#overlook mountain house

[puff-the-bunny]

... Didn't know those did that

[istandonsnowpiles]

Low Hanging Clouds

[thorsenmark]

Exploring Mesa Verde National Park with a Park Ranger Guide by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While at the Soda Canyon Overlook with a view looking to the south-southwest to the Balcony House in Mesa Verde National Park. Which drew me into this image and setting was the park ranger lead tour of this dwelling. I wanted to capture that view of the park ranger giving information to the group in the tour while pulling back on the focal ;length to include the entirety of this national park setting. From where I was located to the Balcony House, I measured on Google Maps as being about a quarter mile.

[flashhwing]

always thought having a balcony was the height of luxury but now I have a balcony and I’m like Whar am I supposed to do with this? stand outside in the freezing cold and gaze over the parking lot????

[mcmansionhell]

we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven

Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.

The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.

It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.

And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.

Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.

A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.

Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.

At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.

And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[terrasu]

What are the cities in other countries that used to be prosperous centers of industry and transit that ended up partially or wholly abandoned due to white flight, economic gutting of former industry, etc.

[gtgbabie0]

-Benjicot Blackwood x Arryn!Reader

{Benjicot doesn’t mind getting his hands bloodied if it means protecting your honour}

word count- 1.7k

!CW!//vulgar language, descriptions of blood// Enjoy my lovelies💕

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The Vale was all harsh winds and rain since the sun had first begun to rise above the horizon, a thick layer of fog rolls through the high mountains and over the hills creating a rather eerie atmosphere around the courtyard of Raventree hall.

You sit on the balcony that overlooks the training grounds with your sister, Jeyne Arryn, protected from the light rain by the stoney overhang. You both had been asked to unite your houses for a few days in hopes of getting the men more accustomed to the sword and shield a little faster.

It had been going great in all honesty, they seemed to have lifted each other spirits despite the pressure of the looming war.

“Is your friend down there?” Jeyne smirks, looking over at you with a playful gleam in her eyes.

She takes joy in the way your eyes widen ever so slightly, how you move away from the edge to slouch back into your chair. “No, not yet.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a harrumph.

You roll your eyes at Jeyne and the sound of her chuckles, smiling into her cup whilst she continues to tease you. Her jabs are soon cut off by the sound of men cheering and metal clanging together in excitement.

You immediately lean back over the stone railing of the balcony, looking down at the group of men searching for…

Benjicot. He had made quite a name for himself over the past few moons, his way with a sword was… wild to put it more kindly. He was a madman on the battlefield, charging in with absolutely no fear, the complete opposite of the shy boy you grew up with.

For a small second your gazes meet. He waves softly, sending you a sweet smile which you happily return before he’s dragged away to the training yard by his friends.

The sound of your sister’s giggling snaps you out of the moment, your face twisting into a small frown. “Do not start.” You huff, slouching back into the chair with a pout.

Your sister makes small conversation, keeping it light as you watch over the training. Benjicot found it hard to stay focused, his mind drifting over to the fact that you were watching him with your pretty eyes.

The pair of you shared plenty of fleeting moments together, lingering touches and sweet whispered words. You danced along the line of friends and something more but neither of you took the leap, too scared of ruining the deep friendship you have.

Benjicot sits on a tree stump, cleaning his sword with a rag as his eyes glance between the balcony where you sit and the men around the training yard. He was miles away, thinking about how he could see you tonight… perhaps a walk through the garden… or maybe sneaking you into the kitchens.

His mind soon gets away from him, all of his thoughts consumed by you… but then again when are they not?

The sound of two rowdy men snaps him out of his trance, his expression immediately darkening with his brows pinched together tightly. They sound drunk as they speak horrid nonsense about women, barely able to hold their swords let alone stand on two feet.

“I’d fuck her… bet her cunt is tight too, ey?” The taller one says, harshly nudging the other man's shoulder almost sending him tumbling to the floor.

Benjicots fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles going white with anger. He hopes for their sake that they’re not talking about you. “Mhm… bet shes a squealer.” The other man agrees, the pair of them chuckling.

The sound goes right through Ben, his blood running cold as he watches them cast their predatory gaze over to you as you lean curiously over the edge of the balcony.

The sword that he was cleaning drops to the floor with a dull thud. He acts way before he thinks, his body moving without hesitation and before he knows it he’s coiling back his arm, colliding his tight fist down against one of the taller drunkards face as the other scurries off.

A crimson colour stains his knuckles, the blood warm and wet in between his fingers. The adrenaline overshadows the pain that shoots down his arm, reducing it to a mere tingle that he’ll surely feel later on. He watches the fool drop to the damp, cold ground, writhing in pain whilst clutching his nose as it weeps a thick red.

Benjicot opens and closes his hand, trying to lessen the ache. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue.” He sneers before storming off with a mean glare that makes everyone step out of his way.

You had watched the whole scene unfold, worry immediately settling in the pit of your stomach, etching across your face. Your sister tells you to ‘stay put’ however her words fall upon deaf ears as you rush back inside, running down the halls and the twists and turns of the castle.

The Maesters chambers are where you find Benjicot. His aunt walks out of the room with a displeased expression, however, the candlelight gives away the amusement that flickers through her dark eyes.

She greets you with a warm smile, nodding her head. You return the action before slipping into the room, your gaze immediately finding his as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Hey…” his words break through the silence, the crackle of the hearth taking over once more as you wordlessly walk deeper into the room.

His hand was submerged in a dark oak basin, the water inside had long turned murky with a minty almost medicinal aroma. You sit down on the chair adjacent to his own, brows pinched together in concern.

“Where’s the Maester?” You ask, looking at him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Gone to get some sort of balm… I don’t need it.” His words make you tut, shaking your head as you watch him pull his hand out of the water. He seethes a little in pain, teeth clenched.

You reach over for a cloth, drying off his hand but whilst being careful to not cause him any more discomfort, he was already shifting and squirming in his chair.

“What even happened?” You sigh, holding his injured hand against your lap. Your thumb ever so gently caresses his palm in such a way that it makes his mind spin and his heart skip a beat.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “They— they were making… distasteful… comments towards you. I won’t repeat them.” He tells you, shaking his head firmly.

“How silly… look at your hands over some words.” You scold lightly, although there was no real bite to your soft tone. You couldn’t be, in fact, the thought of him defending you like this sends a pleasant warmth blooming through your chest. Although you wouldn’t tell him that, for his own sake.

“I’m fine, I have no regrets. They deserved it.” He states, watching the way you bring his knuckles into the candlelight to assess the damage.

They were red raw, the skin split open at the tips of each knuckle save for his thumb. A purplish colour tints the delicate skin, the shade darker around the cuts then fading off into a more dull colour. It certainly was not fine.

“You should be more careful.” Your words are hushed, whispered into the air, so soft that if he weren’t sitting so close to you he probably wouldn’t hear you. His eyes meet your own once more, admiring the way the candles cast an orangey light across your pretty features.

His fingers itch to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind your ear, to graze the back of his fingers along to warm cheek. But he refrains, even the mere thought has his stomach swarming with nervous butterflies.

You take another thin sheet of cloth, edges ragged with loose threads and the fabric an off-white colour. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, watching you dip one end of the cloth into the basin.

Before he can ask any questions you’re already leaning closer to him, knees bumping together. Your hand reaches out to ever so gently cup his jaw, fingers curling against his cheek to hold his head still whilst you wipe away a small mud stain just under his eye.

“Thank you…” he says, breath hitching in his throat at the way your thumb brushes along his warm cheek.

“No, I should be thanking you, really.” Your words make him smile, his eyes softening. “Thank you,” You add, your eyes searching his own.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t, not with you so close to him. He fears that he might have ruined the moment when silence wraps around the room. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself or if he should move the hand that rests upon your lap.

He lets out a small noise in the back of his throat, trying to will the words from his lips but none come and it only serves to cause his mind to spiral, cursing himself and his inability to speak.

The feeling of your lips against his cheek brings him back, his worries and fears ebbing away until the only thing that was on his mind is your flowery perfume and the softness of the kiss. He finally lets out a breath. His hand rests against your knee as you pull back, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest.

“You don’t need to thank me… I’d never let anyone slander your name, but either way, you are welcome.” He finally manages to speak, the words tumbling out of his lips rather ungracefully.

You entwine your fingers with his own, minding his roughened knuckles, holding his hand ever so gently with your own. His thumb caressing the inside of your wrist, the calluses feel strangely nice.

“Perhaps afterwards we could walk through the gardens?” The suggestion makes his heart skip a beat, the image was already vivid in his mind, walking arm in arm with you.

“Of course, if it would please you, my lady.” He replies, hoping the words sound more graceful than before.

You hum in agreement, nodding your head. Your warm hands still in his own, the kiss lingering on his cheek, your knees pressing against either side of his own and your honeyed gaze still upon him… he realises he’s completely doomed, you hold his heart in the palm of his hand.

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[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , HISTORICAL 〳 FANTASY edition !   (  a  collection  of  25  settings  based upon the period 〳 fantasy genres ; meant  to  inspire  drabbles  or  be  used  as  prompts . WILL be updated .   )

001. the interior of an elegant carriage .

002. seated at a large dining table set with an elaborate meal .

003. the shadowy corner of a lively tavern .

004. the top of a light house during a raging storm .

005. along the dimly lit corridor of a large manor .

006. the damp , dark brig of a pirate ship .

007. the ruins of an ancient structure lost to time .

008. a theater hall brimming with attendees .

009. the bustling streets of a market town .

010. a sun - drenched vineyard .

011. along a boardwalk overlooking the sea .

012. a moonlit cemetery full of weathered graves .

013. on horseback , deep in the woods .

014. a luxurious drawing room smelling of tea .

015. a sprawling dragon roost , hidden atop craggy mountain peaks .

016. a war - torn battlefield .

017. a beautiful cathedral bustling with churchgoers .

018. within a crammed opera box during a performance .

019. an elegant tearoom serving afternoon refreshments .

020. a lakeside pavilion on an especially hot day .

021. a sprawling network of underground catacombs .

022. a hidden glade in the middle of the woods .

023. the deep , dark dungeon of a castle .

024. a market square full of fruit and fineries .

025. a baker's shop smelling of wonderful pastries .

026. the quiet stables of a large estate .

027. on the outskirts of a magnificent water fountain .

028. in a dimly lit library , hidden amongst the books .

029. among the high walls of a hedge maze .

030. at the front desk of a warm , homey inn .

031. under the protection of a gazebo as it rains .

032. on the landing of a busy train station .

033. a gambling hall alight with raucous laughter and drink .

034. a pristine infirmary , mostly empty .

035. on board a huge ship making a long voyage .

