#allotment harvest

[allotmenteer]

I haven’t posted for a while, but thought I’d share a particularly nice harvest from the veg garden this week 😍

[butterscotchgriffin]

abundant harvest

(a friend living close by let me have a 4x4 section of their yard to build a raised bed. Grew cucumbers, potatoes, and tomatoes. Cucumbers came in real late. The sweet million tomatoes have been growing like real champs all season.. never grew potatoes before and haven't harvested any yet, so who knows!!)

[chokrihizem]

🌱 Celery Seed Harvesting Made Easy! 🌱 

Harvesting celery seeds has never been easier with our step-by-step guide! In this video, you'll learn how to effectively gather, dry, and store these potent seeds. From cutting the seed heads to handling them with care, we cover all the essential techniques to ensure a successful harvest. Explore the aromatic world of celery seeds and unlock their numerous health benefits, including essential vitamins and minerals. This video is perfect for both experienced gardeners and beginners looking to expand their gardening skills and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Watch now and transform your gardening journey! 🌼

[cassiefairy]

Allotment update: I've weeded the plot!

After a wet and warm summer, the allotment plot was ridiculously overgrown with weeds. Here's a rather satisfying before and after of the work we've done to get it back to being a usable plot, plus some updates on our current produce...

You may remember from my previous allotment update that the last time I visited our allotment, I was overwhelmed by the size and volume of the weeds. They were half my height and as dense as rainforest (!) – you couldn’t walk through them and the raspberries were growing over the path so really you couldn’t even get into the plot. In the image above, I’ve already started to pull out the weeds in…

[phoebejaysims]

Allotments Mod - Download

I made this mod for @desiree-uk! It's being shared as per her suggestion. A big thank you to her and I hope you all enjoy!

Put your community (or residential) gardens to use! Create and rent allotments, push gardening interactions and make a nice profit while you're at it.

Place the allotment marker in a gated enclosure, set the sim who will be renting the allotment, and they'll take care of all the plants within their enclosure, plus partake in other specified duties.

Available Duties - Toggle on/off - [visibility subject to lot-type]

Water,

Weed,

Harvest,

Get Fertiliser**,

Fertilise Plants,

Dispose of Dead Plants,

Rake Leaves,

Burn or Dispose Leaves.

Gardening Push

As the allotment marker is a meta object, the sim renting the marker may autonomously be pushed to the lot to garden their allotment while inactive.

The marker is also a broadcaster object, so while within the vicinity, the renter will be pushed to complete any outstanding garden activities while in range.

You can also set up dedicated gardening days to push your sim to the lot and prevent your sim from coming to garden during certain seasons.

Payment

Set an owner for the allotment or attach a Bronzo* bank to the marker and make your sim pay to use the space! You can even set up automatic rent payments.

Harvesting

Link a harvest box to the allotment marker and all harvested produce will go straight into the box instead of clogging up your sims inventory. You can also sell produce straight from the box!

Requirements:

*My social clubs mod and **Ani's compost mod. Without these, the mod will at worst, crash, and at best, not work as intended.

Please read the included documentation for a more comprehensible feature breakdown.

Objects:

A collection file is included for easy access to the objects.

Otherwise: the harvest box is in storage/misc. for $190 and the allotment marker is in outdoors/lawn ornaments for $35.

Thanks:

To @aroundthesims for generously allowing me to use her objects for my mods.

To @anitmb for her composting mod which has helped to enhance this mod.

To douglasveiga from MTS for the gardener service mod which I looked at when my interactions weren't working as intended.

Download: Simblr.cc - Allotment Mod - Create and Manage Garden Allotments

Please enjoy!

If you would like to donate to say thanks, please feel free to do so at: my kofi :)

[elodieunderglass]

So for some more details:

- I am fairly time-poor with a huge amount of commitments: Grownup Job Senior Promotion, three small kids on summer holidays/starting school, writing a novel fanfic for sick friend, peak growing/harvest season at allotment, etc. so im only offering “what I can actually deliver” at this time

- swan comic is a new idea, people like those don’t they? Not sure of how fundraising mechanism would work here but maybe taking prompts?

- not sure how essay would work but it’s probably my best/most appealing skill?

- material items in exchange for a minimum fixed amount. So offline I’m most known for material works. I’m not a BAD printmaker / craftworker and for this I would be looking at designing a sort of limited print run of greeting card style original hand printed prints. I know you guys aren’t familiar with this work from me, so this would involve a bit of trust that An Art from me would be worth at least £5 lmao. However it’s kind of nice to get something real in the mail right??

- super worried about fandom auction so this would be mostly a register of interest that I’d take to more experienced people and use as leverage to start an auction; I’m not in a great place to provide much actual legwork here. I also have huge guilt from like 2000-something where someone paid A HUNDRED AND LIKE 20 DOLLARS to charity for earthquake survivors and I DID NOT FINISH THE FIC AND I HAD to write to them, weepingly, apologising forever about it, and they were so graceful, they forgave me and wrote off my fandom auction contribution, but I had never watched the tv show they requested and was in the process of romancing dr glass and it all went SO wrong, this MIGHT heal my scars of shame from fandom auctions generally OR might make them worse. It itvery hard to write fic actually it’s my worst skill pls don’t pick this

Anyway

I will dance like a monkey and get sick kids out of Gaza. What would you like to see most?

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in and adjusting in the community, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the very first time and strange new feelings instantly take root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AGE GAP (no specific age is mentioned, but reader’s in her late 20s/early 30s and Joel is 56). reader is basically an OFC but story is written in reader format and her physical descriptions are kept as vague as possible. i have my own face claim for her, but i will only ever share it under cuts and with disclaimers. reader is married, Ellie plays a very important role in the series, hints at her strained relationship with Joel but this will indeed be a fix it fic because he deserves it, okay?

word count: 8.1k

Jackson, Wyoming | June, 2024

Joel’s deep, dark brown eyes linger on you from across the town mess hall with sheer, almost unabashed curiosity. Then again, he doesn’t even realize that he’s staring.

It’s about half past twelve, the designated lunch break hour in Jackson, and the larger scale eatery, which for the last couple of years has been run by an older man named Seth and his two surviving adult sons, is alive and well, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter.

The hall is almost over maximum capacity, packed to the brim with several members of the steadily growing community who had stopped in for a quick bite to eat before having to resume their daily work duties around the settlement. Or at least, a majority of them had, anyway. Others shamelessly try to milk their lunch hour for all that it’s worth and more, dragging it out and extending their allotted free time for as long as they possibly can before having to return to their scheduled tasks around the commune. They float about the place, socializing as if the mess hall had suddenly turned into The Tipsy Bison, the bar right across the road that’s also owned by Seth.

