#asphalted forest trail

[thorsenmark]

I've Walked (Blue Ridge Parkway) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: I've Walked And walked some more I might not have stopped walking for a time But I'll stop here Take in the view And it is a very good view now that I think about it The amazing majesty of a creation Another work of short poetry or prose to complement the image captured one late morning along the Blue Ridge Parkway at Craggy Pinnacle Summit. The setting is with a view looking to the southwest. With this image, I took advantage of the high ground I was located on to capture a sweeping view looking down and then across the ridges and peaks present in this part of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I felt like keeping the horizon more or less leveled-on with the image would help to create a balance with the earth-tones in the lower portion of the image with the blues of the skies above. Using the Peakbagger site, I identified the nearby peaks and ridges of the Great Craggy Mountains, while the farther away ones are of the South NC Blue Ridge Crest. I did some initial post-processing work making adjustments to contrast, brightness and saturation in NX Studio. I then exported a TIFF image to Nik Color Efex Pro 7 where I made some more adjustments with a Polarization, Foliage, and Pro Contrast filter for that last effect on the image captured.

[vagelism22678]

#tree #naturallandscape #roadsurface #church #shade #plant #wood #tintsandshades #landscape #grass #road #deciduous #house #sky #soil #forest #trunk #asphalt #woodland #trail #path #cobblestone #street #walkway #shadow #greece #winter #room #wildlife (at Zagorohoria,Greece) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClBJqCpKqee/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fiddles-ifs]

[ID: a banner-style image with smudged, grungy text. The banner says "blog update" in bold, capital letters. The background is textured green and white with a film border around it. The upper left corner says "official photograph not to be released for publication." /end ID]

Happy update day!

Greenwarden, Eryinys, and TKP's chapter 1 updates are all coming along very smoothly. (Except for Greenwarden. Firstborn problem indeed. I ended up losing a ton of work -- including the whole library update -- and I got so mad I started working on a whole other route. Coming back to the library route soon, though. I have enough salvageable material, I just need to be Not Mad about it.) Here's some snippets!

CONTENT WARNING: Gore

GREENWARDEN

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Sprinting down the street doesn't even hurt, even if you do leave a long blood trail behind you. Your one hope is that the coyote is too preoccupied tearing chunks out of Eddie to pay attention to you. Hope is dangerous -- makes you cocky. Makes you make mistakes. You keep running toward what you think is safety, and you end up right at the edge of Warden Forest. Definitely not safety. You stop just before the mouth of the woods, breathing so hard you gag, your stomach half-open like a yawning mouth. Deep breaths hurt too much -- you can't bring yourself back to baseline. You risk losing your adrenaline rush if you do that anyway. Looking around looks the same. Woods and parking lot, woods and parking lot. There's a trail right ahead of you, tempting you inside. The click of nails against asphalt makes you whirl around. The damn coyote is right behind you, still licking gristle from its teeth.

ERINYS

Marik leads you to a corner covered in paper thin monitors. Cords feed into the biggest computer you may have ever seen, protected from the water and soap by thick rubber casing and a raised platform surrounded by guardrails painted yellow and black. The ramp vibrates under heel. You realize, with a start, that the computer and monitors are much lower to the floor than you'd expect, just as the engineer wheels around to face you both. "Sorenson," Marik says. The engineer grins with a mouthful of pearly white teeth and leans back in his chair, arms folded over his stomach. He's all hard planes. Built with lean muscle, broad-shouldered like DANIEL is, but with a shock of curly red hair and a mess of dark freckles. He has a dimple on his nose. "Marik," Sorenson says, wheeling his chair back to make room for you both. "All systems good. I'm running tune-up software now, just to make sure. Everything is brand new, but still. Can't be too careful." He glances at you. Nothing escapes Marik's notice, even bent across the desk to glare into screens running codes and diagnostics and other things that make you dizzy. Absently, he introduces you to each other. The engineer's name is Doctor Matthew Sorenson. He looks awfully young to be a doctor. "Fury, huh?" Dr. Sorenson raises his eyebrows. You flex your hands. "Whatever keeps you alive, I guess."

THE KING'S PHYSICIAN

The Maw is a jagged white chalkscape. You have to march in single file, careful to avoid the razor sharp juts of rock. The horses are nervous -- the wolf packs and cave lions living in the Teeth have perfected the art of the ambush. Not just that -- the endless bone white expanse can cause the distracted to become easily lost. You keep close count of everyone -- you, Sibir, and Leniza -- their aunt. She gives the whole company water blessings on the way in. Salt water from the Archipelago, to fine their ways home. -> Not that you believe in blessings. You are a person of science. -> You give your own blessings when you can. You can never have too many gods at your disposal. -> You don't have an opinion on religion -- it's something that exists. Annoyingly prevalent, but what can you do?

I'm hoping at least one of these guys will be ready to publish by next month -- but I'm also writing another book! Because I'm crazy. So we'll see!

[slowd1ving]

Hi! I love your lookism fics, I would love to see your take on Seongji Yuk x gn reader. Something sweet and simple would be great!

I see that you like using science metaphors and im curious to how many can you use in one fic. I’m a complete chemistry nerd 🤓 😂

THE MUNDANE . 　⁺ ✦ SEONGJI YUK

In which an amateur stargazer finds that no, they do not teach biology in Cheonliang, and yes, gravity does in fact affect everything with mass. woah... gravitational fields.... woah inverse square law... woah, G.... ik you probably wanted more chemistry but I couldn't resist the physics gnawing away/// arghhh pairing: seongji yuk + gn reader warnings: prejudice (quite literally lookism) wc: 1.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s a monster living in the Cheonliang mountains. 

A flutter of cloying kindness greets you when you first pull up to the rural village: tires burning on summer asphalt, senseless droning of cicadas, and warm rain seeping through your thin clothes. No rhyme or reason as to why you decided on this particular village to stop by; though, the rhyme might just be the hiccuping couplet of your pulse. Specifically, this pair of beats as your motorcycle drives past the tunnel; heavy, like two black holes encountering each other for the first time. Spinning, spinning. As the wheels on your bike do, naturally. 

Six fingers and toes, he’s cursed by the gods! Hark, my children—

Newton’s theory of gravitation dictates any particle with matter attracts any other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. This is the inverse square law. It’s used for practical and theoretical applications, but it’s pretty useful when considering why people are drawn to something when they are close to it. Emotionally, physically, empathetically. Psychologically. See, once one begins to increase the proximity of two souls, there is a certain degree of attraction that occurs consequently. 

Pray should you ever encounter this one, for he is but a merciless, mad beast.

It’s a stagnated hum that twines through the fields. Little kids begin the verse, and their elders finish it while you leisurely drive past. Over and over. They play hopscotch to the rhythm in their secluded playgrounds, clap their small hands to the beat, and seem to have no eerie feelings behind their bright smiles. A distorted tale, wound through with the modest price of one person’s dignity. There’s a basis for every tale, after all—bitterly warped to suit the storyteller’s perspective. 

Do not pity the one abandoned by all. 

Thus, when you begin the winding slopes through the fields and up around the mountains, it reduces the distance between you and the epicentre. You trust your gut. You believe (mostly) that what compels you to park your motorcycle on this particular trail is no madness, but rather a tangible, logical reason. A scientific one, if you will. You’re a mass, the monster of Cheonliang certainly is a mass—thus gravity objectively binds you both. 

It’s not entirely implausible to suggest the rumours entice you as much as anything, but the heavy telescope bound to your vehicle is as good a reason as any to stop by this eve. And that: the buzz in your very cells, that seem to divide simply to tug you in the direction of the sprawled forest. Stargazing in Cheonliang it is, then. 

Despite your idle curiosity, you don’t go looking: quietly setting up your equipment in a clearing where the breeze flows cleanly, like fragile forgiveness in a peaceful room. It’s a saccharine solitude—as sweet as tanghulu when you close your eyes. 

“It’s dangerous.” Those are the first words you hear in this village that aren’t blighted by eerie insinuation. Here, where the mountain is solitary and sepulchral, that is the only time you find someone who isn’t the real monster in this mired town. Human, flesh and blood and warm. 

“Isn’t everything?” You peer through the eyepiece experimentally, focusing on the calm tide in his voice—

“No need t’be a smartass.” His cadence becomes slightly rougher as you hear a dull thump; by the movement of syllables, you’d judge he just leaned against a tree. “Was a piece of friendly advice.”

Hmm. You look away from the sky that’s somehow cleared up—miserable grey giving way to faint periwinkle, then atrament smattered with incandescent freckles—then at the stranger peering right back at you. 

“What should I be wary of, then?” There’s a relaxed sort of ease in your body, one you’re unfamiliar with. 

He stares at you askance, as though you’re an idiot. 

“Strangers,” he answers brusquely, pointing at himself. “Haven’t you heard the rumours about this place?”

“Oh.” You turn back to the equipment, leaning down to bring the height of the scope up comfortably. Stars, you think dreamily. “That stupid song? Here I thought you’d say boars or something.”

“Stupid song?” he echoes. “And you still went up?”

Six digits on his left hand as it sways downwards, six on the right hand nestled in his pocket. He’s tall, so much so that anyone would feel intimidated staring up at the guy. Close—he’s close by, which is perhaps why you gravitate towards him. Two masses, feeling greater force with greater proximity. This was the epicentre that drew you here. 

“Is biology class illegal here or something?” you counter incredulously. “Do I need to pay attention to fear mongering?”

“No,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “I guess you don’t.”

It’s strange. Your first encounter with Seongji Yuk can only be classified as abnormal. Gazing at the massive bodies scattered across the heavens, it’s perhaps common sense that the man next to you interests you as much as those heavenly giants. He’s closer, after all—kneeling down beside you so he can peek up at stars just as large as him. 

Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s simply science that ties the two of you together. He gives you his name, you offer yours in return. Seongji Yuk. Lying in the grass with damp seeping into your shirt, you ramble about astrophysics, while he carefully coats fruits in molten sugar. Shards as sharp as the words at the base of the mountain, though far sweeter. 

He’s cautious—you can feel his eyes on you as you sit on his wooden steps. In fact, his eyes trail after you when dawn breaks and it’s time to move on to your original destination. 

“I’ll come visit,” you vow, for the cycle of orbit has already begun. Two masses have drawn closer to each other, and naturally begin the spin round their counterpart. 

“No one told you about stranger danger?” You’re too damn trusting: haloed in ditzy stars, the type in cartoons when characters hit their heads. Except it’s permanent, and you don’t look stupid, but rather awash in their glow. 

“Everything’s dangerous,” you evade sheepishly, and that’s that. 

Summer comes and goes, but it’s fine not bringing your telescope in the chill of autumn. After all, you’ve found something equally as captivating to stare at. Inky eyes, dotted with such a shine that it looks like a star’s emerged rather than a pupil. 

It’s as if the year is put into distillation—monthly visits condensing into fortnightly ones, then weekly ones, before you’re driving the hour down to this place every few days. He’s made you a little space in his house: one where you can snooze on a spare futon with little worry for safety. For there’s no place more secure in a ‘monster’ lair than by the side of a so-called ‘monster’. 

“Quit staring,” he warns, matter-of-factly while the axe collides with the wood on the stump—cleaved neatly in two, almost too cleanly. 

“You’re pretty, I just can’t help it,” you sigh, leaning back on the creaky porch. There’s a book by your side: a thick text filled with particles and numbing quanta. 

You’re strange. He’s had this thought for a while, but especially today. In fact, you may be more supernatural than he, for each time you say such things, his heart skips one or two beats. Like clockwork, the mechanical nature of your spell is guaranteed: mouth going somewhat dry, ears seeping with a faint crimson, eyebrows creasing minutely. 

Why? 

“Have you seen yourself?” you counter incredulously, and that is when he realises he did not keep his thoughts silent. “You’ve literally got stars in your eyes, man. You….”

Ah. It’s moments like these where he feels so utterly ordinary; listening to you ramble on about things he doesn’t particularly understand, just like anyone else his age. 

It’s nice being bound to someone like this: close to another, experiencing the gravity that draws two people together for himself. 

Science is a perfectly plausible thing to believe in, after all. 

[orions-choker]

Drink My Cherry Blood (Vampire!Kirk Hammett x Reader NSFW)

Vampire Kirk, Rough sex, Oral Sex, Blood Drinking, Unprotected Sex.

