#if you don't want weeds get out of the meadow

[familyvideostevie]

time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve. 

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure. 

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

__

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened. 

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease. 

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself. 

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. 

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

__

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says. 

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make. 

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do. 

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter six

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+ content, light smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mentions of curses and dark magic

series masterlist; previous part; next part

You both silently stared at eachother, surrounded by the knickknacks in the Room of Requirement.

"You look like you're thinking awfully hard." you say in a teasing whisper.

"I'm trying to figure out if that really just happened, or if the weed has fogged up my brain." he replies in with a huffed laugh. You laugh and step a little closer to him so that you're chest to chest and you stare up into his eyes as you smile. Gods, he was so fucking tall.

I can assure you, it was very real.

He smirked.

So you wouldn't mind if I did it again?

He kissed you with fervour. You felt insatiable; you felt like an addict, longing for more of his touch.

Mattheo. He groaned when you mentally whined his name.

You sound so pretty, sweetheart.

His hands trailed from your hips to your shoulders, until they cradled your face, bringing you even closer so he could deepen the kiss. Then, almost as if he didn't know where to settle them, his hands trailed back down, past your hips to the curve of your bum, cupping the underside of your thighs.

"Jump for me." he mumbles as his grip tightens. You do as he says and he brings your face to his level, causing your arms to briefly squeeze at his shoulders before you loosen them and bring your palms to cradle his face, angling your's to a better position. He groans, moving his lips to the long column of your neck; you tilt your head to the side to give him more access.

You drive me mad, sweetheart. Gods I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.

Then don't. You whimper as his teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

"Tell me you want this." he mumbles, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin.

"I want this- Gods I want you so badly." your reply is delayed as you lose yourself in the euphoric feeling of him. Suddenly you're spun around and dropped, rather unceremoniously, on the plush velvet cushions of the chaise lounge that Mattheo was utilising before you came in; he was towering over you, leaning on his strong forearms that were positioned on either side of your head.

He presses forward and kisses your lips softly, gently trailing them down your chin, to your neck, his body moving to hover over your's so that his hands could toy with the fabric of your blue and bronze tie. Silently asking if he can remove the obstacle in the form of your school uniform and you happily oblige, shoving away at your robe sleeves as he meticulously undoes the knot of your tie. You repeat the same motion with the emerald and silver tie donning his collar and fight to remove the buttons from the holes of his shirt which leaves an open view of his stunningly sculpted abdominals that ripple against supple, tanned skin.

Patience, sweetheart. He says, his voice echoing in every crevice of your mind. Smooth and silky like honey.

He kisses you again before his mouth travels south, his fingers deftly removing your arms from the sleeves of your shirt once he got the buttons undone.

"Gods. You're a criminal for hiding all of this from me, sweetheart." He mumbles into the skin of your collarbone, onyx eyes staring up at you under his long lashes, desire deepening steadily.

You furrow your brows. "What?"

He sucks a deep mark into your skin before soothing it with his tongue.

"Your body is divine, Meadow." he groans as he kisses along the strap of your bra, one hand travelling behind your back and lifting your body up, with your help, so that he can unclip it, with unsurprisingly accurate precision.

Mattheo moves even further down your body, hands beginning to massage the sensitive skin of your thighs as he spreads them apart, flipping the fabric of your skirt up. He's pressing kisses at your naval now, following a path from the bottom of your belly button to the edge of your panties. He huffs a laugh at the fact that you had coincidentally decided on wearing a lacy dark green pair that day.

Piss off. Your voice is a low grumble in the forefront of his mind, which only makes him laugh more. But he sobers quickly, pressing a kiss to where your clit sits under the cover of your panties. He teases you like that for a long minute: presses kisses to and massages the sensitive area, watching you with hawk-like eyes as you squirm under his hold.

Your whines and moans spurred him on, so he continued until you were practically begging for him to do something...anything more.

"What's the magic word, sweetheart?" he teases, his voice a low, taunting rasp.

"Please." you mumble with a whimper. Matt-"

That's seemingly all it takes for his resolve to crack and he practically tears the underwear from your body, throwing up somewhere behind him. Immediately, he buries his face in your core, using his tongue to lap up the wetness that had begun to pool there, thumb brushing sensually against your clit.

Gods. You're so wet. 'S this all for me? You can't see his expression from where he's devouring you whole, but you can feel and hear the smirk in his voice.

"Yes!" He was so good. So effortlessly good that you didn't know if you'd exclaimed out loud or in your head. It was so overwhelmingly good.

He lapped at your centre like you were the first meal he'd had in days, and when you felt a familiar tightening in your core, he seemed to become more feral, transcending from a man starved, to something entirely more alluring.

When he used two of his fingers to scissor you open while his thumb nimbly rubbed fast circles on your clit, you came with a shout, curling over his body, and yanking at the mop of unruly black curls atop his head. He groaned and you keened from the overstimulation as he carried on, speed increasing in fervour as he kissed, sucked and licked at your most sensitive parts.

"Matt- Théo, please! T-too much! Ah!" you were reduced to a babbling and whining mess as he took his fill from you, hands tracing soothing circles against your thighs as he brought you through your climax.

When he finally relented, you were panting from exhaustion, eyes glazed with lust and skin shiny with sweat. When you looked at him, you all but melted into a puddle of desire: his mouth and chin was slick with your cum and he was slowly sucking the fingers he'd had inside you, not thirty seconds ago. Gods he was so fucking attractive.

You weren't even ashamed to be openly oggling him as he used his discarded wand to summon a couple flannels to clean you both up.

"You taste heavenly, sweetheart." he mumbles as he presses another kiss to your lips. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue. You want more. You want him.

"No. The first time I fuck you will be in a bed, sweetheart. Not some old chaise lounge in the middle of a room that anyone can walk into." he says with a smirk as you narrow your eyes at him, but your face only holds a sort of satiated amusement.

"Get out of my head, you dick." you let out an airy giggle as he flicks your forehead lightly.

It all feels so...domestic. Completely flipping what you thought you knew about him. But you suppose you'd learnt more about him in the weeks you'd spent in his presence than you had in the entire almost six years you'd been at Hogwarts.

You'd never seen this side of him before, however.

"If you tell a soul, I'll have to do unspeakable things to you." he says, smirking as he unapologetically rifles through your recent thoughts, but you find that you really don't care.

"What sort of unspeakable things?" you ask, a teasing lilt to your tone.

He only chuckles, that wicked smirk gracing his features.

"One day, you'll find out, but not today. We need to talk." The serious tone of his voice washes away any of the warm, bubbly feelings you had garnered at his response to a possible repeat of whatever had just transpired. Sobering you up from your lust-driven state immediately.

~∞~

As you both go through the motions of sorting yourselves out properly, you're relieved that the atmosphere, at the very least, isn't an awkward one. Once you're in your uniform once again, creases smoothed out, tie neat and pristine, arms folded across your chest, Mattheo guides you through the meandering trails that littered the Room of Requirement, until you come across something akin to a library – towering bookshelves and a cosy looking sofa, complete with an old mahogany coffee table.

"Sit down, Princess." he says softly, and you do as he says, watching as he walks to the nearest bookshelf and reaches for a book on a particularly high shelf, titled A History of Curses and Dark Magic, Volume Three.

"What are we going to read eachother post-coital stories now too?" you scoff with an unsatisfied scowl on your face.

"Not quite." he chuckles at your put-out expression. "I've spent the last week researching different curses and forms of detecting dark magic." He sits beside you, thigh brushing against your's. "And I think I've found out what's happening to you."

Curiously you take the book from his hand. It was old, heavy. The pages were beginning to brown and tear at the edges, the spine cracked insurmountably.

"What did you find out?" you ask, turning to look at him, to find him staring at the column of your neck, where he'd left a mirage of love bites and hickeys. You smirk as he mumbles a basic healing charm, watching the way his face sours when the marks magically fade away.

"Can you show me what happened when Dumbledore gave you the ring you told me about?" he questions, bumping his thigh to your's. "Open your your mind to that memory, like I taught you."

You do as he says, closing your eyes and allowing the vivid memory to take ahold in your mind, your own voice a distorted echo as you feel Mattheo's presence permeating the memory.

"Interesting." Dumbledore says as he pulls an old signet ring from his deep robe pocket, holding it out for you to take. You watch imperceptibly as Mattheo narrows his eyes on the ring, his ring.

"Can you tell me what you feel when you touch this, please?" Dumbledore's voice echoes in your mind. You do as he says and take the ring into your hands. Twisting it around your fingers, allowing your magic to swirl around it before it burns your fingers. You drop it in an instant. That same cold, tingling feeling you felt when Blaise rotated the necklace washed over you right afterward.

"It's cursed?" you asked, looking up at the Headmaster for confirmation, who is staring at you with knowing, inquisitive eyes.

"Something like that, yes." he says, his decaying hand twitches in response. You watch as the ring seems to vibrate in your lap, something that was amiss to you in the original moment.

You suck in a breathe when you're both forced from the memory. Mattheo is looking between you and the book curiously.

"The way your magic surrounded the ring. It's beautiful." he says. "It's one of seven, you know. I have one and the other five are in the manor."

The signet ring on his hand, that you never seemed to notice before, glints in the dim light of the room, the insignia is identical to the one in Dumbledore's possession.

"Seven rings?"

"No, seven heirlooms. Two rings and five other things that I've never been allowed to touch. They're all quite ugly actually, never had any use for them."

"I don't think the ring is ugly." you say, taking ahold of his hand to bring the ring closer to your face. "It's weird. I felt the energy in the one Dumbledore gave me the second he walked into the room, as well as in the memory itself. This one feels....lifeless."

"The book says it has something to do with different magical cores." Mattheo explains and you nod in understanding.

"You can do wandless magic just as well as you can do non-verbal magic." a statement, not a question. as if he already knows the answer and just wants to hear proof. "But wandless magic takes even the greatest witch or wizard years to master." he continues. "I've seen your development. It took you mere months to master that skill."

"Stalking me now, Riddle?" you tease, but when he doesn't entertain your jokes, your smirk drops. "What are you insinuating?"

"Where do you draw your magic from when you perform wandless magic?"

It's a bit of a taboo in the wizarding world. If you told your friends about the source of power you use, you'd surely be looked at like you were insane, specifically by Hermione who would've surely come across this sort of thing in her mountains of extracurricular reading. But you had grown frustrated when the only progress you'd made upon teaching yourself the throes of wandless magic, was lifting a quill an inch into the air for less than a second. The magic you utilised instead is highly unstable when used incorrectly, and it's borderline illegal in the minds of few people, namely those in the Ministry who specialised in Magical Cores. It teetered on the edge of unassailable power – something most people wouldn't dare mess with.

"I draw it from the air." you mumble, turning away from him, ashamed. "I know it's unconventional. I tried using my own magical core, but it never seemed to work. I did it on accident the first time, but I was successful. Then when I tried again the conventional way, it didn't work. I don't abuse the power, only borrow."

He tilts his head as realisation seems to seep into his features.

"Show me?" he asks, squeezes softly your hand with his large one that you're still holding, unconsciously.

You nod, hesitantly shifting your gaze to the book in his lap. You focus on drawing from the energy surrounding the old hardback, watching as the swirls of your magic, invisible to the boy beside you, intertwined with with potent magic supplied by the Room's core. You felt a rush of power surge through you as the book begin to levitate from Mattheo's lap, only to fly into your awaiting palm. You inhaled sharply at the prickly feeling the magic left coarsing through your veins.

"Incredible." he mumbles as he stares between his lap and the book that you now had in your grip. "And you did that using the magic in the air, not your own?"

You nod. "It always leaves a minute lasting effect afterwards, sort of like a consequence of using another magical source. There has to be a balance. If I do it too much I begin to feel a little dizzy, but I've never fainted like I did in the Wing last week."

"I was right." he mutters to himself, nodding his head, his lips quirking. You raise a brow at him.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" you question, sarcastically.

"You're a syphon, love."

You sit there for a moment, silently contemplating his words. A syphon. A rare ability among few witches over the centuries; even rarer than a seer.

"How'd you come to that conclusion?"

"I wasn't sure until you showed me how you draw power from the air around you."

When your face drops to a confused frown he draws your body into his, lifting you so that you're sat on his lap, facing him.

"Listen. This isn't a bad thing. It's far from a bad thing. Trust me, sweetheart." he reassures. It's obvious to you that he knows something that you don't.

"What aren't you telling me?" you mumble, hands reaching to mess with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"When its safe for you to know, I'll tell you I promise. But for the sake of saving my friends-"

"And you." you interrupt, but he only shakes his head.

"For the sake of my friends, I can't tell you until the time is right."

"And when will that be? After you ghost me for another week? A month?" you sigh. "Is that what you're going to do when we walk out of here?"

He sighs deeply, his hold on your hips tightening ever so slightly as he brings you closer to him.

"That was a mistake on my part, sweetheart. You make me feel things that I was certain I wouldn't ever feel. I'm truely sorry."

He seals the apology with a long, breathtaking kiss, which momentarily leaves you unable to speak.

~∞~

Some hours later, you're sat beside Hermione at the Gryffindor table for dinner, Harry sat opposite you both. Ron was further down the table with Lavender Brown practically in his lap, the former of your friends sending poorly hidden glares his way.

"How's befriending Professor Slughorn going, Harold?" you ask, taking a sip out of your bronze goblet. After Dumbledore's visit last week, you sought out your three friends and demanded answers regarding Slughorn and Harry. But much like you, Dumbledore wasn't being as straightforward with the Chosen One as he thought he would be, especially after the miscommunication of last year, which inadvertently got Harry's Godfather killed.

"Not brilliantly." Harry mumbled as he stabbed his fork into his chicken.

Hermione scoffed.

"He's completely understating." she said. "It's going abysmally."

"Well, what methods have you used to get the information?" you ask, incredulously. How difficult was it to get information out of a man who spent his free time in the pub drinking away his sobriety?

Harry stammered as he tried to think of a reply and you balked at him.

"You didn't just outright ask him did you? Harry are you an idiot?" He gaped at you as Hermione snickered behind her goblet.

"Dumbledore showed me the half-memory that Slughorn gave him. There's a vital piece of information missing." he cringed as your face morphed into further disbelief. He knew that you knew he'd done the complete opposite of the logical thing to do.

"Don't tell me you tried to play out the memory with him, when Voldemort's own son could have been eavesdropping from fifty feet away?" you snapped, feeling entirely not guilty for dragging Mattheo's name into it. What does that say about the person you've began transitioning into?

"I'm not an idiot." he ignored your deadpan look, shaking his head he rambled on. "I sought him out after our last potions lesson, when everyone had left."

He stopped abruptly, turning to Hermione who, in turn, swivelled to face you.

