#the soil is SO rocky there

[psalacanthea]

I think the front bed just might get thrown full of potato plants, marigolds, and spinach. We have plenty of leaf mulch, but the soil is quite stony. I wanted to do sweet potatoes but it's just not the right bed.

then, once the potatoes are done, I can throw in some squash vines for mid-summer/autumn, and then winter squash and mizuna afterward. Just going to have to figure out the soil tending between each crop.

my biggest issue with this bed is just going to be weeding, as we let it grow for a couple years so the cinnabar moths had a place to hatch and just to refresh the not so great soil. The ragweed was starting to get bad, but a couple years of tending the moths and almost no ragweed last year. Which is good, because as houses around us are bought up and everything is cut down and destroyed, it gets harder and harder to maintain a balance between lawn and wild spaces. So many trees are gone ;_;

I've been looking at the style of growing, where they put cardboard around the plant and then tack down sheeting to cover everything but the plant, but IDK. That would look pretty ugly out front. I think maybe this is an elbow grease problem and not an engineering problem tbh. I'd rather weed just what I have to.

[guinevereslancelot]

hey does anyone know if there's any way to reap generously without sowing generously? i'd really like to reap generously but idk i kinda feel like it would be easier to sow sparingly lol

[marginal-effect]

been feeling like shit all day BUT i just looked outside and saw the daffodils i stuck by the door last year have popped up again and i no longer want to kill myself

[neechees]

ATTENTION ALBERTANS!! Want to protect our mountains from greed and pollution? You can help!

In 2021 Albertans and over 50 groups worked hard to protect Alberta's watershed and mountains from mining that would pollute the environment and cause health problems for both animals and humans. However, now the Alberta government is trying to get rid of the mining ban that was put in place to protect the environment for their own greed.

Theyre planning on mining the entirety of the Eastern Slopes of Rockies in Alberta from Crowsnest Pass to Rocky Mountain House. It is inevitable that Selenium, which is toxic, will leech into the water and soil from the mining that would occur, and this has happened in B.C, (and nobody knows how to stop it), which ruined its economy there. The damage that would result in the mining would cause cancer in miners and nearby residents, poison the soil and any agriculture from that area (of which there are many), and make the water toxic. Furthermore, 90% of Alberta's water demand comes from the southern half of the province, which is where the mining is taking place. The effects of these protections would be incredibly DEVASTATING on not just Albertans, but the land, the animals, and others, including our economy, which is the same thing that happened with Elk Valley, B.C.

So how can you help?

Sign the petition below to Restore Alberta's Coal mining ban to ensure a better, safer, more clean future for Albertans and the environment!!!

Furthermore, if you've got time today, below are some numbers you can call to tell the gov how you disapprove of the mining project.

(780-427-3740) for Brian Jean, the Minister of Energy and Minerals

(780-427-2391) for Rebecca Shultz, Minister of Environment and Protected Areas

Also call your MLA!! Here's where you can locate yours

[brokenbarnes]

Steady Mind

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Separate from Haunted Eyes, after being taken by Hydra, Bucky identifies you as his handler. You teach him that not all handlers inflict pain, bringing him back to the present.

Warnings: mentions of canon level violence

It had been one month, three days and twelve hours since they took Bucky.

A routine mission that turned out to be not so routine. An abandoned HYDRA base awakened like a sleeping giant, putting a bullet in your leg, dragging Bucky away after he had been knocked unconscious by two large goons. You screamed for him, they left you to bleed out in pool of your own blood.

You had to return to the compound without your partner in crime, sobbing until they put you under for surgery. The last thing you remember was Steve holding your arms down as they slid the needle in your arm, his eyes sad as you’ve ever seen them.

Despite the healing hole in your leg, you insisted on sitting in on every meeting about Bucky’s whereabouts, limping onto the Quinjet to accompany the team to scout out any possible locations.

You had barely slept in a month, lying awake in the bed you shared with the missing person. Every time you looked in the mirror, you could see the heartbreak and exhaustion clinging to you like a wet blanket. Shadows under your eyes that looked like bruises, shoulders slumped, your mind fuzzy; spinning a million different directions.

This time Steve didn’t protest as you limped onto the jet, it’s destination a newly discovered hidden HYDRA base. You slumped in the copilot seat, you were past getting your hopes up. At this point, it was just to check it off the list.

Steve steered the jet south, landing in the dense forest, somewhere in the Andes Mountains of South America. You saw on the computer screen, a hidden base carved into the steep mountain side.

The team left the Quinjet, armed with whatever they could think of. There was so much uncertainty, nobody knew what to expect.

You were left behind in the jet, sitting down in front of multiple monitors. Part of your agreement was staying behind was that you could be their eyes and ears on the ground. Your leg was not quite up to speed yet and you didn’t want to hold the team back. You got to work accessing any local cameras, finding those inside and outside the base.

The team worked silently, efficiently. You listened to them over the comms, there were no jokes, no laughing, only efficient communication. This was Bucky, it was different.

You monitored cameras as the team cleared the base, making sure there weren’t any surprises like last time. Surprises get people killed. This must have been an old base, because there were very few cameras inside. You had one of Tony’s robots take a scan of the building, at least you could monitor where the team was inside. An hour went by before Steve addressed you and the tone of his voice gave you chills.

“Y/N.”

“Go ahead, Steve,” you responded, legs going numb.

“We need you.”

You stood up abruptly, your nearly healed stitches screaming in protest. You grabbed your utility belt, clipping it around your waist with your weapons. With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you hit the button that opened the ramp of the Quinjet.

It was a moderate hike to the base entrance, but you don’t remember much of it. Ignoring the pain in your leg, you stumbled over the rocky cliffs, damp soil catching on the back of your tactical pants as you ran.

Steve met you at the entrance of the base, his face pale and shaken. The intense sun doing little for his ashen complexion.

“Steve! Is he in there?” You gasped for air, slowing to a stop in front of him. “Is he alive?”

He dipped his head, nodding slowly. With his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and his shoulders hunched, he looked as small as he once had.

“What are we waiting for?” You went to push past him, into the entrance of the labyrinth like Theseus but without Ariadne’s string. “Let’s go get him out of there!”

“Y/N, wait,” his voice was hollow, grabbing you by the arm.

“What?”

He took a deep shuddering breath, looking you in the eye. “It’s not our Bucky.”

Realization settled in your chest, the only reason they would want him would be to activate him.

“I want to see him,” your voice was low.

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s Bucky,” you insisted. “Take me to him.”

Steve became your string, leading you through the dark maze that was the HYDRA compound. The main hallway led you past a variety of rooms, some looked like a war room, some looked like an interrogation center, other’s a sterile doctor’s office.

His gait slowed in front of a heavily locked door, it’s appearance similar to a bank vault. Your stomach twisted.

“He’s in there?” You whispered, disgust lacing your tone.