Word Count: 4,557

Reader meets Kirk at a party and gets a lot more than she expected when he follows her home.

(Cross posted to AO3, this is just an excuse to write Vampire Kirk smut sorry <3)

The moon hung high in the midnight sky. Despite the darkness the California night was pleasantly warm against Y/N’s skin. It didn’t stop a shiver from running up her spine. Each step she took against the pavement brought with it the feeling of being followed. Each time she peaked behind her shoulder she was greeted with nothing. 

Her knuckles turned white, her grip on her crossbody purse deathly tight. Her pace hastened slightly. She was almost home, she could see the faint light from her house in the distance, like a beacon of hope in this small corner of suburbia. It took all her will power to avoid breaking into a sprint, not wanting to look like a fool when truly there was nothing following her. 

A sudden crack sounded behind her, a pebble hitting asphalt. It cried out like a strike of lightning on the otherwise silent street. Y/N stopped abruptly, whipping her body around to catch the perpetrator following her. Nothing. Her eyes trailed down the empty sidewalk, landing on the suspect stone that had startled her. Too far behind her to have accidentally been her. 

“Hello?” She called out, voice wavering as she desperately hoped for no reply. She waited a moment, and then a moment more before shaking her head. “I’m going crazy.” She mumbled to herself turning back towards her target, home, she just needed to get home. 

The sound of her worn converse scuffing against the ground suddenly seemed impossibly loud. An irrational part of her brain telling her the noise was bringing too much attention to herself, like prey being stalked through the forest. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat getting stuck like a heavy weight in her chest. 

Home, Home, Home. It was the only thing she chanted. Somewhere in her mind she reprimanded herself for leaving the party so late, by herself. Her only saving grace was her choice to stay sober tonight, knowing she had work tomorrow she decided to be smart for once in her life. 

The party had been a goodbye party for a close friend, despite that Y/N seemingly knew no one there. Not a single mutual friend aside from the host, Y/N had found herself nursing a cola in the corner of the kitchen for most of the night. That was until she had been approached by Kirk. That was the name he had given her anyway. 

He was a cute thing, he had dark curly hair that cascaded down his shoulders, he was lean and lanky, not incredibly tall but towered over Y/N’s short stature nonetheless. He had these big brown eyes that oozed comfort and for that reason she had found herself chatting with him through the night. 

He was pleasant, in conversation and to look at. She was thoroughly endeared by his knowledge of music, games, comics and movies. He was a bit awkward at first, it was endearing the way he stuttered over his words, laughing at his own poorly timed jokes. Despite his charms there was a feeling she couldn’t shake around him, not fear, but anticipation. Something about the way he seemed to loom over her, the way his teeth, a little crooked, seemed impossibly sharp, like razors in his mouth. He felt..off. 

Still Y/N felt sad saying goodbye to him, exchanging numbers with him as she left the party around 11:30. He had offered to walk her home, insisting it wasn’t safe this late for a young woman such as herself. Suddenly she felt inclined to agree. 

Snapped out of her thoughts of the night earlier, Y/N heard it then, footsteps. Unmistakably against the ground behind her, someone was there, and gaining on her fast. Her breath hitched and without a second thought she broke into a panicked sprint. The ground seemed to shake and crumble away from her feet as she heard the person behind her gain speed. 

Then there was a hand on her arm, a grip so tight it felt bruising. She was stopped, yanked back with incredible strength. A scream ripped its way from her throat but died quickly, muffled by a warm hand against her mouth. She thrashed in the hold of her mystery assailant, teeth sinking into the flesh of his hand and nails scraping against his arm. Her efforts earned her nothing more than a pained hiss. 

“Hey shit calm down Y/N.” The voice in her ear, from earlier that night. Kirk? Her eyes rolled back trying to get a better look at the man behind her. She couldn’t see his face from this angle, but the curls falling around his shoulders and the dark fabric of his shirt confirmed it for her. She stopped for a moment, her body going limp as he pulled her down the alleyway. 

She was roughly turned around, body pressed against the brick wall behind her. His hand still covered her mouth as his body caged her in. She looked up at him with wide eyes full of fear. How stupid had she been to talk to this guy, he had seemed harmless enough. Oddly enough his eyes were elsewhere, darting towards the entrance of the alley as he shuffled them further into darkness. His body concealed her from view. 

Tears sprang to her eyes, this was how she died? In a dark alleyway, body disgraced by a man she had just met. She couldn't help the small sobs that came from her muffled mouth. Kirk's eyes widened as he looked down at her. He shook his head quickly. “No shh shh.” He whispered, his hand pressing down harder. “Please be quiet, this isn't what you think, just quiet.” He hissed urgently, eyes darting back towards the open road. 

Y/N was caught off guard by the interaction, stunned into silence again by the gentleness in her voice. They stood there for what seemed like an hour. Y/N pressed against the warmth of Kirk's body as he completely encased her there in the alleyway. She noticed he didn’t breathe a second of the time they spent there. Finally Kirk released a shaky sigh, stepping away from her, hand slowly falling from where it had gagged her. “Please please don't scream, let me explain.” He pleaded, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“What the fuck.” Y/N hissed, still speaking lowly as Kirk did. “What’s your deal dude, are you trying to kidnap me?” She asked, voice raising in fear and anger. Her back was still pressed against the wall trying to keep as much distance between him and her. She noticed in the glint of the moonlight his eyes seemed to almost glow a deep red color, his gaze on her still filled with worry. 

He shook his head frantically, looking like a kicked puppy at the accusation. “No god no!” He defended himself quickly. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Fuck, ahh how do I explain this?” He groaned.

“Explain attacking me in the middle of the night after I talked to you once at a party?” 

He winced at her acid laced words. “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t want to.” His hands came to his face, rubbing at his skin and gently pulling at his lower lash line as he struggled to find the words. “You were being followed, I was worried about you.” Kirk sighed, eyes desperately searching hers in hope she was willing to listen. 

Y/N’s face contorted, lips pulling into a tight line and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Dude you were the one following me?” She slid down the wall slowly, exhausted by this whole interaction she let her body slump forward as she sat on the dirty pavement beneath her. 

Kirk followed her, crouching before her, keeping a good distance to not scare her further. “No, I mean yes, but to protect you.” He stumbled over his words. “You wouldn’t let me take you home, but you were being watched at the party and I couldn’t let you leave alone, you wouldn’t have made it home alive.” He tugged his bottom lip between his sharp canines. 

They seemed inhuman, those teeth. Y/N couldn’t pry her eyes away from them. “And how do you know that?” She asked him, voice softening a bit. There was just something about his demeanor that made her want to believe this stranger. “What was with you dragging me down here and keeping me silent.” 

“The guys that were following you, I know them, I didn’t want to fight them not in front of you.” He explained carefully, there was something else lurking beneath his words. “I just wanted us to keep low until they fucked off” 

His explanation came with more questions than answers. “I didn’t hear anyone out there, how do you know?” Y/N asked, pulling her knees to her chin as she stared at him in wonder. “And what do you mean fight them? It sounds like something you do often.” 

“God why do you have so many questions.” Kirk whined in defeat, his head hanging low. He picked gently at a small piece of gravel on the ground. He was unwilling to make eye contact again with her as he spoke slowly. “You aren't gonna believe what I’m gonna say.”   

“Try me.” 

With a final sigh Kirk dropped from his crouching position, sitting down in front of Y/N in the alleyway. “It’s a long story…I’m well i'm not human.” He began his explanation, taking note of the way Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open to say something but shutting again as he shot her a glare. “The guys following you? Not human either. I’ve had a couple alterations with them before, they like picking fights. I made the mistake of chatting with you and just to piss me off they figure it would be fun to kill you…or worse.” 

As the words tumbled out Y/N shivered. Silence fell over them before she spoke again. “What do you mean, not human?” She asked, rather than disbelief she sounded curious. She leaned forward a little closer, eyes trailing to his teeth once again as they got caught on his lip. “Like…a vampire?” She whispered. 

Kirk hesitated before shrugging. He nodded his head “Something like that, yeah.” He whispered back. His eyes searched her own for any trace of fear, anger, anything really. Suddenly she was on her knees, crawling towards him. The dim light from the street lamp outside the alley illuminated her face, eyes wide and sparkling with interest, lips parted slightly as she studied him like a wild animal. 

“How can I believe you, can you turn into a bat or something?” She asked almost jokingly. She crawled between his legs, hands coming up to pry open his mouth and run her thumb along the sharp canines. Her touch barely ghosted over them yet she could feel the edge like a knife. A little more pressure and she would have nicked herself. 

Despite his surprise at the sudden boldness he allowed her curious hands to wander and study him. He chuckled awkwardly “Well uh no, I said like a vampire, not actually one like from the movies.” He tried to explain. One of his hands came to softly pry away her prodding hands as he smiled his best comforting smile at her. “I'm uh really strong? I guess…I drink blood, don't eat, sleep or breathe.” He hummed for a moment wondering how he could prove himself here. His eyebrows shot up. “Wait here, watch this.” 

Y/N’s eyes trained on him as he raised his own palm to his mouth, quickly he dragged the skin along his flesh, cleanly slicing open the flesh. He held his hand out to Y/N and she watched as the wound gushed blood, dripping onto the ground between them, then quickly..it stopped…and then the skin pinched together. It healed leaving no mark, no sign that the wound had ever been there. 

With a gasp Y/N leaned back, grabbing Kirk’s hand in her own as she examined it, looking for the secret to his trick. “No fucking way.” She mumbled, yanking his hand in every which way. It earned her a soft giggle from him. She looked up at him from where she was still sitting between his legs. “So like, are you immortal? How old are you?” 

Kirk’s smile widened a bit, a sense of relief flooding through him that she hadn’t run away screaming. “I think I am, I haven't really been around long enough to find out, this happened to me a couple years ago now, my twenty fourth birthday.” He chuckled “I'm twenty six now so not the best gauge on my immortality.” He slowly slid his fingers between her own, holding her hand gently. “You actually believe this?”

She gripped his hand a little tighter, her fingertips pressed against the back of his palm. She thought for a moment, pursing her lips. “Kinda hard to say no when I just watched your skin meld back together.” her body lurched forward suddenly, Kirk using his grip on her to bring her crashing forward into him. Her face pressed against his chest as his arm snaked its way around her waist. “Oh, hello.” She mumbled against him, craning her neck to look at him. 

Looking down, Kirk’s eyes locked onto her own, a flash of something predatory passing through them.. “And you aren't scared?” He punctuated his question with his grip tightening around her hand and waist, squeezing hard enough to earn a gasp from Y/N.

With a gulp Y/N shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so now, I was a bit before.” Her gaze settled on his lips. “Honestly, the whole thing is kind of hot.” She admitted, a deep red rising to her face. “Always had a thing for vampires.” 

“I wasn’t hot before?” He asked flirtatiously, his free hand came up to grip her chin, keeping her gaze steady. “Can I kiss you?” His tongue swiped along the points of his teeth, Y/N’s eyes following its movement. Silently she nodded, the look on her face desperate. Suddenly she was knocked off balance, Kirk’s leg hooking under her own and effortlessly flipping the two of them. 

She was left with her back pressed against the rough gravel. His arms caged either side of her head, knee pressed between her open thighs. Kirk’s hair tickled her face lightly as he swooped down. He kissed her feverishly, like he was devouring his last meal. It left her completely breathless, hands coming up to clutch at the back of his shirt. She gripped onto the fabric desperately as she was sucked in. 

Y/N’s back arched as she surged forward, chasing his touch. Her mouth parted open eagerly to feel the warmth of his tongue against hers. He swallowed each needy whine that left her. Kirk pulled away to allow her to breathe, nipping at her bottom lip and drawing blood as he did so. She hissed at the sudden sting of pain, fingernails digging into him. 

“Holy fuck.” She panted, lungs heaving as she searched for the air he had stolen from her. Her pupils were blown, leaving a sliver of color left on her irises as she looked up at him in wonder and adoration. “Do you want to fuck me?” She asked unabashedly, too high on the feeling of him surrounding her to bother being embarrassed. 

A laugh ripped its way from Kirk’s throat, it was a sweet noise that seemed to contrast the intensity between them. It brought a smile to Y/N’s lips. “Right here in the alley? I think you deserve better than that.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he tucked a wild strand of her hair behind her ear. 

