#and certainly not because i will be out hiking for the next week... what.........................

[mikkolas]

grieving giggles so hard I'm taking a stand and not watching games until she's home safe to me

[dilf-docs]

Snow At The Beach, I. Day One: Arrival

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: you knew doing things without thinking was bad. so now, of course, your impromptu trip to iceland gets ruined by a man who claims you have ruined his.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (late 20s/late 40s), (eventual) smut, s2l, forced proximity, one bed, tons of angst, MATERIALISTS SPOILERS +more specific to be added per chapter!

word count: 3,266 words

side note: i feel like a man who fathers too many kids who he can't take care of lmao very fitting since it's father's day in my country!! i do have a present loving dad so i'm afraid my dilfism has been earned by other worse reasons. fun fact, it's also my 21st bday! yey (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ🎂 shot out too to the daddiest non-dad out there, pedro pascal!!!! (i know some of these things like hotel mishaps don't make sense since it's supposed to be a luxury place but idc do it for the plot!)

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He feels stupid. Sitting at the airport with luggage for a week and a ticket to Iceland that felt more like a reckless choice every passing hour and less like the romantic getaway he envisioned. Surrounded by families, friends, couples and people by themselves who certainly don't look as miserable as he does. Lonely. His gaze lingers on the lovers, as some sort of punishment. He thinks of his brother and his recent marriage and the girl who got away. Lucy. He still doesn't know how to feel about it, but he definitely isn't feeling sunshine and rainbows.

Just stupid.

Harry Castillo, billionaire, deceived by the promise of love, taken away from him by a broke waiter of all people.

He boards the plane with rage, holding his handbag so tightly, the stewardess posted at first class asks him if he's okay. He nods, but he knows he's far from it. Spends all the five hours checking his email and pending files, yet he also knows he cares about it as much as he cares about his brother's Things To Do In Iceland list. Hiking, whale watching, romantic waterfalls and the promise of a wet enchanted kiss. Those were things to do for couples. Harry is fucking alone.

Sitting next to him is a man who snores. Too loud. His eye ticks. Who sleeps on a fucking five hour flight? Alright, Harry is irritable at the moment; he thinks he's right about this though.

The plane lands in between the views of white-coated mountains and green grass. Some people clap. Harry hates people who clap when a plane lands.

Who would've thought a real romantic and composed businessman could be this full of hate?

It's Lucy's fault.

Now, Harry's moved to the stage where he blames everyone else. Not shared guilt, just her fault. Entirely hers. For her icy blue eyes, like the lakes behind his window. As well as cold. For fawning at his apartment but not at his kisses. For acknowledging he was great. Because even then, she chose not to stay.

As the car drives to his chosen hotel, the Torfhùs retreat, he thinks about her again. Lucy and him. Blames her for not opening up. But, he didn't either. Slept facing the other side after their first night together, hiding scars under expensive bed sheets. On his knees and on his heart. Hard to love, wanting to. Embarrassed to feel all at once and even more to admit it out loud.

This time, as the car parks outside and he asks the driver for a few minutes to get out and accept he's on this trip completely by himself, Harry's at the stage where he takes all the blame. For expecting. For wanting. For forcing himself on her, because she did say she wasn't what he needed. But they did work out. Maybe he didn't try too hard. That he should've been honest about the surgery, despite it being eight years ago. Maybe he tried too hard.

Either way, Harry has lost.

He sighs one last time and gets down the car. His bags are already inside the lodge.

He's about to get inside the lobby when a figure walks past him, touching the handle before him.

"Sorry. You go first" to the unknown person, then reaches his hand, because despite the quiet anger and heartbreak, Harry Castillo's still a gentleman. Then holds the door open for them.

"Thank you" voice impossibly soft. To be confused with meek, but it sounds rather resigned.

They go inside, and that's when Harry notices it's a woman.

He notices other things, always an observer. Her walk, composed. She's pretending, he thinks. Her hair, held tight by a ponytail and the way it swings with each step she takes. But it's her floral perfume that catches his attention the most. He hates cheap perfume. Still, Harry can deduce it's not expensive yet not cheap smelling either. Just... natural. As in effortless. He decides he's okay with that.

"Hello" he follows behind closely as if they came together, unable to resist a weird pull. "I made a reservation last week. Room 10"

Direct to the point. Harry hates people who talk too much. Who bullshit and lie. Which is funny, given his... Nevermind. Embarrassing.

Harry would like this, if it wasn't for the fact that number 10 is his exact same room.

You are not an spontaneous person.

Not boring either, just nothing that makes you stand out in a crowd. Another young adult with a career, a cat, and a boyfriend.

You jog every morning and pay your taxes on time. You do groceries on Sundays and cleaning on Mondays. Your circle of friends is small and you hang out every two weeks at brunch. You take the same route to work, having memorized it by now. You have goals, dreams, ambitions and a clear mind.

Keeping a straight head won you a job that allowed you to buy an apartment in lower Manhattan. Home.

You remember the first thing you bought: a small forget me not that died three weeks later. An omen of the heartbreak to come.

What died was the most important thing one should nurture.

Love.

It was a slow death, too quiet to even notice. Subtle. Late office nights, arriving at a house cold and silent. The darkness that awaits the ones who aren't being waited for. Silk sheets replacing cheap ones but gone the warmth of two bodies who searched each other even when the weather wasn't cold.

You can't remember the last time he held you close like someone worth to keep. The last time you went on dates, first because of time and then nothing at all. Just not doing it. Like you didn't eat together anymore. Or that he kept forgetting your favorite things, things he held before close to his heart, as sacred as a prayer or a secret language only you could understand.

The language written in vows. The one when you swear your heart to only one person for the rest of your life.

Then it came down with a scream. Even later nights, but the previously occupied bed was now empty. It filled in the morning, but your heart stayed empty. In the tense air lingered the things unsaid and a perfume that wasn't yours.

You threw things, bit back like a wounded dog. And he returned the pain, doubled it.

"I'm seeing someone else"

You felt the shame and anger reside in your veins. Deceived. Almost a decade with him but she had taken the last dying months, and somehow, even if she had less, in the end, she won. The other woman. The one who was this prettier newer shiny toy that had taken your spot.

"I love her"

Words you thought would always be only yours. The promise of a husband to a wife.

So, in spite, childishly maybe, you took the saved money you had in your bank account and booked a flight to the farthest place you could come up with.

That's why you're sitting at Keflavík airport alone.

Iceland.

Booked a one-week stay in one of Iceland's most expensive hotels. Torfhùs retreat: cozy cabins in Selfoss, dressed in modern luxury.

"You could've used that money for a good lawyer" your bestfriend Danna chastised. "I know one. Her office is in upper Manhattan. She's a nepo baby, but trust me, she's great. Amazing"

But you needed to get away.

For just a moment, five thousand kilometers away, you could pretend everything was fine and your life hadn't turned upside down in a matter of weeks.

That your cat meowed in anguish, asking for his absence, present in his empty side of the bed and lack of clothes in the closet.

That seeing your pictures replaced with hers didn't bring you to tears.

That there wasn't a permanent ache in your heart.

Among the waterfalls, mountains and green grass, you could show the world you weren't crying in bed for what was already over.

No, twenty-seven year old Y/n, soon to be a divorcee, could have fun among one of the greatest sadness a person could experience.

"So, Iceland?" Danna asks, finally after you had sent a picture of the airport bar you were sitting at. Well, camping at. Trying to gather some courage to face a divorce and that getaway you always imagined, but by yourself.

"Yeah, mother fucking Iceland"

You had never traveled alone before. Took a long gulp of your Brennivín and prayed for courage.

Upon arrival, you lowered your expectations and hoped just for a good trip. When a man walked before you, almost colliding into you, but realized and held the door, a gesture so small yet one you hadn't experienced in so long, it made flush rush to your cheeks.

"Sorry. You go first" and his voice is so deep and raspy, every hair in your body raises to its command. It wraps you. Soothing. Like velvet.

"Thank you" you manage to say, and even if you sound tired, you try to express the warm feeling of gratitude.

You don't think he notices your voice crack, or how each step you take is labored. That you haven't been okay for a long time and that his gesture has had an effect on you, bigger than you'd like to admit.

As you walk to the front desk, you notice the man walking close to you, his perfume and faint smell of cigarettes wafting through the air.

"Hello" you pull out your printed reservation (yes, printed. You were just that prepared). "I made a reservation last week. Room 10"

You hear the door guy stop. The man from the desk hands you the key. A throat clears up behind your back.

"No, that can't be" and a little nervous yet entitled laugh.

You turn around. "Sorry, where you talking to me?"

The man nods, smile condescending.

"I think you're mistaken, miss"

"Y/n" you cut a bit harshly, the small chivalry long forgotten.

You're tired, sad and angry. You just want to go lay down and sleep your sorrow away.

"Y/n" he repeats, and you shouldn't enjoy how much it sounds on his gravely voice. Not when he's treating you like this. How was this the same man who held the door for you?

"Yes?"

"I said I think you're mistaken"

"I don't understand" you blink, slowly.

The man behind the counter starts to look distressed. "Allir, róið ykkur niður" (everyone, calm down)

"Room 10... That's my room"

You laugh and dangle the key in front of his face.

"No, it's mine"

The man looks at you like you're a naive kid.

"Here" he pulls out his own reservation paper. Printed as well. You ex-husband used to say it was a waste of paper. You'd like to prove him wrong and make this a silly Look, we're the same! moment, except this man is far from your friend. "Now you believe me?"

Room 10.

"Ég held að það hafi orðið mistök" (i think there's been a mistake)

You start to loose your patience. "Listen, mister-"

"Harry" with the same icy tone you'd used.

"Harry" you repeat, hating how smoothly it slides across your tongue. Almost as if you were born to say it. "I made this reservation last week"

The smug grin he sports irks you. "I did it a month ago"

"Kannski var það tölvan. Eða nýjasti gaurinn" the man says. He's started to sweat by now. (maybe it was the computer. or the newest guy)

You tap your feet against the floor, both impatient and annoyed. "So?"

The man smiles, enjoying this.

"By that logic, the room's mine" he replies cooly, pleased.

The color drains from your face. What are you supposed to do? You don't know the country or the language, not to mention the obscene amount of money you've wasted.

"And what am I supposed to do?" you ask, helpless.

"Book somewhere else" he drops, carelessly.

"Do you think money grows from trees!?" you raise your voice, losing your temper. Maybe it's the accumulated stress, because you never shouted at anyone. At least, not since you last argued with your ex-husband.

He doesn't answer to that.

"If you expect me to search for another place right now" you find your voice again, lower yet still sharp, "you're dumber than you look"

He scoffs. "You're dumb if you think you can book a place a week before your trip"

You laugh dryly. "Says the guy who's telling me to book a hotel right now"

He chuckles, a bit less meaner. "Fair"

"You're forgetting something, though"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

You grin, victoriously. "I got the key"

"I still have more rights to it" he says with a bit of a whine.

"What about manners? Women go first!"

"And your own? Don't be a child and accept I booked it first so I deserve it"

"You're ruining my trip!" you protest, spiteful.

Harry is as angry and irritable as you.

"So are you!"

The man behind the lobby, an elder man with ashes for hair who introduces himself as Axel the housekeeper, stands in between.

"Wait!"

You both turn at the man who had remained behind the safety of his desk, both nervous and distressed.

"You speak English?" Harry asks.

"Little" he replies, more embarrassed about the situation than his language knowledge.

"Thank God" you sigh, a little too relieved. "Please, help us"

"I try, just stop shouting. Guests don't like"

Your face feels hot and Harry's ears turn red at the tip. For some reason, seeing the once intimidating man who could easily own a room blush out of embarrasment is kind of adorable.

Ugh. You so need to get laid. Get yourself a viking, Danna had said.

"Sorry. We got nervous. A bit altered" you utter.

"I apologize as well" but he isn't looking at you. "We just want to understand why we both have the same room"

"I told her. Bad idea" he sighs, shaking his head. "Wife cares of this. She sick. New guy came. He ruined it" Axel points to the computer. "I not good with this. Nor english. Wife is"

You can't help but smile at the hint of hidden adoration the explanation carries. "She sounds like a great woman"

"A true keeper" Harry agrees. He can't help but be a romantic, despite it all.

(Despite never falling in love. Not knowing how to love. What it is to be loved)

You look at the him, stunned for agreeing with you or maybe at the way there's yearning laced within his words. Your eyes briefly dart to his finger without a ring, wondering. He catches your view when you raise it, which makes you turn away, embarrased.

"The best" Alex agrees with both of you. "Anna is the love of my life"

Something about growing old and counting wrinkles on the face of a lover. The tale of years passed but love standing across time. All that's left is the ache of the person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, slipping through your fingers until he wasn't yours. Like he never was.

"Hey, I have solution" he takes out another key from the drawer and hands it to Harry. "Here"

Harry takes it, examines it and then looks back at Axel, confused.

"It's for Room 10"

"Yes" like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He blinks, slowly. "I'm not getting it"

Axel smiles, as if the answer is easy.

"Yes. You two share room"

It takes a few seconds for both of you to react.

"What?!" you shout in unison.

"That doesn't make any sense" Harry says.

"Yeah" you concede. "There's no way I'm sharing a room with him"

Harry scoffs, crossing his arms.

"What makes you think I would share a room with you?"

"Is the solution I have" Axel shrugs. "I apologize but it's only one"

You sigh, sitting on a chair while rubbing your temples. Your head and feet hurt. Your eyes are heavy and you feel like crying.

"I can't believe it... this is why I plan things on advance"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Maybe you learned your lesson"

"Oh, definitely" you roll your eyes as well, standing up in front of him, tone daring. "Never book a luxury hotel full of snotty and arrogant people like you"

"Yeah, and I'd choose better than a hotel who allows anyone"

"Actually, we have policies-"

You both interrupt Axel with a hard "Shut up!"

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. You finally react then.

"Look" you say, taking a deep breath and clapping your palms together for any semblance of peace. "Shouting won't take us anywhere"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, tired. "Alright. What do you suggest then?"

You take out your phone, asking Axel for the Wi-Fi. Once you get signal, you do a quick search for hotels in Selfoss. All of them are as expensive if not more than this one. Why even bother? Not like you had any money left.

"The closest hotel is almost three miles away. And it's small" you comment, looking at the picture. "I'm pretty sure it's all booked"

You give him a little look. The disarming look, as Danna would joke. The look that won you free drinks and your ex-husband to look your way the very first time.

"No" he picks up, immediately. It seems Harry might be the only man inmune to it.

"It's the only way" you speak, stern. "Don't think I'm happy about it"

"Good" Harry seconds, acidic. "Neither am I, just to be clear"

"Just to be clear" you replied, annoyed. Probably at the fact it feels like a subtle rejection. Not like you care, anyway.

Harry looks at his bags on the floor and you look at your own. The clock reads nine, and after such an emotional rollercoaster, you feel the need for a good bath and a comfy bed. After a few moments of silence, Harry speaks, defeated.

"Are we really doing this?"

"Unless you want me to drive twenty miles to the biggest hotel in Selfoss. And pay for it"

I could, he thinks, but chooses to remain silent. "I'm not cruel"

Your lips curve up slightly. "I'm sure if good ol' Axel wasn't here, you would've wrestled me for this key to death"

Harry rolls his eyes, but a faint smile adorns his face.

"You're lucky I skipped Taekwondo classes"

"Taekwondo?" you chuckle, in disbelief. "I'd never imagine so. You look like a... finance guy"

"Can't a guy be both?" voice lighter, almost playful.

You giggle. "A millionaire fighting? Only if you're Batman"

He sends a wink your way, disarming you. "Maybe I am"

There is something about the man standing before you. Something that makes it impossible to hate him, even as annoyed as you are. Something that draws you to him. Impossible to ignore. A pull that bent knees and hearts.

Axel's raspy voice cuts the moment. "When room is empty, I'll give you new key"

"I like the sound of that" you agree. Then, you hold your hand up. "Temporary roomates?"

Harry chuckles at your antics, but accepts your hand nonetheless. His palm is so big, it practically swallows yours. It's firm and warm, the security of his dominant handshake engulfing you. You haven't realized you've held for longer than necessary until Axel intervenes about showing you your room.

"Temporary roomates it is"

Yet some things are meant to be forever, and you had a feeling Harry hadn't just crashed your vacation plan but your life.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / dts: @thecamiladiazuniverse @kaliispunk @manuymesut @QueenoftheAmazons

[neontiger]

breakfast downtown

♡ MDNI 18+

♡ Jason Todd x fem!reader

♡ Bad week at work? Don't worry, princess. You can take your frustrations out on Jay. He's a big boy, he can handle it. Maybe. Smut served with a side of angst.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A scream bubbles in your gut as glass crashes to the floor into a million pieces. Maybe the stars were out of alignment, or mercury was in retrograde, or some other bullshit – something to explain the absolute mess of a week you’d had. Maybe you’d done something wrong, pissed somebody off, and they’d put a curse on you.

That guy on Tuesday, the one in your section at table three, the one who’d flirted with you relentlessly and then called you a bitch when you turned him down. Maybe he’d fucked up your week. It certainly had thrown you off-balance enough that by Friday night you were demanding Saturday off because you couldn’t take it anymore. Thankfully you had sick days saved up.

The elevator is still out of order, and you have to make the hike up three flights of stairs. A normal week that would be fine, but tonight each step sounds like echoes of bullshit. You wonder if Jason will be waiting or if he’s already gone for the night.

That pisses you off too. He’s always running away. You’ve never spent an entire night together – no, that would be asking too much of somebody who thinks of themself as some sort of savior of a city that could not give less of a shit about him. He’s like a goddamn cat, coming and going as he pleases, with a set of morals to match. What are you to him? Is your apartment some sort of fucking safe house?