Steve nodded, “it’s for everyone’s safety.”

“Let me in there,” you reached for the lock.

“Y/N, he could hurt you,” he grabbed your arm but you shook him off.

“I need to see that he’s alive!” Your voice turned raspy, ragged with the thought of being so close to him. “Please, Steve.

His resolve crumbled, he reached for the lock to the cell door. As the door opened, Steve moved in front of you, blocking your view into the cell. You weaved around him, attempting to catch a glimpse of your soldier.

When you did, your stomach dropped.

He stood in the far corner of the cement cell, his posture defensive, eyes empty. You breath caught in your throat, he had fading bruises around his eyes, blood dried down his chin and throat.

“Bucky,” you darted around the captain before he could stop you.

The Asset’s eyes flickered to you, then over to Steve quickly. As you approached, the muscles in his face tightened, as if he was anticipating a beating.

“Bucky,” you whispered, slowing your approach. “Are you hurt, Honey?”

He eyed you apprehensively, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. You knew that this was not the man you last saw, defending you until the cattle prods had knocked him unconscious.

“Soldat?” You willed your voice to carry a different tone.

He nodded curtly, “handler.”

It felt as if all the air had been punched from your lungs, your boyfriend has just uttered the term that haunts his nightmares. The multiple people over the decades he was under the thumb of Hydra that have caused him inexcusable pain.

Now, he’s identified you as his handler. Eying Steve suspiciously, as if he wasn’t sure if he could trust him or not.

You tried against in English, Russian vocabulary lacking considerably. “Yes, I am your handler. And I am going to call you Bucky.”

He tilted his head at you, confused, but nodding eventually to agree with you. You were unsure about your role as his handler, making it up as you go.

“Bucky, are you hurt?” You tried again; your voice devoid of its usual warmth.

He shook his head, eyes focusing on the wall over your left shoulder. When you turned your head to follow his eye sight, you could see a drying brown stain, rolling down the wall and finishing in splatters on the floor.

You looked at Steve, who was trying hard to keep it together. “Cap, let’s get him outside. He could use some fresh air.”

Steve nodded, turning stiffly towards the door and leading you back into the maze. Bucky followed, a few paces behind. You let him follow the two of you, not wanting him to feel as if he was being chased.

He followed like an obedient servant, only a few paces behind you, foot steps completely silent. You had to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was still behind you.

Outside in the intense sunlight, Bucky was pale as a ghost. He was watching you with careful eyes, awaiting his next orders.

“Take a seat, Bucky,” you pointed to a downed Polylepis tree. The curled, twisted trunk, half rotted from age and weather.

Apprehension crossed Bucky’s face, but he sat. To you that was evidence your Bucky was still under there, the Winter Soldier had little emotion on his face.

“Do you know who I am?” You asked, squatting down in front of him.

His hands shook, clasped together in his lap. “You are my handler.”

Another stab to the heart, you wiped your face of any devastating emotion and nodded. “Status report for your handler. Are you injured?”

The gears were turning in his mind, his beautiful blue eyes flickered from side to side. He couldn’t come up with an answer.

“That’s alright,” you said gently. “We’ll get you checked out by medical when we get home.”

“Home?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and sooth your hand over his arm. “I want you to understand something.”

He nodded obediently.

“When you are with me, nobody will hurt you,” you spoke softly, gesturing back to Steve. “You have to trust me.”

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Call me, Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

Bucky seemed better under the sunlight, instead of the harsh, florescent lights of the cell he abandoned in. Despite the blood and the bruises, he had some color back in his cheeks but the same hollow look in his eyes.

Back on the Quinjet, he flinched as the others moved around, getting ready to return home. Usually, after a successful mission there was never a silent moment in the jet. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

You told Bucky to sit on the bench seat as you fetched a first aid kit. He’s eyes flitted around to everyone nervous without you there, assessing them and diagnosing who would be the biggest threat.

The jet lifted off the rocky alpine surface as you returned to Bucky. You clocked the anxiety crawling into his eyes and called his name gently.

“Remember what I said? You’re safe with me, nobody will hurt you.”

He nodded, although you knew this Bucky would find that extremely hard to believe. He flinched as Steve dropped into a seat beside him, running a hand over his tired face.

You flipped open the latch of the first aid kit, trying to steady your mind. “Alright soldier, tell me what you need.”

“The asset is not hurt,” he spoke, almost robotically.

“Hm,” you hummed, tearing open an alcohol pad and turning toward him. “Let me clean you up, then.”

As you reached toward him, you watched him fight a knee-jerk reaction. Every muscle in his body stiffened, expecting a blow. You moved slowly, trying to give his body enough time to catch up with his mind.

Your hand smoothed along his cheek, getting him to turn his head toward you. The alcohol pad probably stung as you wiped around his mouth, down his chin, but Bucky showed no reaction. His piercing blue eyes focused intently on your face as you worked.

Wiping away the blood revealed no open wounds, what was there had probably long healed over with the serum pumping through his veins. Your hand cupped his cheek, the other wiped down his neck and swooping around his hairline.

As the rest of the team started to drop off, laying down across the benches for a much needed nap, curling up in the copilots chair with the jet on autopilot; silence had settled over everything like a coat of dust. Steve tipped his head back and shut his eyes, although you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not.

You took your time, taking his hand into yours and wiping away any evidence of the cruelty he faced. You noted his knuckles were covered in fading bruises, defensive wounds. It made you smile a little bit to know he didn’t go quietly.

Bucky was confused, he had told you many times that he was not injured, he did not need care. And this was definitely not the handlers job.

“Why?” He asked quietly, just heard over Sam’s snoring across the aisle.

“Why, what?” You replied, without looking up from where you were attempting to get grime off his knuckles.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was fragile, almost scared to use it in fear of what might come next.

You looked up into his eyes, stilling your restless hands. Bucky had a hard time reading the emotion on your face, sadness, guilt, and something else that wasn’t familiar to him. Something warm, something kind.

“I don’t want you sitting in your own blood,” you spoke carefully. “It’ll make it easier for the medics to check you over.”

“I don’t… I don’t want…” his words died off, almost regretting starting to speak.

Your Bucky was also hesitant with doctors, his checkered past involved plenty of awful experiences with medical staff. 70 years of poking and prodding, little anesthesia and dubious consent.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” your thumb was sweeping gently over the inside of his wrist. “But I want to make sure you’re alright, even if you feel fine. You’ve been gone from us for a long time.”

He tilted his head in confusion, “how long have I been gone?”

“About a month,” you could feel how tired you were with that statement. It had been too long and now he was finally here, maybe not all in one piece but he was safe.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing in a way that made you sit up straighter. “You… You were hurt.”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“And I… And I…” he shook his head, his hand clenched in yours. “My head-“

“Don’t worry about it, Honey,” you could see the headache forming behind his eyes as he struggled to recall memories. “Why don’t you try and sleep?”