She leaned into his soft touches, eyes fluttering closed in content. “My house is just down the road.” Y/N sighed. “I was almost home before I was so rudely kidnapped.” She joked. Her hand fell from his back, trailing to his chest and then neck. The chain hung there dangled between them and she gave it a teasing tug. “But with how bad I want this, the alley is fine too.” 

Suddenly she was tugged to her feet. It happened faster than her eyes could comprehend. One moment Kirk had been pressing her into the ground and the next she was standing, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his chin resting against her shoulder. “Take me home then beautiful.” He whispered into her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe. A shiver rippled down her spine as she silently nodded. 

His arms left her waist to allow her movement. She reached behind her, gripping his hand and dragging him behind her. The two emerged back onto the empty street. Y/N’s legs wobbled as she led them down the block towards her house, her salvation. As the pair stumbled into the empty house, Y/N quickly tugged her shoes off before leading Kirk upstairs. 

Her room was pitch black as they entered but that didn’t seem to affect Kirk as he effortlessly moved them to the bed in the corner of the room. “Night Vision.” She asked him jokingly. He pushed her down against the mattress, his hands tugging on the bottom hem of her shirt. She lifted up allowing him to pull it over her head. She was left in her jeans and bra. 

Kirk stood between her legs, drinking in the sight of her sprawled beneath her. Skin glistening under the soft rays of moonlight that streamed in from her windows. “You know it baby.” He grinned crookedly at her. With a sudden urgency he tugged his own clothes off, stripping down to just his underwear. Y/N followed him, quickly unbuttoning her own jeans and shimming them down her legs. An appreciative sigh escaped his lips, the bed dipping under his weight as he crawled on top  of her. 

“Fuck you’re pretty.” He breathed out heavily. His fingertips gently ghosted down her skin from her jaw, down her neck, coming to rest at the swell of her breast. “Mind if this comes off baby?” He asked out of courtesy, his hands already going to work behind her back to unclip the fabric. 

At a loss for words, Y/N nodded. There was a sudden chill against her skin as Kirk tugged her bra away. Her nipples hardened as she shivered lightly. Kirk groaned at the sight, his head dipping down to her chest and sucking one of the hardened nubs into his mouth. Y/N gasped, hands coming to clutch at his shoulders. 

“Ahh fuck.” Her voice was whiny and pitchy as Kirk's thumb pressed into her other nipple. Even the slightest of his touches seemed intense to her. With a pop Kirk pulled back, looking up to lock eyes with her once again as his lips left soft wet marks against her skin down to the waistband of her panties. Y/N couldn’t look away, watching with wide eyes as he pressed his tongue flat against her through the fabric of her underwear. 

Her hands tangled into his dark curls with a moan, fingernails digging into his scalp. “Oh my god, Kirk.” She whined. Her thighs pressed against the sides of his head as he lapped at her core. His fingers curled around the edge of her underwear tugging them down slowly. Obediently Y/N lifted her hips off the bed to let him slide them down, coming to hang around her ankle as moved back in. 

The raw feeling of his tongue against her folds had Y/N’s head tossing back against the mattress. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She chanted breathlessly as his long fingers pressed against her entrance. The combination of Kirk’s tongue against her clit and his fingers pressing inside her had her thighs trembling around him. She could feel the sheets beneath her growing damp from his spit and her own arousal. 

“Please please, don’t wanna come without you inside of me.” She groaned, hands tugging at his hair in a desperate attempt to pull him back. “Please m’gonna.” Her words slurred together as he curled his fingers expertly, rubbing against her walls. 

Kirk pulled back only for a moment, a grin plastered against his shiny lips. He looked at home between her legs.”C’mon baby you can finish more than once, wanna taste you.” He denied her request and moved back in with more fervor than before. He sucked her in, teeth gently grazing her skin. His fingers moved so fast, Y/N belatedly thought it was a wonder his hand hadn’t cramped. 

“Fuck Kirk, I’m-” Her voice raised, being cut off by her own moan as she clenched around his fingers, body shaking as her release gushed across his tongue. The warmth and stickiness between her legs grew as she moved her hips against him, riding out her climax. Kirk let out his own muffled groan between her legs, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly her body came down from the high, going limp against the mattress, her hands falling from his hair. 

The feeling of cool air against her core as Kirk pulled away left her body twitching. He wiped his lips off on the back of his hand before moving up her body again, pressing a sweet kiss against her lips. “You okay for more?” He asked her kindly, pressing a few comforting kisses to her cheek. His hands rubbed up and down her sides soothingly. 

Y/N nodded, her hands weakly reaching for his underwear in a sad attempt to pull them down. “Really want you in me now.” She smiled as he quickly shed his last piece of clothing separating them. Her eyes trailed down, widening a bit in surprise as she saw the length of his cock, resting against her stomach. 

The head was a pretty deep red, glistening and dripping precum just beneath her bellybutton. He was thick too. “Fuck thats gonna’ hurt.” She whispered nervously. Looking back up to Kirk’s face, worry etched onto her pretty features. 

“You’ll be okay, don't worry baby.” He smiled at her, leaning down to capture her lips in distraction. She held onto his arms as he reached down. He grabbed the base, aligning it with her dripping warmth. He earned a surprised squeak as he pressed the head in, teasing her with just the tip. Pulling back just enough to have her suck him in again. “Deep breath baby.” He warned her as he began to fully sink into her. He leaned forward, breathing heavily into her ear as he bottomed out inside her. 

It was a near painful stretch, soothed only slightly by the work of his fingers earlier. Y/N hissed as her body adjusted to his large size. Her nails dug into his skin. “Kirk, ow, fuck, so full.” She moaned. It felt heavy against her walls as he finally reached the base, his hips fully pressed against her ass. “Can’t believe it fits.” 

Kirk let out a shaky laugh mixed with a moan. “Fuckin’ fits perfect, like you were made for me Y/N.” His words left Y/N’s skin feeling tingly. “Want to fucking destroy you, please can I move?” He begged impatiently. His hips bucked forward against her trying to bury himself deeper. 

“Yeah, yeah you can move now.” Y/N groaned, rolling her hips against him. At the confirmation Kirk’s hips pulled back and snapped forward violently. It shifted Y/N’s whole body up the bed, her tits bouncing obscenely with each thrust. All words escaped her, the only thing leaving her lips an endless string of moans. 

Kirk was incredibly vocal, whining into Y/N’s ear as he hammered his cock into her with reckless abandon, like an untamed animal. Predator finally devouring its elusive prey. He fully consumed her with each movement. He had gripped her hands in his own, pinning them down above her head. She thrashed helplessly against his grip as held her in place, using her body like a toy. 

Amongst her most incoherent ramblings Y/N begged him. “Kirk, please, fuck, bite me, want you to bite me.” Her head lolled to the side, exposing the smooth expanse of her neck. And who was Kirk to look a gift in the face and deny it? His lips pressed against the skin between her neck and her shoulder. He started slowly, sucking the skin into his mouth, leaving a pretty bruise in his wake. 

Her voice raised in pitch, her body pressing back down to meet each of his thrusts. Kirk could feel himself hitting so deep inside her, the head of his cock brushing against the wall of her cervix. He winced at the thought of the pain that must cause her but Y/N seemed unbothered. He opened his mouth, allowing his teeth to graze the skin of her neck before he sunk down. His canines effortlessly punctured the soft skin. 

Y/N screamed, tightening around him and he could feel the warmth of her second climax of the night around his cock, making his movements wetter and sloppier. The taste of iron against his tongue sent his hips stuttering, losing his pace as warm blood filled his mouth. She was sweet, sweeter than anyone he had drank from before. It dribbled past his lips, down her neck and collarbone. Small trails of blood mixed with saliva pooled around her chest. 

Kirk’s hand left her own, going down to grip onto her hips for better leverage. His thrusts grew sloppy as he chased his release. He sucked around the wound he created, moaning as he swallowed the sweet liquid. “Ah, hurts, too much Kirk.” Y/N gasped beneath him. 

He stopped mid thrust, pulling away from her neck to meet her gaze. A sheepish smile on his lips, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Shit sorry.” He mumbled, dipping back down to lick apologetically at the mark. Y/N giggled lightly, her hand coming to rest on his hair and tugging gently, giving him the go ahead to keep going. 

Kirk's thrusts were gentler now, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her hips as he rocked into her, he moved up to kiss her sweetly. Skin to skin, hearts beating in time. They moved together like a well oiled machine, made to work in time with each other. With a final thrust Kirk stilled inside her. He groaned into her mouth, cock pulsing as he coated her insides with his release. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He sighed, his body weight resting on top of hers. A sheen of sweat and fluid coating their skin and making them stick together. Slowly he pulled out, Y/N shuddering at the feeling. Kirk rolled to the side, arms wrapped around her and pulling her in tight. “Thank you.” 

Y/N smiled, reaching up to push his curls away from his face. Her pale skin was tinted red, the wound on her neck already beginning to bruise, blood dried around the puncture wounds. Her words were barely above a whisper “Let's do that again sometime.” 

[lcthebtswriter]

ferrari

pairing: racer!bruce wayne x gender neutral reader

summary: racing through the streets of Gotham is the only time Bruce lets his guard down around you

warning: high speed chase

word count: 1.1k+

tags: @everyday-imfangirling

Send an ask to be tagged in future fics for specific characters. You get first priority when making requests.

The rush of adrenaline keeps your foot planted on the gas pedal. Gotham’s city lights blur into splashes of color reflecting off the puddles in the asphalt. The tires of your car spin so rapidly that whenever you brake you leave burn marks and a plume of smoke in your wake. Honking horns break through the music blasting in your Ferrari, its rumbling engine drowning out the shouts of angered citizens walking along the sidewalk.

Bruce is right behind you, his Mercedes revving and groaning with each mile it steadily climbs. You’re leading him onto the highway that takes you out of Gotham and into its surrounding forest scenery. To get to that open stretch of road, however, you have to dodge the police cars that are trailing behind Bruce.

He speeds up beside you, weaving beside a car that drives between you before his Mercedes is at your right again. You flash him a smile through your window, unable to tell if he can see you through his tint. Your car’s bass is thumping and you’re sure everyone outside can hear, but all you’re focused on is staying ahead of the police. There’s only so far they can tail you before they reach the end of their jurisdiction, and that’s all you and Bruce are gunning for now. Screw the race. You can’t win behind bars.

You barely hear Gotham PD’s police sirens over the roar of the engine and the screeching of tires. Your eyes are focused on the road ahead, lit up by street lamps and emanating a glow as you race down the highway. Bruce is right beside you, the only time he stops thinking being when he’s in this exact position. You’re both the darlings of Gotham and it shows, but even your privileges don’t extend past the laws of the road.

It isn’t long before you’re both gunning it down an empty stretch of highway, trees blurring as your cars pass a hundred miles per hour. There are no other vehicles out, so you utilize the oncoming traffic lane to let Bruce take the other. The cop cars couldn’t keep up, so it’s just the two of you racing down the road ahead and leaving Gotham behind.

For the first time in a long time, Bruce isn’t thinking about his parents and you aren’t worrying about your future with him. All the times he’s bailed you out of jail, all the late nights waiting for him to cross the finish line - they’re only memories. Right now, it’s just the purring of your car as it glides along the asphalt.

Your hands are damp with adrenaline fueled sweat, and your stomach ties with anticipation. The screen on your dashboard lights up with an incoming phone call, and you turn off your music to answer it. Bruce is on the other line.

“We stopping anytime soon?” He wonders, and you glance at his car beside yours before eyeing the road again. You keep your gaze on the road, car scraping against the rocky terrain when you speed over a hill. The belly of your car catches air, and for a brief moment you almost get nervous.

“Regular spot?” You ask.

Bruce hums in agreement before hanging up. That’s usually how short your conversations with him are.

You ease off the gas, slowing the car as it winds along a stretch of road that wraps around a hill. You’re able to see Gotham below you as you ease into the lane before Bruce. After all, it’s dangerous to speed around corners.

Eventually you’re both driving within the speed limit, easing your cars into a spot overlooking the city. Bruce’s car sputters as he parks it next to yours, and you let yourself listen to the engines chugging along as they catch their breaths. You put the car in park, cracking your knuckles out of the vice grip they had on the steering wheel. Cutting the engine, you hear hisses and pops from the hood of your car telling you it’s time to refuel soon.