"Speaking of Riddle," she started. "You weren't in the library earlier when I went to find you. Actually, I haven't seen you since after Ancient Runes after lunch."

"You're name wasn't on the map." Harry accused, eyes narrowing behind his thin wire glasses. "Riddle's wasn't either."

"Why were you in the Room of Requirement with him?" Hermione asked gently, as if she were trying to coax a misbehaving child to fess up information.

Internally, you were beginning to panic; the lies and excuses you'd been sporting for Mattheo's sake fizzling out by the seams. Your heart was irratic and you would've confessed there and then, had it not been for the calming presence of Mattheo's magical core in your mind.

What's wrong sweetheart, you look like you're going to pop a blood vessell.

Charming, Matt truly. You snark and he chuckles in your mind before his presence washes a feeling of seriousness over you.

What's wrong? He's insistent.

They're suspicious of us. Of why we were in the Come and Go room together.

How did they know about that?

That isn't important. You weren't stupid enough to give away one of Harry's best assets. What do I tell them without having to lie. I can't bare to lie again.

He's silent for a moment and you internally curse him as Harry and Hermione seem to be berating you, but you hear none of it, focusing on the pulsing of Mattheo's magic as he takes his sweet time to respond.

Tell them what you were doing. Say that you were annoyed by my avoidance; that it interrupted your schedule; that I was taking advantage of your time.

Harry was in the middle of a they-are-all-Death-Eaters spiel when you interrupted him to finally answer after what had only been a few moments.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Harry. I've been tutoring him since the start of the year. Which you both already knew." you send a look towards Hermione, who shrinks away. "He's been avoiding me all week – Rowena knows why – so I made Theo tell me where he was."

You stifled a laugh when Theo dropped his fork under the deathly glare that Mattheo sent his way.

Behave. You mentally slap him.

He smirked wickedly at you.

"He was probably doing his father's bidding." Harry spat.

"Maybe. But he needs a stellar Ancient Runes grade if he wants Theo to keep him on the Quidditch team. I'm doing Teddy a favour, nothing more." you reassure, and while it was only a half-lie, the guilt ate away at you all the same.

The pair seemed to sigh in tandem before Hermione turned to you, apology written all over her face. The guilt seemed to intensify.

"Just–" she paused, glancing over at the Slytherin table momentarily. "Just be careful will you? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I am being careful Mione, don't worry about me." you smile, but your pretty sure that, and judging by her unconvincing glance shared with your friend, she doesn't believe a word you say.

And after what happened in the Room that could grant you whatever you wished for, you weren't so believing in your resolve either.

~∞~

wasn't actually planning on writing smut this early but it kind of just happened lol this ones quite a long one, but i had a lot of things to add for the plot

sidenote; ive finally started reading acotar after its been on my tiktok fyp for time and low-key i see why i dnf'd the first time i tried reading it😭 but im speeding through it actually - im on like chapter 20 i think

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed

#mattheo x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheoxreader #harry potter #hermione x reader #serendipity series

[empyreva]

Daisies

Summary: All you want is to have ONE nice date with Luke without him sabotaging it in some way--surely a flower meadow is safe

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: Fluff, established relationship, fem!reader, Luke and reader are sassy and silly with each other, flirting, teasing, Luke loves getting under your skin, implied sex, vague nudity, 17+

A/N: My thoughts got ahead of me....I liked the idea of reader being like the A type partner and Luke loves messing with her--but you braid flowers in his hair anyway!!

The air is thick with the scents of lavender and honeysuckle--wildflowers dancing with the wind, bending gently but never breaking under the force. Here and there, butterflies and bees dart from flower to flower, sipping nectar lazily.

As you step onto the sprawling expanse of green grass, you can't help but gasp at the scene in front of you. It was like Gaia herself handpicked this location--a sprawling meadow between junctions of neighboring forests, brimming with life. "Wow..." You breathed out, eyes wide with excitement for your perfect picnic date. 

From behind you, the tall grass rustled--a strong arm snaking its way around your waist. Your boyfriend's eyes were pointed ahead, silently contemplating the sanctuary the two of you had found while attempting to get some private time away from the camp. Tugging on Luke's shirt, you enticed him to lean over for a quick kiss before you beckoned him to follow you as you searched for the perfect place to settle down--taking his hand in yours as you ventured further.

"Here's good?" You stopped in front of a small clearing in the field, a patch of dirt stripped bare and empty. Despite being objectively dead, it seemed well-loved, a little TLC would be needed to brush away dust and stray weeds--How many demigods before you had snuck away to this place? The romantic notion alone made your heart flutter.

"Perfect," Luke drawled, giving you a cheeky smile. Enthusiastically, you billowed out the large sheet you had tucked in the small picnic basket--fussing over making sure there were no crinkles in the fabric or sharp rocks underneath it. Watching you bend over and curse as dirt scuffed your pretty white dress had his own thoughts wandering--He honestly couldn't care less about where the two of you ended up.

After deeming everything to be perfectly in place, you dragged Luke down next to you, giggling as he stumbled into a comfortable sitting position. You began to ramble on about something--Luke honestly didn't care much for conversation. He offered you a couple "Mhm"s and "Oh yeah?"s, feigning interest in what you and Annabeth discovered while cleaning out the shed behind Athena's cabin. His eyes flickered down.

Gods, you weren't even wearing a bra.

"Luke--Luke!!" Suddenly you were right in front of him, nose to nose as your eyebrows furrowed. "Are you even listening?"

"Uh-uhm yeah--So uhhhhhh....So what happened after Percy killed that...Lizard?" 

"Tarantula, Luke. And he didn't kill it, he just flung it somewhere and told Annabeth that he killed it," you sighed, pushing your hair back with one hand. Luke felt like he had been pierced through the heart, gazing intently at you as you preened yourself for a moment. "But, anyway, Annabeth was so cute because she..."

"It's a bit hot, don't you think?" He interjected, fingers skirting along the exposed flesh of your thigh--peeking out from beneath your white dress. "Like, I'm actually sooo hot--Aren't you feeling it?" You gasped and pouted, gently pushing his wandering hand back to his side of the blanket. No no, you weren't going to let him win, again. The last time the two of you even tried to leave for a date, he 'accidentally' spilled something all over your shirt so you had to change. In front of him.

"C'mon, Luke, the food's gonna go bad if we start now!" You whined, pointing at the two perfectly crafted sandwiches you made, not to mention the various fresh fruits you packed up for dessert!! Completely ignoring you, Luke shrugged his shirt off from over his head, letting it fall somewhere in the nearby daisies. A smirk danced across his face, noticing the way your gaze immediately diverted the second he was facing you again. His abs had a slight shine to them, his biceps flexing as he pushed himself onto his haunches. "A-Aren't you hungry? We've been walking for like--like an hour!"

"Oh, I'm hungry--starved, even..." Luke pushed the basket out of the way, a slow crawl landing his lips just a breath away from yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes locking with Luke's--Gods he just had this way of getting you right under his thumb. A large hand slipped all the way up your dress, gently massaging the burning-hot flesh of your chest.

"I just have this...craving for something else."

--

"This is fucking amazing, baby," Luke moaned, his fingers dwarfing what remained of his sandwich. His head lay on your bare lap, cradled between your knees as he lounged, free as a bird, basking in the warmth of the sun and summer air. "Best. Sandwich. Ever."

"Thank you," you huffed, one hand massaging his scalp as the other supported your dinner. "You spoilt brat..." Luke frowned at the words that you muttered under your breath, reaching a hand up to flick at your nose.

"Hey!"

"I'm not a brat," he whined, poking at your jaw like a child. "Don't say that."

"Don't say that," you mocked. "Gods, can you ever NOT act like a big baby."

"Just for you, my girl."

You looked down at your boyfriend's handsome face--His mischievous brown eyes sparkled under the soft rays of the setting sun, while his dark curls fell around his forehead in gentle waves. Laughter escaped him as you gave his ribs a soft tickle, and he tried to evade you for a second before you decided that you wanted to try and actually be romantic. Something about these teenage boys...

You turned to your side and reached over, plucking a few daisy blossoms from the ground—a bouquet of white. With a smile, you began delicately threading them through his locks. Some clung tight to his scalp, others drifted lightly to the tips of his curls. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, relishing the sensation of your fingers against his skin--the soft tugging and gentle petting as you crafted a sort of halo.

"My handsome boy," you murmured, hoping to commit this moment to memory. Luke was growing sleepy, you could tell by how his eyes fought to stay open long enough to gaze into yours--the rise and fall of his chest in the rhythm of a euphony of crickets in the distance. He looked so pretty like this, so vulnerable, so trusting. You wished that this day would never end.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fluff #pjo tv show #percy jackson

[conscious-naivete]

Cons!!!! pal!!! what is the short story about a girl who was swallowed by an open sky :O I would love to read it!! :D

ur lucky i was digging thru stuff recently and knew exactly where this book was, bc i had to dig it out of the boxes in the basement!

the story was The Empty Place from Strange and Eerie Stories by Pat Hancock. i haven’t read this in years, i rmbred it slightly wrong, but i’ve scanned it in below the cut for ya

Mom pointed to the large hawk soaring above the cottage. “Look, Kit. Isn’t it beautiful?"

Kit glanced skyward.

"So what?" she said sullenly. "It's just a bird." She turned her back and began to walk away.

"Kit? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." Kit kept walking.

"Hold on, Kit. It's nearly lunch time. I want you to stay close to the cottage for now."

Kit took two more steps, then stopped as her little brother, Eugene, dashed out of the bushes beside the cottage. He came straight at her, arms outstretched.

"Hey, Kit, look what I found."

Carefully, he uncupped his hands. But not carefully enough. A bumpy brown toad leapt out just as Kit bent down to look.

"You brat," she hissed, jumping back.

"But, Kit, I never did it on purpose. Come on. Help me catch it again, will you?"

"You wish. Catch your own stupid toads--and keep them far away from me." Kit turned on her heel and stomped away.

"You're no fun anymore," Eugene yelled as he headed back behind the cottage, hot on the trail of the escaping amphibian.

His words pierced Kit with a guilt that nearly stopped her in her tracks. She knew she was acting like a jerk, but this knowledge just made her angrier- -with herself and everybody else.

She hadn't asked to be included in the family's vacation at the cottage. In fact, she'd begged to stay behind in town, where she could watch TV, hang out with her friends and have some fun.

Kit kept walking. She wanted a space of her own, away from the rest of the family. She started to jog, then broke into a run.

"Kit, wait." she heard her mother call. Kit ignored her and kept running until she reached the cover of a nearby willow grove.

From her vantage point under the drooping branches, Kit watched her parents walk back to the picnic table and sit down. Eugene was already seated, getting a head start on the sandwiches.

"Guess who's missing from the happy holiday picture?" Kit muttered angrily. They're just fine, she thought. They can have lots of fun without me.

Turning away, she began to work her way through the willow branches. When she broke through to the other side of the grove, she took a deep breath and took off across the vast expanse of meadow that lay before her.

Kit ran and ran. She ran until her breathing was so harsh and shallow that she could run no more. She slowed to a jog, but finally had to stop. Gasping, she bent over, hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.

Gradually, the pounding in her chest lessened, and the pain in her side eased. She straightened up slowly and looked back the way she'd come. Far off, to the right, she could still see the dark outline of the woods ringing the lake, but she could barely pick out the cottage and the willow grove beside it.

Not far enough. I can still see it, Kit thought, and decided to keep going. "Until I don't have to see anyone or anything," she said aloud as she set off once more, this time at an easy jog.

She had no idea how long she'd been running when she started to pay attention to her surroundings again. The first thing she noticed was that the sun was no longer directly overhead. She could still feel its powerful rays on the back of her neck and shoulders, but it was definitely lower in the sky. Her lengthening shadow told her that.

Glancing down, she realized that the ground had changed, too. The soft meadow grasses were gone and, underfoot, dried weeds and withering wild strawberry plants crunched and crackled.

The sun's cooking you too, she mused, looking at the brown and red leaves clinging to a sandy patch of ground before her. Suddenly, a quick shadow streaked across her path. Kit turned and squinted over her shoulder into the sky.

Oh, it's you, she thought as she picked the large black hawk out of the sun's glare. Who invited you along? Go back to my mother. She's the bird lover, not me. Aloud she added, "This is my spot. Mine, you hear."

The realization that she had actually shouted these words left Kit feeling more than a little foolish.

Thank goodness no one is around to hear, she thought. But the words had struck a memory chord. Kit stopped walking and looked around again. Hey, maybe this really is my place, she thought, recalling the game she'd invented when she was little. She flopped onto the ground, thinking that she might finally be able to win it here.

Kit stretched out, her hands clasped under her neck, and began to move her eyes in every direction while keeping her head perfectly still.

"Nearly," she said, sitting up and yanking at a tall clump of chicory that had managed to survive the heat and sand. "Sorry, but you have to go." she announced. Then she lay back down and looked around again.

That's better, she thought. This place has definite possibilities. Then she saw the hawk again.

"Go away," she ordered. "This is my place. You're wrecking the game."

The hawk lingered briefly, suddenly swooped lower, then soared high and faded into the cloudless sky.

Finally, Kit thought. Nobody and nothing. I've finally found my empty place.

Her thoughts drifted back to the summer six years ago when she'd started her search for this place. That year, her family had spent their vacation at her uncle's farm. One day, lying on the roof of the cowshed with her cousins, Kit had found herself staring into an empty, clear blue sky. She had lain outside many times before flat on her back on the apartment balcony, in the wading pool at the park, and even in the schoolyard. But this time was different.

This time, nothing, absolutely nothing had broken her view of the sky-no birds, no branches, no awnings, not even a hydro pole or telephone line. Suddenly, she'd been overwhelmed by the vast emptiness.

This is fun, she'd thought. It's like being all alone in the middle of nowhere, even though I'm really not. It felt good, being in the empty place she'd just discovered.

Keeping her head still, she'd let her eyes wander to the left. Still nothing. Once again, all she could see was blue. When she'd looked to the right, though, a tall tree had intruded into the blueness. Then two crows had risen squawking from the garden, flying directly into view, and the spell had been broken.

But the excitement of that moment had lingered. Several times that summer, she'd searched for a place where she could lie down, look up and around and see nothing but sky. It became a kind of game for her. She'd flop down, cushion her head with her hands, and try out a new place. But, no matter where she tried out the view, something a tree or a bird or a single power line always got in the way.

There was no point even trying on cloudy days. She would not allow the smallest wisp of white to drift by. That was against the rules, rules she'd come up with after that time on the cowshed roof. Only the sun was allowed. She couldn't look right at it anyway, so it didn't count. But anything else would break the spell cast by the emptiness.

When her cousins began to tease her about Iying around all the time, just staring at the sky, she quickly learned to seek out her empty place only when she was alone. She came close sometimes, but she never did find it that summer.