What the fuck is he planning with you? Is he even planning anything, or is he just here to get his dick sucked?

You forget to remind yourself to rein it in before you shove open the door to your apartment. The first thing you see is Jason’s mask on your kitchen counter next to a sink full of dishes. Your bag drops to the floor with a loud thud.

Jason gets up from the couch. He’s half in his uniform; the leather jacket is thrown over the back of the couch along with the multitude of holsters. He walks up like nothing in the world is wrong and leans in to kiss you.

You turn your head. His lips land on the corner of your mouth. He grips your chin in gloved hands and turns you back to him to steal the kiss you don’t want to give.

“Stop.” You shove his hand down.

“What’s wrong?” Judging blue-green eyes look you up and down underneath a furrowed brow and a curl of white. You roll your eyes and push past him, not bothering to be pleasant when your shoulder meets his arm.

He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t reach out. Just stands there, staring at you as you head to the wardrobe by your bed and rip out clothes to wear.

He takes a few steps and stops by the kitchen counter. There’s no space to hide in the studio apartment except the bathroom, so you gather your clothes to take them in there to change. He blocks your path. “What’s wrong?” He asks, again. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” You could cut skin with the sharpness in your tone. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Here, I think,” he says. “If you don’t want to talk –”

“I don’t,” you snap. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed, so can you get out of the way and go do your stupid – whatever it is you fucking do, Jason!”

That’s not how you meant for it to come out, but you don’t come to that realization until too late – by then his eyes are narrowed with hurt and his fists are clenched at his sides, his mouth closed tightly, his feet taking a step back for you to move past. You don’t, not right away, frozen with the fear in your gut that you just fucked up something.

Jason lifts his hand, gestures for you to walk. It hurts your entire body to take that step.

You watch from the bathroom door as he clips on his holsters. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He nods, pulls on his jacket. “Okay.”

Okay is a brick to the head. You watch him put on the mask, and the Jason you know disappears. The Red Hood looks at you for a moment before leaving through the fire escape. You fucked up.

─── ⋆⋅❤︎⋅⋆ ───

Sleep doesn’t come until the sun does. You spent the night waiting for Jason to return, but he never does, and you fall asleep with tear-stained cheeks and tired eyes just as the morning light is peeking through your window. Hours later, after nightmares that have nothing to do with him, you wake up to the smell of coffee wafting through your apartment, and the sounds of the street below – cars honking, people talking and laughing. Music plays from somewhere and knocks on your skull, furthering the birth of a headache.

“Good morning,” Jason says dully.

You sit up halfway and frown at him in the armchair by the window. He’s out of uniform, now in a black tank top and a pair of black sweats. You want to admire his arms and chest, the muscles and the scars that mark him, tell his story…but you can’t, not now. There’s a new injury, still red and raw, on the knuckles of his right hand.

There’s also a tray of food on your nightstand, where the coffee you smelled in your sleep sits next to a plate of french toast and a bowl of berries sprinkled with sugar. You glance at it.

Jason frowns. “Or, good afternoon. Sleep bad?”

You sit up more, pulling your knees in. “Yeah. I’m sorry,” you say, voice breaking. “I’m really – I didn’t mean it, Jay. I’m really sorry.”

He nods. “I think you meant it.”

You bite your tongue, but it does nothing to stop the tears that bubble at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head, and open your mouth to say no, you didn’t, that you were just angry at everything in that moment, but he speaks first.

“It’s okay.” Jason runs a finger absentmindedly over his injured knuckles as his gaze remains on you. “I figure it’s not easy. I didn’t think we’d get this far, honestly. I thought you’d be tired of me.”

“I’m not,” you rush out with a choke.

He nods again. You’re beginning to hate that, but you say nothing, instead squeezing the fabric of your blanket to hold back your fears. “Are you sure? It’s okay if you are. We can…” His voice trails off and his gaze drops away from you to the floor. “Stop here, if you want. It might be better for you.”

“No.” You sound like a toy with a broken squeaker. You swallow, clear your throat, fight the tremble in your body to repeat the words, firmer and more sure. “No. I don’t want to stop here.”

Jason’s eyes jump back up to meet yours. “Are you sure?”

“Very. I'm sorry,” you say, more confident now as his gaze softens. “I didn't mean it, Jay, really. I've just…it's been a shitty week. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

“Oh.” Surprise flashed over his face. “Next time just tell me. I can help you…with your frustrations.”

The breakfast he brought sits at the back of your mind. You don't think that's what he meant, not with the way his mouth curls around his final words. “Where'd you get breakfast?” You ask.

“That place downtown. Remember the one on the water we went to last month?”

“You went all the way downtown to get me breakfast?” A soft laugh escapes your lips, something you didn't think possible moments ago. Then it hits you. “Did you think I was mad at you?”

Jason stands up suddenly and stops by the bed, towering over you and blotting out the sun with his broad frame. The weight of the morning seems to lift from your shoulders at the delicious sight of him, and you can finally take him in as he deserves, dragging your eyes down from the scar on his cheek to his body, muscle rippling under tanned skin. The autopsy scar cuts across his chest and dips under the dark fabric of his fitted tank. You stop short of the waistband of his sweats and wrench your eyes back up. The ache between your thighs demands otherwise, however.

“I guess I should make it up to you. Last night.” You run your fingers lightly down his arm, tracing over a vein that runs down his forearm, until you reach his hand. You take it in yours and press your lips just above his knuckles. ‘What would you like?”

Jason smirks. “I was thinking the opposite. Gonna take care of you, get your mind off whatever's pissing you off.”

You blink up at him. “What? No. I was…I was mean. I should –”

His large hand keeps you in place as it grips your cheeks and his mouth crashes on yours, silencing any protest you might have had left. Spit connects your lips as he breaks from you. “Lay down,” he orders, breath hot on your skin.

You throw yourself back onto the pillows. Jason grins, a dark look in his eyes, one you've come to know well. You've wondered before if it's the same look he gets when he's on the streets at night, but you hope not.

“Uh-uh, princess. On your stomach.”

You roll onto your belly without second thought, sticking your ass in the air for him. Your attire is far from sexy, an oversized shirt (Jason's) and a pair of pajama bottoms that hang off your hips, but he quickly remedies that problem by tugging off your shirt before pulling down your pants, leaving you in nothing but gray cotton panties. He snaps the band once before slipping them down your ass and legs.

If he was being honest, he'd admit this was his favorite view, you ass up, face down, pussy already slick with arousal. Yeah, he likes all versions of you, but this one hits him differently, twisting his stomach into anxious knots and rushing all blood to his cock. He strains against his sweats, has to fight the urge to stuff you full of him this very second.

Jason swallows. “Keep that ass up,” he instructs, lifting off his own shirt now. You bite your bottom lip, savoring the reveal of his upper body. He places a knee on the edge of the bed and moves out of view, positioning himself behind you.

“You want to tell me…” His breath brushes over your slit, hot and cold at the same time. “What happened? Why are you so upset?” He blows gently on your clit, sending a shock through your body. You push back in an attempt to connect with his mouth but he pulls away.

“It’s stupid…it’s not – ah…” Cheek pressed into the pillow, your gasp is still audible enough to motivate his tongue, causing it to dart out from his lips to flick your clit again. His hands keep you in place with a solid grasp on the back of your thighs, preventing you from trying once more to quicken his pace.

Another lick, this one longer, slicking up through your folds. Your eyelids flutter, mouth suspended in a moan against the flower-patterned pillowcase. In an effort to keep still, you squeeze the life out of the pillow as your core burns with impatience.

This time Jason’s tongue presses inside, deep enough you feel the tip of his nose against your slit. One hand lets go of your thigh so he can press the pad of his thumb to your clit, making small, teasing circles. His tongue retreats and you nearly cry. “If it’s stupid, then why take it out on me?”

The question ruins the work he’s doing. Your cheeks flush red, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “I shouldn’t have,” you say. “The week – rough mm –”

His tongue shoves back inside your heat as he works his thumb with more sincerity, clearly seeking to see you undone. Your body trembles in his grip and the fight to keep still and not shove your whole cunt in his face starts to feel impossible. His hand brushes up your thigh to cup your ass, lifting you higher for him. “Make you feel better,” he whispers, the words vibrating against your pussy. “You want that? Kiss away your problems.”

You mumble against the pillow. “Uh-huh…I want…”

Jason runs a finger through your folds, teasing the entrance with the thick digit, and lowers his lips to capture your swollen clit in them. “Mm. What do you want, princess?”

“Jay.” At the moment you want to kick him, make him stop teasing with his fingers threatening to sink inside your heat but never making the connection, his lips brushing your clit, every word a jolt that doesn’t complete. You whine, squirming in his grip. He tightens his hold on you in response and pulls his mouth away from your cunt completely…to bite you on the fat of your ass.

You cry out, jerk your head around to glare at him. “What the fuck, Jason?”

Jason smirks, kissing the same spot. Heat emanates from the mark left behind by his teeth, a pulsating type of warmth that echoes in your core. It felt…good, maybe. But you don't want him to know.

“What do you want?” He repeats the question with his lips pressing your ass again, teeth scraping the skin like a threat.

He always does this – wants you to say it. Exposed as you are, arousal dripping down your thighs in his face, you still find it difficult to get the words out. Clothes on, maybe you've got an attitude – last night proved that completely – but like this, under him? You whine into the pillow. All that does is get him to sink his teeth into your soft flesh again, this time the back of your thigh. Your walls clench desperately around nothing.

“Want you to fuck me,” you mumble, whiny and feeling hot.

The tip of his finger presses inside your slit. You inhale, forget to exhale, as he takes his time sinking into you. “Like this?” He drags his finger almost out. You tighten around the digit instinctively, refusing to let go even though it's not exactly what you're looking for. This ache cries for something bigger, deeper.

Jason adds a second finger and scissors them in your cunt, stretching you out. His other fingers pinch your clit lightly. “So wet,” he whispers, almost too low for you to hear. “For me. All this…huh…”

You try to glance back, realizing he is talking to himself. He mumbles against your cunt words you can't make out, and fuck if it doesn't stoke the fire in your belly, the way his lips wrap your clit with intent, fingers fucking into you slowly, coiling you tight. He moans as he sucks. You watch him through clouded eyes, his free hand palming the front of his sweats, his cock in desperate need of some friction.

“Jay, please,” you whisper. Why is your voice breaking? “Fuck me now. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his fingers free, leaving you empty, and runs both hands up your thighs to your lower back as he gets up on his knees. The touch continues up your spine and guides you to flatten on the bed with your thighs pressed together, your skin soaked. He leans to whisper in your ear. “I know. It’s okay.” He sighs, and presses his lips to your neck. “You scared me. I’ve never…” He laughs softly, shifting above you as he pushes down his sweatpants. The bed shifts but he keeps you in place, sits on the back of your thighs, and kisses your cheek. “Never been scared like that.”

You twist to look up at him but can barely turn halfway with his weight holding you down. “I won’t do it again. Promise,” you say.

Jason says nothing. There’s no smile on his lips, but a tender look in his eyes remains locked on your face. He swallows. “I…” His mouth hangs open, a thought just on the tip of his tongue that doesn’t complete. Lips move, but nothing comes out.

“What?” You run your fingers up his arm, his hands on either side of you the only piece you can comfortably reach.

He exhales shakily. “I…uh, you’re beautiful.” He wets his lips before leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Gorgeous. Can’t wait to make you a fucking mess.”

You roll your eyes. Jason straightens up and places a hand on your lower back as the other grips his cock. The tip nudges your entrance, and you arch and lift as best you can to urge him on. He fills you achingly slow, spreading you open and stealing your breath until he bottoms out. His hips sit flush against your ass as he gathers your hair in one fist, tugging it gently out of the way for him to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck.

His teeth sink in – this time there isn’t an ounce of protest in your cry and your walls clench around him as he leaves his mark. His hips pull back and snap forward roughly, slamming the head of his cock into your cervix. You grab onto his hand where it fists the mattress for stability as he repeats the move. He flattens his hand and laces his fingers through yours.

The bed creaks underneath you, the headboard smacking the wall almost as loud as the sound of skin meeting skin and the squelch of your needy cunt. Jason fucks a quick rhythm, hardly pulling out enough and never leaving you empty, like he can't stand the feeling of being apart from you right now. Neither can you, your walls clenching around his cock every slight draw backwards, slick coating his length. You squirm, make small circles with your hips that pull groans deep from his throat.

“Fuck yes,” Jason pants, pulling on your hair and lifting your head from the pillow. He watches where his cock is sucked into your greedy hole, mesmerized with how well you take him, how you can't keep still because you need him that bad. “That's good, baby…don't stop. That's a good girl…” He leans forward for another taste, biting into your shoulder as his pace shortens, thrusts becoming animalistic and hard.

Your lungs constrict, hardly able to suck down air from his weight on you, and moving becomes impossible. He jerks on your hair to expose your neck further to him and give his teeth purchase on your throat. Your hand almost breaks from his – would have, if he doesn't tighten his hand around yours the moment he feels you try to pull away. His cock grinds against your cervix with overwhelming pressure. You squeeze your eyes shut, crying out with pleasure. Another sink of his teeth in your neck has your legs trembling as the orgasm rocks your body, release dripping from your swollen cunt to soak your thighs and the sheets.

Jason grunts close to your ear. “Close, baby – fuck.” Lips press your cheek. His breath burns your already feverish skin. His words are strained, caught between heavy breaths. “Where…do you want – ahh – want me? Tell me, baby.”

“Inside,” you choke out. The single word is a spell that undoes him. His body shudders under climax, cock desperate to press as deep inside you as possible as he comes. Inside your core it's hot, close to burning, as you clench around his twitching length. You can feel it, his release coating your walls, overflowing to drip down and mix with your fluids on the bed.

Jason rests his head on the pillow next to yours. Your hands, palms sweaty, remain tangled together, but you make no effort to pull them apart now. Instead you let your eyes close as you relish in the full feeling of him still inside you. Gradually his cock softens but stays snug, and you could almost fall asleep like this…if it wasn't for the need to breathe.

Jason, on the other hand, seems to have gotten too comfortable. He snores softly next to your ear, and you almost feel guilty jostling him awake. “Jay. Jay, can't breathe.”

He groans as he lifts himself, cock slipping free at last with a soft plop that reddens your cheeks. You startle as you feel his fingers brush your sore slit. He mumbles to himself.

“Stop,” you say, shivering. Not that you don't want it, but…you feel too exposed like this, knowing he's devouring you with his eyes, taking in the mess he's made.

Jason leans to kiss your cheek. “Sorry. Let me get you cleaned up.”

“No.” It comes out so fast, surprising both of you. You turn onto your back, self-conscious of the dripping down your ass when you do. “It's fine. I'll take a shower later. Just lay down for now.”

The bed shifts as he collapses next to you, pulling you into his arms. You nuzzle his chest and find his heart beat, still fast, not yet come down completely. His fingers make lazy circles on your arm. You want to sleep, but any thought of it seems to have faded, and all you can think about now is staying in this moment.

“Do you work tonight?” Jason asks.

“No.” You match his circles with traces of your own, going over the scars on his chest with light fingertips. “I took a sick day. Go back in Tuesday.”

He inhales deep and sighs, rolling you with the motion. “I won't go out tonight,” he says. “There's nothing…important. I'll stay here, if that's okay with you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's alright.” You prop your chin on his chest to look up at his face. His smile is soft, dreamlike. “Where do you live anyway?”

Jason shrugs a shoulder. “I've got a couple places.”

“Oh, really? Is one of them, like, an abandoned warehouse? A cardboard box under a bridge?”

He laughs. “You think I'm homeless?”

You hadn't really thought about it before, but the signs are there. “You always shower here. Your clothes are here, your toothbrush, and I've never seen your place…you just appear out of nowhere. I mean, shoe fits.”

“I like it better here,” he says.

“Then why not stay?”

He shrugs again, but this time it's almost sheepish the way he glances away, like he can't look at you. “Stay,” you say, before he can object, find some excuse. “I mean it. Move in with me. You pretty much live here anyway.”

Jason reaches to the tray on the nightstand and picks up the cup. He takes a sip and frowns before replacing it on the tray. “Coffee's cold. Let me up so I can make a new pot.” He starts to sit up, pulling his arm away and letting you fall softly to the pillow.

You stare at his scarred back as he tugs on his sweats again. “Jason, we're talking.”

He shakes his head. “Later. I have to think about it.”

Maybe an hour ago he was upset because you hadn't talked to him, hadn't told him what was wrong. He'd been scared. And now you can only stare at him in the kitchen, scooping coffee grounds into a thrift store coffee maker. You don't reach out. You don't know what you're supposed to say.

You say nothing. A scream bubbles in your gut but goes nowhere.

[suugarbabe]

drunken daydreams | s.b. x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of drinking, pining, fluff

a/n: little fun fact i found out, beer pong was invented in the 1950's?? also this is for week three of jinxed july <3

Hopeless.

That is what it felt like to crush on Sirius Black. Hopeless because Sirius was, well…everything.

He was charming beyond belief, even professors falling for his half turned smile and cheeky winks. He was absolutely gorgeous, unfairly so really, onyx hair that fell in messy tendrils no matter how many times he ran his ring glad fingers through it.

His eyes were always playfully full of mischief, but if you truly paid attention to him (and you did) you could tell that they shifted just the slightest bit in shade depending on his mood.

His mouth seemed to permanently be painted with a smirk unless someone was telling him ‘no’, then his powder pink lips would puff in a pout and who in their right mind could deny that look? (certainly not you). 

When Lily asked you to spend a week at James’s family cabin with her over summer holiday you had originally said no.

