#in the spring-summer transitional heat... yeah

[cmdrfupa]

Felicity #1

He was thankful for the sorcery world as it allowed him a life he could only dream of. But then it almost cost him his life, and imagining leaving you behind wasn’t easy. So he resigned, willing to be his beloved's absolute best support system and house husband. The perfect husband. So what’s that nagging feeling at the back of his mind?

~~please refer to *this* post for potential content warning~~

Homemaker!Ijichi x Reader

2.6k wc

Summer comes at an astounding pace. One day, allergy season, and spring showers. Next thing you know, the day to jump into a pool is here. New beginnings and cold frozen lychee martinis in hand.

Today was not that day.

As Ijichi lifted his visor, he wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the tremendous relief of the cloth against his skin. While he appreciated knowing the linens would dry much quicker with the heat, he wished it wasn't draining every drop of his life source in the 20 minutes he was outdoors. Grabbing the basket of dried items, he returned to fold them, thrilled to sit and finish the final 2 episodes of Bad and Crazy so he could finally talk to you about the end once you made it home.

"Baby? I'm home early." You take your shoes off, sliding on your slippers. As you walked further into the house, a delightful scent of pie and freshly cut pineapple filled the air, a surprising aroma for this time of day. Intrigued, you go to the kitchen, confident that he is up to something. There he is, headsets on, lost in the music, his voice softly humming the words to what you think is 505 by the Arctic Monkeys. His head bobs to the beat as he dices the pineapple into bits. You can't decide what's sweeter, the pineapple or the joy in his voice. You stand in the entryway, a warm feeling of love and contentment washing over you, waiting until he sets the knife down to approach. Rubbing the center of his back, he didn't flinch as he recognized your touch, but he was a bit flustered. "Darling! You're home very early today! I.. Dinner isn't even done." He looks down at his watch, then back at you. "Everything okay at the school? Are you hurt?" he quickly removes his headphones before bringing a hand to your face, ensuring no harm was done. You embrace him before kissing him. "Everything is okay. I'm just home early. I promise." The relief in your voice is palpable, reassuring him that all is well. "If you insist. Though you never leave early, something is up, yes?" the man was persistent. "You know me too well, Chi." "It's part of the Kiyotaka genes. Knowing your spouse so well, they accept defeat early," he warmly snickers before bringing a piece of pineapple to your mouth. "So. What's the news?" Swallowing, your eyes show the excitement before you speak. "Satoru accepted the proposal to change how we train students on field missions to transition into their sorcerer roles. He loved the idea and offered me the role so I could ensure it was done correctly!" Elation filled Ijichi's face as he realized he helped implement a new structure that would last. "Love! Th- this is big! I'm so proud of you!" His hug couldn't have been tighter. The achievement in itself was monumental. But this meant he could 100% step out of his role and be your best homemaker. "Well. this is no small feat! I need to plan something. A pool party? No, not everyone wants to swim." Ijichi grabbed a writing tablet from the nearby drawer and clicked the attached pen. "Honey." "We could have a luau? Eh. I don't want to dig up the yard even if it would produce a really succulent pig." "Chi?" "Yes, darling?" His eyes immediately find yours. Gleeful, he leans in for a kiss. Happily accepting, your lips meet his as your arms wrap around his neck. "Let's just do a dinner party. A small one. Nothing too extravagant. Some wine, a few appetizers, a main course. And we can see if Mrs. Nanami can make us a cake. Yeah?" "My darling love, that sounds perfect. Leave it to me."

So here he was, organizing a party celebrating the sunshine season and his beautiful spouse's promotion. 

"Yes. And that one should have light pink spray roses, burgundy carnations, orange carnations, bells of Ireland, pink asiatic lilies, purple cushion spray chrysanthemums, blue sinuata statice, variegated pittosporum and if possible, leatherleaf fern."

He sucked his teeth, crossing the name of the nursery off of his list with a look of defeat. 

"Ah. No. That won't do, I'm sorry. Thank you for your time." He hung up the phone and began to scribble another note on his pad before sighing and sitting down next to you. 

"Ijichi. While I appreciate everything you're doing, you don't have to get every available summer flower."

"Honey. I know you appreciate it, but it's not about the flowers. I want it to be a beautiful piece for you. You've done something amazing! I want to celebrate that with no cut corners." Lightly squeezing your hand, Ijichi kisses your forehead before pressing another to your nose. 

You don't remember the last time you'd seen him this relaxed, but it suited him well. 

His usual combed, pristine hair that formed on his face was now lazily combed back, showing his beautiful facial structure. His hollowed cheeks had a peach flush once he noticed you were admiring his face. "Honey." He was easy to fluster, even after this long. "You're so handsome. And so kind. Don't overdo it in the name of trying to please me."

He has learned from previous affairs he's planned that sometimes he bites off more than he can chew occasionally. Like that birthday when he invited every class at Jujutsu Tech, administration, and the front office of your apartment complex. "Baby. All these people aren't going to fit in my apartment for much longer." You looked at the over two dozen people uncomfortably smiling in the living room, cramped but trying to look happy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I uh.. we will make it work."

"It will be a small, intimate gathering. You've already decided on the guest list so that we will go with just those few." He rolled the sleeves up of his loose button-down, subtly interlacing his fingers with yours once he did. His cool touch brings a welcome tingle. 

"You are a gift, Ijichi. I love you forever."

Kissing the palm of your hand, he glanced up at you over his glasses. "And forever, I love you. Now. Don't you have something to do? Like that shelf full of books you promised to go through so we can donate some?"

Your eyes narrowed before you laughed. "Yes, sir."

His lips met yours in a tender kiss. "Thank you, darling. I'll start dinner once I've finished making this last call."

He watched as you left the den, beaming as you hummed a tune equal to an angelic chorus. "Just get it over with Kiyotaka." Grabbing his phone and huffing, he scrolled down to the 'Gojo S. 😶' contact in his phone before hitting the call button. 

"The renovations are gorgeous. You brought out the traditional style of the home." Kento admired the flooring of your living area, taking in the uniqueness of the classic tile pattern. 

"Thank you! Ijichi thought it was a good idea to uncover the beauty of the hardwood under our carpeting—the entire first floor. Come! He'd love to show you the rest of the work." With a smile, Nanami followed you to the dining room, where your husband checked the wine bottles to ensure perfect temperature. "Honey? "

Slightly frazzled, Ijichi's shoulders jumped. 

"Yes, my love? Kento!" He brought his hand out, noticing his friend shaking hands before pulling him in for a quick hug. 

"It's good to see you. You look very well rested, Kiyotaka."

"So do you! Retirement is doing us good, it seems," the men chuckled. 

"I'll let you boys catch up. I'll let you know when everyone has arrived." Kissing his cheek, you left to head towards the front of the house.

After giving his tour, Ijichi eventually made his way to the study, showing Nanami the latest addition to his collection of handcrafted fountain pens and watching him appreciate the craftsmanship. Hesitant, a question popped into mind as he looked around his office.

"Kento. May I ask you something?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

With a sigh, Ijichi swallowed before continuing. "What do you do with all this downtime? I feel like I'm getting on my partner's nerves with all the house renovation nonsense, the pens, the mundane things I do daily. Do you think we'll regret retiring this early? Do you think our spouses will tire of us?" It all spewed out without much thought. 

Part of Ijichi was happy he wasn't in immediate danger anymore. Though his worry was now with you as you helped lead the new generation of sorcerers, he knew you were far more capable. But it made him feel that perhaps you weren't into him as much now. He was home planning new projects, planning parties, and making dinners that could feed a dozen. Were you tired of him?

He knew precisely what Ijichi was thinking. 

"When I told my wife I wanted to leave the jujutsu world, I don't think I'd seen anyone so relieved in my life." he sips his beverage, looking down at his wedding band. 

"I did something I said I wouldn't do: marry while still in that world. But she was my calm in every storm we waltzed into. I did it with no regrets, of course. But after the incident in Shibuya that almost cut my life short…"

"Yeah…" Ijichi recalled the day of hell. You were in Kyoto, trying to return quickly once you heard what was happening. Ijichi was right there, facing death intimately. The reminder showed in the burn scars that covered half of Kento's body. He wore them with no hints of being self-conscious about them. He saw a smile growing on Kentos's face.

"I don't regret it. None of it. I don't think I can when I see how my partner looks when I'm working on a puzzle or cooking our favorite meal. Downtime now is something I treasure. We used to yearn for a day of peace and a little sense, you know." they both laughed, recalling the after-work drinks and gripes. "We are also still young enough to find any other profession if we choose."

"You’re right. I'm just overthinking… A lot"

"Don't feel like you're supposed to know what to do. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing most days." The tone of Kento's voice held a lot of compassion as he quickly found the words to reassure his friend. "We have done a lot of work. Dangerous work. We can afford to be indecisive and leisurely choose what to put our energy into."

While his words held some truth, that guilty feeling still sat in Ijichi's heart. "I do enjoy the leisurely pace of my life now. The house projects, the cooking, and the look on their faces when I show them my latest addition. I don't want to lose the gift of their unconditional love and unwavering affection. It's what drives my every move."

"Then ask them. When you two were dating, they seemed capable of simply talking about the uncomfortable quite easily. That's not changed, Kiyotaka. If anything, they will appreciate hearing your thoughts now that you are, in fact, the best house husband you could be."

He nodded as if weighing the potential conversation's pros and cons before letting out a breath he didn't realize was being held in. "Thank you, Nanami."

"You're like my brother Ijichi, of course. Now, I'm starving, and rumor is you made Spanakopita."

Amused, Ijichi led Kento back to the party's center; chatter was heard as they returned to the dining area. With a pause, Ijichi heard your voice and listened for a while.

"Satoru, I'm telling you. The entire plan was his idea. That last-minute meeting with the heads? He's a mastermind with that kind of planning."

"Well, duh. But he was a liability for a while. Great driver, excellent spreadsheet creator. But don’t you remember having to come and use your technique to get him out of the way against that grade 2 curse?"

"I was falling in love with the man! Of course I did. I would’ve done it again if it meant he was safe. I should've left you to do it so I could've gone home to him early that night." Ijichi smiled as you and Gojo laughed. That flushed feeling came rushing back to his face.

"I'm glad he has you. And that you have him. He was good to us both in the office and the field. He deserves some peace in his life." Gojo seems genuine in his words, an occurrence Ijichi has yet to accept fully.

"Though life isn't as easy without his continued presence and organization skills. Oh, you love birds. Do you want or maybe need a third in the home?" He pouts.

"I'd rather go back to 10 hours' worth of paperwork in that stuffy office at the school, Satoru," Ijichi interjected as he wrapped his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek with a gentle nudge of his nose.

"It's an option Ijichi. I don't require much! Just a sweet treat every once in a while and maybe a hug or 5."

"Please. Don't," you snickered at the comment, kissing your husband back.

"Behave." a playful nudge to his arm makes Ijichis lips curl up slightly. "Ken! Did you get the grand tour? Don't you love it?"

Kento nods. "It's phenomenal. Your husband knows his way around a home."

"Doesn't he? I've been given the gift of a homemaker with this one. He's made it feel even more like a dream. Nothing short of luck to have him as my forever beau."

It was hard to miss Ijichi's ears turning red as the kind words gave affirmation that he was doing everything right.

