberate. “No. No,” he said, “not that.” I caught a glimpse, however briefly, of a head of something impossibly tall and with a singular eye, blinking and glowing and bobbing in place. My heart sang, briefly, called out, wanted. Then, the thing at our window turned and disappeared.

“That’s what I get for thinking it’d be someone important.” Christopher’s gaze lingered on my own, keeping me there and for the first time, I heard him humming, gently, in the back of his throat. Inky eyes, dark as night, and holding me there. 

“Stop it!” I clawed at the air back to the door. My chest heaved.

He swallowed, looking away. “I really was just trying to give you a lift,” he muttered, gripping the wheel. “I don’t even think they’d want me back so soon.” “Who?” I lapped the roof of my mouth, realizing I was parched.

Christopher leaned his head back against the headrest, looking above. “Don’t tell my mom,” he adjusted his seat, “I’ve been playing music for mortals.” —---------------------------

There are ghosts and ghouls and monsters and many things that want to eat you. I was a fool, not recognizing what types of things might want to eat me. Traffic was barely moving, whatever this traffic was. I was getting thirstier.

I swallowed, again and again. A steady stream of knocks came at the window, but Christopher waved them all off. “No thank you, no thanks.” 

Music spilled in the distance, faint and dreamlike, just like the soft humming Christopher had let out. I could see streaks of light against the seat, Christopher’s face, the trees up above. Once, impossibly, something passed overhead. An enormous head you might see displayed on mantles. Big as a house, mighty and towering up above. A long white nose and antlers thick as redwoods. Great tendrils of moss seemed to hang from the antler’s alongside lanterns. Lights strung up among the foliage and impossible prongs.

An elk, an elk enormous beyond imagination, passed and I exhaled. I really wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“Do you have any water?” Christopher glanced down, eyebrows arching and eyes wet as dogs noses.

“None for you,” he said but in a tone that somehow did not convey rudeness. “Trust me.” “Trust you,” I muttered, “after being cramped and hiding for over an hour? God, it must be sunrise soon.” “No. I’m afraid not.” He heaved a sigh. “Fairy market and all that.” I gaped at him. “Would you like to run that by me one more time?” He shook his head. “Ben,” he said, tasting the name on his lips, humming, “sturdy name. Useful. You’ve got strong fate lines. You won’t die here tonight, as long as you do as I say. Well, won’t die or be stolen if I can help it.” I set my jaw and Christopher put his sunglasses back on. “Happy?”

I kicked out, deciding if I was going to have a delusion, I might as well have it sitting. I rested my back against the door, head peeking up above the windows now. “I want to go back to the main road.” 

Christopher didn’t reply. 

It could have been an hour or only a few minutes, before a face appeared in the window. At first, I didn’t recognize it as a face, a smooth moonlike token in the window. Then, it gathered itself into two sparkling eyes, a clever mouth, and delicate cheekbones. The lady's white hair piled high on her head, adorned with blood-red leaves and berries and she smiled. Her eyes were ink-dark.

“Oh no.” Christopher clutched at the wheel. The lady inclined her head, clever mouth remaining closed but eyes beseeching. A pang went through my chest, unbidden, I felt bad for Christopher. Lord have mercy on a fool. “I have to take this,” he said in a monotone. Air whooshed into the car, cool and light against my skin, tasting of mint or something sharper.

“Wasn’t expecting a visit so soon. Is dad here?” The woman didn’t seem to speak, but inclined her head. Christopher leaned forward, blocking my view or maybe blocking her from me. He got out of the car. 

The second the door closed, taking Christopher with it, I decided to make a break for it. 

—---------------

I racked my head for what I knew about fairies. Cinderella’s godmother, the tooth fairy, Peter Pan. Tinker Bell was probably not going to help me much unless, of course, pirates became relevant in the near future. Which they might, given the night I was having. I opened the door a crack. Sweet brisk air filtered in.

I contemplated the ground below. No longer gravel but rich black earth. My spine prickled and I held very still. The only thing I could come up with half-way relevant was a 11 grade project where we had to choose a poem to analyze. I had picked The Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti. As a 16-year-old I had chosen it for the racy content and riskier presentation in class.