James’s cabin meant Sirius’s cabin since the latter now lived with the former; that and they were attached at the hip with no hope of prying them apart. Lily had pouted, begging you to say yes, but going only seemed like torture.

Torture because it’d be a week essentially alone with Sirius as Lily and James would likely frequently find couple things to do, Marlene and Dorcus would be hiking everyday and Remus would seclude himself with ‘peace and quite for once’.

Alone time with Sirius made you nervous because you were nearly, practically, almost one hundred percent sure that your feelings toward Sirius were not reciprocated. 

But that did not stop Lily from employing the raven haired boy to get you to change your mind. Which is how you found yourself conveniently alone with Sirius in the train compartment on the ride back from Hogwarts.

“Pretty please, you can’t not go, everyone’s going,” in classic fashion with his little pout and his eyes widened. You tried to avert your gaze from his, knowing if you looked too long you’d give in.

But this tactic failed miserably as Sirius simply moved back into your view, “I’m literally begging here, love,” and oh how he looked so pretty begging.

“Please say yes, I cannot hear James or Lils complain the whole week. I need you there.”

He needed you there.

That’s what he had said. And that one phrase spun a slew of delusional scenarios in your mind that led you to agree to join the rest of the group for the week. 

It wasn’t as bad as you originally anticipated in the beginning. The lot of you gathered at the Potter’s manor, utilizing the floo system for the trip to the cabin, that experience going surprisingly swimmingly for it being your first time.

The first night at the cabin you guys decided on a bonfire.

“It’s like christening the place,” James had said, with much encouragement from Sirius and much to the eye roll of Remus.

“We’ll go get drinks started!” Lily grabbed your arm, pulling you up from your chair and back towards the door of the cabin, “any requests or are we good with surprises?” 

James, Dorcus and Remus laid out drink orders while Marlene said you could surprise her. You turned to Sirius as he spoke next, “You know my drink, don’t you love?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping the heat you felt wasn’t making itself prominent as a blush on your cheeks, “Firewhiskey with cola, right?” Sirius winked, nodding in confirmation and the swarm of butterflies in your stomach started humming. 

Back in the kitchen Lily was practically vibrating with excitement. You let out a long sigh, “Something got you worked up Lils? Wanna share with the class?”

Lily wore a small grin as she filled all the glasses with ice, “I’m just thinking about what I saw and if you saw it too.”

You halted in filling Sirius's glass, resting both hands on the counter in front of you, “What do you think you saw? Because James’s googly eyes over you is basically a daily occurrence, I didn’t think it’d have you this excited still.”

She rolled her eyes at your statement, “I’m very clearly talking about Sirius and you.” 

You made a scrunched face at this, “There’s nothing between me and Sirius. Well, like we’re friends, obviously, but you know there’s nothing more.” Lily shrugged, a slight curl to her lips as she continued making drinks.

“Lils, please. He doesn’t like me like that. It would never happen and honestly…” you grabbed a few glasses in your hands, “I’m coming to terms with that.”

You were not coming to terms with it.

But it would be far easier than having all your friends thinking you’re hopelessly pining after him. What doesn’t help is Lily’s next response, “I dunno, babes. I could see the two of you together.” She slid the back door open with her elbow before walking back onto the deck, calling out that drinks were ready.

That one comment had you reeling, overanalyzing every interaction and conversation you had ever had with Sirius. You barely even registered that he spoke to you when you handed him his drink before taking your seat in the lawn chair next to his.

You glanced his way when you felt his stare after a moment, “Sorry, Siri, did you say something?”

Sirius smiled sweetly at you, a hint of something you couldn’t read in his eyes, “Just a thanks for the drink, love.” The commonplace pet name had your cheeks aflame but you prayed to Merlin the light of the bonfire hid the evidence. 

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, everyone was eventually corralled inside for what James called a “mandatory game of beer pong”. Lily agreed to play (and be his partner) with the promise that everyone would play ‘the muggle way’, no use of magic for assistance.

Everyone agreed and placed their wands on the counter and paired up, you finding yourself partnered with Sirius. Remus stated he would be the officiant to “help keep Sirius and James in line and following the rules” much to their promises to play cleanly.

“Ready, partner?” Sirius called you up to the table, dropping the ping pong ball in one of the cups closest to him. You nodded, a tight lip smile on your lips to try and help hide the nerves that were brewing inside. 

You looked across the table at Lily and James, the red head trying to conceal her smirk as she looked from you to Sirius and back. You rolled your eyes with a slight smile before Sirius started smack talking James.

“Oh you’re in for it now, Potter. You and your little Lilly flower are cute and all, but you’re no match for me and y/n/n here, isn’t that right, love?” Sirius held his hand out palm up, clearly waiting for you to slap it. You gave him a high five and a small nervous laugh, “Y-yeah, right.” 

To your surprise Sirius was actually correct; James and Lily were horrible at beer pong, but you and Sirius looked like seasoned champions. The game against them went rather quickly, James sulking against Lilly on the couch as Marlene and Dorcus re-racked the red cups.

This game proved to be a little more difficult, the girls being able to really go toe to toe with you and Sirius, you were down to two cups left to sink, while Marlene and Dorcus only had three cups.

Marlene stood tall at the end of the table, ping pong ball in hand. She closed one eye, Dorcus semi-slurring encouragements to her before Marlene gave the ball a light toss. 

You watched as the ball arched in the air coming down towards one of the last three cups. The ball began the swirl around the rim of the cup and your next actions were more on instinct than real knowledge or skill of the game.

You bent down near the cup, giving a quick blow of air near the ball before watching the physics of the combination making the ball jump from the cup and land back onto the table.

Sirius let out a gleeful noise of shock, whereas Marlene and Dorcas began protesting, “Hey! We said no magic! Remus, that’s a foul we get that cup right?!”

Sirius, however, was quick to go to your defense, “Nuh-uh, there was no magic involved, that’s just how good y/n/n’s blowing abilities are!” 

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, Dorcas rattling off a teasing remark before Sirius could correct himself, “Oh? And how would you know about her blowing abilities, Black?”

The drinks were getting to you slightly, a small giggle bubbling from your throat as Sirius tried his best to defend himself, “I, well…erm, that’s not what I meant…I-I mean..”

He turned to face you, his eyes half lidded as they made contact with yours, “Don’t you look at me like that, love.” A lazy smile adorned your face, “I’m not looking at you any kind of way, Siri.” 

Sirius shook his head in disagreement, “You’re giving me those eyes.” You batted your eyelashes a few times, “I’m not giving you any special eyes. Besides, if you’re wanting to know about my abilities, you can just tell me.”

Sirius’s eyes widened before he let out a huff of air through his nose, “No, I don’t, I want to- I mean, you did the, the thing- and then Dorcus said what she said and so I just - I, erm, n-no I’m good.”

While you laughed a little at his stumbling, you couldn’t deny the pit growing in your stomach the longer he tried to find nice ways to essentially reject your playful advance. 

Luckily you didn’t have to hide your dejection for long as you and Sirius lost to the girls. Now your solemn look could be explained by the loss of the game instead of the loss of any chance you had with Sirius.

You gave him a half-hearted smile before going to find a seat on one of the couches as James and Lily went to play against the winners. You only half paid attention to the game, every interaction with Sirius from the night playing back over and over in your mind. Why did he have to be so bloody hard to read? 

To even get you on this trip in the first place he said he needed you there. But you don’t speak two words to each other in any capacity until everyone arrived at James’s manor.

Even there it was only long glances, which could have been strictly initiated by you. Although you could have sworn he was already looking your way one or two times when you made eye contact.

Here at the cabin you knew his drink, because of course you did. Was he teasing you earlier when he asked?

But he also winked at you. And he’s been calling you love, and made that comment about your ‘blowing skills’. But he does make dirty jokes a lot.

You really would be a perfect couple though, all of your friends told you so whenever you talked about him, sometimes even when you didn’t talk about him.

People wouldn’t say that to you just to be mean to you, I mean, these were your best friends. But he also essentially rejected your flirtatious advances. Why was this so hard to- 

A ring clad hand was waving in front of your face causing you to blink several times before refocusing on the object of your delusional thoughts.

Sirius had his ever present charming grin, a special glint in his hooded eyes, “Caught you daydreaming about me again, didn’t I, love?”

Maybe it was the liquid courage, but the words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Don’t be mean, Sirius.” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “What do you-” Rather ungracefully, you cut him off, “Just because you know I have a crush on you doesn’t mean you can tease me like everyone else does. It’s honestly humiliating enough.”

Sirius’s once smirking features changed to that of confusion, “It’s humiliating to have a crush on me?”

You groaned in frustration, covering your face with your hands before looking down at your feet, “Yes, Sirius, it’s humiliating to have a raging crush on someone that clearly has no interest or feelings toward me beyond platonic friendship.” 

The cool metal of his rings felt like ice against your flamed skin as he forced you to look at him, “Who said my feelings were strictly platonic?”

You opened your mouth to respond before quickly closing it again. You sat up straighter then, Sirius’s hand dropping from your chin, “Well, you did, you said that. Back during the game, when Dorcus was teasing us and I asked if that’s what you wanted. You basically stumbled over a way to tell me you were uninterested in my advances.” 

His melodic laugh filled your ears. You were ready to smack him for being so rude before he started giving you a viable response.

“Sweetheart…I wasn’t trying to reject you,” you looked up to meet his eyes once more as he continued, “I responded that way because you had me flustered, you…kind of always make me feel that way.”

He scratched the back of his head nervously, “I didn’t really know how to respond properly when Dorcus made that remark. And, erm, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by admitting I probably, erm, wouldn’t mind finding out how good your,” he gulped slightly, “abilities are.” 

Your gaze fell to his lips before meeting his eyes once more; Sirius bit his lip, trying to hold back what you were sure was a shit-eating smirk.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, “Can I?” You gave a small nod as you leaned in, Sirius closing the remaining distance before capturing your lips with his.

This was not a fiery, passionate, kiss. But soft, gentle and sweet. His lips slotted against yours as though they were always meant to be there. 

His fingers entangled slightly in your hair, pulling you closer to him. You braced yourself with a hand on his thigh. A small whimper drifted from Sirius’s throat at the extra physical contact, wanting to fuel you further.

What felt like two small, solid objects pelted both you and Sirius, causing you both to pull away from each other in confusion.

“Don’t partners usually only make out when they win a game, not when they lose?” Marlene teased lightly. You looked over at Lilly who gave you a wink. One thing was for sure, you were not going to doubt her again.

[sebastianswallows]

Nobody's Darling — 1. The Road

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

— A/N: Hello, my dears! So yeah, I saw The Bikeriders because of Austin (and Tom Hardy) and of course I had to write something for it 😂 I've been labouring at it for the past two weeks lol This was meant to be a one-shot but it kept growing and I decided to split it into chapters. The plot is partly based on something that happened to me, namely I missed my stop and the bus drove me way out of the city before I realised what had happened 💀 Anyway, hope you enjoy it! 😘💕✨

Grey clouds floated across the sky. Fields of yellow and burnt grass rolled along like waves. A string of birds cut through the far horizon. The fading light of the sun seeped softly through the glass and warmed her cheek but she was happy to keep sleeping, caught in that special spot between awake and dreaming when her thoughts were peaceful, settled, and she could weave from them a pretty fantasy. The chill of a November evening didn’t quite make it into the bus but the windows were already fogging and the seats grew cold.

She woke up with a start when the wheels struck a hole in the ground and everything jolted.

“Where am I?” she groaned, squinting at the window. Her reflection frowned back but beyond it, she could see… nothing. She was in the middle of nowhere with only naked fields and swaying power lines around her. She checked her watch and her heart stopped.

“I should’ve been home by now. Oh no, I did not sleep through my stop,” she whispered to herself — but she did. “Wait! Driver!”

She got up and ran to the front, scrambling past all those empty seats, her jacket in one hand and purse flailing in the other. The driver gave her a bored expression as she leaned panting against the divider.

“Wait, please, I need to get off! Where are we?”

The man looked at her with all the serenity of an overworked drone in a dead-end job. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed to see her there, nor did he seem to care about her predicament.

“Halfway to the next town,” he mumbled as he started to slow down. “There’s another stop ‘bout a mile back.”

“Great…”

“Next bus comes tomorrow ‘round seven thirty.”

“Oh.”

She looked around again as if she could see something different from up here but it was all the same. The vastness of it frightened her and she half-wished she’d never woken up.

The driver pulled over at the side of the road and tilted the cap on his bald head, his teeth tight around a toothpick.

“You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah…” she said automatically. “Sure.”

He opened the door and her whole body began to tremble, the situation suddenly completely real. She gathered all her nerves and put one step in front of the other, and as soon as her feet were on the ground the bus started to move again, driving away.

The sun was dipping into a pool of pink and the birds that circled overhead were growing louder. She was alone in a darkening field with nothing in front of and behind her except for lamplight spilling yellow and pale over an empty road and dead grass all around. If she regretted getting off that bus, it was too late now.

“At least it was warm inside,” she muttered. “But I could never make it back in time for work tomorrow from the next town… Damn it.”

There was nothing left to do. She sighed to herself and started walking back. In her head, she tried to calculate how late it would be by the time she made it home but each result only scared her further.

“Best not to think about it,” she said. “Just keep walking…”

She hadn’t gone on such a hike since she was a little girl, and never far outside of town. She’d only walked through fields and meadows and the forest that stretched east. There was certainly no time for it since getting hired at the local newspaper, and she liked it that way. Her days were measured and predictable, her clothes were always clean, and nothing ever hurt her — except her back if she sat down writing for too long. She was scared now not just because she was alone and in the dark but because she’d never done a thing like this before. Her heels were unsteady on the crumbling tar and her purse felt heavy on her shoulder. Insects were singing in the grass and creatures rustled through it that she dared not think about. Were there snakes around here? Rats? She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

After half an hour she came across the bus stop that the driver mentioned. The sign for it was half-chewed off and the wooden bench was worn and stained a sickly yellow beneath a flickering light. She considered for a moment sleeping there until the morning but then the ignominy hit her: to sleep on a dirty wooden bench under the flutter of moths and mosquitoes. To come home unwashed and stinky with her hair a mess and her stockings torn. And if any of the neighbours saw her… No. She walked past that bus stop and didn’t look back, and soon found herself surrounded by darkness again.

“You deserve it,” she muttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, her body ambling forward with none of the grace and poise she had half an hour before. “How could you fall asleep? You weren’t even that tired, and the bus ride is so noisy. You couldn’t wait another ten minutes to get home? Idiot, idiot…”

The walk back to the city was taking longer than she thought it would, and by eight o’clock she was still out there. The sky was sprinkled with stars and the wind was flitting gently through her hair and the creatures in the bushes were growing ever louder. If she weren’t so cold and terrified she might have felt exhausted. Her feet hurt and her back was bent under the weight of her purse and she hadn’t eaten since noon. But suddenly, in the distance, she saw a glint of something made of glass and metal — it was a phone booth. The joy that rushed through her wiped all her pain away and she hurried to reach it, nearly tripping. She felt halfway home as soon as she stepped inside its murky walls.

“Please work, please work, please please please.”

She picked up the receiver and held it on her shoulder as she opened the phone book and started leafing through for the nearest police station. They would be obliged to come and pick her up — that is if she could only explain where she was…

“Hello? Operator?” But no voice came from the other side. The tone was dead. “Operator?” she tried again, her voice growing shaky. “Hello? Anyone?”

As she kept tapping on the phone hook, desperate to reach someone, a bright light came peeking over the horizon from the direction she had just come from. It couldn’t have belonged to a car but whatever it was that approached her was fast and loud as all hell. She held her breath as she watched it getting bigger, brighter, closer. This was the only driver she’d seen the whole night and she was equal parts hopeful and horrified of just what it could be. After all, what kind of person would be out driving at this hour on a weekday?

She forgot about the telephone as she followed this strange light until it was close enough to blot out all the darkness. It blinded her for a moment but that thunderous rumble soon settled to a pur and it stopped on the other side of the road from her. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness she realised it was a motorcycle, thin and lean and silver.

Its rider propped himself against the ground on one long leg clad in blue jeans and reached into his pocket. He was tall and slender, his figure swathed in shadows, his motions simple but relaxed and almost elegant.

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Been broken for a while now.”

The flash of flame from his zippo lighter gave her a hint of his face. He was young, perhaps even younger than her, with full pink lips and a slight stubble, soft blue eyes, and a sprinkle of dirt like freckles on his face. There was a wildness to him and an air of gentleness as well, but his jacket was a dark denim and thick with patches, symbols that probably meant something to him — he must’ve belonged to some sort of “club”. She didn’t know much about bikers aside from what she read about them in the papers, but they’d always seemed to be a bunch of layabouts. Aside from drinking far too much and smoking she knew they got into trouble with the law, had fights, caused accidents, and were generally dangerous to be around.

“I’m… just trying to get to town,” she said in a wary voice.

“Well, I’m headed that way.”

She said nothing, her hand still frozen on the telephone.

“Want a ride?”

It was a tempting offer but one that made her shiver. She’d never been around a man like that, never even exchanged words with one, and everything that she expected from his kind — rudeness, lewdness, and a bad attitude — was suspiciously absent from him. He looked at her with those soft eyes, his long leg braced against the road, and waited. She should have accepted his offer, she should have just gotten on his bike and wrapped her arms around him, but… she couldn’t.

“No, thank you.”

He kept on smoking quietly and looked her up and down much as she’d done with him. She wondered what he saw… She was probably a pathetic sight and a strange kind of person to come across in such a place. When his eyes finally left her figure they strayed across the wilderness. There was nothing around them for miles, they both knew that, and other cars wouldn’t be around that road for hours.

“You know how far away you are?” he asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I don’t want to…” She was about to say she didn’t want to ride all the way back with a stranger but instead said, “trouble you.”