"Okay, okay. Enough of that." Clearing his throat, he raised his glass." Let's make a toast. To new beginnings with old friends who will stand the test of time. May we have more moments to sing each other's praises and welcome new changes!'

Post Party Unwind

Massaging your feet, Ijichi smiled. The gentle blaze of the low-burning fire nearby creates a cozy atmosphere for the end of a beautiful day. 

"Thank you again, my love. Everything was perfect! You even got Shoko to leave the hospital for a while. You must tell me your secrets."

A quiet laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, it wasn't much. I just told her you'd be thrilled to see her. And the promise of sending her home with a bottle of top-shelf tequila may have also worked." laughter filled the cozy backyard as the cool night air sent a slight chill up your legs and arms. 

"Want to head inside? I can run a bath for you while I finish cleaning."

"Why can't you join me in said bath?"

"Darling, there's so much cleaning to get done. The wine bottles, the mopping. Goodness, the leftover cake-"

"Ijichi Kiyotaka, my dear husband. Your loving significant other wants you to join them for a nice bubble bath. Please don't make me beg. I want to show you my appreciation." glint in your eyes, giving him the answer to his unspoken question.

Six years in, he couldn't take a flirtatious bout without coming apart just a little. It was just as amusing now as it was when he was driving you around back then. Adjusting his glasses before reaching up to run his slender fingers over your thigh, gripping the lush flesh with obviously wanton intent. "I'll go run us a bath. You are my priority, after all."

Thanks to @/saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers!

Taglist: @marikuchanxo

Thank you for reading! 💞

[grapejuicestyless]

But I’m Kind Of Green

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: April showers bring May flowers. As the warm spring air carries in a warmth you and Harry haven’t felt for months, you spend the day basking in the sunlight and admiring the things you couldn’t really see in the dark winter.

The grass underneath my fingertips tickles my skin as I wrap my knuckles around the roots a tug. Soft sounds of squeaking filling the silence that lingers between us. The silence is never awkward, nor is it heavy. Our eyes flicker between each others faces and our hands narrowly avoid the others in the freshly cut grass.

“Did you wear sunscreen?” Harry smiles with his front teeth before shaking his head, and his eyes flicker down to my nose for a moment.

“I can tell.”

“Yeah?” He mumbles, scooting his hips closer to mine and tucking his hands beneath his head like a pillow. He rests his hair in his palms.

“You get burnt under your eyes real bad, I can see that coming in. But you’re also getting freckles again.” Harry laughs.

“Anything else?”

I think about it for a second, but decide to just move impossibly closer and place my own palms beneath my head to rest.

“No.”

Harry hums.

“Well, I like being in the sun, we haven’t had weather like this in a while.” He begins, “and I think it’s my favorite kind of weather because it’s easier to see you.”

“How so?” I smile, still searching around his own face. I can feel the heat not only radiating from the sun above but also bouncing off of his body onto mine. It’s a warm blanket of love and comfort wrapping around us in the early may heat.

“In the winter your eyes are brown.”

I raise my brow, blinking more rapidly subconsciously.

“Well, my eyes are brown.” Harry smiles smugly, “Says so on my license too.”

“Well then your license is wrong. Your eyes are hazel.” He smiles proudly, his leg throwing itself over my knee to link us together in yet another way.

“Are they?”

Harry hums, smiling sweet at me and turning to the side completely to admire the way the sun beats down on us. He has a dopey look in his eyes I wish I could capture forever in my memory. A lazy haze that he only gets at this time of the year, when the harsh winter is transitioning into a breezy summer.

“Yep. But you can only tell in the sun. They look plain brown in the dark, but when we lay out like we are now you’re green all over. Not to say I don’t like your brown eyes, but I just think it’s interesting because I don’t really get to see the green for that long.” His thumb swipes over my cheek slowly, tracing my cheekbone down to my chin. He sets his hand back under his ear with a shuffle.

“Well, your eyes are just kind of green in the winter but they get really green in the summer. I think that’s pretty cool too. And your hair, it’s darker in January than it is in June.” I laugh under my breath, melting into every lingering touch of Harrys skin to mine.

“I guess we’re both kind of green then. That’s something else we have in common.”

Sometimes when Harry talks to me like this I wonder if I’ve done anything in my life good enough to deserve this. All the love the that pours out of him reflects back onto me so I can send it back over. We sweet talk and laugh like we have no stress in the world and if I cry I know he’ll be the one to hold me. I wonder if there are other people out there who experience the same kind of love we have, if the little things make them feel as giddy as they do for us.

I can feel the laughter bubbling up my throat and through my body with the realization that we both share a but of green in ourselves. I never really noticed the green before Harry pointed it out, and I would have never have known if he hadn’t told me.

In moments like this I wonder how I survived in such a grey and dreary world without Harry by my side. I think back on all of our adventures and think about how boring everything must have been without his warm presence and soft laughter in my ear.

“But I’d still love you if you weren’t.” He adds with a cheeky smile, his hands gripping my waist to lift me over his hips. I lay my head near his and bathe in the may breeze with the people around us and the bees in the leaves.

I think I whisper to him that I love him, but I’m not really sure because now I can only focus on him and all of his greens.

I once lived a life of total winter, darkness clouding my eyes, but now I see the world the way I think I should have always been seeing it. Because summers are more fun and the winters are shorter. Brown eyes are nice, but I’m kind of green and so is Harry.

[honey-crypt]

KEEPER OF THE GLISTENING SEA — a merman!elliott x plus-sized!reader story

02. THE STORM RAGES ON

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of drowning, natural disasters, and fatphobia

summary: you manage to find your footing in stardew valley and form a new life full of mundane tasks and relationships, new and old. yet, a ferocious storm puts your skills to the test and you're confronted with your past, as a lone figure is trapped beneath the raging waves.

author’s note: now that my write a thon is over, i'm able to work more on this series! gonna try my best to post at least twice a month but schedule will vary because i start grad school and my assistantship very soon. anywhoooo! enjoy!!!

You developed a pretty simple but good daily routine. Maintain the lighthouse, assist Willy in his shop, visit Benny, hang out with your friends, and so on. The days began to blend together, as festivals and birthdays passed by, and soon the valley transitioned from breezy spring to warm summer. To your surprise, living on a beach and the summer season didn’t mesh well, as your once quiet home was overrun by Pelican Town residents looking to play in the water or soak in some sun.

You left the lighthouse after a particularly labor intensive day of work, stuck repainting the peeling paint of the lighthouse’s lower half by the shoreline with Willy. Who knew painting could stay some much out of a person? You had your suit vest tied around your plump waist, your button down open and revealing your tight tank top underneath, not wanting to stain it with white paint. Your arms and legs ached, an ache you hadn’t experienced before. Oh, I would kill for a Joja Cola, right now.

You only made a few feet from the lighthouse when something leathery made contact with your face. A cry of pain forced its way out of your throat, as the force sent you falling back into the hot sand. You laid in the sand motionlessly, limbs sprawled out unceremoniously. The projectile that almost knocked your teeth fell from your face and into the sand next to you.

“Oh my Yoba! I’m sorry!” a voice called out to you. Your vision was blurry, but you could hear someone running up to you. Hovering above you, a handsome shirtless man with choppy brown hair and strong eyebrows stared down at you, “Do you need help up?”

“Yes… yes, please,” you groaned. He extended a hand to you and you grabbed it, allowing him to free you from your sandy doom with a single pull. Shit! He’s strong! The man then picked up the projectile, a gridball, from the sand, “I’m sorry about that. My hand split when I was practicing with a friend.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you answered, rubbing your forehead where the gridball hit you. Suddenly, the gridball bro replaced your hand with his, gently examining your face for any injuries, “Probably gonna have a bruise, you should get checked out by the doc later,” he frowned, “I hope I didn’t give you a concussion,” frowning didn’t quite suit his face well.

“Do you always examine the faces of strangers you accidentally pelt with your gridball?” you jested. You couldn’t tell if the heat you were feeling was from the sun or from the situation. The shirtless man cracked a smile, an oddly familiar smile, “Only the cute ones.”

Before you could speak up, a genuine Barbie Doll appeared beside the flirt, her long honey blonde styled as beach curls and sporting a pink bikini, “Alex! You totally missed a great photo-op!”

“Alex?” you asked. Alex looked back at you, “Yeah?”

“Are you,” your mind was going a thousand miles an hour, “Are you George and Evelyn’s grandson?”

“Oh, yeah, I am,” he answered nonchalantly, “And you’re the new lighthouse keeper, right?”

“Yes!” you involuntarily shouted. The beach Barbie and Alex’s eyes widened at your volume, you quickly cleared your throat and explained, “Yeah, I’m the keeper, but Alex, it’s me. It’s (Y/N). We used to spend every summer together as kids, I’m Benny’s cousin.”

“(Y/N)?” Alex stepped closer to you, scrutinizing your face before a light went off above his head, “Oh my Yoba! Apple!”

“Apple?” the blondie spoke up, eyes darting between you and Alex. Your cheeks heated up at that old childhood nickname. Alex nodded, “Yeah, Haley! Apple was my nickname for (Y/N) when we were kids!”

“But why Apple?” the girl, Haley, emphasized.

“You don’t have to- oh, it’s a funny story!” the gridball player cut you off, “It was the first summer they and Benny came to the valley, I was one of the few kids in town so we played together a lot. We had a group dinner on the first night and my granny baked us some apple pies for dessert,” if you could physically shrink, you absolutely would be doing so at this moment.

“I remember that we had to wait for the pies to cool down but little (Y/N) had other plans,” continued Alex, “You must’ve been so hungry, Apple! There were three pies in total, but by the time my grandpop caught you, half of them had been eaten!”

Haley stifled back a snicker and you felt as if you could drown yourself in the sea at any moment now. Alex, oblivious to the impact of his words, swung an arm around your shoulders and tousled up your hair, “Well, that’s the story! And besides, Apple fits you, with your cheeks and all.” Yoba. Kill. Me. NOW!!!

“I think so, too!” cooed Haley, as she scanned you from head to toe, “You certainly are… nourished,” that last word stung like a wasp, “Maybe a wardrobe update and you can really shine.”

“I just got off work,” you stated. Were you being teased? Bullied? Humiliated? You weren’t sure, but you already expended a good chunk of your energy and Malibu Barbie’s undercut commentary wasn’t helping, “I should get going.”

Alex frowned almost puppy-like, “Aw bummer…” he gave you one last smile, “Lemme know if you wanna hang out in the future! You know where I’m at.”

You bid Alex and Haley farewell and made a swift retreat to your cabin. Slamming the door behind you, you let out an annoyed huff and plopped onto your bed, “Fucking Alex. Fucking Malibu Barbie,” you grumbled to yourself. You felt a buzz in your short pocket and shoved your hand in it to get your phone. Your screen lit up with a few notifications, the first being a text from Sam.

yo (y/n)!! you on for pool tonight? :D

You chuckled at his use of emojis and typed out a response.

yeah ofc, man - wouldn’t miss it for the world but we def gotta tag team to kick seb’s ass

A few seconds later, you received another text from Sam.

obviously ^o^ see you then!!

You smiled at your phone and swiped out of the messaging app. You were about to switch to your music app when it buzzed with another notification.

@sulsulbean on Handnotes tagged you in a photo

You opened your Handnotes app and clicked on the notification. It directed you to the account of your old swim team friend, Lena. The photo in question was an official group shot of your high school varsity swim team. You swiped to the other photo on her post, this one being a shot of you and Lena showing off your medals from a regional swim meet.