The stubborn man still somewhere inside him shook his head. But he let you tip your head down onto his shoulder and close your eyes for the duration of the flight.

When the Quinjet touched down at the compound, Bucky followed you off the jet and into the building. He refused to go to the infirmary, but agreed to follow you up to the residential floor to shower.

The bedroom you shared with Bucky was a safe haven, soft lighting, comfortable bed, books covering both nightstands; dogeared and annotated by the both of you. So many nights spend together in comfortable silence, sometimes reading aloud a line for the other to hear.

“Recognize this place?” You asked, setting down your duffel bag down beside the dresser. Unclipping your utility belt, setting it on top of the dresser where you usually left it.

You watched as Bucky turned in a slow circle, taking in each and every detail he laid his eyes on.

“Maybe,” his lips moved.

He seemed overwhelmed, frustrated with the unfamiliarity of the bedroom, probably the aches and pains that covered his body. You helped him make a decision.

“Bucky, why don’t you take a shower,” you suggested, heading toward the closet for a clean set of clothes. “I’ll get you something comfortable to wear.”

Not wanting to be away from him, you grabbed a bundle of clothes, tucked it under your arm with a clean towel and returned to lead him to the bathroom.

After setting the clothes and towels on the counter, you reached inside the shower and turned it to a comfortable temperature. Bucky watched you carefully, swaying slightly on his feet. You wondered when was the last time he slept.

“Come feel, does this temperature work for you?” You asked over the noise of the shower, gesturing him closer.

Bucky shuffled forward, sticking his flesh hand under the spray and nodding to approve the temperature.

“I’ll be just outside-“

“No!” Burst from his mouth before he could stop it. “Could you please… Could you please stay?”

“Of course,” your eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’ll stay.”

You turned around while he undressed to give him some much needed privacy. He undressed efficiently, leaving his clothes in a neat pile on the bathmat. The glass door opened and shut before you turned around.

Sitting cross legged on the counter, you thought about how many times you had done this for your Bucky. Showering together was intimate enough, but sharing the space, just knowing you were on the other side of the door was enough.

You let yourself relax for a moment as he showered, exhaustion settling into your aching bones and the healing pain returned to your leg. All you wanted was to shower off the nervous sweat you accumulated from the last 24 hours, pull on your favorite pajamas and curl up next to your Bucky in bed.

Bucky opened the glass door, you handed him a towel and he dried off quickly. He seemed to be relaxing a little now, in his own clothes and no longer smelling like he hadn’t showered in a week.

“This is what you do usually after you shower,” you reached for his hair brush, pressing it into his hands. You laid out his tooth brush, beard trimmer, deodorant and anything else you could think of.

It was probably muscle memory at this point, he brushed the tangles from his hair, brushed his teeth with his left hand and trimmed his unruly scruff short. Using his left hand told you there were still remnants of the Winter Soldier lingering around in his consciousness.

While he cleaned up, you took a quick shower and scrubbed the day’s worries from your body. Per your request, Bucky brought you a fresh towel and a pair of pajamas. His cheeks were pink as you got dressed, rubbing a towel through your hair.

“Your leg,” he murmured, eyes straying to the pink, raised scar on your leg.

“Mhm,” you nodded, hanging both towels up to dry. “I’m okay.”

Guilt crossed his features, you reached out and held out your hand, palm up. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Bucky fit his warm hand into yours, letting you lead him back out into the main room. He watched as you flipped open the covers, turning on the lamp beside the bed.

His mind felt fuzzy, watching you pad around the room, hair wet and in soft clothes. A headache like a lightning strike burst behind his eyes, making him press his hands to the bridge of his nose.

“My… my head.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” your voice was soft. Sweetheart, was that him? “Come to bed.”

He laid his aching body on the soft mattress, letting his handler – no, his love, cover him up with heavy blankets. His head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but somehow it didn’t matter because he was laying next to you.

He closed his heavy eyes, feeling his body relax for the time in a month. Next to you, sleep came easy.

The next morning, Bucky blinked slowly as the bedroom came into focus. The bedsheets were tangled around your legs, twisted up after a good night’s sleep. A heavy weight on his chest kept him anchored to the present, not reliving the past month, you were asleep on his chest.

He reached out and stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of the silky tendrils running through his fingers. You stirred your sleep, pressing your face into his soft sleep shirt. You rubbed the fabric against your nose as you woke up, blinking up at him in the soft light.

“Heya Doll,” he murmured.

Your lips curled up in a smile, sliding your hand up the center of his chest. “Bucky,” you breathed.

He pressed his lips together in a way you knew meant he was struggling. “I’m sorry you had to see me as him.”

You sat up, turning around to face him. There were still shadows under your eyes in a way that made his stomach sick. He slid his heel up the mattress, letting you lean against his knee under the covers.

“What do you remember?” You asked.

“I remember thinking you were my handler,” he mumbled.

You nodded, reaching out for his hand. He enjoyed the way your hand felt in his, nothing had ever felt more right.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he murmured. He had been working on this habit of separating himself from the Winter Soldier, it helped to refer to him like he was completing separate from his body.

“Of course, Honey,” you nodded.

“Nobody has ever taken care of him before,” he whispered, eyes turning wistful. “You are the nicest handler I’ve ever had.”

You tried to smile, lifting the corner of your mouth up but it fell short. He tugged you forward, until you were laying on top of him. He loved the feeling of your weight holding him down, keeping him in the present.

“I’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing your face into his neck. He shivered at the feeling of your breath on his skin. “No matter who you are, no matter what happens.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears sting in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

If he had to choose anyone to be his handler, he would pick you in a heartbeat. Aside from Steve, you were the only one to never doubt him, to show him unconditional love in a way he hadn’t felt since the 40’s.

“No matter what,” he whispered quietly, letting his eyes close once more.

[preraphaelitepaintings]

Narcissus

Artist: John William Waterhouse (English, 1849–1917)

Date: 1912

Material: Oil on canvas

Collection: Private collection

Description

John William Waterhouse is very famous for his use of the Pre-Raphaelite style. Most of his pieces express classical mythology, historical subjects, and British poetry. He is known for his great proficiency in oils and watercolors. Narcissus was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1912.

The exquisite oil painting on canvas displays a woman picking flowers in a field. According to the Greek mythology by Ovid, Narcissus was the son of the river god Cephissus and the nymph Liriope. Narcissus had been promised to live to an old age if only he would not look at his reflection, and so he rejected all women who fell in love with him and would not look at himself. Eventually, he was subdued by Echo, a woman who was deeply hurt by his rejection that she caused the Goddess Nemesis to strike Narcissus that he may look at his reflection in a pool and fall in love with himself. Narcissus then looked at his reflection in the pool till he died.