He didn’t react at first, keeping that air of stillness about him that made her wonder what he thought. But after a few moments, he nodded and dropped the cigarette, crushed it underneath his boot, and with a leisurely motion mounted his bike once more and revved the engine up. Before she could say another word he’d already sped into the distance and left only a cloud of dust behind.

She almost felt sorry to see him go. Almost felt guilty too… She didn’t want her distrust of him to be so apparent or to cause offence, no matter what kind of a person he was. But she told herself he must’ve been a dangerous man and that she was better off alone than riding back to town with him. Well, she wouldn’t be riding back with anybody now… The telephone line was dead, just as he’d said. The wire must’ve been disconnected somewhere.

She wanted to cry. Instead, she began to walk once more, trudging through the dark.

The sky was as black as a curtain cast across a silent stage and against it lit from below the pale lights of interspersed lamps. The roaring of the bike got slowly lost in the road that lay before her and soon only her steps echoed to remind her of how alone she was. She watched the small light of the rider fade and hugged herself against the cold, holding the purse to her chest as if it could protect her. Her feet were hurting so much she worried they were bleeding and she considered taking them off until she looked down at the road and its uneven dirty tar. She closed her eyes even as she kept on walking, too tired to gaze out at the same old nothingness again.

But then she heard a roar floating on the wind and felt a tremble in her chest as if an earthquake was approaching, and when she opened her eyes again she saw that lone light making its way back to her. He seemed to ride back faster than he did as he was leaving and he reached her in no time at all. She slowed down to a stop and so did he, parking right beside her.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, boyish way. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. But I can’t just leave you out here. You sure you don’t want to —”

“Alright,” she said, her voice already weak and weary. She was hungry and cold and scared that she’d never make it back to town that night. Too scared to refuse his help a second time. “Just… just get me to the edge of town. I can make my own way home from there.”

If he was surprised at how quickly she accepted now, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer to the front of his seat and made space for her behind him.

She took a deep breath and approached him carefully as if he rode a beast, not something made of metal. It looked solid and precariously thin at once and yet he straddled it confidently. The saddle looked just big enough for two. She hopped on as best she could and tried to keep her legs together but when he looked at her over his shoulder he shook his head and laughed.

“Legs on either side,” he said. “You’ll fall off if you ride like that.”

“But, my skirt…”

He looked up and down her legs and she tried not to read too much into the way his eyes had darkened.

“Roll it up,” he said in a low and soothing voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

She held her breath as she rolled her skirt up high enough so that she could throw her other leg over the side. He waited while she settled into the position and planted her feet firmly.

“Ready? Hang on,” he said as he revved the engine up. “I’ll go real slow, alright?”

“A-alright…” she said as she placed her hands timidly around his waist.

But he didn’t go slow, at least not by her standards.

It was completely different to riding in a car, more visceral and real with no windows to protect her. She let out a little scream and clung to his body more tightly than she meant to, eyes falling shut, legs tightening around his bike. He smelled of gasoline and metal and several days’ worth of sweat cooled down by the chilly autumn night but he felt so solid in her arms, so firm and steady, even as the world flashed by. Eventually, she was brave enough to rest her cheek against his back and opened her eyes to look at the vacant countryside. It was a little frightening, as she expected, but peaceful too. As she fisted her hands in his jacket, right over his heart, she tried to peek over his shoulder but could just see the side of his face, focused and relaxed, and the white circle of the headlight. Somehow, that was enough for her. His hair tickled her forehead, feeling softer than it had any right to be, and she found herself smiling. There was something base and ancient in the way he smelled, the way he spoke, even in the way he moved. It was as if he had in him the blood-memory of an ancient Knight on armoured steed galloping alone and steadfast through the fields and woods of untamed lands.

The outskirts of town were much tamer than that, however, and before long they could see the faint lights of the outermost buildings, squalid flats, and blinking advertisements. When he started slowing down she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It must’ve tickled the back of his neck because he bent his head forward as if to get away — or to ask for more.

“Where are we?” she asked once the noise of the motorcycle died down.

“Marshal Avenue,” he said, easing the bike to the side of the road.

She didn’t know exactly where that was, but she guessed they were on the other side of town from where she lived. All along the street were boarded-up shops, derelict flats, and liquor stores. Across from where he parked was a building that looked to be about a hundred years old. She could hardly fathom walking home at that hour, especially through a neighbourhood like that, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.”

He lit another cigarette and dismounted the bike, rolling his broad shoulders to unwind. She got off quickly, scrambling to cover her legs in the crumpled skirt before he turned around and saw her. He gave her a look over his shoulder when he heard her fussing and slowly turned around.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Yeah, I… I can walk from here.”

He looked at her and stayed quiet but there was something in his eyes behind that veil of smoke that made her curious about what he had to say. He simply nodded and turned toward that old building behind him. She hugged herself and looked up and down the street, waiting for him to say anything — to ask for money, to make fun of her for thinking she could make it home, to make a pass at her…

“Well, good night,” she said.

And as soon as she started walking away he spoke to her again.

“Hey, it’s kinda late. They got rooms upstairs.”

“What?” she asked, turning on her heels a bit unsteadily.

“Owner knows me,” he shrugged, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot and immediately lighting up another. “Could get you one for cheap.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another and looked around pretending to think… but her eyes kept coming back to him. He puffed quietly away and gazed at her with no design behind those clear blue eyes, looking just as uncertain and awkward as she felt standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to trust him but a part of her responded in the same way that she did when she saw a homeless puppy.

“You mean, a room of my own?”

“Yeah.”

She looked from him to the large building again.

He could probably tell that she was torn because he helpfully supplied, “They got food too. Hungry?”

She was. It had been over twelve hours since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.

“I kind of am.”

“Me too,” he said. “Come on.”

[elektrantchios]

Wild flowers | s.p

pairing: Sejanus x gn!reader

summary: Sejanus finds you in the meadow

warnings: mainly fluff, small mentions of the games and some light spoilers for the movie and book

word count: 800

a/n: saw the movie a few nights ago and wow, I’m me fashion i did like the book better but the movie was still amazing and I have the old therebefore on repeat . I wrote this for my bestie because she couldn’t find Sejanus fics. This probably could be edited better

MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN

The summer air was sweet, the flowers of the meadow had bloomed overnight, as far as the eye could see. Lily of the valley, young primeroses , deep purple violets, and dozens more you couldn’t name.

Hidden behind a massive tree, its leaves shading you from the harsh sun. This time of year in district 12 was unbearable. Only the rich could afford to keep cool, and you certainly wasn’t that.

Six days out of the week you worked in the local doctor’s. It couldn’t quite be called a hospital but it was one of the only places people could go and get medical care.

You lent back against the tree, weaving your hands through the tall grass and flowers. Bees buzzed but gave no mind to you. The day was turning out well, you had brought some fresh bakers bread and a lump of cheese, and a jug of water. Simple and delicious.

The mockingjays song hit your ears, the tune was familiar but the name escaped you. Humming along, some words came to mind.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you

Deep in the meadow, a song a local brand was known to play, you had only seen them a handful of times but the songs stuck. Like it had for the birds.

The sound of stones falling and fallen twigs snapping pulled you out of a dream and jumping to your feet, frowning in the sunlight you spotted, Sejanus Plinth.

Sejanus had been a peacekeeper once but shortly after he had found his way to the doctors, where he was training to be a medic. He rarely spoke about this life before 12 but from the times he had (and from what the doctors said) he came from a rich family in the capitol.

“You following me, Sejanus?” you asked. Your tone was serious, his whole body went still. Then you laughed. “Come sit with me then, might even share my food with you”.

In his hand he carried a brown paper bag, “then I guess you can have some of mine”. He dropped the bag in your lap, opening the bag you found cookies.

Now this was proof he was rich, the baker sold cookies but only the other merchants could afford them Sejanus went on to explain, his Ma had sent them, blushing the whole time.

The shy blushed look made you laugh, “that’s very sweet of her, she must miss you an awful lot”.

“Just as I miss her” he replied in a sad voice.

“You might see her again, learn enough and you could go back to her” you said, laying a hand over his. His hands were cold, cold hands warm heart you mama used to say.

“I don’t want to go back there” he said.

What you said next came as a surprise to even her, “I can teach you a few things, like what plants heal and where to find them”.

“You’d do that” he asked unsure.

“Of course. We don’t have many doctors here and if you’re planning on staying I’d teach you”. You stood, putting the cookies on your bag. “There’s a lake deeper in the woods, you’ll find all the best stuff there”.

He followed and stood up looking through the trees, maybe he didn’t trust you and thought you were leading him to his death.

“Hey” you touched his hand again, “keep north and you’ll find the lake then it’s south to get back, you can trust me”.

He smiled and suddenly the sun seemed dimmer, he took your hand and squeezed it ,“okay, I trust you”.

The hike took a few hours, but the sight of the lake proved it was worth it. You found a patch of herbs close by one of the old houses, it might have been someone’s garden once.

You showed him peppermint that helped with nausea, liquorice to reduce swelling, lemon balm for sleep and any others you could make without the book of herbs and flowers you had at home.

“Where did you learn all this?” He rubbed a peppermint leaf between his finger and thumb. You pick a lemon Balm inhaling the smell, smiling.

“My mama was an apothecary, always been my dream to follow in her footsteps. What about you? Do you have any dreams?”.

“To help people anyway I can”

It was so easy to talk to him, somewhere in your heart you knew he’d understand. Maybe it was his eyes, brown the colour of chocolate. Sejanus was sweet, too sweet for the world, you thought that if it rained he’d melt away like sugar.

“I have a feeling you’re gonna do wonderful things Sejanus” I smiled and he smiled back.

[delkios]

so i saw u write heatwave & chase and rescue bots stuff

i dont know if u do anymore but if ya do and are okay with promts I would love a heatwave comforting chase maybe like after he got squeezed by the boa constritor?

Apologies for the taking a while to get to this. I wrote this in a notebook about a week back and almost immediately misplaced said notebook when I got home. It was, in fact, still in the bag I'd placed it in, who woulda thunk.

Title: The Little Things Fandom: Transformers: Rescue Bots Rating: G Word Count: 746 Characters: Heatwave, Chase Summary: Set after 1x06. Sometimes it's the little things you need help with.

The chief was certainly taking his sweet time with his impromptu second hike and, though he was good at hiding it from the other humans, Chase was starting to fret while pretending he wasn't fretting. He'd pick up a couple books only to put them down some time later without hardly reading a page. Boulder and Blades tried to take his mind off things with protocol quizes and mindless television respectively but Chase's attention kept wandering until they gave up. Heatwave eventually found him sitting at the Sigma's main database, adding pointless metatags to old reports.

"He's fine." Chase jolted at Heatwave's words, a testament to his state of mind. "Chief called in a minute ago, told the kids he'd be eating out tonight." Kade had cheerfully speculated they may not see him until morning. Dani and Graham seemed happy Charlie was open to dating again and Cody was trying to take advantage by weasel an extra hour on his curfew.

Chase hmmed quietly, running his hands over the console and turning back to the monitor in an attempt to appear normal. "Emergencies can happen at any time, Heatwave, I know you're aware of that. Griffon Rock has a fairly large amount of them given population size."

"So what are you worried about? Being called out while Chief is gone or that something might happen to him while you're not there?"

One of Chase's hands ran over the door panel on his arm. It was subtle, something Heatwave only noticed because he knew Chase's habits so well, the way his servos lingered over a dent that shouldn't have been there. Carefully, giving Chase ample time to notice and stop him if needed, Heatwave grabbed Chase's wrist, turning the arm so he could see the damage more clearly. It was a superficial flaw, a couple of shallow divots that crumpled the edge of the door. In most cases Heatwave wouldn't have brought it up but there had only been once incident that could've caused that. "Why did you let that snake damage you? You could've gotten out the its hold easy."

"Indeed I could have," Chase said coolly, allowing Heatwave to continue his inspection, "but doing so would have risked the creature's welfare. I did not want to kill it."

Heatwave wanted to say that Chase's safety was more important than an Earth animal's life but Chase would have argued the point and something that would easily be fixed by his self-repair wasn't worth the fight. Instead he let the arm go and started looking over Chase's frame more closely. "Any other damage?"

Chase may have gotten away with hiding his injuries from Blades but he knew better than to attempt the same with Heatwave when he already knew something was wrong. "There is nothing that my self-repair can't handle. But," he admitted somewhat reluctantly, "I think the snake may have damaged my light structure."

He stood, silently allowing the other mech to study his back. A finger traced along the struts connecting the lights to Chase's roof. "Yeah, I see it. Brackets are misaligned, the entire rack is crooked." He pushed on Chase's shoulder until he started toward the recharge berths. "Lay down, I'll straighten it out for you."

"That's not necessary," Chase protested though, tellingly, he made no move to struggle, "it'll likely be fixed in the next day or so."

"Yeah, probably. But I doubt that <i>and</i> all those dents will be fixed by the time you next patrol tomorrow. And if they're not I know it'll bother you. You're very particular about your appearance."

That got him an indignant sound. "It's unbecoming of an officer of the law to allow themself to fall into disrepair," came the tart reply. "Obviously physical appearance falls under that criteria."

"Exactly," Heatwave gave him a playful but insistent shove. "So shut up and let me do this for you."

Chase exvented, shoulders falling. "Heatwave," he started in a tone the larger mech knew all too well, his heavy engine revving in warning. Chase paused before an apology could leave his vocalizer and Heatwave hated that, of all the emotions Chase had become familiar with, guilt for a perceived inconveniencing of others into caring for him happened to be one of them. But, sensing the old argument looming at his next choice of words, Chase said, "I appreciate you looking out for me."

Rumbling in satisfaction at the change of tact, Heatwave patted Chase's back. "Any time, partner."

[theempressofthenile]

What About Us? A friendship psychic reading.

LEFT (1-3)

RIGHT (2-4)

The friendships we create are the ones most needed in our time of growing up and finding who we are in this world. For some of you, your new friendship group is coming. For a lot of you, current friendships need relearning, reshaping, and refocusing. There may be something going on under the surface, and will prepare to bloom soon come. Since this is the summer months, I would like to do something for friendships as love is always on our minds, but a platonic love that touches the stars is always certainly going to be harder to find <3

Anywho, without further a due. We can get started. So I hope you picked which one you feel the most called too. Lets begin ;)

Group 1 : This is for us. The beginning to the End.

If you have picked the one, its time to start a new friendship with someone new. You could be getting ready to go back to school in august, you could also be in groups (text chats, social media groups, volunteer groups, etc.) and this will be how you meet this new friend. You guys could go to the same school, university, job, career, or you could have found them when you were going to a concert, a park, event. you get my drift.This new friendship is going to cost you the old one, because they need time to figure out for themselves what they are lookin for in love, romance, friendship etc. and you could also be in a romantic partnership but also needing more platonic love to hit your corner.

All in all, this new found friend could be a soulmate of some sort. you guys just get it. Y'all know what y'all like and you guys pat each other on the back from time to time. It seems like you guys have known each other for ages, but its only been a few weeks/months.Plan a date with this person and see where things lead! Go shopping, go out to eat, go to a flower shop. Being spontaneous is how you'll meet.

Keywords: 111, Santa's Hat, 333, Bunnies, Awareness groups, Veterinarians, Poem, Talent shows, Concerts, Zodiac signs, Remember, Museums, Poetry nights, Sculpting, Movies, Fun nights, 666- Venusian pleasures, More life, Jumping for joy, Leo, Moon, Flowers, Pottery & Puppets.

Number sequences, 111, 333, 666, 717, 999, 1010

Group 2 : Crossroads, More to come in the Future.

So with this group, there is going to be a need to explore out of your home state, or maybe you may go to their home state. If you guys have been feeling bored this summer, then maybe its time to plan a trip somewhere like going camping, going to the river, or simply finding joy in new spaces. I feel a rekindle coming up for this group as well. Some of you may have to forgive somebody and vice versa. There could be a familiarity with this group, and the type of friends you want for yourself can come in the near future if you act more confident and free.

The more bold you are, the more the right people notice you, and then a friend group can commence.

Keywords: Crossroads (movie), Tumblr girl, Pizza dates, Online buddy, Road trip!!, Computers, Classroom, Video games, Anime, Donkeys, Cheetahs, Dragons, Beyonce.

Number sequences: 333, 888, 917, 326, 414, 909, 323, 7777, 8888, 2020, 2222, 2121, 3232, 101

Group 3: Where the wind goes, I'll become of you.

This is a beautiful connection! It's like a hippie type of love between the two of you. Just vibing with the waves, and not carrying where it takes you next.

You guys have a capacity to know what each other is thinking, a type of telepathic connection. A long lasting platonic energy between you and them. Gifts, talents, and abilities skyrocket when your with them because they boost your self esteem and help you along the way. This friendship group needs no reshaping, just simply being able to enjoy each others presence every time they meet.

Keywords: 1111, dream reality, riding around town, enjoying each others company, mountains, hike trails, forgiveness, compassion, 'im having the time of my life', 19 years old, cannabis, margaritas, dancing the night away.

Number sequences: 111, 222, 1111.

Group 4 : Let's have a girls night !

This group really needs to let go and let there hair down. Its time for a nice night with the ladies. You may need to get something off your chest, and thats what friends are for! You gotta get up out your comfort zone, and try hanging with your friends a lil while longer, you never know what can happen when you guys are together!

Keywords: Luxury dates, Club hopping, Sleep overs, Wine, Boy problems, Pajamas, Girls trip (movie), Cabin trip, Banquet, Movie nights.

[revelation-park]

#REVELATIONPark2025: Start!