Missing my old swim buds!! Look at me and @applebottomfurs with our medals from our first meet <3

You tossed your phone on your nightstand without a second thought and combed your fingers through your sweaty hair. You didn’t need another reminder of the past.

The time until your pool session with the gang was rapidly dwindling, but you couldn’t find the energy to move. Sure, pool night at the saloon was sacred, missing out on it would be committing a friendship sin. Yet, the pain in your limbs were telling a different story. I need a nap. You closed your eyes, it would only be for a second, you just needed the rest.

Yet, out of the blue, you were startled awake by the sound of heavy rain pelting the walls of your cabin. Confused, you poked your head outside to see the state of the weather.

The sun vanished, the sky full of dark angry clouds, as a terrible downpour encased the valley in rain. You rushed over to the lighthouse, no Willy in sight. He told you that he could handle emergency situations like this, but he wasn’t here. You had to man the helm.

You stormed into the lighthouse and rushed up the wet stairs into the lantern room. The bright light illuminated over the Gem Sea, as it swayed side to side. You peered out into the cloudy waters and noticed the erratic tide and ebb of the sea, the waves crashing against the lighthouse’s base like a drum. Not wanting to remain in the lighthouse a moment longer than necessary, you got to work adjusting the light to account for the weather change. Your fingers tingled while you tinkered with the settings and machinery.

“Oh thank Yoba,” a sigh of relief escaped your lips once the light was properly set. Even though few boats passed through the area at this hour, you wanted to be safe in case there was someone out on the sea.

Red suddenly flashed across your vision, as a flash of lightning echoed throughout the valley. Despite the distance from the lantern room and the sea, you could make out something red. It was almost fish-like, red scales shining under the brief periods of illumination from the lightning and the lighthouse. The rain picked up in insanity and forced you to wipe the droplets off your eyes. Yet, that was when you saw it.

A hand, a human hand poking out from under the chaotic waves.

“FUCK!” you cried out. Someone was trapped, someone was drowning. Your adrenaline spiked and your body tensed up, as you proceeded to make a stupid but noble decision. You hastedly discarded your clothes, minus your undergarments, on the catwalk and climbed on top of the safety railing. Steadying your breath, you peered down at the roaring sea and jumped.

Your body collided with the chilly sea water and you struggled to keep your eyes open, burning from the saltwater. You didn’t know how much time you had, but you knew that you had to act fast. Forcing your way through the angry waves, you scanned the murky waters for any sign of life and there it was, the faint outline of a person just a few feet away. You swam towards the drowning victim, their body still clouded by the darkness. Nonetheless, you managed to swing the person onto your back and swam until you reached the top of the water.

As the storm raged on, you gasped for air, your body bobbing up and down in tangent with the waves. A frecious wave nearly knocked you down, but you let on to your drowning victim strong. With all your might, you swam and swam against the mighty storm until you finally reached the shoreline. You, rather ungraciously, threw your drowning victim off your back and onto the sand before performing mouth to mouth resuscitation. Their lips were pleasantly sweet, as you forced air down their lungs. A groan vibrated against your lips, your rescued victim happily alive.

You pulled off of their mouth and flopped onto the firm sand, disorientated and exhausted. It had been years since you last swam, yet your muscle memory and the adrenaline of the need to rescue kicked into high gear. Nonetheless, your muscles ache and your heart was pounding hard like a bass drum.

The person you rescued hovered over you, piercing your vision with hypnotic emerald eyes. You were able to get a closer look at their face, noting the freckles that spattered across their hooked nose and how chiseled their jawline was. Their hair was surprisingly dry, an autumn red. Yoba, they were beautiful.

“What a peculiar human,” their voice hummed, a soft baritone. Your eyes began to flutter, as exhaustion overwhelmed your mind, “Rest, little one, you deserve it,” you shut your eyes and succumbed to slumber.

The storm settled down, as the dark clouds parted and revealed a twinkling night sky. Elliott remained still on the beach, the waves crashing against the shoreline rhythmically. He watched over your sleeping form like a guardian angel, enraptured by your facial features and body. Elliott had never seen someone so beautiful, much less a human, up close. He laid his head against the sand and whispered, “What a peculiar human, indeed.”

[snowandwolves]

hi hello! tis the lengthy ask anon back after a length of time. it is now ... wow almost the end of march. why is time like this?!? how has this first quarter of the year been for you? got some crispy lettuce? and rest??

it's been a rollercoaster for me and tbh there were some days when i couldn't read the lighthouse au because it just cut too deep, does that make sense? but things are a bit better now, so i'm back with questions! as always, feel free to skip whatever of these don't bring joy <3

do you think suzanne would ever entertain tours of the lighthouse? does she already?

during that dinner they all had together and mary and ava went out, do you have an idea of how that talk between bea and lil (with cam mediating? eating popcorn?) would've gone? (also i still love that transition: "Everything's fine. — everything is, in fact, not fine.")

how often does ava bring up the "topping" mistake? and how often do does she make them have ice cream so can talk about topping(s) in general?

had bea called suzanne mom before ava said it?

during their time apart, do you have an idea of a moment or two when bea missed ava?

what was the most played song on that playlist you mentioned?

how'd you come up with the title btw? also did you find it easy to come up with a title?

hope spring brings some good things for you!

end of… march… lengthy ask anon, i am so genuinely sorry it’s taken me this long to respond to this 😭 i was dying from summer, got awfully sick twice, and weathered a few life events akdbskd so i guess that answers how the past quarter(s) have been for me 💀 in between, i did get crispy lettuce, some truly jaw-dropping sunsets (i saw iridescent clouds for the first time in my life and deadass sobbed in the middle of the street), and somehow made it through things. i’m still alive and grateful i’m alive 😂

but ok, questions!

1. i’m not sure about that one actually, with her hip and all. but i’m thinking it’d be ava’s great idea that she’ll regret pitching bec who else is supposed to help suzanne and bea set up tours and stuff? 😂 then she’ll, ofc, sign up to be a tour guide, in which case bea will catch her showing off the leather strips in the everything-shed and promptly marching over to cut off whatever unholy thing ava was gonna say about them 💀

2. that talk would’ve been heated, to say the least. i was thinking lilith is the type of person who holds on tight to the people she lets in and bea could misinterpret that as something controlling bec of her childhood. they’d say almost-hurtful things until lilith spits it out for her: “i’m not stopping you from trying to live your life. i’m just asking you to stay, too. i’m worried, and—afraid.” to which bea would pause, look at her friend as her friend and not as a reminder of people she’s not, and say: “i’m not going to forget you, lilith. i’m not going to love you any less than i do now. and if you think that i’m leaving and never coming back here, then think again. this is my home. you’re part of the home that i chose.”

3. SO THIS IS GOLD 😂 what if it’s winter a year later and ava wants ice cream because “i feel like i haven’t reminded you about topping in a while” and bea’s like “must you remind me? after last night?” and ava’s like “if it gets you to blush or gets me a repeat performance, yeah. win-win.”

4. slip of the tongue. unacknowledged but known, you are my mom, and you are my daughter. something allowed and welcomed and only told by the face suzanne makes every time bea says it 🥺

5. bea tries to read a book during her appointed time for a break. her thoughts catch up to her, the way they couldn’t when she was busy thinking about generators and weather reports. and she sits there, open book on her lap, gaze worlds away, trying to sink into the quiet and wondering why it isn’t as peaceful as she remembers it being, before ava came and made a habit out of asking her to read out loud. she cries, just a little. of course, she does.

6. oh gOD. there were so many honestly. i’ll do a top five because it would be a crime to pick 😂 Far From Here by Emmit Fenn (bec i love the intro and the vibes), Silence by Before You Exit (for all of the soft avatrice scenes), Calme by Ever So Blue (for all the quieter, more tender scenes), What a Wonderful World by Reuben and the Dark and AG (this version specifically for the whole storm scene), and Rein You In by TENDER (for the horny) 💀

7. NO, I DID NOT FIND IT EASY TO COME UP WITH A TITLE OR ANY OF THE SOUL-EXTRACTING AO3 ASKED OF ME BEFORE I CAN EVEN POST THE FIRST CHAPTER 😭 i think i was trying to figure out how to relate it to the lighthouse and ava’s journey. it’s honestly longer than my usual titles but at that point, i’d agonized over everything else AO3 wanted that i was just like “fuck it i can’t think about this anymore” 😂

lengthy ask anon, i’m gonna try to respond to your other asks slowly 💀 i’m still sorry it’s taken me so long and please know that i waited to answer these because i wanted to be fully present for it. these still bring me joy, and i appreciate you for it. i hope you’ve been doing alright, that this quarter isn’t as difficult as the others 🥹💙

[maifrenthebesto]

Forgiving is easy when you don't know what happened.

I tried to go through the "forgiveness queue" and for every task I finished ruminating through to catharsis, two more seemed to spring up. This I understand was by the design I allowed to take hold under the time in which I called that roof my own. And now, let it serve as the anchor under which you drowned your character.

I do see myself getting over it eventually, truth be told I think I would have been on the other side had you been as far removed from the wound as you'd have me believe.

And we can go back and forth as to the reasons we claimed behind the actions undergone, and we'd go nowhere. Same course we've been sailing under. Sure you're sailing towards a goal, and that goal is reliant on the outcome you believe to facilitate the outcome you envisioned from your summer years.

You deserve the right to be open with yourself.

"I promised myself I wouldn't ask for his help"

"The reason we can't talk is because he is convinced of the truth"

Imagine that, I'm not allowed to care because she cheated and wished she never met me afterwards. They helped her make the transition less painful, and snuffing out my memory was part of their task. Who asked for this to happen is irrelevant. And I do give great consideration to the emotions and decisions that came after awareness of the phenomenon was acquired either through disclosure, or through your own ability to recognize patterns.

If you never met me, you wouldn't have gone behind my back, but you would have caused a different problem.

Oh but we never talked about exclusivity!! How convenient, but you know what we DID discuss? The way you felt about your prior partner trampled over your emotions by being promiscuous online.

So yeah you got what you asked for when you sought for the fuel to crucify me in front of your friends and family, cus I cook best when I set up the pace of the heat.

Tell them I'm still looking at hentai!!!

Tell them I'm smoking weed!!!

Tell them I can't get a partner of my own!!!

Tell them all my failures are because of skill issues!!!

Tell your children not to walk my way!!!

Somehow *THIS* is the good ending!!!

The truth is in the air, and those who have been affected know the extent of the damage as far as what pertains to them. And those who have been cut by the same edge can see the extent of the damage undergone in my quest to forgive Lilith, because I thought my love was strong enough to endure the lessons you needed to live to become yourself.

Rubedo.

[scoundrels-in-love]

azalea and poppy! 🩷

Omg! Hi!! <33 And thank you so much for asking!

azalea— what is the most recent song you listened to? how do you feel about it?

King of Sorrows by Sade

It's so good. It's smooth, it's emotional, it's beautifully lyrical both in sound and actual words. And not to Blorbo post on main, but it has such a Vash energy to me, especially the sort I've been leaning into and gradually exploring for him post Trimax.

