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frannyzooey · 1 year ago

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Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start.

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick.

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different.

Still, you let him sleep.

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears.

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you.

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep.

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop.

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you.

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before.

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground.

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower.

No.

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his.

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water.

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore.

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man.

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t.

Gathering himself, he stands.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch.

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you.

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through.

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight.

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap.

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall.

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic.

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor.

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it.

Pacing until he wills himself to stop.

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come.

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up.

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back.

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out.

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain.

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline.

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax.

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window.

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper.

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his.

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time.

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer.

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts.

–

You just… let your body take over.

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in.

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost.

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been.

At your side, like he’s always been.

There, like he’s always been.

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor.

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had.

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but.

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready.

“I think it’s time.”

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart.

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it.

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you.

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush.

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention.

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her.

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence.

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum.

“Come on. Come on.”

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same.

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air.

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close.

Impossible tiny, just like he said.

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride.

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more.

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room.

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel.

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground.

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands.

Relief, relief.

–

June Miller.

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out.

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair.

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing.

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it.

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes.

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open.

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already.

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out.

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free.

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant.

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly.

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version.

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

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lost-in-fandoms · 5 months ago

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magical realism AU in which Daniel is a witch who owns a little garden+coffee/tea shop that is really beloved because his drinks are special and give you exactly what you need. Energizing teas that really do make you feel more awake without having caffeine in them, or drinks that taste exactly like a latte but have no coffee or milk in them. But he's struggling a bit mentally lately, and that reflects in the plants of his garden, struggling to grow or growing a bit too out of control. There's a patch of mint in particular that is taking over all the other plants, and no matter what Daniel does, he can't contain it.

He asks for help to other witch friends, who try to give him potions or spells or suggestions of any kind, but nothing seems to work. Every night he goes to bed with no mint in his garden, and every morning he wakes up with mint everywhere.

Then someone gives him the number of someone who will "for sure be able to help" and Daniel doesn't believe in it, but he's tired and he doesn't know what to do anymore, and he's struggling to make his drinks now, so he calls.

Turns out the number is Max's, who doesn't have any magic powers. Max who turns up in a two-colored car that he fixed himself and who asks where the mint (that now covers every inch of the garden) had started from. Daniel points him out to the initial corner, and leaves him to it.

Two hours later, Max comes to look for him, telling him it should be done. Daniel doesn't believe him, but Max has two big bags of mint in his truck and there's no mint in his garden, so he goes to bed.

There's still no mint the day after.

He calls Max again and Max is confused because it should have worked, but Daniel is like no it did!!! I just want to know how you did it. And Max says, well I just went to the root of the problem and eradicated it. The plant had just become a little over enthusiastic, but if there was no main root to grow from it had nowhere to go.

Daniel refuses to see it as a metaphor for his own problems, and goes on with his life, except that it keeps happening for other plants, and he feels like he's slipping because this is what he could do and now he can't do it anymore. He calls Max, again and again, and Max always fixes the problem, but it's never enough.

One day, Daniel keeps the place closed because his drinks aren't turning out right anyway, and sits out with Max as he carefully prunes the hedge that was trying to grow twenty feet tall. And they talk, and Max is kind and funny and asks questions Daniel doesn't want to answer but will think about in his bed when he's laying awake at night.

Max leaves him the number to a friend of his, a psychologist, and another number, his personal one.

The next time Max comes over, after he's done taming the rose bushes, Daniel invites him inside and they have lemonade and when Daniel kisses him Max tastes like lemon, sugar and spring.

#i was thinking about my ability to kill any kind of plant mint included dsjfbsdjf #maxiel #my writing #i have no reread this it's just how it was in my head so if there are typos no there aren't #does this even count as writing

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angelofsmalldeath-codeine · 1 year ago

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Hemmy's Recommendation List - Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

Hi! I am Hemmy and live in a delusional world where I am the female companion to Frankie Morales, Joel Miller and Javier Peña. The amazing banner by the incredible @proxima-writes @pr0ximamidnight; mid-banners and dividers by @cafekitsune

This is my first-ever recommendation list and I am trying to figure out the best format.

These are fics that I have read and enjoyed. I am sure there are many more out there that I have yet to discover. If you have any suggestions, please comment so we can all add them to our 'to be read' lists.

Link to Masterlist

Self-plug: if you need a beta reader or want help with Spanish for the ones who write Javi P and Frankie, hit me up!

Disclaimer:

These creators are putting out content for free and do not have to cater to your personal preferences or expectations of how this or that character should be written.

If a creator has not explicitly asked for feedback on their work, keep your opinion to yourself. If they have asked for feedback, mind your manners.

You are not forced to read through it. Feel free to abandon a series or one-shot halfway through if it is not working for you.

Heed warnings and tags, if you don't like soft!Javi, don't read anything with that tag. It is THAT simple. Apply that logic to everything else that is not to your taste.

Warnings and tags on each fic. Read at your discretion. You are responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

GIF by uuuhshiny

Series

A Fond Farewell @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Amaryllis @gracie7209 Because Of You @kteague Delta Palms Tropical Resort @linzels-blog Fix You @astoryisaloveaffair Forest Ranger @the-ginger-hedge-witch Grays I & II @fuckyeahdindjarin I like the way you @undercoverpena-fics Just a Number @linzels-blog King Of Your Heart @ruinedbylanadelrey My tears and my beers and my candles @proxima-writes Shadow Of The Past @lotrefcp Something Else @pedrostylez Table For Two @hellishjoel Take Your Time @romanarose The Layover @goodwithcheese The Melting Point @penvisions The Road Ahead @bellofthemeadow Third Time Is A Charm @jwritesfanfics Those Ocean Eyes @iamdesibell Worlds Get In the Way @jokersfangirl84

One Shots

Always Here For You @jwritesfanfics Burning Hearts @wordywarriorwrites Bush Pilot @legendary-pink-dot Cherry Flavoured @pedrostylez Easy Like Breathing @louswrld11 Focus @pedrostylez Frankie's Way @morallyinept Friends Don't Do This @forever-rogue Gold Band @moralesispunk Home From The Bar @pedrostylez Not A Day Too Soon @criticallyacclaimedstranger Over When It's Over @gnpwdrnwhiskey Partner In Crime @romanarose Seven Minutes In Heaven @tieronecrush The Day 3 Words Are Said @undercoverpena-fics The Day Frankie Meets You @undercoverpena-fics Touch Me Like You Never, Push Me Like You Never @quinnnfabrgay-writes Working Hard @pedrostylez

Link to Masterlist

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schmooplesboop · 1 year ago

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Toffee Apple

Pairing: Alex X Male farmer/player

Rating: Teen

For the past couple of years Alex had skipped out on Spirit’s Eve. It had gotten pretty stale. Fake plastic hedge maze, shitty plastic scares, and even shittier food that might as well have been plastic. Just bad all around.

This year, though… on top of keeping his farm afloat Colton had volunteered to grow a huge corn maze on his land for the town’s Spirit’s Eve celebrations. And the rumors had been buzzing around Pelican Town since: Colton had recruited the weird wizard dude who lived in the woods to provide spooks for the haunted corn maze, Gus had been inspired by Colton’s enthusiasm and dug up new recipes for Spirit’s Eve treats, Marnie wanted to set up a hayride for those who wanted a calmer vibe. Everyone was excited to see this year’s festival, Alex included. Even if he hadn’t cared about the event, he had a personal reason to be excited this year. Colton had straight up asked him on a date.

“I may not look it, but I’m a giant scaredy cat. I need a big, strong date to guide me through the maze. You up for it, dude?”

Haley had been staring at him so intensely that Alex could practically hear her brain screaming at him to “Just say yes, you big dope!” For once, he didn’t need her intervening, he’d said yes almost immediately. Colton’s smile and faint blush was worth the awkwardness of Haley standing there looking like she wanted to scream with delight.

Now the big night was here and he was nervous as hell. This was his first real date in a while and his first date with another dude, period.

Alex looked himself over in the full-length mirror in the hall outside his room. He’d chosen to wear a grey hoodie under his old letterman jacket and his cleanest jeans. Hair perfectly coiffed then perfectly re-coiffed, his usual hour-long hair care routine had lengthened into two. He anxiously looked over the cologne Haley had forced into his hand that morning.

“Spiced Orange. Seasonal and sexy!”

He sniffed it warily. It did smell nice… ah, what the hell. He sprayed himself then tossed the bottle through the doorway onto his bed.

Alex wished he had someone other than his grandparents to give their opinion of the end result.

His grandmother was terribly biased, “You always look handsome, dear!”

And his grandfather was not biased enough, “Hair is hair. You look like always do.”

Out of desperation, he’d asked Dusty’s opinion too. “What do you think, boy?” He gently scratched his old dog behind the ears. “How do I look? Underdressed?”

Dusty huffed a quiet doggy noise of reassurance and licked Alex’s fingers.

Alex set his jaw, chiding himself. (It’s a haunted corn maze, not the fucking opera. Just chill.)

It was definitely going to be a cold and spooky night. Alex’s breath misted in the air as he headed out of town toward Gullwing Farm, hands shoved in his jacket pockets for warmth. Fog swirled around his ankles.

Alex’s jaw dropped as Colton’s farm came into view. He’d really gone all out. Orange and purple fairy lights were strung everywhere. Ghost and witch decorations hung from the trees. Menacing scarecrows leered in the fields. Dozens of jack-o-lanterns lined the lane that led into the farm.

Right at the main gate to Gullwing there were two signs, both decorated with childish drawings of different townsfolk being scared by different monsters. Alex recognized Vincent and Jas’s handiwork straight away. One sign said that entry was free, but there was a suggested donation of five dollars. The second sign was slightly ominous, simply stating that the “Ghost Show” was at midnight… whatever that meant. Alex put fifty bucks in the slotted box nailed under the first sign and went through the gate.

Gus had a canopy set up under which he and Emily were busy doling out food and drinks. Trays of toffee apples, buckets of popcorn in three different flavors, ‘devil hot’ potato chips, pumpkin cookies, ‘mini brain’ cake pops, ‘graveyard’ cupcakes, apple punch, and hot cider. It must’ve taken them all day to get things ready.

Haley was hanging out with her sister, looking vaguely bored and eating a cake pop. When she spotted Alex, she gave him a quick once over and a round of brief silent applause. Feeling slightly better having his friend’s approval, Alex waved at her as he went by. The food looked delicious, but Alex was still mostly nerves. He didn’t think he could eat anything right now.

Pierre had set up his stand too, of course, selling Spirit’s Eve t-shirts and decorations. Alex bought a little plastic bobble ghost for his gran. She liked these weird, cheap little things for some reason. She had so many that she’d had to buy an enormous bookcase to display them.