( Alhaitham, Anaxagoras, Argenti, Boothill, Kallen Kaslana, Kujou Sara, Su )

"Hm? I thought for sure there'd be more of you... Oh well!" All around you the forest is alive in the buzzing of insects and rustling of wind through the leaves. It's picture perfect, as long as you packed enough bug spray and don't mind the sweat beading on your neck. The lush green around you seems to beckon you ever closer anyway— you get the impression that it's alive all around you, that it's eager to meet you. But that's silly, since it's a forest. You've been hiking since dawn, but it feels like you've been going for even longer. Your tour guide, an impossibly bright-eyed girl by the name of Leann, has been chattering your ear off all the while. Really, you're starting to wonder how she's still got anything to say. She also seems to follow no discernable trail at all and... is that the same tree you just passed five other times? "Aaaand here we are! Don't you worry, I've made a color-coded list of what needs to get done and I've made stickers for each of us so we all know who's doing what." Actually, you're not sure when you stopped or when the endless forest became a half-decent campsite, but Leann is already shoving her chart and a sheet of stickers in your hands as it is. "That's right, we're gonna uncover the mystery of LARGEANKLE!"

So what's the plan?

Hope you like camping, because that's what you'll be doing! You've been brought to a nicely sized campsite complete with a picnic tables, a long abandoned firepit, a watch tower, and even an old mess hall. It's no lofty resort and there's certainly not any air conditioning, but surely it's someone's idea of relaxing!

Throughout the week your goal is, as Leann has said, figure out what the deal with this LARGEANKLE is. Here's how it will work:

WATCHTOWER: Starting Monday ( 6/9 ) two members will be selected every day for Night Watch! It will be up to them to thread out their stake out and see what information they can find. Night Watch will have until the end of the day ( 11:59 PM EST ) before the next shift can begin.

Not on tonight's watch? Don't worry! Here are some tasks you can do to help out around camp and make a friend:

TEND THE FIRE: After 10 posts in this thread, Night Watch will gain +1 to all SIGHTING rolls up to +3! TENT PITCHING: For every 5 posts in this thread, subtract 1 FATIGUE (up to 6) from current Night Watch! MESS HALL: Every 10 posts in this thread, Night Watch may perform one SIGHTING roll with advantage at any point during their shift, up to 3.

ETC:

How do the tasks work? Like any other thread with a prompt! As long as the thread is centralized around the idea that your muses are doing the task, it doesn't matter the exact contents or length of the posts. These threads are designed to be quicker paced with shorter replies.

Task threads will buff the next day's watch. This means that only posts made on 6/8 will count towards 6/9's watch team, as posts made on 6/9 are in preparation for 6/10's watch. If the minimum to achieve the buff is not met in one day, it will count towards the next shift only once it has been met.

No, you do not have to start a new thread every day. (But you can, if you really want to.) Posts made in a thread on 6/9 will still count towards 6/10's watch, even if the thread was started 6/8.

Buffs reset to 0 at the start of each shift.

This will require everyone be diligent in tracking task threads. Please keep track of each day's posts in a team doc.

Can multiple people do the same task? Yes, but the limit to each buff remains regardless of how many threads are contributing to it.

Can I only do the things listed above? Nope! You are free to start non-task threads with your teammates, send asks, or otherwise interact as usual!

Can I only interact with my teammates? Can my muse leave? Yes. No. If they attempt to head back alone, they'll just get lost in the woods.

How do I interact with NPCs? Leann is your only company currently, and your muse may interact with her via this blog at any time!

[tryslora]

2024 in review, 2025 goals and objectives

It’s that time of year… as we launch into a new year, it’s time to talk about my goals & objectives from 2024, and set some new ones for 2025.

For those who may be new here: I don’t do resolutions. Those are fluffy. Amorphous and difficult to quantify. I prefer to set proper goals & objectives that I can look at at the end of the year and see how I did.

Sometimes this works. Sometimes not so much.

So, we’ll begin by looking back at 2024.

For writing, I said I would…

Launch Kickstarter for Twinned trilogy with Duck Prints Press and complete fulfillment

This did not happen for a variety of reasons—some of them mine, some of them not mine. However, discussions DID happen, and a new plan has been set. The second book will be available for pre-order from the DPP site in February; we have some hopefully easy passes left to do for editing before it’s ready to go to print. We are working hard at getting the third book edited, and when it’s ready, we will launch the Kickstarter, currently scheduled for end of summer. At that point, the whole trilogy will be available (for those who don’t already have the first two books), plus some merch (yay, merch!).

Editing is HARD, folks, and my brain makes it harder on me than it should be I suspect. These books are also ridiculously long (like the trilogy together is ~500k), so each one takes a long time to get through. It’ll happen. Sometimes we just need to regroup, y’know?

Set up for self-publishing and publish Finding Their Roots.

Done! Well, mostly. FTR is available at ebook through wide distribution, and the hardcover is available on Amazon. I struggled with the PoD paperback from D2D and still need to get that fixed (it’s a Q1 goal right now). Are you interested in reading a fluffy romance about camping, hiking, magic, and amnesia, with a background werewolf pack? Here’s a page full of links where you can buy it.

Be more present on social media and blog regularly.

I was way better about this at the start of the year. Some days I blurt all over Mastodon/Bluesky/Facebook, and most days I’m quiet. I have some concrete ideas how to do better. 

I did start using Buffer, which the free version allows me to post to three sites (see the three I just mentioned). I don’t really have the budget to pay to get cross-posting for other sites at this point, unfortunately. It would certainly make my life easier!

Work towards drafts of the next PHU (Run Together) and 7Lakes (Bound by Denial).

I did work towards them. I didn’t get very far. However, the overall planning is partly done, the outlines are partly done, and both have a few actual words written for them. So. I made progress.

I did learn that editing breaks my brain, and spent a lot of time at the end of the year figuring out how to get around that and be able to write and edit at the same time. Maybe. If I’m lucky.

Work on other original and fic when I could.

No fic happened; this is likely not a surprise. There are a lot of reasons for that, and it could fill a post, so I’m not going there right now.

However, I did completely rewrite a short story and then sold “A Bright and Clouded Future” to the Yay! All Queer anthology from Inkd Publishing. Yes, you can buy it. :)

For health & family I said I would…

Work out 2-3 times per week, continue with Wegovy/eating habits, and do more meal prep for myself and my parents.

Well. I managed the workouts; even when on vacation, we were very active and walked a LOT. I kept moving. I kept up with the Wegovy, but I’m plateaued and frustrated, which is to be expected. I am trying to stay healthy for eating, but when we only get to cook dinner a few times a week, it’s rough.

I didn’t supply as many meals to my parents as I would’ve liked. 

Start planning ahead to retirement.

I’m on track. I’ve been making plans both at home and at work. And now I’m adding in the plans for well, what if I can’t retire when I want to? Because with the way things are going, it’s certainly possible that in four years there will be too much chaos. So. I will roll with the punches.

Be more present for found family and family.

I tried. I often felt like I was being pulled in so damned many directions. I am too busy and need to figure out ways to cut back, but that hasn’t been working out.

For consumption of media, I planned to…

Read 52 books. See 12 movies. See 12 shows.

Done, done, and done. I read 127 books & manga. Want to compare notes? I made a list challenge thingy, so you can see how many of these you’ve read (ever, not just in the last year). I watched 29 movies, mixed between in theater and streaming at home. I saw 13 plays, 1 comedy show, and 1 concert.

Did I mention I was busy? I was very busy.

So, that’s 2024 in review. I both feel like I didn’t get anywhere, and like I got a lot done, all at the same time.

I spent a large part of the latter half of 2024 in a funk, and I knew I needed to change how I was working and how I thought about things in order to move forward. So my planning for 2025 is a little different.

[Side point: do you know how hard it is to write a post when a cat insists that the only possible activity in this moment is petting her as she climbs on your chest? Yes, yes, I do know this… she’s napping and snoring now, so I can get back to the typing…]

For 2025, I have two sets of goals: habits and goals for the whole year, and quarterly more specific tasks set with the intent of achieving the goals for the year.

Goals for the whole year…

write 100 words a day

test "write before edit" approach

pre-order/fulfill Missed Fortunes

Kickstarter/fulfill Into the Split (plus others)

set up photography business

attempt to do in-person markets (photography, books)

TKD 2-3 times per week

walk/elliptical 10 times per month

read 52 books

see 12 movies

see 12 plays/concerts/shows

That’s a lot. Some of it is exactly the same as last year. Some of it isn’t entirely under my control (the publication of MF & ITS).

You’ll notice “draft a new book” isn’t on that list. It isn’t NOT in my plans, but it’s not a concrete finite goal for the year, either. It’s a goal that will be adapted as I go. There are also a lot of household things not on the list, and some habits that I’m going to figure out what works over the course of the year (like “blog twice a month”—things like that).

I have some concrete goals for the first quarter, all of which are in support of other goals.

Complete edits for Missed Fortunes and advertise/etc. for the February pre-order.

Edit Into the Split through “chapter” (arc) 7.

Outline the next PHU novel RT through chapter 15, and draft through chapter 5.

Outline the next 7Lakes novel BBD through chapter 15, and draft through chapter 5.

Fix the print edition of FTR so it is properly available via wide distribution PoD.

Blog twice per month.

Complete monthly newsletters.

Edit photos and order materials (cards, etc.) for vending.

Set up my business (for both publishing and photography) and taxes, etc.

Swap the exercise and family rooms in my house.

Deliver my eldest’s things in storage to her house (and out of mine!).

Redesign my craft area (eldest is going to help).

I have trackers in my bullet journal to help me see what’s working, and what isn’t. That will help me plan for the second quarter. I’m hoping that taking this approach—relearning how I work once publishing is in the mix—will help me be more productive, and far healthier mentally, going forward.

This also means I’ll need to do check-ins at the start of each quarter to assess how I did, and set the new quarterly goals. So expect to see me again on this topic at the start of April.

[california-112]

For the ask game:

If you were a character, who would you be and why?

Very unpopular opinions? Share them here!

Have fun:)

Hi, hello! Thanks for the ask!

This is the list they're from, and I'm still (always!) open to more :)

If you were a character, who would you be and why?

Mulder. Next question...

No, I'll elaborate. For my first reason, I'll quote my own post:

"Imagine. Going through your whole life looking like that." Yeah I can imagine going through my whole life looking like Fox Mulder, it's called gender eurphoria

I spelt euphoria wrong waaah

Apart from the looks, though, he seems to have a pretty cool life. UFO hunting, investigating the supernatural, cool apartment, great partner, fun basement office, action and adventure...of course, there are downsides (missing sister, constant brushes with danger, frequently hunted by the government, paperwork, etc.), but overall it looks very interesting.

However, we're also already not dissimilar. I may not be quite as much of a conspiracy nut as he is (though of course I believe in aliens 🛸), and I'm certainly not about to join the FBI even if the 'uniform' does look hella cool, but we apparently both have issues with sleeping, eating, trust, fire, and obsession/hyperfixation (e.g. Grotesque and his whole search for the Truth), at least. [Let me know if you think my assessment of his character (and/or mine?!) is unfair or wrong; I can't remember exactly what's in canon and what appears more in fanon.]

The most random similarity is that both of us have used the sound of a light aircraft to locate something. In Mulder's case, during S01E15 'Lazarus', it's a sound caught on a recording that helps him find Scully. For me, I was hiking with a group a few years ago and we were mildly lost. However, when I heard a light aeroplane doing spin training, I knew that it could only being doing that over certain areas in our locality, and from the map we had I could work out our location more accurately, the result being that we made it home that evening.

I can also blame Mulder for my new sunflower seed addiction! Thanks a bunch.

Of course, if I were actually to turn up in a TXF episode, it would probably be as background character #3 who has a couple of lines being questioned by Scully whilst Mulder waits moodily in the background, but hey. I want to believe.

Very unpopular opinions? Share them here!

Look, this show may be a new love of mine, but yes, I do already have some potentially unpopular opinions. Buckle in...

I'm not a fan of MSR. You said unpopular! I've really enjoyed the early seasons of the show for the friendship between Mulder and Scully, and I see that as just continuing. Yes, they get closer, how could they not? But I dislike the fact that they (apparently) actually get together in the end and it's canon.

I will add the disclaimer that, yes, I am only up to S05E09 at the moment, and I suppose that the storyline could lead very nicely into it. However, at the moment from what I've seen in content on here like gifsets and edits, I don't think I'll like it, and I prefer the vibe of the show as it now is.

This marries up (!) with my dislike of many of later parts of the mytharc that I'm coming to now. It's probably because I personally prefer monster of the week episodes, but especially the S4 mytharc eps were among my least favourites, and some of them were bordering on a struggle to watch.

Which leads into my general dislike of S4, definitely an unpopular opinion according to the poll that happened recently. I won't go on too much as I've said this in some tags before, but I find it hard to believe that S4 is a favourite season. Yes, there are some good eps! Demons is my favourite of the season and among my top episodes of the show so far, and Tempus Fugit/Max was excellent. But there was also The Field Where I Died, Never Again, Memento Mori, Synchrony, Zero Sum...some of my least favourite episodes so far, that I would probably avoid on a rewatch.

Ok, rant over. Thank you for this ask, it was great fun to think about the answers! :D

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Ten)

Grian finds something.

Chapter Ten: 8,359 words

<< Chapter Nine | Masterpost | Chapter Eleven >>

Hi! I finished this a few weeks ago but sat on it for a while so I could write ahead and reference it. I meant to have art ready for this chapter, but it never materialized so I'm posting it without. I'd rather have the writing done than the art. If I do art later I will add it, both to this post and the masterpost.

No CW for this chapter. A lot happens though! :D

February 2, 1989

Grian is not the sort of person to say he believes in fate—this idea that something is meant to happen, or that all roads taken converge on the same location, or that a random coincidence is a sign of something more. He’s not even trying to be a cynic. He just doesn’t think the patterns exist. 

Sometimes, though, things do work out like that. Sometimes it’s hard to look at something and not see it for the bright, shining ball of sheer rightness that it is. It’s small, but it’s fate. 

It’s meant to be. 

He’s having a moment like that right now, in a very strange place for it. He’s standing on the kitchen tile in wool socks, holding today’s copy of the newspaper. 

It’s freezing outside, both literally and figuratively. A cold front has moved in this week, bringing with it below 0 temperatures—and that’s Farhenheit, which Grian is still clumsily learning—as well as sleet and snow. The streets are slowly turning white with a thin layer of snow. Grian’s not sure if the temperatures right now are record-breaking or not, but they’re certainly colder than average. The kitchen faucet steadily drip-drips in the background, his effort to keep the pipes from freezing.

He still has work in the morning though, because of course he does. 

Grian doesn’t always read the entire newspaper, but he gets a copy of The Denver Post every day anyway. For the past several months he’s been browsing through the want ads in the back. Does he want to quit his current job and get more peace of mind, or does he want to find a second job so that the bills are easier? It’s hard to say, but looking through the advertisements reminds him that there are other options out there. Maybe one day he’ll find something that will dig him out of the hole he’s currently in. 

Well, this newspaper seems to be handing him a shovel. 

It's the Forest Service logo that catches his eye, with its badge and pine tree in the center. They've taken out a relatively large ad in the bottom quarter of one of the sheets. It says:

Hiring NOW! Seasonal positions in the beautiful Rockies!

There's a list of positions available, along with the GS4 hourly pay rates. Trail crew, concessional employees, interpretative ranger, wildland firefighter, fire line digging, and fire lookout. None of them pay well, but it's all above the minimum wage at least.

And, well, the ad also says No experience necessary.

It's the last one that catches his eye. Fire lookout. He's not 100% what the job entails, but he remembers visiting one with Mumbo a few months after they arrived. Just an hour and a half from Denver, it was located in the Pike National Forest. They'd camped on a roadside spot that weekend and hiked a short trail up a mountain to see the lookout. Grian had been more interested in the view of Pikes Peak than anything else, though. 

The ad lists the Pike National Forest as having seasonal positions open, as well as numerous other locations that Grian assumes are also in Colorado somewhere. He recognizes one as being in Montana. Those fade away in his mind though, because of what he notices next. It's like a beacon on the page. 

Shoshone National Forest. 

There's a plan starting to form in his mind. Is it a crazy one? Almost certainly, but the more he thinks about it the less it seems that way. He's all the way out here, and Mumbo is all the way out there. If he gets a job in the same National Forest, he can close that distance.

If he's there he can search. If he's there he can actually find Mumbo himself and bring him home. 

Grian needs to stop relying on the Forest personnel and start relying on himself. He knows of no plans to restart the search in the spring. Right now in the winter, he couldn't even search if he wanted to—most of the roads in the Forest, save the main highway, are seasonally closed due to snow and ice. 

Nobody's helping him anymore. Nobody cares anymore, but Grian does. He always does. Mumbo’s family cares too. He can't fix what went wrong for his family and he can't turn back time to go with Mumbo instead, but maybe he can do this. 

Fire lookout also just seems like the least strenuous job listed. He certainly doesn't think he's cut out for any firefighting, at least. He also suspects it'll involve less interaction with other people than the others. He's not sure he can take other people anymore. The fire lookout he'd visited with Mumbo was a busy destination, but Grian already knows that the area Mumbo went missing in is nearly pure wilderness.

It's the perfect job. It's everything he needs handed to him in one convenient spot. It's almost like fate.

The ad states to send inquiries to an address listed in Lakewood, Colorado, which is in the Denver area. The first address line identifies this as their Region 2 office. Once they receive inquiries, they'll mail an application for him to fill out. There's also a phone number, with the same area code he has. He thinks that’s probably the fastest way to request an application, short of driving to their office himself. 

Grian reaches for a notepad on the counter and starts copying the information down. 