I'm crying everyone's tears And there inside our private war I died the night before And all of these remnants of joy and disaster What am I supposed to do? I want to cook you a soup that warms your soul But nothin' would change, nothin' would change at all It's just a day that brings it all about Just another day and nothin's any good The DJ's playin' the same song I have so much to do I have to carry on I wonder if this grief will ever let me go I feel like I am the King of Sorrow, yeah The King of Sorrow I suppose I could just walk away Will I disappoint my future if I stay? It's just a day that brings it all about Just another day and nothin's any good

poppy— out of the four seasons, which season of the year is your favorite and why?

I am Spring kind of person, though I suffer from allergies. But when the world is gradually warming up to the sun and a soft, cooling breeze tickles the first rush of leaves, when flowers start to adorn the edges of gardens, when I catch the first sunny face of dandelion and then everything explodes in colors, most of all the infinite shades of purples of lilacs for what's a week, a blink and you miss it but I don't, I don't miss it, I make sure to look, that's my favorite time of year. Followed closely by early fall when the sun's warmth is winding down from heat and a cool breeze now rustles golds and reds and scatters them around, if the year is gracious enough to spare the vivid paints. The transition periods, I think, are what draw me the most, but fall is more fickle and summer can slump immediately into heavy grayness that will not ease until next spring.

Send me a flower ask?<3

[misspearly1]

hi lovely! I just started playing tlou 2 tonight and got to that scene that shall not be named and I am really sad and in my feels is it possible to request a fluffy Joel Miller one shot where he and reader maybe enjoy the day together or sit on his front porch drinking coffee together and enjoy each other’s company. I’m so sad and would like to pretend joel is still alive and happy 🥺🥺💗💗💗 p.s I love your fics so much! Much love to you!

Hey, my darling! I am so fucking there with you on this feeling. I can’t even appreciate how great TLOU2 game is because I’m so broken about that scene, and it’s a shame because the game is awesome, I am just too wrapped up in my love for Joel to even go near it again, lmao. (hehe, I laugh but it’s quite sad actually).

A fluffy fic is what you need? Say no more my love, I shall deliver. I just certainly hope it is fluffy enough to make you forget about that godawful fucking sce- yeah, ok, I’ll stop now, you know my opinion on it already and I can feel myself rambling. Love ya, thank you <33

Pairing: Joel Miller x You (F!Reader)

Summary: An extra hour in bed in the mornings can’t hurt, right? Especially in the winter months. Well, you’re still in that stage of wanting an extra hour through the transition of the seasons. Spring is finally here and what better way to start off with the change from Joel waking you up one early morning with a sweet, kind natured surprise.

WC: 2.3K

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of smut but not detailed. Fluffy surprises. Lots of kisses. Joel Miller just being the sweetest.

AN: Okay, I would like to mention that the inspo I got for the start of this fic came from the discord I am in. We chatted about what our favourite season of the year is (I’m a summer gal) and after some consideration and chatting with another friend about her favourite season, I’m going with Spring. So, credit to my lovely friends for giving me some inspo to start this fic off.

Early Spring 2034

Feeling snug and warm in your bed, you nestled under the weight of the duvet, eyes tugging at you to go back to sleep. It was just so comforting and homey.

With the blankets tucked just under your chin, the reason it felt so homey was because of Joel. The smell of him lingers in the sheets, his heat signature now faded from his previous designated spot beside you.

He’s the early bird, and you like to have a little longer sleep when you can.

The early mornings are still cold, until the sun rises and brings the warmth when it’s at its peak. Therefore, you’re still in that ‘just one more hour’ stage from the winter months. The weather and season doesn’t tend to bother Joel much, he still gets up early regardless.

Sometimes you join him, sometimes he stays in bed with you, but quite a lot of the time, he is always up first, bright and early before the day even begins. Today is one of those days. You’re laying in bed, nearing six thirty am in the morning and wanting an extra hour of sleep.

Until he comes tip toeing into the bedroom, leaning over the bed and burying his head into your neck, “g’morning babydoll. C’mon, I got something to show you.”

“Joel,” You moaned. Partially because he is disturbing your sleep but mostly because he is softly kissing at your skin, running his hands over the swell of your hips under the cover.

The bed is so warm and you don’t want to peel yourself out from it, instead, you’d love to pull him in under the covers with you. So, you protested, “what is it, baby?”

“You’ll just have to come and see for yourself,” he grinned into your neck, still kissing you but now nipping a path along to the corners of your mouth.

Joel can be very persuasive, especially when he kisses you like this, causing a familiar blossoming sensation in your lower stomach.

“Okay,” you gave in. Eyes still closed, his sweet loving wake up calls were welcome and appreciated. Waking up to Joel Miller kissing you? Always appreciated.

Grabbing the thinly knitted blanket that you keep on top of your duvet covers, Joel used that to wrap around you while pulling you up from the bed and flush to his chest, not once breaking the passionate kiss.

He’s feeling extra loving today, and your mind wonders what he is so eager to show you.

Walking down the stairs with you, holding your hand while you wipe your dry eyes with the other, you can picture your hair being a mess right now, but Joel only sees beauty.

Especially in the mornings, there’s something so pretty about the way you look moments after you’ve just awoken.

Sometimes he likes to come back to bed to look at you while you have that extra hour. Today though, he is already starting to feel the shift in the seasons much more than you are.

His blood seems to run a lot hotter than yours does, and the summer months are a struggle in bed at night with the heat.

Pulling himself out of bed not too long ago, he stepped out on his front porch and instantly headed back inside to quickly do something before coming upstairs to wake you up. Joel knows that you would love what he has to show you.

The first thing you could smell when your foot hit the last step of the stairs was coffee. It was strong and pungent to your nostrils, in a good way.

Coffee sounds great right about now.

You turned in the direction to the kitchen but Joel pulled on your hand, “Mhmm, out here baby.”

Outside? It’s so cold out there. Where on earth is he taking me?

Inhaling through your nose and shrugging your shoulders, you decided to just go with it. When Joel pulled the door open, your mouth fell open with a breath-taking gasp. The sky above your head was still dark, blue and almost black, but off in the distance, it was lit up like fire.

An eruption of colours ranging from pink, red and purple, the sun hasn’t risen yet and Joel has woken you to come sit out on your front porch and watch it rise together.

Stepping out first and pulling you along with him, he gestured for you to sit down on the porch swing, decked out with blankets and cushions, beside the small rounded table top with two cups of joe.

Steaming hot, the condensation sways up into the air, pulling on you like those cartoons with the pie on the window for you to come take a bite but this cup of coffee was enticing you to come and take a sip.

Smiling to Joel, you expressed your joy from this simplistic but very meaningful surprise and excitedly pulled on his hand to come sit down on the porch swing. He had built this a couple months ago. Something for you both to do on quiet days, to just sit and hold each other close while watching the life of Jackson roll by.

Now you’re going to watch the sunrise on it.

The swing itself was huge, Joel made sure to go above and beyond when crafting the outdoor furniture, therefore making it big enough for you both to bring your feet up off the floor and lay back. It was pretty much a floating bed, possibly large enough to fit three or four people.

Adding a thick cushioned base with cushions around the sides, it was comfy as hell to sit on but what really was the cherry on top, was sitting in Joel’s lap while it swayed gently, and that’s exactly the position you both chose.

Sitting on his lap and pulling the knitted blanket over you both, the air still had a bite to it but the heat that Joel emitted was enough to keep you warm. He’s always so hot. Once you both were sitting comfortably, he reached over for the cups of coffee, handing you your cup first then grabbing his afterwards.

Your matching cups with patterned owls on the outside, it was the little moments like these that you love spending with him. He knows you more than yourself sometimes. Dating the man shortly after he arrived in Jackson six years ago, you could count on one hand the amount of times you’ve watched the sun rise or set with him.

After taking a couple of mouthfuls of his drink, Joel placed back to the table top and resorted to laying his arms around your stomach. Setting your cup down also, you lay your head back to his shoulder, bringing your knees up to your chest and holding his hands in yours.

“Thank you for waking me to see this baby,” you whispered to him, rubbing his hands with your fingers while watching the colour of the sky slowly transform in colour, the reds and pinks spreading like wildfire. Joel kissed your cheek, hugging you a little tighter while mumbling, “s’okay darlin’. I knew you’d like to watch it.”

Both of you smiled when seeing the sun peak over the horizon. Looking down the main street of Jackson, past the main gate and over the hill, the light glimmered through the trees. It was still such an amazing sight to see, the sky above you lighting up more and more with each passing moment.

Sun rises were a natural sight, but still so beautiful no matter how many times you’ve seen it before. A flight of birds flew across the skyline, their flock flying majestically in front of the sun now fully making its way out.

The clouds were like cotton candy, wrapping around the giant star, creating a truly wonderful scene for you and Joel to watch as you sat in his lap, held within his arms as he placed light kisses to your neck.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured lowly into your ear, his beard tickling you sensually and you turned your head, looking into those deep warm brown eyes, smiling, “I love you too, Joel.”

Closing the small gap between you both, Joel held his large hand to the side of your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek while slipping his tongue past your lips. You could taste his bitter coffee in the kiss.

The heat from the sun started to rise on your face, cascading the light over you and Joel in the shadow of your front porch. If anyone is awake and outside right now, they’d catch sight of you both kissing each other lovingly.

Joel could do this everyday with you. To wake up to watch the sunrise right by your side out on your front porch with a cup of coffee. However, he has more in store for you both today, his early morning surprise doesn’t stop here.

-

Shortly after the sun had fully arisen this morning, your coffees drunk to the last drop and were ready to head back inside, Joel shared that both your patrols for the day were covered as he had somewhere else to take you. There was more to his surprise.

Joining you in a shower before heading out for the day, it was supposed to be a quick wash under the spray, however, his loving kisses escalated into something more, something wonderfully pleasurable.

Joel showed you just how much he loves you, so much so that your legs wobbled when exiting the shower, with a happy ache in your core, love bites to your neck and probably some light bruising to your hips.

Getting dressed together then preparing a picnic basket of food to take with you, both of you were out of Jackson and on your horses not even thirty minutes later. It took you a further hour of traveling on your horses to get to this destination and this is where you are now.

And it was heavenly. Absolutely paradisiacal to the eyes.

Sitting opposite Joel in a canoe, rowing along a silent and calm lake, the water below mirrored the skies above and it literally looked like you were floating along the fluffy clouds. Bringing the boat to a stop, it rocked gently as the water rippled across the lake.

“I don’t know about you, babydoll,” he grinned, leaning forward and reaching for the picnic basket in between you both, Joel opened it up and chuckled, “But I’m fucking starving.”

Giggling to him, you were hungry as well and you leaned forward to grab a sandwich. Inside the wicker basket was a range of fruit too. Joel had made an effort to pop into the greenhouse at the back of your home to pick out a couple different berries.

And of course, there were two flasks of coffee.

Just as you were reaching for a blueberry, Joel grabbed it first and placed it to your lips. Chuckling with you as you took the fruit from his fingers. He was teasing his finger across your bottom lip and you tilted your head into the palm of his hand, closing your eyes to relish in the feel of his embrace.

He always knows how to make you feel loved, to feel special. Kissing his palm, you brought your hand up to squeeze his before leaning back into your spot on the boat and to eat your sandwich.

Both of your stomachs were growling with a need to eat. Joel’s was for another reason.

Eating together in peace, it was a comfortable silence between you both and while you were admiring the scenery in your surroundings, the greenery of nature, the darkness of the water below, the pretty blue skies above with an even warmth around you both, it was nice out today.

It was perfect in every way, from the moment you awoke all the way up to this point now.