Looking at the dark soil, I muttered to myself, “We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil, they fed their hungry thirsty roots?”

I squeezed my eyes closed. I had already spoken to the dark-eyed man and listened to his music, I suppose. I didn’t remember much else of the poem but the heat rising in my cheeks and Lizzie walking into the market. 

I kicked the door open, kept my eyes down, and went for my pack. My heart beat at the pace of the hummingbird's wings and my hands slipped on the door handle. Voices, whispering, indistinct. At the third try I wrenched the back open and got my pack out in one swing. The whispering grew louder and my eyes caught on the lights and the forest.

I knew the Canadian Rockies. I tripped over pine cones and hard stone, drank from crystalline lakes, ran my hands over Alpine forget-me-nots, froze and sweated and bled. This was them and so much more. The trees were the whitebark pines and firs, tightly knit together and crowned in ragged peaks. Voices called to me.

The darkness between the trunks bled into hands, red and mangy, like huckleberry shrubbery waving in the wind. Faces appeared in the shards of moonlight, lanterns bobbed and lurching heaving mountains of things moving in the far distance. Elk perhaps. Mountains. 

I pivoted in place, keeping my eyes away from stalled cars that made up this place. Voices called and righted themselves into words this time. “Young man. Mortal son. Hello.” A sheet of misty rain appeared to my left, melting from the dark and blinking handsome golden eyes. A sturdy nose. A pretty mouth.

“Would you like–” “Thanks. No.” I copied Christopher, not meeting the thing’s eye, and began to walk. The underbrush was not empty however, the forest moved with creatures big enough to crush. I wondered if any amount of walking would take me home.

Another voice broke through the murmuring. “You’ll never make it that way.”

I turned. And there were cars. Glowing bright as stars and windows cranked open. Figures sat inside alongside various goods. Twinkling soda cans and pearl necklaces hung next to each other on string. Stuffed bears and empty plastic bags filled baskets hanging out of car windows. Paint brushes, old CDs, and pine cones set out on car hoods. 

Market stalls. Of course. Some of them appeared as cars, others were old barrels and broken-down train cars off to the side. The beckoning of hands felt like it was coming from all directions.

“I don’t have any money!” I called like that would matter. “I’m, I’m a hiker. A traveler passing through.”

“We don’t take money. Those things,” a clump of white moths, fluttering around and around in a mass, spoke. Ink eyes. Beautiful, tumbling curls. She pointed at the empty soda bottles and stuffed animals, “not for you.”

I backed away. “I don’t have anything you might want.” 

The clump of moths smiled. “My darling, sweet boy . . . Would you like to be loved?”

I gulped down air. “I have to, have to go.” Weaving between stalls one moment and stalled cars the next, I hurried to where there must be an end. There must be an end to the market. 

Fruit the color of sapphires piled high on discarded card tables. Sardine cans and quilted blankets. Water bottles. Canisters and other hiker’s camel backpacks. God, I was thirsty. And I could hear all of them now. 

“Boy, would you like unfading beauty?” “Ten years of glory and a lion’s heart. Heart of lion’s for only ten years.”

Calling. Beseeching. A market you could understand the poem’s sisters getting lost in. My sleeve snagged on something in this endless market. I stumbled into what felt like a rock face.

“Hush now, sweet thing,” thick lichen, flaking and upright, spoke, “I will give you a belonging you have never felt before.” My heart went double time and the thirst ached. I knew it was aching. I knew I was Lizzie about to have her skin pinched and clothes torn. Sullied. Or perhaps, like Laura, changed. I wondered about my sister then. I wondered about being home.

“Belonging for thirteen years and thirteen days,” she smiled. My heart raced and I searched the fairy's face. “You deserve to belong just like anyone else, don’t you? Thirteen years and nothing more.”

“Of my life?” She smiled wider and placed a hand on my chest, fingers spreading like a mold. “Or your heart. Your soul. Memories. Wakeful hours. A song.” I shook my head, slowly and then vigorously. I took a step back.

“A bargain then,” her voice crooned in the groaning of old wood, “Twelve years. Twelve days.” Her hand spread, soaking into the flesh of shirt. “And a kiss.” 