+   20  more  setting  prompts :    6 / 01 / 2024

036. in a sunlit garden adorned with blooming flowers .

037. at the edge of a serene forest lake under a starry sky.

038. within a quiet corridor of a castle during a lavish ball .

039. in a bustling blacksmith's forge , sparks flying .

040. on a rocky cliffside overlooking a vast ocean .

041. in a quaint village square during a festival .

042. within a secret chamber hidden behind a bookshelf .

043. in the grand atrium of a luxurious hotel .

044. along a narrow brick alleyway in a crowded town .

045. within a busy marketplace in a desert town .

046. on a tranquil beach at sunrise .

047. in a cozy cottage with a crackling fireplace .

048. at the helm of a majestic airship soaring through the clouds .

049. in a grand library filled with ancient tomes .

050. on a bustling harbor dock as ships come and go .

051. within a magical forest where the trees glow softly .

052. in an apothecary's shop filled with herbs and potion .

053. at a secluded cabin by a dangerously quick river .

054. within the opulent throne room of a powerful ruler .

055. in an enchanted glade where fairies dance in the moonlight .

[cassimothwin]

Which house will be you be assigned at Brackroot Academy??? Pause or Screenshot the gif at the top to learn your destiny!

Then "Keep reading" to learn more about your house!

Brackroot Academy is part of Tangled Blessings, a magical school horror roleplaying game that uses tarot cards to uncover your fate as a student.

If you like this fun exercise, learn more about the crowdfunding campaign happening now!

Learn more about your house further below! Does it suit you?

House of Celestials 

The skies borrow from the elements to paint a backdrop for life. Featuring iconography of the sun, moon, and constellations, celestials are known for their inner glow. Still, they do not shy away from the dark surrounding them, understanding that all things require balance. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: discipline, passion, or indifference. This dorm overlooks the lake. 

House of Dahlias 

Dahlias rely on the energy of celestial bodies for growth and endurance. As a vibrant flower, dahlias are a symbol of elegance and devotion. The plant may seem abundant, but it requires careful nurturing in the wet and cold climate of Brackroot. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: creativity, perfectionism, or obsessiveness. This dorm is connected to the greenhouse. 

House of Panthers 

The panther needs a garden to rest from its daily stroll, and the dahlias always supply. The panther is a symbol of grace, athletics, and agility but still elusive and rare — a fierce creature of the shadows. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: observation, punctuality, or ruthlessness. This dorm is at the edge of the forest. 

House of Spires 

The spires are only safe in their tower because of the panthers who keep guard. The House of Spires represents the connection blades, pens, and spirituality share. While members of this house may only show interest or aptitude in one of the represented icons, they are a full member of the spire. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: empathy, isolation, or judgment. This dorm is in the high tower. 

House of Elements  

Elements are the wildest of the quintet, but they maintain control with help from the spires. The elements symbolize excess and power, but together, they represent the strength of unity. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: cleverness, hunger, or negligence. This dorm is under the school, but furnished with enchanted windows that overlook the neighboring mountains.  

House of None

Accessible by only walking along the edge of a bridge in the right invisible spot, students in the House of None often think of themselves as beyond reality. These thoughts only worsen the more they understand magic on cosmic and atomic scales. Students in this house are often detached, cold, and fiercely intelligent Symbols commonly associated with this house include the number zero, a black hole, a vortex, lanterns, and knots. 

House of Divines

Hidden beneath the campus Chapel and graveyard, this house was annexed centuries ago for blatant misuse of dark magic. Some stories claim this house serves as the birthplace for demons and vampires. Whatever the reason for the House's former eradication, blood stains remain in the foundation. Students in this house are often vengeful, patient, and not above harming others to get what they want. Symbols commonly associated with this house include blood, fruit, teeth, bones, claws, horns.

[oldermenlvrgrl]

Filthy animal

Logan doesn’t regret much in his life but pushing you away is his biggest mistake.

Logan howlett x human! reader.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: hella angst to cry to, swearing, excessive drinking, loss & grief, his fighting era, dark themes, he’s an alcoholic, stalking, insecurities, depression, anxiety, memories of sex & sexual themes, kissing, talk of breeding/pregnancy, hormones, ovulation, mentioning of self harm, a/b/o themes, he eats raw meat like a feral animal.

A/n: to the one person that wanted me to write this, between when origins end and x-men begins era. He has a bike in this before he goes to the academy idc he’s hot when he’s on a bike

The house is too quiet. The log cabin stood on a mountain top overlooking the vast earthly landscape below. His fingers trace over the wooden bannister of the front door. Feeling every crevice and panel. His mind is numb to the feeling of longing. He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. The pain in his chest that never yields is too unbearing. He sighs, locking the door and leaving it behind him, like he did with you. Locking away the love he had for you in a cage and leaving it behind.

He goes to the bar, the only place known to give him comfort is at the end of a whiskey bottle. A fat stogy lit between his fingers. The smoke dancing in the air. He doesn’t care that he’s told to not smoke. He nurses the glass, hunched over the bar. Aggression flaring up his face. A hungry dog with food aggression bowed over lapping at liquor. He clenches and opens his hand, feeling the metal under the skin gyrate.

For weeks this is all he has known. Lumber yard (when he shows up), fighting cage, bar and home. It wasn’t even home without you there. You were the only thing that was home to him. Now that you were gone he didn’t have a home.

“Now introducing…the Wolverine!”

Logan gets up staggering along the sea of people. Putting the head of the cigar in the drip of whiskey that resides in his glass. Shedding his flannel and his tank to his bare chest. His veins pulsing and his vision impaired. They open the fenced gate and his head is hung down as he focuses on walking straight. He never planned to win this fight. He didn’t want to. He wanted to get the shit beat out of him so he can feel something other than grief.

The man before him is about seven foot, a mutant with the way his skin is stretched. The bell rings and they size each other up. Walking around the cage. They don’t speak and he prefers it to be that way. He raises his fists and cowers his head behind them. The abomination swings and hits him in the side of his head where his ear is. The hit wasn't normal, the hit felt like he got his head run over by a train. He smiles knowing that this beating was exactly what he lusted after.

He staggers up against the side of the cage. The coldness of the metal burns his hot skin. His drunken eyes look at the crowd and he faintly imagines that he sees your silhouette. Another hit to his abdomen. He holds his arm over his stomach and holds onto the fence. He stares out with unsteady eyes to where he sees a mirage of you wearing his dog tags around your neck. Your pretty neck, your pretty hair, your pretty face. His pretty girl. He starts to smile wider, white bloodied teeth. The blood poured behind the crevices in his mouth. Down his chest. Speckling his skin with rogue.

His head rears back as the abomination throws his fist into his nose. Blood starts flowing down his nasal passages. The square part of his chin where it’s shaved is covered in fluid. Another, another, another. He’s surprised he’s not missing teeth as he’s sprawled down on the white plastic floor in a splattered bloody pool. His torso, bruised and battered. He’s laughing. It’s taxing as he feels his broken ribs poke into his lungs. He watches the man parade around him in a victory lap, money starts being handed to and fro. Cradling his ribs as he continues to laugh. He laughs at himself, at how much of a joke he is. How he doesn’t have any restraint or respect for himself. He’s a mockery of who he once was. He looks to the crowd once more to see your face and he doesn’t.

The usher lifts him up and shoves his balled up clothes into his chest. Telling him that he’s banned from the establishment. He’s a joke to the fighting scene and to the bar. Logan isn’t sure if it’s the concussion or the liquor that makes him hear “come back tomorrow.” So he pats the man on his shoulder with a bloodied grin and goes back home.

He drinks himself to sleep that night. If he doesn’t drink, he can’t forget and he’d rather go bankrupt with all the liquor he buys than to remember you. There’s a part of him that desperately latches onto your memory. The bits and pieces that were domestic.

He doesn’t even bother going to the yard. Deep down he knows he’s fired, he couldn’t care. He sits in his big empty wooden cage and just watches the sun change into the moon and stars. Fighting off war flashbacks and memories of you. The only cure is whiskey, and he hadn’t eaten in days. His hunger only grows with each passing day. He can’t eat anything after remembering those home cooked meals you made him.

Nothing suffices. His house was destroyed after he purged it. His couch was torn to shreds, his clothes, and walls. Everything. He didn’t have a television or radio.

So he sits in a leather chair overlooking the mountain in the loose boxers that hang loosely around his hips. His legs spread wide and out, his arms lazily laid over the rests. His bicep only flexes as he sips from the lip of the bottle. A lit cigar he lethargically puffs on occasionally, feeling the burn in his chest simmer down his stomach. The tendons in his neck bulge as his heart rate rises. Fuck, he thought about you.

He thought about the times he’s hurt you.

Once it was deep in his sleep, you cradled against his broad sweaty chest. The sheets scattered in the dark. One of your legs kicked over his torso. His arm around your back, pushing you closer. His body is rigid and tense. His body feverish as he perspires. Sweat drips along his brows and temples.

His face winces as he watches his brother dismember innocent people before him. The hopeless desperate yearning he feels in the pit of his stomach grows. He feels nauseous as his face twists in agony. He shouts and shouts to no avail. The metal between his knuckles, pushing out. He grows anxious.

He feels you shuffle and that’s when he slices your upper arm. Your breath staggers as you jolt awake with fearful eyes, he’ll never forget you pulling away from him. He stands from the bed, watching you with horror, stricken across his pale face. He watches your feeble hand touch the blood that welts from the wound. The sheets draped over your torso as you stood and walked to him. He doesn’t look into your remorseful eyes as your soft red painted hand comes to touch the hair on his face. Cradling his jaw in your palm. He doesn’t welcome your warmth, he doesn’t deserve it. As your touch lingers, his claws retract.

“It’s just a scratch.”

You whisper softly. He doesn’t listen.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He mutters to himself as he takes another drink from the bottle. It wasn’t just a scratch, not to him. That single cut meant that he couldn’t even protect you from himself. How was he supposed to protect you if he contributed to your harm? He thinks of another memory.

He was close. His abdomen tightening and his balls drawn tight. He feels your walls constrict around the thickness of his cock. Pulling and tugging with each bounce of your hips. His head thrown back into the pillows as he grits his teeth together, thick eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on feeling your wet slick coating his wide thighs. The smell is brutalizing him. The smell of your cunt weeping for him.

He peeks and watches your breasts bounce and your nails dig into his hairy chest. The hair on his lower stomach glistening with your slick. He bucks his hips up into your core, hitting that spot deep inside your womb. He feels your heated breath on his neck. Your nipples brushing against his own as you lay on top of him, the metal of his dog tags pressed between each of your chests.