»»———-　　———-««

July 1989

Grian flees the Ranger’s station as fast as possible, bouncing down that 19 mile road to the Thorofare trail in record time. By the time he reaches it his teeth are nearly rattled out of his head, his backpack is strewn across the floorboard, and his hands are still shaking. When he throws the vehicle in park, he just sits there a minute, looking out the windshield at the trees beyond. 

He’s not the only car in the parking lot this time, but it’s not a busy location by any means. The sun is warm and low in the sky, casting long tree shadows across the gravel. 

The manila folder is in the passenger’s seat. Its contents have shifted throughout the journey, and some of the papers have started to slide out. Grian catches a glimpse of words printed on a page, and even that’s enough to cause his heart to stutter. 

This is real. This is important. 

He takes a deep breath, and then gathers the papers back into their folder neatly. He doesn’t look, not yet. He wants to, but he needs time to examine it. He needs to start back toward his lookout while there’s still enough light to do so. He’s all alone out here. Nobody followed him from the ranger’s station. But he’s still running, in a way. 

Grian gathers his things, and starts back down the trail.

He remembers the first time he hiked this trail, heading toward his lookout for the first time. Last time, he’d nearly lost himself in the quiet repetition and the soft rustle of wind in the trees. This time, his mind races and his steps are fast. Last time, it felt like a beginning. This time, it feels like an ending. 

Will this be the last time he hikes up here, he wonders? He might find himself getting an escort back to his car in the next few days. He’ll probably get fired after being caught stealing the documents. At minimum, he’s in trouble. But will any of it matter if he finds Mumbo? He’ll be gone anyway as soon as that happens. Maybe this will be the last time he hikes up here because it’s the last time he’ll ever need to. 

The shadows continue to lengthen and the trail begins to get dark. The sun sets early in the mountains, and even earlier in the forests where the sky is blocked out. He has to start squinting to even make out the bumps and rocks in the trail so he doesn’t trip. 

“I guess it’s time to stop for the night,” he says to himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to the lookout by the end of the day anyway. He’d just—he’d just wanted to be on the way home, separated from the chaos he left in his wake and in the relative peace of the forest. His car is a link to the outside world. The trail is just him and his thoughts. He had to put some miles behind him. 

He sets up his tent in a flat clearing, and thinks about Mumbo doing the same last year. He fires up his camp stove and makes something to eat, and thinks about Mumbo doing the same. How many times has he done something out here in the exact way Mumbo has?  

Total darkness falls quickly after that. Soon, the forest is a sea of black, and Grian’s moored only by the single orange light of his lantern. It flickers now and then, casting long shadows. The lighting reminds him of those quintessential campfire ghost stories. He’s solving one on his own right now. 

It’s time to look at the folder. He can’t resist anymore. 

The first thing at the top of the file is a paper with Mumbo’s face on it. His dark eyes stare blankly up at Grian’s, and for a moment Grian just stares back. The rest of the page just has information about the case written on it. It’s formatted like it could be a poster, but there’s too many details for public release. It’s a bit eerie, seeing this all written down again. The sheet lists when Mumbo was reported missing, his height, his weight, his age, his physical features, his vehicle, his planned route, the square miles searched, the search and rescue team involved, everything. 

Grian sets it aside into the darkness, and keeps looking. 

There’s that statement from another hiker who said they saw him on the trail. What were they doing on the closed trail, Grian wonders? Do they realize the way they ensured that everyone thought Mumbo stayed on that trail? It’s dated two days after Mumbo was reported missing. 

There’s several copies of letters printed on official letterhead. The agency seal is at the top. The correspondence is from several offices. The District Ranger’s office in Wapiti. The Shoshone National Forest Supervisor’s Office in Cody. The Region 2 office in Lakewood, Colorado. The Law Enforcement and Investigations Branch in Washington, D.C. 

Grian reads these, but they’re disappointingly dry and full of formal wording. There’s a request for assistance with the case sent to D.C., but everything else in these letters is just reporting. It’s the higher level version of the weather report Grian radios in every morning in his lookout—here’s the situation with the missing person, here’s the actions our office has taken, here’s the results. 

Which are none. There are no results. Mumbo’s still gone. 

Grian wonders if a person from the D.C. investigations office actually came out, or if Mumbo’s case wasn’t deemed important enough for that. 

He flips through more pages. There’s a list of contact information for Mumbo. Grian’s name is first, along with their apartment’s address in Denver and their phone number. Mumbo’s parents are listed next, with their UK address. The page is typewritten but someone has written in pen next to their names to remember the seven hour time difference. Sweet of them. 

He’s looking for a smoking gun, here in the flickering lantern light. 

There has to be one. He knows he’s missing information, and the file is thorough, and there’s a reason they didn’t want to give him the file, so surely, surely, surely. 

There’s correspondence with a search and rescue team that helped out. Grian remembers the matching patches on their jackets. They’d been a volunteer organization. There’s incident command reports in the file too. There’s also a copy of the police report Grian had filed and some correspondence between the Forest Service and the police. It was the Forest’s jurisdiction, in the end. They handled anything that happened on federal land.

There’s minutes and notes from meetings held about the case. There seems to be one from every morning of the search, like a sort of morning goals session. Grian reads over them with interest. They paint an interesting story; it’s a view from the other side. This is what the rangers and search and rescue and the police had thought about Mumbo’s odds. This is where they thought he might have gone, areas he might have hidden, areas he might have gotten hurt, so on. But there’s not a word about Cloud Lake being closed, or any indication of Pinnacles being on the radar at all. 

Why? Aren’t these people professionals? 

The maps are the most interesting part of the file. Grian pores over the page with care, mentally tracing every topo line. He’s got his own map in his backpack still, with him always. It’s very similar to the ones he’s looking at now, but these feel a bit more clinical. They’re put together by professionals who know the land better than him. The extent of the Mink Fire is also mapped, and for the first time Grian can really see how close it was to some of their search areas. 

He’s…glad, almost, that Mumbo wasn’t around there after all when it was burning. 

Eventually, Grian gets to the newer stuff. There’s a note written up of all the details the hikers gave when they reported the bike. It includes when they found it, where they found it, and in what condition. They didn’t see anything else nearby, and didn’t investigate much because the bike looked abandoned and not like someone had left it there recently. 

There’s a memo that a phone call was made to the Investigations Branch again. There’s an authorization for an aerial search. There’s a note that Grian is to be contacted with updates when he is able to be reached, along with Mumbo’s parents. 

Grian reads that, and everything else comes to a screeching halt.

Oh, god. Mumbo’s parents. 

Grian hasn’t called them once all summer. He didn’t tell them about the bike. Some stranger told them about that instead. He hasn’t told them anything about what he’s learned. He sent them a note scribbled on the back of a postcard the day he left to start working at the lookout, and never looked back since. 

What are they thinking right now? How are they holding up? He didn’t even reach out to them on the anniversary of Mumbo’s disappearance back in June. Are they worried about him? They shouldn’t be, they should worry about Mumbo instead, but he knows they’re worried about him anyway. Oh, god, he didn’t even call them. 

He feels sick, but he forces himself to keep going through the folder. It doesn’t matter what Mumbo’s parents think. They’ll be fine if Grian finds their son. 

Nestled into the newer materials is an older paper. It’s a copy of Mumbo’s backcountry permit, issued June 9, 1988. It has the dates for his trip, the campsites he reserved, and the price he paid for them. 

Stapled to it are several more papers. Grian swallows, and flips through them. 

There is an old memo about the Cloud Lake Trail being closed. For the first time, Grian sees more specifics than Scar could give. A rockslide had been triggered over the winter. It wasn’t reported until the spring, when someone first tried to hike the trail after the snow melted. Cloud Lake is an alpine lake, nestled in a bowl surrounded by peaks and inaccessible through other routes. The rockslide had changed the terrain significantly, causing trees to be destroyed and the original trail lost. The trail was to be closed all summer for maintenance. They were going to salvage what parts they could, and reroute others. The new, salvaged trail may no longer be suitable as a mountain biking route given the terrain changes. 

Someone’s underlined the part that says the trail is closed all season. Another report is attached to it. It notes that Mumbo was issued a permit he shouldn’t have been, and that he likely became lost after encountering the rockslide. It’s a record of the decision the search and rescue team made—that there was, apparently, no evidence to suggest Mumbo had done anything but stray off-trail, and that the rockslide actually increased the chances he was in the area.

Increased the chances he was at Cloud Lake? Instead of suggesting he might have gone elsewhere?

The report continues, explaining Mumbo might have become confused in the altered terrain and that searches in that area should be increased since it was the most likely place for him to get lost. They’d actually shifted the focus away from where he was supposed to be. They had the right idea but the wrong answer. Grian’s heart sinks. 

The final document stapled to Mumbo’s backcountry permit is a letter that orders the reinvestigation of the case based on new evidence. The date is recent, from just one month ago when Mumbo’s bike was found by those hikers.

The last paper Grian looks at is another map. This one is also new, issued just a few weeks ago. It denotes the Pinnacles area in minute detail, each and every wrinkle of the topography important. Grian has a map of the Pinnacles area already, but it isn’t this zoomed in at all. There’s a marker placed where Mumbo’s bike was found, along with the trail and other geological features of interest. 

And…that’s it. That’s the entire file. 

He can’t help but feel like there’s something missing. There’s a giant hole at the center of this case. How can this be everything? Where’s the answer, the smoking gun? Where are the puzzle pieces that only Grian is smart enough to piece together? Where’s Mumbo in all of this? 

He was so certain that he would find something here. No, he can still find something here. There’s got to be things here. This is all the information, so that has to mean something right? He rifles through the papers again, looking for anything he’s missed, but no—there isn’t anything. He’s looked at it all. 

It’s just…dry. It’s reports between management chains and records of operation from search and rescue. There’s helicopter authorizations and documentation of search locations that already came up empty. There’s letters and memos and maps and none of it means anything, because Mumbo’s still out there and everybody involved in this case is an idiot, Grian included. 

He sets the folder to the side carefully, even though it’s useless. He presses his face into his hands and doesn’t move for a long time. The shadows flicker. 

»»———-　　———-««

Grian steps out from trees less than a mile from his lookout, and the first thing he sees is a column of smoke. 

He blinks. There’s a ridgeline or two that separates his lookout from the road; it’s part of the reason the hike takes so long. That, along with the canopy of the forest itself, has seemingly obscured this smoke from his view until now, when he’s broken through to the other side. It’s morning, and the sky is otherwise clear and blue today except for the tall smoke that bisects it.

He can tell it’s nearby. A strange mix of dread and adrenaline fills his stomach. 

Grian slings his pack onto the ground and begins to dig through it looking for his radio before realizing it’s still in his side pocket. He turns it on and the light blinks yellow. The battery is low from being off the charger for a few days. He’s never pushed its limits, but it’s not going to die any time soon. 

“Scar,” he says urgently. “I’m nearly back and I see smoke. West of my tower, I think. Do you see it too?”

“G-man?” Scar says a minute later. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m back,” Grian says. He picks his backpack up off the ground and starts rushing down the trail. He needs to get back to the lookout. “Do you see the smoke?”

“What did you do?” Scar asks. 

“The smoke,” Grian insists. 

“I see the smoke, I saw it yesterday,” Scar says. “Called it in. Sorry, I got naming privileges even though it’s definitely in your sector.”

This relieves Grian, but only so much. He grits his teeth a little.  “Okay, so you’re monitoring it. I just wanted to make sure it got called in. I’m nearly at my tower again.” He sighs. “Is it Jonesy Lake? Was it the idiots?”

He knows it’s Jonesy Lake. He knows it’s the idiots. He knows what lies directly west of his tower and he recognizes the directions by the peaks on the horizon. A spark was thrown two days ago, and this is the consequences of it. 

“Yeah, I think it was the idiots,” Scar mutters. “The fire’s on the other side of the lake. They’re sending in a crew for it, I’m surprised you didn’t run into anyone on your way in.”

If it was the idiots’ fault, this fire will be suppressed as quickly as possible. Human-caused fires are in an entirely different category to lightning-caused fires or prescribed burns. With the dryness of July in full force, they’ll have to work hard to keep this one contained. It’s a shame that it had to happen in the first place. Grian should’ve woken up earlier to stop those people. 

“I didn’t see anyone in the parking lot besides a few other cars that belonged to hikers. Maybe they’re running behind me or they’ll helicopter the crew in,” Grian says. “I wouldn’t want to hike carrying that much gear. They could land in the meadow.”

“Some smokejumpers went in yesterday already,” Scar says. “But they’ll need a proper crew to hike in too so the fireline can be established.” He pauses, for what seems like a nearly uncomfortable period of time. The trail has descended back into the trees once more, and pine needles form a springy surface below Grian’s feet as he walks. Finally, Scar adds: “So you’re coming back to the tower?”

“Give me like 15 or 20 minutes and yeah, I’ll be there,” Grian says. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Scar says. 

“Um,” he says. “Not sure why you thought that. I know it's still my time off, but I’m still going to call in smoke I see. I only went into town briefly, I have some places I want to search again.”

“Grian,” Scar says, “you don’t work here anymore.”

He stops dead in the middle of the trail. 

“What?”

“They told me you were fired!” Scar says. “My supervisor called me first thing this morning. You’re not a lookout anymore. I didn’t expect you to come back, I thought they’d like get your stuff for you or whatever. I was worried!”

“What do you mean?” Grian says. “I’m not—nobody told me that, what?”

“Grian,” Scar begs, “what did you do.”

Grian’s heart picks up in pace. It shouldn’t be a surprise, honestly, and yet hearing Scar say it nearly knocks him off his feet. He predicted this for himself yesterday. He’d known that this might be the end. His actions weren’t acceptable in any capacity, outside that of saving Mumbo.

It feels entirely different than it did yesterday, though. It’s entirely different because yesterday he had a smoking gun, and today he doesn’t. It’d be different if there was a big red arrow pointing to where Mumbo was, but there isn’t. He thought it would be fine yesterday, because today he would know what to do, but he doesn’t.

That’s it, isn’t it? All of this for a file that has nothing in it.

“I—I have to get back to my lookout,” he says to Scar. “I’ll tell you more there. I just have to get back first.”

He turns the radio off, slides it into his pocket and sets off down the trail again. His thoughts racing. If he’s fired, then he has to leave. He needs to gather his things back at the tower. Most of his things are already with him in the pack, but he still has things he left in the lookout. He’ll need to get all of that before he leaves. He’ll need to leave because someone will probably come today to make sure he leaves and he doesn’t want to still be here. He’s had too many confrontations already. 

What about the fire? Will they make Scar monitor it, cross referencing with his other neighboring sectors? Will they bring in a volunteer to finish out the rest of the season? 

If he has to leave, where will he go? There’s a map in the folder. It’s the new one, the one that was created after Mumbo’s bike was found. He can follow that. That only gives him a plan for the next day or two, but he can regroup after that. 

And what about after that? And after that and after that? The lookout is his foothold, his plan. The lookout gives him proximity and insight into places to search, and a home base close enough that Grian can work on finding Mumbo every day. 

He’s back to square one now, and it’s all his fault. 

The tower comes into view soon with the frenetic pace Grian is hiking at. It stands tall at the top of the mountain, surrounded by trees. When he looks out the windows, all he sees is sky and mountains and the treetops below him. Now he walks through the trees to its base. He takes the stairs two at a time until he gets to the top, and then pauses at the door. 

He puts his key in slowly. It’ll be the last time he does it. 

The lookout is exactly as he left it a few days ago, and it’s almost exactly as it appeared when he arrived over two months ago. He hasn’t brought many personal effects with him, not any more than he could carry in his original pack. A person like Scar would have accumulated a little more personality in their lookout after working there for 8 seasons. The posters that line the blank parts of the wall were brought in by somebody at some point. The old paperbacks in the bookshelf were, too. 

But Grian? He’s left nothing here. He’s made no impact. 

He sets his pack on the bed and sits down next to it. For a moment, all is still except the twisting smoke to the west. He watches it for a moment. It ranges from brown to tan to grayish—the color smoke is when wood is burning. The volume is disturbing. The Trout Fire didn’t escalate as quickly as this one has appeared to. The Trout Fire smoldered in the damp after-storm undergrowth for a long time, but this one looks large.

He pulls the radio out of the pack’s side pocket once more and turns it on. “Scar,” he says. “I’m back at my lookout now.”

“Are you staying there?” Scar says. 

“I can’t, can I?” he asks. “Won’t they send someone after me? I don’t want to wait for someone to come tell me I’m fired. I’ll just go. I won’t make a fuss.” 

He’s made enough fuss recently. It hardly seems worth it to make more. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to keep fighting this the way he has been.

“Grian,” Scar says, and that’s it. Nothing but his name. 

“I’m sorry,” he confesses. “I think I did do something stupid.”

Scar sighs. “What’d you do? My supervisor didn’t tell me. Believe me, I asked. He just said you were no longer working for the agency and that they’d try to find a volunteer to replace you the rest of the season. I think they would’ve left the tower empty if it weren’t for that new fire they want monitored.”

“What’d you name it, anyway?”

“I’ll trade you the name if you tell me what you did first,” Scar says. He never loses sight of what he wants out of a conversation. It’s something infuriating about him. 

“I took Mumbo’s case file,” he says. “I stole it out of the District Ranger’s desk and got caught. Might have also jumped through a window.”

Scar laughs, a short bright sound that almost startles Grian out of his funk. “A window? Man, I wish I could’ve been there. How’d you manage all of that?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Grian’s lips. “I turned in the fireworks to him that morning as contraband. He made the mistake of telling me he was taking a half day. Then I just needed an excuse to get back in there while he was gone.”

“Was it a good one?”

“I got caught, didn’t I?” Grian responds drily. “Don’t think I would have chosen a window as an escape route otherwise.”

“Nah,” Scar says. “You might have a heist movie in ya somewhere.” 

