#zag skis
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You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1
This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.
~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~
PART 2 HERE
SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love.
Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long.
What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?
Chapter 1: SKULLFACE
As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.
It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.
Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?
The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.
You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.
They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.
But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?
And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.
You always loved Halloween.
The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned.
You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.
It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.
Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.
You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.
Just the way you liked it.
You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.
Wherever those streets would take you.
***
It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard.
It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.
Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.
You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.
Good enough.
You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers.
You stepped inside.
Your first thought was: This is not a pub.
You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.
This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.
Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm.
This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling.
The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.
Ah, it’s one of those places.
You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.
The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.
"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.
Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.
"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"
"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."
The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight.
"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."
"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."
A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.
Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.
"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.
"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."
"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.
When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.
"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.
"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked."
The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.
"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute."
"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."
That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.
...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?
Your head darted upwards.
"Did you just say that I look like shit?"
Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.
The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.
"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."
That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.
"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"
The following words got stuck in your throat.
Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.
But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time.
His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.
You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.
"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"
You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.
"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"
He didn't blink. It was unnerving.
"I don't do 'alloween, love."
"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"
The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.
"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."
"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.
"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”
You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath.
"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant.
The nerve of this fucking guy!
"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”
There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.
You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size.
He could probably deliver on his promise.
You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.
Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.
You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.
Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.
"Like what you're seein', love?”
You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.
"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"
"I do, yeah."
Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.
"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.
"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.
"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."
You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.
He did it very slowly. Very gently.
You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.
"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.
You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.
The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.
Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.
It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.
And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.
You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.
You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.
You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.
He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.
"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush.
"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"
Skullface snorted softly.
"I am not a goth, love."
"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.
"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.
"Why?" you prodded.
"Tattoos in fun places."
"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.
"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."
"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.
You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.
"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."
He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins:
"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."
"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."
That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.
The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.
"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.
"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.
He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.
"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."
"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".
"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."
"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"
"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.
"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices."
You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.
"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."
You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.
"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle.
The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?
"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."
"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.
"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."
Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.
Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.
"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"
Dark eyes twinkled.
"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."
He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.
You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.
"Just taste it."
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May I please request a Zagreus x Persephone's Priestess Flower Nymph! reader who Zag meets when he successfully completes a run while Persephone's in the underworld, find her tasked for caring for the house and garden while she's away? Please and Thank you.
Take me to the garden
(And bury me where I am loved.)
Fandom: Hades
Zagreus X Female Reader
Word count: 3K
Warning: Kissing, no beta.
Notes: Hi, sorry for the long wait! Been dealing with a combo of flu and work. I hope this was close to what you wanted and that you enjoy it! There is an index of plants/flowers I choose and their symbolism at the end.
Enjoy!
~
The tall stalks of wheat swayed in the gentle breeze, golden in the fading sunlight. In the coming days, it will be harvested for food. Bread, porridge to fill the belly.
It was a time for the daughters to gather, to work together and provide. The warm sun on their back. And proud smiles on all of their faces. Your mother had worked in the garden just as her mother did and her mother before her. The history was carved in your bones.
Only now it will be just you and your sisters, their eyes on you for leadership.
You heard Persephone’s soft footstep, the grass growing taller with each of her movements. Little daisies will follow, bright white against the grass. You loved the sight of it, little flowers growing.
Even your grief, the low boil of anger in your stomach, you couldn’t ignore Persephone. She had a mother to you in ways your own mother never was. You would not deny her.
So you stood, your empty basket at your feet and turned to face her.
Persephone’s face crumbled when she saw your expression and she held her arms open. “Oh, little one. Do not despair.”
Like a child, you went to her. Her hand rested on top of your head, careful to not disturb the carefully made crown, colorful with ribbons, wheat and small wildflowers weaved in. The sweetness of lavender and her warmth smoothed the ache in your chest just so and you closed your eyes.
There was a moment of silence, the faint brush of a cool breeze then you spoke. “I know why you must go but I won’t lie, my heart won’t let me. I am going to miss you greatly.”
Persephone squeezed you, “I know. I will miss you as well. It's just… I think Zagreus needs me. And I wish to know my son.”
“Of course, my lady.” You told her. “We all know he brings you great joy.”
You closed your eyes, and silently cursed your own weakness.
~
Persephone left on a beautiful morning, the cheerful skies seemingly uncaring of your grief. Your sisters murmured and some wept, but there was the harvest and the garden that needed tending to. As well the house.
So that what you did, you cared for the land, to the solid wood of the home. The sun drifted on, and the wheat fell under the scythe and new seeds were planted. It didn’t help the pain in your heart but at least you could do this for Persephone.
One by one, each of your sisters left after the harvest. They will return next year, some rounded with children, some with tales of far away places and for some, it will be their daughters in their places.
Then it was just you.
~
It was when you saw the burnt grass that you knew you weren’t alone. Your mouth thinned in disapproval, you have seen it before.
It meant that Persephone’s son, Zagreus was in the garden.
You never saw him despite him visiting Persephone. The visits were never long, just a few hours and typically by the time you knew there was a stranger in the garden, all that was left were Persephone’s tears and blood.
And the lingering smell of burnt grass.
Carefully you followed the footsteps, thankful that he had stuck to the beaten dirt path. Maybe it was unkind, but you were planning on a firm word with him. Just because Persephone was fine with him going and coming whenever he pleased, didn’t mean you were.
It didn’t take long to find him, kneeling on his knee and his fingers carefully touching the pale petals of the lilies.
He didn’t look anything like you expected. It was rare to see a man, only women and children were allowed to be in Persephone’s sanctuary. It would be easy to mistake him for a mortal at first glance. However, there was a strength to his form, broad shoulders and a fluid grace to his movements that spoke of his godhood.
“Their petals are fragile. I suggest not touching them.” Your voice came out sharp and Zagreus jerked his hand away like a guilty child. He stood quickly, turning to you.
The god looked battle-worn, deep marks on his chest, barely healed cuts on his arms and face. There was a lingering exhaustion in his eyes. He looked surprised, his eyes unwavering from you, then he smiled, slow and warm.
Warmth flooded inside your very core at the sight but you held your head high, your scowl unfading.
“I know you.” Zagreus said, his voice a rumble, a contrast against the gentle birdsong and quiet ruffle of grain. “You’re my mother’s high priestess.”
“And you’re Zagreus. Her son.” You replied.
There was a pause then you asked. “What are you doing here?”
Zagreus looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah. Mother asked me to check on the garden. And on you. She suggested that you might need help.”
“I do not.” You said brusquely. Zagreus gave you a startled glance and you sighed. Guilt was an unwelcome guest but you felt its weight in your chest.
You sighed, “Forgive me, I am not used to strangers. It is very kind of you to fulfill Lady Persephone’s wishes.”
Zagrues chuckled, a grin on his face. It made him appear boyishly sweet. “Truthfully, it's probably better if you didn’t need my help. I never gardened before. I would have killed anything I touched.”