The corn maze loomed in the distance, looking intimidating and surprisingly eerie in the fog and dim, colored light. It really was huge, it would probably take a couple of hours to get through, maybe even more. Alex was impressed by the enthusiasm and effort that not just Colton, but everyone had put into this. The whole town had really pulled together to make things better than before. Colton seemed to have that effect on people, Alex included.

Jodi was standing outside the maze with a tearful Vincent, telling him that it was too scary for him and trying to convince him to check out the more laidback hayride Marnie had going not far away. Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian stood nearby, pushing each other around and laughing.

Sebastian caught his eye and waved. Alex waved back. This is what he’d meant by Colton having an effect on him too. Old Alex dismissed Sebastian as “that weird guy” without a second thought. But when the weather had gotten colder and their morning beach runs had evolved into morning hikes in the mountains, Colton had invited Sebastian to join them sometimes and Alex had been surprised to learn that not only could Seb keep up with them even though he was 95% skinny legs, but he also knew a lot about wildlife (frogs mostly). He’d also discovered that they actually had things in common. They were both really into an old adventure-fantasy comic series that had been all the rage before either of them was born. Sebastian had even lent Alex two of the comics he was missing from his own collection. New Alex had learned not be so fucking judgy. He was liking New Alex way more than Old Alex.

Abigail linked arms with Sam and marched him into the maze. Seb pointed to a little picnic area where people were milling about eating treats, waiting for their turn on the hayride, or just enjoying the atmosphere. Alex could see Colton waiting there, munching enthusiastically on a toffee apple. Willing himself not to blush, Alex nodded his thanks to Sebastian and made his way over.

Colton towered over literally everyone around him and Alex was relieved to see that they had similar outfits on. He was wearing a fleece lined black-and-teal plaid jacket over a dark sweater and faded jeans. Now that it was too cold to surf every day, his tan skin had lost its golden luster and his hair had faded from bleached back to sandy blonde, but Colton was still super hot, to use Haley’s words.

Colton spotted him and quickly swallowed a bite of his apple, “Hi, Alex!” Like Haley, the farmer gave him a once over and Alex felt his chest tighten with anxiety. “Looking very spruce tonight, dude.”

Oh, thank fuck. “Thanks. You’re looking good yourself.” Alex was impressed with how chill he sounded, despite feeling very unchill. “Did you do all this yourself? It looks awesome, I barely recognize the farm.”

“Thanks! But nah, I had a lot of help. Demetrius helped me design the maze, but I did all the planting and watering and maintaining. Vincent and Jas helped with decorating and Marnie’s handling the hayride. Gus and Emily are in charge of the food and drink, of course. Rasmodius also said he’d provide scares for the maze and something called a ‘ghost show’. Not sure what that means, I’m kinda nervous about it to be honest—"

A scream came from the maze, startling Alex and sending a ripple of murmurs through the picnic area.

“I think that’s Maru, poor woman’s been in there for a long time. Even Harvey made it through the maze before she did. We should rescue her if we find her.” Colton finished off his apple and tossed the stick into the trash. “You ready to guide my wussy ass through this maze or would you like some food first?”

“Let’s get our maze on.” Ugh. New Alex still sometimes said mortifying shit.

Colton seemed charmed by it, thankfully, and they entered the maze. Alex didn’t scare easily, but he had to admit it was pretty creepy in here. The corn was so thick you couldn’t see through it, and it rose high over even Colton’s head. The only light in the maze came from the full moon and the fairy lights that occasionally criss-crossed overhead and it was like outside noises were muffled somehow. The ankle-deep fog outside the maze became knee-map inside. Somewhere ahead they could hear Sam whimpering and Abigail calling him a baby.

The first scare that Rasmodius conjured up, maybe literally, came running at them from out of the corn. A skeleton that glowed a sickly green sprinted right for them with arms outstretched. Alex jumped as Colton screamed. The skeleton blew right by them, bony fingers scratching at the farmer’s arm before disappearing into the corn again. Alex’s stomach flipping had nothing to do with the scare and everything to do with Colton grabbing hold of his hand.

“Sorry for making you jump, Alex. Did warn you I was a big ol’ scaredy cat.” Colton sounded self-conscious.

Alex hated to hear it. Didn’t feel right, that someone as awesome as Colton was feeling bad about himself. He gave the farmer’s hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled. “Nothing to be sorry about, dude. Happy to be bodyguard and date tonight.” Or any night.

And Alex played his part well. The wizard’s scares definitely weren’t of the plastic variety. Giant spiders, weird noises in the corn, invisible hands that brushed at their ankles and arms, figures in the fog, drooling red-eyed hounds, big swooping bats, footsteps that ran up behind them with nothing there when they turned. Colton didn’t scream every time, but there was always someone else screaming just out of sight.

By the time they reached the middle of the maze, Alex had one arm wrapped tight around Colton’s waist. The farmer looked around nervously. There was nothing here in the center of the maze except a creepy statue of what looked like a guy with an octopus for a head. Poor Maru screeched again, but it sounded distant. It seemed she might actually get out sometime before dawn.

Colton looked at the faintly glowing display on his watch, ��The ‘ghost show’ starts soon. Wanna see what that is before we try making our way out?”

Alex nodded, even he needed a break. “Sounds good.”

The wizard’s ‘ghost show’ started at exactly midnight. Vaguely human-shaped figures, glowing pale blue, drifted up through the corn and started swirling over the maze. Fast, slow, they zipped and twirled overhead. There were a few surprised squawks from the maze dwellers, then a murmur of amazement. Considering what they’d been through already tonight, this was actually kind of… soothing.

(And romantic?) Alex’s brain supplied oh-so-innocently.

No! Don’t be stupi—Alex swallowed thickly. Apparently, Colton agreed with Alex’s brain. He’d turned to face Alex, leaning in slightly. The anxiety in his deep brown eyes had melted into something very close to desire.

(Okay. The hottest man in the valley wants to kiss you, don’t fuck it up. Shit. I can do this. Okay. Fuck. C’mon, Alex, you’re not afraid of ghouls and shit, but you’re afraid of a kiss? Just--)

He blinked. Colton was suddenly angling away, looking a little embarrassed. Belatedly, Alex realized that the other man had been politely waiting for him to lean in too and had taken his getting momentarily lost in his own panicked brain as disinterest. Great. Fucked it up instantly.

“Then unfuck it, doofus!” He heard Haley’s voice so clearly in his mind it was like she was swirling overhead with the wizard’s ghosts. Hoping this didn’t make things even more awkward, Alex slid his arms around Colton’s neck and leaned in. The embarrassment faded instantly. Colton leaned down… and holy shit, they were kissing, the farmer’s body very warm and very firm as it pressed against Alex’s. Colton tasted like toffee apple and he smelled like rain in the woods with a hint of the sea underneath. Then his fingers hooked into Alex’s belt loops to draw him closer and who knew that such a small thing could be so fucking sexy?

They parted, both slightly breathless, as the ghosts above faded out so that near darkness settled over the maze once again.

“That was nice.” Colton murmured.

Alex agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, it was.”

He shivered as Colton’s lips brushed against his ear and his fingers tightened in his belt loops. “You smell amazing, by the way…”

Score one for Haley, she’d be pleased to hear it. Alex was trying to form some kind of reply that wouldn’t want to make him shrivel up and die when somewhere to their left they heard the sound of Abigail screaming and Sam laughing long and loud and very donkey-like. Their little romantic moment was over, but not ruined.

Colton’s lips were at his ear once more. “Get me out of this maze alive and I’ll kiss you again.”

If it wouldn’t have ruined the experience for everyone else, Alex would’ve bulled a straight line through the corn and made his own exit.

Oddly, kissing Alex seemed to have bolstered the farmer. He was much less jumpy as they navigated their way out and only screamed twice. Alex felt his ego puff up. Just a bit.

Someplace ahead of them they heard Maru shriek again, but this one was different. It was a scream of triumph, “Heck yeah, I survived! Emily, two cupcakes, please!”

Colton laughed, “Guess she found her way out.”

A few more twists and turns and they found their way out as well, Colton breathing a sigh of relief in the cold night air.

“Thanks, Alex. My hero.”

True to his word, Colton was moving in close again. Alex moved as well, perhaps a bit too eagerly as their noses bumped lightly. Colton only chuckled, tilting his head just a touch more so their mouths slotted together perfectly. Goddamn he tasted and smelled and felt so good. Alex could get used to this…

Afterward they bought some snacks and cider and went to join Maru and a few others in the picnic area. Haley had disappeared, probably went home a while ago. Spirit’s Eve wasn’t really her thing. She’d likely just come to give her sister and Alex some support. With the kids in bed and the last few stragglers exiting the maze, Marnie was dismantling the hayride and loading her ponies into the trailer behind her truck. Alex took a bite of the toffee apple he’d bought, a sheepish grin on his face. He knew it was kinda goofy, but he wanted to relive the taste of Colton’s lips a few more times.

They were halfway through their snack feast when Sam, Abby, and Sebastian emerged from the maze, taunting each other about who was the biggest baby.

“Didn’t hear Seb once so he’s obviously the champ among you three.” Colton called out with a teasing smirk.

Abigail laughed as the trio came to a stop beside their table. “You and Maru had a chorus going.” She teased back.

“Oh dude, yeah, I definitely would’ve dropped dead five feet into the maze without Alex to protect me.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed as he felt Colton’s hand slide over his wrist. Abby and Sam’s eyebrows raised in surprised, Sebastian just looked smug that he’d known something his friends hadn’t. Old Alex would’ve cared, probably too much. New Alex didn’t give a fuck.

He just smiled and gave Colton a nudge with his elbow. “Don’t sell yourself short, you didn’t shit yourself on the way out.”

The five of them laughed together. It felt nice.

“Walk me home?” Colton asked as they threw their trash in the bin, gesturing to the farmhouse in the distance.

“Yeah, of course.”

Alex felt more sets of curious eyes on them as they walked off hand-in-hand. He still didn’t give a fuck.

As soon as they entered the farmyard Finn, Colton’s dog, came barrelling out of his doggy door and jumped all over Alex, barking excitedly trying to lick his face.

“Oh, I see who his favorite is.” The farmer smirked.

Alex laughed and scratched Finn around the neck, trying and failing to keep all four of the dog’s paws on the ground. “Hey, buddy!”

“Thank-you, Alex.” Colton said as they ascended the stairs onto the porch, Finn racing in circles around both of them. “I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

A pleasant little knot of warmth formed in Alex’s stomach. “Me too.”

“No hike tomorrow. Gotta take all this stuff down.”

“Not by yourself, I hope?” Finn impatiently butted his head against Alex’s leg and he reached down to pat him.

“Nah. Wizard dude is taking care of the spooky stuff tonight. Marnie, Gus, and Pierre are taking care of their areas tonight too. Tomorrow morning Marnie, Shane, Seb, Sam, and Abby are coming to help with the rest.”