Bruce gets out of his car first and leans against it, waiting as you check your phone and close its tabs. You climb out of your car, gently shutting the door and crossing the front of it to sit on the grass. Bruce joins you, both of you crossing your legs and listening to the pop of your engines as they cool down.

You keep an ear out for incoming police sirens, the high of the chase still running through your veins. Your limbs are numb from shaking with adrenaline and there is an icy weight in your hands and feet. This is the feeling you chase whenever you buy your position in a race or invite Bruce to dodge the cops with you.

The city sprawls before you, glistening lights of skyscrapers and late-night businesses twinkling beneath a yellow moon. It’s cloudy tonight, and there’s a gently breeze that carries the smell of gasoline and incoming rain. You watch police lights flicker throughout the city, wondering if it’s any use going back home until traffic dies down. You know better, though, because traffic in Gotham never stills. Someone is always going somewhere, the hustle of city life drones on and on in a loud hum that only quiets when the roar of your engine overpowers it.

“I dunno whether to leave Gotham or stay,” you admit to Bruce.

He’s looking out over the city when you glimpse at him. The wind pushes his dark hair over his eyebrows, which are tensed together as he observes the blinking lights. He lets out a sigh. “I’m too tied to Gotham to leave,” he says. There’s a sadness in his voice, as if his duty of fulfilling his parents’ business is anchoring him to a place he’d leave behind had it not been for their deaths.

You interlace your fingers, and Bruce lets you lean against him even though the muscles in his back and shoulders tense.

“Suppose the streets are good for racing.” You’re trying to cheer him up by saying that.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Bruce’s mouth, as if he’s aware of your attempt at easing the already dreadful mood. You’ve both got to return sometime, at least before the police contact the precinct that has jurisdiction outside Gotham.

“Wherever you go, I go,” Bruce says. He looks at you, eyes heavy from refusing to sleep. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your lips. Before you can reciprocate, Bruce turns back to the city.

“I wish there was more I could do,” he sighs.

“Sometimes this is all we have,” you say, “and it has to be enough."

The grip he has on your hand tightens, each cold draft of the wind pushing you closer into him. There are goosebumps prickling on your skin, and Bruce lets go of your hand to put his arm over your shoulders. The warmth of his body does little to protect you from the breeze, but you’re not going to move until he’s ready to go.

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, undead.

Word Count: 3,811

Notes: Mother knows I don’t need another AU but frankly idc 💅🏻

_________________________________________

Day 189

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fuck me, you think, digging your tattered sneakers deeper into the ground. You’re hoping to gain better traction on the dirty road as you run–sprint away from the creature at your back. Gravel gives way, making the asphalt slippery as you try to maneuver through the barren streets or the abandoned town and away from the monster trailing behind you.

You don’t need to be bolting at full speed, but any form of running is tough due to your injured knee. You’d twinged it the other day as you ran through the forest with a horde of undead lazing after you, locked in on the stench of your blood.

You’d tripped over an upturned root and fell harshly, landing directly onto a stone. The crack of your knee smashing into the rock cracked through the forest and the zoms had grunted loudly in response, almost gleefully, like they knew you’d been downed.

It truly is just your luck.

Something always seemed to go wrong in your presence. If it wasn’t dropping your last can of food into the river while you were crossing it was attracting a group of undead while you were grumbling loudly about just how shit your luck really was. It was the man you’d trusted who’d ended up robbing and abandoning you while you slept, leaving you only with the short knife tucked into your boot at the time.

Hell, you were probably somehow connected to the apocalypse happening.

You chance a look over your shoulder, and for a split second your heart calms and you slow your pace, the road clear behind you.

Hunched over with your hands on your knees you gulp down the arid summer air. The stifling heat chokes you and you cough loudly to clear your airway, sucking in a large breath just as a bead of sweat rolls down your mouth. You wheeze, coughing harder as the tiny offender slips its way down the wrong pipe. 

Like you said, bad luck.

Pounding on your chest, you wince. Your hacking will attract more. You need to stop.

Scanning your surroundings, you try to gather your bearings of where you are in this small, rundown town. You were just supposed to be passing through for the usual runs of searching shops for food and unused supplies. Your backpack is a little too light for your comfort.

You’d convinced your comrade to split up, and now you're regretting it more than ever. The town is small enough, quiet enough with the rustling leaves and sounds of birds chirping nearby. There are no human sounds, no scuffing of shredded shoes dragging across the pavement, no snick of safety switches clicking off. 

It’s silent.

You cut off your coughing abruptly and straighten, swallowing uncomfortably. Your tongue is thick in your mouth and your throat is dry from lack of water. You’re down to your last bottle, and choking on your own sweat has only made you thirstier. Your heart pounds in your chest, too loud for you to make out the sound around you but it’s then that you realize–

It’s silent.

The wildlife has gone completely still, birds sensing the threats lingering nearby, falling quiet in their nests. Not only do zoms lure for tasty human flesh, but they’re known to trap any living creatures they can.

A low inhuman growl drags your attention away from the trees. It grates against your skull like it always does, a cry for help, a cry for flesh. Your head snaps around back the way you came. 

You curse.

Really, really unlucky.

Not one, but three undead come stumbling out from behind the building you’d passed. It’s an old laundromat, and one of the zoms is clad in a half-torn dirty t-shirt that you think could use a good washing. Or burning. They’re tripping over their own stupidly clumsy feet, and when they catch sight of you, pick up your sweaty, delicious scent over the soft breeze, their milky white eyes zero in on you.

Grunting softly, you begin jogging away from them. Running has never been your favorite hobby, but it’s imperative to your survival now. Doesn’t matter that your lungs feel like they’re on fire with every step, your knee sending sharp shockwaves of pain up your leg with each step. 

At least it isn’t broken.

Ignoring the throb in your leg, you reach for the holster wrapped tightly around your waist. You’d had to punch another hole into the leather to keep it tight enough not to slip down your rapidly slimming hips. You know you won’t find anything there, that dick had stolen your gun long ago. These days, the worn leather belt housed a knife, but you’d dropped it in the initial scuffle with the leader of the small zom pack chasing after you.

You’d laughed, thought it was your comrade and had shoved the creature off of you. But when your fingers had torn through the delicate flesh on the zombies arm, rotting veins and thin skin spilled out over your hand you were quick to your senses. Reaching for the knife, hand slicked with thick, chunky blood. Your grip slipped once, twice, and the zombie was up in an instant, pushing against the hand you’d planted across its chest.

Finally tugging the knife loose from where it was nestled in your holster was a relief that turned sour as the zombie swiped out. Dumb luck had the flailing limb striking true, knocking the weapon from your unsteady hold. It landed with a soft thump, a small cloud of dust puffing up and clinging to the black blood coated hilt.

Time froze as you stared at the zombie, letting out an unamused puff of air as your heart kicked into gear. It’s head jerked forward on fractured bones, the clacking of it reverberated up your spine like a hot knife, and you winced. The zoms mouth parted and its rotting gray tongue rolled out, lapped at the air, tasting your scent.

It shoved harder against your hold.

You’d managed to wrestle the undead away, pushing it to the ground, but you hadn’t had the time to grab your trusty knife that you’d carried with you since the beginning of the end. You climbed to your feet and side stepped the cracked hand reaching for you, the bony tips of fingers free from dead skin, sprinting away.

Unsure of which way to go, you raced up the road away from where you had last seen your friend. You wouldn’t let her get caught because of your stupidity.

You try to outrun them, weaving in and out of the few buildings in town, but they’re locked on your scent, although you’re pretty sure you smell like one of them by now, you can’t even remember the last time you’d showered.

Rounding the corner of an old bar, you debate stopping for a drink. You pray that there’s an unopened bottle of vodka, or tequila inside. Hell, you’d take just about anything right now.

Making a mental note to come back around and search the bar, you trip. You use your hands to catch you, cursing as your palms scrape against the pebbles and dirt. You hope that there’s no blood, muttering beneath your breath as you survey the alley. There’s a tall chain link fence blocking your path.

Well fuck.

There’s no way you’ll make it up in time, and the drop from the other side is a long way. Plus, you don’t know if your aching knee will be able to support your weight against the flimsy metal, having just fallen on it again.

Your day really can’t get any worse.

Your limbs slide against the dusty ground as you flip over. Your fingertips dig down for purchase. The three zoms are approaching quickly, limping closer to you, keen on getting a taste of your flesh. One of them even looks like it’s smiling, peeling lips torn and curled around blackened rotting teeth, grinning at you sadistically.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

This is it.

You search the alley frantically, hoping that there’s at least a broken bottle from the tavern you can use in defense against the looming creatures. There’s nothing but pebbles and litter, not a single potential weapon in sight. You swallow hard, gaze flitting back to the zombies who moan softly, making grabby hands at you like babies do their mothers.

Your back hits the fence and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the sun blaring hot across your skin.

You’ve had a pretty good run, you think, for someone who’s luck is as shit as yours. 189 days.

You send a silent prayer up above – although you’re pretty sure whoever is supposed to be watching over Earth has taken a break long ago – and hope that your comrade will be okay.

The zoms are almost on you and you curl tighter around yourself, refusing to open your eyes. If you’re going to go, the last thing you want to see is yourself being eaten. No thanks.

There’s a loud war cry just as the long, overgrown, brittle nails scrape against your cheek. You shudder and a shadow crosses your vision for a millisecond, and your eyes snap open. Squinting against the harsh sun you watch as the zombies arms are lobbed off, falling right onto your lap.

Black blood drips thickly and your empty stomach curdles. With a grimace you shove the limp limbs off of your legs and pull yourself to your feet, the zombies attention turning to the new person in the alley with you.

You loose a sigh of relief at the shaky laugh and taunts thrown at the undead, “Come here, you fuckers!”

It’s your comrade. She’s armed with a landscape scythe in one hand and your knife in the other. The sunlight casts over her sharp cheekbones and her gray eyes are almost as pale as the zoms. It’s unnerving sometimes but right now your chest swells with relief. Her menacing (and slightly crazed) smile has her looking like an angel of death.

“Feyre,” you exhale, head falling back against the chain link fence in solace.

The armless zombie struggles, trying to stagger to its feet, but it ends up inchworming its way towards you and your savior. With one quick jab of your knife to its head, the creature goes still.

Feyre jerks the blade from the body and dances around the other two zoms, swiftly moving behind them. You catch one of their attention, beating your hand against the fence, rattling the metal with your hands. Before one can turn around to face Feyre, she uses her scythe, the curved blade protruding from the stomach of the zombie. She grabs the handle with both hands and lifts with a grunt. The body's decomposed muscle and bone give way as she slices from stomach to head, splitting the damn thing in two. When it falls away it reveals a grinning Feyre.

You grimace at the sight. She’d found that gardening scythe a few weeks ago and now it’s her new favorite weapon.

“Gimme,” you gesture to your knife with a nod of your head, the last zombie still slowly making its way towards you.

“You sure?” Feyre cocks an eyebrow. She’s still on a high from her last kill, “I don’t mind.”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Be my guest.”

You let Feyre take the last one, sliding the knife easily into the base of its neck. It’s a more humane kill than the last one, and you’re just glad it’s over quickly.

“Don’t drop this again,” Feyre says seriously, striding over the dead bodies and firmly placing the knife back in your hand. Her fingers wrap around yours tightly, making sure you understand the importance of the weapon.

“Not like I was trying to,” you mumble, looking away from her in shame. Your gaze settles on your hands and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t even known the girl long but here she is, saving your life and sticking by your side even though she doesn’t have to.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits softly, looking at you with sad eyes. If she’s saying this because she doesn’t want to be out all alone in the shit world or because she feels a kinship with you from what you’ve both been through, you can’t say.

You sigh, frustrated. “I’m no good for you, Fey. You’d be better off without me.” You wipe the blood from your blade onto your already dirty pants and nestle it back in its rightful spot on your belt.

“Stop with that, (Y/N).” Feyre places her hands firmly on your shoulders and stares into your eyes. Her gray iris’ are piercing, similar and yet different than the undead, like she can see all of your deepest secrets and fears, all of the things you’ve had to do to get here, to stay alive.

You’re vaguely aware of the zombie blood dripping from her blade onto your shoulder and you try not to cringe. “Like hell you’re leaving me in this shit hole alone.”

You chuckle softly, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she will absolutely abandon you, your mind supplies.

“Sorry,” you offer quietly.