“Thank you!” I nearly shrieked. “I’m not, I’m not. No.” I stumbled back, teetering away from the bright lights. I ducked and dodged into the darkened wood where smaller, stranger things dwell.

I stepped out of the light. The fairies called after me and their voices, luckily, faded into the murmuring of brooks and bird calls and rustling once more. I turned and felt the despair leach into my center. The line of stalls appeared endless, a train, a caravan, a curse.

I slumped down and put my head in my hands. No matter where I had looked, there was no sign of sun. I counted back from ten before I pried my eyes open again. “Christopher?” I called once and then shivered in place, perhaps the most lost I’ve ever been.

“Would you like to be good?” I didn’t look over when it spoke. “Good and know that you are good.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I want to go home.” I groaned, still not looking down. “Or at least for my ride to come back.” Christopher, at least, had not tried to make any deals. 

“Hmm. Not home. No.”

I saw her hop up from beneath a crop of twisted roots. This fairy was smaller and less beautiful. A dainty clump of mountain ash that was only a hands-length tall. A bushel of delicate white flowers crowned in dew-like hair. She reminded me a bit, only a bit, of Tinker Bell. 

“You’ve been running from something,” her voice was more of a squeak. I was tired. 

“You could say that.”

She patted my knee and my throat throbbed hard enough to make me groan.“You could be good. And know that you are good.” 

I leaned back against the tree trunk. “How much?”

“For good?”

“For home.” “A year or two.” She shrugged. “For being good and knowing you are good. I’m not sure about home.”

I chuckled without humor. “Less than a decade. You’re not much of a bargainer.” “The others know I am small. And crushable.” Dew leaked down her shoulder tops. “So, I’ll take just a year or two of your heart. That’s all.” “My heart?” She shrugged once more, the water making its way down her fluffy skirt and dripping on the ground. “No love. No opening of it.” She put a hand over her chest. “And you’ll be good.” “Good. Huh.” “And know it!” she chirped, “so when you ask yourself, am I doing alright? Am I enough? When I am not earning or making or promising or getting a wife or standing big. You will know. Know that you're good without wondering.” My eyes burned and I rubbed at the corners until I saw spots. I cleared my throat, knowing I needed to steer away. “Where did you come from?” “Silly question.” “Sure.”

“I am like you.” “Not good then?” I raised an eyebrow. “In need of being good, apparently.”

She laughed, shrilly. “No. Not very good at all. Small. Crushable. Small and crushable are not allowed in the queen's caravan.” “That does sound bad,” I said, quietly, staring up. “I’d like to say I know how you feel, but . . .”

“But I do know things. And little boys like, they don’t have to make their own lives so difficult.” “Ha.” My gaze drops to hers. “You’re offering to make my life easy?”

A smile across the face of the little ash fairy, spreading all the way across her face like a jagged wound. “Good.” 

My breath wheezed out and I dropped closer. I was tired, eyes heavy, body aching like a kicked dog coming back to sit at your feet. “It wouldn’t hurt, would it?” She held up a cup made of her own petals. A cup of deep water and lapped at my cracked lips. “All you have to do is drink your fill.” The moonlight caught in the shallow dip and I tipped my head back. Three droplets passed down my lips, fresh as spring, cold enough to strike from my chest to my fingertips. I screwed my eyes shut and clutched at my chest.

The cold blossomed and it was what I imagined a heart attack might feel like. Or perhaps the opposite of one. 

“Wait, shouldn’t we, shouldn’t there be something to sign–” I choked and sputtered and then pain burst from my middle finger on my left hand. The fairy, small and crushable, dug her teeth into my flesh. Gripping ruthlessly, she attached to an open wound, drinking her fill. Dew perched on her head turned red and she made a supping, singing noise in the back of her throat. 

“That’s enough!” I shook her off and another sharp prick went through my wrist. A sting in my neck and then another by elbow. “Stop it!”

A chanting went through my head, a child’s chant like a nursery rhyme. You are good, you are good, you are good. I covered my ears with both hands.

“Stop it!” I bellowed. “This isn’t what we agreed to.” What had we agreed to? The creature tittered and others gathered around it, sharp and hungry. The roots and the rot and the writhing soil. 