“I’ll help too. What time?”

“Yeah? I thought it’d be kinda tacky to ask my date to help me clean up.” Finn was harassing Colton for pets now, and he ruffled the dog about the ears.

“Nah, I want to help. Just tell me when to show up.”

A fond little smile curved Colton’s lips, “Why don’t you come by a bit earlier than the others? I’ll make pancakes.”

Alex felt his cheeks go red, “…I’d like that.”

“Seven, then?”

“I’ll be here.”

His affection quota satisfied, Finn slipped back through his doggy door into the house. Colton’s affection quota not quite satisfied, he placed a soft kiss on Alex’s jaw. “Goodnight, Alex.”

“See you tomorrow, Colton.”

#stardew valley #stardew valley alex #supportive bestie haley #supportive bestie sebastian #supportive doggo dusty #alex x male farmer #alex x male player #schmooples fic #farmer colton #colton x alex

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canmom · 13 days ago

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Animation Night 193 - Harpier cries: 'tis time! 'tis time!

PREVIOUSLY, in the dark halls of ANIMATION NIGHT, you have born witness to such horrors as these...

Animation Night 25: HORROR, featuring Kakurenbo, Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, Birdboy: The Forgotten Children, and many episodes of Yamishibai

Animation Night 77: Once More, Halloween, featuring Blood: The Last Vampire, Seoul Station, The Wolf House, and Shoujo Tsubaki - and more Yamishibai...

Animation Night 129: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed..., featuring Hellsing Ultimate, The Secret Adventures of Tom Thumb, Mad God, Ujicha's Violence Voyager, and guess what? Yamishibai...

Animation Night 176: The Hedge-Pigge Whin'd, a rather scuffed production which, contra the writeup, ended up just showing the Darkstalkers OVA from 1997. And some Yamishibai of course.

And now, my friends, and now... the witching hour is soon to be upon us once more, and it is time we revelled in the darkness and terror, for tonight is hallow'een, easily the best festival in the western calendar.

Many thanks go to @glitch-critter and @muzothecat, who provided me some excellent suggestions for animated horror that I have yet to see. Not that reruns would be the end of the world, there's some excellent shit on the list above I would be immensely glad to see again.

To begin with, we have the recently-released The Birth of Kitarō: The Mystery of GeGeGe (幾多郎誕生：ゲゲゲの謎). Which provides an excellent excuse to get into the subject of Kitarou. So let's begin our dark and sordid tale... well, it's actually a pretty positive tale, but that's not really in the spirit of things.

GeGeGe no Kitarō is a truly classic manga series dating back to the 60s, created by Shigeru Mizuki. But it's actually older still: the earliest incarnation of Kitarō is in a kamishibai performance written/illus. by Masami Itō and Keiyō Tatsumi back in 1933, called Hakaba Kitarō (Kitarō of the Graveyard). It tells the story of a ghost boy called Kitarō who lives in a graveyard; like many kamishibai it was aiming at straight up horror. Here's a board from the original (photo by translator Zack Davisson, thanks wikipedia):

So, you know yōkai? You're reading this blog, so probably, but just in case, they are the various freaky spirits of Japanese folklore, from kappa and tengu to nekomata and chōchin-oiwa. And the reason why they are such a popular feature of modern popular culture (you all know what a kappa is, right?) is in large part due to this manga.

Shigeru Mizuki, born 1922, had a pretty wild life. He was drafted into the army in 1943 at age 21, and lost his left arm in a bombing the next year; during his recovery he made friends among the Tolai people of New Guinea. He came home after the war, and found work renting out an apartment building and drawing kamishibai on the side; gradually the kamishibai work took over. In 1953, his brother Sōhei moved in after being tried for war crimes (the timeline does not mention the outcome of the trial); in 1957 at age 35 he moved to drawing manga, debuting in rental manga with Rocketman.

Starting in 1960 at the behest of Mizuki's publisher, the Hakaba Kitarō manga adapted the story of the yamishibai, introducing a wider audience to ghost boy Kitarō with his floofy hair and little third eye on a stalk. It proved explosively popular (despite being at first deemed too scary for children), telling the stories of Kitarō's encounters with all kinds of yōkai. The state of English translations is a bit scattershot; some of it is available on mangadex.

In 1964, at age 42, Mizuki debuted in serialised manga in Garo magazine - a name you might find familiar, the avant-garde magazine which also published authors like Suehiro Maruo (ero-guro mangaka, the author of Shoujo Tsubaki) and Hiroshi Masamura (the guy who made the cat manga we looked into on AN188). There, he rebooted the Kitarō manga, starting once again with the story of the birth of Kitarō. Before long he jumped over to the much larger Monthly Shonen Magazine, and retooled Kitarō to be more kid-oriented. From then on it's Kitarō city - and the immense success of the manga gave him the chance to regularly return to the newly combined state of Papua New Guinea.

In 1968, Kitarō arrived in animation land, one of Toei's early projects. It quickly became one of those classic famous Toei anime, you know the type, the kind of thing that every Japanese person of a certain age would have seen on TV. Mizuki himself composed the OP, and it continued to get sequels throughout the ensuing fifty years, with the most recent being in 2018. This is an old and widely beloved anime so there is a lot of it: the 1968 series accumulated 65 episodes, the third series in 1985-88 is the longest at 115, but the others are no slouch either; even the 2018 series pulled out a mighty 97.

As such, it's... perhaps a little daunting! But...

The Birth of Kitarō is a prequel to the 2018 series... and rather than being a spooky-fun kids anime, it's intended as a genuine horror story aimed at adults, presumably adults who grew up watching Kitarō, returning to the earliest Garo-era tone of the manga. Set in the 50s, the story sees salaryman Mizuki arrive in a village in pursuit of a mysterious medicine, where he finds the village ruled by an old superstitious family. Naturally, before long, murders start happening. And a mysterious white-haired man is somehow involved...

Seems like the perfect way to get into Kitarō. I missed the chance to see this film at Annecy this year, but it's already out on nyaa, so let's jump on it.

So that's our first act. What of our second?

Junk Head is a stop-motion scifi film pretty much enitrely solo animated by Takehide Hori who, at age 40, heard about Makoto Shinkai's solo-animated film Voices of a Distant Star (AN44), and was inspired to spend the next seven years working on a stop-motion scifi epic of his own. It tells of a cyborg from a future where humans have lost the ability to reproduce, venturing into a strange underground realm full of freaky creatures that, I'm told, invite comparisons to the art of Giger, Bosch, Escher and Gorey, and the films of Švankmajer (whose Alice we watched on AN50), Gilliam, and the Quay Brothers. del Toro lauded it as a 'work of deranged brilliance'.

Which is to say this is exactly the kind of thing we like to show here on Animation Night. I can't believe I didn't hear of this film before. Sources are not exactly abundant, but I was able to find a hardsubbed 720p version with a few seeds on it, so that's what we'll be watching tonight.

Speaking of the Brothers Quay, who enjoy a remarkably in-depth and thorough wiki page, they have yet to appear on Animation Night, and it's about time we remedied that! A pair of identical twins from the Pennsylvania who moved to the UK in 1969 to study at the RCA, they got their start in illustration before making a turn to stop motion film using bits of dolls and various other materials in the vein of Švankmajer.

They are incredibly prolific as a pair, making shorts in nearly every year from 1979 to 2021 (bar a couple of hiatuses). Most of their films are without dialogue, set instead to the music of Leszek Jankowski and a great many other other composers. They are huge book nerds too, adapting authors from Lem and Kafka to Emma Hauck; honestly there's a ton to dive into here and I will for sure be returning to these guys on a future Animation Night. Tonight, however, our pick will be Street of Crocodiles (2021), a musical piece in which a puppet walks through a desolate realm of "mechanical realities and manufactured pleasures", widely celebrated as one of their best films.

Stop motion seems to be a theme tonight, huh? Somehow, stop motion is just spookier than traditional animation. That theme continues with The House, an anthology piece for Netflix depicting three different stories taking place in the same house. Animated in London, each piece brings in a different director, respectively Emme de Swaef and Marc James Roels co-directing the first, Swedish director Niki Lindroth von Bahr the second and Mexican-British actress turned director Paloma Baeza for the third.

The stories span a few hundred years, from the 1800s to a flooded post climate change future. In each case, the house is the stage for tales of obsession and misguided ambition leading to disaster, whether it should befall anthro rats, humans or anthro cats. Widely praised for its animation and general weirdness, I'm quite excited to see what this mix has in store.

And returning of course will be Yamishibai, the wonderful long-running series of ridiculous cutout-animated creepypasta horror in the vein of old-school kamishibai boards. You know we gotta. And hey, if we're feeling in a really good mood at the end of the evening, I might bring Shoujo Tsubaki out of the vaults too. We shall see.

Animation Night 193 shall begin, with its gruesome course of animated horrors, at seventh hour.... which is to say 7pm UK time, just over four hours from the writing of this post. Be there, or be forever haunted by the ghosts of frames unseen (unless you gotta go trick or treat or something, we understand). The place? Upon the heath... of twitch.tv/canmom!

Hoooohhooohohoohooohooohohoooooooooo!

#animation night #animation #halloween

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midwestbramble · 2 months ago

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Walnut Folklore

Juglan nigra

Ruled by ☉

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Contents:

Overview

Folklore

Uses in Witchcraft

Safety Notes

Conclusion

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Overview

The Black Walnut tree stands anywhere from 80-150 ft. tall with the trunks reaching 2-3 feet in diameter. You can find these magnificent trees in full sun, on the edge of forests. The bark is deeply furrowed and gray-black in color. The leaves are compound with 23 stemless oval and smooth leaflets. It flowers in spring, giving way to globular fruit that fully ripens in late summer (the nut).

The Black Walnut uses a process called allelopathy, which is a way in which a plant may protect itself. It releases sesquiterpenes to keep other plants away so it has none to compete with for growing space and resources.

You can gather the green unripe hulls and allow them to ripen in a bucket. Sometimes you will see maggots between the hull and the hard shell of the nut, these do not affect the nut meat. Once the hulls have blackened, they are easier to hull. Use a hammer to smash it open and a stiff brush to scrub away any extra. Wait for it to completely dry. Then smash open the shell with a hammer, and pick out the meat.

Europe has a different species of walnut to North America.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Folklore

-The Witches of Benevento-

In Benevento, Italy, it is thought that witches from all over Europe celebrate their sabbats (getting there through spirit flight) under a walnut tree that was on the Sabato River bank. It is speculated that these legends stem from the Longobards who were said to hang goat or snake skins from the tree and then eat them to gain their powers.