This story gives origin to the narcissus flower, which grew where Narcissus died. The flower grows almost anywhere but prefers well-drained soil with a sunny or light shade environment. The masterpiece of oil on canvas is set in a beautiful wooded landscape, seemingly with a stream and rocky edges. Wildflowers grow there too, and a young lady is bent picking them. Her countenance is downcast in the flowers. In her other hand, she holds a bunch of already picked flowers. She is dressed in a red dress, perhaps to symbolize love or a burning passion. The flowers she is picking are the narcissus flowers. Waterhouse was always keen to use colours, patterns, and simple objects for symbols of the old mythologies. The Narcissus would be no different. This wonderful work of art brings out his genius with the oils on canvas as he seemingly brings every aspect to life as rich in meaning.

Waterhouse was much influenced and inspired by Greek Mythology and works by Homer, Ovid, Shakespeare, and Keats, among other famous writers and poets from the time. His most common theme from these sources was femme fatale, the woman who ensnares a man. Most of Waterhouse's subjects were women from Greek Mythology, historical or literary texts. Often, he used live models, family, and friends to be his subjects, creating a great mix of the old and new as he used symbolism from the mythologies around current

[sirfrogsworth]

The original image is stupid. That's a given. I guess they are trying to ask why the Moon doesn't have a bright spot and dark edges.

But the Community Note isn't much better.

The short answer is... the Moon is bumpy and the Sun is far away.

The long answer requires me to do some math. So I apologize in advance if I get some numbers wrong. But I promise you will learn some neat things about light if you are into that.

First, I have no idea why they brought retroreflectiveness into this.

Retroreflection is when light is reflected back at the angle of incidence. Meaning no matter what angle you shine light from, it will always reflect straight back to you.

It's a bit of an optical magic trick. It is how street signs and highway markers work.

Weirdly enough, astronauts placed a manmade retroreflector on the Moon which people can use to reflect lasers and disprove the fake Moon landing theory.

The Moon may have retroreflective properties, but that effect would only really be noticeable if you were to shine a tight beam of light like a laser or something. Retroreflection would be more apparent from the perspective of the Sun, not the Earth.

You know what, I should just read the source and see what they are talking about.

"The edges of the full moon seem as bright as the center, without limb darkening, because of the reflective properties of lunar soil, which retroreflects light more towards the Sun than in other directions."

Hey, I was right about the Sun.

But this is a bad explanation. A rare L for Wikipedia. I even checked the primary reference and it doesn't even talk about retroreflectance. It does seem to be a factor, especially for the very outer edges, but looking at other sources my initial answer of the Moon being bumpy and the Sun being far away is much better.

So... let's learn some shit about light.

First we should talk about surface texture as mentioned. You have glossy surfaces and matte surfaces and a spectrum in between.

A glossy surface reflects light very directly (specular). A matte surface scatters light in many directions (diffused). This has to do with how smooth or bumpy the surface is.

The Moon is very rocky and bumpy and dusty, so it has a very matte surface. And I'm guessing since some rays bounce back toward the Sun, we don't get as many direct reflections that would add specularity. Perhaps there is a Moon expert who can weigh in on how much that actually diffuses the light beyond the matte surface texture.

And the reason the Moon is so evenly lit has to do with the distance of the light source. Again, the Sun is super duper far away.

When light is very close to something, it falls off very quickly.

When light is far away, the falloff is very gradual.

From the camera's perspective, the edges of the sphere are farther away than the center. When the light is closer, the edges of the sphere appear darker. But when the light is farther away, the edges of the sphere appear to have a similar intensity compared to the center.

The surface of the Moon is not a consistent distance from us. It is a spheroid so the edges are nearly a thousand miles farther away than the center. But the edges don't fall off into shadow from our perspective.

This is a property of the inverse square law.

Let's say you wanted to light two people and the light was very close—one person might end up in the light's falloff.

But if you move the light farther away and crank up the power, the two people will seem evenly lit.

You can think of light a bit like a shotgun in a video game. When you are close to something the shotgun has a very tight spread and is more lethal. When farther away, it has a larger spread but the lethality is decreased.

The first shotgun blast is very intense directly in the center but has no effect on the edges. The second blast has more even coverage, but the intensity is spread out and diminished.

From a point light source, light starts out very concentrated but the photons spread out over a distance. This dilutes the intensity of the light. The inverse square law says for every doubling of distance, the light becomes 1/4th as bright.

You have the same amount of photons but a larger area to light up. So coverage increases but intensity decreases.

Check out the background in these images.

In the first photo, the light is very close to her face. The intensity of the light is very concentrated. From the perspective of the camera, her face is super bright, but the background is very dim in comparison.

But as you move the light farther away, the photons spread out. If you leave the light on the same power and the camera at the same exposure, the photo on the right would look very dim—probably just pure black. So you'd have to compensate by increasing the power of the light (more photons) or adjusting the exposure of the camera (higher sensitivity) or both. But once you make those adjustments the background and her face seem very evenly lit.

In the first photo, relative to the light source, the background is far away compared to her face. The light might be 5 feet from her face but 10 feet from the background. It has to travel double the distance to hit the background so the intensity of the light hitting the background is 75% darker than the light hitting her face.

The majority of photons are hitting the face and only a few are escaping to the background.

But if the light is 20 feet from her face and 25 feet from the background, the light only travels 25% farther to hit the background. So the background is only 36% darker than the light hitting her face.

To achieve the same exposure the number of photons is increased substantially, but they are spread out and not concentrated in one area.

If you increase the distance enough, the difference gets less and less perceptible.

Now imagine the light is 93 million miles away. The background would only be 0.0000000004% darker than her face.

From the Earth's perspective, the edge of the Moon is roughly 1000 miles farther away from the center of the Moon. And about 0.001075% farther from the Sun. The falloff of light would be impossible for our eyeballs to detect.

To review, the Moon has edge-to-edge lighting with no specular highlights because the surface is bumpy and scatters light and the Sun is ridiculously far away. I'm sure there are other optical effects at play due to the atmosphere and reflective properties mentioned, but by and large, that is what's going on.

It's the same reason the face of a large boulder in direct sunlight doesn't have any bright spots or quick shadow falloff.

Can you use this knowledge to help your photography?

Yes!

Lighting indoor group photos can be very tricky.

You often have several rows of people. If your light source is too close, you may have difficulty getting a good exposure on all of their faces because of the varied distances involved. The back row of people may appear very dark. But if the light is too far away, you may end up getting harsh shadows.

Large light sources produce softer, more flattering light.

Small light sources produce harder, harsher light.

Distant light sources produce even light.

Distant light sources have a smaller apparent size.

Which means you need really big modifiers so you can put the light far enough away to get soft AND even lighting. You have to make the light sources bigger to compensate for the distance.

If all you have is a flash, you can bounce it off the ceiling or a large white wall to increase the size of your light source. Just make sure it is far enough away from everyone to get a proper exposure of all their smiling faces.