Allowing him to bury himself inside you. His strong hands hold your hips in place, your legs widening to let his aggression grow. He pours everything he has into breeding you. His heart hammers against his chest as he hears your whimpers. The silent cry of yours to breed you full of his pups.

He growls deep in the back of his throat. Jackhammering his thrusts, the filthy sound of your squelching cunt is music to him. The sweet smell of your ovulation makes him drunker than any whiskey. He can’t control himself anymore. He ruts and ruts against your puffy pussy as you squeal for him to slow so you can breathe. He doesn’t and continues to pound into your pelvis, rocking your entire body against his. It’s painful how hard and fast he’s pulling you down. His legs half bent as he pulls your ass down to touch his thighs with every thrust. He growls as he pushes all the way inside and releases his seed into your weeping cunt.

The pain from his bleeding knuckles is excruciating but not as much as the quiet squeak from your little mouth. He pulls his head up and sees the little slits he made on your thighs. He lays his head against the pillows with a long sigh. Knowing that he couldn’t bear hurting you anymore. He couldn’t have you baring his pups and risk hurting you.

He couldn’t even get hard anymore without you. He couldn’t smell your hormones, couldn’t smell how desperate you wanted him. It wasn’t the same without you. He drinks. The cigar burns the inside of his index and middle, he doesn’t care. He lets it scorch his tanned skin. If it burnt the entire cabin he wouldn’t care either. He remembers the night he ended it with you.

He was drunk to the point where he was a vegetable on his leather couch. Shirtless and only in his dirtied torn blue jeans. He waited until you got home after work. He made up his mind a couple days ago and he didn’t have the courage to do it sober minded so he drank himself to it. He smelled you before he watched as the door knob wobbled and you stepped forward. He hated how beautiful you looked and his stomach twisted. You had groceries and a pretty smile on your face. It turned into a frown as you saw him with the bottle.

You asked him if something happened at the yard and he said no. You took the groceries into the kitchen after kicking the door closed with your foot. You started taking the groceries out and putting them into the cupboards. The raw meat you had to get from the local farmers was bloody as you put it in the fridge. You turned to get another item and were met with his glossy eyes. His mouth turned into a snarl. His eyes glanced over your confusion and his heart weakened. He desperately wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to. His chest heaved as he looked at the inscribed dog tags around your neck.

“I want you out of my house.”

His words were heavily slurred, but he knew you understood them as your brows pinched together and you stopped looking for things to put up.

“What?”

It was weak and it killed him. He stared at the wooden floor, taking another swig. He raised a thick eyebrow and looked down the curve of his nose at you with blurry hazel eyes.

“You heard me.”

You shook your head and placed your hands on the counter, trying to ground yourself. Your world was falling apart in front of you.

“You’re drunk.”

You say meekly, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t reply. That was true, but the saying drunken words are sober thoughts still apply. A wave of emotion hits you, and your eyes water. You sniffle and turn to him. Your Logan wasn’t there. His eyes were glossed over and he was a shell.

“You don't mean that.”

He watches your bottom lip wobble and tears fall down your face. His heart drops and he drinks. His lips polished over with alcohol. The tension is thick and restricting.

“What happened to our future together? Where you wanted me to be your wife and to have your kids?”

You look down at your feet as you cry.

“When you said you’d never leave and that I’d always be your girl?”

He doesn’t speak and resentment grows in your heart.

“Is there another girl?!”

He doesn’t know why but you insinuating that he’d be able to love another woman than you angers him. His snarl grows and he shakes his head.

“Answer me!”

You push his chest and he stumbles back. That enrages him, his claws push out. He puts the bottle on the counter and pins your hands together and pushes your hips against the wood. You try to move and get his grip to loosen but it doesn’t. He pins you with your hands together behind your back and his body pushed against yours. His hands pulled into fists as he attempted to control his anger. He smells like liquor and his musk. He smells your fear and sees the same sorrow he feels.

“No. There’s never been and never will be. If you come back to my house and if I ever see you again..”

He trails off and looks to the bottle of booze, not wanting to admit it but deep in his heart he knows it’s for the best.

“I’ll kill you.”

You frown and choke out a sob as he lets you go. He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his head downturned. He hears you weep as you gather your things. Dreading the sounds of hearing the wheels of your suitcase trail down the wood. He hears the door open.

“You don’t mean that.”

He listens to the door close and the scent of you leave. Fury rages through him as he destroys everything around him, it doesn’t matter if it’s handmade or expensive he ruins it. He destroys his entire house trying to defile the thought of you. Destroying everything you’ve touched or reminded him of you. He wanted to destroy himself.

He decided later that night he had to see you. Had to breathe in your smell and that’ll fix him, put his mind on track. He was still scared as hell to hurt you, but the agony of being without you is greater than the risk of hurting you. Logan was selfish and all he wanted was you.

He sat outside the building where you worked on his bike and waited. Perched like a predator waiting for prey. He was surprised that he was steady enough to even get there unscathed. He sat on the side of the road, not in the parking lot. The engine turned off and he listened to the birds chirp. He made sure to not let you see him. Digging into his pocket he takes the fat cigar out and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter and cupping his hands around the flame as he puffs it to life. The embers burn and the smoke swirls around his head. The evening slowly dying into night.

Raising his nose to the air and sniffing as he smells your hormones. Your car pulls out of the lot shortly after and passes him. He sees the side of your face through the window and his heart burns. Your face is puffy and gloomy, completely contrasting the sunshine you exude.

Chewing on the end of the cigar, he starts the motorcycle and turns behind you. A good couple cars between him and you to separate the distance. He follows you down the familiar path down to your parents house. The long pine trees and barren fields full of crops. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s going to do. All he knows is that he needs to see you, something primal deep inside him tells him that.

He pulls into an open field, overlooking the farm house. Staring with foggy eyes as you pull in. Gazing at your car door as it opens and you step out. He leans forward to fully look at you as much as he can from the distance. Whistling low at the pretty sight. Then as if you were never there you leave his sight and enter the house. He sighs, leaning back on his bike. Looking to the sky he determines that night shouldn’t take no longer than an hour. He waits.

He waits with a cigar between his plush lips. His hands flexing on top of his thighs. Clenching and opening, enticing the burn of his knuckles spreading open. Observing with eager eyes as each light in every window turns dark, except yours. A wishful smile spreads on his face. Knowing the next thing you’re about to do before going to bed is cracking your window open, and without fail he sees your little hands opening the pane. His heart soars as he’s proud that you’re still his girl. Still, having the same habits and quirks he’s grown to admire.

With that, he takes the cigar from his lips and pushes the end into the palm of his hand. Snuffing the smoke and flicking it into the field. He swings one of his long legs over the bike and starts his trail down to your window.

Begrudgingly, he comes to terms with having to climb up the side of your family's house to your room. The ivy woven into the side provides a grip for his climb. The poor gutter he tried to climb groaned and cried as the hinges unscrewed from the roof as he tried to pull his body weight up it, so the ivy would just have to be adequate. As he climbs, your scent grows stronger and his head starts to get fuzzy. The toes of his boots stuck between some panels. The broad pads of his fingers stuck on the window sill.

Propping his head up, he watches you lay on your bed watching television. Some movie played that you weren’t too keen on paying attention to. If you looked over you’d be able to see his wild hazel eyes and his tufts of hair poking far above his head.

You move to lay on your other side and he wishes to see your pretty face again. Without fail and as overplayed as it is, you truly were a sight for sore eyes. He listens eagerly to your mother’s voice beckoning you to dinner. Like the good sweet girl you are, you obey. Getting up from your bed and walking over to your door. A hand outstretched and touching the knob, but hesitantly, you pause. Logan’s heart drops and the hair on the back of his neck perks up. Can you see him? Your beautiful eyes wander over to the window screen and he ducks his head. Almost losing his grip and falling into the grass below. Your mother yells your name again and he doesn’t pull his head back up until he hears the door close.

He takes one of his hands and summons the metal between his knuckles to grow out. Cutting open the side of the window screen, he pulls it to the side. Hoisting himself up and over into the other side of the window ungracefully.

He’s not as nimble as he once was. He falls on his hands and knees with a loud thud, similar to a cat. He stills, anxiety rushing to his face as he listens for a reaction. Only hearing the chatter of common conversation between your parents and you, he stands. Reality hits him with a rush of adrenaline. He’s in your room. What the fuck is he doing? Guilt crawls up his spine and he flicks his head, ridding the fear. He needs this. His fingers trail over various objects in your room. Wooden dresser, mattress, vanity. His slow saunter stops as he looks at your vanity closer, his dog tags nestled with a Polaroid tucked under the chain.

The weekend your parents took you both camping. He was supposed to propose to you on that trip but got cold feet.

You’re sitting in a little dress on one of his spread thighs in a lawn chair. The neck of a beer bottle was between his fingers over the side of the arm rest. You’re wrapped behind one of his big burly arms. The veins and muscle in his bicep flexed. Caging you to his strong chest as he holds you close. He’s only wearing his white sweat and oil stained tank. He just got done working on the bike, trying to figure out why it’s making a funny noise and arguing with your father about something. It’s evening time and the sun is shining between the maple trees. Everyone waited eagerly as your father grilled dinner. Your cheeks are rosy with a big precious smile as his face is shoved in your neck, pressing kisses into the tender area making you giggle. Your mother took that picture.

He swallows thickly as he sits with that feeling deep in his chest. Logan knows what he did was wrong and he feels like a reformed prisoner in his own mind. The duality is that he is also the police officer always beating him with a bat, constantly repeating the same behavior that has caused him to get in the prison. He loves to self sabotage and he fears that this fatal mistake was the end of it all. All he was and ever will be is an animal.

A strong aroma hits him all at once, he lifts his face and sniffs the air. Oh, god. It’s your clothes. Your smell is on all of them and it's surrounding him. Suffocating him. Something spurs him to start opening drawers. He pulls out various clothing, shirts, and jeans are too faint.

Pulling out another drawer, he goes to his knees. Panties. He grabs a handful, one of them being a devious pair of white cotton that has your name embroidered on the top and shoves them into his leather pocket of his jacket, closing the drawer. Stealing one of your dainty shirts that had your scent on it the strongest and holding that to his chest. He holds it to his nose and takes a long breath in, holding the smell deep in his chest. He almost moans as he exhales. He feels the front of his jeans tightening and his metal belt buckle poking his abdomen. He groans and adjusts the crotch of his jeans, trying to ease the discomfort, but it only makes his fervor grow.

He stares at himself long and carefully in your vanity mirror. An animal is all he sees, stealing your clothes because he can’t bear not breathing your scent. A pervert even. He smiles at the names, pride swelling in his chest. The pride is shot with a steady arrow as he hears a set of footsteps coming up the hall. Looking frantically for somewhere to hide, he figures your closet would be as best as he’s going to get. He makes sure that everything was in place as he first saw it and barricades himself inside your wardrobe.