When she returned to the city, thoughts of her summer quest faded. Once, in the winter, she had tried again at the park, after an unusually heavy snowfall. The sun was shining brightly and the park was blanketed in white. She lay down in the snow and looked all around but, try as she might, she could never eliminate the nearby highrises from the picture. No matter where she went in the park, she could still see at least one.

The next summer Kit gave up her search. She was lying with two of her friends on the teeter-tot-ters in the park. The three of them were just lying there saying nothing, staring up at the sky.

When she asked them if they ever tried to find a place where they could see absolutely nothing but the sky, they looked at her as if she had grown antennae. "You're nuts, Kit," one of them had said.

Embarrassed, Kit had vowed never to think about the stupid game again.

But here she was, two years later, absolutely spellbound because there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in sight. This is amazing, she thought Nothing and nobody. Just what I wanted. I wonder how long it will last.

Now that she knew it was possible to find such a place, a new rule began to take shape in her mind. Once I find it, I can't move until something invades it, she thought.

"But that won't take long," she added aloud. "Something always comes along."

Kit lay still, staring upward at the seamless blue canopy, waiting for that something— a plane, a cloud, a bee buzzing by. She waited and waited, but nothing intruded into her empty place.

"Amazing," she repeated softly, relishing the moment.

Then her neck began to itch. Bet I've got a sunburn, she found herself thinking. Hope Mom brought the Noxzema. Don't be silly. Mom always remembers to bring the Noxzema. And the sun block...

Mom always remembers the air mattress, too. And a brand new jigsaw puzzle. Always a new puzzle. Wonder how many pieces this one will have? And the new game? What'll it be? Balder-dash? I'll bet that's it. Have to wait to find out, though. It has to be a surprise...

KIt realized she was looking forward to finding out which games Mom had brought along. Okay, so maybe doing puzzles and playing games with the family isn't so bad, she thought. Maybe I won't be bored totally out of my mind.

Kit scanned the empty sky again. Her neck was getting stiff and she wanted to stand up and brush away the sand that was starting to make her skin itch. Okay, I've had enough. Time for something to break into the emptiness. Time to go home.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called.

Maybe I goofed. Maybe I can see something, she thought, and forced her eyes from side to side as far as they could go. But she'd picked her spot well. Without turning her head, she couldn't see past the sandy patch where she had flopped down.

How long have I been here? she wondered. A long time. Shouldn't have pulled out that plant. Then I could have seen it—and I could have got up. Maybe I'lI cheat. Turn my head a bit. I'm sure there was some tall grass just past the strawberry leaves. I remember that.

She checked the sky one last time. Empty.

That's it, then. Time's up, she decided, and turned her head to the side. No tall grass there. She turned the other way. There was nothing there either.

“That's weird." Kit said softly. I was sure it was there she thought. Oh well, I moved my head so the game's over anyway. I may as well get up.

Kit sat up and looked around. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Impossible, she thought, and scrambled to her feet.

She stared in disbelief. For as far as she could see, there was absolutely nothing, nothing but the occasional wild strawberry runner clinging to the dry brown ground. It was as if the spot had spread around her until it met the sky. The sweat trickling down her neck felt suddenly cold. It sent stiver up her spine.

For a long time, Kit stood transfixed. Then she began to turn slowly, desperately scanning the horizon for anything that would help her get her bearings. She became frantic, looking—and looking again--for a familiar landmark. All she could see was acres of sand meeting the endless blue of the empty sky.

Feeling dizzy, she stopped turning and looked up again. The sun still shone, but it was much lower in the sky. Still, it couldn't help her. She had no idea whether the cottage lay north, south, east or west.

She wanted to run again. But she didn't know which way to go. For the second time that day, Kit began to cry. Sobbing, she felt very lost and alone.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she began to notice the breeze brushing against her tears. Gentle at first, it grew stronger with each gust. Thick white clouds edged with gray began to roll in, gobbling up the blue. Kit's heart raced. She could smell the approaching storm. Run, her mind screamed. Run. Run. Run.

Kit started to run, then turned and began to run in the opposite direction. "Which way? Which way?" she yelled into the terrible emptiness. Despairing, she stopped again, choking back her sobs.

It was then that she saw it. It was only a speck at first, a pinpoint of black in one of the last remaining patches of blue. When it disappeared behind a cloud, Kit thought she'd imagined it. But, seconds later, it was back, soaring and diving, its widespread wings riding the wind. Closer and closer it came, until it was directly overhead. It hovered for a moment, suspended in space. Then, with a mighty flap of its wings, it veered sharply back into the wind, struggling to return the way it had come.

Suddenly Kit realized where it had come from-and she knew where it was going. The voice inside her head became a chorus. Run. Run. Run. Kit began to run again, this time after the hawk.

They were going home.

#it’s a collection of like horror stories for kids #casual inexplicable things. a couple about maybe-ghosts and maybe-magic #one abt a kid getting held captive by his baseball superstitions that i think could be about ocd #just reread and some of these r pretty good #asks #quartz-candles

[lostinbooks14]

Let's Sneak into a Meadow

Times in the Wilderness

"So hypothetically speaking," Leo started, fingers working so fast that they almost turned invisible as he worked on unlocking the padlock, "On a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think Mrs. A$$hole is gonna be when she finds out we snuck out?"

"Wait what!?" Jason asked, sounding panicked, "I thought you said we wouldn't get in trouble with Mrs.Asoul cause we weren't breaking any rules!"

"Relax Blondie," Leo grinned as the padlock unlocked with a click, "the rulebook says 'no sneaking out of the school during school hours', but-" he emphasised as Jason prepared himself to argue, "I checked the records, and technically, this field does also belong to the school property... ok well the records might've been from 2013 but its totally not my fault that the library's not up to date!"

Piper snorted, flicking her braid over her shoulder, "See Jace, I told you the Super-sized Mcshizzle's got this all figured out."

Leo winked at them before pushing open the creaking metal gate and slipping through. He waited for the other two to follow- Jason insisted on Piper going first, cause he's still a gentleman stuck in the 70s- before closing the gate.

"I still don't like skipping periods though... are you sure this can't wait?"

"Mhm. Pretty sure. I totally did not just want to ditch English," Leo nodded.

Jason groaned dramatically- for a six feet tall, athletic nerd (yes, it was possible), he sure knew how to be a drama queen.

"Don't dull his little kiddie sparkle, Hot stuff," Piper laughed as she eagerly followed Leo deeper into the field- he knew she hated English just as much as he did. That teacher was a total b!tch about dyslexia.

He glanced back and saw Jason still standing rooted next to the gate, his entire face pink and flustered from Piper's comment. Piper followed his gaze and raised her eyebrows before going back and dragging Jason towards them. Piper and Jason were still at the flirting stage- well, Piper was, Jason was just confused- but Leo was certain they'd get together soon. And honestly, he couldn't wait. Sure being a third wheel would probably suck, but his amazing friends deserved each other.

"Almost there!" He called excitedly, quickening his pace as he led them to the patch of trees on the other end.

"Why is the kid leading the way again?" Piper asked, still firmly holding onto Jason's wrist. Ever since they'd found out that he was a year younger than them and had been moved up a grade- they'd been calling him kid- Leo didn't really mind though.

He turned around and blew a raspberry at them, so of course that meant Piper raced after him screaming "Oh, it's ON!", and Jason grinned and jogged after them. Piper caught up soon enough and tackled him to the ground, making sure that her body wasn't pinning Leo down as she gave him a wet willie. He screamed like a banshee and Jason came up behind them, hauling them both to their feet.

"Not that I don't love to see you getting scolded by the matron for getting dirt and grass all over your uniforms, but I really don't want to get in trouble with Mr.Hong too, so let's finish this quickly," Jason said. He seemed to notice that Piper had a huge blade of grass stuck in the hair next to her ear, and he reached up and brushed it away shyly.

This time Piper blushed, and Leo gave an encouraging thumbs up at Jason from behind her back, which promptly made him blush red too.

"Wow, dorks," he teased. "Anyways," he bent down and started pulling at the weeds covering the roots of a tall pine tree, "I've been thinking, both you're birthdays passed before I met you guys, and you're 16 now! Wow, old! But back to the point, I couldn't really get you guys anything, and you totally deserve something after all the effort you put into my ah-mah-zhang birthday party last week- hah I'm still 15- so I made something!"

"Awww," Piper gushed, "you really didn't have to! I'm so flattered!"

"Laying it on a little too thick there, Pipes," Leo noted.

"Seriously, though, you didn't have to. We were more than happy to do it for you," she said. Jason nodded in agreement.

"Uh uh uh- after all the effort- don't you dare give me the 'you shouldn't have' speech." Jason held up his hands in mock surrender as he handed them both two small square packages.

"I'm...confused..." Piped admitted finally, staring at the rose gold coloured metal circle in her palm.

"Same," Jason agreed, staring at his platinum coloured one.

Leo gave a dramatic groan. "It's an alert. See," he held up his left arm, shoving them a bronze circle set around his wrist. "You see the tiny buttons? So Pipes, if you're ever stuck somewhere with Dylan and are being tortured by his horrible attempts at flirting and need our blonde superman to come fly you away, you press the platinum coloured one. It's gonna make the rose gold button on Jason's one glow, and an arrow will appear right here," he pointed at the other side of the circle. I entered the map of the school building to it, so just follow the arrow! The bronze button's for me." He grinned at the impressed look the others were giving him.

"One question, where did you get the metal for these...?" Jason looked like he didn't want to know the answer.

"Oh..." He grinned sheepishly. "Well Piper was always complaining about that ginormous hoop earring set Jane bought for her because her dad didn't have time to buy her something himself- not that I blame her- Jane probably wanted your ears to rip off from their weight or something," he shrugged. After months of telling each other everything, they weren't sensitive about stuff to do with their shitty families anymore.

"So you melted them down and made these!? Wow Leo that's so cool!" She grinned wide, and pulled him into a crushing hug. Jason joined in, and Leo felt himself relax, enjoying the feeling of the only people who cared about him- and the only people he cared about's arms wrapped around him.

"Not to ruin the moment," Jason whispered, "But why did you drag us all the way here for this? Not that it isn't amazing, of course, it's definitely the best thing I've seen ever- but why did we have to skip class?"

Leo waved his hands dismissively, "Mostly cause this is a really cool place and I just thought let's sneak into a meadow. Plus," he smirked wickedly, "I wanted to make you get in trouble for once."

#heroes of olympus #leo valdez #leo hoo #jason grace #piper mclean #jason hoo #piper hoo #times in the wilderness #jason x piper #jasper #jiper #the lost trio #the lost trio fanfic #hoo fanfic

[kingkorvusarchive]

Do What You Can To Stay Sane...ish

Description: When Dean was a young 21 year old, he discovered the most wonderful medication. It made him feel relaxed, like the weight of the literal world wasn't on his shoulders. At least for a little while.

"What's that?" Dean asked Lee, who had just taken a large puff off a joint he rolled. "Weed." Lee simply replied, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of Dean. "It's like a cig but way better." "Dude!" Dean panicked for a moment, "Put that out! My dad could catch us." "Relax." Lee soothed, patting Dean's cheek gently, "Why the hell else would I ask you to take a walk in the middle of the night?"

That's true. Lee did wake Dean up super early in the morning, asking if they could go on a walk. Even though Dean had protested for a minute, Lee was able to convince him to go with after promising to do the coffee run in the morning.

After they had moped through a small, wooded area for a while, they decided the clearing that faced the empty meadow was a good enough spot to stop and sit for awhile. They usually did this extra early in the morning, like 3 to 4 in the AM. It was the only time they could be alone. Talking about whatever they want without John having something to say. It was the only time they really felt like they could actually be themselves.

Dean watches as Lee brings the joint to his lips, wrapping them around the filter, taking a long, deep draw from it. The ember from the end illuminated the blue of Lee's eyes, though it was so dark. Lee rolled his eyes towards Dean, catching him admiring. Dean quickly looked the opposite direction, the blush creeping up on his cheeks slowly.

"You wanna try?" Lee asked, tapping Dean's knee with the same hand holding the joint.

Dean looked down at the joint, suddenly becoming a deer in headlights. He had never really tried anything other than cigarettes and beer with his dad.

"Here." Lee said, taking the joint back and turning his whole body towards Dean. "How about I just blow the smoke at you for starters, just so you can smell it." Dean's eyes were shiny as he nodded slowly. "Okay, here we go."

Lee took a long drag, his lungs filling to the brim with harsh smoke. He held it for a moment, observing Dean to be sure that he actually wanted this. He gave Dean a look to confirm this. Dean just nodded again, feeling words get stuck in his throat.

Lee leaned forward, making the already small distance between them even smaller. Dean swallowed, the words that were caught going down his throat along with the excess spit. Lee nodded as he blew the smoke over Dean's face, slowly.

Dean let the smoke seep into him, just taking in the scent. He didn't really like it. "It smells like someone ran over a skunk." he said, waving the smoke away from his face. "But... it's not the worst thing I've smelled. So, I guess, that's cool." Lee chuckled and shook his head, "Yeah. I don't love the smell a whole lot either. But, I think you should keep going. Maybe it would help you chill out after a hunt." "What do you mean?" Dean asked. "I mean, after a hunt, when your adrenaline is pumping and you're on edge for the rest of the night. Always watching for the next monster before you end up passing out from the crash." Lee animates, "Especially you, man. You're always so jazzed after a hunt." Lee nudges Deans shoulder. "Well excuse me for being a little shaken up from almost dying on a daily basis." Dean said, huffing out a breath. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, right there." Lee says, "Just keep going. If you start smoking it, and absolutely hate the way it makes you feel, I'll even quit myself."

For some reason, that sentence made Dean's heart flutter. His best friend was willing to give up something that really seemed to be helping him, just because Dean might not like it. It was so thoughtful it made Dean's stomach turn.

"What do I do?" Dean asked, reaching his fingers out for the joint. "I mean, obviously it's like a cigarette. But, like, do I do anything special with it?" "Nope. Just inhale and exhale. You can keep the smoke in your mouth first since its your first time. " Lee winked, handing the joint to Dean.

When their fingers brushed, Dean swore he felt a wave of electricity flow throughout his entire body. He brought the joint to his lips, taking in the smell again, not minding it as much as before. He took a long drag, taking an extra sip of air to guide the smoke to his lungs. He could feel the smoke twirling around his lungs, some of it sitting at the very bottom burning in his chest.

He slowly blew out the smoke, watching it float off into the night sky. The affects of the marijuana hit Dean immediately, his body becoming more relaxed and his mind clearing of the bloody images of torn apart humans.

"Woah." Dean said, looking at the little joint in his hand. "Right? Fells amazing , doesn't it?" Lee said, reaching his hand for the joint again. "Yeah. It does." Dean said, handing the weed back.