“Just don’t scare me like that again,” she responds, waving off your apology. There are no ‘sorry’s’ in the apocalypse, no need to ask forgiveness for the evils you’ve committed. You trail Feyre out of the alley, “Use your words next time.”

“Didn’t want to attract more,” you admit, knowing that if you had screamed for help it would only put the both of you in more danger, “Ended up doing that just fine anyway.”

Feyre doesn’t respond to that. She can see that you’re already kicking yourself for what’s happened, even though the both of you are okay. You have a habit of that, blaming yourself for most things that go wrong. You always have.

“You’re limping,” she points out instead, “You hurt?”

“Nah, just fell on it weird,” you try to smile but it looks more like a grimace. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“We should find somewhere to stop. You can rest and I’ll check out the other stores. Maybe we can find you some painkillers.”

The odds are highly unlikely, but you don’t mention it. Not all of the stores in this tiny town have smashed windows and ransacked shelves.

“We’re not splitting up again,” you demand, following Feyre through the broken window of a nearby store. You wince when you lift your leg and pain shoots up it.

You look around the dinghy shop and make a face. It’s a mattress store, and you have no idea how long it’s been since it’s been broken into, but by the looks of the stained and matted mattresses, you can tell it’s been awhile.

Feyre hums in agreement, scythe poised and ready for anything that might pop up and surprise the both of you. You keep your knife tucked tightly in your hand, ready to back her up without a second thought.

“There’s a clothing shop a few stores down. Untouched. Thought we could drag a mattress down there for a night. Sleep on a real bed for once,” Feyre suggests and throws a grin over her shoulder towards you, “Maybe go on a little shopping spree.”

And that’s another thing that differentiates you from Feyre. While she was scoping out for supplies that might actually help you survive in this undead world, you were thinking about booze.

“It would be nice to get some new clothes,” you comment, pulling at the dirty shirt clinging to your sweaty skin. You frown, looking around at all of the mattresses, “And sleep on something comfortable, if we can find one that’s decent, that is.”

Feyre rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on (Y/N). Everyone knows they keep the nice ones in the back. All wrapped up and ready to go.” She raises her eyebrows at you in a silent question, and you nod, silently telling her that you’ve got her back.

Feyre shoves open the door to the storage room and you’re surrounded by stacked mattresses lining the walls. 

“Jackpot!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The both of you had managed to drag a twin sized bed two stores over into the clothing shop with little trouble. You’d ignored the twinge of pain in your leg at the weight. It grows worse the longer you stand on it, but you really do want to sleep in a real bed.

You shove it as far away as you can from the window at the front of the store and tear the plastic wrap off of it. Your heart stumbles as you think that this is what it must feel like for the zombies to tear through flesh. You shudder.

Instead of falling onto the fresh mattress like you want to, you’d gone back out to search for more supplies before the sun sets. You need water, but it’s scarce to come by these days. You each have one bottle left in your bags from when you’d found a pack of unopened water bottles sitting out in the sun in front of a gas station. It probably wasn’t the best thing to be drinking from a plastic bottle that had been sitting in the sun for who knows how long, but you didn’t have the luxury of being picky these days.

You’d seen one more zombie in the drugstore you were hoping to find some painkillers in, but if the spilled pills surrounding the trapped zombie were anything to go by, it looked like they had gotten to them first.

You whistle to yourself as you walk through the aisles, a slight limp in your step. You kick an open bag of chips out of your way, searching for anything that is still usable to eat for the night.

You’d gotten used to the constant hunger pains, the feeling of your stomach trying to eat itself, contorting in pain when you thought about shoveling a thick and juicy cheeseburger into your mouth. As long as your stomach still jumps at the thought of food instead of flesh, you can manage.

Feyre was built for the apocalypse. She’s figured out how to ration, and she’s always planning, not knowing when you’d find your next meal.

Another reason you were so lucky to have her.

You’re frustrated, having walked down the food aisle three times but still coming up with nothing. The only food left was opened or had rotted out a long time ago, and you don’t need to be getting sick over spoiled food.

“Find anything?” Feyre asks, returning from checking the back room and moving over to where you stand.

“A few bandages, but no food,” you sigh, holstering your weapon. “You?”

She shakes her head, “No food either, but I found these,” she tosses you a bottle of painkillers and you smile gratefully. “Fucker didn’t get to those ones.”

“Thanks, Fey.” You immediately tug off the cap and down two. They catch against your dry throat but eventually work their way down.

You tug your backpack off of your shoulder, stuffing the canister inside. It rattles and you remind yourself to stuff a clean sock into it so they don’t move around as much.

The both of you search up and down the rest of the aisles of the small store just in case. Feyre becomes fascinated over a rubix cube you’d found, still in its package. You smile softly at her as she tears open the plastic and mixes the colors. You both need something that reminds you of the simple life before.

You find some chains and padlocks still handing in their spots in the hardware store and you’re both incredibly thankful. Even though you haven’t found more food, you still have a can of beans you can share, and you have clean clothes and a comfortable place to sleep for the night, so today isn’t as much of a bust as you thought.

“Fuck,” Feyre sighs are she settles down onto the mattress next to you. “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

You hum in agreement, passing her the can of beans. You’ve both changed, opting for plain t-shirts and new jeans. You’d almost cried when you found a package of unopened socks, shouting for Feyre like you’d found a cure.

“S’just socks, (Y/N). Calm down,” she’d replied, but the relief shone in her eyes as well.

You share the beans, passing it back and forth in silence, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You’d packed up what you could into your bags. They sit at the foot of the mattress, ready and close just in case something happens. Your new running shoes sit neatly next to them on your respective side of the bed.

“Go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch,” you offer, and who is Feyre to argue?

She settles into the soft bed and is out as soon as she’s comfortable, exhausted from today’s events. You’re constantly worn out. There’s just something about the end of the world that is so very tiring.

You hum to yourself, checking the exits for the third time in two hours. You need something to do or you’ll fall asleep. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Feyre knows it’s because of your slight paranoia that something terrible could happen if you don’t continually check your surroundings. But you’re not wrong.

Checking the lock and chain on the front door, your attention is caught by something moving outside.

You immediately crouch out of sight, peeking out the grimy window into the darkness to see what it is. 

Three figures, too fast to be zombies.

Your heart pounds. You can hardly make them out in the dark, but it looks like two people dragging another along between them. They’re tall, you can tell. Must be men. They hurry down the street as you watch on. Your gaze flickers up the street, searching for zombies, your knife gripped in a firm hand, but you don’t see anything.

You wonder if the person they’re dragging with them is injured. They must be, otherwise they’d be running alongside the other two. You wonder how much blood they’re leaving behind as the three of them find an open shop across the street and down a few from where you and Feyre are hiding out for the night. An old cafe of sorts. You’d checked it over earlier, but you suppose it’s as good of a place as any to take shelter in for the night, the window and door still intact.

They’ll be away from monsters, at least.

Everything in the new world is a lot scarier in the dark.

_________________________________________

(Part 2)

[yekokataa]

Pale lore in Sacred and Terrible Air

I pulled together some of my favorite descriptions of the Pale from Kurvitz's novel. All excerpts are from the excellent fan translation by Group Ibex, which I think really nailed the style of the game in these quotes.

Warning: Full of SPOILERS and extremely LONG!

The Pale, up close:

The main characters take a road trip to the Lemminkäise zone of entroponetic catastrophe in Katla. They hire a racecar driver and drive to the very edge of the disaster zone, where matter is actively dissolving into the Pale.

The border point disappeared behind them, along with the invisible boundary of winter’s orbit, beyond which is eternal winter. The asphalt also disappeared over time; they encountered rural families on sleds along snowy gravel roads. It is their great privilege to have seen the pale with their own eyes, where it has towered behind the silo since childhood. 

Kenni sees the black mass of the forest slowly drifting into the sky. The earth crunches and cracks as the spruce trees tear themselves out of it, roots and all. The wood screams, and the frozen earth too, like they’re in a dentist’s chair. A cloud of limestone gravel flies into the air, and far above in the dark, the first trees are subsumed in the pale. 

Tereesz, Khan, and the mad Suruese driver look outside, their heads tilted back, as the pale approaches from behind the house. Inside, the bass drum thumps robustly, and outside, behind the silhouette of the building, the dark mass of the forest rolls up into the sky across the entire visible horizon. The pale rises vertically from the spruce forests like a wave, from the mountain ranges above the expanse of the world. Its horror moves slowly, humming over the world, but the world is made of matter, and matter is evergreen, ancient; it sustains itself with surprising dignity even at the moment of disappearance.

The pale can lift up entire houses! Holy shit! Our boys make a narrow escape from the edge of the encroaching pale as a house is torn away from its foundation.

In the yard, where the wheels of the motor carriage have drawn a loop in the snow, Inayat Khan looks up at a farm building that hovers above him like a ghost. Electrical wire entrails hang out of the rotating object, black against the expanse of the starry sky. It drifts on into the pale with a self-evident calm. Up above, a trail of its furniture and crumbling foundation remains. In the yard in front of him, Khan watches how a startled Tereesz and Kenni follow the object’s path, their heads tilting back until they hit the wooden fence behind them.  In a strange, panic-free concern, they all look in the direction of Ulv’s crumbling house. It seems as if every little crack comes from its limestone foundation. Soon it will rise up. But nothing happens. The pale freezes in place far away, behind the house; the creaking of the forest stops, and the music in the house also stops. Somewhere in the perceptible distance, on the edge of the frozen pale above, the farmhouse falls apart and disappears.  […] The engine revs up and the carriage’s wheels spin in the snow. The mass of the pale can no longer support its phantom weight. It breaks down. The vast clearings crumple under it in an instant, exploding with powder snow; a collapse like a shock wave whirls over the world. Spruce trees bow under the blow, and the pale blasts open the windows of the old decaying manor house. It arches around the edges of the house, as if hesitating for a moment, and then explodes together, encompassing it. The pale grabs the manor in its lap, and somewhere inside, in a room with a low ceiling, the young man puts on his headphones. He reads the sweeping pale like a magnetic reader reads a Stereo 8 tape. […] The pale blows across the fields, on both sides of the village road. Its avalanche crashes onto the gravel; the rumbling wall approaches, glowing crimson from the motor carriage’s tail lights. 

Travel through the Pale:

Floating magnet trains seem common, and they even go through the Pale. There's a brief mention that Tereesz once spent a week on a magnet train and was then told he wasn't allowed to travel for a year afterwards due to the dangers of pale exposure.

Outside on the platform, giant buffers are being pulled off the train. The umbilical cord is cut and thus, freed from the connecting bridges, the entire weight of the train with its five-fold carriage slats sinks onto the magnets. They howl at full power below the train cars. And then the flight begins.  The magnetic support splits the North Sea under it in two. It’s quiet inside, the generators humming as the train whizzes by fifty metres above the water. The three of them stand together, laughing. Tereesz extinguishes his smoke in a bronze ashtray, and they turn their back on the observation windows. Ahead, the pale awaits, and past it begins a big world. […] Through the windows, all that’s left of the city behind them is the light pollution, a golden glow in the distant darkness of the snowstorm. 

This floating train station has an illustration Rostov by the way.

For a historical travel example: the famous disappearance of the airship Harnankur. This airship was referenced in the game in the form of the 50-real vodka in the special edition commemorative bottle! Rostov's illustration from the novel is here, showing a model of the ship in Khan's basement.

One hundred and fifty years ago, on another isola—the Graad isola—it snows in the city of Mirova. It’s a midwinter evening, but thousands of people have gathered in the harbour. The quay bustles with them. In the background lies imperial Graad—church steeples and chimneys. The crowd is waving, bidding farewell to the airship rising into the sky. A swan made of wood and nickel rises into the blizzard, and the passengers of the world’s first interisolary flight wave to the crowd from its balcony baskets: well-dressed boujee people, with a never-before-seen adventure ahead of them. It’s the pale—terrifying, but at the same time such an upbeat and unforgettable experience. Modern technology, in the form of a luxuriously upholstered airship, now makes such an experience possible for an ordinary, if perhaps slightly better off, citizen. And on the other side of the pale—oh mystical pale!—the land of Katla awaits, with its royal capital of Vaasa.  […] Two days later, the interisolary flight enters the pale, and then, barely six hours later, a deviation occurs in the airship’s course. “Harnankur” has gone missing with fifteen hundred passengers on board. The flight is believed to have drifted into an uncharted entroponetic mass, the pale superdeep. 