You clicked your tongue, “Never?” You couldn’t imagine such a thing, you had been born among the trees and flowers. You had grown up side by side with the plants, learning the cycles of the seasons and your role in it.
“Never. The underworld is nothing like this. To me, not even the beauty of Elysium comes close to this place.” Zagreus said. His hand waved toward the lilies, to the trees. His face was thoughtful. “The work my mother -and you- put into this place is amazing.”
Your fingers curled over your stomach as pity grew. You still resented him for the pain he caused but…
“Would you like to see the rest?” You offered. “I have finished most of today’s chores and the apple trees are fruiting.”
Zagreus’ mismatched eyes locked on yours and you held your breath, awaiting for a judgment you just now only aware of. You wondered if Zagreus resented you the same you did to him.
Then the same warm smile returned.
“I would like that very much.” Zagreus said quietly.
Not sparing a moment to think about the warm flush on your cheeks, you turned on your heels. Without missing a beat, Zagrues fell in step with you. This close, you felt the warmth of his body. There was a faint smell of copper and smoke.
You kept your eyes forward, not letting him see how off balanced he made you.
You pointed to each and every plant as they walked past. Persephone understood plants in a way no else could as far as you were concerned. Every spot was carefully chosen to maximize the plants’ growth and health.
You told this to Zagreus, pausing in front of the yarrow, the flowers reaching high up to the sun.
“These are yarrows.” You paused, glancing toward Zagreus who offered you a raised eyebrow. “They are also known as the warrior plant. Perhaps I can make you some medicine, it will help you heal.”
At your words, Zagreus’ lip quirked up, a false smile. “I appreciate it. I do but these won’t help me. Nothing will.”
You frowned, mouth parting in question when without a single word, Zagrues walked past you, nodding toward the tall sunflowers. “Now tell me, what are these lovely things?”
Normally you would scoff at such words, what man would think himself above such needs? But the memories of Persephone weeping, her hands, bloody and trembling, hovering over nothing flashed in your mind.
You should have asked more questions but Persephone, for as much as you had cared for her, kept many things close to the chest, Zagreus the closest of all. The said god was looking at you, his black hair ruffled by the soft breeze.
Like this, he wasn’t the villain you thought he was, tearing through the garden and breaking your Lady’s heart. There was a gentleness to him, most would have stomped through the garden, picking apart the flowers but Zagreus had been careful with every single touch.
“Sunflowers.” You told him, moving to stand by his side. “They are always searching for the sun. They follow its path though the skies. Always looking but never able to touch.”
Zagreus frowned, “What a sad story for a cheerful looking plant.”
You inclined your head in quiet agreement, “Come along, I shall show you the apples. Some food will lighten the mood.”
He nodded, however his eyes lingered on the sunflower. The flowers only swayed the breeze, unaware of the god staring at their dark faces.
The apples would help that you were sure of, the sweetness unlike anything. The sight of the trees, colorful and lush, would be a treat of itself.
Only Zagreus never made it.
Among the pale yarrow and yearning sunflowers and quiet birdsong, he collapsed. Your body moved before you realized it, your arms around his chest as you were dragged down with him.
His firm chest was under your ear and there was a moment of embarrassment, your cheeks flushed. Then you heard it, the slowing of a heartbeat. That he wasn’t quite as warm as he was before and when he let out a breath, it rattled.
You shifted quickly, placing a spread hand over where his heart was as you sat up. One your ribbons brushed against his shoulder when you moved to study his face. “Zagreus? Are you alright?”
His eyes met yours and he offered up a weak smile. “Forgive me. You can leave me here. This isn’t the worst place to die alone.”
Your brow furrowed, and Zagreus sighed, the rattle stronger. “My mother didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Don’t speak. Save your strength.” You ordered, your mind scrambling for solutions. Yarrows were only good for when there was a wound, but there was no wound that you could see.
Zagreus huffed out a laugh, his hand reached up to cover yours and your breath hitched at the casual intimacy. His hand was warm and dry, his calloused fingertips brushing your skin.
“Thank you for showing me. The flowers are almost as lovely as you are.” Zagreus said, his words slurring together. You stared down at him, the beating of his heart fading.
“I-“ you tried to say, but there was a thick knot in your throat. It was one thing to know plants and animals die, it was the natural course of life.
Born, live, die.
It was another thing to feel the fading of life itself.
“Can I come back?” Zagreus asked softly. If you said no, you knew he would never step into the garden again.
And you found that you couldn’t bear the cruelness of it, of him never knowing his own Mother’s garden. To not know how the cool, damp earth felt against sun warm skin, of teeth sinking into the sweet flesh of apples or the cool water down a parched throat.
Persephone had chosen you to serve her until your last breath. In that moment, you knew your duty belonged to Zagreus as well, in whatever way you could help him.
How odd things change so quickly.
With your uncovered hand, you brushed his dark hair, silky smooth between your fingers.
“I will come get you myself if you don't return to me.” You said, your voice painfully gentle. Zagreus smiled.
In the next breath, he was gone.
~
Fat, lazy clouds rolled past, casting long shadows across the land. The sunlight shone through the trees and the sunflowers chased after it. The birds were singing their songs, coaxing mates to them and feeding their babies.
Dirt on your bare feet and the wind in your hair, you worked with a low hum. It was an old song, one that you heard Persephone sung before. You didn’t know the words but you knew the rhythm of it.
Plucking the ripe tomatoes, you placed them in the basket next to the cucumbers, you checked over the rest. Like all of Persephone’s plants, the tomatoes grew strong and healthy.
A memory of mismatched eyes going dull came to you, a weight of pity grew in your chest and you sighed at your foolishnesses. There was a cycle to everything, even for gods.
Yet the memory lingered.
It was when you were cleaning the front porch, your boom sweeping the dust off when you felt eyes on you. Your hands tightened around the wood, more than ready to chase away any unwelcome guest. Whirling around, your mouth parted with a warning ready but you stopped short.
Zagreus flashed you an easy grin, already just a few steps away from you. There was a moment as you and him studied each other, and you wondered if he was struggling with what to say just as you were.
“So how about those apples huh?” Zagreus said, an amused glint in those mismatched eyes. Red and green, they were bright with life. It was beautiful and you found you couldn’t look away.
You huffed in annoyance but your lips twitched, giving away your smile. And Zagreus just laughed, warm and full of life.
~
A new cycle began.
Just as the sun rose in the east and sunk into the west, so did Zagreus. So did you.
You taught him how to plant seeds, taking his hands and pressing them against the cool earth. His amazed face when he saw the spouts, tiny and bright green and helpless, made you laugh.
You had forgotten the joy of a new discovery.
You shared everything with him, the taste of apples, the golden barley in the sunset and the quietness of early mornings and the songs of crickets during twilight. Often, you caught his eyes lingering on you but you only turned away, not quite ready to… you weren’t even sure what.
There was an unfamiliar ache in you, one that you thought you would never feel and you thought how sunflowers chased after the sun, forever pinning and you felt a kinship with them.