Somehow, by a stroke of sheer good luck, you’d managed to find yourself a smaller, unoccupied table nestled against the wall, away from all the hustle and bustle. It’s tucked away over in the furthest corner of Jackson’s busy and bustling makeshift canteen, near where the aluminum double doors that lead back to the kitchens are propped wide open for the mess hall staff who were coming in and out to replenish the dishes at the buffet. 

You’re sitting at the table alone, your plastic lunch tray surrounded by an absurd amount of open books that Joel had very little choice but to assume came from the town’s modest, but decent sized library that he’d seen nestled between the schoolhouse and the old church, right behind Main Street. In between delicate bites of oven baked chicken and roasted vegetables harvested fresh from the gardens, you reach up and take the blunt, worn yellow pencil that’s tucked in the space behind your ear, using it to scribble on the notepad in your lap before putting the pencil back in its designated place. Although you’re clearly working through your lunch break today, that doesn’t stop you from being interrupted on several different occasions by numerous individuals—friends and familiar faces all approach you with hopeful expressions, eager to join you and keep you company. 

Sure, the hall is full, but there’s still a number of available seats still left at other partially occupied tables nearby, bigger tables that aren’t crowded with books like yours, tables whose occupants aren’t busy working, studying—doing whatever it is that you’re doing. It becomes apparent to Joel that you’re something of a hot commodity around here. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s just something about you that reminds him of the sweet and popular small town girl his favorite country artists would sing about back in the day. The kind of girl with a magnetic presence and irresistible charm—the kind of girl that anyone can fall head over heels in love with in one way or another. 

There’s something almost too endearing about the gracious way you offer up just the most saccharine smile and apologetic doe eyes as you point to your books, politely declining every offer for companionship that comes your way, saying something he can imagine to be along the lines of, not today or maybe another time. Eventually, after a while, you’re finally left alone to bury yourself back into whatever it is that’s keeping you occupied that you can’t even have your midday meal in peace—you’re so engrossed in the task that you don’t even notice the older, salt and pepper haired newcomer who’s been blatantly staring at you from his table over on the opposite of the hall for the last several minutes. 

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around.

He still vividly remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago during the winter season. 

It had been the morning after his fight with Ellie, after she’d confronted him and he had been forced to fess up about his plans to hand her off to his younger brother, Tommy—he’d asked him, pleaded with him, to get her to the Fireflies in Colorado. Joel’s mind had been in an all out raging war, his heart torn between doing what he’d felt was best for Ellie and what he truly wanted, which was to remain by her side and get her to where she needed to be himself. But how the fuck could he do that when all he’d managed to do in the few months prior to their arrival in Wyoming was fail to protect her over and over again? Sure, Ellie was a teenager, now closer to being an adult than anything else, but she was still a child, one who needed to be protected, kept safe. She needed somebody who could get to where she needed to be in one piece, and Joel had come to the conclusion that, as much as he wanted to be that person, he simply wasn’t capable. Slower, older, his hearing getting worse and worse as the days go by, he feared he’d only end up getting her killed if she continued on with him, a scenario he fucking refused to let happen at all costs. He wouldn’t hold another child’s dead body in his arms, not again.

Following a very long and sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel had pulled himself out of bed just after sunrise that morning. After getting dressed, he’d quietly slipped out of the house and made his way down to the horse stables, hoping he could leave the commune as soon as possible and without notice from Tommy—and especially without notice from Ellie. It’s not that he had wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel knew he wouldn’t have it in him to follow through with the decision he’d made about parting ways with her if he saw her face again, not a fucking chance. And so there he’d been, in one of the stalls at the stables, saddling up the horse he planned to steal and take off on when you’d walked by, flashing him a warm and friendly smile, probably assuming he was just another patrolman getting ready to head out for the morning shift. 

Joel had just stared at you, lips pressed together into a tight, thin line with an emotionless expression on his hard, stony face.

Of course, you were nothing more than a complete stranger who didn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going through his mind. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what was happening to the tortured older man you’d just encountered, the way his inner turmoil was a single thought away from tearing him apart from the inside out. You’d probably just thought he was rude for not smiling back, or at the very least, offering you a courteous good morning.

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

It’d been rather difficult for him to forget all about the prettiest goddamn fucking face he’d ever seen since the world ended two decades ago—not even after all of the events that followed that fateful morning.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Wyoming. He and Ellie had made a trip down to the produce market on Main Street to pick up some vegetables and jarred preserves to stock up the kitchen pantry of their new, forever home. He’d caught sight of you as you made your way down one of the aisles towards the sweet potato bins with a brown, woven basket hanging from one arm and a reusable shopping bag draped over the other. Before Joel even realized that he’d been staring, your kind gaze met his own from across the market and you smiled at him again.

Still just as warm, still just as friendly. And you were still just as fucking beautiful as he remembered.

Much like that winter morning in the horse stables, Joel didn’t smile back at you. 

Two for fucking two—surely you must have thought he was a mannerless asshole at this point. He honestly wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’d think the same. 

Tommy, who had made it back from leading his morning patrol group just in time to join him for lunch, waves a hand in front of Joel’s face, looking thoroughly amused. “Maybe we should find you a goddamn camera,” he teases, letting out a small chuckle once he’d finally managed to break the older Miller’s trance, garnering his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last a hell of a lot longer.”

Joel scowls at his brother, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught openly gawking. 

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots, heat flooding his face. The way Tommy’s looking at him, with that mischievous glimmer in his eyes, it reminds Joel of their younger years, when Tommy would make it his mission in life to do anything that would cause him discomfort just for his own kicks. 

“Hey, I don’t really blame you, y’know.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of sweet iced tea and picks it up, taking a long and refreshing sip. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs his shoulders, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch it. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing ’bout another woman who ain’t her,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. His brother hadn’t always been the most faithful of partners in his first life, but Tommy truly seemed to be head over heels in love with his wife. Hearing him talk about another woman makes Joel wonder if perhaps remnants of his playboy ways still lingered behind even after twenty years. With Maria having just found out she was expecting his child, Joel certainly hopes that isn’t the case. “Eyes to yourself, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no real harm in just takin’ a quick peek every once in a while,” he muses, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. Setting his glass of iced tea back down onto the table in front of him, he leans back into his chair and glances over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man around here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s a real fuckin’ beauty, she is. But I should probably go ahead and warn you now that it’s best you don’t go gettin’ any ideas when it comes to that one.”

Before Joel can even stop himself, he finds himself asking, “Why’s that?

“Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your fuckin’ age, you old fucker.”

Joel flips him off.

“Besides that, she’s already spoken for.” 

“She’s got a boyfriend.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“She’s got a husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s a married woman, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to Jackson’s only doctor.”

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes. “A real doctor? Or just some fuckin’ clueless prick who claims to be a doctor?” he questions, shoving another forkful of his carrots into his mouth.