-Appalachia-

According to Jake Richards' books, the walnut's "leaves are scattered about the house at sunset and left until morning, when they're swept out, to get rid of troublesome spirits" (Richards, pg. 170). He mentions that the hulls are also used to dye clothes, as I have found out on accident they work very well for.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Uses in Witchcraft

Harvest some leaves or bark to use as a focus when hedge riding (another term for spirit flight) to the witches' meeting and asking for it to watch over you, or ask your local walnut tree for it's protection while you perform your own rites. If you have a spirit that just won't leave, gather some leaves and make them get out with a floor wash or carpet powder. The brave might use it in a smoke cleanse, however I do worry about nasal irritation.

If you're handy with clothing, you could use the hulls to dye your ritual clothes, or any other clothing you may have, for protection from wayward spirits. This is a wonderful book on natural dying.

If you're inclined to kitchen witchery, the nut meat itself is incredibly fragrant and I suggest making Nocino, walnut bread, or a walnut cake for protective purposes or an honorary food.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Safety Notes

Not indicated for long-term use. The compound juglone, found in the juice of fresh walnut hulls, is considered a strong skin irritant and may cause itching or burning sensations (don't be like me, and wear gloves).

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Conclusion

The walnut is an overlooked tree, I swear it’s everywhere. It is marvelous and awe-inspiring when allowed to reach it's full potential. You can find my blog about talking with my local walnut guardian here. It works protection against spirits, chasing them, while also protecting your own spirit while out roaming the otherworld.

References:

Midwest Medicinal Plants by Lisa M Rose

The Herbal Academy's Intermediate Herbal Course Monograph

The Witches of Benevento, World Heritage Journeys

Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards

Images:

Title image made on Canva with black walnut image provided by the Boston Public Library via Unsplash

The Walnut of Benevento, by Giuseppe Pietro Bagetti (1764-1831)

Perfect Appalachian Sunset, by Sean Foster on Unsplash

#witchblr #witchcraft #green witchcraft #plant magic #folkloric witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #walnut folklore

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captainsbestgal · 2 years ago

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Headcannons for Javi Peña post Narcos

So I wanna credit @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @wheresarizona for their amazing post Narcos Javi series, The Crush and Learning to Live respectively. They 100% are the inspiration in writing these HC cause they're both *chefs kiss*

I 100% think after Columbia most definitely has PTSD. But as you enter his life, he starts seeing the goodness in people again, and starts to really heal. He may not be the same Javi that left Laredo, but he's closer than he thought he would ever be.

Javier is a horse guy, they really bond over their quiet strong exteriors. But you catch him one day softly singing to the horses as he's cleaning them up from a day of work, and he's doing the cutest little dance around them as he cleans. You wish you could video it to savor forever, your strong man being so soft and goofy.

He and his dad 100% go out riding together, maybe they'll talk maybe they don't. It's a good soul healing time.

Chucho adores that Javi is beginning to lighten up because of you. He's swears he hasn't seen his son smile so much since before his momma passed.

I imagine he ends up with a transplant, someone who didn't grow up in Laredo but probably still front Texas. So he ends up showing her all the best spots in Laredo, every date night he takes her somewhere different and tells her stories about himself growing up.

I'd like to imagine Lorraine is supportive of Javi and his bonita/cielito (I adore both nicknames from the two series above so he uses them interchangeably). It's unavoidable that Lorraine and them will cross paths. She sees how happy Javi is, and knows this is where it was all meant to lead for them both.

Bonita and Javi end up adopting dogs, both working dogs for the ranch and pet dogs for the home. I'd like to think a blue heeler for the ranch, since it's a cattle ranch. And maybe a golden retriever for the "pet" even though it 100% follows Javi around while he works the ranch.

This leads to Bonita getting taming some of the barn cats kittens, and having a mess of kitties in the house for her company while Javi and Chucho are out working.

Javi surprises his cielito with a sweet Appaloosa horse for her birthday a few years after they've been married (it'd be weird to get a girlfriend a horse, so yeah). Cielito starts going on those trail rides that Javi and Chucho go on together, and it's a very sweet bonding time for them all. Javi also will take her out on trail riding dates where they end up having a picnic and.... well I don't want Tumblr to yeet this into the abyss so go read the two series I mentioned if you wanna know what they get up to on those picnic dates🥵🥵🥵🥵

Javi proposes with his mommas ring. When he asks Chucho for the ring he takes it off his chain necklace he's been wearing since his wife passed, and says his mom would adore his Bonita. That night Chucho plays his first dance song, feeling super nostalgic and missing his wife. Bonita, not knowing what song it is, asks Javi to dance and he looks to his pop to check if that's OK. It is their song after all. He nods with glassy eyes, and watches his son dance with the love of his life. Chucho starts to play music more and more in the house, especially that song, just to see his son and soon to be daughter-in-law smile and dance more. It becomes Bonita and Javis first dance song.

If Javis PTSD is triggered, I think Cielito learns quickly how to help him manage it. Maybe starts strongly suggesting he go out for a ride with her. Or help her groom the horses. Something to get his mind and body back in the present. If it's out in public she will guide him to somewhere more calm, and by God if people start to talk about him and his mental health in a negative way. Well Bonita may be scarier than Pablo Escobar and all his sicarios combined.

#javier pena imagine #javier pena #javier pena smut #narcos imagine #narcos smut #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction

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6leggedhorse · 2 months ago

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Book Review: Blackthorn’s Protection Magic: A Witch’s Guide to Mental & Physical Self Defense by Amy Blackthorn

Have you ever experienced something scary? A stalker? Someone sending you bad vibes? Whatever the case is, we all could use a bit of protection to keep us safe from harm. Today I will be reviewing Amy Blackthorn’s book Blackthorn’s Protection Magic: A Witch’s Guide to Mental and Physical Self Defense. So please get comfy, grab your favorite drink and snack, grab your pet to cuddle up with and let’s dive into this.

Who is Amy Blackthorns?

Amy is a well established author with having already written 6 books underneath her belt having 2 awards for her work. She is also known for having a long history of teaching as well as working with plants and their magical properties. Amy also is a business owner; she sells tea based upon herb’s magical properties. She has also made public appearances such as Netflix’s Top 10 Secrets and Mysteries.

Book Review 10/10

I actually read this book a while ago when I learned that some of the areas I’d be strong in was protection magick. I read this cover to cover, and I can say that this is one of the best books you can read to get educated in protection magick. This doesn’t just mention herbs, colors etc that have the protection perk, it tells you how you can protect yourself outside of the realm of utilizing magick; she even shares her own personal experiences when protection magick came in clutch for her and may have even saved her life. If you’re looking to really educate yourself in protection magick (which you should learn how to master first before anything else in my opinion but you do you), I suggest that you pick this up or grab it as an e book. There information in here is valuable, it takes every bit of information about protection magick that you would spend hours researching on the internet is combined into one book, it will save you so much time as all the information you’ll ever need is in this book. I give this book a 10/10 because of the information I’d probably ever need on protection magick is all in one source; no more to TikTok search engine or dr.google! Amy also has 5 other books; most if not all are based/rooted in hedge/green witchcraft, never the less regardless in what field of magick that you’re best suited in, this will still work for you. Not to mention that it’s very beginner friendly, so no need to work about over complicated language!

Epilouge

I know this one was short but class does start in an hour and I got the itch to post! This week has been going a lil bit easier so far but I’m not getting my hopes up on it. I hope you guys are taking care of yourselves as your mental health is extremely important. What did you think about the review? Do you have a different opinion? I’m curious to know your thoughts on Amy Blackthorn and her work! Until next time!

References

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broomsick · 1 year ago

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Hello! Where can I start with witchcraft? I am a very new pagan so I thought I could as you for help.

Hi! That's a very good question. First of all, before I dive into details, it's important that you know there's no right place to start when it comes to witchcraft, just like when it comes to paganism.

However, it could be very useful for you to learn about different paths, or different types of practices before starting your journey! You'll discover very quickly that witches tend to specify what type of witchcraft they practice most when introducing themselves. Of course, one doesn't need to be confined to a particular practice! A witch could very well be as comfortable doing hedge work as doing storm witchcraft, or kitchen witchcraft. Still, there are loads of very different practices within witchcraft, and it could be super interesting for you to learn about them. You might immediately feel drawn to one, or a few in particular, simply because of your pre-existing personnal preferences. For example, you might know right away that you'd like to work with the sun, or with the sea! Before diving into the craft, I suggest that in this manner, you determine right away which kind of path you want to tread. Of course, you're always free to change, to practice many vastly different paths at once, and to altogether leave this or that practice in the past if it doesn't feel right anymore.

When that is done, there is one key-word to keep in mind: learn, learn, learn. You may want to purchase, or rent books on witchcraft, wildlife, omens, nature in general, folklore, and/or open traditional practices! Explore the many many websites that post articles about witchcraft (A few of my favorites: Round the Cauldron, Tea & Rosemary, Witch of Lupine Hollow, Flying the Hedge, Cailleach's Herbarium because I'm simply obsessed with Scotland, Otherworldly Oracle...). Look thoroughly into anything that piques your curiosity, really! Be open to taking new knowledge in, even on topics that might not have interested you at first. From star maps, to folk recipes, to seasonal holidays, to dream interpretation, to full-scale spells, to element work, to herbalism... There are so many topics to explore that's it's downright dizzying. And all of them are fascinating!

Now, there are also a few forms of practice to steer away from. These are closed practices, meaning that to practice them is to appropriate them, as they belong to groups who still traditionally practice them to this day. White sage smudging, working with deities from closed traditions, and hoodoo are all examples of practices you absolutely cannot engage in, unless you have been properly initiated into them.

With that having been said, I'll jump right into my personal tips. If we're talking concrete, hands-on practice, I do have a few suggestions as to where you can start! To me, cleansing is a very fun and simple way to practice witchcraft on the day-to-day. I usually start my cleaning up the space I mean to cleanse, for example, the kitchen. I simply put away what I can (dirty dishes, groceries and the like), and once that's done, I proceed to the spiritual cleansing. I often burn incense in the room, or I will sometimes "sound cleanse" using a little bell. This helps to keep unwanted spirits away, and to protect the home (I very much value hearth work). Brewing a tea and charging it with intent, working with sigils, and learning simple spells to say out loud are also extremely simple ways to start becoming familiar with witchcraft.

Finally, there are also a few questions I suggest you try answering as you begin your journey in witchcraft: "What do I believe in when it comes to magic? How do I think it works?", "What type of change do I want to create using magic?", "What local/family traditions am I attached to? How can I integrate them into my craft?", "Can I believe this or that piece of information?". In general, it's important to keep asking yourself these types of questions! Never mindlessly accept information you receive, and find your own answers with time and experience.

#witchcraft #paganism #ask #asks #spirituality #witchy tips #mabon #heathenry #mabon 2023 #wheel of the year #pagan witch #green witch #kitchen witch

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renee561 · 2 years ago

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WIP guessing game: sweet

"Ah yes well I would not subject you to the brute if it is within my power. He would have that be my fate," the lady shuddered and opened the door wider and Cledessa had to keep her face from smirking as she hurried inside.