In turn, he told you of the underworld, of the shades and gods that made their home there. You tried to imagine it but it all seemed so far away even if you knew you would be among the shades yourself someday.
For now, however, there was the garden. There was you and Zagreus.
~
"My mother had been asking about you." Zagreus told you one day, his hands were dirty from working the earth but he seemed pleased. His shoulders relaxed and there was a smile that never left his face.
“Oh? What did you tell her?” You asked as you moved away from the roses, freshly pruned and the red petals were bright in the daylight. With a sigh, you joined him under the shade of trees. You folded your hands in your lap as you settled down.
“The usual. I think she misses you, she talks about you often.” Zagrues said, tugging at the grass. There was a hesitation in his tone and you glanced at him with a frown.
“But?” You prompted. It was one of the first things you learned about Zagreus, he was an open book unless he had no choice.
“She worries about how you are going to handle the upcoming season.” Zagreus said. A breeze came by, and with it, dozens of leaves followed. There was a chill to the air that wasn’t there before.
With the power of Persephone, the garden only knew everlasting bloom. The life here was lush and full and there had been flowers planted by generations of mothers and daughters that had never been touched by rot or death.
There was a cycle, and not even the garden of life would be spared.
Rough fingertips brushed against your knuckles, and you were struck by how much bigger he was. You didn’t pull away. Carefully, he shifted and took one of your hands, his thumb brushing across your skin. There was dirt but you found that you didn't care, especially since your own hands were marked by the earth.
“I told her I wish I could stay up here with you.” Zagreus said, his voice held an intensity that you weren’t used to. Slowly, you met his eyes and your breath hitched at the closeness.
“Can you?” You asked quietly. Your heart raced at the thought of having Zagreus with you for longer, that you and him would survive together with the winter to come. That maybe you might allow for more if he could.
At this, Zagreus squeezed your hand. “I want to. But…”
Just like your hope was dashed but you didn’t resent him for it. Zagreus was a bit like a sunflower, blooming only once to chase after the golden rays of light before returning to the earth.
“Tell her I will be fine.” You said, returning the squeeze. “Tell her I have planned for it. That I am looking forward to resting. I don’t think I've ever seen snow before.”
“And you will stay warm?” Zagreus asked sharply, leaning in closer. You felt like you saw every hues of green and red in those beautiful eyes. He reached brushing a stray hair from your face.
“Yes. I will.” You said quietly.
“Good.” Zagreus said, just as quiet.
Then he kissed you.
It was gentle but warm sparks went off in your core as you carefully returned it. You leaned more into him, just wanting to feel him. Your other hand pressed against his chest, his heart strong under your palm. You felt weightless, like nothing but Zagreus could keep you grounded.
Even when the kiss broke, the feeling remained. He smiled at you, his cheeks flushed.
And you kissed him under the canopy of trees, the smell of roses drifting through the air and you felt like the winter itself would never touch you.
~
Flower/plant index
Wheat: Staff of life, Resurrection
Lavender: Devotion, Grace
Lily: Devotion, Purity, Associated with Hera and Zeus
Apples: Love, Good health, Associated with Aphrodite
Yarrow:Courage, Love against all odds, Associated with Achilles
Sunflowers: Unwavering faith, Loyalty, Associated with Apollo and Clytie
Roses: Romantic Love, Passion, Sacrifice, Associated with Aphrodite.
#Hades#zagreus#Zagreus x reader#Zagreus x female!reader#Zagreus x y/n#reader insert#x reader#fanfic#hades fic
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Eddie, or something that used to be Eddie, wanders the Upside Down in the aftermath of it all.
He may not know where or who he is, but he knows he belongs. His heartbeat syncs with those of the screeching creatures that soar up above. The thrumming in his veins mirrors the pulsing of the vines that cover the ground at his feet. The hunger at his core is shared by the flower-faced beasts that roam the earth on all fours. He belongs, so he must be home.
Weeks after waking—or months, or years; time is unpredictable in this place, moving at whatever speed it so chooses, sometimes not moving at all—Eddie happens upon a gate. It's located on Morehead Street and small enough that he might have walked right past it if not for its peculiar orange glow.
Curious, Eddie digs his clawed fingers into its center, tearing through the viscous membrane until there's enough space for him to crawl through. He drags his scarred body through the tiny opening, dropping onto the other side with practiced grace. He finds himself atop what appears to be a crumbling staircase, overlooking a decrepit landscape that stretches on for miles.
Gone are the blue-gray skies, replaced with hazy red, roiling fog, and flashes of vibrant lightning. Gone is the air damp with rot, replaced with a sticky blanket of humidity and the scent of acrid smoke so thick he can taste it on his tongue.
Eddie descends the staircase, heedless of the wet squelch his shoe makes when he steps through a puddle of black, oily liquid at the bottom. Intrigued, he runs a pale hand lightly over a nearby tower of stalagmite. The place is littered with them, pointed spires made of knotted, dormant vines.
Eddie steps toward one of the larger spires, taking in the figure encased in its vines. It's a human girl, fair-haired and slight in stature, held upright against her tower by large, twisted tendrils. There's no life in her, just the stench of death and decay.
For a fleeting moment, Eddie thinks he might know her. But that's impossible. He knows only his brethren, knows only their chitters in the dark and their shrieks overhead.
He turns away from the girl, staunchly ignoring the deja vu that grips him as he walks away from her. It unsettles him, that niggling feeling he's missing something important here.
Without warning, a bell begins to toll, its ominous knell crashing through the air like thunder. The distant sound of footsteps reaches his ears next, accompanied by heavy, panting breaths and the occasional hissed curse.
Eddie conceals himself behind a partially standing wall, peering through its broken glass windows in search of his interloper. He spies a figure approaching, running through the fog in a zig zag pattern, as though trying to evade something. As the figure gets closer and Eddie can make out more of its features, he realizes it's a boy, carrying a bat embedded with nails and dressed in a brown leather jacket underneath a battered denim vest.
Denim vest?
Eddie doesn't have time to dwell on the vague sense of familiarity that flashes through him at the sight of this boy—of the vest—because the fog and miasma behind him slowly start to clear, revealing a large, gnarled creature walking calmly after him.
"Why do you run from me, Steven?" the creature says, its voice sinister and seductive, a long-stemmed rose laden with thorns. "You asked me to find you. You begged to be mine. Because you know, Steve, that only I can end your suffering."
The boy skids to a halt beside the body of the girl. He whirls around to face the creature, throwing an arm up to point at her remains. "End my suffering like you ended Chrissy's?"
Steve? Chrissy?
The creature laughs, an ugly, croaking sound that sends shivers up Eddie's spine. "She is beautiful now," it croons. "And you will be, too, once you join us."
And that confuses Eddie. Because despite his dirtied appearance, windswept hair, sweat-slicked face, and scarred neck, the boy before him is already beautiful.
"You want me?" the boy—Steve—spits as he brings both hands together, knuckles going white as he tightens them around the handle of his bat. He raises it between him and the creature, widening his stance and shifting his weight between his feet in anticipation of a fight. "Come and get me!"