They sat in silence for a while, just passing the joint back and forth until it was nothing more than just the roach. By now, Dean was stoned. His tolerance wasn't as high (haha) as Lee's.

"Dude, your eyes are red as fuck." Lee laughed at Dean, leaning into Dean's side. "Shut up. No they aren't." Dean laughed, leaning his body weight on Lee's. "Sure, whatever you say." Lee said, sitting up again.

Dean and Lee were sitting close to each other. So close that their shoulders were touching when Lee was sitting up. It wasn't how they had started this trip though. When they had first sat down, they were sat at a reasonable distance. Far enough that they had their own spaces but close enough to hear each other talk. As the night went on, they had started drifting closer to each other. Their shoulders were touching and their conversation could be a whisper if they wanted.

"Shit... I didn't bring my bag." Lee said, tossing the dead joint into the distance. "I could go grab it." Dean said, already starting to stand before Lee grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. "Don't bother. Your dad will definitely catch us if you try to open the car." Lee said, leaning against Dean again. "You good? You're kind of shaking." Dean asked. "Oh yeah. Just a little chilly is all." Lee said, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. He had told Lee to grab a jacket before they headed out but Lee said he wouldn't need it. So, Dean took off his leather jacket and draped it over the both of them.

"There. That should be better." Dean said. He was glad it was dark so that Lee couldn't see the red blush on his cheeks. The electricity that Dean felt earlier was even more noticeable to him now, he wasn't sure if it was because of the way they were sitting or if it was the weed, but Dean didn't mind it.

"Hey, Dean. Can I ask you something?" Lee abruptly blurts, not moving his head or body to look at Dean. "Have you..." Lee stopped, unsure if he should finish. "Actually, never mind." "Well, now you have to ask. Or else I'm going to bug you about it for the next few hunts." Dean said, moving his shoulder a bit to make Lee's head bounce. Lee laughed, "Okay fine. But you have to promise me you won't be all weird after I ask." "Done deal. Not much that can drive me away." Dean said without hesitation. Lee is his best friend. Of course he wasn't going to judge him for anything he could do or say. "Have you..." Lee started again, pausing to take a deep breath, "Have you ever felt the same way about a guy the way you do a girl?" Dean didn't answer for a moment, a little taken aback from this specific question. "Never mind. Don't answer that." Lee interrupted, pushing Dean's leather jack off of himself. "What? Where are you going?" Dean asked, grabbing Lee's wrist before he could even move. "I was just thinking is all." he pulled Lee back to his spot and covered him again.

"I'll admit. There were a few times that I thought about it. Ya know? What would it be like to be with a guy? Could that even be possible? Not only in the normal world but in this life as well. I mean, how many gay-" "Or bisexual." Lee interrupted. "Right. Or bisexual hunters do you know of? Or met? Not a lot. I'm sure there are some out there..." Dean said, staring up at the canopy of branches above them. "Plus, my dad would never..." "I know." Lee said, relaxing his body against Dean again. "Can I ask why you wanted to know?" Dean questioned, looking down at Lee. His floppy brown hair was slightly covering his eyes, hiding the sky blue that Dean liked about them. "I've just been thinking about it is all." Lee said. But something in his tone that made Dean doubt him and Lee knew that. "That's bullshit." Dean called out immediately. "I know." Lee admitted. "But I just don't think I'm ready to talk about this anymore right now." " Alright. I won't push any more." Dean said "But I just want you to know that I wouldn't judge you for anything. As long as you're not dead, I couldn't less about who you think is hot or who you want to screw." "Thanks, Dean." Lee said.

They never talked about it again after that. Mostly because John, Dean, and Lee parted ways. There was a hunt in Arizona that really messed Lee up, so he decided to leave. Dean never heard from him after that.

He did continue to smoke however. When John found out, he was furious and demanded that he quit. But Dean, for once in his life, disobeyed a direct order from his father.

He realized after that night that it made him feel a little less shitty. It made him feel less shitty physically. It took away the ache that settled in his knees at a young age from the miles ran on hard pavement. It took away the headaches that he'd get frequently from countless concussions. It soothed the constant pain in his back from carry too much for too long. It also made him feel less shitty mentally. When he smoked, he felt like could actually focus on reading the lore for long periods. He could actually think about what he was going to say before he says it. It makes the raging fire of anger in his chest into a controlled campfire.

On nights it was hard to sleep, he opted for a walk in the near wooded area around the bunker with a joint to himself. He didn't like smoking inside the Bunker, being considerate of Cas and Sam. But also because he didn't like the way the smell would linger for days at a time. The same reason he didn't smoke in his precious car.

He'd walk, lighting the joint at the start of his journey. He always followed the same path. So much so that there was a small trail starting to wear it's way into the dirt, just wide enough for one person. From there he would walk into the woods, sticking close to the small brook. He would take long drags, watching the smoke dance in the air when he exhaled. Sometimes he would stop and stare at the stars and laugh. "Imagine that. The Sword of Michael; stoned." he'd say, finding the irony a little too funny.

There was a tree that Dean carved his initials into not too long after they had found the Bunker. He decided to make that his designated smoking spot, liking the way it faced an empty meadow.

#my writing #fanfic #supernatural #stoner!Dean #dean is bi #dean winchester #dean would've benefited from smoking a joint once in awhile #marijuana is medication #bi!Dean #Dean and Lee totally crushing on each other

[ironychan]

A Little Human (as a Treat)

Part 1/? - Un Volontario

Part 2/? - Un Escursione

Part 3/? - Una Complicazione

Things begin to go wrong: the kids get separated in San Giuseppe, and Ercole runs afoul of Ciccio's spines, with surprising results.

Over the past six months, Ciccio had spent more time than he would have liked listening to Arturo grumble about his chores.  Arturo Trota was nine years old and prone to exaggeration, and sometimes made it sound like his mother treated him as a personal slave.  The reality was pretty far from that.  Most of the tasks assigned to him were normal farm chores or their underwater equivalents, while the heavy work was assigned to a couple of teenage farmhands who worked for bed and board.

Maybe it was just the novelty of them, since Ciccio had been raised in a town above the surface, but he found that helping Giordana and Arturo was pretty fun.  The crabs climbed over each other and bickered for their feed, clacking their claws and sometimes needing to be separated.  Arturo herded them with a long stick so he couldn't get pinched, though several of the crustaceans were smart or ornery enough to try to climb it.  Around the garden, shells were strung up on lines to clink in the current and scare away wild fish that might try to nibble on things.  Several of these needed replacement or repair.  The garden itself had to be weeded, and a shiny bristleworm was trying to make a burrow among the crinoids – this creature had to be trapped in a basket and re-homed.  Ciccio could imagine doing this again, so long as Flavia was up for it.  He wouldn't want to be a sea monster for the rest of his life like Giulia had decided, especially not with the spines to worry about, but this wasn't bad.

Once most of the morning's work was done, Arturo dragged Giordana and Ciccio to the sponge bed he'd mentioned.  He cut a large piece from one blobby yellow specimen, and pushed it onto a spine on Ciccio's shoulder.  The sensation associated with this was very unpleasant, a sort of tactile equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard, but it did cover the sharp tip.  Satisfied, the Trota children set to work harvesting more.

Ciccio suspected he looked pretty silly by the time they were done: Giordana was forcing herself not to smile, while Arturo snickered when he thought Ciccio wasn't looking.  The sponge pieces also produced noticeable drag when he tried to swim, but it was definitely a relief not to have to worry about sticking anybody.  They covered all of them but a few that were in with his fins and barely accessible, and with the last piece in place, Giordana gave him a hug.

“You look very handsome, by the way,” she told him.  “Now I see you like this, I bet all the human girls are jealous of me.”

Arturo rolled his eyes and stuck a finger in his mouth.

By then Signora Trota had made lunch, and she was in a much friendlier mood as she laid out a little picnic for them in the sunny seagrass meadow.  The food was mostly shellfish and seaweeds that didn't look very appetizing at first, but it turned out to be quite flavourful, combining savoury and sweet in unexpected ways.  Ciccio had to get used to it, but once he did it was quite tasty.

“I'm sure you and your father can't be eating very well up there on land,” Signora Trota told him.  “Any time you'd like to come join us for a proper... Arturo, eat your lunch, don't feed it to the molluscs.”

Arturo snatched back the piece of oyster he'd been offering to a small octopus.

“As I was saying,” his mother went on, “any time you'd like a real supper, you're welcome to join us.”  Hospitality was an important part of sea monster culture, one Ciccio had been learning about from Giordana but wasn't sure of all the nuances yet.

What he was sure of was that this was a perfect opportunity. He looked at Giordana, and she nodded.

“We eat just fine,” Ciccio said.

“There's nothing wrong with human food, Mom,” Giordana agreed. “We've been experimenting with adding some stuff we eat to the bread Ciccio's dad makes, and it's been turning out really well. You should come up and try some!”

“You should,” Ciccio agreed.  “How about this evening?”

“Oh.  Oh, no, I really couldn't,” said Signora Trota.  “I'm not like you young people.  It would probably make me sick.”

“It would not,” Arturo protested.

“Yeah, if human food could make people sick, Arturo would definitely be dead by now,” said Giordana.

Ciccio added, “the only time I saw any of them get sick from our food, it was when Silvio ate an entire jar of olives.”

“And I told him not to do that,” said Arturo.

“We just tried a new recipe for cinnamon rolls last week,” Ciccio said eagerly.  “We made them look like nautiluses, with the cinnamon for the stripes.  My friend Guido says they're the best he's ever tasted.”

“Your human friend?” Signora Trota asked warily.

“I like them, too,” Giordana said quickly.  “So do Alberto and Luca. And while you're up there, you can stop and say hello to Signorina Repetto at the Farmacia.” She smiled, proud of this addition to the argument.  “I've seen her wearing the earrings you made for her.  She can show you how she put them on the studs, and then maybe you can sell jewellery to the humans, too!”

“I don't know,” said Signora Trota, turning an oyster shell over in her hands.  “I really don't think that's for me.  I'm just not the type.”

“The Paguros didn't think they'd be the type, either,” Giordana pointed out, “and now they're up there all the time.  Signora Paguro coaches the land children in football, and her husband goes fishing with a stick the way the humans do.  He says it's very relaxing.”

“At least think about it,” Ciccio urged.

Signora Trota sighed heavily.  “I'll think,” she said doubtfully, “but I can't make any promises.”

Giordana and Arturo evidently considered that good progress, and let the subject change.  Once the meal was over, Signora Trota enlisted Arturo to help her clean up the dishes, while Ciccio and Giordana headed over to the Island, where Ciccio's father had said he'd tell Guido to meet them.  They approached it from the ocean side and wove their way between the spires of rock uplifted by a seismic event long ago.  When they approached the cliffs at the north, sure enough, they could see the long shadow cast by a ltitle boat bobbing on the water.

“Papà's probably been reminding him over and over all morning,” Ciccio said, and made his way to the surface.  He'd figured out how to use his tail now, but the sponges all over him still slowed him down... not that Guido would know the difference.  Ciccio grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled his head up to see over the edge, only to get a nasty surprise.

The boy cursing at the outboard motor wasn't Guido.  It was Ercole.

“What are you doing?” Ciccio asked him, as he thumped on the machine with one fist.

“I am trying to get my motor started!” Ercole snarled.  “Since you're here, why don't you make yourself useful, and...” he turned around.

Ercole had not known about Ciccio's plans for the day, but he had recognized the other boy's voice.  Now the two of them stared at each other for a moment, and Ercole's expression went from shock to disgust, before he finally burst out laughing.

“You look like an hors d'oeuvre!” he declared, pointing to the sponges.  “Like when people put cheese and olives on toothpicks and stick them in a grapefruit!”

Ciccio scowled.  It had been less than a year ago that Ciccio and Guido had been almost desperate to please this cool older boy everybody looked up to, who had decided to extend them the honour of being his friends.  Of course, he'd only been using them to win a race he shouldn't have even been entering, and it was now obvious that he would have discarded them afterwards, just like his previous set of toadies.  The embarrassment of that hindsight rankled worse than anything Ercole could now say.

“Oh, I wish I had a camera!” Ercole went on.  “You look delicious.”

“Do you want help with your motor or not?” Ciccio asked, less because he really wanted to assist and more just to make Ercole go away.

“I don't know what's wrong with it.” Ercole sat down and gestured at the stern of his red boat.  “Make it work.”

That was as close to a si, grazie as Ciccio knew he was going to get.  He worked his way around, hand over hand, to the motor for a look, and found the problem at once.  A piece of fishnet had gotten tangled around the propeller blades, and was now holding them fast.

“You got a knife?” Ciccio asked.

“Surely sea monsters have sharp teeth for that,” sneered Ercole.

“I'll get one,” said Giordana, who had surfaced a few metres away.  Her tone left open the possibility of using it on Ercole himself.  She sank back under the water and darted away.

Ercole shook his head.  “I have no idea what goes on in this town anymore,” he said, to nobody in particular.  “Soon I'll probably be the only normal person left!  I should have figured you'd be next, Ciccio.  Now you get to smell just as bad as your fishy girlfriend.”

Ciccio pretended to ignore him and tried to unwind the net with his fingers, but it wouldn't budge.  Was there a broken bottle or something he could use, or would he just have to wait for Giordana?  He was not going to chew on it with his teeth, not even under the surface where Ercole wouldn't see.

“At least you're a natural swimmer,” Ercole went on.  “You're buoyant.”

That was the moment when something inside Ciccio went snap. Back when they'd supposedly been friends, Ercole had never mentioned Ciccio's weight – but if he brought it up now, he'd probably been thinking about it and laughing behind Ciccio's back the whole time.

“You can swim home!” snarled Ciccio, and flipped the boat over.

Ercole squawked as he went into the water, and grabbed one of the seats of the boat to keep his head in the bubble of air trapped by the upturned hull.  “Imbecile!” he sputtered.  “You know I cannot swim!”

“Maybe you should learn!” Ciccio spat back at him, “but you won't, because then you'd have to do something for yourself instead of making other people do it for you!”

“And why shouldn't I?” Ercole demanded.  “There are always fools like you who want to be useful!  Now turn this boat back over.  Your girlfriend will be back in a moment, and then you'll be so enthralled by her stench...”

“Shut up!” ordered Ciccio, and shoved him.

“You shut up!”  Ercole shoved him back.

For a moment the two boys grappled in a very awkward and undignified fight that consisted mostly of pushing, splashing, and pinching.  Both of them scraped elbows and shoulders against the edges of the boat, and bumped their heads on the seats.  Then Ercole grabbed a handful of Ciccio's fins to yank on them as he might on hair, only to find a spine with no sponge on it hidden among them.  This pierced deep into the flesh of his palm below the thumb, and he screeched like he'd just been shot.

