Emerald Lake Quotes

Sapphire sky, diamond clouds, emerald leaves, ruby cherries. The magic with which Nell understands overwhelms me at times.

And beyond the timeless meadows and emerald pastures, the rabbit holes and moss-covered oak and rowan trees and the "slippy sloppy" houses of frogs, the woodland-scented wind rushed between the leaves and blew around the gray veil that dipped below the fells, swirling up in a mist, blurring the edges of the distant forest. (View from Windermere in the Lake District)

I am told that in the heart of a vast, bowl-shaped valley deep inside the High Pamir where the sheep and the goats spend their summers grazing by the hundreds as far as the eye can see, there is a cold blue stream that meanders through emerald meadows until it spills into a small lake that carries the color of the sky and that the surface of this lake and the surrounding grasslands shiver in unison beneath the movement of a wind that never stops blowing.

Emeralds of the lake sparkled luxuriously, dancing as beckoning figures of the night sky, as the sun began to descend, turning the ripples into opals of many hues.

It’s pierced. And inked. He has a fancy peen. I’ve never seen one with accessories.

He might know about business plans, strategic warfare, and the latest surveillance techniques, but he was lost when it came to women.

Somewhere in the gluey Nyquil haze, the memory came of standing in the lake with Lise the week before, stomping their feet in the emerald thick of the water. On the shoreline were Skye’s hard-jeaned boys with their disappearing tattoos. They whistled at Lise, fingers hooked in their mouths. Let’s do it, Lise whispered in her ear, her tongue showing between her teeth. Let’s go in. When she woke up, in the purple of four a.m., she could still hear Lise’s voice in her ear, high as a little girl’s. We went behind those tall bushes. He took my tights off first. It was so cold, but his hands—

There is no shame in owning our pasts and rising from them, and especially not in asking for help when we need it. Having people to lean on makes us formidable, not weak.

Having people to lean on makes us formidable, not weak.

Well, that’s a wrap. My vagina is now dead. Cause of death? Drowning. The old gal creamed herself to an early grave.

Someone’s hurt you? Tell me where the miscreant dwells, and I’ll snap his fucking neck with my bare hands and bring his severed cock back to you as a trophy.

Bram shrieked, covering his nipples with his hands as he shouted, "Please, not my beautiful chest raisins!

That was the funny thing about depression. Despite knowing what you can do to cope and make things better for yourself, some days you just can't find the energy or the drive to do shit about it.

The rock I'd seen in my life looked dull because in all ignorance I'd never thought to knock it open. People have cracked ordinary New England pegmatite - big, coarse granite - and laid bare clusters of red garnets, or topaz crystals, chrysoberyl, spodumene, emerald. They held in their hands crystals that had hung in a hole in the dark for a billion years unseen. I was all for it. I would lay about me right and left with a hammer, and bash the landscape to bits. I would crack the earth's crust like a piñata and spread to the light the vivid prizes in chunks within. Rock collecting was opening the mountains. It was like diving through my own interior blank blackness to remember the startling pieces of a dream: there was a blue lake, a witch, a lighthouse, a yellow path. It was like poking about in a grimy alley and finding an old, old coin. Nothing was at it seemed. The earth was like a shut eye. Mother's not dead, dear - she's only sleeping. Pry open the thin lid and find a crystalline intelligence inside, a rayed and sidereal beauty. Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetical flowers. They lengthened and spread, adding plane to plane in awed and perfect obedience to an absolute geometry that even the stones - maybe only the stones - understood.

I’m a goddamned stone cold killer, and she just called me a guppy? I know that’s some kind of fish, but I can’t picture what it looks like. I’m going to google that when I get home, and it better be the size of a shark or some shit. Smiling to myself, I strutted over to my bike. Badass guppy. That’s me.

When the hell did you watch Frozen?” I questioned. “It came out in 2016, Saige. I saw it in theaters, and I went and saw Frozen 2 when it released a couple of months ago. I’m convinced now, more than ever, that Sven is actually a shifter, and he and Kristoff are both giving it to-” I shut that shit down.