It was lavish rooms, and when Marian did the lock, Cledessa felt a swell of pride, lust, and oh sweet victory.

Send me a word WIP Game

#wip ask game #send me a word meme #hedge witch's suggestion #renee's wip #nonny is lovely

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frannyzooey · 1 year ago

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Short Days, Long Nights: 9

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you so much to the wonder that is @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this over for me, for making suggestions, and for letting me stay in her guest bedroom where I am posting this from (!!!!) - I don't know how I ever got so lucky. ❤ To the rest of you - this is....porn. You're welcome.

“Joel,” you moan quietly, arching into the solid wall of his chest.

His arm draped over your side flexes tighter, keeping you in place, and his fingers swipe through your soaked folds, sliding up to your clit. Finding it nestled just below the soft curls under the palm of his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers drag over the sensitive bud just right, and your breath hitches in a soft sigh, your lips parting.

Sunlight breaks through the window, streaming into the bedroom to wash over the two of you, and your quiet sounds join those of the woods. The windows left open to any semblance of a cool autumn breeze, bird song is a distant chirp under the rustle of your sheets, under your soft, high pleas, under his low, pleased groans.

His mouth presses against your cheek, your face tipping back to catch his kiss and his tongue slips inside like his fingers do when he slides them in with a slick, snug stretch.

One, then two – he swallows your whine, his hand working between your thighs, his wrist a rhythmic flex as you wrap your hold around his thick forearm and your legs drop open wider, making room for him. Your wet silk coats his digits, slick smeared over and around them when he draws them out for a quick taste, and the sound he makes is so filthy that you clench your legs shut, hoping for relief.

He’s rougher when his hand palms the inside of your thigh to pull you back open for him, your foot hooking over his ankle to hold yourself there, and he tugs you tighter against his lap, the thick line of his cock firm and hot along the curve of your ass. He grinds it into the plush cushion of your soft skin in search of his own relief for a moment, before reaching down to line his cock up, fitting it inside.

With your ass tucked neatly in his lap, he finds his rhythm and his hand caresses everything he can: the plump weight of your breast with a light squeeze, the dip of your waist, the meat of your hips as you roll them back against him. He glides his touch up to your throat, humming in contentment at the petal soft skin he finds, and cradling the base of it in his large hand, he keeps his hold there as his hips pick up pace.

A feverishly hot, solid wall of flesh behind you with his bicep curled around you, you feel hidden from the world and safe. Your eyes slip shut as you focus on the filling, thick strokes he’s delivering to you from behind, your cunt snug around him as it accepts every one.

He fills you like no one else ever has, as if you were keeping places inside you tucked away, saving them for only him to reach. He’s always a lot, but this morning is especially intense as he makes you take it all over and over and over, burying himself inside you again and again. Never getting enough.

His face fits into the nape of your neck, his mouth opening to scrape his teeth across your skin and he goes faster and harder, his hand still at the base of your throat to keep you in place. He fucks into your slick soaked cunt that squeezes him like a fist, and his groans get deeper and louder over your more breathless ones.

“I woke up wanting to fuck you and – Christ – you’re so perfect and ready for me. Always so ready.” He groans when you start matching his thrusts with your own pushes back, taking him deeper. “You fuckin’ like it like this, honey, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admit, the word a long, drawn out drag that is stuttered with every beat of his hips. “I love it like this. Just like this, okay?”

Sweat gathers between your bodies, your nails digging into the firm muscle of his hip, and you arch your back even more, your belly tightening with arousal as you ascend.

He can feel you coat every inch of him, the sound of his cock lewd in the sun-drenched bedroom as he fucks you awake, and when you come with a cry that’s muffled by his pillow, he immediately rolls you onto your stomach and tugs your hips up, forcing your ass into the air.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands restlessly splaying across the sheets before you fist them, and the slap of his skin against yours fills the space, his husky murmurs of praise interspersed with breathless grunts.

“You’re so fuckin’ good, honey. So good. I’m almost there, but I just need you to take a little more, because – fuck, fuck – I don’t wanna come yet. I don’t wanna because I just wanna keep fuckin’ you. You look so good, takin’ my cock like this.”

You tighten around him again, your body alight with sparks of pleasure that threaten to catch and flame any second at the idea of being just for him. As if your paths were forced together just to come to this point: your body made for his use. In whatever way he chooses.

“I’m gonna come, honey. You’re gonna make me —” his large hands squeeze your hips hard, his thick fingers digging into your flesh as he buries himself to the hilt to spill inside you and that sends you over the edge again with a moan.

His to use.

His to own.

His. His. His.

–

“So what’s left on the list?”

You sit on the bank of the river, squeezing water from your sleep shirt and getting out as much as you can, you spread it out flat on the grass to dry.

“I don’t know. I was thinkin’ about fixing that chair on the porch. Or tryin’ to anyway.”

His dark hair is slicked back, the sun a shining stripe over his crown, and you look up at him as he swims away from you, disappearing with a ripple under the surface. He stays under for a moment, appearing a ways away when he resurfaces, and he slowly swims back towards you, taking his time.

Water pours from between your fingers and slips down over your wrists, the tinkling, dripping sound and the splash of Joel’s limbs as he swims filling the background. The bank is flooded with sunlight, some near shaded spots and some sun drenched, and you eye the partially shaded spot next to you, contemplating moving your washing over there.

Behind on laundry, you’re in nothing but a tank top and underwear, and overly warm from the direct sunlight, you cup some cool water and swipe it over your face, letting it drip down between the valley of your braless breasts. Too tender to put one on today, you peek into the basket to see if you have any rags to wash in there, assuming your period is coming soon.

Tampons were available in the QZ, but you obviously hadn’t thought to pack more than a month or so when you initially started out. You ran out months ago, and the idea of packing your underwear with rags to soak up the blood wasn’t too bad, but the thought of soaking the dirty ones and hanging them out to dry was another story.

Shy when it came the first time, you had tried to hide the process from him until he inevitably found out and rolling his eyes with a lift at the edge of his mouth, when he told you he was “more than a little used to blood”, that was the end of that.

Joel floats on the surface of the water, his face and chest and knees the only visible parts of him and you rinse two more pieces of clothing before he stands to walk slowly towards the bank. Lifting your eyes to watch, your mouth goes slightly slack at the sight – all the times you’ve seen him naked by now, it never fails to make you stop and stare.

Rivulets of water stream down his body, golden drops glinting across his bare, tanned skin and finding paths down the fine, dark hair that covers his legs. He stands in the breeze for a moment, letting it wash over his body, and you shamelessly stare, taking him in. He’s stripped bare, appearing softer with all armor of his clothing gone, and though a gun still rests on the river bank next to his clothes, it’s more casually tossed into the grass than at the ready like it always was before.

He’s been lighter since he told you about Sarah, like a weight has been lifted. Working her into the conversation periodically — something that makes you smile every time -- he's working on it, filling out the gaps in your mind of the Joel who came before.

A freer, lighter man in front of you than you’ve ever seen yet no less solid looking, he opens his eyes and quirks an eyebrow up at you, squinting in the sunlight.

“You okay there, honey?” The question in his voice is a deep, knowing one, and you smile in return, going back to the shirt in your hand.

“You know how they used to say that thing about take a picture, it’ll last longer?” you say, and he hums, the edge of his mouth lifting.

“I really, really wish I had a camera right now.”

He laughs out loud, his dimple piercing deep in his cheek as he bends to retrieve his towel from the grass, and he shakes his head as he runs it over his limbs, drying off. When he’s done, he spreads it out on the grass and then takes a seat, hooking his forearms over his knees. Dappled sunlight rests on his leanly strong limbs, the spray of freckles that cover his skin more visible in the bare light, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes studying your movements for a moment.

“Come here, honey.”

It’s a softly spoken request, not a command.

Looking over at him, you slowly stand and his dark eyes watch you hungrily as you come closer. When you get within his reach, he tugs you down into his lap, your hands finding a home on his chest immediately. His pebbled skin chilled and cool under your palms, he drinks you in, his eyes raking over your exposed skin and damp tank top.

His hands come up to cradle your face, guiding you closer and his breath is warm over your mouth when he speaks the lilt of his adoration.

“You’re so beautiful.”

His nose fits against yours with a gentle, tender nuzzle before his lips catch yours, his fingers reaching to rest against the hinge of your jaw as he deepens his kiss and you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his cool embrace. His lips are chilled but his tongue is warm when it slides against your own, and his hands drift down to tug on the hem of your tank top, lifting it over your head. He tosses it onto the grass, his hands immediately finding your bare breasts and when he rubs his thumbs over their pebbled peaks, you inhale with a slight frown of pleasure.

“My pretty girl,” he says lowly, his mouth molding warm and wet around the ridge of your collarbone. Another thick, reverential kiss presses against your hot skin, his tongue dipping to taste your sweat and he trails a path to your breast, thumbing the soft underside before pushing the peak into his mouth.

His tongue glides over the bud of your nipple before he gives it a suck, and the hiss you let out is a mix of pleasure and pain.

He draws back, looking up at you. “You okay, honey? Too much?”

“No, it’s good, I just –” you start, letting go of him to palm your breasts in your hands. Giving them a light squeeze, you test the sensation yourself. “Just a little…tender. But don’t stop, okay?”

To encourage him, you lean back in for a kiss, this one hungrier than before. “Don’t stop. Please.”

When his hands find you again, they are gentler than before and his tongue is too – a slick, slow glide of the wet muscle dragging over your nipple as he looks up at your face. It’s sinful, those deep, brown eyes just above the sight of him latched onto you with a tender, slow suck, and your hips shift forward on his lap, your fingers winding into his wet curls.

Arousal pools in your core, heat flooding syrupy and warm through your limbs. Languid in the heat, his tongue swirls and laves, drawing more into his mouth before he switches from one to the other. Leaving a wet trail between the two, it glistens on the plane of your chest and when he gives you another slow, lingering suck, his contented groan settles deep over your heart.

Your hips get antsy, shifting on his lap, and he smiles against your skin.

“You sore down here too?” he asks, letting his forehead rest against your chest as his fingers rub the thin cotton separating the two of you. Looking up at you, he keeps stroking.

“I think so,” you admit. It was a lot, this morning – always a lot, but more so than usual with the unforgiving position he had you in, and you wish more than anything it wasn’t; the phantom weight of his cock inside you making you drip. He keeps rubbing, your underwear sodden and damp under his touch, and you chase his fingers, letting out a quiet whine.

“What if I just used my fingers, huh? Would that be okay?”

You nod and drape yourself over him in an effort to get as close as you can, his chin hooking over the round of your bare shoulder. His beard scrapes against the skin, his words a low drawl against the lobe of your ear. “What about my mouth, honey? Want me to kiss this pussy better?”