As soon as the words leave his lips, the vines at his feet spring to life, shooting up and thrusting him back against a nearby spire. The force of it visibly knocks the breath out of Steve, but he was apparently expecting something like this, because he managed to bring one hand up to the level of his eye before he was fully immobilized, trapping his wrist in the hold one of the vines has against his neck.
"Poor, foolish Steve," the creature says, slowly approaching him. It huffs out a derisive laugh as it steps over the fallen nail bat, then reaches out a thrawn, leathery hand, hovering it over Steve's face, clawed fingers curling as if to grasp him, puncture him. "You cannot run from me."
Steve gasps and struggles against his binds, but goes still when something new resounds through the air—the sudden blare of an electric guitar, followed by a series of deep and distorted notes that Eddie can feel in his very bones.
Drums come crashing in, loud and unapologetic, and he revels in the sheer power of it all, letting the music wash over him and set his nerves alight.
"Try and stay very still," the creature murmurs, giving the noise no mind. "It will all be over soon."
Slowly, Steve's brows unfurrow and he actually smiles. "Yes, it will," he manages to choke out, the challenge in his voice apparent despite its compromised state, "but not in the way you think."
As if on cue, a voice rings out, rough and raspy and angry and perfect above the thunderous melody that fills the air. The words are familiar, seared in Eddie's mind like a memory. Without a doubt, he knows this song. If only he could remember how he knows it.
With the voice comes a gate, though it's unlike the one Eddie came in through. Its edges are wispy, like the fog itself cleared to make an opening, and he can see clearly through it to the other side.
The scene features three unconscious bodies. The first is Steve's, wearing a set of headphones and levitating several feet off the ground. The second is a young girl's, floating in a bathtub with a blindfold tied around her head. The third is a boy's, slumped over the side of the tub with his fingers intertwined with the girl's.
A gaggle of children are split between them, some kneeling by the tub and others standing below Steve, jumping and screaming up at him. Their faces are so familiar. Eddie wishes he could place them. But all he has to go on are the frantic pounding of his heart and the bone-deep feeling that these people, these strangers, are important.
There are older kids scattered about, too, one of which has her hands wrapped around Steve's ankle, yelling as she tries to keep him tethered. Her voice is muffled, but Eddie can make out her panicked, "That's enough, dingus, it's time to come back! They've got it from here!"
The song swells, powerful and ferocious, and Eddie feels the chords right in his very heartstrings. He looks down at his hands, watches some muscle memory react viscerally to the song's fury, watches his fingers start to curl as if itching to rest on a fretboard.
"This is for Eddie, you ugly son of a bitch!" Steve yells up at the creature. He manages to leverage a bit of space with his trapped hand, then—at the crest of an absolutely face-melting guitar solo—drops his head to take a huge, violent bite out of the vine wrapped around his neck.
Several things happen at once:
1) The creature—Vecna—rears back, affected enough by Steve's display of unhinged ferality that the vines loosen their grip on him. Steve bursts out of Vecna's hold and starts sprinting toward the gate.
2) Two figures materialize behind Vecna: the girl and the boy from the other side. He must be Will the Wise, in all his bowl-cut glory. And she must be Supergirl, if the way she blasts Vecna straight through a nearby wall is any indication.
3) Eddie fucking remembers.
He remembers Hawkins and the Upside Down. He remembers Vecna, and Chrissy, and nearly every single face on the other side of the gate.
He remembers Dustin sobbing over his dying body; he remembers Max offering up herself up as bait; he remembers Lucas turning on the basketball team to help his true friends; he remembers Erica thrusting a belt made of literal bullets into his hands; he remembers Nancy wielding a felonious shotgun into battle; he remembers Robin's knowing expression at hunt the freak. He remembers Mike Wheeler, and Jonathan Byers, and—well, not the long-haired guy next to Jonathan, but that's probably fine.
And of course, he remembers the boy who'd stripped off his yellow sweater and thrown it in Eddie's slack-jawed face, who'd worn Eddie's battle vest over his still-bleeding battle wounds, who'd walked side-by-side with Eddie in a forest full of danger and decay, who'd blushed so prettily when Eddie called him big boy, who'd held Eddie's gaze and warned him not to play hero.
Eddie remembers Steve.
Later, once they both tumble through the gate and end up on the ground in a pile of limbs, Eddie will groan low in his throat and try to untangle himself from Steve's heavy body. Steve, terrified that he might have brought something dangerous back with him, will twist on top of Eddie and nearly slam his head down into the tiled floor, stopping himself only once he realizes exactly who he has pinned under him.
Later, once the party finally stops screaming in response to Eddie's sudden appearance—to his literal resurrection—Steve will drag him into his chest and clutch desperately at his back, rocking their bodies back and forth in near-catatonic shock. Eddie will clutch him back just as tightly, drenching his shirt with hot, wet tears.
Later, after Vecna is reduced to mere dust and Eddie struggles to heal from his months of being trapped alone in an alternate dimension, he'll dial Steve's phone number in the dead of night just to hear another person's voice. Steve will talk about nothing and everything, hanging up only when he can hear Eddie's breaths slow and finally even out through the line.
Later, Steve will admit he purchased Metallica's record shortly after Eddie's supposed death, wanting to hear the song he played in the Upside Down, the legendary song he used to brand himself as bait before running off to protect Dustin and buy the rest of the party more time. Eddie will hide the pleased little thrill that rushes through him at Steve's admission by throwing an arm around him and insisting they'll make a metalhead of him yet.
Later, Eddie will bring the subject up again, curious to know how the song became Steve's Vecna song. Surely he had other options that he'd cherished for far longer than the several months he'd known Master of Puppets. Steve will quietly confess that the song made him think of Eddie, of a fiery, vibrant life snuffed out too soon. And though Steve made the mistake of not turning from the Creel house and running back to Eddie that night in the Upside Down, he knew if he'd ever have to fight for his life trapped in a Vecna mind prison, he'd do it right. He wouldn't for one second hesitate to run toward the song—to run toward Eddie.
Later, Steve will gently cup Eddie's cheek and press in, close enough that they both have to go slightly cross-eyed to keep eye contact, that they feel each other's nervous, shallow breaths in the space between them. Eddie will grapple with the slew of feelings swirling messily in his ribcage before his stubborn resolve wins out and he presses his lips against Steve's in a long overdue kiss.
Later, Steve and Eddie will fall in love. But now?
Now, Steve runs.
And Eddie, or the something that never truly stopped being Eddie, follows.
#stranger things#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#been fixating on this hc that steve's vecna song became master of puppets after they lost eddie#and instead of being normal and writing about it in his pov i decided to do this instead#also this isn't a full kas!eddie situation but i love the idea of eddie losing himself in the upside down#maybe his body's a lil wonky when he comes back who knows? depending on your level of monsterfucker you can choose to believe what you want#spot the phantom reference lol#fic writing#hbd
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DANNY FACT FEBRUARY 8 🍄 🌟
Danny is a HUUUUUUUGE FAN of Super Mario Brothers! He’s played ALL of the Mario Brothers games since the 80’s of the very first one to Mario Wonder recently and his favorite Mario game of all time is the O SO CLASSIC…..Super Mario World for the SNES (aka Super Nintendo Entertainment System! The one I grew up with :3) and he’s seen ALL the Mario cartoons and DEFINITELY has seen the Mario Movie the day it released hehehe!