[mediumgayitalian]

It was a bad idea from the start, really.

Will is very smug about it.

"I'm not," he insists, lying. He adjusts Nico's arm over his shoulder, breathing heavier with every step up the rocky hillside. "I'm just pointing out that it's very lucky you love someone who is right so often. Else you'd be dead."

His barely hidden smirk makes it a whole lot easier for Nico to be guilt-free about his current incapacitation. In fact, he cuts any effort at all, going completely limp. Will stumbles, damn near dropping him and sending them both tumbling back down into the sea, but manages, at the last second, to find his balance.

He's smug about that, too.

"You have the kind of arrogance they talk about in the Bible," Nico points out, as Will slides his arm under his legs and lifts. "Just saying."

"Do I."

"Mhm. Unchecked. Your father's son, truly."

"Oh, get fucked."

He's laughing as he says it, and Nico smiles, victorious. He swings his legs idly as Will labors, enjoying the sweat beading on his top lip and the shift of his muscles under his wandering hands.

"You know, I landed us pretty good for being near-death."

"You landed us in an underwater cave eight feet from the surface," Will says drily. He pauses, flash of warmth blooming under his palms, then shakes his head in exasperation and keeps hiking. "And you're nowhere near death, you man-baby."

"I'm dying."

"You have a couple scrapes and hay fever."

"I can see the light!"

"Bold of you to assume you're making it to the pearly gates."

Nico pauses. "Okay, point to Will." Will grins. Nico pinches him to teach him humility. "Onwards, servant. And in silence as your panting and human distress bothers me."

Will rolls his eyes again, but he suffers from Finding Nico Funny Disorder and also kind of Enjoying Being Ordered Around Not That He'll Admit It Syndrome, so Nico suffers no consequences. Instead, he inspects the countryside, humming along to the beat of Will's elevated heart.

In terms of places Nico has been stranded, this place is pretty good.

It's warm, for starters. A balmy seventy-seven to eighty, if he had to hazard a guess. The sun is out but it's a little cloudy, so it's not too awful, and if Nico had to haul both another person and two backpacks worth of overpacking he's sure he would be much less pleased about the light humidity, but as it is he is not, and he doesn't mind. The wind from the ocean -- channel, rather -- undercuts it nicely, anyway, and it smells like saltwater and pine needles.

"Are we out west?" Will asks, puffing a little. Nico refrains from making a comment about keeping in shape but it is a close thing. "Don't see pines like these back home much."

Nico hums, looking up at the forest. It's true -- among the many indistinguishable conifers peppering the wet soil are strange, sparse pine trees with trunks that seem almost cartoonish, geometrical. Like an exaggerated idea of a pine tree rather than a real one.

"Hold on. Lemme down, I can check."

"Nah. Let's get somewhere level first, okay?" He squeezes, gently, pressing a kiss to Nico's temple. "You're still a little wheezy," he murmurs, which is rich coming from someone who has not caught his breath for the last twenty minutes at minimum. "You can frolic about like the little GPS you are when you've had a minute to get your bearings."

Nico scowls and refuses to acknowledge the care in the action. He is not a GPS and it is disrespectful to refer to him as such. It would be akin to him calling Will a glowstick.

"Which you do," drawls Will. "On the daily."

"Yeah, but you're cute when you're mad," Nico argues. The comment, predictably, has Will's freckles flashing, and Nico grins. "See?"

"You're intolerable."

"Hm. Four years and counting, though."

"Yeah, yeah."

The incline steepens and Will's breathing steepens with it. Nico can hear the extra effort in his chest, in his pounding heart, and squeezes his shoulders. He teases, but Will has hiked them both a mile at least -- on a steep incline, too, trying to navigate the shifting rock and soil. And he's tired, and he dragged them both up from the water, and there -- there's another couple hundred feet until the hill slopes off, at least. Will takes a moment to catch his breath and Nico brushes the hair off his sweaty forehead.

"Almost there," he says quietly. "Almost there, and we can rest for a bit."

Will nods, and pushes forward. There is that look in his eye, familiar; eyes clouded and distance and face wiped totally smooth. The same face he gets when the infirmary gets a touch too crowded and he reaches, on long-dead instinct, for the helping hand of a sibling that isn't there, and shuts down. The same face he gets when someone peels a boiled egg and the smell of sulfur drags him down, the same face he gets when he wakes himself up half past three in the morning and grits his teeth through the screaming so he doesn't wake anybody up. The same face he gets when he is hurting, when he is tired, but there are others hurting worse, and he forgets. And he forces it away.

Nico hates it. He always has.

But Will is his own person, and he is strong. And there are hardly fifty feet left until they can rest.

They crest the top of the hill -- cliffside, really -- and Will makes no grand heaving, does not drop him. He sets him, gently, on the yellowed grass, and sets his bags down next, arranging them carefully so they hold their own weight. He straightens slowly and holds himself stiffly.

"Will," Nico says softly. "Come sit."

Will works his jaw. "Gimme a minute."

Nico nods, and watches him. He can almost picture the chanting he is doing in his head, trying to release the tension manually, trying to coach himself through the haziness. Trying to bring himself back, like Mr. D. taught him. There is nothing Nico can do, to fish him out of his own head, to drag him out of the place he goes and sits when things are too hard. The place where he used to live, unbidden to everyone. Where he would lose time by the months and resurface with a plastic smile and a practiced laugh and hands clenched so tightly the tendons are worn like old guitar strings.

He sighs, and slumps forward. Nico watches him sway, carefully, hands poised to dart out. But he gathers himself, eyes gently shut, and makes his careful way to the ground next to Nico. Nico places a hand between his shoulder blades.

"You with me?"

He nods. "Yeah." He leans back into the cool relief of Nico's hand, knocking their knees together. "Yeah, I'm with you."

"Good."

It's beautiful, from this height.

However high up they are -- Nico doesn't bother estimating -- they can see out for miles, nothing but ocean and forest as far as the eye can glean. The water is peppered with dozens of other islands, some bigger than others, and the yellowed sun shines in gentle brushstrokes through the woolen clouds, tiny beams of light piercing their way through and onto spotted cliffsides. Chittering coastal birds chase crabs along the rocky beach, and farther in the waves, Nico can see the coasting fins of a group of orcas. He tilts his head, curious, and when he feels his lungs are full enough, and his eyesight is clear and steady, he exhales, long and slow, and rests his hands spread and flat on the soil, searching. He extends his feeling as far as it will go down and outward, feeling Will's life forcing flickering -- tired but strong -- to his right, and millions of other creatures in the ground beneath them. He lets their noise fade and swell and wash over him, like the blending conversations of a large crowd, and tries to follow the waves of seismic energy as they shift and ebb beneath him, rumbling a conversation with connected plates all throughout the Earth.

"BC," he murmurs, blinking his eyes open. Will watches him, head propped on his bent knee. "Canada. Uh, Haida Gwaii, I think."