I stood, world spinning and heart crushing together into a perfect aching cold. Are fairies allowed to be liars? A tingling spread to the ends of my fingertips and a dizziness overwhelmed me. I covered my mouth with one hand and stopped myself from heaving.

I might have blacked out, blacked out and not come back, and then a light parted the darkness of the wood.

“What have you done?” The words echoed in my head. The face of man, inkdrop eyes, and shining curly hair, looked down on me, pitying. “No,” he said simply. “You can’t. He is my guest.”

Blood seeped out of the cut on my hand and I think I might faint, actually faint like in the movies. Strong hands caught me and then two fingers, clean and warm, human even, pressed to my mouth. Light like the moon poured off of him. “Swallow,” he said. The light burned away the sickly chill. A white fire, burning a path down my throat and into my chest and leaving new life in its wake. 

“Better?” A crown hovered around the man’s head in a halo, stars, the moon even. 

Maybe I could have stayed, made clean and whole, and neither good nor bad. Could have stayed to be made better by the prince of fairies. But I wasn’t that type of person. Voices, again, of birds and wind and roots. I tuned them out. My eyes fixed on lanterns in the distance, meaningless words rushing over me. He spoke of being clean now, healed. The lantern flickered, floating there like something from the stories. 

I looked down at my veins, spiderwebbed in light. They glowed from the inside out. A light, poured from the outside in. A hand was on my knee. Like it had been in the car and I saw it was my own, digging into my flesh. My own hand clutching my own knee and taking me back to myself.

“Can we get him a blanket?” Christopher turned his face. I bolted. No packback, no thoughts, only feet on the ground. Light blared into my face, branches gripped at my clothes, tearing at seams. My nose began to bleed, tasting heated and metallic. I didn’t stop to mop it up. I kept the light of that bobbing thing in my vision, running and bleeding like I never had before.

Later, I would learn a will-o-wisp will is a type of fairy as well, meant for travelers. A light that will get you lost or drown you, if it gets the chance. Though, I was already lost. I ran until my shoes lost the ground. One moment I was sailing ahead, the next I burst through the surface of a lake. Cold engulfed me from all sides, plunging me back into my flesh. I kicked for the surface, up into the fresh night. The trees surrounded this lake in beetle-worn packs, brown and small. Mud caked the banks of the water. Stars were distant and small overhead. I laughed. 

I tore at my shirt and shoes and pants and rubbed deep dark mud across my skin. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The water ran muddy. Ran red. Then, at least, ran a bright horrible glow, bleeding out and out and out. I bled out the glow of the fairy prince. I washed myself, heaving enough laughter until it turned into a whimper. I scrubbed myself raw until the water, with the sun rising among the peaks, ran clear. 

—----------------

I thought of the prince now and then, how he saved my heart from closing. How he looked at me. How he poured light down my throat, burning me up from the inside out and taking with it a curse. I should be grateful. I went home after all, I hugged my sister and my parents. Hell, I even re-signed up for classes, even as I knew I’d eventually drop out again. Went on a few dates. Gained some roommates I loved and a dog I liked even more. I told stories and stayed. My heart was my own. But I didn’t come back the same after hitchhiking into the depths of the woods in the dark of the road. It was hard to be grateful. Hard for it to feel like a favor to have my heart kept open when it was only replaced by a worse sort of feeling. Longing and longing and longing for inky depths and impossibility, memory that grips you by the throat and murmurs, what if you had stayed?

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

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[lixie-phoria]

━━ ⟡ new year's day ꒱

kissing your boyfriend under the fireworks was straight out of a fairy tail, complete with the pre-climax angst and a tooth-rotting happy ending

felix x gn!reader / warnings - fluff!! / 0.6k words / a/n - happy new year loves 🫶🏼 I'm sorry this is so rushed I wrote it in 15 minutes 😭

"the audacity of that boy," you curse, eyes scanning frantically through the crowd for any sight of a familiar mop of dyed blonde hair, but in vain.

"two more minutes!" someone cheers, and the crowd bursts into a fit of ecstatic chatter and anticipation.

you stand alone, fists anxiously clenching by your side as you try to calm down. felix had been right here, literally 30 seconds ago. but you made the mistake of looking away for a fraction of a second and he was gone. just like that. vanished into thin air.