Sound

The pale makes a hissing sound. Here Khan receives a phone call from one of the missing presumed dead girls, who may be a ghost or part of the pale, it's all left very ambiguous. It reminds me of the part in the game where you can call Slipstream SCA and hear a ghost trapped in the phone.

He picks up the receiver, and the hallway fills with the hiss of the pale. It grates in his ear.  “Hello?” asks Khan. But no one answers. “Hello, who is it? Please tell me who you are!” he repeats, more and more pleading each time. The hissing becomes louder and louder, until finally it deafens him, the pressure in his inner ear goes awry, and only that vibration from who-knows-where remains, its centre. The silence goes through his flesh and bones like waves. It’s cold. 

Later, we learn that the pale can actually come through the phone lines?? Creepy!

The speaker switches to a long-distance call; the pale seeps into the hall air from the fabric-covered ziggurat. The signal runs as an entroponetic sequence through the Great Unknown, from Katla to Graad. Relay stations clear the call from the noise of history along the way, but something always creeps into the wires—a ghost radio station. Its quiet voice in its unintelligible language reminds us what it’s here for. To end life. 

It's also similar to the sounds of the pale latitude compressor! During a long distance call through the pale, a voice is heard spelling things out using an “international alphabet” like the real-world NATO phonetic alphabet.

This is how matter degrades, drop by drop, like an analog rhythm running from red through the colourless world. The international alphabet is hidden in the low-frequency waves, “... Nadir-Ellips-Gamut-Azimuth...” and so on, to the border of the settlement. 

Culture, ideology

Zigi as a teen is a total edgelord when it comes to talking about the pale:

But above all, Zigi is still a nihilist. He reads dia-mat [dialectical materialism], says that animals are automatons, is a fan of behaviourism, and adores the pale and the nihilistic innocence of Mesque, Ambrosius Saint-Miro. […] The geography teacher sent him to the principal’s office, and Zigi stopped at the door, the zippers of his leather jacket jingling. “See you in the pale,” he said, and ran his index finger across his throat. Back when entroponetics was not discussed at school, many people gathered around Zigi during recess, and the corridor echoed with his half-truths: “The pale is made of the past,” he said. “All the lost things are jumbled up there, sad and abandoned. The pale is the world’s memory of the world. It accumulates matter and sweeps away everything in its path. This is what’s called entroponetic collapse.”  “But when will it happen, Zigi?" “Yes, Zigi, when?” “It will happen in your lifetime, little Olle. At least, I hope so. History swallows the present; the world of matter disappears, desaparecido... That’s why there’s no point in our generation going to school. There will be no future. When you grow up, don’t have children like your underdeveloped bourgeois parents did. You’ll get to see them die, and that’s it. Compared to the pale, there’s only a small amount of the world left! In the end, the isolas will sink, dozens and hundreds of square kilometres of land mass, can you even imagine? Like a ship keeling over into the pale. Fwooom...” Zigi makes a sinking ship gesture with his hands, the zippers of his leather jacket jingling; the children gasp. “Don’t worry, Olle, this will be the peak of humanity.” 

In the game, Zigi's brand of entroponetic nihilism gets two very brief (and kind of hidden) mentions, where it's named as entropolism. I've got those quotes saved in my post here.

Waves

The pale seems very wave-like in that scene where it lifts a house, and apparently it's also like a wave according to science:

“It’s an oceanographic myth. The Killer Wave.” Little Khan points in the direction of the body of water. The four of them watch from the safe warmth of a beach towel. Insects buzz in the dark, around the gas lanterns. “For a long time it was just that—a myth, a sailor’s tale. Arda even has a mythological name for it: ‘halderdingr’. But now they’re a scientifically documented phenomenon, they really exist, you understand? This explains the dozens, hundreds of missing ships. […] “And you know what’s the most fucked up thing about it?” Khan asks slyly. He wipes his diamaterialist glasses and then puts them back on. His almond eyes squint behind the magnifying lenses, filled to the brim with popular science mystique. “The same effect—don’t ask me how, I don’t know—but the same non-linear effect also explains the pale. They use it in entroponetics. This is how the pale behaves when it sweeps over the world.” 

Mold

I've heard that in Estonian the word used for Pale is Hall, meaning both frost and mold, like a pale gray film that covers the surface of things. As the Pale takes Vaasa, fruits begin to grow mold. Some people choose to stay rather than leave the disaster zone.

The panic has cooled. In the strange indifference of the evacuation, whole families stay behind in Vaasa. There they play board games, in their houses, in their spacious apartments. They love vitamin-rich food, and when the pale is only a few days away, it’s always signalled by the same beautiful event. Fruits go mouldy. It grows vigorously on them. Children listen to oranges crackling on the table. Spores sprout from the pulp, apples are hairy with it. If you try to touch them, they crack open. No one knows why it’s like that. But few can muster the energy to be afraid of that time, and that’s why I say it’s beautiful. 

And later, when Zigi is living in a forest that's been taken by the Pale, even the animals have been consumed by it although they're still alive:

And to the dark forest, to the museum of natural history, where mould grows on the horns of the males and puffs of steam no longer rise from the kids’ nostrils. They still breathe—not oxygen, but pure pale. 

Turning into a protein mass

The mother of the missing girls sits in her home, waiting for the pale to take her:

Ann-Margret Lund also sits there somewhere in her kitchen, in the middle of the pale; her rooms are quiet and clean. The former teacher wears a beige jacket and an above-the-knee skirt, and watches the moulding apricots. […] Like everyone else, she can’t do anything in this extended stay, where one’s sense of the present slowly drifts away. But whereas the others dissolve into their memories, she simply disappears. It’s as if her life had never happened. The past is not awaiting her return. She just wanders around the rooms, adjusts her grandmother’s lace doily and bedspreads, arranges the curtains on the rails. And thus, tastefully, she refuses to indulge in those ecstasies which visit the human spirit when the world is disintegrating. Nothing leaves her hands, and nothing returns.  When Katla finally sinks into the pale, Ann-Margret Lund turns, without the slightest pleasure, into a protein mass. 

Hanging out in the Pale with the ghost of Ignus Nielsen

Years later, as an adult, Zigi has become immune to the effects of the Pale, and even stays in the middle of it in a tent, hanging out with the cytoplasmic spirit of a dead communist.

Human speech sounds out of place in the silence of the pale. It echoes in the gloom of the trees as Zygismunt trudges through the snow. There’s an old trick coined by the great entroponaut K. Voronikin, that you have to shout in the pale. Otherwise, you start to feel gloomy, and the past comes up. But Zygismunt needn’t be afraid of that. When he first entered the pale, he discovered to his great dismay that he couldn’t return like everyone else. Or rather—he could, but not where he really wants. This makes him indispensable to Mazov’s idea. The disappearance of the Lund children has literally given Zigi special entroponetic powers. 

He goes hunting for pale-poisoned ibexes. The phrase ‘protein mass’ comes up again. It seems that any human or animal in the pale for long enough eventually turns into a protein mass.

The entroponaut shakes himself. Snow falls from the shoulders of the anorak coat. He goes on alone. An hour of frozen machine tracks and hoofprints in the snow run along in the flashlight beam. And when a herd of ibex finally emerges from the darkness, they are frozen in place in the middle of the road, like an exhibit in a natural history museum. Some of the females sometimes jerk in place, sneezing; this is a nervous impulse, a muscle tremor. The backs of the stuffed animals are already covered with snow, but their snouts are still steaming, they’re still breathing—some for a few days, some for a week. An anorak-clad figure moves through the herd with the indifference of a professional until the beam of his flashlight casts the alpha male’s crown of horns as a shadow on the wall of spruce trees. Zygismunt looks into the animal’s glazed eyes. Its sense of time has broken down. An automaton’s primitive fragment of a brain strays in the pale faster than that of a human. This is how hunters from the outskirts go hunting in the entrokataa. Of course, they’ll eventually go mad from it as well, and one day they won’t return. But not Zigi, he has special abilities. He takes a pocket knife from his belt and slits the protein mass’s throat. 

[rist-ix]

do you think we could have another tbhtbh sneak peek pretty please 🙏🏻 🤲🏻

Ok, but after this one I’m officially out of snippet material, the rest I’m saving for the final product! It's continuing straight from where we left off in the last sneak peak:

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, rushing past the lower layers of floating vehicles and zooming east, where the greenish tint of a distant dawn is beckoning her closer. Valtor already knows where she is. She has nothing to lose.

Something zips past her ear, and again past her shoulder; people are shooting at her. She doesn’t check to see whether it’s the marks or people in it for the money, or maybe even law enforcement that have orders to arrest her — she evades another car and drops down, between the cars on the actual road, using them as cover as she flies backwards in order to send balls of flame at the attackers chasing her. Rolls sideways in the air to avoid crashing into oncoming traffic, dives beneath a transport’s floating trailer and hears projectiles hit the hull above her.

She wonders if they know that killing her won’t make them rich, only just as dead.

But she doesn’t have the time to ponder on that. Just when she has finally cleared the open traffic, back on the upper layers, when she can see the forest peeking out behind the silvery skyscrapers, a pillar of deep red light bursts up in front of her.

No.

It shoots her clean out of the sky, her wings like lead behind her. The towering buildings turn into streaks of brightness around her as she falls, the world reduced to blurs of gold and blue and midnight black.

No, no, no!

Sensation returns to her limbs just above the ground, and her wings slow her descend enough so she doesn’t break any bones when she lands. The next attack comes immediately after the last, but she manages to throw herself out of the way at the very last moment. Heart racing and shields raised, she scans the street for its origin.

There’s pedestrians backing away from her, cars swerving to the side to avoid hitting her — or being hit by her. People gathering in the cover of storefronts or behind parked cars, waiting to see what happens. If there are marks among them, they make no move to close in on her.

And they don’t have to, either. She blinks and he’s there, silver eyes blazing with wrath, a spell in his fist that shatters her glowing shields into a thousand sparks.

Valtor doesn’t often fight head-on. He opts to manipulate his surroundings instead, to use their environment against his opponents. But she is suddenly, brutally reminded that it is a matter of preference to him, a question of style and elegance, not skill.

He is perfectly capable of brute-forcing his way to victory, when he feels like it.

His next spell isn’t so much magic as it is fury taking shape, and she can only cross her forearms before her to catch the blow. The force of it pushes her backwards, her boots leaving steaming trails on the wet asphalt as she tries to remain upright. She barely gets the chance to return fire; when she looks up he’s already summoned another blast of magenta flames that cuts off any escape routes, singes her sleeves.

The last time they’d fought on this planet had been Council Hall. Once again, he is proving that if Stella hadn’t pulled her away from the fight, she would have been captured that very same day.

Stella is not here, now.

“You,” he seethes over the roaring of the flames, “will regret this.”

It takes two more spells and she’s hurled over the asphalt once more. Shooting spells at him with both trembling hands accomplishes nothing, it’s like he doesn’t even notice. Brushes past them with not even a flinch; jagged, furious magic coiling around him like wings. If there was any sign of intoxication left in him, after she chained him to the wall, there’s certainly none now.

He looks deadly.

She knows, then, that there is no way she is going to win.

It’s that thought that makes the fear in her veins settle. Something inside her goes cold and still, reminding her of the mirror-like surface of Lake Roccaluce, just a few miles to the north.

The spells in her hands flare, make the air hiss and simmer around her as she stands up straight, faces him.

She is not going to win, no. But she’ll be damned if she goes down without a fight.

“Regret?” she snarls, and feels her hair start to to float behind her. A comet’s trail, brilliant before it burns up in the sky. “You don’t even know what that means.”

She rockets off of the ground, the force of it coming from her legs just as much as her wings, and there is nothing pretty in the way she fights. Nothing weightless or elegant in the flames she calls from thin air, a meteor shower concentrated on a single target.

“What any of this means.”

The spells don’t even make contact; he is too fast, his shields too strong. It doesn’t stop her.

“You took it all away like it was nothing, because it was nothing to you!”

Her next blast cuts through the shroud of his magic, sets fire to his sleeve all the way up to his shoulder. The flames are reabsorbed into an attack of his own before she can give herself any delusions of triumph

“Everything and everyone I love, this entire life I fought for over and over again, this life I had earned,” she roars against her failing shields, desperation and fury tight in her throat.