Will blinks. "Really?"

Nico nods. "Pretty sure." He is not expecting the slow, teasing smile that spreads over Will's face, and he is suspicious of it. He narrows his eyes. "What."

"Oh, nothing."

"Do not lie to me, William Andrew."

"Nothing! I mean it." He pauses. "I was just wondering --"

"Oh, here we go."

"-- it must be the dyslexia, I guess --"

"-- do you ever stop talking --"

"I mean, BC, NY, practically the same thing --"

"I hope you get eaten by a bear. Genuinely."

"-- easy mistake." Will grins. Nico scowls. "Anyone would make it, I'm sure."

"I was drained, you irritating jackass."

"Of course, of course. That totally explains why you shadow travelled us four thousand miles in the wrong direction."

"It's not -- four thousand miles, you dickhead." Nico pauses. "Fuck, is it?"

Will shrugs. "More or less. We're on the literal opposite point of the continent."

"Well." Nico blinks, staring back out the coast. "Shit."

"S'okay." Will stands, brushing off his shorts. "Let's keep moving."

Nico bites his tongue-- Will knows himself. He pushes himself, too, but he's smarter than to leave them both incapacitated. He holds out a hand, and Nico takes it, pulling himself to his shaky feet. He holds up a hand when Will tries to lift him again, and Will sighs, but falls into step beside him, hovering.

The hike is a helluva lot easier when they are not travelling eighty degrees upright. Will leads them into the dense forest and Nico lets him, making a face at the mugginess and the mosquitoes he can already feel but trusting Will's judgement regardless. If he gets malaria, it will be Will's problem, anyway.

"You are such a goddamn drama queen."

"Your fault. I used to be cool and traumatized."

"It's really cute that you genuinely believe that."

"Shut the fuck up."

Will snickers, but does. Probably less because Nico told him to and more because his dumb ass was not looking where he was going and almost walked into a tree, but that's none of Nico's business. He'll just remember the moment for eternity and bring it up next time Will tells him he should spend more time calibrating himself with nature.

They walk for a long time. A couple hours, at least, but Will packed six different water bottles, something Nico did indeed mock him for when they left ("It's a two-day quest, Will, I promise there will be a fucking water bottle available for purchase in Delaware." "Sure, go ahead, trust Delaware and see where that gets you.") but now tastefully pretends is not the case. The granola bars he stuffed in there are the nutritionally bereft but delicious ones from Costco, and they are melted to shit and waterlogged, but they're good anyway. Will tries and fails to ration them. Nico is faster. Plus, they'll…hunt, or something. Probably.

"I have never hunted a single thing in my life and you haven't either, nature boy, but sure, whatever. Let's Bear Grylls this thing."

Nico primly ignores his gripes. Will gets grouchy when he gets anxious, it's fine. He also happens to be very attractive when he is grouchy and Nico happens to be very attracted to him, so these things have a way of working themselves out. Especially because Will has a very sensitive spot on the side of his neck that he isn't quite aware that he has, so as soon as Nico gets close enough to lovingly and perhaps a touch hungrily also bite him he will be fine. Well, he will be goo, but that works. Nico can handle him when he is goo.

"Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me. You know it freaks me out."

It doesn't freak him out. It makes his whole face very hot and his brain kind of non-functional. But Nico is loving and benevolent and refrains from pointing this out.

"We should stop and eat, then."

"You just had fourteen granola bars!"

"Yeah, like an hour ago."

Will reaches out and pretends to strangle him. Nico darts out and grabs one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Will melts at the speed of sound.

"What -- okay, whatever. What Ever, okay. Fine."

He tosses his backpacks -- actually tosses, Christ, someone get this boy a BFA -- and sits heavily on the forest floor, ears burning. Nico looks at the mud and pine needles, wrinkles his nose, and sits delicately on Will's lap. This does nothing for him in the embarrassment slash flusteredness slash superhots he has for Nico, but it does have the added benefit of immediate physical affection and a solid weight in his lap, so his breathing calms. He tilts his face forward until his head is tucked between the space of Nico's neck and his shoulder. Nico reaches up, sliding a hand through his damp curls.

"Check-in," he says quietly.

"Buzzy," Will admits. "Tired. But -- fine."

Nico nods. He cards his hand more regularly through his boyfriend's hair, shifting so Will is slumped against him, and both elbows rest on his broad shoulders; he spends extra time on all the knots, untangling them gently and flicking the shedding strands to the side. He pushes his fringe off his forehead and, when Will doesn't stop him, starts to weave the sections into braids, splitting his hair down the middle of his scalp. He ties both ends off with one of the several elastics on his wrist and grins at the dandelion-pouf of the short strands. He kisses the crown of his head.

"You're cute as hell, you know that?"

"Bleh."

"Don't bleh me. I am the Prince of Hell. I would know." "Whatever, nerd." Will straightens slightly, leaning back against a tree trunk and adjusting Nico's weight. "Your turn. You good?"

"A little wheezy," Nico tells him. "Not that you were right or anything but the quest could maybe have waited until I was not contagious."

"Yeah. Damn, I wish someone would have told you that."

"Oh, can it, Mr. I Can Still Run My Infirmary With A Broken Spine."

"I mean. I could. I did, actually, and it went pretty well."

"You literally almost permanently paralyzed yourself."

"But I didn't! So there." Nico kisses him quiet, because sometimes he actually wants to shake the hypocrisy out of him. The way Will grins, cheeky, into the kiss tells him that he is aware and this was the goal. Fucker.

"I think this is a good spot," Will murmurs, sighing into Nico's mouth. Nico occupies his lips for a little bit longer, kissing every time he opens them to speak -- there are many benefits to dating a virus-immune doctor -- but moves, eventually and mournfully, onto the corner of his mouth, his jaw. His neck. It is a little bit unfair in terms of letting him focus but Will smells like salt and lavender still, somehow, and he looks good surrounded in browns and greens. "For the night, I mean."

"It's maybe two in the afternoon, Solace."

"Well, you need a nap. And I don't want to set up camp twice."

Nico pulls off, shrugging. He has a feeling you need a nap is code for if I don't sleep in the next ten minutes I am going out pass out on the floor. It has been before.

"Works for me."

Together they unpack the entirety of Will's bags. There's a lot of shit in there -- more than Nico assumed could actually fit in any kind of logical space -- and chief among it two bedrolls, a couple blankets, a tarp, some rations (that are not candy-stick granola bars that Nico shoved in there last minute) and, even, some fishing hooks and line. And, of course, more medical supplies than what probably exists on the entire island.

"You can never be too prepared," Will says primly, when Nico bites the corner of his mouth.

"You have leukemia medication," Nico points out.

"Well. Who knows."

"…Right."