This great and powerful Wolverine had fought in many wars and witnessed things that not even the most seasoned veteran can survive. Yet, he’s scared of the judgment of a woman he’s in love with. He’s sweating bullets, fat dwallops of sweat rolls down his hairline and neck.

Through the slits in your door he watches eagerly as the towel wrapped around the bust of your breasts falls. His breath stutters and he balls the shirt up and presses it against his mouth to stifle his hurried breaths. His almost green eyes roll back in his head, watching your bare breasts contort along with your body as you bend over to find clothes in your dresser. The smell is unbearable, the fresh scent of your dewy skin. The warmth of the water falling into every hidden crevice that only he can see.

His stomach growls. His starvation is growing worse. He palms his hard length. Raising your arms you put on one of his old hockey jerseys he gave you. He groans and his head thumps against the back wall. He can’t bear it. What if he jumped out and ravaged you? Would you be upset? He’d never forgive himself for it, but the need for release is far too much for him to withstand. You’re just a little woman, he couldn’t do that to you. Defile his sweet girl and breed her, only in his thoughts he entertains the thought. Stepping into some of his old boxers too. He’s been wondering where those had gone. Maybe he and his girl weren't too far off. Cut from the same perverted cloth.

You crawl into your bed with a deep sigh. Cuddling up with some childhood teddy bear. He watches your heavenly face twist as you cry into the fur of the bear. His heart breaks. He’s defeated, he hates to see you cry and it’s even worse when he can actually feel the sorrow fill his heart. He stands there for what seems to be an eternity watching you break down into a helpless little girl. Broken and distraught. In that moment he knows that you’d never love him the same.

He waits until your puffy eyes close and the soft snore falls from your parted lips to leave your closet. Closing the door behind him, he stands before your sleeping beauty. Admiring your face from afar. Logan is a hated man and he’s never cared, but he cares all too much that you do. He goes to his knees, quietly. Tucking your shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your nose gently. As gently as an animal like him could. Pulling up your blanket under your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispers. He stands to his feet again, marveling at the memories he’s had with such a dream of a woman in the glow of the moon. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the wiggle of the door knob and your mothers breath of your name. He twists his body and jumps out of the window. Again, he lands on his feet and he runs. He runs on all fours. Dirt getting under his fists as the claws give him leverage to run faster.

Your mother places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she sits by your feet. Blinking your eyes open, you look at her with blurry vision.

“Logan?”

He’s panting and his eyes are wild as he flies down the road on his bike. Feeling as if he just robbed a bank. He’s a wanted man. You know that he was there. You had to. The deep pit in his stomach is too expensive for you to not have.

As soon as he’s up the mountain and parks haphazardly in front of the cabin, he’s stripping off his clothes. He’s burning alive. He’s left only in his tattered jeans. His stomach twists and turns and before he knows it, he’s pulling out every single meat he has in his fridge and tearing it open. He feasts like a wild animal. Tearing the plastic open and the blood dripping down onto him. His chest and jaw slathered in dead animals. Pork, poultry, cow it’s everywhere. He doesn’t care if it’s not cooked, his hunger is far greater than his rationality. He doesn’t even breathe as he devours. His hands were coated in blood like he murdered someone.

When he finishes he stares at his destruction. Only bones were left in various places. His torso was even coated in red. He groans, chewing the fat of some animal and swallowing with a gulp. He finds whatever beer he has in the fridge and pops the lid off with his claw. Taking a prolonged gradual swig. Your shirt, surprisingly, still hung sloppily and pure under his belt.

He roams to his trophy case, full of all his war memorabilia and opens the door. Taking the wooden case full of cigars out and putting one between his bloodied lips. He sets the bottle beside the case and lights the cigar. It’s almost as good as an orgasm. For the first time he feels full. His needs were almost completely met. The only thing missing was you. He walks sluggishly to his open front door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Switching between smoking and drinking as he listens to the night's ambiance. Listening to the wild animals howl.

Just a game of hide and seek was all it was. It was Fall. The leaves were scattered like a carpet on the floor of the woods. It was a random day where both of you were off and rather going into town, he thought it’d be fun to teach you how to fish. After multiple failed attempts of you becoming bored, he decided to play a game with you.

The game was completely rigged. Who would’ve thought the man with insane primal senses would be great at finding things that didn’t want to be found. The adrenaline was catching up to you both as you sought after him. The widespread woods were winding and confusing, but you were determined to find the animal. The cold nipped at your face as you kept your perseverance. Suddenly, you stopped. Realizing that instead of you finding him, and him staying hidden he reversed the game and was trailing you. A peculiar feeling arose, the thought of him following you without you even knowing coiled your stomach.

All of your theories were proven right as his big arms wrap around your torso and pulls you down into the leaves. He laughs heartily against your neck as you push up, straddling his waist. You hit his chest softly.

“You filthy animal I was supposed to be hunting you!”

He shakes his head with a small smile, squeezing your hips as he stares up at you with childish eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not that good of a hunter.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open.

“Hey!”

You hit his chest again, and he sits up. Kissing your nose.

“It’s okay, lil’ bunny.”

It sincerely unnerves him how unobservant you were. How oblivious you were to the world, but that same reason is why he loves you. He loves that you’re different, even if you were human you understood what it felt like to be a mutant. He flicks the end of the cigar down into the asphalt and closes the front door. The blood on his body is dried and caked on him. Stripping the rest of his clothes in the hall as he goes to the bathroom. His house is still trashed and he doesn’t care to clean it until his life is put on track again. Until you’re in his life again.

He turns on the faucet and lets the water warm. Looking at himself in the mirror while he waits. He looks righteously like an animal. His hair wild on his head, the blood goes from his mouth down to the v-line of his hips. It’s brutal and chaotic. He wonders if this is what life is going to be like for him for the rest of eternity. Nature made him a freak, man had made him a weapon, and god is making it last too long. The water blurs the mirror and he no longer sees himself in the reflection. He steps inside the scalding hot water and his thoughts don’t slow.

All he’s thought about is you, all he can think about is you. You’re the last thing that’s keeping his humanity. Without you he turns into this beast of regret. He watches the blood pool around his feet. The blood mixed down his chest and face and down the drain. He wishes to drown but knows he can’t. He wishes to die but that’s too humanly for him for it to be possible. Maybe even love was too human for him to obtain. He thinks about calling you and then it passes. He thinks about his mother for a minute and that passes. Every wave of emotion, feeling and thought passes through him as he cleanses his body. He stays in that sauna of a shower for an hour.

When he gets out he pats his skin dry from one of the towels you bought out of the cupboard and ties it around his waist. Pushing his wet hair back it slicks back and stays. He knows he’ll wake to the two tufts being straightened on his head in the morning, he doesn’t bother. Bending down, he picks your shirt up off of the hallway floor and holds it to his nose. Closing his eyes and breathing in your intoxicating bodily perfume. He can already smell it fading. It’s damp from the water still clinging onto his chest. He sits down on the leather couch that he’s shredded. Contemplating if he should call, it’s late and he knows you have work in the morning. He shouldn’t bother.

The smell of you gives him motivation. What if? What if she does misses me and wants me as much as I want her. That’s blasphemy, he thinks. Yet, he ponders it seriously. He breathes in your shirt once more and finds the phone he’s thrown against the wall a couple weeks before. He dials your number apprehensively. His nerves shot to hell as he holds the phone to his ear. The buzzing and monotone hum of service sends his perturbation to his chest. His stomach clenched tight with bated breath. He hopes that you don’t answer, but his soul wants you to. He almost thinks about hanging up and it continues to ring. What is he even going to say? He doesn’t know. He never knows. His eyes widen and he doesn’t breathe as he hears your sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

You whisper into the phone and he doesn’t say anything. He’s internally panicking, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hello?”

You whisper again and he doesn’t speak, his head is in a frenzy and his hand is shaking.

“Logan?”

When you say his name he drops the phone. Trepidation strikes him. He hadn’t heard you say his name for weeks and the sleepy softness of your voice sparked something in him. He’s scared of that feeling, petrified even. Logan Howlett’s only fear is love.

He fell asleep with your shirt cradled tight into his chest. The morning’s sun is the only thing that awoke him. He didn’t fall asleep that night until dawn. He was too paranoid and scared to fall asleep, the anxiety of possibilities kept running through him. He sighed and the feeling he felt was worse than any hangover. He knew he was broke in every way possible, he didn’t have any money, he didn’t have anything. He didn’t even have you. He groaned and cursed himself as he saw last nights doing in his kitchen. He honestly doesn’t remember anything after what occurred at your house. He didn’t have any food left nor any liquor. He had to do one of the things he hated the most, grocery shopping.

His strong anxiety was almost numbing to him now. He’s felt so high strung the past few weeks that he’s used to it. He strolled through the store with a shopping cart that had one of its wheels broken and he almost thought god did it purposefully to mock him. He wandered helplessly through the aisles, grabbing miscellaneous food. Knowing most of it wasn’t going to even last him the rest of the week, but he needed something to get by.

Most of his cart was filled with strong liquor. He wanted to forget you and move on, and maybe finally kick the bucket with alcohol poisoning. He’s reaching into the fridge to grab another case of beer when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. His stomach drops. It couldn’t be. He stands and looks over his shoulder and sure as shit, there you are.

You have a little smile on your face and your cheeks are dusted red by embarrassment. Looking to your feet, you see a pair of cotton panties peeking out of his jacket pocket. Your cheeks grow a darker red as you see that your name is embroidered on the top.

“I- uh, I-,”

You shut your mouth tight, cursing yourself for the hurried stutter and if he wasn’t so nervous himself he’d think you being flustered was cute. You look up at him through your lashes. He takes notice of the flint of his dog tags around your neck and his heart soars.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight at my parents house and was wondering if you’d like to come,”

You scratch the back of your neck, uneasily. Beaming timidly.

“You don’t have to come of course! And it’s just if you’d like if you’re not busy, I’m cooking steaks and I know you like-“

“What time?”

Your rambling stops and you give him the best kid going to Disneyland look he’s ever seen.

“Six.”

He nods and you smile. The trajectory of his life seemed to be on track again. This was the right timeline.

“I’ll be there at five.”

You smile wider.

“Thanks, Logan.”

He gives you a small smile and nod of his head in response. You start to turn to leave before turning back, looking both ways before you whisper to him.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.”

You give his cheek a quick kiss and walk away with a bounce in your step. Leaving him blushing and blinking at the case of beer in his hand, trying to figure out what actually just happened. Those small moments that are just so humanly indescribable makes him feel much less like a filthy animal.