The younger man laughs at the bitter skepticism, knowing that it’d come from a place of envy more than anything. “Real, Joel. The guy’s around my age, give or take a couple years. He was finishin’ up his medical school residency when the outbreak first happened, at least that’s what Maria says,” he explains. He notices the confusion flash across Joel’s face and continues to elaborate. “Two of them go way back, went to the same college before she transferred out to another school for her law degree. Maria came across him and his group one day while out lookin’ for supplies. She said he still knew his stuff after all these years and decided to bring him in as the community’s physician. He looks after everyone around here. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a stupid ridin’ accident last summer and he set the bone right back into place, had me good as new within a few weeks. S’a miracle we’ve got someone like him around here.”

Joel glances down at his plate, twiddling his fork between his thumb and his index finger. He would have been a goddamn dirty liar if he’d said that finding out you were a married woman didn’t bother him. 

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

That only makes it sting a little harder.

Tommy immediately picks up on his brother’s disappointment in hearing the news about you being taken and softly kicks his shin with the toe of his boot underneath the table. “Y’know Joel, there’s plenty of other single women around here. Pretty ones, and real nice, too,” he informs him with a small smile. He pauses and then offers, “If you’re interested, I could introduce you around. Maria has this friend, her name is Esther and she’s a real cute blonde—”

“That’s the last thing on my fuckin’ mind,” Joel grumbles out in reply. He tightly shakes his head. “I just fuckin’ got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to take care of. We’re both tryin’ to get used to this place after bein’ out there on the road for so long. We’re still in the middle of gettin’ ourselves settled. The kid’s my priority right now—my only fuckin’ priority. Not meetin’ someone.”

Not wanting to push him too far, Tommy goes along with the subject change. “Speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? Haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back.”

Joel hesitates, momentarily unable to meet Tommy’s eyes.

It’d been a couple of weeks now since the events that took place back in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Joel had certainly thought once or twice about confiding in Tommy about what he had done. How he had ruthlessly and without a single ounce of mercy killed all of those people in the hospital, how he had shot Marlene dead at point blank range—how he had violently and single handedly stopped what had most likely been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure for the cordyceps infection by preventing the Fireflies from operating on Ellie and performing a brain surgery that would have killed her. 

Joel doesn’t regret it, nor does he regret the choice he’d made on Ellie’s behalf.

He would do it all over again in a fucking heartbeat if it came down to it.

He doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, but he does carry the guilt of having lied to her about it after it was all said and done. He felt awful for looking her in the eye and swearing to her that everything he’d said about the Fireflies was true when it wasn’t. Ellie claimed to believe him, but he knew better than that. She was smart, too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew for certain that Joel wasn’t being entirely forthright about what had gone down in Salt Lake City while she’d been unconscious.

From that moment on the mountain, things had been quite tense between them. That conversation instantly caused a rift in their relationship, but Joel could tell she was doing her very best to force herself to fully believe that he was still a person she could trust, a person she could put her faith in. He took an odd sense of comfort in knowing that her forced efforts to keep believing in him had to have meant something good. 

She didn’t want to give up on him or on their relationship.

Joel exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried ‘bout her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single goddamn friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, barely even talks to Maria.” He sighs again, tiredly rubbing the side of his face with his free hand. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than other people. She can’t live the rest of her life like that. I try to tell her she needs to put in more effort on her part, but she won’t fuckin’ listen to me.”

“Just give her some more time, Joel. After everythin’ that poor kid’s been through in her life, it ain’t a big surprise that she’s strugglin’ a bit to fit in around here, y’know?” Tommy notices the way his older brother’s jaw clenches and he offers him a look of sympathy. “Look, I know Ellie means a whole lot to you and if I were you, I would be real worried ’bout her too. But just give her a little more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she fuckin’ will. She’s a real strong kid, big brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” Joel murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be just fine,” Tommy reassures him. “She’ll find her place here, Joel. Just wait. You’ll see.”

“I sure as hell fuckin’ hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight hitting your face.

Summer’s just beginning in Wyoming, and after a particularly long, cold and cruel winter that swept the western state this last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see that warmer weather is well on its way.

At least, for now you’re thrilled.

Winters in Jackson were god awful, but summers could be just as brutal, if not worse.

Clutching the strap of your old, but sturdy brown leather satchel bag securely over your shoulder, you hurriedly make your way across the settlement from the mess hall and back towards the horse stables, the place you commonly referred to as your second home—it wasn’t all that much of a joke, seeing as you often spent more time there than you didn’t. It’s now after lunch hour, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around, most of it which would undoubtedly trickle into the next day.

Being the only veterinarian in the community, there was always more than plenty of work to be done every day. Too much work to be done by one single person alone. Often, you find yourself feeling quite overwhelmed by it all. You feel like you’re completely in over your head, and it leaves you wondering if you’d made the right decision by taking such an enormous responsibility into your hands.

Then again, it’s not like you’d been given much of a choice. In a way, it had been expected of you.

Prior to passing away from illness two summers ago, your father had been the veterinarian who looked after the animals. Even though you hadn’t been trained professionally like he had, your father decided to spend the final years of his life teaching you to the best of his ability and with what little resources he had available. After all, Jackson was going to need someone to step up and take care of the animals when he was gone—particularly the hoses. Even as his physical health worsened, he used every last ounce of strength he had left in him to prepare you to take over for him when he died. Thanks to him and all he’d done for you, you certainly knew a thing or two, but the job was still daunting, even after all this time of being in practice on your own without him there to guide you like before.

Keeping the horses healthy to begin with made your job a hell of a lot easier, but when a horse became sick or injured, that was when your knowledge and your skills were truly put to the test. Horses were how everyone traveled when in search of needed supplies, how patrolmen and women moved around while they were out and about on watch keeping the community safe against the infected and against raiders. Horses were one of the most important, most precious resources the commune possessed. They kept everything going, everyone moving, and you’d be fucking lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them didn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

Sensing your doubt, Maria Miller often assured you that you were the best person for the role—the only person for the role. “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she had complimented you over coffee at her place the morning after you had successfully removed a bullet lodged into the shoulder of one of the horses that had been injured while Tommy and his group were out on overnight patrol. They’d stumbled across violent and armed raiders, and luckily everyone had made it out unscathed with the exception of Tommy’s beloved black horse, Ranger. You recalled being pulled out of your bed in the middle of the night to tend to him, the first serious case you had to take care of without your father’s guidance. Thankfully, the stallion’s injury hadn’t been life threatening, and you were able to patch him up within the hour. After just a few weeks of working with Ranger and putting him through physical therapy, the horse made a full recovery and both Maria and Tommy couldn’t have been more thrilled with your work.