Patting his neurotic boyfriend lovingly yet condescendingly on the forehead, which is somewhat of a challenge since he is distantly related to the Yeti or perhaps Godzilla, Nico grabs the tarp and some paracord string and leaves in search of some good branches. Will sings, high and clear, and Nico uses it as his version of Ariadne's string -- he never goes far enough that he can't hear the words, or the pout in his voice when he misses a note. He sings something ridiculous about a small-town judge and a murder plot, twangy and over-the-top and old, no doubt, and Nico smiles, piling the branches in his hands.

Will is convinced he can't sing -- and maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't see the world in quarter notes like his mother, or hear a jazz solo in a creaky door jamb like his prodigy brother. Maybe the birds don't stop when he hums and maybe his guitar is always a little flat. But his voice is rumbly, and curls in the air like camp smoke. And he knows more songs than any other soul living or dead, and when he hums something he made up about the sound of the wind against bending flower petals it warms you, from deep in your stomach. When he makes up a tune to put behind the most famous Italian sonnets or forgets the real tune of a rock song he heard in the back of a tour van ten years ago, Nico's breaths all taste a little sweeter. When his voice gets reedy and pleading and he pants next to Nico's ear, in warm, early mornings, he feels like he's drunk off sound alone.

He likes Will's voice.

He comes back with enough sturdy branches for a lean-to the Hunters would be jealous of, and Will smiles when he sees him. He doesn't stop singing, maybe because he's trying to keep himself awake, maybe because he knows Nico likes it, even though it turns up his vowels in a shy kind of way. Maybe both, or neither. Either way Nico joins him, humming a halfway decent harmony, and hands him the branches one by one, lingering whenever he can at the brush of their equally roughened fingers.

"'Kay," Will says, or sighs. "'S good as it's gonna get, I think."

It's a cute little tent, honestly. There's not a lot of space and once upon a time Nico would have chafed at the thought of it, whether he liked Will or not. A person needs their distance.

But he doesn't, really. Need distance from Will. Maybe he did, before they learned each other. Before they fell into depths unseen and struggled their way back up, before Will helped him angry and hurting, before Nico helped him quiet and blank. Before they learned each other's silences and sacrifices, before Nico knew what it meant to sit next to someone and exist on the same wavelength, in different spaces. Before he knew what it meant to share the same air.

They're codependant, a little.

Nico likes depending on him.

Will squeezes his hand. Nico squeezes back, and together they spread out their bedrolls, pushing them next to each other, and configure themselves around the balance of sticks and corded twine, of tired knees and aching backs. Nico fits his arms around Will's waist and his leg between his thighs, his forehead to the dip in his back and his breathing matching every inhale, every exhale. Will rests a too-warm palm on his wrist and sags into him, exhausted, and together they lay, still and sticky and warm, and it's a little uncomfortable. But it's good, too.

"It'll take you a couple days to get your strength back," Will says softly. "There are a lot of bears in BC."

"I have a sword," Nico points out.

"They're endangered."

"Hm."

"We have one drachma."

"Just the one?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

Nico curls tighter into him. He can tell, without looking, that he has his eyes squeezed shut -- guilty. As if Nico remembered to pack any emergency drachmas or medical supplies or anything outside of granola bars that are 92% chocolate.

"You're not worried about bears."

"No."

"I don't think the eidola followed us from Delaware, sweetheart."

"…Me either." He swallows. "Lotta weird shit in a lotta weird places, though."

Nico hums. He's right. Of all their quests and visits to Will's mother and errands and dates, they've been left unbothered maybe seven total times. Nico doesn't have great luck, and Will is some kind of homing beacon. They never go long without some motherfucker ruining things.

…Nico has a feeling, though.

A good one. For the first time in a while.

"I think we'll be okay," he says, carefully. "I can't promise and I don't know for sure. But I'm not -- I'm a little weak, Will, but I'm not that sick. And you're tired, but you're capable." He punctuates the statement with a firm kiss on the back of Will's neck, anticipating his shaking head. "I think you're right to save it. But you can sleep, and we'll be fine."

There is a lot of shit coiled up in Will's head. Years worth of baggage Nico will never untangle in a day, in a month, in four years. It will take him a lifetime.

But he's gotten pretty good at helping Will wade through it, he thinks.

"Yeah," Will sighs, loosening. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He brings Nico's hand up to his mouth, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his wrist. "We'll stay here for a bit. Three days, at least, it'll take you that long to come back to normal strength."

Protest stirs its way up Nico's chest, but he swallows it back. It won't kill him to wait it out. They have supplies. It will be nice, not to get back to camp exhausted.

Plus, he and Will…

Well, they could maybe use a break, in the wilderness, where no one can bother them.

"We'll IM if we get desperate. We're not too far from New Rome, anyway." Will yawns. Nico squeezes around his waist, and he leans back fondly. "Don't let me sleep longer than an hour, okay? I wanna scope out the place a little more before sundown."

Nico nods, and Will exhales, and in minutes he's out. Nico has always been jealous of his ability to just drop anywhere, in minutes; he could sleep standing up on one foot on the peak of Mount Everest. But now it only makes him smile, and he presses the curl of his lips to Will's warm skin, breathing in the smell of him. It's indistinguishable, almost, from the general outdoorsyness around them, and Nico takes the careful time to memorize it. To memorize it, and them, and the shape of Will in his arms.

He looks out over Will's shoulder and carefully counts the minutes.

-- -- --

next

[slightly-knot-insane]

waaahh omg hi!!!! could I maybe get an eldritch sea monster that just loves his little diver he found? (he totally didn’t kidnap you from the rear of your team…) mayyybbee with some breeding/eggpreg? frothing at the mouth

Underwater sexy time finally finished! Thank you for the request! It's a bit longer since I wanted to add this because you liked it ^^

[ m!sea monster x ftm!reader ]

First Breath of Water

It was meant to be just a simple skinny-dip with your friends. Then you saw a beautiful bluish purple light underwater. It was so pretty you just had to see what it was! Foolishly, you walked into the sea, deeper and deeper, until the water reached your shoulders and then - something grabbed your ankle and pulled you under.

And now you're here, in this cave, surrounded by wet stone, and a water pool at your feet... With a large monster peeking from it. It has something resembling a face with mouth and multiple set of eyes. It doesn't speak to you, but it brought you a strange fish to eat, and fresh water to drink. The raw meal is rather nourishing, and you are not hurt, so you relax a little bit.

While you eat, the creature completely exits the pool and slides next to you. Ethereal bioluminescence decorates its translucent skin. Frills, tentacles and spines grow out of its body. It is both scary and fascinating. It doesn't do anything else aside from watching you, and any attempts to speak to it are met with silence and curious tilts of its slightly humanoid head. It doesn't seem to like the air very much. It starts heaving after barely fifteen minutes next to you and then quickly enters the water for, what you assume, a dose of oxygen.