“Accidenti!” Ciccio exclaimed, as his anger evaporated into cold terror.  If those spines really were poison they now had a big problem, because it was a long way back to shore and with the motor broken it was going to be a long trip.  He reached for Ercole's hand to look at the injury.

When he touched it, Ercole gave a strangled-sounding scream, and Ciccio quickly let go on the assumption that it was painful.  Perhaps it was... but as Ercole stared in horror, the wound closed by itself and his hand began to transform. Before his eyes and Ciccio's, five human fingers merged into four webbed claws, and olive-coloured scales grew in.  Ercole swatted at it with his other hand, as if he could physically wipe the effect away, and since he was no longer holding onto the boat, his head vanished under the water.

Ciccio quickly turned the boat back over, and then ducked under to see what was happening to Ercole.  The older boy was still squirming and shouting, but it hadn't done him any good.  He was now fully transformed, covered with scales in a dozen shades of green, brown, and grey, and fins in darker versions of the same, resembling a soldier's camouflage jacket.  Perhaps surprisingly, and perhaps not, he had four catfish-like barbels sprouting from his upper lip.

It was, Ciccio decided, better than watching him die of poison... but not by very much.

“Stop yelling,” he said.

Ercole did not stop.  He hated sea monsters, both on principle and because Luca, Alberto, and Giulia had humiliated him.  Changing into one was likely high on his list of worst nightmares, and the only way he seemed able to react was by screaming and flailing until it went away.  Unable to orient himself in the water, he flipped upside-down and slapped Ciccio in the face with his tail.

Ciccio grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him right-side up again. “Shut up!” he repeated.

Ercole's eyes – blood-red now, with vertical sea monster pupils – refocused.  The screaming stopped, and he stared at Ciccio in complete incomprehension for a few moments before his panic turned abruptly to rage.  “Change me back!” he ordered.

“I don't know how,” Ciccio informed him.

“Holy carp!” exclaimed the voice of Giordana.  She had returned, with one of her mother's obsidian cooking knives.  “What did I miss?”

Neither of the boys were in much of a mood to answer her.  “Per milli sardini!” Ercole said. “You let them do this to you and you don't know how to change back?”

“I know how I change back,” Ciccio informed him.  “I don't know about you. Maybe there's something in the magic scroll.”  Would that have an answer?  Was this a normal outcome?  It seemed like the spines had not been... everybody had been surprised by those.  “The sea monster kids, Alberto and Luca and Giulia, they had it.”

“Well, go and get them!” said Ercole.

“I can't.  They went to San Giuseppe with Alberto's cousin.”

“What?! What did you let them do that for?”

“I didn't know you were going to decide to impale yourself!”

“Guys!” Giordana tried to get in between them.  “Does somebody want to tell...”

“Out of the way. It smells bad enough down here,” Ercole told her.

Ciccio grabbed him by the collar.  “Stop insulting Giordana.”

“Get your fishy claws off me!” Ercole said, and within moments the two boys were fighting again, dropping towards the sea floor in a mass of thrashing limbs and tails.

“Guys!” Giordana dived after them.  “Somebody's gonna get hurt!”

They hit the bottom and rolled around, kicking up clouds of silt.  This forced Giordana to back off, but also ended the fight – Ciccio and Ercole had to let go of each other and get out of the disturbed area so they could breathe without choking on gills full of mud.  Ciccio swam straight up to join Giordana, while Ercole clawed his way up the side of a boulder and lay on top of it, gasping.

The cloud of debris settled again while they were still panting, and revealed a third figure.  The new arrival crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “what in all shells is going on over here?”

This was the sea monster community's blacksmith, Signor Donzella.  He was a very large man, barrel-chested and pot-bellied, and well over six feet tall. Rather than having shiny scales like most others of his kind, he had the rough grey skin and fluked tail of a shark.  Ciccio had met him before, in both sea monster and human form, and had always found him quite friendly.  Now that he was angry, however, he looked very intimidating indeed.

“He started it,” Ciccio declared.

“I started it?” Ercole echoed in disbelief.  “You're the one who dumped me in the water, number one, and num...” and there he stopped in the middle of his sentence, and clapped both hands over his mouth.

Donzella raised an eyebrow, and looked at Giordana to see if she could say something sensible.

“I was getting a knife.”  She held it up.  “I just got back and they were fighting.”

“If you three are bored, I can find you something to do,” Donzella told them.

Everybody recognized that as a threat.  “We're not bored,” said Giordana.  “Are we, ragazzi?”

“Never a dull moment around here,” Ciccio agreed, nodding hard.

Ercole remained where he was, flat against the side of the boulder as if cornered by a lion, hands over his mouth.  Ciccio had never seen him behave that way.  Ercole normally just said whatever came into his head without a care in the world for the consequences.

Donzella was not convinced.  “Come and help me load up some of these stones,” he said.  “We're putting a new roof on Old Man Cormorano's barn.”

That was apparently too much for Ercole.  “You can't just give me work to do,” he protested.  “You're not my father!”

“I can go ask him if I'm allowed to borrow you,” Donzella suggested.

This must have been the most horrifying thing Ercole had heard yet.  His eyes bulged, and he shook his head hard.

That confirmed for Donzella that whatever had been going on here was trouble.  “Over here.”  He gestured for the young people to follow him, then paused, frowning.  “Do I know you boys?”

“You know Ciccio,” said Giordana, taking his arm.

“Oh, yes, I do.” Donzella nodded.  “Sorry, kiddo, I don't think I've ever seen you in the water before.  And you?” he turned to Ercole.

“You have never seen me before in your life,” Ercole lied.

---

After leaving the Museum of Piracy, the kids continued to wander in the general direction of the zoo, lingering here and there to point out things the others thought might interest Flavia.  They stood and watched a woodworker, who was carving a chair back while a kitten perched on his shoulder as if supervising.  Flavia scooped up a discarded curl of wood and breathed in the scent of it, then put it in the bag with her candy and her snowglobe.  Across the street, an elderly couple were playing chess while half a dozen other people watched, whispering among themselves and trying to guess either player's next move.

“Humans play chess, too?” she whispered to Alberto.

“Sure do,” Alberto replied.

“He's really bad at it,” Giulia said.

“I'll beat you yet,” Alberto vowed.

In a little pizzeria they watched the cook toss dough in the air to flatten it out, which made Flavia gasp in terror as she expected it to go splat on the floor.  The man caught it, and Flavia clapped her hands, to which he gave a little bow.  Then they sat down to lunch.  The others took care to warn Flavia not to burn her mouth on the hot cheese, but nobody thought of telling her not to drink her soda pop too quickly. She liked the tickle of the bubbles, but too big a swig gave her hiccups, which she found very distressing.  Giulia ran to get her a glass of water, while the boys tried to reassure her that the phenomenon was harmless.

“Try holding your breath,” Luca suggested, while Alberto slid out of his chair and under the table

Flavia took a deep breath and put both hands over her mouth to hold it in, but couldn't keep that up.  Another hiccup forced her to breathe again.

“I can't stop!” she complained.

“They'll go away on their own eventually,” Luca promised.

“Here.” Giulia gave her the water.  “Drink this.”

“Drinking something is...”  Flavia hiccuped again.  “Drinking something is how it started!”

That was when Alberto popped out from under the tablecloth, right in front of her. “Boo!” he exclaimed.

Flavia yelped in surprise and reflexively threw the glass at him, splashing him in the face.

Fortunately, Alberto's control over the Change meant he only partially transformed for a moment.  As soon as he realized it was happening he shook the water off and changed back, and his friends surrounding him kept anyone else from seeing.

“Did it work?” Alberto asked, getting to his feet.  “Are they gone?”

Flavia blinked a couple of times, then started to smile.  “I think they...” she began, only to disappoint everybody, herself included, with another hiccup.  “Oh.”

As Luca had promised, the hiccups did go away a few minutes later, and the little group finished their lunch and made their way to the San Giuseppe Zoo.  This had once been a wealthy man's private menagerie, and after his death, his children had opened it to the public to bring in a little extra money.  What had once been a villa was now the zoo's administrative building, and the animal pens were arranged around the front drive, a circular pavement with a central fountain shaped like a spouting dolphin.  The fountain was not working today, and a large truck with a tank of water was parked next to it.

“What's happening here?” Giulia asked.

An employee was filling a bucket from spigot on the back of the tank.  The tap didn't appear to seal very well, and there was a considerable puddle under the rear tyres.  “Our water main is broken,” he replied.  “We have to bring water in by truck while they repair it.  It shouldn't be long.  They're working on it now.”

“What about the river?  It's right there,” Flavia pointed.  The entrance to the zoo was a bridge over the Roffo River, which passed through the yawning dark arched to flow underneath the rest of the city and out a big culvert into the Ligurian Sea, similar to the stream in Portorosso but on a much greater scale.

“That wasn't been purified,” the man explained.  “It might make the animals sick.  This is nice and clean.”

The owner of the menagerie had been known to be particularly fond of birds, and most of the exhibits in the little zoo were those.  There were spindly flamingos in a pond, dipping into the water for food with one leg tucked up underneath them.  Shining peacocks strutted around loose with their long trains behind them.  There were brightly-coloured lorikeets from South America and a cackling Australian kookaburra, and a ruddy brown bird with a long yellow and white tail, which a sign identified as a Lesser Bird of Paradise.  There were also more parrots, enormous red and yellow ones that did not appear to talk but still made plenty of noise.

Besides the birds, there were half a dozen small kangaroos that would eat out of people's hands and allow themselves to be petted and scratched. There was a point-eared lynx cat lounging on a log, ignoring the gawking humans, and a huge iguana with spines down its back.  Two strange beasts with the faces of camels, the ears of rabbits, and the woolly coats of long-haired sheep, shared a pen.  A place of honour went to an elderly orang-utan named Barbarossa, who was napping with a piece of cardboard over his head to keep the sun off.

Flavia was enthralled by all these creatures, but as they wandered across the central pavement again, an altogether more ordinary animal caught her eye.  There were pigeons here, just as there had been in the town piazza, and a woman with a flower scarfy tied around her hair was sitting on a bench feeding them.

“Mamma says you shouldn't feed the pigeons,” Giulia remembered, “because then they'll never go away.”

“Could I try anyway?” Flavia asked.

“Sure,” said Alberto.  “Just go ask if.”

Flavia took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and approached the woman. “Scusi, Signora,” she said as bravely as she could.  “My name is Flavia, and I would like to feed the pigeons.”

The woman looked a bit started by the formal wording of this request, but she smiled and patted the seat next to her.  She was wearing large sunglasses and very red lipstick, and might have been in her late sixties.  “Of course, my dear.  Here.”  She offered a handful of seeds.  “Scatter it on the ground for them.  They aren't likely to eat from your hand if they don't already know you.”

“That's all right,” said Flavia.  She sat down and dropped a few seeds.  “I already fed the kangaroos.”

The woman in the scarf nodded.  “Do you like pigeons?” she asked.

“They're very pretty,” said Flavia, and grinned in delight as the birds started picking up the seeds.  She looked up to make sure Alberto and the others had seen, not only that the pigeons were eating, but that she was having a conversation with a stranger all on her own, the way her cousins were able to do.

“They are, aren't they?” the woman nodded.  “Nobody appreciates them, I'm afraid.”

“Giulia told me they can always find their way home.”

“That's true. That's why before the post was invented, people used them to deliver messages,” the woman said.  “Did you know they can live as long as fifteen years?”

Flavia loved learning new things about animals.  “Is that a long time for a bird?”

“For a bird that size it's a very long time.”

Giulia bought them some popcorn, and the other three sat down not far away, on the rim of the dry fountain, to eat it.  The pigeons eyed their snack covetously, but didn't seem to consider it worth the trouble to steal any, not when Flavia and her new friend were happy to distribute free seeds.

“My name is Dionisia Pepitone,” the woman said.  “My husband and I moved here after the war.  He wanted to be someplace quiet, near the sea.  I used to keep my own pigeons as pets and for the eggs, but I haven't got the money or time anymore, so I settle for feeding the wild ones.”

Flavia nodded.  “I live near Napoli with Papa Leo and Papa Giorgio.  Papa Leo and I came to visit Portorosso because my cousin lives here.”

“I imagine it's very much quieter here than Napoli,” said Signora Pepitone.

Flavia chose her next words very carefully, not wanting to tell an outright lie.  “I'm not allowed to go anywhere by myself back home.  Here we don't need a grownup.”

“It's a very welcoming place, the Cinque Terre,” Signora Pepitone agreed.

There was a soft tinkling sound then, and the kids turned to look as water began to trickle from the fountain.  At first it was only a few drops running down the dolphin's marble sides, but soon it was merrily spouting away.  The zoo employees cheered and clapped, and some of the visitors joined in.

Luca, Alberto, and Giulia got up, partly to better admire the sight and partly to stay away from the spray.  Flavia dropped the rest of her seeds and ran over to hold her hand in the water.  Alberto nearly stopped her, but then remembered it was okay – her fingers did not transform as the water ran over them.

“It's cold!” she said with a giggle.

The zoo staff hurried off to make sure the water was working everywhere, and a man got out of the truck with the tank to remove the wooden wedges from behind the tyres and make sure there was nothing blocking the way behind.  Signora Pepitone put her pigeon feed away, and came to say goodbye.

“It was lovely to meet you, Flavia,” she said.  “Always a pleasure to see another pigeon fancier.  Are you going to be in San Giuseppe longer, or just today?”

“Just today,” Flavia replied.  “I have to be home for supper.”

“Well, if you ever pass through again, perhaps you can meet my son.  He has some pigeons of his own, and he enjoys the fancy breeds.  I'm sure you'd like them.  And he's got a daughter about your age, too.”

“Thank you,” Flavia said uncertainly.  “I'd have to ask my dads.”

“Attenzione!” somebody shouted.

They looked up. The man in the truck had begun backing up, but the tyres were spinning on the wet pavement, and the tank trailer was sliding towards the middle of the little driveway instead of going straight back.  Signora Pepitone grabbed Flavia's hand, and Luca's since he was closest to her, and dragged them around the other side of the fountain.  Alberto and Giulia scrambled after them.  The man in the truck hit the brakes, but the tank trailer kept sliding to the side and hit the edge of the fountain with a terrific bang.

Part of the edge of the basin collapsed and spilled water across the ground, but the real disaster was when the back of the tank hit the nose of the dolphin.  Stone tore through metal, and water sprayed out in all directions.  Signora Pepitone, a nearby employee who'd been yelling for everyone to get out of the way, and Flavia all got suddenly soaked.  Even worse, so did Alberto, Luca, and Giulia.

For a moment they all stood frozen, taking it what had just happened.  Then they looked around to see if anybody had noticed – but even if nobody had noticed yet, they certainly did a split second later, when Signora Pepitone screamed.  All heads turned as the woman grabbed Flavia and pulled her protectively close.