“You took it from me, in a single day.“

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The golden hour on the low road to Taos. Photo: Chuck Carl (July 15, 2023) :: [Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

"Beyond the wall of the unreal city, beyond the security fences topped with barbed wire and razor wire, beyond the asphalt belting of the superhighways, beyond the cemented banksides of temporarily stopped and mutilated rivers, beyond the rage of lies that poisons the air, there is another world waiting for you. It is the old true world of the deserts, the mountains, the forests, the islands, the shores, the open plains. Go there. Be there. Walk gently and quietly deep within it. And then -

May your trails be dim, lonesome, stony, narrow, winding and only slightly uphill. May the wind bring rain for the slickrock potholes fourteen miles on the other side of yonder blue ridge. May God's dog serenade your campfire, may the rattlesnake and the screech owl amuse your reverie, may the Great Sun dazzle your eyes by day and the Great Bear watch over you by night."

 - Edward Abbey Beyond the Wall: Essays from the Outside entheognosis

[thanks whiskey river]

[harukimurakitty]

Take Me Home, Country Roads (2): First Day of My Life

❥ NakedToaster x Reader

August 31st, 2009

The following morning, something in the air felt different- aside from the sudden lack of humidity, that was. It was a lighter, breezier feeling that might’ve been enough to convince people more optimistic than you that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be as bad as you initially suspected. You had experienced that sensation before in Colorado; it was the same feeling you’d get after finally reaching the top of a tall mountain while hiking along the Front Range. The atmosphere was so crisp that it was almost as though you were back on Grays Peak, overlooking the Coloradan wilderness.

As nostalgic as it was, you had little time to reminisce over the fond memories of your home state, thanks to your sister and her prioritization of the pursuit of knowledge. You hated her sometimes- you really did. Rather than sleeping soundly after hours of reading road signs and navigating maps, you were trudging along a dusty path in the middle of a forest with a sore shoulder. You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night, mainly due to how uncomfortable the couch was, but admittedly to first-day nerves as well. If Texas schools were anything like what you had heard, you had every right to be anxious.

The longer you walked, the more your stomach grumbled. You hadn’t had time to eat breakfast at home, so you had shoved a prepackaged muffin and a Starbucks bottle of iced coffee into your backpack before heading out. The sad thing was you hadn’t even woken up late; it just took an hour to find the life force to get out of bed and get dressed. Somehow you had accomplished the feat, but as you dragged further along the trail to school, you were unsure if you could do it again tomorrow.

Although you were reluctant to acknowledge it, the path was quite a sight to behold, at least by Texas standards. The ground was flat, much like the rest of the Coastal Plains region- but there was one section with a rickety wooden bridge that ran directly across a river. The stream itself wasn’t too impressive, it was maybe fifteen feet across at the widest, but it was quite a ways below the surrounding land. That was your favorite part of the trail by far.

You knew you were approaching Ottawa High once you heard the sound of tires screeching and country music. You took the music as your warning to put your headphones on, adjusting them to your ears. After another minute of walking, the trees began to separate and the dirt underneath you was replaced with asphalt- a harsh reminder that sidewalks were no more. The front of the school entered your field of vision not long after, and the sight shocked you. 

Truth be told, you were expecting Ottowa to be a small and crumby building, not whatever you were looking at when you stepped into the clearing. Instead, there was a three-story, quarter-mile-long school with a parking lot big enough to fit at least four hundred cars. Your mouth was agape at the sight, and you were quickly starting to regret not moving before orientation day, as Sable had suggested. You pulled your iPhone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, seven-forty a.m., and sighed a deep sigh. You had to be in class by eight at the latest, which left you just under twenty minutes to figure out where the hell your first class was. 

Getting through the parking lot was the worst part of your walk- you had forgotten how annoying teenage boys with trucks could be. After nearly getting run over a couple of times, you made it inside what you assumed was the front entrance and began scanning room numbers for 3-234, AP Environmental Science. After five minutes of searching, you overheard a teacher explain to another student that the first number of a room correlated to the floor number. Though you were grateful for the sense of direction, a pit began forming in your stomach at the thought of having to climb three floors first thing in the morning for the rest of the year.

Predictably, your legs felt like jelly by the top of the stairs. The most difficult part of the climb wasn’t walking up the flights, but trying not to sound like you were about to pass out. Your breathing was so labored by the end that you had to take a second and lean across the railing; somehow, you were fortunate enough to be the only person in the stairwell. After catching your breath, you stepped into the main hallway and continued the search for your homeroom. Finally, you stumbled across your class the second the minute bell rang. Putting your hand on the door handle tentatively, you prepared yourself for weird looks and lingering stares- you were the new kid, after all. Then, you inhaled deeply and swung the door open with as much vigor as you could muster.

You stepped inside, braced for the absolute worst, and were promptly met with… nothing. Nobody had even looked in your direction. Lord, you had never been humbled so quickly before. Your cheeks burned as you awkwardly stood at the front of the room, looking for an available seat. The desks were two per row, and the only ones available were toward the back corner of the room. One was directly against the wall, next to a boy with long hair that was hunched over, presumably asleep. The other was further up the aisle, next to an awake emo-looking girl. Neither were particularly good options, but you settled on the seat by the emo girl. The last thing you wanted to do was make an enemy by accidentally waking Mr. RuPaul up in the middle of his nap. As you made your way over to the emo girl, she moved her backpack from the floor to the seat you were seconds from sitting in, all while making direct eye contact.

“Sorry, I’m saving this seat for my friend.” The late bell blared through the hallways the second she was done speaking. “Um. She’s running late.” The girl looked away with a bugged-out expression. You laughed out an “It’s okay,” but a deep panic began to set in. You weren’t even good enough to sit by an emo. As you walked to the very back of the class, you heard a couple of snickers and felt the stares you had tried preparing for. What you hadn't expected, however, was being rejected by the reject.

Luckily, the guy at the back had no objection to you sitting next to him. By the time you reached the back, he had sat up and was rubbing his eyes sleepily. Now that you were closer and he wasn’t lying down, you picked up on more of his features. He was a lot taller than you first thought, looking about six feet, but he was scrawny overall. His hair had a pinkish tint to it- not just a strawberry blond, but a light, rose-colored pink that complimented his pale skin. The unnamed guy looked delicate as hell, to put it bluntly. He stood out a lot compared to the other guys in the class, who almost all had mullets and naturally colored hair. While you tried to check him out, you accidentally made eye contact and darted your eyes away. You knew you had to say something after, or else it’d be awkward for the rest of the period.

“Um, do you know where the teacher is?” You gave a small smile and twirled a strand of your hair nervously. He glanced at you, big, blue saucer eyes shining through his round glasses, before looking around the room.

“...I think he said something about going to make copies…?” His voice was meeker than you expected it to be, like glass. Really, really thin glass.

“Oh. That’s cool.” A beat passed. The two of you sat in silence until he reached over to his backpack and pulled out a sandwich baggie. Inside was a singular piece of toast wrapped with a paper napkin. You couldn’t help but give a judgemental stare as he unwrapped his… breakfast, if it even counted, and ate it dry. You hoped it had been buttered at the very least or had a thin, barely visible layer of jam or something. Before you could think about it much longer, a man you assumed to be the teacher walked through the door with a stack of paper in his hands. He passed out the pieces to each row wordlessly. 

The sheet itself wasn’t anything interesting; it was a bunch of typical icebreaker questions- favorite food, color, etc. After the teacher was done, he went to the front of the room and introduced himself briefly as Mr. Neale. He did the standard first-day routine of reviewing the syllabus, late work policy, and other house maintenance rules. By the time the bell rang again for the second period, you practically ran out of the room. You had never been so grateful to hear such an irritating sound.

According to your schedule, your second period, AP Lang, was all the way back down on the first floor. As you descended the stairs, you pondered whether it’d be easier to throw yourself out a third-story window or continue your high school education. You settled on the window option but continued walking to your class regardless. 

The first floor’s layout was way more challenging to navigate than the third’s and a lot busier, too. You went through the same routine of checking passing door numbers and wandering around aimlessly, but it didn’t seem to work nearly as well as the last time. By the time the minute bell rang, you were on the other side of the school frantically speed-walking around corridors to find your class. It wasn’t like you could ask anybody, either- everybody was already in their classrooms. Just as you felt your chest beginning to constrict from panic, you saw your holy grail- the toast boy from first period. Before he could turn the next corner, you called out to him. 

“Hey!” You yelled. No response. You ran up a couple of feet behind him and tried again. “Dude with the pink hair!” At that, he turned around, glancing around as if he wasn’t the only person in the hall, let alone with pink hair. “Uhm, you have any idea where 1-324 is?”

“O-oh, I think we’re both headed there? AP Lang, right?” Toast Boy (you really should’ve paid more attention during roll) said.

“Yeah. Shit, no way.” You lightly jogged next to him and walked side by side down the hall. The late bell rang, but you were just happy you finally knew where to go. 

“Are you new this year?” He asked, looking down at you. Now that he was standing right by you, you got a sense of how tall he really was. He was over six feet easily-  around six feet three or four.

“Mhm. Did the whole “getting lost” thing give it away?” You chuckled, embarrassed.

“Er- kind of. This school is big, but it’s easy to get around. The first number of a room is–”

“The floor level, right?” He nodded.

“The number after that is the side of the building. The left side is the 100s, the middle is the 200s, and the right is the 300s. This is the 320s hall.” Toast Boy explained. “And that,” he pointed to a classroom down the hall, “is 324.” The door was still wide open, which you took as a sign that you wouldn’t be reprimanded for arriving late. The two of you walked inside and shuffled awkwardly to the back of the class. Inside was a short woman taking roll at the front, who smiled as you passed by to find a seat.

“Mr. Schmidt, you’re just in time. Glad to see you’ve already made a friend.” Toast grimaced, a lot less amused than she was. She glanced down at the roll call list in front of her and back up at you. “(Y/N) (L/N), I’m assuming?” You nodded. She wrote something down and put her clipboard on her desk. if 

“I’m Ms. Roberts. I’ll be your AP Language teacher this year- potentially next year, too, if you fail. As some of you know, I was the art teacher until Mrs. Clarke went on maternity leave. Quite frankly, neither of us wants to be here, so don’t make this year any harder than it has to be, and we’ll have a fun time. Right?” Ms. Roberts asked with a forced smile. A few people around you nodded in agreement.

“Good. Now, I was going to review the syllabus today, but the copy machine on this side of the building has been broken since last May, and I didn’t want to go to the library and pay a hundred dollars for papers most of you will throw away by tomorrow, so we’re going to write your first journal entry today. If you did what the school asked and bought a notebook for each of your core classes, you’ll be fine. If not, get a sheet of notebook paper from the front.” Some people stood up and grabbed a sheet from the front. You and Toast Boy both had your notebooks- he had a light green pattern, and yours was the regular black and white print.

“Your assignment is to write about how your first day is going. We’re only in second period, but there’s bound to have been something noteworthy so far. It doesn’t have to be long, just have it turned in by the end of class.” And with that, she sat at her desk and began scrolling through her computer.

You had your entry done within ten minutes; you weren’t necessarily a fast writer, but you didn’t have much to say. Most of what you wrote was about how much you hated Texas, but you included a bit about Toast Boy, too. Toast had written even less than you had, filling up a quarter of the page compared to your half. After ripping the page out of your journal, you generously offered to turn in both sheets to the turn-in tray at Ms. Roberts's desk. You caught Toast Boy’s eye as you sat back in your corner seat and decided to strike up a conversation.

“Dude, your last name is Schmidt? Like the guy from New Girl?” You asked, leaning closer to Toast Boy. He gave you a blank, unimpressed stare.

“I uh, never thought about it that way, but, yeah, I guess.” You laughed a bit, unsure of what to say next. Everyone around you was talking amongst their friends or on their phones; you felt weird being one of the only two sitting silently.

“So, how does Ms. Roberts know you?”

“I had her freshman year for art. I ate lunch in her room all year because I hated how loud the cafeteria was.” He cringed, presumably at the thought of the cafeteria and not eating lunch with Ms. Roberts. A few more seconds of silence passed before Toast spoke up. “Um, what’s your schedule like?” You grabbed the wrinkled paper out of your pocket and unfolded it, then handed it to the pink-haired boy on your left.  He skimmed the paper with his soft, blue eyes and then looked at you again with a gentle smile.