“I don’t—I don’t think I had any thought. I just wanted to get that file. I needed to get that file. He told me he couldn’t give it to me, Scar, and I needed that file because I need to know, and I can’t find Mumbo because I don’t know.”

“Do you at least know now?” Scar says quietly. 

“No!” Grian cries. “I don’t know what to do with this information! There’s—there’s no obvious path to follow. I don’t know why they didn’t tell me that the trail was closed, but now I know why they kept searching in the same area. And I know what technical concerns the search and rescue team had about terrain, weather, and wildfires, and I know the name of the investigator who was assigned to the case in D.C., and I know what the National Forest reported to the regional office, and I know when they performed new aerial searches this summer, and I still don’t know where Mumbo is.”

“So there’s nothing in there at all? Are you sure?” Scar asks. “I wish I could look through it.”

“I wish you could too,” Grian responds. 

Scar is quiet for a long moment, and Grian imagines him in his lookout perched on the rocks. What does his little cabin look like? Are there paintings hung on the walls and a cat sleeping on the blanket? Radios and telephones and stacks of papers and Scar’s hiking boots unlaced by the door? He’s never seen it. It has to be more peaceful than Grian’s own place. 

Finally, Scar speaks again. 

“I think you need to stop thinking about the past,” he says. “Who cares about Cloud Lake and all that data in the file? It doesn't matter. We know he isn’t there—we figured that out a while ago! Who cares who’s fault it is, or why someone did or didn’t do something a year ago?”

“I just want it to make sense.”

He tries not to remember the way the District Ranger told him that they’d already given him all the results of the search. He tries not to remember the way incident command had run things by him last year, and the way he finally agreed to end the search once he realized they were going to stop anyway. 

“It never will,” Scar says. “Things are just like that sometimes.”

“I want it to be someone’s fault.”

“Someone other than Mumbo’s fault?”

“It’s not Mumbo’s fault,” Grian says. 

“And it isn’t yours either.”

Grian might have argued about that at some point earlier in the summer. He still isn’t entirely convinced of it. But he’s tired now. He’s so, so tired. Instead he just says, “So it must be their fault.”

“It could be nobody’s fault,” Scar offers tentatively. 

“It has to be their fault,” he replies, doubling down. “It has to be.”

“Did they lie to you?”

“They didn’t tell me about the trail being closed or Mumbo being given a faulty permit,” Grian says. “I consider that a lie.”

“I do too,” Scar says. “Sounds like they fumbled it.”

Grian continues. “But…I don’t think they lied about anything else. Scar, how can that be? I’m supposed to be able to figure it out now. I’m supposed to find all the pieces they didn’t tell me and put them together. They were supposed to be keeping information from me. I don’t—I don’t know how to find him.”

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. “I was…I was really hoping you had something.”

Grian pulls the folder out of his backpack again. He stares at it. “There is a map,” he says. “It’s basically the same as the one I already have, but they’ve actually marked the area where Mumbo’s bike was found instead of me trying to piece it together based on what you told me. I think he must have camped there too. I’m going to follow it.”

“Today?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, do I?” Grian stops, and then asks in a small voice: “Are they going to arrest me or something, Scar?”

Scar contemplates this for a moment. Actually, a moment too long to keep Grian balancing his anxiety, if he had anything to say about it. He finally replies, “I don’t think so. I don’t think they’d do that. You didn’t take money or commit fraud or leak confidential information, you just took a file for personal use. It’s not allowed and you might never work here again but I don’t think you’ll get arrested.”

“If I got in trouble they’d just send me right back to England, I guess.”

“Would you hate that?”

“If Mumbo was still here, yeah.”

“If he wasn’t?”

Grian’s silent. 

“Right,” Scar says. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to be arrested.”

“Good,” Grian says quietly. If there’s any good news of the day, that would be it. It’s not that—it’s not that he isn’t willing to get into legal trouble to help Mumbo. It’s that he can’t be of any help at all to Mumbo if that happens.

And, perhaps, he doesn’t want to be in trouble anyway. He’s so tired. He can’t give up on this, not now, not after everything he’s learned and not after all of his setbacks. He can’t give up. But he’s so tired, and he just can’t let anything more get in his way.

He changes the subject,  “I need to go now. I have to get my stuff ready. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“And you’re going to go to Pinnacles again?” Scar asks. 

“Yeah. I’m going to follow the map and try to find his old campsite. I don't know what I’ll do next so don’t ask.”

“Take your radio with you,” Scar says. 

Against his better will, Grian smiles. “Are you encouraging me to steal more government property?”

“I just think you might need it,” Scar says. “I mean, what are they gonna do? Get you fired twice for stealing something? Just take it with you. I’ll keep an eye on things for you. Talk to me. Be careful.”

Grian swallows, suddenly feeling…something. “Thank you,” he says. Then, before he has the chance to turn it off, he remembers: “What did you name the fire?”

“Huh?”

“The fire. You said you’d tell me what name you picked if I told you what I did yesterday.”

“Oh,” Scar says. “I called it the Nitwit fire. You know, because of the idiots.”

Grian smiles a little, despite himself. Yeah, because of the idiots. 

»»———-　　———-««

It’s late afternoon, and Grian is on the Pinnacles trail again. 

The hike isn’t bad at all, but he’s growing weary. He’s been carrying around this pack since this morning, and from yesterday. It’s biting into his shoulders and collarbone. The pack carries basically his entire life at this point; he left as little as possible back in the lookout. He straightened up the place, made it neat, took his things, and left. 

It is also much more obvious now that there is a fire nearby than it was when he was hiking in this morning. The air quality is poor. This trail normally has good views, but right now the good views are only in a specific direction. If Grian faces anywhere in the vicinity of the Nitwit fire, the entire horizon disappears under the blanket of smoke. 

This is not making hiking easier. 

He stops to reexamine the map, and then compare it to the compass he carries. Before Mumbo went missing, he was not experienced at orienteering. Since then, he’s basically taught himself. He falls back on that practice now. It’s not the trail he’s afraid of losing; he knows where he is. It’s where the trail is in relation to where those hikers found Mumbo’s bike. 

He should be close. He’s got to be close. 

This area is mostly forested, except for when the trees break away at points to review a lovely vista that is currently mostly covered in smoke. This is good, because it means it’s sheltered. It’s nicer to camp in a sheltered place than it is an open place—the wind doesn’t mess around on a mountain peak. 

This trail does not have any backcountry campsites on it in this section, but free camping is allowed in Shoshone National Forest. While people need a permit to enter the backcountry, it isn’t required to stay in a designated campsite. If Mumbo followed the rules, then his campsite needs to be 200 feet off the trail. That’s what makes this so difficult; it won’t be right next to the trail. In some places in the wilderness the sightlines are so obscured that he wouldn’t be able to see 200 feet. 

Grian is operating on the assumption that Mumbo did follow the rules. He’s generally too nervous of a person to blatantly break them, so Grian feels safe in this guess. He is also assuming that Mumbo would have chosen his campsite purposefully and not randomly, so he’s looking for spaces that are easy to access. It’s far more likely that there is an already established spot where people have camped before that it is for Mumbo to have bushwhacked his way into a clearing Grian can’t already see. 

Of course, maybe that’s why they haven’t found him. Maybe he is in one of those locations Grian can’t already see. 

Still, Grian focuses on places that look like obvious campsites first. He checks several of these such locations, and comes up empty each time. He can determine pretty quickly whether someone has been camping in the area or not. When he finds Mumbo’s campsite, he’ll know when he sees it. 

He sees it just a few minutes later. 

He's been looking for things that seem out of place, or man-made, in the forest. There, through the trees, he sees what he was looking for: a glimpse of fabric. There’s something red hanging in one of the trees. It’s remarkably well-hidden. If he hadn't looked in just the right direction at the right time, he would have missed it. 

Grian is stepping off the trail before his brain can catch up to his feet. He brushes past bushes, crunches leaves, and steps over a log before he’s there, at the base of this tree. 

There’s a backpack strung up in one of the branches, dangling several feet above Grian’s head. It’s tied in the way that bags are recommended to be tied in bear country—ten feet from the trunk and fifteen feet above the ground. If you are camping for the night and carrying food, this is how you protect your pack in absence of a bear box. 

Grian recognizes this backpack. It’s like the bike all over again. He was with Mumbo when he bought this. 

They’d both gotten backpacks on the same day. Grian’s, the one he’s carrying right now, is dark green and tan. Mumbo’s was red and tan. Mumbo had told Grian that red was really more of his color, but Grian could tell Mumbo secretly liked that color the best. He insisted Mumbo buy that one instead. 

He insisted Mumbo buy the one that is dangling in front of him right now.

He just stares. The bag moves slightly in the breeze.

It’s worn. The color has faded from months of sunlight. The rope that was used to secure it has deteriorated. It seems more brittle than it should be, the material stiff, inflexible, and faded from sunlight. Another winter season and this bag would be on the ground. 

Mumbo’s bag is here, and it clearly hasn’t been moved in a long time. 

Suddenly Grian moves toward the tree, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. He struggles to undo the knot that is securing it—his hands are shaky, why are they so shaky? Just when he’s ready to give up and try to dig through his own pack for a knife he gets it, and instead of letting the pack down gently he misjudges the weight. It lands with a thump on the ground, and Grian stares again. Then he’s rushing over to the bag, slinging his own pack onto the ground, and kneeling next to it. 

He has to open it. It’s Mumbo’s. If he had doubted it before, he can’t now—there’s a name scribbled onto a tag at the back of the bag. This is something that is tangibly his, something that is actually right in front of Grian. It’s heavy. It might have clues in it. But part of Grian hesitates, the same part of him that is fighting to still stay present in the moment. His heart beats in his ears. 

Clearly, the hikers who returned his bike hadn’t been lying. He didn’t realize that he thought they might have been lying until this very moment. Mumbo was in this area. He’d really been on the Pinnacles trail the entire time. But he isn’t here now and hasn’t been for some time. This bag is his, but it’s been abandoned. The bike was rusty and in bad shape, also abandoned. 

This is the second item that belonged to him that has been found in this area. The second item that wasn’t with him. 

Why are his things here, but not him? 

What would make him abandon his things? 

Why did he leave them? 

Why didn’t he come back for them? 

He feels ice cold. Grian opens the bag anyway. There was never an option not to open it, just a moment that he required to steel himself for its contents. 

There’s a lot in the bag. There’s too many things. There’s far too many things. 

He pulls out Mumbo’s camp stove. He pulls out his sleeping bag, and his sleeping pad. He pulls out some of Mumbo’s food—setting the nonperishable things aside and gingerly tossing the very perishable things further away. The bears can eat that now, he doesn’t care anymore. He pulls out some spare bike tools. He pulls out the tent, and some spare clothing. 

There are no water containers in the bag, no lantern or torch, no jacket, no first aid kit, no compass, and no maps. 

Grian sits back on the forest floor, and thinks about what he has found. He has packed his own bags enough times now that he can tell which components are missing. This clearly isn’t everything that Mumbo would have taken with him. Mumbo isn’t here, which means that the remaining things are with him, wherever that is. 

This isn’t Mumbo’s final campsite, either. If Mumbo had been following the guidelines then he strung his bag up 200 feet from where he had slept. Set your camp 200 feet from the trail, and string your food up 200 feet from your campsite. But the material packed in the bag is telling Grian that there is unlikely to be anything left in the spot Mumbo camped. Maybe the campsite is where the hikers had found his bike, the metal sparkling in the sunshine, far enough away that they didn’t notice the bag hanging from the tree. 

He should tell Scar this. He needs to tell anybody this. 

He pulls his radio out again, and flicks it into the on position. “Scar?” Grian calls. “Scar? I found the—I found Mumbo’s campsite, it really is on Pinnacles, I found his bag. It’s here Scar, all of it is here. Scar, I—I need you to be with me.”

Scar is ready on the receiving end, like maybe he’s been waiting this whole time. “Grian?” he responds. “Where are you? You found it?”

“It’s right where it was on the map, right where the hikers said it was. I found his bag.” He can’t take his eyes off it. “Scar, it matches mine but it’s red. We bought it on the same day. It’s his. I know it’s his. His name is on it. We bought it at the same time. I found it. It’s still here. It was hanging in the tree. Like for bears, when you camp, right? It was just hanging there. I found it.”

“I can’t believe you found it. Are you okay?” Scar asks. 

“What’s he going to do without his tent?” Grian says. His voice is rising in pitch. “He needs that, Scar, he needs shelter. He doesn’t have his tent, or his sleeping bag, or his extra clothes, or his food, or, or clearly his bike—it’s all still here.”

“He left it there?” Scar says. “Why did he leave his things?”

Grian knows. He can piece it together by the negative space. What’s missing is what tells the story. That’s the worst part of all of this. He knows. It’s all he’s ever wanted, to know, and it’s carving him inside out. 

He knows. He can’t unknow this. 

“I think he went on a day hike,” he says, speaking fast. “I think he camped here more than one night. I think he left his bike during the day because he wanted to go somewhere he couldn’t ride it. I think he strung up his pack because he didn’t want to carry it with him and needed to keep the food away from the bears. He took his water, he took his maps, he took his flashlight, he took his jacket. He left his sleeping bag and tent.”

“He planned to come back.”

“It’s been over a year,” Grian whispers. 

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. “I’m sorry he didn’t come back.”

“No, no,” Grian says. He’s holding his radio’s call button down with one hand, but the other hand is just gripping the canvas of the backpack. He can’t let go. “This is not it. I still haven’t found him. This is just one more clue.”

“Grian.”

“Stop it,” he says. “Stop it, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Grian,” Scar repeats. “You found his campsite, like you wanted. You did that. Can you—can you come back now? What if you came back and searched it more later?”

“There isn’t time,” Grian bites. “I can’t go back anyway. I’m fired. I don’t have any time left. I’ve been waiting too long, this is progress, I can’t—why would I do that? Scar, why would I do that? Why are you asking me to do this?”

“I just don’t think you should be out there anymore right now,” Scar says. “I don’t think it’s really safe right now. I’ve been on the radio all afternoon coordinating for the Nitwit fire. I’m worried about you being out there. Please come back, you found the campsite, you can do this again later.”

“I can’t,” Grian says. 

It has to be now, because this is the most progress he has made in months. It has to be now, because the dominoes are starting to fall and he’s beholden to watch it to its end. He needs to know more than anything else. 

Sometimes, his need to know really is more than anything else. It’s more than his desire to keep a job, it’s more than his desire to please his family and friends, it’s more than his desire to not commit a crime. It might be more than his desire to live. 

“Please,” Scar says. 

“He’s out here. I won’t abandon him.”

“Please,” Scar says. “He isn’t out here, Grian. Not anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.” 

This is a gut punch. Because Grian, in defiance of every personal rule he’s set for himself this past year, actually trusted Scar. 

“Did you ever believe me?” he asks. 

“Of course I did!” Scar says. “I believed in you.”

“But you didn’t believe Mumbo was alive.”

Nobody does. He should have known this, because nobody except Grian does. And Grian, does—does he?

Almost all of Mumbo’s gear is here, and he never came back for it. All of his survival gear is here, and he isn’t. 

“I wanted to help you find him, I wanted to help you figure out what happened to him because you deserved to know. Mumbo deserved to have someone know.  I never—” Scar stops, and doesn’t finish the thought. It’s for the best. There’s a difference between finding someone alive, and finding them dead. There doesn’t have to be a heartbeat attached to unraveling a mystery. Scar only ever claimed to want to help find Mumbo.

 Instead, Scar finishes, “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’m so close,” he says. “I’m making progress. I’m so close. You can’t stop me, Scar. You aren’t here.”

“I know,” Scar says, and he sounds broken. “I know. Can you just—go back, back to your lookout, back to your car, just anywhere else. We can talk about this later, I’ll talk to you about it later, I’ll help you search more later, I promise I will, but you don’t need to be on this channel anymore. Please switch to the main channel so you can hear everyone’s updates on the fire.”

“You know I can’t,” he says. 

“Then be careful,” Scar pleads. 

“I’m going to find him.”

<< Chapter Nine | Masterpost | Chapter Eleven >>

[pragmatic-optimist]

Thanks for tagging me @mistmarauder @rmd-writes and @marjansmarwani! I've had this in my drafts for weeeeks because life lol, but I finally got a chance to do it.

Bold all that apply:

*adding in some notes for context just because*

APPEARANCE: i’m under 5’5” // i wear glasses/contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i typically wear make-up // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how i look // i prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backwards

(Notes: I’ve worn glasses since 6th grade—yup got them right at the start of middle school. Good times 😂. And I typically wear makeup during the work week or when I'm going out, mostly to hide the bags under my eyes from my shitty sleep pattern lol.)

HOBBIES AND TALENTS: i play a sport // i can play an instrument // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks (if i can afford it) // i can do a handstand

(Notes: When I say I am artistic, I mean that in the loosest definition of the word. One of the things I like to do is go to one of those pottery studios and sit there and paint. I'm not very good at it; all of my pieces end up kind of streaky lol, but I like the single-minded focus that comes from painting. It's one of the very few things I do that actually quiet my mind, otherwise, it's just going and going and going--always whirring and on to the next thing. It took me a while to learn that you can love something and embrace it as a hobby, even if you aren't the best at it. Who knew?! Certainly not the perfectionist in me lol. Also, I've won a few trophies from my very exciting adventures on the Scholastic Bowl team in high school (I was so cool, friends 🤓); I enjoy writing in the sense that I enjoy and admire the craft itself. I am not myself a writer unless all those years of journaling in my youth and presently writing endless work emails count?