Alberto was able to will himself to change back to human form, but the other two could not, and it was too late anyway.  All around them people murmured, crossed themselves, and grabbed whatever was handy to use as a weapon.  The man in the truck looked out the window, and shouted a shocked obscenity.

“What are those?” somebody asked.

“Are they Martians?” a child wanted to know.

“Get away from us!” Signora Pepitone shrieked, dragging Flavia back.

“Those are my friends!” Flavia protested to her.

“Darling, those things are nobody's friends!” Signora Pepitone said.  “Look at those teeth!”

Flavia struggled in her arms, but even if she got away, what could she do?  Everybody had already seen.  “The river!” she said urgently, pointing to the bridge.

The others looked, but they hesitated.  They couldn't leave her behind, could they?

The man in the truck had gotten out, and was holding a large wrench, ready to hit something with it.

“Hurry!” Flavia insisted.

Giulia, Luca, and Alberto ran for the bridge and leaped over the side of it.  One by one, they vanished into the dark opening as the water roared underground towards the sea.

It took a few minutes before they were tumbled, dizzy and bruised, into the brighter waters of the harbour.  There, they took a moment to figure out which way was up, and then Alberto immediately dashed for the surface, only for Luca to grab his tail.

“We can't!” he said, pointing to the boats going over.  “Somebody will see!”

“Everybody already saw!” Alberto protested.

“We shouldn't have left Flavia,” Luca groaned, covered his eyes with his fists. “Why did we leave her?”

“She told us to leave!” said Alberto.  “Oh, man... Uncle Leonardo's gonna kill us!”

“Guys!” Giulia held up her hands.  “Flavia's fine!  Nobody's going to hurt her.” As far as any of the people in San Giuseppe knew, Flavia was one of them, and she surely knew better than to tell them she wasn't.  “We just have to find a place to get out of the water where nobody can see, and then we can go and get her.”

“But if we take too long, she won't still be at the zoo.  How will we find her?” Luca asked.

“I'm sure she'll stay as long as she can,” said Giulia.  “She'll know we'll come back to look for her.”  She looked around.  The bottom of the harbour was covered with junk that had fallen from boats or been thrown in.  This was not a good place to be.  “We need somebody who knows the area underwater.”  They needed to find other sea monsters.

“Signor Maccarello has cousin here, I think,” said Luca.

“Great!  We'll find them, and ask for help,” Giulia decided.

“Well, what are we waiting for?  Let's go,” Alberto turned and headed off into deeper water.

#pixar luca #luca 2021 #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #giulia marcovaldo #ercole visconti #fanfiction #apparently having a link meansnobody can find your post? #so you're just gonna have to go through the tag to find the orevious chapters #a little human (as a treat)

[adal1231]

Lawns should be long gone

I have had my fair share of time spent picking out 'weeds' out of our lawn. Despite my regular inner grumbling thoughts every time it was time to remove these unwanted plants, I always accepted that lawns are supposed to only have grass and after a hard few hours of extracting weeds from their roots, I would look back at the weedless lawn and be satisfied with how 'good' it looked.

But, of course, the work is not done here. Grass, like most other plants, needs watering from time to time, especially during drier times to maintain the distinct green grass colour and for a green lawn. Inevitably, the grass will also grow until it gets yellow and 'unkempt' then it becomes time to trim the grass. Grass grows rather quickly so it requires regular mowing to maintain a 'healthy' and 'nice' looking lawn. 'Weeds' will always find a place on the lawn even after removing them so unless, you have the time and effort, people would usually end up buying chemicals to stop the weeds from growing.

Clearly, a lot of work and resources are needed to keep lawns looking a certain way and has become a norm to want lawns to appear this way. It is not uncommon for people to have sprinklers installed or hosepipes to water their lawns. It isn't necessarily to keep the grass alive as it is rather resilient and can also grow back very easily, but rather to keep it a vibrant green colour. And this is not without its environmental implications. As warmer climates become hotter and rainy days become shorter, water becomes scarce for both households and the environment. As a result, hosepipe and sprinkler bans are becoming more common. It is vital that we have enough water to supply everyone for other periods of time during the year without having to put pressure on our rivers, reservoirs and groundwater source. And to ensure the long-term survival of these natural habitats. Similarly, whilst we are making progress with renewable energy, we are still very much reliant on non-renewables. Regular mowing of the lawn requires electricity and this is just so the lawn remains that short length.

This calls for change in how we manage our lawns. But, we can't change it without addressing the social norms behind maintaining a green lawn whether it is for symbolic reasons that supposedly represent the homeowner or that green lawn is supposedly aesthetically pleasing or that is needed for the occasional recreational purposes. Until then, we can then start to appreciate other alternatives that may stray from the classical lawn but are more environmentally friendly. One alternative is meadows which are becoming more popular because it requires relatively less management. It doesn't need to be mowed and watered as often and non-grass plants are encouraged to grow so less need for chemicals to be used. As a result, it creates a more diverse habitat that encourages a variety of different species to thrive and can store far more carbon. Meadows don't have to take up the whole garden space. Mini-meadows can be created that take up parts of a garden, allowing homeowners to still use the rest of their garden as they see fit.

After knowing the hidden processes needed to maintain lawns, there is little beauty in a green space devoid of life that drains our water and electrical resources. However healthy a lawn may look, there's nothing healthy about a monocultural green space filled with chemicals. Looking at a green space rich in plant and animal diversity, left mostly to its own devices to thrive - now that is something beautiful to behold.

#environment #climate crisis #garden #anti lawn #meadow #water

[bookshelfdreams]

🌷, 💐, 🐢 and 🏰?

🌷 - Do you like to garden or keep plants? What plants are you currently nurturing?

In theory yes, but in practice - no. I'm very bad at the maintenance aspect of gardening, like weeding or consistent watering, it's so tedious (and also I don't want to kill the weeds). I'm not nurturing anything; I stick things in the ground and either they grow or they don't. I do have a teeny tiny patch of garden, barely big enough for a few herbs, but that's just as well. If I had more space, I would just let the weeds take over and declare it a wildflower meadow XD As for houseplants, I have one fern that still survives for some reason, I swear it must be immortal. idk. I don't really like cultivating plants and I'm also lazy. Not born for gardening.

💐 - I'm sending you a bouquet! What flowers and plants would you like to see in it?

How lovely, thank you! Depends on the season I'd say. Sunflowers are lovely in vases, or lilac. Or, if you're really cool, chestnut blossoms.

🐢 - What's your favorite famous natural place, such as the Grand Canyon?

The Alps :)

🏰 - You get a choice between three castles; one perched on a beachside cliff, one nestled in the dark greenery of a forest, and one on the steep ridge of a mountain. Which do you choose?

How dare you make me chose 😭 I'm gonna go with the beachside cliff one, because the mountain castle will be a pain to get in and out of in winter, and a castle nestled in the dark greenery of a forest is probably a ruin. Now I can spend the rest of my life sitting atop the highest tower and staring out into the waves, occasionally maybe sheltering a shipwrecked hero for a night or two before they continue their quest.

#lovely choice of questions thank you again ilu #eolewyn1010 #message

[meadowspeaks2u]

An Illusion..

It is an intentional pattern, a great secret, or cunning tale. When you learn the trickery, it will make you start bickering, and the rest will make your skin grow pale.

But don't shy away from half lies, omissions and the non-truths. Get to the bottom of it, research it, and learn of the weeds' nasty roots.

Like the yellow brick road,. it will eventually unfold,. Click your rubies three times and I hope you realize,. that omissions are also big lies. When your dreams become bold. While nightmares are told, of the person that lays next to you . If you have the willingness, to learn what is amiss, do not break down when you do.

Just figure things out. Though you want to scream and shout. Now, your heart may still sing, but your gut tells you things,. So rise up and don't you dare pout.

It was an Illusion, a myth, a facade, from the start. Though his silky words and his touch sent your love off the charts.

You may have thought he was true, but next time won't you, shield yourself from falsified bliss. Keep a piece of your heart,. Though it may be in parts. But, you realize he's not worth loves' risk.

By Meadow

#poetscommunity

[limen-lime]

how does the move in go?

"I bet the house is haunted. That's why they sold it to us so cheap."

Iris Espinosa flicked her daughter's shoulder. "Don't say that!"

Iris believed in manifesting things. Hazel believed in annoying her mother.

"I bet someone was murdered in it, and so no one in town will live there." Hazel dodged another flick of her mother's fingers and grinned. "I bet they call it Murder House or something equally unimaginative."

"You're a terrorist," Iris huffed and squinted at the map on her phone. Neither of them got great service in the Meadows, and the little blue circle that told them where they were kept jumping around to nearby streets like they were teleporting.

"I'm a realist," Hazel corrected and pointed for her mother to take the next left. "That's the street, right? Broce-? Bro- Broccoli?"

"Broceliande," her mother said in a startling French accent.

"O-kay?" Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"Leave it to witches to make up street names," Iris sighed, craning her neck to read the numbers on the mailboxes they passed until they reached 315 Broceliande Road.

Aspen and pine trees lined the road. The other houses this far back from the main highway cutting through town were spread thin with overgrown lawns piled high with junk or garden décor or rusted cars growing their own ecosystems. The last house at the end of the lane was 315.

The red tin roofing gathered brown pine needles, and the old wood siding needed a new coat of white paint. But the light green shutters weren't hanging from their hinges. There were no bloody hand prints on the windows, and the porch swing did not creak ominously in the breeze. All good signs.

Hazel got out of the parked van and whistled softly. It was two stories, by far the largest house they'd ever owned and probably way too much space for just the two of them. Not that she thought Iris would let those spare bedrooms remain empty for long. She had a saintly habit of picking up strays.

The front porch was held up by columns made of rough cut aspen trees, some of their thicker branches still attached near the top. There was already a vegetable garden in the yard, full of tomatoes and cucumbers and some pepper plants, just that Hazel could spot between the weeds. And there were enough wildflowers around to keep the bees happy. It seemed perfect.

Too perfect.

Iris stared up at the house proudly, hands on hips proud, permanent residence proud. "I think we're really going to like it here."

Hazel tried not to sound fatalistic as she murmured, "As long as I don't level the whole thing."

Her mother reached out and squeezed her arm. They shared a glance, one of their proto-psychic mother-daughter moments where they both knew each other's hopes and fears because a daughter is nothing if not a funhouse mirror image of her mother. Hazel was Iris' scars and gifts and dreams made over again.

They knew each other, knew how much this meant to them. They both wanted to make this work. They both wanted a home. They wanted roots, for once.

"Well, when you put it like that," Hazel said and ducked her head with a hopeful smile. Maybe Tristan was contagious.

Iris clasped her hands together and turned back to the van, the trailer, the buzzing box of bees. "Let's get started!"

Previous and Next

#chapter two #13

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[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter five

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of drugs/weed but only minor, its an angsty one folks!!

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Madame Pomfrey had the house elves bring up food for you and the other occupants of the Hospital Wing when dinner time rolled around later that day. You enjoyed a plate full of roast chicken, potatoes and mash before the plate was magically vanished upon you finishing it before the matron came to check on you again.

Some time after that, the doors to the Hospital Wing are pushed open with an echoing creak but you didn't look up from your book to see who it was until your copy of Pride & Prejudice was plucked right out of your hands.

"Hey!" you protest, going to grab the book back from Mattheo Riddle's grasp. "Oh it's you."

"You sound so happy to see me." he teases as he sits on the edge of your bed. You stare from the fabric of the bed sheets to where he's sitting with raised brows.

"There's a perfectly good seat right next to you." you grumble as he enters your personal space.

"The seats are uncomfortable, I'd rather not sit on them again after I spent a good hour waiting for you to wake up earlier." he replied, forcing you to move over so that he could fit properly on the bed next to you.

"You stayed?" you asked incredulously. "Why?"

"You passed out the second we all saw Bell on the bed. I was worried. Sue me."

"Awh you care about me." you cooed, jokingly patting his knee before rolling your eyes.

He picked up the book that he had taken from you and flipped it around cover to cover, reading the blurb and scrunching his face up. "What's your book about? I don't understand it."

As you begin to explain Elizabeth Bennett's intricate and turbulent relationship with Mr. Darcy with fervour, Mattheo can't help but stare at you with eyes full of admiration and...something else.

Some time later, the dreaded conversation ended up coming around. You tell him how odd it felt when you saw the necklace; how your weird intuition seemed to carry over to the Hospital Wing when you saw Katie; to Dumbledore's cryptic visit.

"Dumbledore spoke to you?" he asked, curiously.

"Well at first he complimented my Occlimency abilities. Thank you by the way." you start. "But then he asked me about what happened when Katie was cursed."

Mattheo listened as you talked, nodding his head to show that he was paying attention.

"...and then he asked me to tell him what I felt when I touched a ring that he had in his possession."

"A ring?" A look crosses Mattheo's face, but it's gone in an instant.

"The magic was similar to the necklace, but different at the same time." you continue, picturing the Riddle insignia in your mind. "Dumbledore's hand is the way it is because of it."

You didn't know whether you should tell him about what Dumbledore said about Professor Slughorn, that seemed like something Dumbledore would want to be kept under wraps.

"He didn't really give me a solid answer, but he gave me sound career advice." you say with a huff.

"What happened when he gave you the ring?"

"Same thing that happened when I touched Katie. It burned me. But my magic was surrounding the ring this time. It felt...odd."

"Huh." He's quiet for a moment before he changes the subject once more.

"Your friends spoke to Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape earlier, after you fainted." he said. "Potter thinks it was Draco that cursed her. Accused him right in front of them."

"Did he do it? Malfoy?" you interject, Harry's theories had become more consistent over the last few weeks, and you weren't surprised to hear that he had suspected that Malfoy was behind this, despite ludicrous the allegations were.

"He had detention with Mcgonagall today. Didn't show up to transfiguration remember? He was pretty pissed off about missing the first Hogsmeade weekend." he says and you recall the detention being issued a few days ago when Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the Transfiguration classroom a quarter of an hour late.

"Right. Yeah." you say tiredly, somewhat unconvinced but you push the feeling aside when he begins to stand.

"Where are you going?" you say with a yawn, reaching for his left forearm. He winces but you don't catch it in your tired state.

"You're getting tired, and it's almost curfew. I need to get back to my common room so I don't risk getting a detention."

"Pansy's patrolling tonight. You'll be fine." you say, dragging him to sit down. "Stay a little longer. At least until I fall asleep. Please?"

The way you looked at him with your big, tired eyes caused him to falter.

"You don't really want me to stay, Princess." he murmured but he didn't move to stand again.

"I hate when you call me that." you say. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Mattheo. I don't want to fall asleep alone in here."

"Alright, move over then." his resolve crumbles and he moves to lie down behind you, using an arm around your waist to drag your body closer to his, his body heat warming you from the inside.