Danny plays it all the time and loves to buy merch of the Brothers and has many plushies and merch, books, clothes, etc on them heheh! He loves every character in the franchise….except Bloopers… >:( …….those ANNOYING ASS SQUIDS THAT ZIG ZAG TO YOU AAAAAH— anyway Hehe here are some unnecessary facts :)
Favorite character: Mario, Luigi, Peach, Toad, and Yoshi! (But mainly Mario hehe)
Favorite koopaling: Ludwig Von Koopa and Lemmy Koopa! (Since Lemmy reminds him of his goofy brother Mirage hehehe)
Favorite Yoshi: Pink Yoshi (since pink is his favorite color hehe)
Favorite enemy: The Lakitu! (Aka the mysterious turtle that controls the skies and throws spinys at you hehe)
Favorite theme: Underground levels!
Favorite power-up: Cape feather and the Bubble flower heheh
Least favorite things in Mario Brothers: Bloopers, The Angry Sun, Mini mushroom, underwater levels, Bowser Jr, and Bowser lol
He sometimes likes to pretend he’s Mario and Mirage is Luigi when they were kids hehe! Nowadays Danny pretends sometimes that he’s saving “peach” (aka Crusher lol)
But Danny can’t help but feel so giddy and feminine towards his pretty handsome hubby :3 💕
AND IN CONCLUSION…. Danny is quite possibly… Nintendo’s number 1 fan in Super Mario Brothers hahahaha!!! XD
Yahoo!! :D 🍄
Crusher belongs to @jaytoons7
#thsc#the henry stickmin collection#henry stickmin collection#captured!charles au#danny felizima#thsc crusher#richard hughes#thsc starlight
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Hey Cosmica. It's been a bit. I would like to kindly request part 3 of my helicopter post. This time with the large trio & the brave brothers.
-- PART 1 --
Malco was feeling the pinch from the fight, as well as the large cameras taking an absolutely BEATING and a few lose their heads in the fight, which made him worry. However, just before disaster struck him, a flurry of bullets spew down overhead, killing the Skibidi that was approaching him menacingly. From above, a helicopter unit was gliding across the sky with such grace and skill, that Malco couldn't help but watch. The helicopter blasted a flurry of bullets that eventually sent the skibidis on the run and once the helicopter landed as the coast was clear, Malco was surprised to see the HUMAN step out of it! He couldn't resist petting them on the head for a job well done.
Philip was holding the line as long as he could while the smaller unit made their moves, but eventually, he started to lose ground. Just as he was about to kneel and fall to a vulnerable position with the skibidi he was fighting, the skibidi was suddenly battered by bullets from above. Confused, Philip could only watch the skies as a helicopter swooped in like a deus ex machina and saved them from immediate peril. The way it danced in the sky, avoided missiles and projectiles, and battered the ambushing skibidis was nothing short of masterful. Once the invaders were run off, the helicopter landed and out popped the human! Which surprised everyone...and the large unit couldn't help but pick the human up and hold them close as a sign of thanks.
Hertz was doing his best to hold back as much of the skibidi invaders as possible, as he wasn't as big as polycephaly, but he was still fairly large. However, more and more just kept coming...and they soon found themselves backing up into a cluster with the smaller units. However, just before he teleported away with as many units as he could, a bulletstorm came from above. The ground is pelted by a flurry of bullets and the skibidis are suddenly shook from their positions and scatter around. The helicopter above dipped, zagged, and dived with grace to avoid the retaliation from the toilets and the tides suddenly turn. Once the skibidis are sent running, the helicopter finally lands...and out pops the alliance "treasure" themselves. The human! They are quickly surrounded and celebrated for their effort, even Hertz couldn't resist a petting for the human.
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The rain continues to fall for three days straight - like a dam had broken in the skies – causing canyons to flood and rivers to break their banks.
Their surroundings thrive; moss and grass and shrubs spilling out with lime-green sapling growth from crevasses and cracks in the sand and rock, weeds taller and denser and displaying flowers like technicolour plumage, frogs and newts venturing further from bodies of water thanks to the drenched and newly made boggy environment.
Tangles of roots are left exposed by the displacement of wet and landslided-soil, excavating steps for the two of them to traverse, ascending over crest of hills and descending as if following man-made blue prints to zig-zag down like stairs to the bases of valleys.
From the excess of rain fruits start to bloom and ripen on the branches and brambles - and on the ground too - mushrooms in large circles and clusters and smattered between wildflowers in the patches where grass grew, or on the trunks of fallen trees.
Laudna’s skin is textured like bark, swollen and wrinkled from all of the water in the atmosphere - and she finds herself panicking, slightly, on that third afternoon of rainfall, with her skirts soaked in mud to over the height of her knees - when she can’t find the lifeline in her palm, has lost the signature of her fingerprints to their wish to be raisins.
Fruits preserved past their lifespan,
should have been plucked by birds,
eaten by slugs - should they have grown heavy and fallen to the ground.
But there is salt. Brine.
Sugar.
The heat of the sun(tree).
Perhaps a bit of magic-
(whislt I'm here, let me be a responsible fic co-parent.
this chapter's illustration featuring sensual mushroom touching)
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Maxis Match + Alpha Child (Some Toddler) Hair CC Finds
*I did not make this content! All custom content is credited to the creator*
I will not re-upload, convert, recolor or retexture meshes or any other content per the creators TOU (which I do read). I do not get paid by commission, website traffic, or reviews. You will be redirected to the creator's page for download instructions
Thank you & Happy Simming!
#1 salttry: Fiji Hair for Kids Hair is by... : MMFINDS (tumblr.com)
#2 soft static skies (tumblr.com)
#3 anecdotes (tumblr.com)
#4 Simiracle: Nightcrawler`s Stella Hair Retextured - Sims 4 Hairs
#5 Naevys Sims (tumblr.com)
#6 PIA HAIR - Toddler and Child Conversion ... : MMFINDS (tumblr.com)
#7 cowversions: @feralpoodles‘ Rosie Hair requested... : EnglishSimmer CC (tumblr.com)
#8 briony; two hairstyles for toddlers! | simkoos on Patreon
#9 Sims4MM — peachibloom: @shespeakssimlish‘s Bobbi hairstyle... (tumblr.com)
#10 Kids & Toddlers Zig-Zag Ponytails | TBZSimz on Patreon
#child male hairstyles#ts4ccfinds#ts4cc#ts4customcontent#ts4#thesims4#tsr#thesims4customcontent#hair#alpha ts4#ts4 custom content#ts4 simblr#ts4 toddlers
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Day Ninety-nine
It's a very grey start to today, with a light cloud cover coating the skies.