RELATIONSHIP: i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for (more than) ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have a long distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

(Notes: I am very fortunate to still be friends with my two best friends from high school and my best friend from college. It's a privilege to have people in your life who have literally grown up with you and walked through various life stages with you. Along those same lines, it's been a privilege to make new friends, and I am grateful for those of you I've had the chance to get to know online and meet up with in person! 💕)

AESTHETICS: i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sun rise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colours // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favourite season 🍂

(Notes: My daily commute involves a lot of waiting on train platforms, and sometimes, I pass the time by looking up at the sky and watching the clouds move, especially in the morning. Also, I am a city girl through and through, but I love hikes--especially in the fall.)

MISCELLANEOUS: i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend// i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities //i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least three dogs

Notes: I enjoy singing, but I'm not good at it, so I do most of my singing in the shower lol. I am definitely the mom friend in my group, always making sure I have snacks in my bag because my friends are known for getting hangry, and we are not the speediest at deciding where to eat when we are together, so I come prepared. I love quotes, I tend to buy greeting cards with quotes on them and pin them to my bulletin boards at work or at home.

I'd say there are two quotes that underline how I try to live my life, both from the phenomenal Maya Angelou:

"Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better." “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

***

I don't know who's already done this game because it has been almost a month since it was making the rounds, so no pressure: @sunshinestrand @nelsonnicholas @iboatedhere @first-kanaphan @scienter @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @strandtk and anyone else who would like to participate, please tag me if you do!

[benkyoutobentou]

31 Days of Productivity Reading: Day eleven

Before: It's already halfway through the day and I'm just now starting this post. I wanted to study a bit this morning, but ended up browsing streaming sites for at least an hour. Why? Because I woke up to an announcement for the next minimmersion weekend! I'll be streaming the last few episodes of Sk8 The Infinity, but I'd also like to stream a movie (and now I have an idea or two for what to stream).

I also went to a nearby nature preserve with my dog for a hike. Plenty of other people were enjoying the beautiful spring weather, and Coco even got to play with some other dogs.

After: 独り舞 often mentions literature and authors, but I didn't notice that one of the authors that they frequently refer to is one who I own a book from until they specifically brought up that book! I picked up Notes of a Crocodile by Qiu Miaojin (I didn't link the Japanese pronunciation of the name to the pinyin that I'm familiar with) a few weeks back after the title caught my eye. I had never heard of it before, but after reading the synopsis, I figured it was fate that it would catch my eye and decided to buy it. Seeing it mentioned in this book just confirms that thought in my mind, I was definitely meant to have it in my life! I plan on reading it first thing next month, after I'm done with this challenge.

I did a little math and found that if I quicken my average reading pace just a bit to four minutes per page, a 200 page novel would still take me about thirteen hours to complete. At an hour per day, that's nearly two weeks. Yay language learning... But that's okay, it means I'm getting my money's worth out of these books, right? And I can still finish a book of that size in a week if I read for two hours per day. 頑張るよ。

I ended up reading for an hour and sixteen minutes today and eighteen pages, for an average reading speed of 4.2 minutes per page. I'm slowly creeping towards that four minutes per page mark! So far, I've noticed that this book loves kanji more than anything I've ever read before. Words that I didn't know had kanji are being written in kanji. It certainly is an exercise, but I'm enjoying myself. Off topic, I nearly forgot where I started reading today and thought I read only eight pages. That was a momentary shock to the system, I knew I wasn't that slow of a reader.

[aventurasdeunatortuga]

Tiger Leaping Gorge

Okay I am almost caught up from the last week. Long post ahead but lets face it all my posts are long. Post 3 of 3.

So the last three days were spent doing something that was either very adventuresome or very stupid. Probably mostly stupid. Hiking Tiger Leaping Gorge alone without a guide.

Tiger Leaping Gorge is one of the deepest gorges in the world. It is located in Tibet, about 2 hours from Lijiang. It is a very popular destination in China. Irene hiked it when she studied abroad in China back in 2014, so that’s how I found out about it. It’s called Tiger Leaping Gorge because there is a legend about a hunter who was pursuing a tiger in this gorge and at a narrow point in the gorge with rushing river rapids the tiger escaped by leaping across the gorge.

I was initially planning to go with a group. But since its the off season and since there are almost zero foreigners traveling in China right now there weren’t any tours offered other than private tours, which would have cost me nearly $1,000. So I did a lot of research, mainly using articles from 2019 before the border closed, and thought I could manage it on my own. Which was my first stupid or adventurous decision.

The trek itself is about 20 miles total and generally takes between 2-3 days. There are several inns along the way to stop at over the night. I used a map from 2019 to plan my way and it looked doable.

I took a bus from Lijiang, and arrived at the gorge without a hitch. However, despite the family sitting next to me on the bus translating everything the driver was saying with their phones and trying to help me, I got off the bus at the wrong stop. I got off at the tourist viewpoint which is at the most narrow, lowest part of the canyon directly next to the rushing rapids, where the tiger allegedly made its escape. You have to hike down a ways from the road to get down to the river. Not gonna lie it was truly impressive, the river was absolutely ferocious. I’d never seen rapids like that before. But then I realized that the place I was supposed to start the hike was actually 3 miles in the other direction.

So I hiked back up to the road and tried to figure out what to do. There were tourist buses but they were all for tour groups making stops at the viewpoint, I couldn’t really ask them for a ride. So I thought, its 3 miles, I can handle that. That was the next stupid decision.

One of the lessons I learn the hard way over and over again is “no, actually, you can’t walk that”.

So I walked for about an hour. The road was pretty precarious. It was a highway with a cliff on one side and a dropoff into the canyon on the other side. I never felt like I was in danger, but it was certainly a sight to see. At one point I walked by a policeman and I thought he was going to tell me I couldn’t walk there but he just looked the other way. I met a few people selling things along the side of the road and they all laughed and laughed as I walked by, which, understandable.

After about an hour I still had a mile to go. A car pulled over and the guy told me he could give me a ride the rest of the way, I accepted, also not the smartest choice but it worked out fine. This makes the third time I’ve hitchhiked; I did it before in Mexico and Turkey as well.

He brought me to the ticket office of the park, which I had thought was the entrance to the hike. It turns out in a brilliant stroke of stupidity that the place where the car had picked me up was in fact the entrance to the hike and I hadn’t realized it. There was an enormous sign and an arrow literally painted onto the cliff that I hadn’t noticed. I only realized when I asked at the ticket office where the entrance of the hike was.

So I turned around and walked back the exact way I had come for about 45 minutes along the highway. At one point some kids chased after me going “hello! hello!”.

After about 3 hours total, I finally made it to the entrance of the hike. The map said it would take me about 5 hours to hike 12 kilometers. Which in hindsight was laughable. It took closer to 7 hours. At that point it was 1pm and it was going to get dark at 8pm. I started walking and it was gorgeous but man it was difficult. It was all uphill. I saw absolutely no one, local or hiker, for about 3.5 hours. It was all farms and mountains. It was a bit unnerving being the only person there, but at least I was sure I was going the right way. There were red arrows painted on the ground every few feet which was reassuring.

After a while, I was at the point where I had calculated that I had 25,000 steps to take still and was counting all of my steps individually because I was so tired. Then I saw a lady waving at me. She asked if I wanted to ride a horse part of the way, in my obvious exhaustion I agreed but in hindsight I should have been more prepared and asked for more details about what this would entail. It was 100% my fault. I spent about 40 minutes on the horse going up the steepest part of the trail called the 28 Bends, which, self-explanatory name. The trail was very difficult, I felt bad being on the horse while the lady was walking behind me, I had thought she would be on a horse as well. She also insisted on carrying my backpack even though I kept saying I could carry it.

We made it up, and then she informed me that I was halfway there. When we had been negotiating a price earlier I had thought she had said 40 yuan, I had 200 yuan in cash so I had agreed. Everyone in China also uses a digital payment system called Alipay and another called Weixin Pay. I have Alipay because for Weixin Pay I couldn’t figure out how to set it up without a Chinese bank account. So we’re at the top of this mountain and this lady informs me that I had misunderstood and the price was actually 400, not 40 yuan. Which, I mean, considering the difficulty of the trail was a fair price but I hadn’t expected it. I showed her my cash and asked if I could pay her digitally, she said yes. She only had weixin pay though, and alipay and weixin pay don’t work together. So we were stuck. I didnt have any way to pay her. We sat there for probably 45 minutes trying to figure out what to do. It was 100% my fault for not understanding and not being more prepared. I hadn’t come across this issue the whole time I had been in China, everyone I’d met before accepted Alipay and I’d never had anything cost more than 200 yuan cash. I tried everything, even tried setting up a weixin pay account but i couldn’t do it without a chinese bank account. Then she told me the price had increased to 600 yuan. I was like I’m not sure what to do here. I called Irene desperately and somehow miraculously had service and she was miraculously able to send the lady money from 3,000km away. I will be forever grateful for friends like her saving my skin.

The lady then told me to be careful and rode away. It was 5:30pm then somehow, and there was still 2 hours left until the inn I was staying at. I also had had to use the bathroom for about 2 hours at that point and between the precarious horse ride up the steep mountain and the fiasco with the lady, hadn’t had a chance. Also 0/10 would not recommend riding a horse while having to pee. I was literally on the edge of a cliff with not even a path into the bushes, but there was at least not a single person around. I hid behind a tree and did what I had to do way too uncomfortably close to the edge of the cliff, thinking “well its already been a wild day, this may as well happen”.

Then I calculated that there were 13,300 steps left until my hotel. I didnt see a single person that entire time. My brain wasn’t capable of doing anything at that point other than putting one foot in front of the other and counting. Finally, in the pouring rain just before dark I made it 7 hours and 13.5 miles total after starting the hike, to my hotel for the night. I have done more physically difficult things in my life, but never for such an extended amount of time and never completely alone and with such uncertainty. The whole way I was thinking through all the decisions I had made today and regretting every single one of them. The views were spectacular though.

I made it to my room completely out of cash at that point and collapsed on the bed. I made it to dinner at the hotel and then came across the same exact issue I had encountered earlier with money. No one accepted Alipay connected to international credit cards, only alipay connected to Chinese credit cards, weixin pay or cash. After being in China for 3 weeks I had never encountered this problem before, everyone accepted Alipay and I had very very rarely had to use cash, people prefer not to use cash most times. So I couldn’t pay for my meal. Irene saved me again, and ended up doing so three more times over the course of this trek. I have learned yet another lesson the hard way, always bring more than enough cash and have a payment backup plan, especially in rural areas, and I am very grateful to have a friend like her to save me from my own stupidity.

I spent the evening trying to figure out a way to set up weixin pay and found an extremely complex way to do it which involved an hour long phone call with my parents and then at the end of the whole process was informed it would take 3 business days to verify my identity and activate my account, which was useless. I could only laugh at the absurdity of the situation and go to sleep.

The next day I felt more at ease because there were other hikers. Apparently what people do nowadays which is way smarter, is to take a car from the beginning of the trail to the first hotel because there is apparently a back road. They stay at the hotel for the night, send a car with their bags ahead to the end of the trail through the back roads and along the highway, then they walk the second leg of the trail with no bags. This would have been the ideal way to do it, but alas, here I was without money and with my heavy bag already at the top of the mountain. Oh well. Today was only a 10k hike to the end of the trail, and there were other hikers which made it a lot less unnerving.

I even met two foreigners, I hadn’t met any foreigners in quite a while. They were teachers in Shanghai, one from New York and the other from London. They’d been living in China since 2018. They were very surprised I was traveling around and wasn’t living in China, they said China really isn’t set up for people to just travel around. Its very difficult if you don’t have a Chinese bank account or speak Chinese, and theres almost no up to date information out there since the border reopened in January 2023. I was like…yup..tell me about it….

They talked about what it was like to go through covid in Shanghai, which other than Wuhan, was the most heavily impacted place in China. They had the strictest lockdown in the world. They literally could not leave their apartments for any reason for a total of 86 days straight. Some people were even literally sealed inside their apartments. They had to rely on food rations from the government being delivered and they weren’t always consistent. Lockdown was rough for everyone but this was another level.

Anyway, I got to talk to them for a while but then they moved along. Then I met another guy who was hiking alone. He spoke to me enthusiastically in Chinese and didn’t seem to be impeded by the fact that I could not understand anything he was saying. I think what I gathered after a while was that he thought since we were both hiking alone we should take photos of each other. He had me take photos of him and then he took photos of me, insisting that I hold his hiking poles. He did this a few times in increasingly precarious photo locations and then I was like ok this has gone too far. We kept walking for a while, almost an hour, and I was kind of ready for him to stop talking to me. I started walking really really slow to try and get him to go ahead but he kept stopping and waiting for me and telling me to hurry up. I can never tell when people are being friendly or being creepy. I always feel uncomfortable with people talking to me so its hard to trust my gut. There was also the language barrier and cultural differences to consider. I think he thought he was being friendly and looking out for me as women traveling and hiking alone is an oddity, not to mention being a foreigner.

After over an hour I think he finally got the hint so he said ‘bye bye’ and went ahead. I met one more group of hikers along the way, a group of 4 friends who greeted me by going “Hello! Fuck! Hi!” which was pretty funny actually. Lots of people yell hello at me on the street when I go by which I think they find funny because they always laugh afterwards and I never know how to respond. This was a new one though. This group talked to me for a little bit and then went ahead.

The path was extremely precarious at this point, but the views were absolutely breathtaking. It was an incredible hike. Finally, after 6 hours because of how slow I walk, I made it to the hotel at the end of the trail. 2 days, 20+ miles, 12+ hours of hiking, and many stupid decisions later I had made it one way or another. There were many times throughout I thought that I truly couldn’t do this and I should give up, but giving up wasn’t really an option, I had to push myself to keep going, and I eventually one way or another made it.

The only room the hotel had was an 8 bed dorm which I shared with a group of bikers who were thoroughly confused by me but were very polite and respectful. They all went out of the room and talked animatedly amongst themselves for a while after I went in the room and looked things up on a translator. I only understood 哪国人 (foreigner) 一个人 (alone) 为什么(why) and 中文 (Chinese). Then they asked me using the translator if I spoke Chinese, where I was from, and after much furious whispering, ‘how do you communicate with people here’. I just laughed and said “不知道，我用我的手机。” I don’t know. I use my phone. They thought everything about me was quite befuddling.

The next day the bikers checked in on me to make sure I knew how to get to my next stop, which was nice of them. I was able to get a bus directly from the hotel back to Lijiang, it ended up taking the entire day because there was only one bus but it was pretty seamless. I very much enjoyed the scenery of the wilderness but am very glad to be back in town where there are atms and people accept my bank card and I more or less know how to get around.

There were a lot of poor decisions made the last few days, but thanks to the kindness of friends and strangers it all worked out. I would do things differently knowing what I know now, but I am glad I did this in the end. It was an amazing experience.

I’ll be back in Lijiang for the next few days, before heading to my next stop. I’m writing this post now in a beautiful park by a lake in Lijiang while eating spicy noodles. I’ll try to update again before I leave to avoid a backlog again.

[violetsandviolencepoetry]

"Ah another one." He said, collecting some grapes from a nearby wall.

"Am I.. not your first?" I was looking around for an escape. I knew that I wasn't the first sacrifice but I was thrown off by him starting a conversation with me.

"No. There isn't anyway out, at least not that I've found and I've been here for twenty years. Also I cannot digest meat so stop looking so frightened." He absent-mindedly began fiddling with the weaving of his basket, I noticed it looked like it was weaved from the vines climbing up the massive stone walls of this maze.

"If you can't digest meat then why have we both been thrown in a labyrinth?" I immediately begin to climb up the vines on the wall, "and where are the others?"

"I think they just assumed I eat people because I look kind of freaky, the others ran off into the maze and never came back." He watched me get ten feet up the wall, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The walls are too tall."

"Maybe for you." My arms were already burning.

"Would you like a rope? I found one on one of the skeletons the other day. I think she hid it under her dress. Why do they always send women and girls in? You'd think they'd try to kill me." He asked. I decided to climb back down the wall.

"I would love a rope. And I don't know about the others, but I was thrown in here for murder so I could certainly kill you if I decided to." I stare up at the wall, it was probably... it looked impossibly high maybe thousands of feet tall, "what else do you have maybe we could build up or dig under?"

"We? Digging under would be a no go unless we find the edge and there is no way of knowing where the edge is, plus we are by the ocean and I can't swim." He started walking a direction and I followed him, we arrived surprisingly shortly at a tower that was even taller than the impossibly high walls.

"Did you build this?" I ignore the question in his voice.

"No that was the old man and the kid. They have all kinds of books in there engineering ones written by the old man. There is also poetry and literature." He opened the door and stepped onto a raised bit of the wooden floor. I joined him and he pulled at some chains and suddenly we were raising steadily up the walls past the stairs up and up into the top of the tower. At the top we could look over the would maze, there was a map over the table that the minotaur had obviously made himself. At the top I could see the edges of the maze. The ones that didn't border the city bordered the sea.

"There." I point to the entrance.

"They'd kill us in an instant. The chains are too thick to break through anyway." He looked at me like I was insane.

"Then we break through the wood and sneak out in the night, we could steal a wagon and you could hide in the back. Then we can ride to the next place and hide you in the woods or take you across the sea. There has to be somewhere were I don't have to serve my sentance and you can be somewhat free." I pick up an axe.

"That will never work." He said.

"Well not with that attitude, come on. Unless you have a better plan."

"It will be a week long hike to the enterance."

"Then we hike. Come on." I begin to walk down the stairs, he sighed and grabbed a bag, the map, and what looked to be dried fruit. I found a leather cover for my axe and a water skin. This was going to be a long week.

As punishment for your crimes you are thrown into the Labyrinth to be a living sacrifice to the Minotaur that lives inside. However nobody seemed to put together that since he is half bull; the Minotaur is actually a vegetarian.