While you looked across the lake, you could feel Joel’s gaze lingering on you. He was hunched over, elbows placed to each knee while his eyes roamed up and down your body.

You smiled. Still looking across the lake while taking a sip from your flask, you couldn’t help but smile at your man for telling you he loves you without saying the words.

He didn’t have to say them, you can feel his love, just by the way he looks at you and you hope that these special moments will last forever, because you never want to stop feeling his love.

“Y/N,” he spoke softly, calling your attention and you looked at him with surprise in your face. Nearly choking on your drink, the breath caught in your throat as you brought the flask down and stared at a ring held between Joel’s fingers.

The world around you slowed, your heart stopped beating for a second in your chest as you stared at that ring. A simplistic gold band, beautiful and shiny, glimmered in the sunlight in between his fingers.

“Marry me, babydoll,” your eyes shot up to look at him when he said those words. His bottom lip trembling with the brightest smile on his face, his eyes that were spewing his love for you. Joel’s eyes were glossed over, tears welling up in the corners as he patiently awaited your answer.

He has just asked you to marry him and you're staring at him, shocked and speechless.

You spluttered in a heartfelt sob while nodding your head. Carefully moving to the middle of the canoe, Joel moved closer too and placed the ring on your finger, then wiped the tears from underneath your eyes.

You did the same with him, wiping his cheeks and running your hands through his hair, you pulled him in for a searing kiss and whispered cheerfully between more tears, “Yes-yes, I will marry you, Joel.”

TAGGING

Permanent Taglist (All story Updates): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20

All Joel Content: @extraneous-trip @readsalot73 @luvmeijii @pale-gingerale @joelsflannel @something-tofightfor @dinsangelx @ponyofmilfmom @hb8301 @squidwell @spideysimpossiblegirl @mooraakath @michele131 @chxpsi @joelmillerscoffee @zeida @wordsfromshona @joelsrifle @swtaura

[pudding-parade]

Welcome to the first continental climate I've shared for this project. Specifically, it's a hot-summer humid continental climate. What does that mean? It means a hot, wet summer and a drier, frigid winter. So here we are in Nebraska, America's Heartland, very near the geographic center of the contiguous United States. Omaha's climate is heavily affected by frequent clashes of different airmasses of different origins, which results in, among other things, sudden changes in temperature, thick morning fogs, abundant rain in the warmer months, vicious thunderstorms that generate hail and tornadoes, frequent snow showers in winter, and waves of extreme heat (100+F/38+C) in the summer and snaps of extreme cold (well below 0F/-18C) in the winter. In short, continental climates are highly variable and occasionally extreme, which makes for an interesting environment when translated to the game.

I created this preset to use in Riverview because its geography and the farm theme gives me strong American Midwest vibes. I wanted to pick a city on a river to use as a model to build a climate around for Riverview, and since you'd be hard-pressed to get more Midwest than eastern Nebraska, I chose Omaha.

This is a preset for use with the NRaas Tempest mod. General info about this project as well as installation/use instructions are here, and here is a link to the tag page for all the presets I’ve posted so far.

Details for this preset:

Highest summer temperature: 90F/32C Lowest winter temperature: 10F/-12C

Overall Climate: Hot, wet summers. Frigid winters. Transitional seasons that have wide temperature ranges and many possible weather patterns. This preset is based on average climate, so it doesn't include the extreme cold snaps and heat waves that the real place can experience for relatively short periods of time, but it's still uniformly hot in summer and uniformly frigid in winter, and a mixture of everything in the transitional seasons.

Snow: Possible in spring, winter, and autumn when the temperature is 40F/4C or less, though it is most probable in winter. In the real Omaha, it snows fairly often but doesn't often result in large accumulations because winter is the driest season. So, in the preset the storms are weighted high in winter so that the game ought to chose snow often when the temperature is right, but the storms are set to be relatively brief and only heavy in winter, in an attempt to not have too much accumulation in any one storm. That said, temperatures in winter are such that the snow will persist, so you'll get a build-up.

Fog: Omaha sits on the Missouri River, which is a big one, so when temperatures are right, this often results in thick fogs that mostly happen in the mornings, and from the reports I found online, they seem most common in the winter and early spring. In this preset, fog is possible in spring, autumn, and winter when the temperature is 50F/10C or less. It is most probable in winter, least probable in autumn.

Hail: Oh, yeah. Omaha is in Tornado Alley, so it also gets hail from storms that also have the capacity to generate tornadoes. In this preset, hail is possible in spring and summer, but when it happens, it'll be brief, just as hail is in the real world. It does have a chance of killing harvestable plants or setting harvestables in harvest stage back to the mature state.

Precipitation Intensity: Highly variable. Autumn is most likely to give you light rain of a moderate duration and brief, light snows if snow happens. Spring can give you some heavy rain of a moderate duration and also brief, light snow. Summer is the wettest season, with the longest storms and a high chance of strong storms. Winter is far more likely to give you snow than rain because the temperature will never be high enough to preclude snow but will often be low enough to preclude rain. Snows are more likely to be heavy in winter but are set to be of moderate duration, so you should get stretches of sun to break things up. Rain is still possible in winter, but it's outweighed by fog, snow, and sun to varying degrees. Temperature ranges are such that it's most likely to happen in the daylight hours, and if it happens it'll be light and brief.

Additional settings:

Fireplaces that are upgraded to auto-light will do so on active lots if the temperature falls below 50F/10C.

Any fallen leaves will be removed at the start of winter.

Insect spawners will not spawn in winter.

Download the preset here.

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

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if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

[jakesguitarstring]

slow mover || prologue || s.f.k

based off my sammy blurb in ...bless the telephone. a little friends to lovers. 

summary: growing up with sam was a dream, there was no one in the world who knew you better or who you knew better. but the years apart have caused a distance too great and things have between you both has changed. when he tells you he’s coming home, can things go back to how they were or did you miss your shot together? 

words: 1.1k 

masterlist 

taglist: there aren’t enough words to describe my love and gratitude @ageofflowerpower @theweightofstardust @mywaysooon @bumblebeeswrite (please message me to be added) 

warnings: eventual smut (18+ minors DNI!)

prologue || chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four

There are four seasons. It is a simple and irrefutable fact. Spring, the beginning, the awakening, the sowing of seeds. Summer, the heat, the vitality, the passion of long days in the sun. Autumn, the transition, the culmination, the preparation of times to come. Winter, the silence, the dormancy, the loneliness of long solitary nights. These are the days that encompass each and every life. As it has been since the first sunrise upon the earth and so it will be until the very last star burns out in the sky. In adolescence it is easy to recognize the modest shifts as the days change from one season to the next, noticing every time the wind blows differently and the scent of the air transforms. Yet as each of Earth’s rotations complete, suddenly you look out the window of your office and it is no longer spring, the flowers of rebirth have dried and fallen and the first glisten of snow arrives before you have time to blink. 

You sighed as you looked out at the vast emptiness of a Michigan winter, how many times in your youth did you swear you would be out of here as soon as you could? But life changes fast and drags on at a snail’s pace all at the same time and the plans you had made to leave were fading memories in the back of your mind as now it felt as though you were stuck, destined to spend your life watching each season change, just as it had for thousands of years. Perhaps you were jealous of the way the seasons were so free, so free to change and become something new. Never tied down to anything or anyone. As easy and free as the breeze of a late summer evening. Maybe you hated the changing of the seasons because it reminded you that time moves on without you. No one would pause the world for you. It spun and spun and spun on its axis. And you stood there and watched. 

Your phone pinged and pulled you out of your wandering thoughts. It was rare for you to get a text during work so you grabbed it quickly, worried it could be an emergency. You didn’t recognize the number. 

hey hope this is still your number. it’s Sam. i had to get a new phone (lost the old one somewhere in europe!) and didn’t have my contacts. it’s been way too long. please text me. I miss you. 

You read and reread the text over and over again, trying to make sure this was real and not a dream. It could be a dream, Sam Kiszka, your best friend (could you still call him your best friend?), was a frequent visitor in the night as you escaped into dreams. But this time it seemed real. He was texting you. He missed you. He was real. You swallowed and replied before you had time to talk yourself out of it. 

yeah it’s me. you know me… nothing ever really changes. can’t believe your phone is having more adventures than i am. miss you too, always. 

You sent it. You noticed your hands were shaking. When did texting Sam make your hands shake? Years of texts back and forth, of late nights giggling about inside jokes, of hiding your phone during science class to make fun of the teacher, of frantic homework help, of advice, of the almost I love yous. But Sam’s world moved faster than yours. It felt like you graduated and that same day he was packing up the car with his brothers and Danny to chase after their dreams. And they hadn’t stopped since. You were undeniably proud of everything they’d accomplished, you’d always known that they could do it, they were meant to be rock stars. The only thing you hadn’t been prepared for was being left behind. It was easier at first, you texted back and forth constantly and called as often as you could. Whenever he was home visiting you were top on his list to see right after his mom. But then you noticed that he wasn’t always present when he was with you, his mind worlds away. You couldn’t blame him. He’d seen the world. What did you have to offer anymore? The phone calls were shorter, he apologized for every time he said he had to go, but you couldn’t prevent the way your eyes stung with tears each time he hung up. So you pulled away. It was obvious to you that was what he wanted. You only replied to texts, never initiated conversations, and when he was home you made yourself busy and scarce.

Life moved on without him. You finished college. Got a job in town. Got an apartment. Dated for a while. Found a serious boyfriend. Moved in with him. You were an adult. An adult who pretended that she no longer dreamed of her best friend showing up on her doorstep to whisk her away. An adult who tried desperately not to think about what could have been if she had said yes when he had asked her the first time. An adult who just missed her best friend. 

Your phone pinged again almost immediately. 

thank god! can’t tell you how much i miss you. we’re back in town in a week. let’s get together. no excuses this time. 

No excuses this time. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He knew that you’d been avoiding him. He used to tell you that you were a terrible liar, that you had the easiest tell in the world, and to never, ever play poker. Obviously, he knew what you were doing, even if it was over text or on the phone. Because he knew you. And you knew him. 

i’ll see you next week. 

No excuses this time. 

In a week your best friend would be back in town. And you’d promised to see him. An uneasiness settled in your stomach. It was easier to miss him, easier to keep him at further than an arm’s length, easier to exist with the Sam that existed only in your memories. The Sam that called you in the middle of the night to tell you he thought of a really good joke and if he didn’t tell you now he’d forget or held your hand at the mall when your ex walked by or told you that he didn’t like your haircut just so he could see the face you made when you were mad at him. That Sam was your Sam, he belonged to you and your heart. He didn’t exist anymore. And he wasn’t the one coming home in a week. But he was the one you missed the most.