Still, you still continued questioning your own abilities, but it didn’t really matter in the end. Both Maria and Tommy decided to assign you as Jackson’s equine veterinarian, pulling you from your previous job, which had been helping Seth make sandwiches at The Tipsy Bison.

You rush into the stables, making a mental list with the names of all the horses that you still need to check over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol. You make your way down to the very last stall which is serving as home to a stunning, chestnut-brown pregnant mare.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, beaming at the beauty. “Hi, my gorgeous girl. How are you doing today, sweetie pie?”

“I would be doing a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you slightly.

Peering around Stella’s body, you catch sight of Ellie laying down on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall. She’d made something of a pillow out of her backpack, kicking back as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for what had to be the hundredth time. She offers you a silly, lopsided grin the minute she takes a glimpse at the baffled look on your face. “Howdy.”

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly. “What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Living my best life,” she deadpans. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

You try but mostly fail, in hiding your laughter at her quick witted sense of humor. “Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your heavy satchel bag onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those apples you always carried around with you.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a small joking smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair, which she always keeps tied back in a messy ponytail.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids?”

She rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in the Boston QZ. FEDRA’s finest, dude.”

You don’t know all that much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happened to be Tommy Miller’s older brother and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, but Maria had told you that he had no familial relation to the girl, a fact that took you by complete surprise.

Their arrival in Jackson back during the winter season had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring just a couple of weeks ago. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had gone or why they had left the safety of the commune’s walls in the first place. Not even Maria, who had failed in getting her husband to talk. She swore up and down Tommy knew something she didn’t, but he refused to spill his brother’s secrets, even to his own wife.

Like everyone else in the tight knit community, you were curious about Ellie, and you were especially curious about Joel. You’d seen him around a couple of times before, but hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet. Still, even without having spoken a single word to him, you already knew he wasn’t anything like Tommy, or anyone else you’ve ever encountered, really. A man of very few words, he kept to himself, just like Ellie did. Still, Joel knew he needed to find his place and pull his weight in Jackson just like everyone else, and once he began working patrol alongside Tommy, he finally began engaging with other members of the town. 

Reluctantly so, but at the very least, he was trying.

Ellie, on the other hand, avoided everybody at all costs. Everybody, that is, except for you.

Since their arrival, Ellie chose to spend her days in the stables. She’d hang out with the horses while reading her comic books or listening to tapes on some old Walkman she had permanently borrowed from Tommy. Despite a hectic schedule that kept you busy, you eventually started taking the time out of your day to talk to her. It had started off with light chatter about the most trivial of things—how the day was going, whether or not the weather was nice outside, what had been served for lunch in the mess hall that afternoon. Ellie seemed almost annoyed with you at first, but after a couple of days, she’d quickly started warming up to you and by the end of the first week, she had started following you around the stables, joining you wherever you needed to be. The girl had taken a liking to you, but she was still quite guarded and careful, as if she were still testing the waters, figuring out whether or not you could be trusted.

You don’t mind that, though.

Little by little, simply by being kind to her and making the genuine effort to get to know her, you’re slowly beginning to chip away at her layers. There was still quite a long way to go if you ever wanted the teenager to completely open up to you, but you didn’t mind that either.

You’d be as patient with her as you needed to be.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends, you know.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

Even as you rephrase yourself, you can’t help but smile. “Friends your own age,” you remark, tucking the loose lock of your hair that had fallen loose from your dutch braid behind your ear. “You know, my husband, he has a niece named Dina. She’s about your age. I could introduce you to each other if you'd like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everyone around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I’d have an easier time fitting in around here if I was a fucking clicker.”

Chuckling, you gently shake your head at her.

By now, you’d pretty much gotten used to her rich and colorful vocabulary.

You crouch down in front of her. “Look Ellie, I know how hard it is not to fit in with others.”

“You?” Ellie blows a loud raspberry in complete disbelief. “No fucking way. I don’t believe that for one fucking second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, in case you didn’t know this, I haven’t always been this age,” you remind her, lightly swatting at the side of her knee with your hand. “I was fifteen once too.”

“Yeah, and you were probably little miss fucking perfect, just like you are now.” She rolls her brown eyes at you in a teasing manner. “I bet everyone just loved you.”

You swat at her knee again. “Oh, stop that. That couldn’t be any further from the truth,” you reply, wondering where this child had come up with the idea that you are, or had ever been perfect. “I was still living in one of the quarantine zones with my family when I was your age, Ellie. We were living in the Alburquerque QZ for quite a while before it got overrun by the infected. They had schools and everything, just like in Boston. My mother was a nurse, so she had the privilege of enrolling me in one of their better schools, a preparatory school—she had the hope that I’d become an officer so I could have a chance at a decent life.” You pause, noticing a strange glimmer flash in the girl’s eyes, but when she says nothing, you continue on, “So I got the absolute pleasure of going to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and important higher ups in the zone. And let me tell you something, the world may have gone to complete shit, but teenagers can still be fucking assholes.”

Ellie throws her head back and laughs loudly. “Whoa! I never thought I’d hear you curse. I thought you were too fucking prim and proper for that.”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, grinning at the way she continues to cackle. “Besides, spending all this time with you might just have me cursing like a fucking sailor by the end of the week.”

“Fuck yeah it will,” she agrees with a nod. 

You grin again, but when your eyes meet Ellie’s, it falters slightly.

Ellie hadn’t told you much of anything about her past, but one thing was for certain—the young girl had been through hell and back. You could see it written all over her face, even when she smiled and even when she laughed. The traces of terror, pain, and trauma were quite subtle, but they were very much present and in recent nights, you’d find yourself lying in bed, wide awake and wondering what all this poor child had gone through in her life. Thoughts about what Ellie had seen, what and who she had lost in this world haunted you.

She’s different. 

What she’d been through made her different.

It set her apart from the other children, especially those who don’t know what it’s like to live a life outside these four walls.

It pained you to know that she felt ostracized when you were willing to bet your life that whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been her fault.

Ellie Williams wasn’t your responsibility—you hardly know her. But you already care about her. An inexplicable soft spot for her had found its way into your heart from your very first interaction with her. If there’s anything you can do to help her ease into this new way of life, you’ll gladly do so without hesitation.  

“So then,” Ellie finally says after a minute, looking up at you. “Is it, uh, is it alright if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course.” You rise to your feet and glance at Stella. “But only on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short handed lately and could use the extra help. Deal?”

She jumps up to her feet, eagerly nodding her head. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving his way through the doors of the mess hall. The air outside is still relatively cool, it’s crisp and fresh—but the temperatures are sure to get a hell of a lot warmer now that summer has officially arrived. Not that he minded.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, doing his best to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction.