Harry!” he panted, massaging his immense chest beneath his emerald-green silk pajamas. “My dear boy…what a surprise…Minerva, do please explain…Severus…what…?” “Our headmaster is taking a short break,” said Professor McGonagall, pointing at the Snape-shaped hole in the window. “Professor!” Harry shouted, his hands at his forehead. He could see the Inferi-filled lake sliding beneath him, and he felt the ghostly green boat bump into the underground shore, and Voldemort leapt from it with murder in his heart-- “Professor, we’ve got to barricade the school, he’s coming now!” “Very well. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is coming,” she told the other teachers. Sprout and Flitwick gasped; Slughorn let out a low groan. “Potter has work to do in the castle on Dumbledore’s orders. We need to put in place every protection of which we are capable while Potter does what he needs to do.” “You realize, of course, that nothing we do will be able to keep out You-Know-Who indefinitely?” squeaked Flitwick. “But we can hold him up,” said Professor Sprout. “Thank you, Pomona,” said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding. “I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance.” “Agreed,” said Professor Sprout, already hurrying toward the door. “I shall meet you in the Great Hall in twenty minutes with my House.” And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, “Tentacula. Devil’s Snare. And Snargaluff pods…yes, I’d like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.

And so began the second phase of my life, which our family referred to as Exile, with a capital “E.” For me it was a period of discovery. I’d spend the next nine years in that semi-uninhabited province in the south, which is now a tourist destination, a landscape of vast cold forests, snowy volcanoes, emerald lakes, and raging rivers, where anyone with a hook and line can fill a basket with trout, salmon, and turbot in under an hour. The wide skies were an ever-changing spectacle, a symphony of colors, clouds pulled quickly along by the wind, bands of wild geese, and sometimes the outline of a condor or eagle in majestic flight. Night there fell suddenly, like a black blanket embroidered with millions of lights, which I learned to identify by both their classical and indigenous names.

The conductor shut a door; he telephoned his confrere among the undulati, and with a jerk the car was pulled upward, heading for a pinpoint on an emerald hill above. After it cleared the low roofs, the skies of Vaud, Valais, Swiss Savoy, and Geneva spread around the passengers in cyclorama. On the centre of the lake, cooled by the piercing current of the Rhône, lay the true centre of the Western World. Upon it floated swans like boats and boats like swans, both lost in the nothingness of the heartless beauty.

Lass.' Saga turned away to hide her smile. How like a fairy tale, that word. Rapunzel. A tall tower by a deep emerald lake. A dark green word, 'lass.' As she turned, she saw the bookcase beside the armchair- right out there in the garden! It was filled with with paperback books that looked as if they'd been read about a hundred times each. She saw Pride and Prejudice, she saw Middlemarch and The Quiet American. Titles she had seen forever on the shelves in Uncle Marsden's house. "What if it rains when you're not looking?" "These are the books everyone likes to read again and again, books you can lose because they'll reappear the minute you turn your back. They replace themselves," he said. Saga pictured this man with the dashing accent as the rescuer of Rapunzel. It was't outrageous in the least. He was handsome enough, though neither tall nor dark. His skin and hair were faintly golden, or they had been once upon a time, and his hands were long and slim like the hands of a prince. Piano hands, Aunt Liz would have said.

She’s in my arms, so sweet and vulnerable and yet so strong, determined and everything I want with every fibre of my being. Clary is spirited, smart, funny, stubborn and adorably nerdy. She isn’t a cool girl, always worried about her looks and hanging out with the cool crowd and being mean and putting people down in order to shine brighter. She is caring and courageous, she’s pretty and witty and doesn’t even know how sexy she is when she moves, when she smiles, when she lifts her bright eyes from a big book. She’ll quote dead poets and vintage 90s tv shows, she’ll tell you what she wants without trying to manipulate you into doing her bidding, she’ll tie you to her by setting you free, she will love you or hate you for who you are and not for who you appear to be. J.

