𝐈 ; who's going to know you, if not me? (nobody)

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𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄? (𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘)the tortured poets department ( taylor swift )

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𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄? (𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘)
the tortured poets department ( taylor swift )

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*


𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄



DURING THE THIRD ATTACK, I almost became one with the sails.

"Hard to port!" Nico yelled from the foremast of the flying ship.

Back at the helm, Leo yanked the wheel. The Argo II veered left, its aerial oars slashing through the clouds like rows of knives.

A huge rock flew at us.

CRACK!

The foremast collapsed—sail, spars, Nico, and me all crashing to the deck. The boulder, roughly the size of a pickup truck, tumbled off into the fog like it had important business elsewhere.

"Millie! Nico!" Hazel scrambled over to us as Leo brought the ship level.

"I'm fine," Nico muttered, kicking folds of canvas off his legs.

Hazel helped him up.

"Um..." I coughed. "A little help here...?"

Folds in the canvas and loose threads had managed to wrap themselves around my shoes, so when I made an attempt at pushing the fabric off of me, it was unsuccessful.

Hazel and Nico made work at trying to free my sneakers from the tattered fabric of the sail. Nico ended up using his sword to cut away the fabric. In the end, I had pesky threads and scraps of fabric dangling from my shoes.

We stumbled to the bow and I peeked over. The clouds parted just long enough to reveal the top of the mountain below them: a spearhead of black rock jutting from mossy green slopes. Standing at the summit was a mountain god–one of the numina montanum, Jason had called them. Or ourae, in Greek. Whatever you called them, they were nasty.

Like the others we had faced, this one wore a simple white tunic over skin as rough and dark as basalt. He was about twenty feet tall and extremely muscular, with a flowing white beard, scraggly hair and a wild look in his eyes, like a crazy hermit. He bellowed something I didn't understand, but it obviously wasn't welcoming. With his bare hands, he prised another chunk of rock from his mountain and began shaping it into a ball.

The scene disappeared in the fog, but when the mountain god bellowed again other ourae answered in the distance, their voices echoing through the valleys.

"Stupid rock gods!" Leo yelled from the helm. "That's the third time I've had to replace that mast! You think they grow on trees?"

Nico frowned. "Masts are from trees."

𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗘 ━━ l. valdez Where stories live. Discover now