People seem to be getting to him, but oftentimes, he still feels like a pariah. It’s almost like he’s some fucking feral stray cat that Jackson had adopted and taken into it’s home, willing to tame him, but still afraid that he could start tearing shit up at any given moment if they didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. He could handle that, though. It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between the survivor’s guilt she’d been dealing with on a daily basis and the way she was looked at in the community by everyone, Joel feared for her well being. He could only hope that Tommy was right about her just needing time and that eventually, she’ll find her place and he’ll have the chance to give her the most normal life possible under the circumstances. 

It’s the very least Joel could do for her after all she’d been through in the last year—after what he’d done, how he had lied straight to her face. He fucking owed her that much.

Ellie deserved happiness, and he would do just about anything in his power to give it to her.

Joel arrives at the horse stables and makes his way inside. “Ellie?” He calls out her name. “Ellie? You in here?”

That’s when he hears her voice. 

“Wait, what? Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel sees Ellie standing there, her tiny little hand on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she’s holding a mane brush. She isn’t alone.

He’s surprised to see you standing there beside her, your hands planted on your hips. You’re wearing a pair of well worn light wash blue jeans, the legs tucked into a pair of weathered black riding boots whose soles are completely caked with muck. Joel remembers you wearing an oversized, long sleeved red flannel shirt back in the mess hall, but it’s now off and tied around your waist, leaving you in a thin, cotton white tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and Joel tries his hardest not to stare at the patch of bare skin that peeks between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans.

Christ.

You’re even more beautiful up close.

Fuckin’ get a grip, Miller, he thinks silently to himself.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

“What? No fucking way!” Ellie exclaims, looking thoroughly excited, but bewildered by the fact. “Horses are pregnant for a whole year? Holy shit man, that’s fucking nuts!”

“Well, for eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat on her muscular neck. “This is Stella’s first one. We’re hoping for a smooth pregnancy that reaches full term, but sometimes babies decide to come a bit sooner than expected.”

Curiously, Joel’s lips part and his eyes widen slightly.

He can’t fucking believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone in two weeks and yet here she is, engaging with you so easily and so effortlessly, cracking the first genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed that giraffe back in Salt Lake City. More than that, Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws would drop in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

You and Ellie both turn around, glancing in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” she asks, her smile fading slightly.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to go eat somethin’ kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her red and tan backpack from the ground, she hands you the mane brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Joel glances at you, a sudden wave of awkwardness washing over him. Just as he’s about to politely excuse himself and leave, you speak.

“You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake.

Your name is as beautiful as you are and it sounds heavenly when he repeats it, rolling smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own and the contrast between the two is stark. Your hand is soft against his rough, small compared to his large, but somehow still an all too perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades now stir itself awake—it’s a feeling that’s too foreign for him to pinpoint. 

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes a step back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m real sorry ‘bout Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I’ll have a talk with her.”

“No, no. Of course not. She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you quickly assure him without missing a beat. “I’m usually in here alone, so it’s actually been really nice having her around. I enjoy her company a lot.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Is that so strange?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to life here and meetin’ people. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise to his hairline—exactly how well had you and Ellie gotten to know each other already? What all had she told you? What did you know about her?

What did you know about him?

Joel tries to mask the concern on his face.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head, the ridiculousness of what you’d just said sounding sillier out loud than it had in your mind. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You detect the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly tell you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about his kid. Ellie being different is something that he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. It puts him right into protective mode and you don’t blame him, not in the slightest. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize at all, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts relaxing. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen. All it’s taking is being in your presence and talking to you. Joel suddenly understands why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re unlike anyone that either of them had ever met before. You’re bright and you bring about this warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hadn’t felt in so fucking long. It feels like seeing the sun for the very first time after spending years and years trapped in a cold, cold darkness.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. We lived in New Mexico on a horse ranch when I was growing up—he started off as a stable hand and then he went back to school to become an equine veterinarian. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’ but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He gave me a ton of books that I could read and study from, but most of it was hands-on training. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. Sorry to hear ‘bout your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, wondering what had happened to him. 

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “Cancer, we think it was, but we obviously can’t know for sure without proper testing. And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life, especially when you lived under FEDRA control for so long,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white cottage right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults.

If you didn’t stop smiling at him like that, there was going to be a problem.

“It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it would be best for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how fucking easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together tomorrow night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder. Through the small round window in the stall, he can see the very barn you’re talking about. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. We do it for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big barbecue, drinks, and even dancing. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“Hey, the world might have ended, but people still know how to get down and party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you.

Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you? A complete fucking stranger?

He thinks about it. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of his patrol duties, but if going to the damn thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you tomorrow night. 

Shit.

Yeah, he’s in fucking trouble. 

[feegless]

GREEN THUMB PROMPTS

Garden, gardening and related prompts for roleplay purposes. Adjust accordingly if needed and add in (REVERSE) for the relevant prompts to reverse the actions

SENTENCE STARTERS

"Come on, we can take these into the garden."

"I think they're hiding in the garden."

"I'm just going to go into the garden, get some fresh air."

"Is that smell coming from your garden?"

"Make yourself useful, get some gloves and a bin bag. These flowers need deadheading anyway."

"Did you grow these? They're delicious."

"Well, at least we don't have to water the plants today."

"What's your secret? I can never get mine to taste so good / grow so well."

"You need to be careful with those. They'll take over if you're not careful."

"Oh, those need a lot more sunlight than they're getting there."

"Have you seen my gardening gloves?"

"Those are so beautiful. Are they from your own garden?"

"What fertiliser do you use?"

"We need to buy more soil."

"Do you want to come through to the garden? It's a beautiful day."

"Come on, I've been neglecting the allotment for too long."

"I need more flowers. You want to come along?"

"Be careful with those seeds!"

"The garden is looking dire. I'm going to have to fix it on my next weekend off"

"How much do you think a gardener gets paid?"

"The garden looks absolutely beautiful right now."

"Are you going to work in the garden today?"

"Why does this mud always get everywhere..."

"I've never seen a bird like that in the garden before."

"Is that a frog under that bush just there?"

"No, it's fine. I can deal with the garden myself."

"I've never seen a flower like it."

"Plants are a lot more expensive than I realised."

"I hope it stays dry for the party tonight. We put too much work into the garden for it to be a washout."

"What about these lights for in the garden?"

"Let's go eat outside."

"Have you been hiding out here all this time?"

"Could you go water the plants outside for me?"

"It's going to be too muddy for me to do anything out there."