They [mountains] are portions of the heart of the earth that have escaped from the dungeon down below, and rushed up and out. For the heart of the earth is a great wallowing mass, not of blood, as in the hearts of men and animals, but of glowing hot melted metals and stones. And as our hearts keep us alive, so that great lump of heat keeps the earth alive: it is a huge power of buried sunlight—that is what it is. Now think: out of that caldron, where all the bubbles would be as big as the Alps if it could get room for its boiling, certain bubbles have bubbled out and escaped—up and away, and there they stand in the cool, cold sky—mountains. Think of the change, and you will no more wonder that there should be something awful about the very look of a mountain: from the darkness—for where the light has nothing to shine upon, it is much the same as darkness—from the heat, from the endless tumult of boiling unrest—up, with a sudden heavenward shoot, into the wind, and the cold, and the starshine, and a cloak of snow that lies like ermine above the blue-green mail of the glaciers; and the great sun, their grandfather, up there in the sky; and their little old cold aunt, the moon, that comes wandering about the house at night; and everlasting stillness, except for the wind that turns the rocks and caverns into a roaring organ for the young archangels that are studying how to let out the pent-up praises of their hearts, and the molten music of the streams, rushing ever from the bosoms of the glaciers fresh-born. Think too of the change in their own substance—no longer molten and soft, heaving and glowing, but hard and shining and cold. Think of the creatures scampering over and burrowing in it, and the birds building their nests upon it, and the trees growing out of its sides, like hair to clothe it, and the lovely grass in the valleys, and the gracious flowers even at the very edge of its armour of ice, like the rich embroidery of the garment below, and the rivers galloping down the valleys in a tumult of white and green! And along with all these, think of the terrible precipices down which the traveller may fall and be lost, and the frightful gulfs of blue air cracked in the glaciers, and the dark profound lakes, covered like little arctic oceans with floating lumps of ice. All this outside the mountain! But the inside, who shall tell what lies there? Caverns of awfullest solitude, their walls miles thick, sparkling with ores of gold or silver, copper or iron, tin or mercury, studded perhaps with precious stones—perhaps a brook, with eyeless fish in it, running, running ceaseless, cold and babbling, through banks crusted with carbuncles and golden topazes, or over a gravel of which some of the stones are rubies and emeralds, perhaps diamonds and sapphires—who can tell?—and whoever can't tell is free to think—all waiting to flash, waiting for millions of ages—ever since the earth flew off from the sun, a great blot of fire, and began to cool. Then there are caverns full of water, numbing cold, fiercely hot—hotter than any boiling water. From some of these the water cannot get out, and from others it runs in channels as the blood in the body: little veins bring it down from the ice above into the great caverns of the mountain's heart, whence the arteries let it out again, gushing in pipes and clefts and ducts of all shapes and kinds, through and through its bulk, until it springs newborn to the light, and rushes down the mountain side in torrents, and down the valleys in rivers—down, down, rejoicing, to the mighty lungs of the world, that is the sea, where it is tossed in storms and cyclones, heaved up in billows, twisted in waterspouts, dashed to mist upon rocks, beaten by millions of tails, and breathed by millions of gills, whence at last, melted into vapour by the sun, it is lifted up pure into the air, and borne by the servant winds back to the mountain tops and the snow, the solid ice, and the molten stream.

O my dark Rosaleen,     Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green,     They march along the deep. There’s wine from the royal Pope,     Upon the ocean green;    And Spanish ale shall give you hope,        My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope,     My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills, and thro’ dales,     Have I roam’d for your sake; All yesterday I sail’d with sails     On river and on lake. The Erne, at its highest flood,     I dash’d across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! O, there was lightning in my blood, Red lighten’d thro’ my blood.     My Dark Rosaleen! All day long, in unrest,     To and fro, do I move. The very soul within my breast     Is wasted for you, love! The heart in my bosom faints     To think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints,     My Dark Rosaleen! Woe and pain, pain and woe,     Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so,     Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne     Again in golden sheen; ‘Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! ‘Tis you shall have the golden throne, ‘Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,     My Dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands,     Will I fly, for your weal: Your holy delicate white hands     Shall girdle me with steel. At home, in your emerald bowers,     From morning’s dawn till e’en, You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My fond Rosaleen! You’ll think of me through daylight hours My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,     My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air,     I could plough the high hills, Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer,     To heal your many ills! And one beamy smile from you     Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew,     My Dark Rosaleen! O, the Erne shall run red,     With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread,        And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal and slogan-cry     Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! The Judgement Hour must first be nigh, Ere you can fade, ere you can die,     My Dark Rosaleen!