Hot and passive and limp with arousal in his lap, something pulls deep in your belly at his question, and you sit straight up, pulling him in for a rough kiss. He groans, his fingers digging needily into the dip of your entrance before he shoves your underwear to the side and the wetness that greets him makes him groan roughly into your mouth. He gathers some of it, pulling himself back at the last minute to be more gentle with the pearl of your clit as he starts swirling firm, constant circles over it.

Your body curls forward, your eyes fixed on his hand, and you reach down between his thighs, grasping his solid, stiff cock in your fist.

Your small hand wraps around him, your pinky brushing against the delicate skin of his balls as you start to jerk the thick weight of him between your bodies, and your wrist brushes against his as you work each other higher. Your thighs flex and tighten around his, your hips a steady roll as you dig your other hand into his broad shoulder while you work him faster, relishing in the slip of precome that leaks out. Rubbing the center of your palm over the thick head, you smear his slick around the tip before you resume stroking, and he groans into your mouth, working his own fingers faster.

“Fuck, honey. Just like that.”

It’s so hard to focus on what you’re doing when he’s making you feel as good as you do. The haze of lust consumes you, pulling you down deeper and deeper under the surface, but you try to wade through it, focusing on stroking him from root to tip. He thickens in your hand, his own touch slipping into a greedier, more distracted type of need and he rubs harder and faster, his mouth leaving yours to rest just against it as he pants warm over your lips.

The sound you make is more of an astonished whine that breaks free when he grabs your hand with his other one and helps you stroke him; his fist enveloping yours as you work him together. His head tips back, his throat flexing with a groan and your hooded eyes drag over the bob of his Adam’s apple before you lean in, giving it a kiss.

Sucking a mark into the pebbled skin of his throat, his hand stops when he starts to come; thick spurts of hot, sticky liquid hitting your stomach and smearing through the creases of your fingers. You keep going even as he starts to soften in your hold, stroking him slick and smooth and slippery, and he eventually nips your chin in reprimand, grasping your hip in a painful squeeze.

“Enough,” he groans, sliding his hold down to frantically tug at the band of your underwear.

You stand up just long enough to shuck them off before he pulls you down on top of him again, his dark curls damp and air-dried against his light towel as he lays down to position you over his face and you’re barely in place when he tugs you tight his mouth. Your knees spread wide on either side of his head as his chest flexes underneath your seat, you lean forward, placing your hands in the grass, curling your fingers into it. Pieces slip through your hold as you tug them free from the ground, your hips riding his open mouth in search of the promise he started with his fingers and his hold shifts up from your hip to splay wide over your soft belly, smearing the streaks of his sticky come across your skin. You join him, your hand reaching down to thread your fingers with his as you make a mess together.

His tongue is so much more gentle than his fingers could ever be, but also so much more precise. It glides and flicks against you, dipping inside you to taste what you gift him before it slides back up and when he works circles over it, you tense above him, getting ready to come.

Begging him to keep going in a breathless chant, the words are breathed into the sunlight that surrounds the two of you, and when you finally do hit the peak of your release, you tip your head back and let it wash over your face and down, light flooding over your body.

Content to stay where he is, he licks you down as you slump slightly in relief and looking down at your hand over his, you see the shiny glue that holds you together.

You let him go, bringing his hand to your mouth to give it a slow, lingering kiss and he does the same to your clit, his eyes meeting yours from between the curves of your thighs. You can both feel his smile and see it; his mouth stretching in a grin underneath you as the corners of his eyes wrinkle with it, and the sight makes you return it with one of your own.

Gingerly raising, you shift yourself to rest along the length of his body and the two of you say nothing for a while, basking in sated, sun-soaked silence. His knuckles drag lightly over your abdomen, his eyes trailing down to see where your skin is puckered and tight from the mess he made and his grin is boyishly handsome when he looks over at you, meeting your eyes.

“Sorry about that.”

“You’re not sorry for shit, Miller,” you tease him and he laughs, curling his arm to rest under his head as he shifts onto his side.

“No. You’re right.” He stays quiet for a moment, letting his eyes drift down from your face. His hand strokes the outside curve of your breast, his fingers as light as the air that tickles your bare skin.

“You okay?” he asks, looking up at you with a small frown. “I wasn’t too rough again this time? I really am sorry about this morning, if it was too much. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive. Next time, tell me honey, so I’ll stop.”

The water bubbles and gurgles along the bank, the grass cool under your flushed skin where it strays off his rumpled towel and you roll onto your stomach, scooting closer.

“You were fine this morning,” you reassure him. Lifting an eyebrow, you tease. “More than fine. I’m good.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching the truth of your statement. You brush a lock of hair from his forehead, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch and momentarily satisfied with your answer, he stays in place, resting.

Your fingertip delicately traces the lines of age that mark his face: the crinkles that surround his eyes, the permanent frown creased between his brows. Letting your touch skate down, you skim it down the strong bridge of his nose, and across the beginnings of his patchy beard.

He hums under your exploration, his chest slowing in its rise and fall.

On the bank of the river, the words for what you feel for him are on the edge of your lips as he lets you dance your touch over his features, but you don’t say them. You let them flood through your chest, the heavy weight of emotion pushing against the inside of your pressed together lips, and instead, you say nothing.

His hand skates down the curve of your spine and over your hip, catching the stiff edge of his mess from earlier and you scoot closer, fitting yourself to his side. Letting your head drop down next to his, you press a kiss to his cheek and his eyes still closed, a broad smile breaks the stillness of his face.

The sight makes you laugh; the sound of happiness floating into the late summer air.

–

It’s another month before you know for sure.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader

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utilitycaster · 2 years ago

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Im very very intrigued by your take on wisdom being the more arrogant stat. Is your thinking that wisdom is more ‘inherant’ while intelligence is typically earned? Please elaborate!!

Not quite about what's earned vs. inherent and more about where these types of arrogance draws the line.

In real life, while I’ve run into no small number of immensely arrogant academics, nothing will ever exceed the smugness of people who claim to be “empaths” while generally being insufferable black holes of energy and time. At least the academics are correct some of the time. Having good insight is all well and good but if instead of using that simply to inform your interactions with that person, you act like you know what’s best for them…that’s a level of arrogance that intellectual snobbery can never, in my mind, achieve.

To use the examples I gave - I think Percy is, to be clear, a hugely arrogant prick (honorific), and I think Keyleth is typically a more well-intentioned person than he. But I also think that Keyleth does, for example, tend to operate on a sense of legacy that presumes a thousand-plus year lifespan, and doesn’t really think through the fact that Percy is someone who’d be lucky to live a century and who has spent his entire adult life assuming he is the sole survivor of his family line. It’s not that Percy’s actions are good; but they are understandable, and he is coming from a very different place than Keyleth. And it’s Percy who’s able to point this out.

This is also true of Caduceus, who of the Mighty Nein has very little life experience, but does tend to assume he knows what’s best for people. He is, as I’ve discussed many times, a quietly deeply arrogant character. Many of his banger lines absolutely don’t land with the target - “rest well with your poor decisions” is hilarious but judgmental and completely misses Fjord’s objectives; his line to Trent flies so far from the mark he may as well not have said anything at all. He’s not wrong, per se…but he assumes everyone operates on the same principles he does.

I think while the flaw of intelligent characters is often to assume their knowledge surpasses that of other people, the flaw of wise characters is often to assume that their perspective is objectively the right one. And the thing is, an INT 20 wizard probably does know way more than other people, whereas a WIS 20 cleric probably doesn’t have a universal perspective. Wise characters often don’t know what they don’t know, and intelligent characters often do.

I should point out - in Worlds Beyond Number, this observation concerned a fey-influenced girl with anti-magic abilities who had a job with a weird and unpleasant hedge mage. Suvi, a wizard of the Citadel and essentially the adoptive daughter of someone important within the Empire, suggests she go to the Citadel for opportunities. Ame, a witch from a small town, opposes this in part because she (with a good insight check) realizes that the girl is not unhappy in her role, which Suvi does look down upon. The thing is…neither of them know what will be best for her! They both assume they’re right, and they’re both well-intentioned. But Ame fucks it up specifically by telling Suvi that she (Suvi) had opportunities this girl would not - which may or may not be true (it’s genuinely not made clear). Both Suvi and Ame make a ton of presumptions here, but Ame is the one who specifically assumes Suvi is wrong.

This also happens to tie into another common thing about WBN: While for narrative reasons I do expect the Empire to be a deeply flawed and well, imperial thing, I’ve already seen so much that’s just people knee-jerk hearing “empire” and losing any sense of nuance and analysis. It’s simply not possible yet to have any meaningful discussion of the actual flaws in the specific society in question. We’ve really only seen Suvi, who is, I should note, arrogant, but also at most 20 years old and a wizard prodigy who was orphaned at the age of six by parents who died for the Empire, and that should be taken into account. Which kind of gets back to the main point! A lot of people who I think would consider themselves insightful and empathetic tend to also go off gut feelings instead of actually exploring the reality of a scenario.

#answered #faltermoth

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enchantedliving · 1 year ago

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Green Cloth, Inlaid with Wild Flowers: Magical Summer Wear

Enchanting clothing for the modern witch or fairy has gotten far easier with the internet—especially with trends like “whimsigoth” and “witchcore” on TikTok and the Daily Faeshion Facebook group giving you all kinds of ideas. But it’s still hard to know what to wear in the summer. For example, many of the suggestions involve velvet, dark colors, and tons of layers, which are all pretty much the last things you want to wear if it’s sweltering outside!

In the 1810 ballad collection Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, editor R.H. Cromek wrote that Scottish fairies tended to wear “mantles of green cloth, inlaid with wild flowers” and “green pantaloons, buttoned with bobs of silk, and sandals of silver.” Though the ballads included in this collection are of dubious origin (many were likely the work of poet Allan Cunningham), Cromek’s description of fairy clothing is pretty spot on, traditionally speaking, and we think it makes great inspiration for magical summer wear.

To start, embracing the color green in summer works well no matter if you lean more toward the witch or fairy side of dress. Summer is the time of vibrant green grass and tree leaves—it is the color of life thriving everywhere you look. Folklore frequently associates the color with the fae, but you can make it witchwear too if you go for the hedge witch aesthetic: Lightweight fabrics in the color and leafy, mossy accessories are good places to start.

If you’re thinking you still want to embrace some layers, we recommend white lace. White is also a common fairy color, and it will keep you much cooler than layers of other colors would.

If your witchy heart says No, thank you—all black, all the time, we get it—we’re frequently in the same boat ourselves. Lightweight black cotton and black lace are great summer staples. Go for short styles or tea-length rather than floor-sweeping hems to survive the heat, and create texture and visual interest with jewelry instead of adding more fabric or layers.