ACTIONS

[BLOOMS] For the recipient to find the sender plucking flowers from their garden

[HOMEGROWN] For the recipient to find the sender planting ( flowers / fruit / vegetables) in the garden

[PRODUCE] For the recipient to find the sender harvesting fruit / vegetables from their garden

[HEDGES] For the recipient to find the sender maintaining (mowing / raking / cutting ) the garden

[SPADE] For the the recipient to take the sender to their allotment

[AISLES] For our muses to go to a garden centre together

[SHOW] For our muses to go to a botanical garden together

[FIELD] For our muses to go to a pick your own fruit farm

[SUNNY] For our muses to make the most of the good weather by spending it sitting in the garden

[DRINKS] For our muses to attend a garden party together

[FESTIVE] For our muses to decorate the garden for (Halloween / Christmas / Easter / a party)

[FROSTY] For our muses to make a snowman in the garden

[PLATES] For our muses to eat (breakfast / lunch / dinner ) in the garden

[SPLASH] For our muses to spend time in a garden pool together

[CLOUDLESS] For our muses to go stargazing in the garden

[cumulo-ghoulll]

Pack HCs

here's what I think the pack looks like!

Dew (he can't act normal while having his picture taken)! Due to his transition, he has full scars on his torso and neck. His tail also heats up during colder months to keep himself warm!!

Rain! He has small fish scale-like markings on his shoulders, knees, and back of his hands! Naturally runs colder than the others because of his element! He likes to press his cold tail on people's faces when they're not paying attention to him. If you were to pan down, you'd see him standing in a kids inflatable pool!

Swiss! Menace! He also cannot behave normally in front of a camera, or at all for that matter! He wears a lot of gold. He loves gold body and loc jewelry as well as clothes with gold accents. The way to this ghouls heart is an expensive gold necklace!

Aether! Gentle giant and massive bookworm! He loves cozy colours and clothes, and especially loves autumn/fall because it means he can get his sweater collection out! The white tuft of hair is a weird genetic side affect all quints get because of their powers!

Phantom! He has a lot of body markings! Up close, the markings on his shoulders and face look like stars! He dyes his hair purple as it is not only his favourite colour but also because his hair is naturally fully white because of his quintessence. The other quints know how much quintessential power he has but the rest of the pack are oblivious and he wished to keep it that way.

Mountain! Another gentle giant! He spends a lot of his time in the allotments, helping the other earth ghouls harvest crops and sow new seeds! When he's not planting crops, he likes to walk around the grounds and make a note of all the insects he sees! He also likes to go foraging for mushrooms and gives them to whoever is cooking dinner that night!

Cumulus!! Although her hair looks incredibly thick, it's just naturally very voluminous (helped by a little air magic). Legend says that all the world's knowledge resides in her hair. In reality, it's three markers, half her makeup bag, toothbrush and toothpaste, and an eye mask for those impromptu midday naps!

Cirrus! Just because she has wing ears doesn't mean she can't hear you. In fact, she can hear people having conversations on the other side of the ministry. She actually wears noise canceling earplugs a lot to prevent herself from getting overstimulated! She has small feather-like markings going up her forearms and thighs and she lets Cumulus colour them in when she's bored on the tour bus!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Dreava Bleek, Gallowood Sheriff

It's a gruesome business enforcing the law, especially when the laws are written by an aristocracy who wants their subjects submissive and terrified and it's your business to keep them that way.

There have always been people like Dreava Bleek, blunt instruments that enforce the social order so those at the top needn't bloody their hands. They do it for many reasons; coin, ambition, sadism, but in the case of this villain it's misplaced righteousness: Dreava has had a hatred burning in the pit where her heart should be since she was a child, a bone deep conviction that if people just knew their place and followed the rules that the world could be a place of pace. Nevermind the powerful that abuse the system for their own gain, nevermind the starving poor who break the law only to fill their bellies. In Dreava's word there are only good citizens and criminals, and criminals will hang.

Adventure Hooks:

Dreava earned both her reputation and her title in her campaign against the Gallerwood outlaws, a band of highwaymen who were famed for robbing everyone from wizards and duchesses and who Dreava left hanging from the trees along the edge of their forest. After her little stunt folks started calling the area "Gallowwood" and speaking of how her victims still haunt the roads looking for one last take. Some others mention a secret hideout that the sheriff never found, in which the thieves kept their most valued treasures.

The two easiest ways for the party to end up in Dreava's sights are to already be criminals, or to make themselves the enemy of some belligerent noble who can accuse them (accurately or not) of some transgression of the law

Backgorund: Dreava was young when darkness was wrought upon her soul, when a series of poor harvests and overstepping officials saw her little village rise with its neighbours in a revolt against their feudal overlord. She lost her home and her mother not in the uprising itself but in the violent pillage the lord's forces were allowed after its brutal suppression.

A flip of the coin and Dreava could have been a rebel fighting against authority, but in those grim days the alchemy of terror instilled in her an understanding of just what happens when the poor overstep the place allotted to them by their betters.

Since then her life has followed a pattern. Get hired on by some lord after having difficulty with bandits or other such rabblerousers. Make a show of brutal violence that seems to put an end to the problem for good. Continue to build her reputation until she either becomes her patron's bloody left hand, making their followers just as brutal and jackbooted as she is. End up entering into the service of another lord either on recommendation or after she's ousted for some violence that not even the benefice of the nobility can forgive.

Further Adventures:

Rather than a head on confrontation, Dreava will seek to bait the party into a trap, either by setting up an ambush or going after their known associates. Coerce, intimidate, brutalize, leashed in only by the very limit of what the law might allow. If she doesn't have proof of the party's guilt she'll drag them off to a dungeon to await a sham trial (from which they might be able to escape), but if she's been given the goahead by her superiors she'll gladly execute the heroes in the field, a grim situation which has it's own escape methods.

All her life the sheriff had sworn by the goddess Erathis, seeing herself as a champion of law and civilization. What a surprise for her then after the heroes sever her soul from her body to awake in the halls of the lord of all hells.  While the other gods turned their heads away in shame and disgust, Asmodeus watched with appreciation as Dreava bent her life to punishing sinners, and now offers her the chance to do so again, this time in his service. With a new master to serve and chip on her shoulder against the party Dreava will gladly agree, emerging from her damnation with a newly fiendish form. Consider having her emerge as a surprise villain several levels after the party thought her dead, and the head of a band of fiendish cultists.

Art

[strangelittlestories]

I share an allotment with a group of like-minded, similarly afflicted mythics and metaphoricals.

They’re mostly a nice bunch - escapees from legend, myth and folklore, mainly.

There’s a couple of nice ancient warrior men who help me carry bags of compost (when they’re not too busy making eyes at each other).

Then there’s the werewolf who scares a lot of the pests away and grows lovely blood oranges in the greenhouse.

I don’t always get on with the sirens, who keep trying to add salt water to the fish ponds, but I do have to admit they harmonise beautifully. Mainly they sing about sustainable farming and permaculture - but that could just be what I hear…

We get a few brownies and hobs, too - and we’ve agreed a fair percentage of each harvest to be set aside for them, in exchange for their labour and the little magics that they offer to make mundane tasks go a bit quicker.