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

[ally-127]

Can I request study date with mingyu at the library but your skirt is a little to short for his liking and then... I’ll let you decide lmao

study date

pairing : mingyu x reader ( college!AU ) word count : 2.5k warnings : public sex; exhibitionism; teasing; degradation; fingering; orgasm denial; music : ‘flow’ by monsta x a/n : i added some fluffy, slice of life at the start because who would i be without that

it was sunny out that day, rays of golden sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. lively birds chirped outside your window, accompanied by the hustle and bustle down the streets of seoul.

it was a nice day to have plans, which was how you quickly scrambled for your phone to text mingyu in order to make some in the first place.

study date at the library?

he replied you less than a minute later.

see you at 12 :)

shoving a thick block of a textbook for constitutional law into your tote bag along with your laptop and some loose sheets of lined paper, you set the bag down in front of your door before sorting through your dresser for something loose and light to wear.

to your surprise, you managed to find a dress in the small expanse of your drawers. it was made of black satin and had long, thin strings all over the place. as you put it on with a slight struggle, you realised that the dress had a slight cowl neckline in the front and backless, tied together by a ribbon just between your shoulder blades.

this resulted in you discarding your bra from underneath. it was a daring move, considering how thin the material is, but you were running out of time and couldn’t be bothered to find another outfit. besides, you also wanted to give mingyu a little tease just for the kicks.

after quickly lacing up your favourite pair of matching black low-cut converses, you were out the door in less than five minutes.

the walk to the library was not as pleasant as you had expected it to be. the weather was warmer than usual. it was a sign of spring transitioning into summer.

the midday, sizzling heat and the humid air drew perspiration from your skin.

by the time you’d reached the designated location, you were covered in light sheen of sweat and your hair was pulled up into a mess of a bun on the top of your head.

at least your mascara and eyeliner were waterproof.

the library was packed with people, mostly students. their heads were all bent, almost to ninety degrees, in focused silence. there were hushed murmurs here and there, but other than that the place was mostly quiet.

as it should be.

you pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, your eyes scanning the area to look for a particularly tall boy with particularly sharp canines and a particularly sweet smile.

“looking for me?” a low voice asked from behind you.

you jumped, startled.

mingyu stood in front of you, clad in a classic black t-shirt and light-washed, ripped jeans. his hair, the colour of milk chocolate, was swept away from his face. those strands looked incredibly soft you were one step away from asking what his shampoo and conditioner were.

the heat you were now feeling was clearly not from the weather as his eyes, akin to the colour of his hair, raked down your body.

you brushed away the momentary burn of exhilaration you felt from his stare, deciding to focus on the smile that tugged by his lips.

he gave you a light kiss on the lips as a form of greeting. you offered him a bright smile in return. no words were exchanged between you two then.

that was, until you began to receive weird looks from those who occupied the tables closest to the entrance for lingering there

“come on,” you took his arm. “let’s find a place to sit.”

you two found a spot by the panelled windows that overlooked the city ahead. cars, skyscrapers and pedestrians were splashed out before you like an urban art piece.

courtesy of the sun, shadows in the shape of the grids formed on the wooden desk. this tiny detail made the entire spot an even more pleasing sight to see.

“pretty, huh?” mingyu said under his breath.

you nodded.

a minute later, you had all your materials scattered across your workspace. your laptop sat the furthest away, the presentation slides from your lecture last week on full screen for reference and your bulky textbook right under your nose.

mingyu busied himself with reading a copy of jane austen’s pride and prejudice. his space, in comparison to yours, was looking rather desolate.

“aside from being a hopeless romantic,” you mused, eyeing the book in his hand. “do you ever, you know, study?”

“already did this morning,” he murmured without looking up. he sat further back from the desk, an ankle crossed over a knee. “finished most of the syllabus covered so far. even went the extra mile to skim through the next chapter.”

“productive,” you couldn’t help the sarcasm as averted your eyes back to your book and paper, uncapping the pen to begin writing.

as time went by, you realised that mingyu was here literally only to accompany you. he didn’t have anything to do aside from indulging himself in elizabeth bennet and mr. darcy. you grinned to yourself at the fact, your heart taking massive leap in your chest.

“what’re you smiling at?” he peered past your shoulder at what you were working on. “is constitutional law that fun?”

“it’s nothing,” you waved him off.

mingyu shifted his chair forward so he was closer to you. you felt strong arms wrap around your bare shoulders and his chin resting on your collarbone.

“it’s not nothing,” his book dangled from his hand as he clasped them by your neck.

“i’m just happy,” you put your pen down. “that you’re here with me.”

“i can say the same,” his chin moved on your shoulder as he spoke. “i missed you.”

“it’s been three days,” you murmured.

“yeah, well,” he said, trailing off into a daydream. “it’s three days too long.”

“patience is a virtue,” you gave him a swift glance from the side of your eye.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked at you and now you knew you probably have said the wrong thing.

sooner or later he’d use this against you.

you resumed writing, mingyu remaining in his position with his arms enveloped around you while he peeked at your notes and textbook.

“i’m not illiterate but i can’t seem to understand a single word you’re writing,” you saw him frown in confusion in your peripheral vision as he read the information you were jotting down on paper.

“i don’t blame you,” you murmured, a mild headache beginning to form in your temples.

you sighed as you noticed one of your points about the freedom of speech needed further elaboration.

you were sure this library contained some sort of reference in the legal section that you could use. so you tapped on mingyu’s arm, silently asking him to move so you could stand up and look for it.

“where are you going?” he looked up at you.

in this close proximity, mingyu could see the slight outline of your nipples through the thin material of your dress. the buds were hardened in response to the air conditioner being blasted in this library.

you weren’t wearing a bra today.

he bit his lip, feeling himself slowly grow rigid in his pants. he silently cursed himself for reacting like a preteen who had just seen tits for the first time.

“to the law section,” you replied.

mingyu kept his eyes on you. from a lower angle, he was able discern how awfully short the skirt of your dress was and from the way you walked so carelessly it seemed like you didn’t notice it at all. the shape of your ass was highlighted even more so now, the end of your dress teasing the top most part of your thighs.

if you had just lifted your leg slightly, whatever you were wearing underneath would be exposed to the naked eye. if you were even wearing any.

he inhaled sharply, unsure on what to do with his concupiscent thoughts. he watched you disappear as you wandered further down the hall of the library.

your footsteps were light on the ground as you browsed through the different shelves of law books, eyes scanning for the word ‘constitution’. you craned your neck up, finally spotting one and reached up to get it.

it was, however, way out of your reach. no matter how much you tiptoed and how far your arms extended, there was no way of getting it. you looked around the room for a stepping stool but sadly there were none in sight. in addition to that the entire section was empty, not a soul to be seen.

so you considered jumping, your shoes thumping mutedly against the wooden floor.

obviously, that didn’t work. it only drained your energy.

almost effortlessly a second later, an arm reached up to grab the exact book you had your eye on.

before you could turn to protest, you were met by the face of your boyfriend. mingyu leaned himself against the shelf, holding the book up almost teasingly.

like holding a piece of raw meat in front of a tiger.

“looking for this?”

now, you felt like the prey.

there was a newfound hunger in the way he stared at you. a flame, bright with excitement, burned behind his eyes and it could only mean one thing.

you weren’t unfamiliar with it. you were just confused as to what triggered him or more specifically,

what turned him on.

you already had something in mind, but you wanted to tease the answer out of him.

“do you know,” he slid the book back on the shelf with ease as he took more steps closer. “that what you’re wearing is far too short?”

so that was what it’s about.

“do i?” you glanced down, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.

you played along, with pleasure.

“don’t talk back,” the more steps forward he took, the more steps backward you took until you were up against the wall.

mingyu was right in front of you now, lips millimetres away.

“do you enjoy other men staring at your ass like that?” he held your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger. he could force your mouth open if he pressed any harder, but he didn’t. “answer me.”

“i didn’t know anyone was staring at me,” you said truthfully but a knowing smirk swept across your lips. “and i didn’t know it would have that much of an effect on you.”

“are you sure?” his eyes trailed down to your chest, where your nipples peeked through.

“maybe i wanted to tease you,” you laughed at how tense he was, already spotting a tent in his jeans as he snaked an arm around your waist. “but that was it.”

“is it funny how hard i am for you?” he closed the distance between your bodies so his crotch grounded against your pelvic bone.

“a little,” you said, voice turning breathy as mingyu shifted his hand from your jaw down to graze the skin on your inner thigh.

heat blossomed in your core, the urge to press your thighs together apparent as his hand travelled further up your dress. his hand disappeared under your skirt, the material hiking up his wrist. the tips of his fingers brushed the lace of your underwear, almost your clit but not there just yet.

“mingyu,” your hands sought purchase on his broad shoulders, head leaning against the wall.

“is it funny now?” his whispered into your ear, long fingers unfurling to cup your sex. he pushed his hand up into you. jolts of electricity soared up your spine, your body almost jerking upwards against his from the sudden pressure.

“n-not here,” at this rate, you began to whimper.

“why not?” mingyu’s voice had noticeably gone down a couple octaves, the baritone quaking through your core. his spread his fingers in your underwear so his middle finger rubbed directly on your slit. your back arched on the wall, pressing your chest harder on him in response. your hips undulated on his hand, urging him to fucking move.

“people w-will see.”

“they’ll see how much of a slut you are,” he nipped the lobe of your ear, breath hot and needy. he stroked your clit, slow and unrelenting. “just for me.”

his words, dirty and brimming with desire, were enough to intoxicate you in a haze of what he was feeling. his lips form a sardonic grin of your state, finally giving you a taste of your own medicine.

“you like that?” his hand from your waist moved up to your breast, squeezing it and shooting pleasure straight to your aching pussy. “you like letting the whole world see you take my cock right on this wall?”

you pressed your lips on his to hide the moan the slips from them as he rubbed your clothed-sex with full force. he gladly swallowed the wanton sound of your cry, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to grant his tongue access to the depths of your heated mouth. a multitude of groans rumbled in his chest, soft enough so only you could hear, while he nudged a thigh between your legs for support and elevate your leg slightly for him to reach deeper.

your hands carded through his hair, pulling on the roots as he continued his assault on your clit. your eyes were half-closed and fluttering from overwhelming pleasure. he pushed your panties to the side, slowly and allowing the elastic to snap against your now exposed folds. you jumped, the pain eliciting a new sensation.

mingyu took the opportunity to slip his ring finger into you, your juices providing more than enough lubrication for him to glide in. the wave of your hips—rolling against his hand—became more sharp in movement, more desperate to get all of him.

“you’re so wet already,” he mumbled into your ear, sinking his finger to the hilt. “and we’ve barely just gotten started.” he added another finger—his middle—into you. he pumped his digits slowly first to stretch you out, curling the tips to stroke your walls. you moaned into his neck, his fingers increasing in pace.

“you have to be quiet for me or we’ll be in huge trouble,” mingyu ran his free hand up your neck to your lips, swiping the spit off your lips and jutting a thumb between your soft appendages. “but i’m sure you’d like that, won’t you?”

you took a moment to quirk your lips up in a smirk, trapping his thumb between your teeth, silently telling him that oh yes you’d like that very much.

“dirty slut,” he growled in your ear. “always so tight,” his fingers formed a ‘v’ shape in your inner walls for a brief second before returning to thrusting in and out of you.

soon enough a release tugged at the base of your spine. your core clenched around his digits as a mild rush of euphoria began to approach. sensing it through the increased tightness around his fingers and the excess slick that ran down your inner thighs, mingyu retracted his fingers.

a quiet whine left your lips from the orgasm that had been ripped off from you. you rocked your hips upwards in hopes that he would do something about it until he tut, shaking his head.

“patience is a virtue, my love.”

[starkidpotty]

The Good Side [DLM]

You and Draco lament on what could’ve been and what would’ve been fun had things been different. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader 

Words: ~2.1k

A/N: I took a lot of liberties writing Draco out, so I’m sorry if the characterization is a little whack. (any draco writers out there...advice is welcome pls message huhu) i hope u guys enjoy it nonetheless <3 

The sun beat down on the northern part of Diagon Alley that day. It was the transitional period between summer and spring, where the weather hit just the right spot and everyone was out to enjoy their time. It was quite the contrast to what you and Draco had come to discuss at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Shop.