Next, while it may be a little bit difficult to create garments “inlaid with wild flowers,” you can embrace wearing flowers in other ways. Fantastical prints, floral jewelry, and even a flower crown can evoke the magic of both spring and summer. We tend to like the brighter, bolder colored flowers in the summer—we’re talking sunflowers, hibiscus, marigolds, phlox, coneflowers, and zinnias. Last, we highly recommend those silver sandals Cromek talks about. Sandals are made for the summer, and having some with a bit of shimmer, shine, and glitter can take your outfit from mundane to magical instantly. If silver’s not your thing, pretty much any metallic color can work. We’re especially fond of the ones that wrap a bit up your leg—they always seem a little extra ethereal!

During the time of year that most people want to dress lightly for comfort, you don’t have to sacrifice your magical style. What do you have in your closet already that might add that little spark to your summer wear? Be creative—you never know what you might come up with when you keep your most enchanted self at the forefront of your mind.

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#faerie #magic #nature #witch #beauty #fairy #forest #art #flowers #enchanted living magazine

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sherala007 · 1 year ago

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I need some help with a title for this one. Happily accepting suggestions.

@just-here-for-the-moment @oonajaeadira @the-ginger-hedge-witch @maggiemayhemnj @inkededucatednnerdy @nuggsmum @pedropascalsx

#poetry #personal #strength

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kingofsummer93 · 2 years ago

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Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 14: The Vision

Ao3 Masterlist

Lucien was having the most wonderful dream. The air was warm, with a cool breeze ruffling his hair. He inhaled deeply and his lungs filled with the sweet scent of honey. It made his mouth water as something primal and animalistic deep inside him stirred.

Mine, it said. You are mine and I am yours.

He was in a garden. High hedges bordered a path lit by twinkling lights strung overhead. Elain was tugging him down the path, deeper into the garden.

“Come,” she urged, smiling at him coyly over her shoulder. “I want to show you something.”

Lucien glanced up at the night sky, as if by instinct. As if an invisible hand had reached for his chin and forced him to look.

What he saw made his blood run cold. A perfect, silvery orb, mocking him from high above.

“Elain,” he warned. “It’s not safe. I can’t…”

But even as he spoke the words he could not remember what he had been about to say. Elain beckoned him closer with a crook of her finger, and Lucien grinned wolfishly. As he dipped his nose to breathe in her skin he noted the scent of her blood- rich and sweet and so, so human. It filled him with a sudden, intense hunger. All he’d have to do was clamp his teeth on that sweet-smelling skin, and then the taste of her blood would fill his mouth…

Lucien woke with a start, blinking in confusion. He had been in a garden with Elain, and she had smelled so good, and he was about to…he was about to… The remnants of the dream were slipping from his grasp like sand running through his fingers.

Elain was staring at him, eyes wide. Her hand was resting on his forearm, gently shaking him awake.

“Lucien,” she whispered, glancing around them. “Wake up.”

Lucien rubbed his eyes and lifted his head groggily. He was not a garden. He was in the divination tower, in the middle of a lesson- which, now he thought about it, explained how he had fallen into such a deep sleep. That, and the fact that tonight was a full moon.

“Sorry,” she whispered apologetically. “Suriel incoming.”

As if she had been summoned, the divination teacher drifted over to them on silent feet. There were so many layers of shawls wrapped around her head that it seemed as if her voice was emanating from a pit of darkness.

“Mr Vanserra,” the teacher scolded, “perhaps I might suggest that you keep your eyes open, if you plan for the orb to show you anything at all?” From her tone it seemed clear that she did not consider him worthy of such a thing.

“Sorry professor. I think the fumes got to my head.”

Across the table Elain pressed her nose even further into her crystal ball. Her features were schooled into the portrait of innocence though Lucien could see her shoulders shaking from her suppressed laughter. Without taking his eyes off the teacher he snaked a foot under the hem of her robes, nudging her calf playfully. Elain jumped slightly but otherwise did not react.

Professor Suriel pursed her lips and drifted away, muttering to herself darkly. As soon as the teacher was out of earshot Elain fixed him with a look.

“What?” he asked innocently.

Elain quirked an eyebrow in response. “Behave.”

Merlin’s balls. Lucien dropped his foot, shuffling in his chair and willing his cock to behave. His full moon hormones and that look were not a good match.

At least, not when they were sitting in Divination class.

“Are you alright?” Elain whispered. “You were fidgeting.”

Her eyes were full of concern again, like they had been all day. Lucien secretly hated it- not because he didn’t want her concern, but because he hated knowing that she was worried.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “I was just dreaming about you.” He flashed her his most roguish grin, and it worked like a charm. Elain’s cheeks flushed deliciously pink, and she smacked his hand away playfully.

“You need a cold bath,” she declared.

Lucien stifled a groan. “Don’t say things like that right now, Archie.”

“Look into your crystal ball,” she said primly, sticking her nose back to her orb.

Lucien sighed an all-suffering sigh. “The fates don’t favour me, remember?”

“That’s because you’re an insufferable git who won’t let his beautiful, intelligent girlfriend focus in peace,” she quipped.

Girlfriend. The things that word did to him. In a heartbeat he had picked up his chair, moved it to the other side of the table, and pressed his nose against her crystal ball so their lips were inches apart. Elain didn’t move away as she once would have, and instead only squinted harder, studiously ignoring him even as she fought to suppress a smile.

“And how am I supposed to let her work in peace when she’s so beautiful and intelligent?”

His breath fogged the glass, and Elain blushed, biting her lip. For one wild second he forgot that they were in class, and his eyes locked on those rosy lips.

“Mr Vanserra! Ms Archeron!” Professor Suriel had slunk back to their table. “Do I need to assign you new partners?”

They both started in surprise, leaning away from each other with wide eyed innocence.

“No, professor,” Lucien said sweetly. “Elain thought she saw something, I was just having a look.”

The teacher looked towards Elain, inhaling dramatically, but suddenly stopped short. Elain had gone very still, her eyes glued to her crystal ball. He might have thought she was faking it for the professor’s sake if he hadn’t known better.

“Elain?” he asked tentatively.

“What do you see, dear?” the teacher asked excitedly. She leaned over Elain’s shoulder to peer into the ball, peeking her face out of her endless layers of shawls.

Elain seemed to rouse herself, inhaling sharply and blinking rapidly as she leaned away from the ball. “Nothing,” she told the teacher. “Perhaps just the Grim again.”

Professor Suriel gasped dramatically again and launched into a speech about the second trial and the possibilities of one of the champions not surviving it. She was on such a rant that she missed the way Elain’s hand shook as she reached across the table for Lucien.

Thankfully they were saved by the end of the class, though the teacher’s warnings followed them all the way down the trapdoor and into the hall below.

Lucien wasted no time in leading Elain away from the flow of students and towards an empty classroom at the end of the hall.

“What is it?” he asked gently as soon as the door clicked shut behind them.

“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I only saw it for a second, but it looked like…” She trailed off, averting her gaze. “You’re going to think I’m crazy…”

That uncertainty made Lucien want to rage at the world for making her feel this way. Starting with himself, for all the jokes he’d ever made about Divination and Seers.

“Elain,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands. “Please don’t say things like that. What I’m going to think is that my girlfriend is not only incredibly beautiful and funny but also mind-bogglingly smart and talented in a way I can only begin to understand.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile. “Ok but-“

“No buts. Unless it’s your butt.” He reached down to give her ass a squeeze and she slapped him away, eyes twinkling.

“You’re a menace today.” She winced as soon as she said it, as if just remembering what day it was. “Sorry…”

Lucien shrugged. “Ask Jurian and Tamlin and they’ll tell you this is very tame for me. Maybe you’re a wolf tamer and a Seer.”

Elain rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh. “And you’re very stupid.” “Well yes, obviously. But we were talking about you, remember?” With a sigh Elain dropped her bag and slumped onto a nearby chair. “Like I said, it was basically just a flash, but it looked like some type of…encampment, maybe?” “An encampment?” Lucien blinked in surprise. Based on the other vision she’d told him about he had expected something far more gruesome.

“Yeah, like…like an army camp, or something, in the mountains. There were piles of supplies, and tents. It almost looked like a village, from the size of it.”

“Shit.” Lucien tried to process what that could mean and came up empty. “Like a muggle army or something?” he guessed. She had told him about the vision she’d had as a child of the men stuck in the mining accident- maybe this was related to a muggle war he wasn’t aware of?

“Well, no, not quite.” Something about her tone made Lucien’s gut twist with dread. “See, the thing is, I don’t think it was a human army at all.”

“What…what do you mean by that?”

She gulped. “What I saw looked like an army of trolls.”

---

An army of trolls. The words went around and around Lucien’s mind for the rest of the day, proving a welcome distraction as the sun began its descent.

He was still thinking about it as he stumbled towards the Shrieking Shack that night. His head was pounding, his body already limp with exhaustion. Everything about it was familiar, except for the fact that the first time since he’d been bitten he hadn’t spent the whole day wanting to punch someone in the face.

All because of Elain. Elain, and her strange, wonderful power. Lucien wanted to open up her mind and look inside of it, to see what other things she had seen.

But an army of trolls. Something about it sounded wrong. Trolls were brutal, but also wild and unpredictable. And, most importantly, they were very, very stupid. Even his father wouldn’t risk training an army of trolls. And unless Professor Spell-Cleaver had lost his mind and decided to have them fight a whole host of trolls, it had to be a coincidence. Something happening overseas, maybe. A foreign problem happening far, far away. Somehow though, he didn’t think that was the case.

The Entrance Hall was blissfully deserted as he walked down the marble staircase, gripping the banister so hard his knuckles were white. Elain had wanted to see him on his way out of the castle, and he had practically had to beg for her not to wait for him in the hall. The tears in her eyes when he had told her about the shack were bad enough, he didn’t need her to see him like this- winded from walking down a set of stairs, muscles trembling with exhaustion and anticipation of the pain to come.

Given her stubborn streak he had half expected her to wait by the corridor that led to the Hufflepuff common rooms, and when all he saw was empty shadows he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

He was halfway to the oak front doors when a noise made him pause. He turned, his senses on high alert, but the entrance hall was deserted. Shadows swirled near the door that led to the Hufflepuff common room, and a familiar scent drifted towards Lucien. Honeyed blooms, bright and sweet as sunshine.

His heart jumped to his throat. He took a step closer, his feet moving almost of their own accord. Another noise- a slight scuffling, a muffled inhale. He wouldn’t have heard it were it not for his sharp hearing. Whatever spell she was using was good, but not good enough to elude werewolf senses. He’d have to ask her how she did it. No doubt his friends would find a good use for that with their various shenanigans.

His friends. The thought made him freeze. That was part of why he hadn’t wanted Elain to wait for him. Because he hadn’t wanted her to see who would follow him out of the castle.