The main problem I have (other than rare Editor turning up - and we’ve managed to repulse all their incursions so far) is with the seer with whom I share the herb garden.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we get along okay. I’m what those in the know would call ‘a blindspot in the weave’, which means I don’t show up in prophecies - so she doesn’t need to worry about giving me dire warnings for me to ignore. It saves on foreboding wailings and I Told You So’s and largely makes for a chiller relationship.

But I am nearly certain that she’s been stealing my herbs.

Not the dangerous or esoteric ones, mind. Usually it’s just perfectly ‘literal’ cooking herbs that go missing. And I’m fairly sure it’s her, because the leaves are always plucked right on the morning they’re ready.

I’ll be heading over to the allotment, excited for the day’s gardening, and sorting through my list of the various plants who’ve whispered through their roots (and into my dreams) that they’re ready to be harvested (along with the latest plant gossip).

And then I arrive and the stalk of my herbs are bare and when I sing and croon to them and ask who did this, they keep stubbornly silent.

I mean … it’s not a big deal. It’s a small price to pay for an otherwise very equitable arrangement. It just grates sometimes; sticks in the craw, y’know?

But I guess it’s true what they say:

Prognostication is the thief of thyme.

[francixoxoxo]

.*Chamomile Whistles °.•

𝐒𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐗 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐒𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐅𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟐 seemed to stretch longer than the whole year.

The cold, biting wind blew under the crack of your door and through crevices in the wood of your cabin, the hearth burning on scraps of paper for lack of chopped spruce. You tried to focus on the crackling fire instead of the frigid ice in your blood, on your skin, eating away at your whole being.

You watched listlessly as Sejanus settled the kettle over the fire, the tea leaves that had been stuffed in your cabinet since the end of summer’s harvest laid on the cobble around the hearth. He hums as he works, you’ve found. A tune from his own district, a tune you can tell he’s still painfully far from forgetting the notes to.

Sejanus insisted he take some vacation time off to nurse you to health. You’d nearly laughed at your sweet boyfriend, telling him you’d tough out the cold as you always had. A sniffle and a fever wasn’t anything you couldn’t shake on your own. He should save his time off for something better, you insisted. Something important.

“You’re something important,” Sejanus huffed then, that day that he’d knocked on your door with a wool blanket much more enticing than the ratty, ripped-and-patched cotton over your sofa. He told you he’d already gone to his commanding officer and told him he’d be taking four days out of his allotted seven, so, in his words; “No fingers lifted for the next four days.”

You’d shaken your head, not without a poorly hidden smile, moving to let Sejanus inside. You had to admit that he was a sight for sore eyes. And a bit of a sleepover didn’t sound so bad.

You rubbed twice your thumb and pointer the fabric of the thick, woolen blanket he’d draped over you. It was such a chokingly warm feeling, a soft yellow crawling up from your toes and extending to the very fingertips of your being. To be loved was a strange thing. To watch Sejanus look over his shoulder, his brow a bit sweaty from being a mere foot from the fire, a smile overtaking that sweet face.

The thump of his boots against the hardwood become louder until Sejanus is sitting at the edge of the sofa, fixing the blanket over your shoulders. “How’re you feeling? Warm enough?” He murmurs, smoothing a hand along the outline of your arm.

You press your lips. “Never warm enough.” You admit, rewarded with a calloused and pleasantly fire-heated palm on your forehead. You sigh under the weight of his hand.

Sejanus shakes his head. “But you’re burning up.” His voice is quiet, almost to himself. District 12 didn’t have the best cold medicine; the pharmacy was grown in one’s back garden, tinctures traded for with the neighbor whose cabinet was an apothecary. Real medicine was a privilege you couldn’t afford.

He felt helpless. He knew it was only a common cold, what his girl was afflicted with, but it was miserable nonetheless. How were cruel, snobbish Capitolites able to ward off the flu with a pill while you, just about as warm the sun, suffered under a blanket for a week?Sejanus dips his hand into a bowl on the coffee table, lifting a towel from the lukewarm water. He wrings out the cloth, the darkened yellow lightening as the droplets tinkle back into the steel pan.

“S’ cold,” you whisper lamely as Sejanus brings that soaked towel to your forehead. Not cold, he wants to mumble, not cold, this is only lukewarm, this is not even close to what you need, this is not even close to medicine in the Capitol. The things he’s seen commercials for— oh, the stupidest ailments, things that don’t even call for an aspirin— while you can hardly get your hands on honey for your throat.

He could say these things, he knows. While everybody else shuts his tangents up, you’ve never. You’ve given hours of your precious time to listen to him, showing him that his words had a value. It’s one thing to love Sejanus. It’s entirely another to hear him.

But that look on your face makes him feel just as ill, eyes half-lidded and lips chapped, cheeks all too rosy. His lips press into a line, the words stamped out like discarded cigarette butts.

“I know, I know.” Is all Sejanus cooes, his other hand curling a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek, feverishly hot under his touch. His dark eyes flick over you, thoughtfully, carefully, before he lifts the blanket. You open your mouth to protest, but he gently turns you onto your side, laying behind you. He pulls you to his chest.

It’s a tight fit; Sejanus isn’t the smallest guy around, and the couch is crummy, but he doesn’t mind. You sigh in soft relief as his strong arms wind around you, his nose burying into the crook of your neck. “I could get you sick, Sej,” You groan, your face screwing up in guilt. Your boyfriend snorts, dropping a kiss to the skin below your ear.

“You won’t. I don’t care, anyway.” Sejanus promises, nosing the soft baby hairs at your nape. His arms envelope you like the walls of a house, sturdy and steadfast, welcoming and safe. Things you didn’t expect to ever know.

You sniffle a bit, though all of your efforts to breathe clearly are for naught. As much of a comfort Sejanus’ arms are, you feel like death. And considering your circumstances in District 12, the prospect is at the forefront of your mind. Sejanus assures you constantly that it’s only a cold. He promises your wellbeing, he promises it with every ounce of strength he has in his soul.

His arms squeeze you as if to say, I know. I know just what you’re thinking, and I won’t let come to fruition. Your hand finds his forearm, the thick curls splaying there a familiar comfort under your fingertips. Your other hand comes to rest on his tricep. He’s warm, a kind of heat you’d imagine the sun would be like. Days like these, miserable, eternal Februaries, you begin to think of Sejanus and the sun in the same pot. Where flowers stemmed from the earth and sunshine warmed fronds of grass, Sejanus seemed to be.

“Y’know what?” Sejanus mumbles, voice muffled into the skin of your neck as he buries his face there. You hum to encourage him, and rub your fingertips along his wrist gently. “I think you’re already getting better.”