It takes you no time at all to fall asleep in his embrace, feeling the most comfortable you'd ever felt in your entire life. In your sleepy haze, you swore you felt him kiss the side of your temple, murmuring into your soft skin.

"Good night, sweetheart." he had whispered, before he fell asleep shortly after you.

~∞~

The week following his visit to the Hospital Wing, your interactions with Mattheo were few and far between.

Your lessons had dwindled after he had first started skipping out on you, but now he seemed hellbent on avoiding you altogether.

He had once again skipped your Ancient Runes lesson that week and Theo proved to be of little help when he refused to tell you where his best friend was. Pansy seemed to be growing increasingly agitated by her two friends over the course of the time Mattheo was ignoring you.

"For Salazar's sake, Teddy. Mattheo's just been a little busy this week." she said. "No need to worry. I think he's been doing extra Potions work."

"Do you know where he is now?" you ask your friend with pleading eyes.

Like Theo, she seemed reluctant to give you the boy's location, as if they knew something that you weren't supposed to know, but in the end they shared a look and relented.

"He's in the Room of Requirement." Teddy says, before his hands gently grip your shoulders. "But we never told you, okay. I don't want to die a premature death, tesoro."

"Thank you. I won't tell him you helped, don't worry Teddy." you reassured him before walking down the corridor and towards the system of staircases that would take you to the seventh floor.

Due to the interval between lessons ending and new ones beginning, it seemed to take you ages to get from point A to B, with everyone lingering in or rushing through the corridors but when you got to the familiar wall, you waited.

I need to see Mattheo.

I need to see Mattheo.

I need to see Mattheo.

I need to-

The door began materialising in front of your eyes, reminiscent of the late evenings that you'd come here with your friends for DA meetings before Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad had it disbanded. Your hand still had that prominent scar from the two weeks of detention you had each received: I must not disobey the Ministry.

When the door was fully formed, you twisted the handle and slipped through.

The room appeared to be huge and full to the brim with piles upon piles of junk. It was going to take you forever to find him, but you knew he was in there somewhere.

You started down a pathway that had appeared between some old arm chairs and bookshelves and followed where your gut was telling you to go.

It was quiet, too quiet and you were about to give up hope when you saw Mattheo lounging on a dark velvet chaise lounge, a blunt hanging in his lips, something shiny resting in his lap that looked an awful lot like a tiara, which he vanished away when he saw you.

"So this is what you do in your spare time?" you ask, hesitantly sitting at the edge of the chaise lounge, by his feet.

He only sighed as he took another hit of the blunt, leaving you to carry on speaking without a reply.

"How'd you even get that into the school? It's more illegal for wizards to get their hands on than muggles." you turn your head to face him only to find him staring straight ahead, avoiding your gaze altogether.

You huffed before you stood up and rounded the chaise to stand directly in front of him; he continued to stare in the opposite direction.

"For Rowena's sake, Riddle. Look at me." you snapped, using the pads of your fingers to firmly direct his face to yours.

His gaze was void of emotions when he stared at you. Like it had been all the times before when he'd antagonise Harry or Ron with his friends. His eyes were no longer soft like they had been with you these past months. They were cold and dark and angry.

If you hadn't have grown some sort of friendship with him, if you could even call it that, then you'd happily go on ignoring his existence again. But for some reason, you couldn't shake him, wouldn't shake this hold he had on you.

"What do you want, Meadow?" he asked, voice low and raspy, as if he'd not spoken in a while. "I thought you'd get the hint by now? Or are you seriously that stupid?"

"You confuse the absolute fuck out of me, Riddle." you say, beginning to grow annoyed at his apparent nonchalance. "What's your issue? You agree to help me out for Theo's sake and the second it gets complicated you what? You just....leave?"

"'S not like we're mates, Meadow." he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he takes another hit. "Actually I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be enemies."

"The whole point of the lessons is for me to help you and your friends get out, is it not?"

"To get them out. Not me. That wasn't the deal." he snaps.

"I agreed to help. That includes you, too."

"And how did you honestly expect that to go down? Huh!" he stood up so suddenly that you stumbled backwards, into the table that was behind you.

"How do you think the Order will react when you go to them, pleading for my case? The son of The Dark Lord on their side? They'd sooner call you a traitor for even associating with any of us." he had gotten closer to you, so much so that the toes of his shoes kissed your's.

"They would be understanding. If you told them how much you hate him-"

"And you think they'd actually believe that?" he snaps, stepping even closer to you. You had to press your hands against his firm chest to stop him trapping you further against the table. "They'd show mercy to Theo and the others. That's all I care about. I didn't want any of them to be involved. You need to get them out. Not me."

"But why?" you question harshly, looking at him through your lashes. His brown eyes were pure onyx now, no traces of the boy you'd gotten to know were present.

"I am my father's son, sweetheart. My fate has been sealed since the day I was born. There's no helping me." he says quietly, his eyes boring into your's.

"Let me help you. Please." you say resolutely. "We'll think of something. They have to hear you out."

"They won't."

"They have to." you insist. "What kind of people would they be if they refuse to help someone in need."

"They can't help someone who can't be saved, sweetheart."

"For fuck's sake Mattheo! Why are you being so stubborn?!" you snap, your voice raising in octaves that surprises both of you.

"Why are you so determined to save me?" he shouts back, leaning down so that your faces are level. His hands sit on either side of your thighs, bracketing you to the table as his breathe huffs against your cheek, the scent of weed and smoke overtaking your senses. He's breathing heavily, eyes flicking between your's and your lips. Mattheo seems to be holding onto what little resolve he has left before the unthinkable happens.

He's staring at your lips now. Your breathe hitches as he seems to contemplate something but you can't see his thoughts very clearly.

It's only a split second decision but you can see it, the moment he decides to let go.

"Fuck it." he mumbles before his mouth decends on your's. In your shock you don't realise that you've practically frozen until he pulls away with wide eyes.

"Shit- Meadow I'm sorry I-" you snap out of your frozen state and don't let him finish his sentence as you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and kiss him like your life depended on it.

The feeling is euphoric. His lips are like a warm and gentle hug against your own; it feels right. Like the missing piece of a never ending puzzle was finally put back into place. You're so in your head that you don't even register the unceremonious moan you let out when Mattheo's tongue sensually brushes your own. It allows him to deepen the kiss and you think you might die happily right then and there, with his soft lips on your's.

Gods, sweetheart. he groans, his inhibitions down, so you feel everything he feels. Every thought and every desire. If I knew kissing you felt this good, I would've done that much sooner.

When you eventually pull away from eachother, only a hair of space was left between you, your breathing equally heavy.

His onyx eyes held that familiar softness that he seemed to only show around you, his lips quirked into a cheeky grin.

Merlin, he was the most attractive boy you'd ever layed eyes on. It was then that you realised that you were well and truely fucked.

~∞~

omg they kissed 🫢🫢

the one bed trope gets me every time 🤭🤭 i think we can all agree that mattheos a bit of an idiot but the guy's got his secrets...😁

and i love angst and slow burns so much but i couldn't help myself lol i love a '"fuck it" and they kiss' moment but im sorry this was short. i was contemplating carrying this on or splitting the chapter into two which is what im doing so really this is more of a filled chapter for whats to come ;)

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora

#harry potter #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #theo nott #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle x you #angst #serendipity series

[bestinworks]

How To Prepare Your Garden For Winter

There are numerous people out there who suppose that once the first snap comes, their gardening jobs in uk is done for the time; no further weeding, no further digging, no further top soil, no further compost; and no further watering till coming season. Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret They're deadwrong.However, you'll save yourself a lot of work and a lot of frustration in the coming season, If you do the proper work in the fall.

For starters, you can add to your compost, especially with all the leaves far and wide. Now would be a veritably good time to start a compost pile or add to your being compost pile. There should be an cornucopia of dead leaves, flowers, shops, lawn parings, kitchen waste, and annuals. All you need to do is put it all into the compost caddy, and you're well on your way to helping your theater significantly coming time. It's veritably important not to compost anything that was diseased. However, there's a veritably good chance that the complaint will affect the rest of the compost pile, and eventually affect your shops in the coming time, If you compost a factory that was diseased.

The fall is also a veritably good time to add mulch into your top soil. Adding mulch to the top soil will help oxygen enter the top soil, help carbon dioxide exit the top soil, and help the top soil retain humidity. Adding mulch to your top soil is a much easier task either before or after your annuals are done doing what they do. Generally, you'll presumably want to add about three elevation of mulch into your top soil for the optimal results.

Weeding, although one the most abominated gardening jobs in the world of gardening is also one of the most important jobs involved in gardening. You should continue to weed your theater until the weeds stop growing for the downtime. This will give you a tremendous head- launch when you start planting coming season. You should keep tabs on any veggies that may still be growing. There are actually a number of veggies that could continue to grow indeed after the nights( and days) get a little cooler. It's important to be careful, however, when picking yourveggies.However, you can add them to your compost pile, If they'redead.However, still, diseased, If they are. When you're done picking your veggies, you should rake the top soil. This will incorporate the organic waste into the top soil. The top soil should be left rough to help the negative goods of top soil corrosion.

You should also surely keep your field looking nice. Too numerous people stop mowing their meadows too early which isn't good for the field. Not mowing it'll enable to earth to grow within the bends of the lawn when all kinds of delicacies, like snow for illustration, start to come. You should continue to mow your field until it stops growing fully. The perfect height for lawn is about three elevation high. This way the lawn will block the sun from helping little weeds grow, especially crabgrass. The fall is also a great time to fertilize your field. This is because the toxin will be absorbed by the lawn and the top soil, but it'll not beget the field to grow, since it's too cold for that. This is a good thing, since the field is getting toxin, but it isn't growing like it does in the summer. thus, you don't have to mow your field, as opposed to in the summer when toxin in your field will make you mow your field indeed more than usual.

One further thing that you could do I the fall which is good for your geography in general is pare. The stylish time to pare is generally during dormancy. Everyone knows that the most dormant time for a factory is after they're done growing and have started to die for the downtime. You should make sure that you're pruning duly. Whatever it's you wish to pare, take a many twinkles beforehand to speak to a original landscaper or exploration it on the internet. The last thing you want to do is pare commodity inaptly and end up with a bunch of shops, backwoods, or whatever that don't grow or blossom duly.

[pupika-samika]

A King Is Nothing Without His People

Chapter 3

Confident

Cw: Character having a breakdown, survivors guilt, and self victim-blaming (If that's a thing)

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The Ta'loh Naeg Shrine sat on a beautiful spot above Kakariko. Overlooking the whole village in front of it, leading to a fairy fountain next to it, and a beautiful, small meadow above it. But nothing could compare to the beauty he saw now. The village was alight with happiness, joy oozing out from the entire village. Everyone was buzzing in excitement. Music was being played, tears were being spilled, lives were being changed. Everyone was in the center of the village, whites, and reds dyeing the streets of the village. He almost didn't want to go down there and ruin their excitement with his bad news. Even Paya was down there and enjoying herself! Link took a few steadying breaths. How was he supposed to go to Impa and tell her of the princess' passing?

Link was about to jump off the platform when remembered Fostri. A glance around the area showed that the korok was nowhere to be seen, at least not anywhere Link could see. "Fostri? Fostri where are you?" He called out, taking his paraglider out from his slate. He paused once he looked at the glider remembering exactly who gave him the cloth. The ghost of the dad of his dead girlfriend-princess friend gave him the glider as a goodbye present. Maybe he should think about getting a new one made, this one was old and falling apart at the seams. It wouldn't be able to stand much more of his abuse.

Link waited for any kind of reply from his korok companion, a frown settling on his face when none came. Maybe it was playing hide and seek? Or did it get tired of him after only a few hours together? What if it was hurt? Link looked around the area more thoroughly, spotting a rock he was sure hadn't been there on any of his previous visits. He walked over to it and picked it up, jumping back when a puff of green smoke pop up from underneath. "Yahaha! You found me Mr. Link!" Fostri giggled out, handing Link a flower instead of a korok seed. It was a small weed, a dandelion if he remembered correctly. The yellow petals were still tightly hugging the bud, not bloomed yet. "Since I already gave you my seed I figured I'd give you another kind of seed! A dandelion means faithfulness and happiness! I'm faithful to our friendship and want you to have all the happiness in the world!" Fostri explained as it held out the flower bud. Links’ eyes widened at the explanation, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. A gift? They've only known each other for less than a few hours, why was he giving Link a gift? The korok began panicking, quickly taking the flower back. "Mr. Link I'm sorry- I didn't mean to make you cry. Please don't cry Mr. Link," Fostri begged as he tried comforting Link.

Link gave a weak laugh and wiped at his eyes, gently taking the flower from the korok. "Don't worry Fostri. I- I love it. No one's ever given me a flower or explained the meaning behind it before. I love it Fostri, this is the best gift I've ever gotten," he said. And he meant it, no one -at least as far as he could remember- has ever given him a gift before. He gently set the bud in his slate, setting it in the important items section. He couldn't let such a fragile gift get broken so easily.

"Do you want to come with me to see Impa? I doubt there will be anything fun for you to do if you do want to come. There's a korok outside her home if you don't want to come with me." While Link would prefer the korok to keep him company he also wasn't sure he wanted his new friend to see him start crying. He knew he was going to cry.

Fostri stayed silent for a few seconds, most likely processing what just happened. He began hovering up to Link's shoulder where he draped his body over Links left shoulder. "I'll stay outside, I want to say hi to any korok we meet." He answered as Link finished setting his glider up. There wasn't much to do besides tie some loose strings but even then Link didn't think the glider would be safe to use. Maybe Harth or Saki would be willing to make him a new glider? Would Teba be willing to help him? They know the skies best after all. As Link thought of his Rito family he heard a clucking sound. With his glider almost out of commission Link suddenly had an idea. He looked past the lone tree and saw the producer of the clucks. A single Cucco that had escaped from home.

Link nodded to himself and walked over to the Cucco, grabbing the bird before it knew what had happened. It gave a few startled and annoyed clucks, rapidly flapping its wings in indignation. "Hold on tight, this is going to be a bumpy ride." He warned the korok on his shoulders and began running to the cliff, giving a slight jump before he let the Cucco hurriedly flap them down to Impa's porch. It was nowhere near as fun as his glider but at least now he didn't have to worry about possibly breaking his gift.

It took an uncomfortably long amount of time for the Cucco to flap them to safety. Link threw the Cucco down the stairs once it had finished its job, not paying attention to the bird as it flapped for its life once again. "Go down the stairs and on the right there should be a korok near the statues. I'll go get you once I'm done here," Link quietly explained to his korok friend. He knew if he wasn't careful Impa would hear him talking to himself and she already had enough causes of concern to worry about. Fostri hummed and let go of Link’s shoulder, quietly floating down the stairs.