[bogleech]

I love the town of Port Deposit Maryland. It's all these incredibly old houses build onto levels carved into the side of a mountain overlooking a river and it's not actually "far" from anything else yet there's still a good few miles of little to nothing on all sides making it feel very much like an isolated bubble. I want to say it has never changed, but the residents are constantly building more stuff onto the homes as they deteriorate. They have been doing this since I was a baby, so does that mean it always changes, or does that mean it never changes, because constant change is its natural state?! It's like a bunch of different game assets clipping through each other, assembled by someone with a rough understanding of what a town looks like and how to make it look relatively normal from just certain angles.

Today there were all these vultures at a park there

Port Deposit also declared its own two genders, but they are both welcome to use any restroom they please

I grew up 20 minutes away from it but I never met anyone who lives there or works there. People definitely DO. We met a super nice lady today who owns her own little coffee bar there. But it is difficult to accept that anyone in Port Deposit really exists concurrently with the current timeline of this universe. It will blow my mind if there's a single person on tumblr who lives there. The population feels like it's just 20 or 30 aunts and uncles. I don't know whose aunts and uncles. But they are somebody's.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Hobbity 1989 lakefront villa in Whistler, BC, Canada. 3bds, 3ba, 2,462 sq ft, $2.699m. It's also an off-grid earth ship. What an unusual property.

The front door area has a lovely picture window.

Entrance- look at the logs and the curved ceiling. I've never seen log wainscoting.

The living room walls are stone. Look at the doors and windows.

It has a nice heat stove. Remember, the house is off the grid.

Details of one of the doorknobs and carvings.

Look at the hobbit cabinets and I love the blue dishwasher.

It matches the antique stove. Looks like a chef's kitchen.

This bedroom is stone and I finally figured out that's a tub. Interesting.

Quite a large bath. Look at the wood and the tub. It looks like a big sculpted bowl.

This shower is outrageous.

This is a nice bedroom, too. The wall seems to be painted.

Bathroom #2 is quite large, also. Look at the stained glass window.

This looks like the primary bedroom. Beautiful painted walls and a matching blue heat stove. Also, look at the cool sleep loft.

This is so cute, look at the little niche underneath.

Nice tub in a sun room overlooking the lake.

In the basement there's a bottling room of some sort.

It even has a nice garage with an entrance to the house.

The house has some terraces and decks, plus a lovely mountain view.

Look at the cute table on the deck.

Beautiful property.

14 acre lot.

https://www.rew.ca/properties/5883427/20100-highline-road-pemberton-bc?property_click=map#property-details

[thorsenmark]

Hazy Mountain Ranges (Great Basin National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While walking the Mountain View Nature Trail with a view looking to the east across the Nevada and then Utah high desert from Great Basin National Park. Off in the distance are ridges and peaks of the House Range with Notch Peak being the most easily identified in the image center.

[mooshkat]

i haven't watched the episode. don't really care to. but apparently eddie is looking at houses in el paso?? and i've always related way too much to buck and the way people in his life leave so much so.

listening to 'please don't go' by abbey glover while writing this is devastating btw. highly recommend to add to the hurt.

tw for suicide attempt. now on ao3.

Buck drops Eddie off at the airport and then just...doesn't go home. He doesn't think as he drives, taking turns and just alert enough to be safe on the road, but honestly? He has no fucking idea how he ends up in the mountains, parking in the small dirt lot at the end of the hiking trail.

Everything feels numb. Static fills his brain and spreads down his neck, all the way to the tips of his fingers.

He turns off the Jeep and takes out the keys. Drops them carelessly into the cup holder.

He should've seen this coming, right? People leave; they always have, and always will. Everyone from his own sister to his ex-girlfriends, and his ex-boyfriend. Now his best friend.

There's just something buried deep into his very being, something built into the coding for Evan Buckley, that makes people leave him. No matter how much he clings and wants to fight for it, they'll walk away from him and his love.

It's him, it has to be.

Buck leaves behind his wallet, his keys, his work bag. Everything is left in the Jeep except for his phone, because no matter how much people leave him with barely a goodbye, it goes against everything that makes Buck, well, Buck to do it himself.

He knows this trail. Tommy and he have been on it before, once or twice after Buck dragged him along with him. They'd stopped at the top, where a small cliff overlooks the beautiful scenery with LA off in the far distance.

He remembers the way Tommy pushed him against a tree and sank to his knees, looking up at Buck with an adorable, bright grin with scrunches up his nose. Buck misses that grin fiercely.

The sun is just beginning to rise as Buck starts his walk. He doesn't go up the mountain with a specific plan in mind, didn't wake up to take Eddie to the airport at four in the morning, and think I'm going to kill myself today, but the higher he gets on the trail, the more he knows.

It's early enough that he has the trail to himself. That's good. It's not, he needs to turn around and go back to the Jeep, go home but his feet keep moving him up, up, up. There's nobody around who will have to see what he's about to do and be traumatized by it.

He's seen more than his share of deaths through work, he knows how badly it can fuck you up. He doesn't want to do that to someone else.

When he gets to the top, Buck stops and just breathes. The air is fresher up here, cleaner. It makes some of the buzzing in his head quiet down. He can feel his fingers again, feel the way his heart pounds from the cardio workout of climbing, and make his hands throb.

He walks to the edge of the cliff and sits down, his feet dangling over the edge. There's a boulder a few feet away from the edge that holds memories of him leaning back against it as Tommy kisses him, holding Buck's hips with hands hot enough to brand him.

His very soul feels branded by Tommy. His chest aches every day, making his stomach sink with a homesick feeling he hasn't had since before he moved to LA. His apartment is still full of the baked goods that he creates every time he has to try to not call or text him.

He doesn't stop himself from calling him today.

Buck almost thinks it's going to go to voicemail before it's picked up at the last second.

"...Go for Kinard?" Tommy answers, clearing his throat. His voice is sleep-rough and deep, and Buck hasn't heard it in so long that it's like applying balm to very shattered, torn edges of a wound. "Hello? Who is–Ev—Buck?"

"Did I ever tell you," Buck starts, and he sounds just as rough, but he's more awake than he ever has been, despite the bone deep tiredness that fills him, "about the fact that I was made to be a savior baby for a brother I never met? My parents made me in a science tube so that they could use my bone marrow to heal my brother, Daniel, but it didn't work. I thought for a little while after I found out that it was because I was defective, but I get it now."

Sheets rustle on the other line before Tommy sits up again. "What are you talking about, Evan? What's wrong?"

Buck continues talking, bowling over Tommy's questions like he didn't hear them. "I think there's something inside of me that's toxic. Toxins drive people away, it makes them sick, it's the only thing I can think of that makes sense for why everybody I love gets sick of me and leaves. It has to be me, right? Nobody stays, not forever. There's something wrong with me and I've finally figured it out."

"No, Evan," Tommy says, voice soft. He can hear the concern, though, the urgency hidden under his tone. There's the sound of jingling keys and a door opening and closing. Tommy's too far away to stop him.

"Sometimes, people leave. It's just what they do, it is nothing about you or what you've done. It's them. Their problems. My problems, that we should–we should sit down and talk about. Evan, where are you? I'm worried."

He almost doesn't want to tell him, but maybe it'd be better for someone to come out and collect his body so he doesn't ruin the trail. Leave it as you found it, or whatever. He gives Tommy his location and ignores the way it starts a mental countdown in the back of his mind. He doesn't have long now.

"It is me, Tommy. I want to believe you, but I can't. Not when hard evidence for almost my entire fucking life says otherwise. My parents emotionally left before I was even born. Maddie. Abby. Other girlfriends. I even lost the 118 at one point–thanks to that stupid mistake with the lawyer. Everybody leaves. And–and now with you, and Eddie. I'm tired, Tommy. I'm so goddamn tired."

Tears drip down Buck's cheeks. It's exhausting, viewing every relationship as a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, waiting for them to exit left out of his life. He thought things might be different with Tommy, it was one of his longest relationships, but he was wrong.

"You know, when you broke up with me that night, you said you'd be my first, but not my last. You were wrong. I-I love you so much, Tommy, even though you broke my heart. I hate you for leaving just like everyone else, but I also love you. You'll always be my first and last now. It's my turn to leave."

"Evan!" Tommy shouts into the phone and Buck cringes. "Evan, please, don't do anything. I'm on my way, okay, baby? Please just sit still and wait for me and we can talk–about everything. Please."

It'd be so easy to lean forward and let gravity do the work to drag him off the edge. The side of the cliff digs into the bottom of his thighs and he kicks his feet, knocking against some of the dirt and watching it tumble down.

His phone starts buzzing insistently in his hand with texts. Tommy must have sent out a message. He doesn't look at any of them as he pulls his phone to set it on Do Not Disturb before putting it to his ear again.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants the hurt to stop, he just wants it all to stop, but he's afraid. What if he's too weak to commit? Just like he's too weak to not let people back into his life, even if he knows they'll just leave again.

Weak and toxic.

He drops his phone onto his lap and hunches down, elbows pressing into his knees as he covers his face. He can hear sirens in the distance getting closer.

A strangled sob rips its way from his throat and he makes his decision.

"Okay. I'll wait for you."

There's an audible sigh of relief from Tommy. "Thank you, Evan. I'll be right there, okay? Keep talking to me, baby."

He doesn't know what to say anymore and tells Tommy as much.

"That's okay, Evan. I-I heard from Howie that you were baking lately? What have you been baking?"

Buck knows what's Tommy's doing. He's stalling so that Buck doesn't kill himself before Tommy and the first responders can get to him. He's done it dozens of times before to people on the edge while he's rescuing them.

"A lot of bread, really. Pumpkin bread, banana bread, butternut squash. I even, uh, have a sourdough starter that I've been feeding for a couple of weeks now. I named it Billy because it looks sometimes just like the, uh, boils I got from the curse when it expands."

Tommy lets out a watery laugh. "Of course, you'd name your sourdough starter." He clears his throat and the sirens are suddenly much louder in Buck's ears before they cut off abruptly. Quiet, rushed talking that Buck doesn't understand before Tommy starts running. "What else?"

"I made baked Alaska pretty soon after we broke up. It took me hours to make, and the entire time it was setting in the freezer, I had to bake other things to stop myself from calling you. I-I don't know if Chim told you that's why I started baking, but it is."

When Tommy responds, it's not through the phone. He comes to a stop beside him. "It sounds like your coping mechanism was more productive than mine, at least. Want to get away from the edge for me, Evan?"

He holds out his hand and Buck takes it with a shaky laugh. "Oh, yeah? What was yours?" The knowledge that Tommy was moping just as bad as Buck makes him feel...something.