Up out of the bridleway spot and back onto the road near Constantine, it's straight into the hills as the road leads up into Cornwall's high surroundings as I continue my heading east.
It's some rolling hills to tackle as I slog along the road through some busy morning traffic, until finally riding in to the edges of Falmouth.
The busy port town is full of climbs as I track around and make my way down to the harbourside, where I get a beautiful view across Carrick Roads whilst waiting for the ferry.
After a brief stint afloat and savouring the waves, I put in across the water at the beautiful town of St Mawes.
Heading up past the castle, with some lovely views back across the water, it's up the steep hills once more to start slogging along the road again.
The rising sun is doing its best to burn off the light cloud cover of the morning, and the heat is rising once more as I get to rejoin NCN Route 3 for its stint along the coastline here.
Dropping down past Carne Beach, the route begins a heavy section of steep climbs and drops as it tours around the beautiful coastal area, zig zagging round to take in the many bays and watersides as it makes its way around the cliffsides.
Around and past the steep drops through Portmellon and Mevagissey, the route finally heads off the roads for a long hard climb over the lovely gardens of Heligan, before crossing the road and heading on to St Austell River.
It's a wonderful stretch of off-traffic riding herr as Route 3 follows up the river's course, through some beautiful forested areas, until heading in to St Austell at the heaving A390.
With Route 3 continuing northwards, I head off the cycle route and in to town for a resupply stop and break, before carrying on around the very busy roads to head on towards Par.
Whilst riding along the trails here, the bike lurches to a very sudden stop. A glance down has my heart in my mouth as a rather large branch has managed to find its way into the spokes of my rear wheel, catching the struts of my mudguard, and wrenching everything round. The mudguard has folded near double on itself and is sticking out towards my knee, and the branch is firmly wedged in amongst the wheel.
I stop to assess the damage as this could be pretty disastrous. After managing to extricate the offending piece of wood, I get the mudguard to unfold and slot back into its place without much harm done, and a check of the wheel finds that it's not even much out of true.
What on earth is with this bike?! An absolute tank! I can barely believe that no serious damage has been caused from this incident, but everything seems to be rolling ok, so I guess that means on with the show!
Round to Par and through it's looping one-way system, it's up another big sharp hill to head over to Fowey, with a steep descent through some narrow paths leading to some steps down to my second ferry of the day.
After a short wait and chat with some other tourists waiting, it's aboard the small ferry for a short cruise over the River Fowey to land at the working harbour at Polruan.
With the day wearing on, the heat and work haven't ceased yet, as from the waterside the road leads up and up a long and steep hill to get through and out of the pretty seaside village.
Finally up onto the coastal moorlands, I think it's been another long and tough day's work, so it's time for me to get scouting for a spot to lay my head. Tomorrow should hopefully have me pushing on and out of Cornwall's challenging hills.
TTFN!
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Two Winter Games mascots, 50 years apart, enter the competition... which one will emerge victorious?
Schuss*
Shuss is a little man on skis in the position to which his name alludes. The top of his large two-colored head, which rests on a unique zig-zag flash-shaped foot, generally features the Olympic rings. Instead of "mascot", it was the term "character" that was most often used at the time by the Organising Committee to refer to Shuss. Shuss was created in a hurry. In January 1967, his designer had only one night to prepare a plan for submission. *Unofficial mascot
Soohorang
Soohorang is the mascot of the 2018 Winter Olympics. "Sooho" means "protection" in Korean, symbolizing the protection offered to the athletes, participants and spectators at the Winter Olympics, as well as preserving the world peace that is the spirit of the Olympic Games. "Rang" derives from "Ho-rang-i", the Korean word for "tiger"; it is also the last letter of "Jeongseon Arirang", a cherished traditional Korean folk song of Gangwon Province.
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Peach Tea with Nico Robin
Requested by: @friendly-kaiju
Fem! Reader
Trigger Warnings: None
Word Count: 1k
Touch. Something that Devil Child, Nico Robin wasn’t used to. Spending most of her life alone, she had only begun to become accustomed to it’s sensation with her crewmates. Until then, it’s only been her and the gentle feeling of paper on her fingertips and clothes on her back.
Reading had been and still is her solace. Burying herself deep in a novel, or learning about animals from some far-away island. It has always kept her company and made sure that she’s never truly alone. There’s a rumor that a soulmate’s touch will cause her vision to erupt into color. Many books have described the phenomena, yet she’s never experienced it.
She secretly yearns for the touch, to feel safe, to see the green of the trees, the blue of the skies and and the reds purples and golds of so many flowers and sunsets. But yet she only sees the black whites and greys of a cold winter’s day.
Plopping down into her chair, she picks up her nearly completed book, and buries her nose into it. She doesn’t know it, but the boat has come to a stop. Raucous laughter echoes throughout the ship as the clatter of feet slowly stop. Half an hour later, her book is finished. Getting up with a groan, it’s time to pick another book.
Her eyes scan across the bookshelf, looking for something she hasn’t read. Unread books nowhere in sight. Having unfortunately been born colorblind, she can’t tell the color of the covers apart but is saved by the titles being printed on the spines. Sighing, she knows it’s time to do some shopping. Plucking her wallet off the door, she looks outside to assess the weather.
It’s a summer island, the sun shining brightly overhead. Pulling off her coat, she braces for the heat. The last island was a winter island, which she was terribly uncomfortable with. Living in Alabasta for a while has helped her grow accustomed to this weather. She wanders out of her room and descends the ramp onto the dock, finding a local she can ask about the existence of any bookstores, and if so the way to get there.
Doing her best to keep a low profile, she decides to take the packed and claustrophobic walkway. She now knows why the streets are so packed, as she wandering into a market. Merchants attempting to sell their wares, and people trying to get out of the sun all pack the path tightly, and she does her best to navigate through the crowd to get to the far end of the marketplace and the store she was told waits at the end of this next block. Maybe later she’ll buy some fruits and vegetables to snack on.
As she quickly scans the heads before her for any gaps or signs that a way will be opening, her eyes stop suddenly on one stranger in particular. “Who’s that girl?” She thinks to herself. Finding herself drawn to you, she zig-zags through the crowd, doing her best to keep up with you. As soon as she thinks she’s caught up to you, you’re gone.
She sighs, a bit melancholic. She wanted to introduce herself to the mysterious woman, and see what it is that possibly could have drawn her to you. Looking around, she discovers she’s facing the harbor again, and her original destination is on the other side of the crowd… again.
She turns herself around and walks briskly towards the bookstore, her head down. Reaching the door, she opens it and who does she see? The girl from the market. You. You’re perusing the horror novels and there’s actually one on the shelf she’s been meaning to read for some time. Taking the chance to kill two birds with one stone, she approaches you and stands by your side to reach for the book. As fate would have it, you’re reaching for the same one, and your hands touch.
Reeling back at the surprising contact, Robin is about to apologize but blinks a few times in surprise. Suddenly her vision is full of earthy tones and the occasional brightness of a colorful book cover. “You…You’re my soulmate…” she gasps as a look of surprise covers your face. “That’s why I was so drawn to you in the crowd….” She muses.