“We have the same fifth, seventh, and eighth periods.” You returned the smile and reached for the paper, reading it yourself. Graphic Design was your fifth period, APUSH your seventh, and Yearbook your eighth. It made sense; Toast Boy looked like he would be involved in nerdier electives like Graphic Design and Yearbook. Something about him just radiated geek vibes, not that you minded. 

“And if we have the same fifth period, then we have the same lunch, don’t we?” You asked.

“Yeah.” A beat passed.

“So… wanna eat lunch together?” A light blush settled across Toast’s face, which you took as a sign that you fucked up. “Only if you want to. It’s fine if you don’t.”

“No, yeah!” His outburst slightly startled you; you didn’t know he could get that loud. “Uhm- that’d be really cool, actually. 

“Sweet!” You grinned.

The rest of the period was uneventful; you and Toast talked some more about classes, directions, summer, and every other generic topic under the sun. There was still awkwardness between you when you left second period, but significantly less than there’d been in the morning. Your third and fourth periods, Pre-Cal and Culinary, were painfully slow. You had never been the best at math, and cooking was only fun on your own terms, so they were far from your favorite classes. You watched the clock for all of Culinary, waiting for it to hit eleven so you could go to Graphic Design. You didn’t have much to say to Toast Boy- you had used all of your conversation starters in second period, but it was nice having someone else to be alone with.

When fifth period came, you were one of the first people inside the Graphic Design classroom. A middle-aged woman asked for your name, checked something off her clipboard, and told you to sit wherever. Although you had enough self-awareness to know sitting in a corner for three classes made you look like a recluse, you felt uncomfortable sitting in the middle of the room. As you glanced around the classroom, budget cuts were evident. The room looked like a computer lab, with a computer between every two seats. There weren’t desks like in the other classrooms; instead, there were three long tables in a U-shape along the walls.

People began to file in shortly after, with Toast being one of the last inside. Through your conversations, you had picked up his distaste for school in general. It explained why he was fast asleep for the first part of Environmental and why he ran late to class despite his familiarity with the school’s layout. He glanced around the classroom when he entered until his eyes landed on you. His eyes widened when he saw you staring back, and he gave a nervous smile as he walked over. 

“How were your last classes?” You said when he sat down beside you. He made a sour face and shrugged in response.

“They were… what I was expecting. Uh, what about you? How bad is it here compared to your last school?” Toast Boy said the last part as though it were a joke, but it lacked humor. If there was anyone in that school who hated Ottowa more than you, it was definitely him.

“Like,” you thought about the most delicate way to phrase your words, “...pretty bad.” You and Toast shared a quick laugh. You made sure to not be too loud so the teacher wouldn’t get you in trouble, but you were hidden well in the corner. “I miss my friends. I miss my old house, especially my room, and I never thought I’d say this, but my old school, too.” Toast nodded.

“Where did you transfer from?”

“It’s a little far from here. You… probably haven’t heard of it before.” You winced.

“Try me. I’ve lived in this state since ever. I probably know it.” He assured.

“...Colorado?” You forced a smile. He gave you a blank, open-mouthed stare. 

“Colorado. What in fuck’s name posessed you to move to Ottowa of all places?” Toast said audibly in disbelief. 

“Well, it’s not like I chose to come here. My sister moved here for college, and my parents–” oh fuck , you thought, how were you going to explain it to him? “My parents, uh, they didn’t want her… to be alone?” It was the worst lie you’d ever told, but when you glimpsed back at him, it was clear he was eating up every word.

“Well, if no one else says it,” he trailed off a bit, formulating his words, “I’m sorry.” Just as you were going to respond, the lunch bell cut you off. People made a mad dash for the door, except for Toast, who stood next to his seat and waited for you to join him. 

“Sorry for what, exactly?” You asked when you stepped into the hallway.

“Having to move here. You’ll get used to it, but it doesn’t get much better.” 

“Fun.” You chuckled dryly.

“I know, right.”

You followed him until you reached the cafeteria, which was just as massive as the rest of the school. Toast Boy led you to the line that, according to him, had the most edible food, and you began walking to where all the lunch tables were. You made it a couple of steps before he softly grabbed you by the shoulder. You turned around to see his face flushed pink as if he wasn’t the one who initiated the contact. He stared for a few seconds until he realized it was his cue to speak.

“Oh! I, uh, know somewhere else we can eat. If you want.” You thought it was funny how worked up he got over a shoulder touch.

“Yeah, sure. I wasn’t looking forward to eating here,” you gestured to the cafeteria, “to begin with.”

Toast laughed and walked past the cafeteria and into what you assumed was the courtyard. He turned into an alley between the main building and the natatorium, glancing around every few seconds. Although you didn’t want to get suspended your first day, you didn’t want to pussy out of a potential friendship, either. You two came to a side door on the main building, with a sign on the front that clearly read “FACULTY ONLY” in bold, red letters. He jiggled the door handle with as much force as someone trying to balance a lunch tray in one hand could muster, to no avail. You were about to ask if the door was locked when you heard a quiet click. Toast Boy looked back at you, beaming, as he swung the metal door open.

“It leads to the roof. There’s another entrance from the staff room, but it’s usually empty during lunch.” He explained as he stepped into the building. Inside was a stairwell, with another door leading to the staff room he mentioned. You stuck close behind him as you climbed the stairs, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. When you reached the top after what felt like an eternity, Toast opened another door, and you were met with a blinding light from the Texas sun.

“Goddamn, that’s bright.” You groaned, covering your eyes with the hand that wasn’t carrying your lunch. 

“It’s way better when it isn’t boiling outside, especially during fall, but it beats the cafeteria any day of the year.” He walked to the nearest ledge and sat next to it, his long legs splayed out over the concrete. You stepped over his legs, careful not to accidentally step on him, and looked out over the railing. It was a sick sight, to be entirely honest. You could see the middle of town and the forest around the school from where you stood. Splotches of green, red, and orange proved fall was just around the corner, even if the temperature made it feel like July.

“So what do you think?” Toast asked in a quiet voice.

“Pretty.” You grinned, looking down at him.

“This guy from my art class showed it to me freshman year. He graduated, but he was super protective of this spot. He was all like, ‘Soren, I’ll kill you if I catch any freshmen up here vaping,’ and then after a week’s worth of threats, he led me up here.” He reminisced.

“Soren?” You asked, confused. You wondered if you had heard him wrong- sore-in. Swear? Swear I’ll kill you?

“...My name?” He stated as if it were obvious. You sucked in a deep breath, a feeling of regret washing over you.

“No, like… is it… Irish. Or something.” You stuttered. Soren’s face turned a bright red, embarrassed at his “mistake.”

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry. I really thought you didn’t know my name.” You laughed nervously along with him, guilt eating you from the inside.

“As if, I mean, we’ve had how many classes together?” You faked a nonchalant shrug and crossed your arms.

“It’s German, actually.” He corrected. Soren Schmidt. Definitely not something you’d heard before.

You slid down next to him and began munching on your stale, cold pizza. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for the rest of lunch, just eating and enjoying each other’s company. Occasionally, a breeze would blow through, and you’d get hit with a wave of nostalgia from Colorado. The environment was completely different, from the temperature to the people. There were no mountains around for at least a couple of hundred miles, or sidewalks, or public transportation in general, yet a feeling of home lingered in the air. The top of Ottawa High School was no Grays Peak, but with Soren, it’d do.

[thorsenmark]

Hiker Crossing and Cars Along the Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While at a roadside pullout along the Skyline Drive with a view looking down the road to the west-northwest. This is in Shenandoah National Park around a location Google Maps lists as Low Gap. The image itself was a random happening with cars on the road as well as one hiker beginning to cross along the Dickey Ridge Trail in this part of the national park. The image itself is slightly out of focus as I was attempting to capture the hiker before he crossed the road and hadn't had a chance to select a focal point prior to releasing the shutter. But I did like that out-of-focus look as it had an artistic feel to the image.

[rjzimmerman]

Acadia National Park Confronts a Rising Tide (Sierra Club)

The glaciers are melting in Glacier National Park. The forests around and in Yosemite National Park are burning down. Seasonal bodies of water are forming in Death Valley National Park. All sort of human and weather or climate associated events are doing damage to the Everglades. The Rio Grande sometimes flows through Big Bend. Joshua trees are not propagating and might someday burn down in Joshua Tree National Park. The time is way passed for the National Park Service to redefine "conservation" as "preservation," and do something, as best it can, to protect these public lands and their inhabitants, from human caused harm.

A major storm in January 2024 sent Mount Desert Island's Seawall Road into the Atlantic Ocean, a harbinger of things to come as surrounding Acadia National Park contends with climate change and sea level rise. | Photo by Kyle Paoletta

Over the course of four days in January, a one-two punch of winter storms walloped coastal Maine and destroyed infrastructure across Acadia National Park that rangers are still repairing as they gear up for the millions of tourists who visit every summer. Following nearly identical tracks up the East Coast, each weather system brought hurricane-force winds and a record-setting storm surge of ocean water that flooded, and then flooded again, seaside areas all over Mount Desert Island, which is home to not only the national park but also several towns and a mishmash of state, federal, and private land. 

The Gulf of Maine is warming faster than almost any other body of water on Earth, and climatologists estimate the tides around Mount Desert Island are likely to rise by a full foot over the next 25 years. The temporary sea level rise brought on by the January storms offered a peek into what could be a new normal by mid-century, forcing officials at Acadia to confront the reality that restoring the current damage will require a much more rigorous process than merely rebuilding roads and trails, many of which were established over a century ago. It's a situation that illustrates the inherent tension between the two missions of the National Park Service writ large: conservation and tourism.

On the west side of the island, pine trees part to reveal sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean where a state highway passes over a natural breakwater formation called Seawall. In January, the storms dragged away hunks of asphalt from that roadway and covered a nearby picnic area in rocks and the trunks of 700 or so trees downed by winds gusting in from the ocean. Down the road, one of the Park Service’s interpretative panels had been fully uprooted and tossed aside, as if by a giant. Subsequent storms that rolled over Mount Desert Island during the spring deposited yet more stones in the picnic area, forcing rangers to keep putting up orange cones to dissuade visitors.

When I visited in April, officials at Acadia were still in the early stages of recovery. The facilities crew had its hands full with repairing 1,000 feet of the Ocean Path, a vital trail in Acadia that connects two popular destinations: the island’s only sandy beach and Thunder Hole, where the dramatic crash of waves into a granite chasm draws some of the park’s largest crowds. Fixing the Ocean Path was just one line item in the tens of millions of dollars in damage sustained by Acadia. 

[fjordfolk]

Hello, I was just wondering if you could share more about the kind of training and preparation you did with your girls at home/on shorter walks to get them ready for long hikes. And out of curiosity, what were the traits you looked for in potential breeds/puppies to suit long hikes? 💜

Oof, I wish I had a good and technical system to present here, but the truth is that we live in a rural part of Norway where nothing is flat unless it was dug out and the asphalt cracks so fast the main roads count as mild terrain, so a lot of it just comes with the territory.

From early on I've pretty much just tried to let them learn and grow as naturally as possible and to not limit them too much, and all of our puppies have been active and come on short hikes since they were ~3 months old. Not like heavy, static, structured activity - but little off-trail mountain or forest treks focused on play and exploration. Shaping the dog I want from the start, basically.

Our activity levels fluctuate with the season and weather, so we only do really long hikes in the summer and early autumn. But it's not unusual to spend 3-4hrs going mostly uphill on a regular walk, so doubling that for a hike isn't that big of an ask as long as they're healthy and in good base condition. And once hiking season starts rolling around in June after eight months of snow/sleet/rain, I'm usually in worse shape than my dogs anyway lol. I know my dogs well and we start the season with a few warmup hikes, to see where we're all at.

As far as breeds go, idk. I just tend to like a relatively neutral, balanced build. I'm not personally into very large or heavy dogs. I appreciate a little athleticism. I want less prey drive and more handler orientation. The ideal dog for me is one that maybe doesn't Have To, but Can and Wants To. Over the years I've also learned that I like a little moderation in body and angulation, and I prefer a slightly careful dog over an overconfident one.

[girlsfightingarena]

Colors Aesthetic

bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                               ( repost, don’t reblog! )

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

Tagged by @unshackled-instinct

Tagging whoever would like to do this! Feel free to steal!

[demonsfate]

 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂

bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                               ( repost, don’t reblog! )

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

TAGGED BY . . . i stole this ! <3

TAGGING . . . feel free to take it too !