"Eating entire pints of ice cream by myself on the couch while watching rom-coms." Tommy pulls Buck to his feet and wraps his arms tight around him. Buck can feel how badly Tommy is shaking. "Thank god you're okay. Thank you so much for calling me, Evan. Fuck."

Buck hugs him back and ignores the paramedics lingering behind him. He knows he's going to be taken away in the ambulance and put under a 72-hour hold because of this. He doesn't think about that, or what it means for his job when he's let out.

He focuses on Tommy and the way he clings to him. He came back. Sure, maybe he'll leave again when the initial scare of everything fades away, but it's more than most people have done in the past.

Tommy pulls away first and holds Buck's face gently in his hands. There are tear tracks on his cheeks and more spill over as he looks Buck over. "I love you too. I didn't say it earlier and didn't say it then, but I am now. I love you so much, Evan Buckley.

It doesn't fix everything, doesn't even scratch the surface, but it raises something dangerous in Buck's chest.

Hope.

[finelinevogue]

a winter solstice like no other

summary - exchanging on winter solstice gifts leads to new revelations

pairing - azriel x reader

word count - ~2k

It was the night before Winter Solstice.

The house was full of laughter and love as fae’s alike drank mulled wine and snacked on Christmas puddings.

There was an air of happiness that hadn’t been around for the longest time. It was peaceful and comforting. Family was important sound this time of year and you were glad you had a good one to spend it with.

You were quite happily sitting in the corner sofa, tucked under a blanket you had knitted, drinking hot cocoa whilst the others danced near the log burning fire.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You turned to see Azriel ask you for a seat next to you.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask, Az.” You smiled at him, pulling the blanket back so he could sit down.

His large frame took up most of the rest of the sofa, so you threw the blanket over the top of you to keep you nice and warm.

“How are you enjoying this year’s Winter Solstice?” He asked you.

“Better than last year.”

Last year had been a truly sad one for you; spending it alone in a home that wasn’t even yours anymore. The war had taken everything from you, but in return it gave you this wonderful family and more than several places to call home.

It was Azriel who had found you cold and alone, and it was Azriel who took you to his family when you need people the most.

Everyone had warmly greeted you.

You had never expected to find another family.

And you certainly had never thought you’d find your mate because of it.

But here Azriel was. Your mate.

Your mate who didn’t know he was yours.

Every moment you spent close to him, you wondered how he couldn’t possibly feel the magic that you felt for him. His eyes didn’t light the same for you as yours did for him, which is the only way you knew he didn’t know yet.

You didn’t want to force him into something that he wasn’t ready for, though. Especially when he clearly had some feelings for Elain.

The three brothers and three sisters seemed destined to be, and yet you had mated to Azriel. There was almost an element of being terrified that you’d ruined a natural order if you accepted the bond between you and Azriel when Elain was right there.

“Present time!” Cassian cheered, breaking you from your thoughts.

Cassian jumped over the back of the sofa to land next to his mate; Nesta.

“You imbecile.” Nesta punched him when he knocked the wine in her hands onto her leggings.

“I love you too.” Cassian kissed her head in return, making everyone chuckle.

Everyone had their presents under the tree already, but you had left yours upstairs just because you didn’t want to intrude on their space.

You pulled the blanket off you and stood up, Azriel’s hand catching you and making you jolt with electricity.

“You okay?” He asked, looking concerned.

“Yes.” You chuckled at his worry, “Just going to get some things. Save me a seat.”

“I will.” He let go of your hand and you went off.

Your room was tucked in a small corner of the house, as you didn’t want to take up too much room. A lot of the rooms had already been taken so there wasn’t much choice, but your room was beautiful nonetheless.

It overlooked the mountains of Velaris and into the valley below. If you ever needed a reminder of how lucky you were, all you had to do was look out your window.

You picked up your presents in your room, collecting them in your arms. You tried to juggle them as you went to open the door, only for them to spill on to the floor and go everywhere.

“Oh, Mother above.” You mumbled, picking them all up again.

Once you had made your way downstairs, you re-entered the living room only to find your seat next to Azriel taken.

Elain had joined him.

Azriel didn’t look overly happy that she was there and he kept playing with a loose thread on the blanket you’d made as a distraction.

No matter, you smiled as you entered and handed out gifts to everyone.

Everyone thanked you as you passed out their respective gifts.

“You didn’t have to do this, Y/N.” Rhys spoke. “I haven’t been able to offer you the full wage you deserve this year.”

“And you’ve apologised for that countless times, Rhys. Yet, you forget you don’t charge me rent here so I don’t mind spending my wages on you and your family.” You handed him his gift.

“We’re your family too, remember.” Feyre smiled and thanked you as you gave her hers.

“I know. I wake up grateful every day.” You reshuffled the gifts to get a second for Feyre, “And an extra something for your birthday.”

“You are bad, Y/N… I told you not to.” Feyre tutted you.

“You deserve it.”

“Y/Ns right, darling.” Rhys kissed Feyre’s forehead.

You wandered back to Azriel and Elain, only holding one more gift.

“Oh.. Mother…” You started to swear.

“What is it?” Azriel asked.

“I must’ve dropped your gift on the way downstairs Az. I’m sorry, I’ll just…”

“Hey, it’s fine. You can pass it me later.”

“You sure?” You asked, feeling bad.

“Mhm.” He warmly smiled and leant back into the sofa.

You handed Elain her gift, before rounding the room to sit on the window seat just to the side of the room. You would’ve sat on a sofa, but there was no room left and you were the last to join the inner circle so it only made sense.

“Are we ready?” Cassian asked, looking around the room. “Then let’s go!”

Everyone began unwrapping, oohing and awwing over their gifts.

“Y/N..!”” Rhys laughed.

You smiled brightly as you noticed Rhys had opened his gift. You knew that he had been complaining that his feet had been getting so cold recently, so you had decided to knit him some slipper socks. They were in a gorgeous black with silver blobs that were meant to look like stars.

“Are they okay?” You asked shyly.

This was your first year of gift giving and you didn’t want to do it wrong.

“Perfect! Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Just a tiny thank you for helping me this past year.”

“You know we don’t need your thanks, Y/N, but you’re welcome anyways.”

As they continued opening presents and you opened yours, everyone was grateful and happy. Cassian was miffed that he got gag-gifts, but then again he hadn’t bought anything serious for anyone else.

You got to your gift from Azriel and stopped before you could tear, setting it to the side.

You looked up to Azriel and he was frowning at you, possibly thinking you didn’t care to open his gift. You gave him your kind eyes before he could think further.

“I’ll wait for you.” You mouthed across the room.

He smiled and nodded in agreement.

His gaze was broken from you as Elain nudged him to open her gift for him.

He slowly unwrapped the gift and everyone stopped to see what had made him gasp.

He slowly pulled out a Sapphire gem. A real and rare one. It was a gem that was meant to fit perfectly into his Truthteller blade.

“W-wow.” He raised his eyebrows in shock.

“I saw it the other day and just knew it was for you!” Elain giggled.

“This is far too much.” He shook his head.

“Oh please… It’s barely anything.”

You gulped at the site. If Elain thought that was nothing then your gift for him was truly worthless.

A rare gem? There was no competition, but if there were then Elaine would have won before you’d even started.

You wished more than anything that you could afford a lovely present like that for Az, but your money was often spent elsewhere through charity or simple living bills.

Everyone looked upon the two of them carefully.

Feyre knew that Azriel was your mate because you were making yourself miserable by keeping it to yourself, which obviously meant that Rhys had to know. So they didn’t look too comfortable with the gift exchange.

Rhys was trying to contact you through his mind tricks, but you didn’t let him. Not because you didn’t care, but because you knew you’d be upset the moment he tried to console you.

Whilst Elain and Az continued to have their moment, your own heart breaking a little, you quietly made your way out of the room.

You ran upstairs as quick as you could and shut your bedroom door behind you.

Opening the window, you stuck your head outside and let out a big breath - letting everything go. You felt like you could cry, but nothing good would come of that so you tried to console yourself the best you could with the fresh air and view of Velaris below.

“You o–”

“Mother of…” You turned around so quickly that you hit the side of your head on the glass window.

“Oh Gods, Y/N!” Az exclaimed as he shut the door behind him and ran over to you.

His hands took ahold of your face carefully, tilting your head to the side where you’d hit it. Instead of a pink mark, he noticed the tears instead.

“Hey, what’s with the tears?” He softly asked, wiping a thumb over your soft cheek.

“Sorry!” You laughed, “It’s been a bit much today already.”

“Tell me about it.” He answered sarcastically, before continuing. “I mean… a sapphire?” He whispered the last bit.

“Oh.. Yes. That - uhm - that was very thoughtful of Elain.” You took a step back from Azriel, wiping under your eyes.

You leant back against the windowsill and looked towards Azriel. He was carefully watching you like he didn’t quite understand something about you.

“What?” You asked.

“I have something for you.” He said, sitting back on your bed. He patted the spot next to you and you - not too eagerly - went and sat next to him.

He handed over a small blue wrapped box, as delicately wrapped as a professional would have done.

“It better not be a sapphire.” You joked.

“Oh better give it back then.” He tried to reach back for it, but you laughed and pulled it away. Turning back, you didn’t expect him to still be so close.

The bond inside of you was fluttering like a billion butterflies wings. You cleared your throat and looked down at the gift again, making Azriel lean back a bit.

You carefully opened it and found the box beneath the paper. It had a little infinity sign engraved in silver on the top of it.

You furrowed your eyebrows and swallowed back the growing lump at the back of your throat.

“Az…”

He stayed quiet.

“T.. This is from the ‘Bonded Mates’ gift shop.”

“I know.”

You gulped and turned towards him, tears in your eyes as the warmth in your chest started growing and growing. Your heart felt like it was growing three sizes and your chest was being directly pulled towards his.

“You… You know.” You let out a soft sob.

Azriel’s tears built up in his own eyes, “I do.” He nodded, confirming what you thought.

“Az.. For how long?”

“Since the day I met you.”

You let out another sob, feeling slightly more than overwhelmed right now. You nodded your head continued to look into his eyes, seeing your other half look back at you.

“You never said. I thought you liked Elain.”

“I must admit, even I thought I liked Elain at the very beginning, but I slowly realised I was only trying to like her for the sake of the ‘three brother’s and three sisters’ hypothesis. In reality, all I felt was a tug towards you and every day since I have tried my best to not overwhelm you because all I want to do is bond with you.”

“You knew! All this time.” You cupped his cheek and he leant into it willingly.

“Yeah.”

You leaned closer to him and his face, “So did I.” Azriel smiled so widely at that, “And I accept you. For infinity.”

“And I accept you, for anything and beyond infinity.”