"pick up pick up pick up," you mutter as you bring your phone to your ear, chewing at your lip anxiously.

you get directed to voice mail.

he was going to get it when you found him.

"60 more seconds! start counting!"

felix couldn't have chosen a worse timing to leave you alone, really. it's your first new year as a couple, and he'd been so excited to kiss you under the fireworks at midnight. he had suggested the entire date. and then he disappeared a minute before the big moment.

"I can't believe this," you whisper to nobody in particular, slinking away to the back of the crowd unnoticed.

curse him and his short height. you would never find him in this mass.

you just hoped he was alright at least.

30 seconds.

nearly everyone is with their partner, the air filled with excitement. your heart falls into a bottomless pit of anxiety.

15 seconds.

the sky is dark, waiting to be lit up at any moment now.

this is ok, you think unconvincingly. maybe something important came up.

you try calling him again. voicemail, again.

3.

2.

1.

the first cracker goes off in a burst of colours, painting the night sky with strokes of purple and gold and pink. it leaves you awestruck, the shades reflecting on the waters of the Han River.

"happy new year!"

but the voice doesn't come from the crowd. it comes from behind you, and you whip around to see your boyfriend standing there with the giddiest smile on his face, bouncing on the balls of his feet. and in his hands is the biggest bouquet of flowers you have ever seen, flowers of all shades and shapes.

"surprise!"

you can barely register what he's doing until he pulls you closer, the bouquet squished between your bodies as his lips meet yours halfway.

fireworks of your own go off behind your eyes as you melt into the kiss, smiling when he groans at the sensation of you tangling your fingers in his roots.

he's here.

you deepen the embrace, ignoring the crinkling of the paper and the fireworks going off in the sky.

he's here, and it's perfect, just as you had imagined it would be.

"sorry I left. wanted this to be worth it," he mumbles, finally pulling away, bashfully handing you the bouquet.

"felix i-"

it's so pretty. you gap at it as the colours of the fireworks paint the flowers in mixed hues.

"happy new year, angel. I love you."

there's very little you can do to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him again, your lips a tangle of love and desperation.

he tastes like the brownies you both had baked that afternoon to bring to the site. he probably ate a few when he went back to the car to get the bouquet. you giggle at the thought. so predictable.

"I love you too, lixie. happy new year."

he's here. he's yours. and it's all you want.

©lixie-phoria, 2024

tags : @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba @jiisungllvr (send an ask to be added/removed)

[mediumgayitalian]

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Whenever they drive into town, arguing over who sits where and spilling buckets of strawberries all over the floor, the music blasts so loudly on the horrible, tinny speakers that it vibrates the entire van, and still the group of them is so loud that the songs get drowned out anyway. It is especially worse if, Nico will admit, he and Chiara are in the front seats together, whatever argument they delight in having raising New York’s noise pollution levels by four percent at least. If there is enough fruit to warrant two vans, and all sixteen of them will go, they will race down the highway, drowning each other out with the pure force of their shrieking voices. People stare. Cars slow to a stop. Cars follow them, even, mouths open, wondering at these grinning, hollering fools, dressed in neon and crawling all over each other.

It has been a long time since Nico has driven in silence.

Even as a child there was noise. No radios in cars, yet, they’d hardly been invented, but he and Bianca would scarcely be within miles of each other without bickering. Crowded in the backseat of Nonno’s Alfa Romeo, shouting for Mama in between even every poked shoulder and shoved face, there was noise. In the backseat of Alecto’s SUV, too, muffled as it was, and in every car he raced at the Lotus. Even up front with Jules-Albert, there has always been something. Grumbling, usually, live Grand-Prix reporting if the season is right. Music if he is in a good mood and Nico can convince him.

The silence that rings from the coast of Long Island to the bridge over the Savannah River is unbearable. Even the van is unbelievably quiet, rusted shocks creakless and ancient engine quiet as a grave. As if it too is straining to hear the words Will is murmuring, over and over again, nonstop for hours; hunched over with his hands clasped and pressed to the bridge of his nose.