She opened the door and we found ourselves in underground vaults, beyond which was what looked like a silver lake, but was actually a lake of quicksilver. The princess clapped her hands, and a boat propelled by a yellow dwarf appeared. We stepped into the boat, and I saw that the dwarf’s face was of gold, with diamond eyes and a coral mouth. In other words it was an automaton who rowed through the quicksilver with his little oars and skilfully made the boat skim along. This novel pilot took us to the foot of a rock which opened up to allow us to pass into another chamber, in which there was the amazing spectacle of countless other automata: peacocks spreading enamel tails which were studded with jewels, parrots with emeralds for plumage flying above our heads, negroes made of ebony proffering golden platters laden with ruby cherries and sapphire grapes. There were numerous other astonishing objects in these magical vaults which stretched further than the eye could see.

Harry!” he panted, massaging his immense chest beneath his emerald-green silk pajamas. “My dear boy…what a surprise…Minerva, do please explain…Severus…what…?” “Our headmaster is taking a short break,” said Professor McGonagall, pointing at the Snape-shaped hole in the window. “Professor!” Harry shouted, his hands at his forehead. He could see the Inferi-filled lake sliding beneath him, and he felt the ghostly green boat bump into the underground shore, and Voldemort leapt from it with murder in his heart-- “Professor, we’ve got to barricade the school, he’s coming now!” “Very well. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is coming,” she told the other teachers. Sprout and Flitwick gasped; Slughorn let out a low groan. “Potter has work to do in the castle on Dumbledore’s orders. We need to put in place every protection of which we are capable while Potter does what he needs to do.” “You realize, of course, that nothing we do will be able to keep out You-Know-Who indefinitely?” squeaked Flitwick. “But we can hold him up,” said Professor Sprout. “Thank you, Pomona,” said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding. “I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance.” “Agreed,” said Professor Sprout, already hurrying toward the door. “I shall meet you in the Great Hall in twenty minutes with my House.” And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, “Tentacula. Devil’s Snare. And Snargaluff pods…yes, I’d like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.” “I can act from here,” said Flitwick, and although he could barely see out of it, he pointed his wand through the smashed window and started muttering incantations of great complexity. Harry heard a weird rushing noise, as though Flitwick had unleashed the power of the wind into the grounds. “Professor,” Harry said, approaching the little Charms master, “Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important. Have you got any idea where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?” “--Protego Horribilis--the diadem of Ravenclaw?” squeaked Flitwick. “A little extra wisdom never goes amiss, Potter, but I hardly think it would be much use in this situation!” “I only meant--do you know where it is? Have you ever seen it?” “Seen it? Nobody has seen it in living memory! Long since lost, boy!” Harry felt a mixture of desperate disappointment and panic. What, then, was the Horcrux?

Lou sat on the dock and stared into the blue depths of Waterton Lake to where a figure floated under the surface. It was the woman who’d walked into Emerald Bay, her pockets full of stones, but in the dream, the woman’s face was a mirror of Lou’s own.

As I thought. I believe the words you’re searching for are ‘Thank you, Kai. You’re the best friend a mage could ever ask for, I’ll never stride towards you in anger ever again, and you have the nicest looking cock—’” I’m not even going to lie, a girly ass scream left my throat as Sloane barreled into me, tackling me to the ground

Cheeks on fire, I tucked my phone into my pants and headed for the kitchen. Let’s get this over with.