His lips touched yours before you could even take a breath. You chest tugged towards his and your heart felt like it was overloaded with love and power. You felt yourself literally tether to Azriel and it was quite possibly the best feeling in the world.

Before you could both get carried away you pulled back.

“Wait, wait, wait…” You gasped.

“What?” Azriel looked concerned.

“Your gift!” You stood up, wiping under your eyes yet again.

“Oh screw the gifts.” He tugged on your hand so you fell back on the bed, back laying flat.

Azriel creeped over you and held his weight up above you.

“Az!” You laughed. “Get off, you big brute!”

You tried to push him off but he was as steady as a mountain. He couldn’t be moved and you accepted your defeat with a huff and a smile, allowing him to watch you.

He was quiet for a moment, no telling why he pulled you back. It seemed like he was simple mesmerised with every detail of you.

“What?” You asked.

“I’m just grateful that it was you.”

You knew the ‘it’ in question was the bond and you had to gulp back another set of fresh tears.

Instead, you leaned up and kissed him again. Softly pressing your lips into his and kissing him like he deserved to be kissed. He’d been waiting, what felt like an eternity, so might as well show him why he was made to wait all this time.

You moved back down but Azriel followed you. His arms cupped themselves over your head and encased you beneath his wholly.

He didn’t let his lips free from yours, not even for one breath. You both felt like you were each other’s air. Azriel kissed and kissed you like he would never get to kiss you like this again, even though it was your first time.

“Az..” You tried to pull away again.

“Try and stop me from kissing you again and see what happens.” He warned you, and you responded by tugging his hair at the back of his neck. He moved back at the flinch of pain.

“Listen to me.” You smiled.

“No.”

And he leant back down to start kissing you again, moving his lips in such a way that you were starting to forget everything other than him.

You sneakily moved your hand up beneath his caged arms and attempted to capture his cheeks to stop him, but his shadows already knew your plans and caught your arm along the way. The shadows pinned your arm up behind your head and you huffed into your kiss.

“I don’t know whether to be offended that you keep wanting to get away from me, or not.” Az stopped kissing you to speak.

“You should. I want my gift.” You pouted.

“Oh. Do you now? Well I want to kiss my mate to make up for all our lost years, so I guess I’ll just do that instead.” He was about to lean back down to you but his shadows held him back instead. “What?”

“Seems they can listen to my thoughts now. Now stand down, Sir.”

He didn’t get much of a choice as his shadows pulled you off him and allowed you to slip away.

“You little demons.” Az groaned but allowed them to anyways, because it was worth seeing the smile as your opened your gift.

It was the daintiest bracelet you’d ever seen with a tiny little dagger charm on it. You absolutely loved it and were more happy to receive this than a thousand chariots of gold.

“Thank you. Put it on for me, please.”

You held out the bracelet and your wrist to Azriel and he carefully took both and put it on. It looked perfect against your skin and Azriel couldn’t help but smile that a little part of him was worn by you.

“Beautiful.” He said, kissing the back of your hand.

“It is. You chose well.”

“I honestly didn’t think this would have gone as well at it has. I was starting to think you’d never feel the bond.”

“The feelings mutual, darling.” You chuckled. “Now!”

You started rummaging around the room to find Az’s gift. You looked everywhere until you found it rolled away, tucked in a corner.

You grabbed it and walked over to Azriel. You stood in front of him as you handed it over.

“Happy Solstice.” You smiled.

“Thank you.” He said before opening it gently, savouring the time and effort you put into the wrapping.

As he opened it, you remembered how insignificant it was compared to Elain’s gift.

“Now, I know it’s nothing too extraordinary but I know how sensitive your hands get in the cold so I…”

“You knitted me fingerless gloves?” Az held up the deep blue coloured gloved, the tips of the fingers missing. There was a mitten like part to it that could fold over the fingers should he wish to keep them warm.

“I know it’s not a sapphire, but…”

“It’s not.” He said and you nodded, “It’s better.”

The smile on your face was unmistakable and he wanted to see you smile like that every damn day for the rest of your existence.

“Okay.” You said, trying to believe him.

“No, come here.” He pulled on the back of your waist until you toppled into him and straddled him on his lap. “It’s better. Best gift ever and not just because it came from you. It was so thoughtful. Thank you.”

You leant forwards to kiss his inviting lips.

And not for the last time, that was now for certain.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Insufficient Pt. 3 | Azriel/Eris x Reader

Summary: Your journey to Autumn Court doesn’t go exactly as planned, but you do pick up some entertaining company along the way, who also happens to be useful in getting you where you need to go.

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

Warnings: horse getting a bit scratched up, big scary monsters, rock juggling, allusions to abuse, platonic!lucien & reader, sassy luci, knife, blood

A/N: y’all I’m so sorry this is so late…school just started and I’ve also just started writing for cod too since I’ve been obsessing over it, so here’s some food for you guys, eat up<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

As it turned out, traveling was a lot more difficult than you had originally thought.

It wasn’t just getting on a horse and riding until night, starting a fire, and all that. Sure, you’d been around for a decent amount of time for a Fae, nothing close to centuries, but you still didn’t have much knowledge on things like that.

Most of your life had simply been with your family in the family home, spent in a warm house with plenty of food and water to spare. Not many hardships, nothing.

The first night you’d gone out had been rough.

Riding a horse for nearly six hours straight had made your thighs ache more than ever before, feeling as if someone had just beaten them with a rolling pin. Not to mention the fact that you hadn’t been able to get a decent fire going, so you’d eaten some cold dried meat in your pack, and curled up in a small den that was deserted by whatever animal had made it.

You were only on your second night when things already began going wrong. The woods were thick from where you were skirting the borders, tangy magic thick in the air from the protections most High Lords kept over their courts after Amarantha’s reign of terror. Your horse was tiring, sweat coating her mane, and your beads of sweat gathered on your forehead despite the chill of the night.

You slowly pulled the reigns back, slowing her to a stop when you got to a small clearing, before throwing a leg over and slipping off. Your knees nearly buckled when your feet hit the ground, sparks of pain flitting through them before fading slowly. The horse huffed, following as you led her by the reigns over to a little wall of stone in a mountain, a little roof provided by an overlook above. It looked relatively untouched.

Unbuckling the clasps and setting the mare free, though she never wandered far, somehow knowing better, you put the bridle down close to you.

Too tired to eat, you scooted backward, sitting slowly down as you resisted a groan with how your legs ached. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your body and movements were sluggish. Before you could even get a single coherent thought through your brain, you slipped into a deep sleep.

What must’ve been hours later, or at least felt like it, you drowsily opened your eyes when you heard the nervous nicker of your horse. Dark, splotchy figures stood nearly twenty feet away, concealed barely by trees. Maybe three of them.

They whispered and muttered quietly amongst themselves, sometimes in a language you couldn’t understand, other little English words snagging your mind. Inhuman eyes, two of them each, shifted your direction, and your eyes shut immediately.

Playing dead.

They must’ve bought it since they went back to their hushed whispers. Your mind, now fully alert and panicking, tried making sense of it. Maybe they were other travelers, like you? But outside of any court? They had looked at least 8 feet tall, thin, and cloaked in black that only served to remind you of the very male you were running from.

You heard your mare nicker again before a hoarse cry came out of it, and a scuffling sound. Your eyes opened almost involuntarily, being given a front-row view of the creatures, whatever they were, and their bony hands as they reached towards the poor animal, trying to drag it towards them as their shadowy maws opened. Whispers turned more excited.

Your body was frozen between shock and terror as you watched one of them grab the horse’s front legs, then back legs, both in different hands and begin pulling.

The horse cried out.

The hands pulled.

A disgusting ripping sound, but not from the horse.

From your dagger, embedded in one of the thing’s shadowy hands that were somehow physical, ripping the skin and flesh.

It hissed, dropping the horse, but the wound you’d made on it closed immediately as it flicked your dagger away.

You were at the horse’s side in less than a second, for some reason in a defensive position, lip curling to bare canines at the things. As you looked at the largest one dead in its cold eyes, a realization dawned on you.

Skinwalkers.

These things were skinwalkers.

It should’ve been obvious to you from the start. The dark but physical body, the dead, shining eyes, the giant frame, and clawed hands. It was then that you had another realization.

Skinwalkers didn’t eat horses. In fact, according to an old mythology book your grandmother had owned, they only ate humans. Then why-?

“A fine catch we’ve gotten ourselves..”

It said, tone between a hiss and a purr at the same time, mingling in a sound that made every cell in your body want to run and never look back. If a direct stab hadn’t done anything to kill or even harm it, then what would it take to kill one, if not the three to four that were in the group?

“Not very clever,”

One hissed in a hushed tone, and another peered down at you, dead eyes hungry.

“I told you it would work. They’re always so attached to those little animals..”

Another whispered, poking the horse, now cowering against the stone, looking for an opening to run although there was none. It pawed at the ground, stomping and huffing as if it would help.

A trap. It had been a trap, and you’d been stupid enough to fall for it. Of course.

“Get on with it, I'm starving.”

The last of the group hissed, jabbing the largest one with a pointed finger. The largest one bared its perfectly midnight black teeth and stalked closer to you. Backing up, you spotted a flash of movement to the very left, behind the group of skinwalkers.

Too fast to be a human or animal. Too slow to be another skinwalker. Which meant either it was Fae, or another creature waiting its turn to eat you, and you were praying for the former.

Between a few trees, a small face came into view, along with golden orange hair, a scarred face, a mechanical eye, and dark clothing. You tried not to stare, so the creatures wouldn’t notice him.

“It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to smell their fear, let me have a moment-“

The biggest spat, and they then began bickering in their unearthly tones, creating a temporary way of distraction. The male in the trees jerked his head towards your right, and you gave a confused face, turning to your right. All it was was a pile of big rocks. He sighed silently, mouthing something to you.

You couldn’t lip-read for the life of you.

After asking “What?” silently three times in a row, you finally understood what he was saying.

“Distract them.” He mouthed, clearly agitated as he frowned, giving you a judgmental look. Sassy for a male, this one was.

The creatures seemed quite distracted amongst themselves at the moment, but you knew once that ended, everything would be over for you. You needed a distraction, and their hushed whispers were getting less frenzied, quieter, and slower. They agreed on something.

Your mind rushed to find something, anything and thought back to the pile of rocks the male had originally jerked his chin to.

You slowly moved towards it, eventually reaching it, before the creatures came to a final consensus.

“No, no, you don’t get to escape.” One hissed through its teeth as it grabbed the back of your shirt, dragging you back in front of the largest one, but instead of slaughtering you, they were left dumbfounded when you began throwing rocks up in the air, catching them, and throwing them again.

Juggling. You were juggling the rocks.