Nico knows the Lord’s prayer in five languages. He hasn’t spoken it in years, but it’s stuck in his brain the same way as the alphabet; he knows the rhythm, the place of every breath, the rise and fall of the words as they crest towards the heavens. Prayers go unanswered at the best of times, trickling down the soil and bedrock and gathering in the currents of the Styx, but Will prays like he is programmed to do it. Like it is all he has left to do. They leave in the grey peak of the afternoon and drive through the night, and the kids sleep in the back, and Will prays across the freeways, over the bridges, through the gas stations, straight through traffic. His voice scratches and fades and he does not stop, the tears roll down his cheeks and bubble into his mouth and he does not stop, the twisted-in hymns glow along every peek of sunlight, burning his throat and his hands, and he does not stop. He prays like the dying in line to be judged, like the weeping shades along the stone walkways of Asphodel, like the desolate on the bank of the River. He prays like he knows it is already over, and he is desperate for the strength to move forward.

When they pull into the parking lot it is late morning, and Nico has been driving for fifteen hours, and the sun is cowering behind black dirt stormclouds, and the heat is as oppressively constant as the Pit. Nico feels like he is standing at the mouth of something cavernous. Staring down sharp teeth and a maw the size of an island. He feels like he is teetering, balancing, tipping; like the single point on the ground moments before lightning strikes it. Close your eyes and hold out your hands. What is coming next is inescapable.

“Do we go in?”

Kayla’s voice is timid. It is never timid, and it jolts his obliques and abdominis into action, into stretching. She holds hands with her brother, and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide, mouths set brave and trembling,

and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder

eyes wide

mouths set brave and trembling

his ankle is twisted around hers

her skull ring knicks the flesh of his ring finger

her hands are cool

her voice is steady

her body shakes.

Where are you taking us? We would like to go home, please. Can we call our mother?

“Let’s go find Mama,” Nico hears himself say. Sees Will’s hands twitch. Watches Kayla flinch in the rearview. Feels Austin’s leg bounce the van.

His mouth feels like sand, like worn denim. Dry, desert sand, desert sand; Nevada air through the open window.

“Mama,” Will echoes. He chokes. His whole body shudders, shudders, compresses; shrinks down, mouth still moving. Knuckles white. “Mama.”

Nico swallows.

“Kayla,” says his mouth, “take your brother to go pay parking.” Take your brother inside. Wait for me; I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the hotel. “Here.”

He hands her his father’s card, and she takes it, untangling from Austin but keeping their hands joined when he grabs for her. The van door wrenches open because the tracks are rusty and Nico jumps with it, exhaling past Kayla’s muttered apologies, waiting for the two of them to climb out and hurry across the asphalt. Huddle at the parking meter, poking at the button.

Nico opens his door and climbs out, shutting it carefully, walking calmly around the front of the van. He opens Will’s door and it doesn’t move, locked, so it waits, and when Will makes no move to pull the little lever he reaches around the door Kayla left open, pulling it himself. The door swings widely open, bouncing slightly on its hinges, and Will doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t so much as glance towards it.

Nico reaches out, slowly, and takes his clenched hands.

They’re wet.

He peels back his clenched fingers, one by one, and they are stiff, formed to shape. He takes a moment to straighten them, carefully, slowly, until his palms rest upwards again, fingers limp. When he presses their palms together Will’s fingers twitch, ever so slightly, around his, and he drags their hands up to his mouth and presses his knuckles to his lips, tasting the salt, tasting the iron of his cracked chapped skin. Will’s hand twitches, again, and his face matches; contorting and crumpling and breaking, for a second.

“Will,” he murmurs, salt like the coast, like Nonna’s villa, like the water slide, “Will, look at me.”

He does. He looks to him like he’s dragging himself like he is clawing his own way upright.

“I can’t again,” he croaks, “I —” and he stops, or rather he is cut off, by the sob that fights it’s way out of his throat. It is sharp like skull fragments. Some part of Nico bleeds.

“You won’t.” He drops Will’s hand and clasps instead both sides of his face, pulling him down until their foreheads press tightly together, until their breathing shares the same space, until he can feel every shudder against his skull. “We will save her.”

As he says it Nico knows he will make it so. Kayla and Austin run back to the van, ticket clenched in both of their hands, Will squeezes his eyes shut and nods, once, before sitting straighter than he has in hours, and Nico knows that he will not let Will lose.

Not again.

———

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