“My name is Nico Robin. What’s yours?” You give her your name, drawn to her deep brown eyes. You’ve heard her name before; she’s an infamous pirate from the Straw Hats. You never thought someone with notoriety would claim to be your soulmate. In all honesty, you’re very confused. The world suddenly opened up, swallowing you in a world of color. All because you made contact with her.
“You seem very confused, would you like me to explain everything to you? Robin asks, not able to help but give her signature giggle. You nod slowly, hoping the explanation won’t be so elaborate that you can’t understand. Without you noticing, she slips her hand into yours, fingers clasped as she explains what just happened.
The more she explains, the more time you have to notice other details of her features and her outfit, taken in by all the colors before you including the pink blush of her cheeks. You can only nod along silently, it all making a lot of sense and filling your heart with a sudden joy and fulfillment.
With another one of her brilliant smiles, she asks you: “How do you feel about learning all of this? It wasn’t too much information in one sitting was it? I know it was sudden and I apologize for springing it on you.” With a pause, you respond. “Well, it’s a lot to think about, but it makes me really happy!”
Blushing madly, Robin asks. “May I have your den-den mushi number? So maybe sometime I can come back to the market and try some of the food here with you?
“It’s a deal.” You scribble down your number on a blank bookmark, handing it to Robin. “I know you have to get going soon, so along with this I want you to take the book. Not only are you interested in it, it’s a memento of our meeting.” You smile at her as she takes the book in her hand.
As Robin begins to leave, you give her a playful shout. “Make sure you don’t lose my number!”
And with pinpoint snark, all she could say was “I’m looking forward to our next colorful conversation!”
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[ as the skies cascade.]
Zag post ??on mi borthday ??
I think sooooo >u<
#thedragonprince#tdpart#tdp#the dragon prince#thedragonprincefanart#tdpoc#thedragonprinceoc#thedragonprinceart#tdp fanart#aaravos#oc#tdpaaravos#thedragonprinceaaravos#fanart#tdp aaravos#mystery of aaravos#thedragonprinces4
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youtube
(Whistler calls out to Bella-may)
Hey ma!
Go and get the chainsaw!
(Cut to Lamb covered in blood with unsheathed claws)
Feel the blades
While it takes both legs off!
Take a face off
Add a little steak sauce
(Cut to all three triplets covered in blood and grinning)
Insane and we never take a day off!
(Scene panning up to parents sitting together)
(Houndtooth nods) That's right boy killing is a day job
(Bella May presses into Houndtooth, looking slightly deranged) And I got to say I love a little chaos
Gotta scout another group that we can prey on
Bring em to the dinner table in a seance
(Bella May leans forward towards the viewer and grins)
Officer Hoyt, reporting for duty
Supporting a beast
(She gestures to the triplets)
Now ain't he a beauty?
Contorting your body a brute and he's loony
Recluse and I'm setting him loose
On your group he's
Pursuing you now (show cats running for their lives)
And death it is certain (show Jackdawecho in field)
He'll rip off your scalp and turn em to curtains (show Meadowtree on tree branch above pig pen)
He's really impressive and sort of a surgeon (show Feathergaze on the grain silo railing)
He's turning your skin into clothing it's perfect! (Bella-May looks thrilled)
(Cut to Feathergaze and Meadowtree hiding and looking terrified*
Do you hear that?
We should rear back
Gonna' kill us of he finds us
We’re trapped (Meadowtree smacks Feathergaze lightly)
Don't breathe man
Maybe we can steer that
Menace of a man to another spot (they look up, terrified)
(Pans up to Lamb looking for them with blood everywhere)
Whose that?
I can hear you
(He takes a step towards the bush)
Now it's too late
(He takes another step)
Came to my place
(He shakes his head)
Boy what a mistake
Don't worry
(He appears beside Meadowtree and Feathergaze)
You won't go to waste
Saw your heart race
Swollen taking your face
(Whistler sitting on Grain silo)
Ooohh bring em here
I love new visitors
(He grins and rolls onto his back)
Because visitors turn into prisoners
Administer
Blunt force now is it a
Crime that I like chainsaws in particular?
(Cut to Houndtooth walking forward on one of the barn tafters
Im a big boy
I need big toys
Enjoy hearing screams under its noise
And this
(Shows whole family)
A family business
Cover our bases leaving no witness
(Stubs runs in a zig-zag after a fleeing cat)
I am the massacre
Manic and ravager
Panic my killing is at a new calibre
Lumbering slashers
Walking that's amateurs
(He tackles the fleeing cat)
Sprint at you ramming a saw till it's jamming up
Wearing your face like a ski mask
(He leans down and grins)
Take off the skin from your legs and use them as kneepads
Stay off my property
Visiting reckless
Menace in Texas serving a death wish
[Hook: victim]
Do you hear that? (Gorsedaisy looks up, looking determined)
We should rear back
Gonna' kill us of he finds us
(Show brief reasonably nongraphic image of Jackdawecho in the field)
We’re trapped
(Show brief Meadowtree on branch)
Don't breathe man
(Show Feathergaze falling)
Maybe we can steer that
Menace of a man to another spot (show Gorsedaisy seeing Meadowtree’s death
[Hook: Leatherface]
(Slow pan over barn)
Whose that? (Stubs tries to keep Gorsedaisy quiet)
I can hear you (Stubs turns away
Now it's too late ( Gorsedaisy lunges)
Came to my place
Boy what a mistake (Gorsedaisy leaves the barn and looks back)
Don't worry
You won't go to waste
Saw your heart race
Swollen taking your face (she runs towards the fence)
[Hook: victim]
Do you hear that? (Show Feathergaze’s ghost guiding Gorsedaisy to the silo)
We should rear back
Gonna' kill us of he finds us
Were trapped (Meadowtree’s ghost looks down from the tree, looking solemn
Don't breathe man
Maybe we can steer that
Menace of a man to another spot (Branchfoot’s ghost stands at the entrance to the barn
[Hook: Leatherface]
Whose that? (Bella May looks up)
I can hear you (Whistler stands up, looking worried)
Now it's too late (cut to brief closeup of Stubs’ face)
Came to my place (Lamb fights Gorsedaisy)
Boy what a mistake (brief image of old Jackie sighing
Don't worry (Houndtooth discovers Stubs)
You won't go to waste (Gorsedaisy rises up behind him)
Saw your heart race (cut to Bella May’s body)
Swollen taking your face (claw slashing
(Show Gorsedaisy leaving the barn)
The AMV idea! :D
#submission#Youtube#YES YES YES YES#I would listen to this song on repeat if it wasn't rap#darn sound issues#houndtooth#df amv idea#bella-may#stubs#whistler#mab#gorsedaisy#jackie#branchfoot#gorsedaisy's nightmare#feathergaze#meadowtree#jackdawecho#IF THIS ACTUALLY BECAME A THING I WOULD LOSE MY ABSOLUTE FUCKING MIND#AND THE GHOSTS!!!