Draco was sat across from you, people-watching while scooping up his raspberry ice cream. You decided against ice cream that day, with your hands folded gracefully on your lap. You and he would occasionally steal glances at each other, trying to urge each other to start the conversation. Whether it was pride or shyness that hindered you two from talking, you were not sure. The heat was starting to get to you, as you were now starting to get annoyed with the silence you two didn’t need to share. 

“How’s the MACUSA and Ministry effort?” Draco starts, as though he were aware of the irritation building inside you. He was always one step ahead of you, a skill he still proved to have been proficient at even though it had been years after you two parted ways. 

“Same old, same old–only I spearhead it now.” You answer him quite proudly. He stops picking at his ice cream to flash a smile your way. 

“I always told you’d  get it, didn’t I? The Ministry would be fools to let such talent go to waste.” 

A heavy pause blankets you both. The air between you two was a tripe mixture of nostalgia and despondency. As uncomfortable as it was, neither of you made moves to fuel the conversation further. Draco picks at his cup again, and you fixate on a wizard carrying a stack of books making his way out of Flourish and Blott’s. 

You take a deep breath in, “Alright, I think it’s time to save us the awkwardness, yeah?” 

Draco puts down his ice cream cup, turning his body and chair to face you. He perches his folded hands on the table and looks at you intently. Your body is still facing the street the ice cream shop overlooks, but your head is turned to look back at him. 

“I need the ring back.” He states his purpose simply. 

“Then, you’ll get it back. Need not worry, Draco.” You grab your purse and shuffle through its contents until you finally palm the velvet ring box. You gently place the box on the table. 

“Perfect.” Draco says to you, as he opens the ring box, examining the emerald ring inside. 

“When are you planning on asking Astoria?” You ask Draco, trying to make your tone as neutral as possible. 

“All I can say is soon. I just know I’m going to marry her.” 

You won’t lie to yourself and say that there isn’t a small part of you that finds this deeply saddening. Draco and your’s relationship was good, to say the least–as good as it gets as childhood acquaintances to Slytherin housemates to lovers. All firsts were shared with each other: first kiss, first time, first I love you’s. You watched him as he received the Dark mark, held his hand through Lucius’ trial after the war, and watched each other in the early stages of your respective careers. It wasn’t the beginning and middle that was terrible so much as the end. There was never any big event that had caused either of you to fall out of love. There was no third party, no betrayal, no selfishness, no greed. It was quiet–that was the best way you could describe it–the ending crept up on the both of you, sleeping on your chests until the weight became too heavy to shudder away. You looked at each other and no longer sought each other out in the future. The breakup itself was amicable and neutral, with the both of you accepting that you had merely outgrown each other, despite having grown together. On some nights, imagining what could’ve been sent you down two paths, where you either resented each other or fell back in together. It bothers you sometimes to think of the latter, but you know well enough it was going to be the former. 

You smile sweetly at Draco in response, looking back down at your hands as you were at a loss for words. 

“I’m glad you found someone, I really am.” You say as you finally unknot the tie your tongue was in.

Draco looks around, as though making sure no one would be able to hear the next sentence to fall out of his mouth.  “D’you ever think we could’ve made it to that point?” 

“You did propose to me, hence why we’re here.” You chuckle lightly and continue, “but, I think we would’ve grown to hate each other, if I’m being honest, Draco.” 

Draco squints to look up at the sun, trying to muster a response. 

You look back at him with your mouth twisted into a half-smile, brows furrowed, mildly amused that he asked. He finally turns to you and catches your expression, making him smile slightly. 

“Why do you think that?” Draco asks you intently. 

“Well, I think we just became different people. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” 

One of the things Draco had to learn was choosing his words carefully before speaking them. He was never keen on being heedful with what he’d say, as evidenced by his formative years at Hogwarts, even when he was talking to you. However, his early years in litigation forced him to catch his tongue before it made any unfavorable comment on stakeholders during a trial. His eyes were shut in deep concentration, trying to map out what to say next to you. 

“What happened between us?” Draco asks you. “I still ask myself that a lot sometimes. Not for anything, but it’s just hard for me to understand. It just happened upon us, quickly too might I add.” 

You take a few moments to ponder, to craft out your dialogue, “It wasn’t that anything happened, Draco. It was moreso that nothing happened at all.”

“Did we grow to hate each other, is that it?” Draco tries hard to hide his classic schoolboy sneer, but fails. 

“Draco, I could never hate you. You of all people should know that.” You huff out, suddenly frustrated at his tone. 

“Sorry, [Y/N], that didn’t come out quite right.” 

“S’alright, I understand.” 

Draco curses himself for the drastic change in mood, he didn’t mean for it to happen. 

“It’s just strange to think, I suppose.” He asks again, more careful now with his tone.

“What is?” You turn your head to face him. Suddenly, the years you spent apart are splayed on his face in developing forehead wrinkles and tired eyes. You are studying the new features on his face intently, making sure that this is the Draco you had spent more than two decades with. 

“Weren’t we always sure of what was to come to both of us? As though we had so much control over the next few years of our lives?” 

You breathe in and close your eyes before you answer. In a flash, you are taken back to nights spent in the Slytherin common room, talking hypothetical situations with Draco–what you’d do if in the event the hospital made a mistake and you were having twins instead of one child, what if you became a quidditch star and he your number #1 fan instead of working for the Ministry, what if you both ran off to an island off the coast of Greece and raised sheep and never came back? 

You reply to him solemnly, “I think the universe is funny that way, don’t you think?” 

“Merlin, you sound like you belong with the quacks in the Department of Mysteries.” 

“Shut up, it’s a saying muggles like to parrot, thought it would go nicely with the tone of conversation.” 

Draco pauses and continues, “Didn’t we always have our own sense of time? That extended into our plans, who our hypothetical kids would be. It’s insane to me how that changed so fast,” 

“I agree.” You tell him, “We were supposed to marry each other, for Merlin’s sake!” 

Draco sighs, looking off to the side. 

You never held any ill-intent with how you and Draco ended, but now you realize that was just you. Not once had you considered that he was hurting more than you due to the peaceful nature of the breakup. It was criminally naive of you to have thought Draco was just as at peace as you after ending a decade-long relationship. 

“Well, do you hate me, Draco?” You ask him at your realization. 

“More than 10 years together and, what? Four years apart, you think I could hate you?” Draco asks you, almost offended at your question. “You know the answer to that, [Y/N].”

“Were you ever angry at me? For how,” You pause trying to look for the term to best describe, “calm I was when I told you I wanted to leave?”

Draco’s practiced this conversation so many times in his head, but he still takes a moment to process the words he wants to use to convey his emotions. “For a time, yes. I was angry with you. But not the kind of angry I usually am. It was an anger that made me question so many things.”

“I had just always thought time was an excellent indicator of a strong relationship, I mean, 10 years? Would you question it then? A decade? So, to put it simply, I was angry–angry that time wasn’t enough to salvage what we had. But, I think that was naivety talking. This is in no offense to you at all, I cherish our time together so much so. But, Astoria? It’s as right as anything, and not even time could tell me how to feel about her.” 

You look at Draco in awe, wondering when he had crossed the line from boy to man in the four years you spent apart. Draco was always smart, no doubt. But, this Draco sat in front of you–carefully choosing his words and explaining his emotions–it was entirely new. You reached over to hold Draco’s hand, but not in the way you and he would hold hands years ago. It was in an I’m proud of how far you’ve grown, type of way. Draco was taken aback, but understood quickly, always privy to your emotions, whether they were tacit or overt. He squeezed your hand back. 

“[Y/N], I need you to know that you are such a huge part of who I am today, I can never discount that. Ever.” Draco says to you, your hand still in his. “We’ve done so much good for each other, we really have.” 

“We really have, Draco. Astoria’s so lucky, she has to know that.” 

Draco’s famous smirk makes an appearance on his mouth, “I’m damn well sure she knows.” 

You throw your head back in laughter, letting go of his hand, “Merlin, there you are again–cocky boy from Slytherin.” 

“Cocky boy from the litigation department, I’d rather hear that.” 

You both laugh at each other like no time has passed. Like both of you were back in the Slytherin common room after bedtime talking about all the dumb things two teenagers thought were important at the time. You two catch up a little bit more, further detailing your efforts in dating and at the ministry (with the former being quite futile), and he diving into how he and Astoria came to be. You and Draco filled in the blanks from the last few years until the conversation boils down to a halt. You say your goodbyes, hugging each other, wishing each other well and walking toward opposite ends of Diagon Alley. 

As much as you thought this a heavy task to fulfill, you left the conversation with a light heart and even lighter shoulders. There is relief you haven’t felt since you left Draco. The relationship, as good as it was, was best left how it ended. No mourning, no lamenting could rewrite the ending or the years succeeding it in the same way no regret or guilt could change the years prior to it. All you knew was the good that you and Draco left in the spaces between you two. 

--

masterlist here | requests open

[not-sewell]

hey there! how about 41 & 44 for all of your detectives? 😌

hi! sorry for getting back so late! 🙈

thank you so much for the ask tho! i love the choice of questions. 💕

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

to answer the first part, all of my detectives are bisexual women. now, getting to answering the rest of it:

Mona's attention, when talking about physical characteristics, is most easily caught by someone's eyes and the way they carry themself. eyes, to her, are one of the most expressive features that one has and reflect one's character, to an extent. eyes that reflect warmth and gentleness, eyes that seem to have an ever-present, non-threatening twinkle in them, eyes that reflect friendliness – all draw her in the most. effectively, that means she's most drawn to kindness and general ease and openness that a person may have about themself. this is also something she needs in a relationship: warmth and ease and openness. she needs reassurance.

Nate ticks a lot of boxes for her here, but so did Bobby, at one point; he was as charming as Nate is, and somewhere, throws her off a bit. Nate is still far more genuine and respectful than Bobby ever was, and yet, his polite deflection of matters about his life keeps her on edge, even if she respects his wishes. so, there's that.

talking purely of physical characteristics, Dinah is really drawn to people who dress stylishly and put some effort into their appearance, as a whole. one of the first things she notices in a person is also their smile and the ease with which they let it adorn their face. it makes sense, then, that she'd be attracted to people who smile often and have this friendly aura and are easy to get along with. however, she tends to admire such people more if they also don't hesitate to back themself (and their values) up, if need be. besides that, she finds herself drawn to people who know how to chill, given her struggle with doing just that in the past. what she needs in a relationship is thoughtfulness. she needs effort and some space for vulnerability.

clearly, Adam is not the kind of person she’d usually experience attraction for. the fact that she does anyway puzzled her for a while before she just kind of resigned to it; she’s not one to deny her feelings. but she also recongises that Adam needs time, and she can see how good this can be, so she holds on.

Arzoo doesn’t really have a particular preference when it comes to physical features but she does find a confident walk very attractive. that is something she notices in everyone she meets - the way they walk. in fact, confidence is something she finds deeply attractive. she also admires the quality of wanting to work on growing as a person because, to her, there's always an opportunity to grow. she needs that in a relationship too – an opportunity to grow. but she also needs to feel safe. and wanted. a gentle reassurance that what they have is worthwhile.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

Arzoo's not sure what attracted her to Morgan, even if it's all "casual". the only thing Morgan has going for her is her confidence. but that cannot be it, GOD. Morgan is so full of herself. and Arzoo strongly believes that one cannot be completely satisfied with oneself, ever. it's something that she's based her whole personality on. and Morgan challenges that. she reflects confidence not just in herself but also shows such unshaking faith in Arzoo that it sets her heart alight with a flicker of a familiar feeling that she quashes too quickly to take notice.