“What is it doing?”

The smallest asked the largest in a slightly concerned whisper, or as concerned as a skinwalker could be, and the giant shadowy figure only silently watched.

“Is it diseased?”

A second asked in a hushed whisper, poking at you with a finger, only for you to yelp and hop away on one foot, unable to regain your balance while continuing to juggle the rocks, meaning you were now constantly hopping on one foot.

Juggling was a trick you’d originally learned to impress some of your younger cousins and nephews and whatnot, and mostly forgotten, but it had somehow kicked back into you at the last moment.

Eventually, though, they continued poking at you, and you dropped a rock on one’s finger, before deciding to fully commit and hurling the two remaining ones at the shadowy beasts while falling flat on your ass.

They hissed, swatting them away, but only getting halfway through the motion before a giant blaze of flame consumed them, trapping them in a burst of golden light, and then they were just…gone.

Not even a pile of ashes, no bones, no remains, nothing.

However, the male from earlier was there, walking through the now-black grass, offering you a hand while giving you an odd look. You took it, and he sighed, offering his name. It sounded mildly familiar, probably because you’d heard snippets of the bond between him and Elain before, but it was a topic most people avoided in Night Court. His hair meant he was Autumn Court, no doubt.

“Lucien.”

He said simply, and you swallowed, immediately going to your horse’s side and checking her.

“Y/N.”

You replied, hands smoothing over your horse’s coat, trying to soothe the spooked animal as it nervously nickered and scraped its hooves against the ground, bringing up dirt.

“That was certainly one way of…distracting them.”

He said in a tone that barely held back that he thought you were insane, but also mildly entertaining.

“You looked at the rocks, didn’t you?”

You said, giving him a scowl, and he paused a moment, raising a brow, before shaking his head.

“I meant for you to go pull some out to unwedge the boulder up there to flatten them.”

He said, sass evident in his dry tone. You paused, glancing up at where you’d been trapped, and sure enough, there was a giant boulder above some of the rocks you’d used to juggle. Embarrassment heated your cheeks as you swallowed, eyes shifting back to your horse.

“Oh.”

He snorted at the reply, rather undignified for a pretty boy such as himself, shaking his head, before walking over to your horse as well and assisting in checking her.

“Only a few little nicks, nothing terrible.”

He said, and you gave him a look.

“A few nicks is terrible. Imagine if you were a horse and you had a few nicks.”

You replied, scowling once again at him, getting quite protective over the horse that technically wasn’t even yours. You’d only just stolen her a few days ago.

He gave you a flat gaze, before blinking.

“I do have a few nicks.”

A few seconds passed in silence, before he pursed his lips, sighed through his nostrils, and tapped the scar on his face with one finger.

“Ohh….. That is not what I meant.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“Shut up.”

“I just saved your life and this is how you’re thanking me?”

“I’m starting to wish you hadn’t.”

An exasperated sigh from him again, as those seemed to be his favorite form of expression.

“Why are you even out here?”

“Why are you out here?”

He gave you an annoyed look, something akin to almost a pout on his lips.

“I’m an emissary. It’s my job to travel between courts.”

You raised a brow, hand running over your horse’s dark coat.

“Why by foot when you can easily winnow? Going by foot outside of the court’s boundaries at that.”

More annoyance crossed his features before his hand went to rub the bridge of his nose.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“So are you.”

“Just answer this, where are you going?”

You took a moment of pause, trying to consider whether Lucien was a man to be trusted, looking him up and down. When he raised a brow, you considered it a sure.

“Autumn Court.”

A well-covered-up sour look crossed his face.

“Why there, of all places?”

“I have people there I want to see, and other people I don’t want seeing me. So I’m going to Autumn Court. Using this way.”

He looked at you like you were stupid. You were not stupid.

“And you’re still taking this way?”

“Yes.”

“After almost being devoured by skinwalkers?”

“Yes.”

He frowned, hand going to run through his russet locks as he looked to be thinking.

“I could take you there, I suppose. We’ll still have to travel by foot, seeing as I used all my magic saving you.”

A slightly dirty look in your direction for him having to have used all of his magic just to save your sorry ass. You only gave a little frown, and a reluctant sigh as if you’d accept the offer. And you would. It wasn’t like you had any other choice, but if he was going to be all snarky about it, you would match it.

“Guess we’ve got a new travel buddy.”

You muttered to your horse, patting it on the head.

~

Your new travel buddy was surprisingly useful, as it turns out. He’d taught you how to forage, what was poisonous and what wasn’t, and what mushrooms you could eat if cooking them well enough (you brought home deadly mushrooms 90% of the time but you looked so happy when he said “good job” that he pretended they were normal and exchanged them for edible ones when you weren’t looking).

You were not meant for hunting, your arm was too unsteady to hold a bow well, fingers kept slipping off the string, the arrow wouldn’t stay straight…it was a mess. Your knife usage wasn’t much better, but you at least got one rabbit over nearly four days.

He hadn’t shared much with you other than his name, but you’d gathered that he was a Vanserra, Emissary for Night Court, and he was always talking about some band of friends named Vassa and Jurian. When you asked, he wouldn’t elaborate. Something about a Band of Outcasts.

He helped make the fire with his magic, and passed out at night, going into a deep sleep to recover what he’d spent of his energy that day, leaving you with the first watch.

Not many incidents occurred after the skinwalker one, but more than once you’d heard twigs snapping when they shouldn’t be, or bushes and leaves rustling. That was usually when you started adding more logs and thatch to the fire, and the noises quickly stopped after that.

You shared the food and drink with him, and he gratefully took it, most of the time both of you eating and discussing childhood meals you’d had to pass the time.

“My mother used to make the spiciest chili I’ve ever had, I couldn’t get it down without crying.”

“Seriously? Isn’t she like, a High Lady, though?”

“She might be a High Lady, but she’s a mean cook, and has a concerning tolerance for spice.”

“Damn. My grandparents make dishes all the time. Potato or tomato soups…lots of soups, but sometimes they’ll make this delicious curry, too.”

“Is the potato soup not bland?”

“No, they like…sauté onions and add salts and peppers, all that. It’s delicious.”

“Maybe I’ll get potato soup someday, just to try it.”

You had given a crooked grin at that, one he couldn’t help but smile at. You reminded him a lot of his younger brothers when they’d still been mere teenagers, except you were older, but still seemingly just as carefree and young at heart.

Your horse was carefree as well, mainly in the manner she didn’t care about anything you told her to do.

“Just lift your foot, it’s not that hard.”

You seethed, trying to pull her hoof up to pick whatever dirt and rocks had gotten into it out, so she didn’t get any sort of infection or injuries from it. However, she huffed and refused to do so much as to bend her knees. Stubborn thing.

Lucien strolled over, dropping a pile of gathered wood before observing the scene before him. He took the sharpened stick you were trying to use as a hoof-pick right out of your hands, and with the most feline ease you'd ever seen before, easily got the mare to lift her hoof, and he cleaned it out.

You stared, blinking, internally furious. He smirked lazily as he glanced over at you. The horse huffed again, this time more relaxed, and he looked a bit more curious then.

“What’s her name?”

Your mind blanked on that, you standing there silently like an idiot, before replying.

“I never really named her, considering I’m immortal and she’s going to die someday. Thought it would be better not to get attached.”

A lie. Not a full lie, but you’d really just forgotten to name her, and accidentally gotten attached along the way. Lucien raised a brow.

“You seemed awful attached when you attacked an eight-foot-tall-“

“Hush.”

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed, moving on to another hoof to clean.

“You should name her. Might make her listen to you better?”

He suggested, and you sighed.

“I don’t even know what to name her. I’m not great with naming things. One of the many reasons I’m never having kids.”

His lips twitched into a small smile at that, but quickly faded into a more thoughtful, deep expression, as if thinking hard about something.

A silence passed over you both as he worked, and you idly watched, toying with your hair, not sure and also not very willing to do anything else. He eventually spoke up when he finished cleaning out her hooves, looking the horse over. Her little nicks had been patched up by you and him days ago.

“Jesmind.”

“What?”

“Name her Jesmind.”

“Okay…any particular reason why?”

He shook his head at that, as if not going to talk about it any further.

“She just…reminds me of someone, is all.”

You raised a brow but didn’t push. Not when he went to go walk out into the woods, and you walked over to your dark mare, brushing your hand over her muzzle and looking into her defiant eyes.

“Jesmind, huh?”

You mused, testing how the name sounded on your tongue.

“Blink twice if you think it should be your name.”

The horse just watched, blinking once slowly, and when you made a flicking motion with your fingers, it blinked again, looking annoyed.

“Yeah, it’s perfect. Confirmed by the horse herself.”

You said, grinning to nobody in particular as you began walking away, trying to find Lucien, only to almost fall face first off of a cliff edge. One hand grabbed the back of the jacket you were now wearing, pulling you back up.

“We’re here.”

He spoke grimly. This place, Autumn Court, didn’t hold fond memories for him. You could tell. And from what you’d seen and heard of his family and court…you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d done awful things to him. There was a reason he’d run from here so many years ago, after all.

“How am I going to get down there?”

You asked, looking down the large cliff. It was too steep for Jesmind to go down, even trying to go on the sides of it wouldn’t work.

“I’ll winnow you both,”

He said all too casually. You blinked slowly, turning to him.

“I thought you couldn’t winnow, that you needed to regenerate your magic.”

He gave you an amused smile.

“I had more than enough magic to winnow you and your mare the first time we met.”

Your fury slowly began to rise as you gaped at this male in front of you.

“Then why-“

“I was bored, and you seemed like entertaining company.”

Before you could even muster a reply, he gave you a pat on the back, walking back to camp and returning with your horse in one hand and your things in another. He handed you your bag, which you slung around your shoulder, and you took the reigns of Jesmind.

“Will I see you again?”

You asked, and he gave a lazy, but genuine smile this time.

“I’ll never stop annoying you, don’t worry.”

You huffed a bit of laughter.

“That’s a relief.”

His hand went to your shoulder again, and the tangy iron scent of magic hit you once again like it had in the very beginning days of the journey.

“A word of warning,”

He then said, voice now serious.

“Stay out of trouble, and stay away from my brothers. The High Fae of Autumn are not people you want to get caught up with.”

You gave a nod, and in a flash of golden light and fire like a rising sun, you were then in the bustling streets of a city, no Lucien in sight, looking more than a little ghetto.

A horse in one hand, bag hanging from the other, wearing clothes that were best described as hunting clothes rather than the proper clothing most wore, you began walking, the sun so bright and heavy that you could barely see.

Jesmind nickered, pulling to the side of the street.

Just quick enough for you to walk straight into the chest of none other than Eris Vanserra.

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