When the hell did you watch Frozen?” I questioned. “It came out in 2016, Saige. I saw it in theaters, and I went and saw Frozen 2 when it released a couple of months ago. I’m convinced now, more than ever, that Sven is actually a shifter, and he and Kristoff are both giving it to-” I shut that shit down. “Okay! Gran. Focus, we have a serious fucking problem here.” “Then quit bitchin’ and get to witchin’.

A roar left my throat, my head thrown back, letting the stars know what the hell had just happened here.

Bravery doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. Bravery means you accept that fear and let it fuel your purpose. It’s okay to be scared. You just can’t let that fear rule you, brother. Let it fucking guide you to achieve your goals.

Dick addiction is a real affliction, Saige,” Gran said in a serious voice.

A witch, a mix of green and red, Save a race before they’re dead. Hurry, witch, find your five, If there is hope to survive. Change, rise, manifest, A soul so pure soon possessed. Before the year of two and eight The chosen one must find her mates. If she should fail to meet her task, To another the role will pass. Evil will consume her heart, Her soul captured by the dark.

Sometimes the most evil monsters wear the prettiest masks.

Dick addiction is a real affliction, Saige,” Gran said in a serious voice. By the stars, what is she? A rapper?

Sloane Sullivan, thirty years old. Pyro mage. Top ten percent of his training class. Anger issues, loyal, broken family, only child. Master of wards. Fischer Bahri, thirty years old. Cognitive mage. Interrogator, ability to not only read emotions but also push them, alter memories, hypnotize. Valedictorian of his training class. Loving family, one sister and two nieces. Cameron Jacobs, thirty-one years old. Storm mage. Protector, fierce fighter, relentless. Can manipulate weather within a seventy-five mile radius with the ability to create more localized storms. Generates lightning from hands. Severe childhood trauma. Fear of loss. Kaito Mori, twenty-nine years old. Shifter mage. Black panther: Bagheera. Heightened sense of smell, vision, and hearing. Oldest of five children. Struggled with depression in the past.

But bracing medical news often comes wrapped in depression and changes to the physical self, coupled with new medications that drained one of the energy needed to globe-trot. One gave thought and consideration to what was most important, and one’s thinking tended to center on home. Family. Why go off to the far reaches of biodiverse places like New Zealand to see the Emerald Lakes when you could walk the reservoir in Central Park at a slow pace and then sleep in your own bed that night? Everyone was on the same ticking clock. They might fool themselves into thinking that more time affords them opportunities to do more things, that the future is open-ended. But the world is simply too big. We weren’t meant to see everything, we weren’t built to do everything, we aren’t capable of knowing everything. At a certain point, peace has to be found with the choices we’ve made.

Okay, it’s done. But my dick kind of hurts, like still. Is that normal?” We’d cleared all the guards that were around us, so I was finally able to turn around and face him. “Your dick?” I questioned. “Why the hell does your dick hurt?” “Well, because of that needle,” he replied, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “You said dense muscle.” “You gave yourself the shot in your dick? In the middle of a battle? Why would you do that? Like, wh–what—” I couldn’t even speak. I was done. “Your dick will be fine. Get back out there—we need to make sure Asrael doesn’t escape.

I found it interesting though, that he wasn’t administering them to anybody’s dicks. Porn was really giving me some weird recommendations. First the pregnant lady stuff and now this. Never mind. I needed to focus.

I’ll go heal people, but I swear to the stars, if he touches you again... I’m going to rip his eyeballs out, I’m going to juggle them, and then I’m going to ping-pong those motherfuckers into another dimension.

Hassler flips burgers on a grill in the shadow of the remnants of the Seattle Gas Light Company, a collection of rusted cylinders and ironwork that looms in the distance like the ruins of a steampunk skyline. The expanse of emerald grass runs down to the edge of Lake Union, which sparkles under the late afternoon sun. It’s June. It’s warm. The entire city seems to be out taking advantage of this rare, perfect day.

their dresses

The flowers glowed in their many colors. Lakes and rivers shimmered emerald in the sunlight, and Jay's heart pounded with joy.