Nimah takes notice of people's smiles and how they brighten the features of their face. she also thinks dimples are kinda cute??? when it comes to personality, Nimah finds it attractive when someone is unabashedly themself, given how much she actually struggles with it herself. she’s also drawn to people who are warm and kinda hospitable (?), and ensure that others are at ease. that’s also something that she looks for in a relationship: acceptance, the space to be whatever (and however) the hell she wishes to be, and effortlessness.

Farah’s nature did overwhelm Nimah at the very beginning but she didn’t miss simply how comfortable Farah seemed with herself, a reckless abandon that was so unmistakably her. and just how easy it was to be in Farah's company: as a colleague, as a friend, as...something more. Nimah loves how she can be unapologetically herself around Farah, without being bound by things like "image". what she has with Farah is something she's never had the fortune to have – an effortless relationship; something that flows with the ease of serene water that takes her in, completely.

i’ve already answered for Mona right here! a one-line description would be: whatever season (and weather!) it is for the brief transition period between winter and spring!

Dinah really loves spring. she loves the liveliness, the vibrancy, the colours that the season brings. she loves how pleasant it usually is. the best days, though, are ones when the sky is adorned with just the right number of clouds for it to be bright without any actual heat from the sun. at least there’s light at the end of a wintery tunnel. that’s probably the only redeeming factor about winter. that, and the festive season. but mostly the former, given how no amount of cheer and excitement can keep her hands from getting cold. and her teeth from chattering annoyingly. just another thing to hate about winters.

Arzoo’s favourite season’s got to be winter. she loves the chill it brings, the warmth that it promises: a cup of hot coffee, the fireplace, the company of her cosiest blanket and her favourite book from childhood - all of it, sure. but what she likes a tad more is the general cheerfulness that winters bring. she does not really celebrate the holidays, but the whole place seems to buzz with energy around that time. what she loathes, though, is monsoon. the sludge, the puddles, the general inconvenience that it brings with it. honestly, the only thing that monsoon has got it right with is the lovely petrichor that it leaves behind. that’s it. so, obviously, one would find her in an extra-grouchy mood on particularly rainy days.

there’s something about the period of a slow transition between autumn and winter that Nimah absolutely adores. the wind gets chillier but it’s not cold, everyone readies themselves for cosier days, the skies get a little clearer, and yet, sunsets are scenic as ever, and days are speckled with the brief and gentle warmth of the sun. it’s just...perfect. what isn’t perfect is spring, only because she cannot handle the pollens in the air, about which she’ll groan internally for the larger part of the season but yeah. she’s also not a big fan of summers, complaining the most about how hot it is because she cannot handle the heat; it’s annoying enough as is, and it keeps taking away her focus from matters at hand.

[halfwayinlight]

Today I had a very basic realization: while I'm searching for a new home to live in, it's more important than EVER that the space I do have needs to be as functional as possible and tidy for my overall mental wellness.

This seems like "well, yeah, duh."

I'm sure I've had this realization at other times in the past. But I realized that I'm in the middle of multiple things in my home right now that have every room looking chaotic. Particularly my bedroom, which has always been sacred space I try to keep clearer than any other space because I need it relatively clear to help me relax to go to sleep at night.

Generally tidiness and/or cleanliness helps people relax. But having clear space is also a relief for me because a messy floor contributed to a very physically traumatic freak accident a few years ago (almost exactly 3 years so it's more on my mind these last few days)

What I do love about this epiphany is that it led to a few quick action steps that have already made a significant impact on my wellbeing:

• tidying my bedroom floor. Even if the clothes i stared to sort 3 days ago just go on my closet floor instead. I'm not doing laundry today so it will one less moderate stressor knowing the clothes were on my bedroom floor are gone

• stowing away my down comforter. It keeps getting shoved around the bed or off of it because it's May. Which also motivated me to clean out the storage tote it goes in and pack away both it and my heated mattress pad

• truly switching out my winter and spring/summer wardrobe. I didn't use parts of either wardrobe because of the pandemic but now things are stowed away or hung up neatly in prep for the transition back to my office

• putting away a few misc things like my eye mask that i use on weekends and stowing my winter hats and gloves

• now that the floor is cleared i can vacuum which always improves air quality

[algae-soup]

Chapter 1

He paused the meditation playlist and turned his eyes to the night. A moment later he heard again through the darkness, Wap pop pop pop pop pop. Wap pop pop pop pop pop. The woods were full of snaps and rustles but this mysterious voice cracked loudly through the near silence. It hooted once more after no reply until a far off rival, who now called back from the distance, hooted wap pop pop pop pop pop!

 Gumbo sat up and leaned back into the live oak. “Gotta get to the marina tomorrow if I wanna catch the ferry” he said, hitting play on LoFi birdsong to relax/study to.

“Oh yeah” said the owl, close by but still invisible. “Time to pull the trigger huh?”

“Yeah, gotta see my guy first though. Stock up again” he said, sliding his hand over his pouch even though he just checked the stash ten minutes ago.

“Aw well. Come visit whenever, you can crash in my tree”

“Hell yeah thanks. It’s perfect here, I just want to go home for a bit you know”

“You should consider migrating. I know it’s not your thing but some seasonality might be nice. Not my thing neither but sometimes you need a lil structure. Wap pop pop pop pop pop pop. Should I go beat this stupid freak?”

“I won’t be there forever. Another day or two in the city and I’ll take off. But yeah I’ll be back down someday” Forest covered mountains burst out of the sea in his mind. Pink and orange cliffs glowing in the morning sunlight as the icy prisms clinging to his fur glisten and melt. “Get his ass. I’ll hit you up later”

Wap pop pop pop pop pop pop! The branch creaked and the bird was gone. Gumbo turned off the music and fell asleep looking up at the moon through the sweeping branches.

The nice thing about trees is they’re perfect. Perfection is everywhere in the rhythm and disorder of the coast and the delta. Thousands of islands scoured away by the tide and pulled upward again out of the sea for hundreds of years, the region was locked in continuous transition. It was a place of endless adventure and mystery, and it was cool ending up here for a while. It’ll be nice heading home too. Morning came and Gumbo sat up. You could just see the shore through the brush and where the cotton candy sky met the ocean in between the innumerable islands. After watching the sun rise through the trees, he ate some berries and moss for breakfast before gathering some more and stowing them in his pouch. It was humid and sticky already and he set off toward the beach, brushing the detritus out of his ass fur. 

As he turned away from the open ocean more islands appeared. He walked along the beach towards the end, and continued walking into the water until he was nearly submerged. At seven feet tall, he was able to slowly walk his way across several channels paddling with his hands to propel himself. Larger channels were too deep so he swam, long strokes and sometimes on his back. After a while he got the the island where he last stowed the raft. He pulled it from the brush into the water and continued up the creek. The tide rolled him along as he paddled, doing most of the work and often moving him in the correct direction. Schools of fish passed by and flocks of shorebirds bobbed in the wake in the shady coves waiting to poke around for grubs when the tide went out. He smiled and waved at everyone, stopping to wrestle with an alligator pal and he had kelp salad for lunch with an ancient snapping turtle, after giving her a nice shell rub with a handmade oil of his. He veered the raft between mangroves and watched the fish do the same, but more nimbly. It was a perfect morning in the bayou.

He made it to the marina in the afternoon. “Hey Bucky. What do ya know?”

“Leaving in five minutes, I’ll get you a seat. Bark! Bark!” Bucky ran toward the docks. 

Gumbo crossed his eyes and mumbled to himself, heartworms, flea bites, fur matted down; give me the mangy tail of a hound. Gumbo crouched down and leaned forward onto his hands. He exhaled deeply and slowly, channeling his focus inward. He felt his haunches shrinking down and his muscles condense into tightly wound springs. His next inhale was through a snout. The cattle dog sat on his hind legs where a bigfoot had just stood and sniffed the sweet salty air. He trotted around on four legs to adjust to his smaller stature and began panting in the heat. Gumbo pissed on a tree and ran off after Bucky.

  Gumbo the dog stepped off the ferry into New Orleans. The sun was setting and the evening air hung heavy with moisture and was full of colorful noises from inside the marina and around the docks. There was movement everywhere; fishermen mending nets and preparing for the morning, dockhands swinging around crates, smoking and talking and laughter in every direction. The ocean breeze mingled with the smells of hot fish and exhaust. Gumbo stretched and walked along the river edge and turned down an alley. A midden of clamshells stood at the back door of one shack where plumes of smoke billowed out of the open door. Music was blasting over the clattering and yelling from inside the kitchen as Gumbo approached, and he barked into the thick hot cloud of fumes.

“Whos that! Whatchoo want?” A wrinkly bearded face appeared through the grease fog. “Oh mon amie, como ca va?? Lemme fix you something!” He disappeared into the smoke and rematerialized with a steaming bowl and stepped out into the alley.

He set the bowl at Gumbo’s feet, “Beans n rice, no flavor, just for you” he winked at Gumbo.

“Thanks Francois” Gumbo said before chowing down, “busy night?”

Francois dabbed his forehead with the inside of his apron, “not too bad for a Saturday. Not like you’d know about Saturdays you bum” he laughed.

“Dat’s right baby, every day is Saturday” Gumbo said with jowls full of beans. “jambalaya slaps, thanks”

“Merci beaucoup! It’s even better with the fixings,” Francois said “scallops, shrimp, boudain… you’re missing out. Get me anything special down der?”

Gumbo licked his chops clean and stuck his snout into his pouch, pulling out a mouthful of pearls. Ivory, sapphire, bronze, and one glossy black. Francois crouched down and Gumbo dropped them gently into his open palm.

“Oh mon amie, these are beautiful. Bon chien!” He stood up and flicked his wrist and the pearls were gone. “I’ll save these for something special. You wanna come grab a drink? Powdered pearl milkshake, for vitality! Got a big night ahead of you?”

“No thanks, I’m on my way to see Bordo and then I’m heading up north in a couple days” Gumbo said.

“Way up north to Baton Rouge yeah?”

“Bit farther” Gumbo said, “shooting to get to Acadia by the end of the summer”

“Mmmmm” Francois’ pursed lips turned to a warm smile, “long long ways, bet you’re walking too huh. Well if I don’t see you before you go, I better give you this now” he reached into his pocket and retrieved an antique oyster knife. Steel blade with a walnut handle inlaid with an intricate geometric design, and covered in a thick coat of slime. “Shucked a lot of oysters with this Gumbo, it’ll treat you well. Just point and shoot” he said with another wink.

“Wow this fuckin rocks, thanks man” Gumbo took the knife in his mouth and stashed it into his pouch.

“Keep in touch chouchou! I gotta get back to it. Lotta fish to fry”

“For sure. Bon soir” 

Francois returned to the kitchen and Gumbo continued up the alley. It was two miles walking up the greenway and a few city blocks to Temple Cemetery. The city lights dimmed as he entered under the tree canopy, and his eyes glowed yellow, adjusting to the dark. He trotted off down the earthen path.