“You’re just saying that.” Your voice is bright, a giggle parting your chapped lips. Sejanus carefully removes his forearm from your grip, intertwining your fingers instead and giving you a firm squeeze.

“Maybe.” His voice is a whisper infused with his chuckle as he admits it, adding, “Matter of time, that’s all.” His words are punctuated with a kiss to the skin beneath your ear.

The pot of chamomile whistles over the fire. Sejanus pushes himself up, with a reluctant sigh. Not without leaning down to press his lips to yours, appreciating the way his cheek fits into your palm as if he was made to be held by you, letting your sweet murmurings wash over him. “I think I’m in good hands.”

[friendly-neighborhood-mushroom]

authors note: heheh, lets hope this actually works this time. this is my first oneshot, inspired by an anon ( @pingledoofus ) on @the-kr8tor 's blog! im hoping to turn this into a series and give it a backstory if people like it. yes, @pinksugarscrub, i know you want more prowler!hobie stuff, its on its way <3

Tags: farmer!hobie brown x reader, set in yorkshire (yes im showing off my homeland), pure tooth-rotting fluff, happy happy stuff, no use of y/n, sheep mentioned!

anyways, enjoy!

They had told you that a day in the life of a farmer couldn't be easy. There was much to do and not much time to do it in, but you had still pursued your dream, and here you were. Each season brough new things to take care of, and new tasks to complete, which is why you find yourself keeping track of each movement you complete.

You awoke every morning at seven exactly, two hours after your husband- merely saying those words made you giddy- and begin with the allotment to the left of your farmhouse, no matter the weather. By the time you had watered every plant, and taken care that each tomato and apple and pear were in tip top shape, Hobie had tended to the sheep, cleaning out the pens and bathing them and feeding them, before allowing them to graze in the grass.

In this fine morning of spring, there were the baby sheep to tend to, checking their health and tagging their ears to protect them from predators, which he always took care of before you, claiming he knew you’d develop an attachment to them and he wouldn't be able to sell them in the coming winter. You knew he was just as fond of them. 

“Done wi’ plants, love?” He asks, not looking up from the baby sheep he was currently tagging, who was sitting surprisingly calmly on his lap. 

“Mhm, and I baked some bread.” You sit beside him, tearing off a piece. He opens his mouth, expecting you to feed him. You roll your eyes, obliging with a grin. The baby sheep on his lap lets out a sharp bleat, head snapping towards the bread. 

“Nuh uh, missy,” Hobie chides the sheep, “You’ve already been fed.”

You giggle, reaching to stroke the sheep as Hobie sets it down to run off towards its mother. 

“Was that the last of ‘em?” You ask, unable to stop the smile forming on your face as you straighten his chequered shirt collar. 

“Hmmm. Just gotta figure out who’ll buy ‘em in’ winter.” 

“Have you not named ‘em all, already”

“‘Course I ‘ave” 

“You big softie,” You tease, nudging him. He pretends to be mad, biting at the bread in your hand.

“Oi, oi,” you exclaim, “You're becoming one of ‘em!” 

He tackles you, triumphantly grabbing the bread with a loud whoop. You laugh as he falls forward, resting his head on your lap. 

“Honeybee, I’ve got to harvest the carrots-” 

“Carrots can wait,” He sighs, shutting his eyes, ignoring your sickly sweet nickname for him.

“I have four vegetables on my list today, Bee.” 

He ignores you, pretending to snore. You roll your eyes, flicking his ear lightly. He doesn't budge. 

“Robyn needs tending to.”

At the mention of his favourite horse, he stirred slightly, before falling still again. 

“The vegetables-” 

He interrupts you with a loud fake snore. You resist the urge to giggle. An idea strikes, and you place your hands on his face, pretending to give up, before you attack his neck with tickles. He splutters, sitting up immediately and attacking you back, reaching for your waist. He pulls you close and you swat his hands away, expecting more tickles, and melting when he kisses you instead. 

“Love,” He says softly.

“Hobie,” You reply.

“I hope you baked more bread.” He smirks, and you realise he’d stolen it right out of your lap when he’d kissed you. 

“Hobart!”

this also made me realize how similar the yorkshire and south london dialets are when writing, despite them sounding nothing alike!

[cassiefairy]

Allotment update: Super-weeds and sweet beetroot pickling recipe

It's been a while since my last allotment update so today I'm showing you our lovely beetroot harvest and sharing my recipe for preserving them in delicious sweet vinegar. Plus, here's how the larger plot is coming along...

Earlier this year, I mentioned that we’ve taken on a larger plot. We began our allotmenting journey with a ‘starter plot’, which is about half the size of a normal allotment patch. That plot was certainly management but wasn’t quite big enough for the amount of veg we wanted to grow – so when a bigger plot came along, we jumped at the chance to take it on. However, that obviously means double…

[bdsmchan]

Of course, there is a certain dark meaning in this drawing :3 The Russians have long had many superstitions related to death and the dead. And some deceased were considered troublesome. Suicides, drowned people, hanged people, those who died from drunkenness, those who died a terrible or unnatural death, and people cursed by their parents were considered impure deceased. They were not buried in cemeteries to avoid offending the ancestors, but rather buried without religious rites in ravines, swamps, or at the place of their death. Peasants believed that burying an impure deceased in a cemetery could anger God or the ancestors and cause drought or poor harvests. In such cases, the peasants might even dig up the dead and rebury them in the wasteland. In some regions, it was believed that in case of drought, the grave of an impure deceased should be watered.

It was believed that the souls of impure deceased were doomed to live out their allotted time on earth, scaring people, trying to avenge their killer, or completing unfinished business.

People believed that the souls of drowned people, hanged people, and other suicides in general would go straight into the possession of the devil after death, as no prayers or commemorations could help them, and demons would torment them until the Last Judgment.

Ordinary Christian commemoration was denied to suicides and, to some extent, other impure deceased. People even considered it a sin to mention suicides in prayers for the dead, and their names were not recorded in commemorative books, being convinced that the soul of a suicide is already lost forever and that no amount of prayer would save it — instead, it will only anger God. Suicides could be commemorated only once a year, specifically by scattering some grains at crossroads for wild birds to peck at. Despite the authorities' efforts, such superstitions persisted among the people until the 20th century at least. However, some superstitions and traces of pagan rituals still persist to this day :3

[the-man-in-the-wind]

Final horticultural post showing soon to harvest goodness, our allotment:

I think allotments might be an almost uniquely British thing where residents can apply for parcels of land for non-commercial agriculture. We’ve had this for about 5 years and share the work and produce with some friends.

It’s hard work, but there is nothing quite like the taste of sweetcorn that was on the plant twenty minutes before it went in one’s mouth.