Baikal is what you call a rift lake,” Travis explained further. “It was formed millions of years ago when there was a shift in tectonic plates and it must have been a major one, because I just found out that the bottom of this lake actually lies about three thousand nine hundred feet below sea level.” Adam marveled at that fact for a minute then said, “If that’s true then it’s quite possible for there to be oil deposits here or natural gas. High pressure forming gem stones like diamonds and emeralds are also a huge possibility.” “Mining wouldn’t be sanctioned so near the lake though,” Fiona pointed out. “To complicate matters more, Lake Baikal is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. There’s no way anybody could start a mining operation here without an international world war breaking out.

What Falls?” barked a grizzle-faced, squint-eyed man whose age looked to be somewhere between fifty and a hundred and ten. “Cambridge Falls,” Kate said. “It’s across the lake.” “Not this lake. I’d know. Sailed it all my life.” “I told you,” Emma grumbled. “Crummy Miss Crumley’s trying to get rid of us.” “Come on,” Kate said. “It’s almost time for the boat.” “Yeah. The boat to nowhere.” The

I feel like a princess,” I murmur, watching the setting sun over the peaks of Emerald Lake. “You are one.

I wonder if her lover is there right now, cuddled up against her, not realizing she's actually here, peepin' my demon dick at six in the morning.

Start with Emerald Lakes by Britt Andrews. It’s the closest thing to us that I’ve found yet, and between you and me? Hot damn, Angel.

every color Luce's eyes fell on was brilliant, brighter than it had seemed just a moment before. from the crystal blue lake just below them to the dense emerald forest surrounding it.

Bravery doesn't mean you aren't afraid. Bravery means you accept that fear and let it fuel your purpose. It's okay to be scared. You just can't let that fear rule you, let it fucking guide you to achieve your goals

In the darkness, you’re my sunshine. You’re the sun at dawn, chasing the shadows from my wicked soul. I love you, and I’m so sorry, kitten.” A tear fell and skated down my shoulder.

Normal is boring. Why be like everybody else when you can be yourself?

Curvy women around the world, get yourselves some men who can toss you around like a ragdoll. Hottest shit ever.

back

There was, of course, no longer any question of dividing the hoard in such shares as had been planned, to Balin and Dwalin, and Dori and Nori and Ori, and Oin and Gloin, and Bifur and Bofur and Bombur—or to Bilbo. Yet a fourteenth share of all the silver and gold, wrought and unwrought, was given up to Bard; for Dain said: “We will honour the agreement of the dead, and he has now the Arkenstone in his keeping.” Even a fourteenth share was wealth exceedingly great, greater than that of many mortal kings. From that treasure Bard sent much gold to the Master of Lake-town; and he rewarded his followers and friends freely. To the Elvenking he gave the emeralds of Girion, such jewels as he most loved, which Dain had restored to him. To Bilbo he said: “This treasure is as much yours as it is mine; though old agreements cannot stand, since so many have a claim in its winning and defence. Yet even though you were willing to lay aside all your claim,