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🌹
From my hitman sex farce, where our heroes struggle to have sex:
She pushes me back into the chair and I stagger into it and then she's on me, ferocious and feral in her hunger. I put my hands on her thighs, she's wearing some kind of chic salopette still, having skied over from where she was monitoring me, and I can't get the grip I want, she's still cool and slippery as the ice maiden of her reputation.
I move to undo the buckles holding up her skiwear, but she growls into my mouth, holds my hands down and grinds against me, and I come like I've been hit by lightning.
Shame floods through me; Diana wrinkles her nose, not in disgust, but the way I now realise she must do every time i unexpectedly zag against the zig of her expectation. "Been a while?" She says, one eyebrow raised.
You could say that, I say, and maybe she takes the reality from that, maybe not.
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By The Lamplight
The night-air was sharp as the two men stumbled out of the pub, heralded by a concert of angry shouts. ‘’Fucking…eugh, what’s the word?’’ The tubbier of the two mumbled, glancing at his taller counterpart. Alcohol rendered his name elusive and for a moment, England’s cheeks flushed red, shame trickling in from instincts seared into his soul. Vulnerable, like the belly of a beast exposed, England bowed his head low and let Germany lead him by the hand. ‘’Go on, tell me one of your words.’’ He sighed, as they rambled down the crooked streets of London. Buildings loomed overhead, dark and ugly. Nothing like the clean, white marble of the streets on the other side of the Thames, a silvery snail’s trail in the moonlight, he recalled, wrinkling his nose as he stepped in something that squelched underfoot. ‘’For an…an asshole.’’ England exhaled, cheek swollen like an apple.
‘’Arschloch.’’ Came the response, Germany’s teeth flashing in the dim lamplight as he grinned from ear to ear. ‘’It’s arschloch…we were just having fun, weren’t we?’’ Shed of duty, of responsibility - the most real part of him staggered into England’s arms and into a small, meaningless alley that wound itself in crazy zig-zags through the damp streets of the city. A puddle glittered in the moonlight as they trampled down the alley, hand in hand as they jostled and swayed into one another. Puddles rippled in the moonlight, as haphazard footsteps sent them bumping against one another, each touch more electric than the next. ‘’Forgetting your German?’’ It was hard not to laugh, hard not to smile until his cheeks ached and his lips cracked, a bead of blood forming on his bottom lip.
It was even harder to let go of his hand, fit so perfectly into his. Lock and key.
‘’Mhmmm…yep. All of it.’’
England’s voice stirred away the embers of romance, though they coiled somewhere deep inside Germany. As he looked at England, framed by shadow and flickering light, he knew that England loved him too. And yet, it was bundled away, tucked by his heart, inside his ribcage. They would not share it yet, not now - not under the smog strangled skies of London just yet. The two simply crashed into one another’s arms, clinging close to the bulwark that was the feeling of another pressed close to flesh, shivering through thin shirts in a rain-frosted night. Whiskey-sparked kisses pressed close to one another, hands gently tracing a doughy belly as Germany leaned into England and England leaned into Germany, too weary, too intoxicated (By alcohol? Love? A desperate need? Neither were sure what drove them like moths to a flame, but by God, they drove forward all the same). What amount of stars passed overhead, neither could say as they mouthed softly at one another, secrets pressed close to cool skin, buried there forever. ‘’England…’’ Germany purred out, eyes fluttering shut as he felt teeth against his pulse (tension throbbed in his heart, crying out at the reminder of the shuck’s jaws ghosting against his heart and then squeezing tight).
‘’Mmm?’’ England looked up, pressing a kiss against his sharp jawline as he pulled Germany closer, dragging him down - back slick against the rough of the alley wall as the moon drifted through the sky and disappeared gradually behind the rooftops. Cool frost touched down on what was made bare, the only warmth the reverent palms. “Don’t talk.” He rasped as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone, a raised scar (the ghost of a bullet sunken deep, like a secret) roughing against his pale lips. “Don’t…”
Nothing more was said, but the air had changed. Something warm (Blood? Alcohol? Delusion? Affection? It was up for debate and there was plenty of both between the two of them) hung above them and they sunk deep into that welcome hearth. With a grunt, Germany pushed England against the wall and England rutted against him, a growl welling deep in his throat. “Verrdamnt.” A hiss. A curse. Fingers fumbling and a belt buckle. The moment taking a frightful jerk as the blur of headlights reeled past, like God passing over blood-framed doors.
Touches. A secret. A gasp as hands curled into thick curls and tugged, teeth gritting and adam’s apple bobbing. England groaned, grimacing as he stared down at Germany, at the man kneeling in a puddle of god knows what, mouth hung open. “Need a hand?” England mumbled sheepishly, sniffing noisily as he looked up and down the street.
“Nobody saw?” “Pft. Fuck if I know.”
Duty took precedence gradually, as dawn overtook night - the steady plod of a lamplighter’s shoes as they gently turned each lamp off. Without another word, England jerked up his trousers and Germany walked off, pausing to glance at England over his shoulder, quietly (sadly?) watching him disappear into the London fog.
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Meteor Shower Festival this Sunday. Sorta. There’s a pretty bad backlash from the public over it because of last year due to the whole demon invasion, though the public obviously doesn’t know it as that. Doesn’t stop a whole bunch of people from dying though.
The festivities ended up becoming smaller in scale because of various student groups boycotting it, though it seems more performative than anything else. But who knows? Maybe I’m just a bad judge of character.
Regardless, Sato and company will be at the school. It’ll be an open event, so people can buy a ticket and join the festivities. Luckily, no singing or anything like that. Just people watching the skies above for the meteor shower.
Also the garden is complete, even if it’s a bit crooked and shabby looking. Though Lils might be hyper-precise at everything, the Canvases...are not so much. Apparently, they decided to mimic Lils and try to put together stuff collectively.
There’s now a lopsided shed with no door. A fence that just zig zags and ends colliding into a tree. A birdhouse roughly shaped like a giant bird. And a very very big pit that can probably bury a couple dozen me’s - that one’s probably a mistake though - Lils has been spending the afternoon filing that hole back up.
#also Sato's looking like the cat that caught the canary again#after she figured out I didn't beat up those people that other day#Don't really wanna burst her bubble and tell her I just forgot#online::Levant
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❦ Zest Household, Day Thirty-Two ❦
While a little unsteady on his feet, Charlie seemed to be able to handle the blue square slope. It was definitely steeper and with some rather sharp turns that his “pizza formation” couldn’t really handle. He wound up going faster down the slope than he meant to and he could hear Kai in his head telling him to zig zag, don’t just go straight down. So he did and when he was at the bottom, he was able to stop and only wobble a little as he kept his balance.
Charlie chuckled to himself, looking over his shoulder and back up the slope. It was an accomplishment in itself. He couldn’t believe he’d just gone down the mountain like that. Never in a million years did he think of himself as a skier and now here he was, skiing down a blue square route. It filled his chest with pride.
Gen One || Legacy Page
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