Taking a deep, calming breath Link opened the doors to Impa's house. The old woman was perched on her pile of pillows, her hat resting on the ground next to her. Link's heart was beating in his chest, thumping loudly in his ear. His heart was beating and her heart wasn't. Her heart was corrupted and probably still dead in the shrine. He couldn't breathe and the room was blurry. Impa was right there, he had to get a hold on himself! But his heart, it was burning. No, wait- that was his eyes. And his heart. He didn't think he was breathing. Or was he breathing too much? Was Impa talking? Maybe. Was she always taller than him? No, he was just on the ground. His legs had given out on him. When did that happen? He couldn't help it, he broke down once the door was shut. Better to let the village continue on with their fun.

He couldn't hear what Impa was saying, but he knew he had to tell her what happened. He had to tell her that...that he killed the princess. The princess he swore to protect. The princess they both swore to protect! Impa had to hate him, she had to. If he had been faster- if he had killed Ganon sooner! If only he'd pushed himself and his limits more! He explained it all to Impa. The fight with Ganon, how Zelda helped. He explained what Zelda looked like, how she smelled. She always had this flowery smell to her, almost like the silent princess that thrived in her old study. That once earthly smell was covered by the burning smell of malice. Like the smell of too many spicy peppers being added to an already spicy dish. The sound of her body hitting the floor, the sound of her last breath leaving her body. Her glassy blue eyes looking up at him, filled with so much hatred. Hatred because he killed her. He could do nothing but sob his heart out in front of the old woman, begging her to forgive him for dooming their kingdom. There was no King. No Queen. No princess or prince. No heir to the throne. No royalty to lead them. And it was all his fault! Everything was his fault!

"It should've been me that fell to Ganon! I should have been the one to die that day! Not Zelda! Zelda would still be here if I wasn't so weak! Impa what am I- what am I supposed to do? Everything hurts and I- I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what to live for anymore," he cried out. He didn't hear the soft patter of feet hitting the floor, nor did he feel the smaller lady getting closer to him.

"Link... You're so very wrong Link. The princess knew she would die. She always knew she'd die to Ganon. That's why we came up with the idea of you being King of Hyrule." Impa said, staring him in the eye. There was something soft in her eyes as she looked at Link. An understanding look, like she knew what he was going through. Maybe because she did know. They had both lost the Princess today. Impa allowed Link to cry himself out, patiently standing in front of the boy as he calmed down. He doesn't remember when, but at one point Impa began running her hands through his hair. As she started running her hands through his hair, Link felt warmth. His whole back, arms, and neck were unbelievably, comfortingly warm. Just like earlier that morning with the princess. Except this time it didn't go away once he realized it was there, if anything it got tighter. Like someone was hugging him tightly. The action and hug-like warmth helped Link get a hold of himself, his bone-wracking sobs calming into occasional sniffles. Impa didn't stop running her hands through his hair, even allowing him to rest his forehead on her shoulder. He barely let himself lean on her, relying on the fact that she would let him lean on her to comfort him more than actually leaning on her. He held most of his weight himself in fear she'd tip over from too much resting on her frail shoulders.

It was only when he'd fully calmed down, his breathing even and his eyes near dry did she remove her hand from his hair. The warmth from before faded a while ago, leaving only a confused memory behind. He took his cue and backed away from the frail lady, wiping away any of the remaining drying tears. "Thank you, Impa. For doing that," he said quietly, ashamed of how he acted in front of the village chief. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, listening to the now quiet cheers of the villagers. How long had he been crying? Would it be rude to check? Deciding to check anyway he found he had been crying for- two hours?! Time passes quickly when you're crying your heart out over a dead princess. Before he turned the slate off he saw the Bow of Light and decided to take it out. He wouldn't be using it anytime soon. "I think she'd want you to have this." He offered Impa the bow, holding it with delicate hands.

Impa let out a shaky breath once she saw the bow, carefully running a finger over the golden metal. There was no familiarity in her eyes, only awe and grief. Had she never seen the Bow of Light before? Surely she's seen it before, she was Zelda's babysitter for so many years. Surely Zelda showed it to her once? She traced along the intricate patterns that made up the sides of the weapon before pulling her hand back, shaking her hand. "She'd want you to have it. You'd put it to much better use than I."

Link looked at the weapon uncertainly. He didn't trust himself to use the champions’ weapons without breaking them, how could he trust himself to use not only a holy weapon that could kill Ganon but the last thing Zelda ever gave him? "Are you sure? What if I break it? Wouldn't she get upset if I broke her only weapon? The only thing she's earned with hard work?" He asked, desperate for any reason not to keep the bow in his possession. Any reason not to keep a reminder of her.

Impa nodded, gently pushing Link's hand away from her. "She'd want you to have it. I don't think even you could break a holy weapon such as that bow. It's been in the royal family since Hylia created it. If anything could break that bow it would have been found ages ago." She reassured him, not looking away from him until he carefully placed the bow back in his slate. While he had his slate out he put the Great Eagle Bow back in his slate too, watching the two bows disappear in intimidating swirls of blue light.

"Impa? I may have misheard you earlier but did you say I was going to become King of Hyrule?" Link asked, remembering the few words he had been able to hear during his crying. Goddess how he hoped he'd heard wrong, why would Zelda and Impa choose him to lead a broken kingdom? He was broken, he couldn't fix a broken land when his own mind was shattered beyond repair!

Impa turned away from Link and began walking to her pillows, picking up her hat before she slowly sat on top of the small pile. The silence that flooded the room was almost suffocating as she looked at him, a passive look on her face. Link did not like that look on her face. The only time he'd seen that look on her face was when she had an idea he probably wouldn't like. "Why yes I did, shall we talk about what that entails?"

While Link and Impa talked, four upset spirits lingered nearby. Of course neither Hylian nor Sheikah could hear them but they still kept their voices quiet.

"Poor Link... I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and shield him from harm. He doesn't deserve all this pain handed to him, Zelda wouldn't want him to suffer this pain on top of being King." A Zora healer muttered sadly as she sat beside the Hylian, hoping he could feel her trying to comfort him.

"Now now, be patient. We've waited a year, we can wait another day or two. Besides, it would probably do more harm than good to show ourselves now," a Gerudo warrior stated as she rested a hand on the Zora's shoulder.

A scoff was heard from the opposite side of the room, momentarily distracting everyone from the conversation at hand. "Honestly, you act like he'd keel over and die if he saw us. He wouldn't believe we were here if we hit him over the head with a rock." The Rito archer marched over to the Hylian, knocking a wing against his head. None were surprised when the translucent feathers simply fell through the flesh.

The tension created by the Rito was broken with a jolly laugh coming from a Goron miner. "Revali that's not nice! Link would much rather eat the rock than be hit with it! Besides, were you not the one who hugged him when he cried a few minutes ago?" Came the mischievous reply, effectively causing a squawk to come from their Rito companion.

"I'll have you know I was simply cold and Link is the only one who could provide me warmth!" Revali squawked out, feathers flattened in embarrassment and irritation. "Besides we agreed not to talk about that!"

Urbosa let out a powerful laugh, throwing her head back from how sudden it was. "To be fair Blue Jay, only I agreed to that. Mipha and Daruk did not!"

"I agree, Daruk and I never once uttered that we would never talk about it. Maybe we should tell Link so he could provide you warmth from time to time." Mipha teased behind her giggles, hiding her mouth behind a webbed hand. She leaned into Link, letting out a hum when she felt his warmth instead of falling through him.

"J-Just shut up! Impa is explaining something important to the kingdom!" Revali finally snapped, blush so intense it could almost be seen through his feathers.

"Now Link, I understand if you don't want to agree to these conditions, but you're the only hope we have. Hyrule needs you Link! The people know you and you understand them. They trust you, Link. No matter what happens we, the Sheikah, will be with you every step of the way. I will be with you every step of the way. I may not be young anymore but I will always have your back." Impa declared as she stared at Link, her gaze heavy and expectant.

Link didn't want to be King. In fact, he was almost scared to be King. But... Impa was right. Hyrule did need him. They needed a King. No matter what, no matter how scared he was, no matter how much he wanted to run away and never look back. No matter how much he wanted to die, he would be the King these people- his people needed. He couldn't run away. He's done enough running and he was tired of it. With a heavy head and an even heavier heart, Link looked up at Impa and nodded. "Yes. I agree with all these terms and I accept the position as King of Hyrule."

"Welcome to the throne, your highness," Impa said warmly and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "It's been far too long since those words have been said," she laughed to herself, a joke only she could hear. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Can we continue this elsewhere? How long do you think it would take for you to travel to Hetano?" Link asked, suddenly fidgety. He didn't want to talk here, the air was so stuffy and humiliating. Besides he was sure he looked like a mess and he didn't want to talk about official royal business with tear tracks on his cheeks.

Impa thought about the idea for a few seconds, doing the mental math. "It would take a week and a half to travel to Hateno from here, granted nothing goes wrong. Perhaps two if anything happened. Would you like to talk there instead?" She asked, already figuring out what he wanted to do.

Link mutely nodded, shame creeping on him. He shouldn't have suggested moving if it would be such a toll on the older woman. He'd have to start pushing his own comfort down for the sake of politics soon. "If I could freshen up a bit we could continue our talk here. That was just a suggestion-"

"Nonsense! It'd do me some good to get my old bones out of this house." She started waving him off before she seemed to remember something. "Before you go, can you give these to Robbie and Purah? You shouldn't need to explain what it is so don't worry about what it means." As she said this she took out two identical pins with the royal family crest on it, holding them out for Link to grab.

With the Hero now in possession of the pin, she shooed him off. "Now go Link, take care of what you need to. I'll gather up some soldiers and we'll be at Hateno in a week and a half." Impa cut him off and- with a flick of her hand- sent him out the door. Link took a deep breath as he began walking down the stairs, the sun well into the sky by now. Where should he go? He had at least a week until Impa arrived at Hateno. Maybe he should pay the other races a visit?

But first, he should probably pick up Fostri, who he could see was juggling apples in front of the staircase.

Inside her house, Impa let out a sigh and looked over to where a picture of deactivated guardians and ruins sat on her wall. "He's going to be a mighty fine King your highness. I only wish you could have been here to help him instead of me. I don't have that long to teach him so please give me just another year to help him." She prayed, feeling

#cross posted on ao3 #the ao3 fic is further along #i post here whenever I remember this fic is here #legend of zelda #loz fanfic #wild linked universe #botw zelink #legend of zelda breath of the wild #zelda fandom #zelda fanfiction #botw fic #breath of the wild #AKINWHP

[flowers-n-felines]

TW for discussion/mention of death, discordant households, strained parent-child relationships, ect. Will add these TWs to the tags but I wanted to forewarn.

Ok so I guess I should maybe ramble about how Diavolo and Sunday meet because it sounds odd since Sunday is supposed to be in Morioh, right?

Long story short. This isn't really an au per say as I don't want to pit my f/os against each other for being the "main" universe. This is just a different outcome in Sunday's life.

What do I mean by that? Simply put. Sunday never went to Morioh. He never met Shinobu, he never left America in the 80's.

Sunday after his mother died was left with his father, Swan Meadows. Swan wasn't a bad person, no. Just. Way too distant. He was too busy with his work life and maintaining business. Swan you see owned a reputable and ethic boutique for inclusive fashion. All clothes were made in-house locally and with great care for the employee health and wellbeing in mind.

His goal was to not demean anyone with a different bodytype, sensory needs, or other needs that couldn't be met by typical clothes. But in doing so... He forfeited his relationship with his son. Sunday. Sunday had not transitioned as he could not access the care he needed in the 90's.

Sunday (as a reflection of myself) is also deeply neurodivergent. As Swan forfeited his relationship with his own child with special needs to benefit his business, this only rose tension with Sunday.

He felt unwanted. And unloved. Swan never said he hated his son. But he never said he loved him either.

So Sunday ran away from home to Italy one day. He didn't want to endure the neglect anymore. Constantly being reminded by his mother's urn on display in the family home only furthered his depressive mood.. Reminded of what he lost. Swan barely noticed as to be expected. His son was an adult well into the 90's. He couldn't stop Sunday really. If he even cared enough.

Though Sunday out of reactive fear... Changed his name unofficially to Tiramisu as to not be found by anyone of the offchance they did trace him to Italy. He never wants to go back.

As a means to stay even further hidden, the man took up residency in a decrepit vineyard. It wasn't too much Lire. He took the time to make it habitable, and to produce at least enough produce to survive financially. Truth be told, Sunday doesn't want to run a vineyard. He often pursues his true "job" of wandering to villages to offer his services as a spiritual practitioner.

Often these services are tarot readings or selling small bundles of native herbs to locals. Sunday had converted a small part of the house garden to grow herbs in his practice. Other times though, Sunday will get a request to speak with a deceased loved one.

Sunday isn't a psychic, mind you.. But he possesses a stand that may help these people you see. It's called Dead Man's Party.. And it may summon spirits for a small time, to help with closure for those who may need it.

He refuses to call himself a medium or psychic for this, though. He may possess a soul that can summon the spirits of beyond to his side... But he doesn't command them to do so. Sunday only offers them to communicate. Though he may cut connection for a client's sake, as not uncommonly a pretender may slip through.

...It was how he met Diavolo.

Now.... Sunday was not working with a client that day, as he was taking the day to weed the vineyard trellises. It was just by chance, really. Sunday often summoned Dead Man's Party to help with housework a little. As it takes more physical energy for him to simply do it all alone than to use it towards partially keeping his stand manifested.

This however means sometimes, Sunday forgets that his stand may act like a portal with little to no on or off switch. Dead Man's Party essentially acts as a Ouija board you see. It has a planchette for a head and on two of it's palms are a "HELLO" and a "GOODBYE." Sometimes the spirits that linger latch to his stand and are summoned forth if the user does not pay attention.

This is what happened that fateful day. Diavolo accidentally grabbed onto this sliver of hope. He didn't mean to, really. He assumed this was another death for him, finding a ray of light that was warm and smelt of ripening grapes. He was used to the pain by this point. How long had it been since he was put into this torturous eternity? A day? A year? Two decades? He's unsure. All he was ever sure of was his demise.

So catch his surprise when both he and Sunday were met with a stranger at their feet. Sunday wasn't attractive nor appealing in the moment. He was covered in dirt, mud, crushed grapes and smelt of ragweed mixed with sweat from the springtime sun.

Diavolo was a disheveled spirit, barely floating in place next to Dead Man's Party.. He was mentally preparing for his death any minute. But it never came. And it never would ever again.

#🌹/🐱 #🍓 | passionate devil #SORRY MUTUALS FOR SEEING THIS LONG ASS POST ON YOUR DASH IM ON MOBILE [sobbing] #s/i lore #good lord I am sorry for writing this much #anyways #tw death mention #tw discordant household #tw strained parent-child relationships