“Goodnight, Archie,” he whispered into the dark.

He walked backwards towards the door, hoping, praying that she wouldn’t stay.

To his relief the door basked in shadows cracked open. Before it clicked shut a jet of light shot his way, and then the sweet-scented darkness was gone. The light intensified, solidifying into a muscular body, legs, a snout.

“Hey, Moony.” The patronus nuzzled his hand and followed him on silent feet, all the way out the door and into the twilight.

Inside the Shrieking Shack he slumped on the dusty four-poster, letting exhaustion take over. The patronus circled around the grimy room and dispersed, leaving him alone with his guilt and screaming limbs.

Elain would probably punch him when she found out he’d withheld information about his friends being animagi. But every bit of information she knew also put her in danger if anyone found out. Not a single soul knew apart from Eris- not to mention the fact that it wasn’t only his secret to tell.

Still, not telling her had been torture, especially because she believed that he spent the full moons here alone, stuck in the dilapidated old house with nothing but his rage for company. She’d be upset at first, but she’d understand why he hadn’t told her. At least, he hoped so.

Clouds parted across the night sky, letting the moonlight trickle in through the cracks in the boarded up windows. All thoughts of Elain or trolls or his friends disappeared from his mind, replaced by white-hot, bone deep agony. His joints popped, bones snapped and reformed, his skin stretched until it felt like he might rip right through it. The old shack filled with his screams as the last shreds of human thought slipped from his mind and he became the beast that haunted the night.

---

The wolf and the mountain lion led the way through the forest and up into the surrounding mountains. The scents and sounds of the woods assaulted Lucien’s senses, filling him with a restless, predatory energy. Eventually the trees thinned out and made way to rocky, sparse terrain. The wolf and mountain lion bounded through patches of pristine snow as the eagle swooped high above them. Not a prey, like the other birds he’d scented in the forest, but a friend.

A village stretched out far below them, nestled in the valley of the mountains. Lucien knew what villages meant, and the sight of those dwellings had him seeing red. Humans- he couldn’t scent them from this far away, but he knew instinctively that they would be there.

He paused, his attention piqued, a low snarl rumbling out of him. His companions halted around him, circling in closer. The wolf growled and nudged his side, drawing his attention. Lucien snarled again, instinctively swatting at the wolf with his vicious claws, but he wasn’t fast enough.

The eagle dove at him next, nipping at his ears with a razor sharp beak. Lucien snapped at it, forgetting about the village below in his irritation.

The mountain lion and the wolf bounded ahead of him, jumping over boulders and tackling each other into mounds of snow. Lucien raced after them, trailed by the eagle.

Higher and higher into the mountains they raced, until the only scents filling Lucien’s lungs were the fresh, biting snow and the musk of the scattered pines. He was alone with his pack, four survivors in this rugged, inhospitable terrain. Something about it cleared the rage from his mind. He settled into the rhythm of the sound of pounding feet around him and the woosh of wings from above.

Hours passed before he caught it- just a whiff at first, just enough to sharpen his senses. And then, stronger, enough so that his companions tensed around him. Lucien’s hold on his control snapped, and he raced ahead, ignoring the warning growls from behind him.

Humans- multiple of them, close by somewhere. But there was something else, too- not quite human, not quite animal. It was overpowering, filling his senses long before he picked up on the noise.

Once they heard the noise the wolf and lion fell silent, their snarls dying in their throats. Their large paws carefully threaded the rocky ground, and somehow Lucien knew to slow down, even as that familiar scent urged him forward.

The hill they were climbing plateaued in front of them, and all three animals skittered to a stop, hackles raised. The eagle swooped ahead, their faithful scout. Lucien panted on the hilltop, flanked on each side, staring at the scene in front of them. The trail of human scent had disappeared, overpowered by that other scent, and Lucien had enough self-awareness to not run down into the canyon below them.

It wasn’t humans that filled those tents- tents that were taller than the highest trees in the woods they’d left far behind. It wasn’t even trolls, but something that made even a werewolf turn and run, as fast and as far away from this place as he could get.

---

When Lucien came to after a full moon his thoughts were always murky. Not quite a blackout, though sometimes he thought that would make it easier. It felt like a foggy morning after a night of overindulging- sifting through memories that felt like dreams, especially tinged as they were with the wolf’s instincts.

This morning his throat was parched, but thankfully devoid of any rank animal taste, feathery or otherwise. His head pounded with the usual headache, throbbing along with every sore muscle in his body.

He sprawled on the four-poster bed, face pressed into the musty sheet, letting his body adjust as memories started to trickle in. They’d gone into the mountains that surrounded Hogsmeade- he could remember the sight of the village tugging on him like a string. Getting up into the mountains was always tricky, since they risked him catching sight or scent of the village below, but once they were alone in those barren mountains Lucien always relaxed. Something about that wide expanse of nothing but snow and rock cleared his senses enough that it felt almost enjoyable.

But something had happened last night- something had caught his attention and driven them deeper into those mountains than they’d ever gone. Humans, but something else, too. Something much larger, and…

Lucien snapped his eyes open, barely wincing at the brightness of the room. It wasn’t an army of trolls that Elain had seen, and it definitely was not overseas.

What she had seen was an army of giants, deep in the mountains surrounding Hogsmeade.

---

Lucien could have laughed at the baffled look on his friends’ faces, had it been any other situation. They were in the Room of Requirements, his three friends standing with identical looks of confusion and they stared between him and Elain.

“No offense, mate,” Jurian drawled, “but if you brought us here to watch you and Elain snog I’m going to take a hard pass.”

“Same,” Tamlin agreed.

Vassa shrugged, scratching her chin. “I wouldn’t mind watching.”

Lucien shook his head at his friends, choking back his laughter. Elain was giggling beside him, her cheeks turning pinker by the second. He hadn’t told her why they were going to the Room of Requirements, and she looked as confused as his friends at the turn of events. He’d make that up to her later. If she didn’t hate him for what he was about to do, that is.

“Behave,” he scolded his friends. Jurian merely shrugged, crossing his arms expectantly.

“What’s going on?” Elain asked, peering up at him. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she worked out the topics that could prompt him to gather her and his friends in the Room of Requirements. “Did you tell them?” she whispered, eyes going wide with disbelief.

Tamlin and Jurian went wholly still as Vassa narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Tell us what?”

Elain winced and clamped her mouth shut.

“Does she know?” Tamlin blurted, pointing at Elain suspiciously.

“Do I know what?”

“Everybody calm down!” Lucien rubbed his temples, already regretting this. It might have been easier to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.

He turned to his friends first, deciding that was the lesser of two evils. “Elain deserves to know.”

“Elain deserves to know what?” Elain demanded. Her voice was slightly tinged with panic, and Lucien squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You’ll like this.”

“Lucien.” Tamlin shuffled on his feet, looking between him and Elain. “Are you sure about this? Telling Eris was one thing, but-“

“Well now you have to tell me,” Elain declared, crossing her arms. She stared Tamlin down with such ire that Lucien almost laughed.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Jurian said with a shrug. “It’s hardly the most scandalous secret involved here.”

“I agree,” Vassa threw in, grinning at Elain. “Besides, if you trust her then so do we.”

Lucien turned to Tamlin- his oldest friend, his fiercest protector. The one who had looked at his battered face at the age of ten and cracked a joke about pirates. “Tam?”

Tamlin shrugged a little wearily, though when he grinned it was with a humorous glint in his eyes. “Fair enough.”

Without further warning he took a step forward, and with a faint crack he morphed into a giant, scruffy wolf. Elain shrieked, stumbling backwards as the wolf was joined by a sleek mountain lion, both of them sniffing at her hands and bounding in circles around her.

“What the-“

“Boys!” Vassa scolded. “Be nice.”

The next moment a large, regal eagle had joined the fray, nipping at the two others until they abandoned Elain to swipe at the bird with large paws.

“What-“ Elain repeated. Her jaw was hanging clean off its hinges.

“I think you’d better sit down,” Lucien told her, laughing at his friends’ antics. “This might be a long story.”

---

“Giants,” Elain repeated. Her expression was as shocked as if she was hearing about it for the first time, though Lucien supposed that wasn’t a hard feat, considering everything she’d just learned. “All three of you are animagi, and last night you found…giants. In the mountains. Near Hogsmeade.”

“That’s about the gist of it, yeah,” Lucien confirmed.

To his horror her eyes suddenly filled with tears, her expression changing from shock and disbelief to hurt. She smacked him on the arms, emitting a growl that sounded distinctly similar to Tamlin’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you idiot? I thought you were in that shack all by yourself!”

Tamlin, Jurian, and Vassa were instantly on their feet and hurrying towards the door. “We’re incredibly late for something, aren’t we, boys?” Vassa declared.

“Yup, so late.”

“Incredibly so, yes.” As soon as his friends disappeared into the corridor Lucien cupped Elain’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, catching a stray tear with her thumb. “I wanted to. I couldn’t stand not telling you.”

“What if you get caught? What if they get caught?”

Lucien’s stomach clenched with the familiar feeling of guilt and dread. “Believe me, I worry about that every single day.”

“I’m glad you’re not alone. I wish I could be there with you too.” She dropped her cheek to his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. Lucien could only smile and hug her back, even though secretly he’d rather die than let her see him like that.

“Moony was with me for a bit. Do you know anything about that?” he teased.

Elain hummed. “That’s weird. I wonder how that happened.”

“Curious indeed. It was almost like someone was hiding in the shadows.”

“Using a banned substance such as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?” Elain tutted. “How irresponsible.” “Indeed. I think that student deserves to be punished.” Lucien nipped at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his fingers finding a tickling spot underneath her ribs.

“Stop- stop that!” Elain choked out through puffs of laughter. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Fair enough. Maybe you need to punish me, instead.” Lucien grinned at her wickedly, and she only rolled her eyes and swatted him again.

“Maybe I’ll feed you to those giants.” As soon as she said it she winced.

“What are we going to do about that?” Lucien asked, suddenly serious again. “I sent Eris an owl, but I’m not sure how much he’ll be able to find out. I don’t trust my father to not have anything to do with this.”

Giants. Giants, a few hours outside of Hogsmeade. It was too much of a coincidence for the Minister for Magic not to know about it. But for the life of him Lucien could not figure out what his father could possibly want with them.

“We need to tell Professor Spell-Cleaver,” Elain said, wringing her hands. “Assuming he doesn’t already know. Giants are supposed to be extinct in Britain. What’s a whole host of them doing so close to Hogsmeade?”

“We can’t, though,” Lucien said, alarmed. “What are we supposed to tell him? That I left the Shrieking Shack in the company of my three illegal animagus friends and that we stumbled upon them? We’ll all get expelled.”

“No, of course not.” Elain took a deep, bracing breath. “We’re going to tell him the truth. We’re going to tell him I found them.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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