Day 1 I am Slinklebert Petrovius Mordechai Smythe, but everyone calls me Slinky, mainly because nobody can ever figure out how to say my name properly. I live in the jungle with my family and we’re the royal family here. It’s no big deal really. It just means that every now and then, dad puts on a crown and makes people bow to him, just so they know who’s boss. And once a year, we have a special party for all the important Minecraftians in the area so dad can show off how many emeralds we have. It’s very boring if you ask me. Nobody ever does though. I’m just a kitten and nobody thinks that I have anything to say they want to listen to. That’s OK with me. I don’t want to be royal anyway. I’d rather play all day. That’s why I’m glad we live in the jungle. There’s so much cool stuff to do here. I can climb trees, chase sunlight through the leaves, and catch fish in the lake. It’s a busy life being a royal kitten. It’s going to be my birthday soon and dad asked me what I wanted. I told him that I wanted to have a pet creeper. He told me not to be so silly. Everyone knows that creepers don’t exist. They’re a story made up by Minecraftians to scare naughty children. No ocelot has ever seen a creeper, and if nobody has seen one then they can’t be real. It’s a shame they’re not real though. They sound so cool! I mean, tall, green things that blow up when they’re annoyed or frightened or trying to cause trouble? Who wouldn’t want to meet one of those? Since dad said I couldn’t have a pet creeper, I had to think of something else to ask for. I know what he really wanted to give me, a day on the throne leading the jungle. I can’t think of a worse present for my birthday. I’d have to sit around all day while people come to see me and complain about what the other ocelots are doing. I’ve sat with dad in the throne room before and it was hard to stay awake. It was so dull! But I could see how much it meant to dad to have me interested in his work, so I told him that I’d like to spend the day with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile as much as he did when he heard me say that. I could count all his sharp, pointy teeth. He has a lot of them. Now that I’ve thought a little more about it, I should have asked for a big pile of fish. At least they’d taste good. Instead, I’ve got to spend my birthday hanging around with dad when I could be out in the jungle having fun. Oh well. I suppose it’s just for one day. I can put up with being bored for just one day.

I love eggs, I love toast, I love back, but I love Fish's mom the most. Rise and shine, my sleepy friend, I don't wanna hear Sloane bitch and moan. We're here in Emerald Lakes, get up bitch, I made pancakes!

John put his hand inside the container and opened a small red box. “And this is from me.” He knelt on one knee and Rachel held her breath. “Bella and I love you, Rachel. Will you marry me and be part of our lives?” She looked at the beautiful heart-shaped diamond ring. “The Tin Man wanted a heart,” she whispered. John wiped his eyes and stood up. “He wanted to know what love felt like. Every day that I’ve known you, you’ve shown me what it’s like to be loved. I’d like to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. Will you marry me?” Rachel nodded. Tears slid down her face as Bella and John wrapped her in their arms. She glanced at Tank and smiled as he blew his nose. Closing her eyes, she felt joy unfold inside her. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Rachel had found what she’d been looking for. And it had been there all along. THE END

I will always come back to you, sweetheart. In this life and the next, I fucking swear it.

Cam pushed his pants down over his hips, his thick cock springing out of its leather prison like a jack-in-the-box, and I sucked in a breath. It’s pierced. And inked. He has a fancy peen. I’ve never seen one with accessories.

Oh Alabama! You make us so happy. What a playground. Without a word you remove the lake from around your neck and place it on mine. Emeralds. Diamonds. Rubies. Alabama, thank you, ma’am.

It couldn’t possibly mean that his latest fling might be someone from Ireland. That would be too hurtful to imagine. Or someone that he was taking to Ireland on a magic trip. Some girl that he was going to impress with his fairytale ways in the Emerald Isle.

not even judge me for that; nightgowns were created by a saint of a woman who liked to catch a breeze, and they’re comfy as fuck.

claiming I was incapable of letting my walls down to let her in. When she’d first brought that up, I remember feeling blindsided. I’d opened myself up more with her than any other person aside from my crew. To hear that wasn’t enough, when it had been so painstakingly difficult for me to tear down the barriers that locked my heart safely inside my chest, felt like getting kicked right in the dick.

Lake Michigan had tempted her. It was a clear emerald green, and she could see to the bottom. The sand looked soft.

the name of Jupiter's cock?!

I looked out over the lake, a vast plane of deep azure and emerald under a clear blue sky, noticing the reflection of the towering Italian Alps visible in the gentle ripples of the water. This, I thought to myself, is amazing. Just as my dopamine levels were peaking, the happiness dial turned to eleven, my attention was drawn to a peculiar object hovering in the air roughly twenty yards in front of me, spiraling my direction like a tiny heat seeking missile locked on to my forehead. Curious, I thought to myself. Before I could react, the object—a giant bee from hell—contacted the front of my helmet.