After a few minutes alone, the creature exits the pool and, this time, gets even closer to you. It touches you and is surprisingly gentle. The being also insists on you touching it - it pulls your hand toward its massive body. You obey and glide your palm over its smooth and slick skin. Your nerves barely register touch - that's how polished and silky the creature is.

With a tremble of its tentacles, it pushes you on the ground, its eyes fixated on yours. The monster is heavy and you can't move, so you just squeal in panic. It slides and moves upward, arching over your entire body. It holds you by your shoulders firmly against the rocky floor. You are presented with two penises, swollen and pulsating in bioluminescent purple light.

"Whoa, slow—" but your words are cut short. One of the penises dives into your mouth, and the other one eagerly rubs against your chest and neck. It is oozing some strange liquid and soon you're covered with lubricant sort of substance. Penises are very flexible and mobile, and the one in your mouth is exploring your teeth and tongue, rubbing against your soft tissue. For some reason, you are not scared but excited. The phallus tastes peculiar but not unpleasant. The monster above you moans in a strange, guttural way and the organic lights flicker into pink shade. It moves its lower body, slowly rocking, and penises thrust and rub harder until, with a strong jolt, they spurt cold and very thick liquid onto your chest and into your mouth.

Wheezing, the monster quickly retreats into the water, leaving you soiled and sticky. You cough and yell at the creature for not preparing you, worried about the thing that you just ate. After just a few minutes, the monster is on top of you again, wet and recovered, pushing you down and shoving the upper penis into your mouth. It fucks your mouth until it climaxes again and you swallow its seed.

This is repeated many times, until your stomach is completely full of sperm and swollen. Exhausted, you fall asleep as soon as you are given a break.

You are woken up by an unpleasant feeling. You can't... breathe? It hurts when you inhale as if your lungs shrunk. You try to cough and take deep breaths, but that causes you even more pain.

"Heee... heeee... lp..." Your words are more like hisses, barely audible. You fall on your knees, tears falling down your cheeks and you feel some strange growth on your jaw. Are those... gills? Long tentacles glide around your waist and swiftly pull you underwater.

Once you're inside water, you gasp - really gasp - because you can breathe! No more pressure and sharp pain. You can breathe underwater!

The monster is in front of you. He (how do you know it's a he?) moves with grace, circling you, swimming and letting out happy clicking noises. It looks so much bigger, intimidating, but also incredibly beautiful in his element. The tentacles surround you, pull you toward him, and explore every part of your body: your hair, neck, armpits, legs, scars and gills. You are mesmerized, getting incredibly aroused by this creatures touches and wonderful lights of his skin. They slowly change from gentle blue to royal purple.

The penises are out again, but the lower one that used to be smaller is now quite longer and there is white orb at the base of it. The creature grabs you, pulls you up and the top penis prods your hole. Luckily, the creature doesn't force it. He finds your t-dick and uses one of his frilled tentacles to rub it. The sensation is incredible and you can't help it but respond. With every limb he has, he locates your erogenous zones and fondles them while carefully observing your emotions.

When you're on the edge of climax, he slowly pushes the top penis into your hole. Surrounded by water, it slides easily and deeply, and takes only few thrusts to shatter you.

While still pulsating from your orgasm, the creature takes out his cock and presents his thick and a lot longer lower one. The light changes to dark pink and he shoves his massive phallus inside you. You arch your back, pushing him away from overstimulation, but he doesn't budge. His light becomes pulsating red and you can see glowing orbs the size of your fist moving inside his shaft into your body. As they slide under your t-dick, you shake from intense pleasure and it takes only three of them to push you over the edge again. The tentacles hold you firmly in place while the monster places his eggs inside you. Soon your belly swells. It's an incredible feeling, stretched by warm objects that emit waves of pleasure through your tissue every time they shift.

So many eggs and so many orgasms after, you wake up in monsters embrace, wrapped around by his tentacles. He happily clicks as a greeting and one of his arms touches your belly. It is huge, skin stretched like a balloon and glowing in soft red light. With a joyous smile, you touch it and happily click, click, click yourself.

[dykesandditches]

So many colors! I’m starting to love fall on the marsh. The red spot is red saltwort or Rocky Mountain saltwort. It’s a really special species to see as it’s only found in high elevations or latitudes and has to be in soils with high salinity. It’s considered extinct in a few states and is protected in others. The photo doesn’t even capture how vividly red it is. This is a relatively small patch compared to others I’ve seen around, but I thought it was especially beautiful with the turning bulrush and mountains.

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter four

⟢ summary: Joel keeps finding excuses to see you.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ tags: no outbreak au, flower shop au, idiots in love, small age gap, joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30, reader is a war widow, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, eventual smut, no beta reader we die like men

⟢ wc: 5.5k

⟢ authors notes: Hello, friends! It's been almost two weeks since my last update. I'm so sorry for that. I am a university student, so very regularly real life gets too busy for me to write. Very inconsiderate of the my professors to give me so much homework and distract me from my real passion if you ask me. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Also this is the longest chapter I have written yet... so enjoy!

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This afternoon marks the third time Joel has arrived unannounced at your flower store in the past three weeks. He explained that the last time he was here, he noticed one of your display tables had a wobble. That's all he said before setting his tools down, kneeling next to the faulty table leg, and getting to work. He worked in relative silence, allowing you to continue your daily duties undisturbed. Once he had evened out the legs and ensured they were secure, he gave you a curt goodbye and left without saying anything else. Two days later, he came again. This time, it was your front door. He stated the hinges were squeaky and needed to be oiled. The following week, he returned again. The faucet of the utility sink in your back storage room, where you wash used planter pots and fill your watering can, would drip even when turned off fully. It started to seem every time he came, he noticed something else that needed to be fixed.

Joel's surprise visits had become a semiweekly tradition. Despite the rocky past shared between you, having him there starts to feel normal. The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm like this. He would work on the myriad of repairs as you helped customers, fulfilled orders, or completed regular housekeeping around the shop, sneaking glances at each other whenever the other was distracted. 

With each visit, you see glimpses of the man Tommy described to you all those months ago—a quiet, stoic facade but protective and dependable.

One morning, he arrives before the store is open. You're on the front sidewalk, eyes closed, face scrunched, and both hands clutching a large bag of potting soil. At least nine matching bags are stacked outside the shop next to you.

You give up, drop the bag you're trying to drag inside, and wipe the sweat starting to accumulate at your temples. You don't know how to get them inside, but your current efforts are not working.

Joel jumps out of his truck and jogs over to where you are standing.

"Oh, good morning, Joel." Your breath comes out in huffs, the exertion apparent from your shaky voice. You gesture down at the bags of soil giving you so much trouble. "The delivery guy usually brings them in for me, but they were just sitting there when I got here."

Without saying anything, Joel tosses one bag over his left shoulder and tucks another under his right arm. He carries each bag of potting soil to the back storage as you stand in shock, wondering how strong could he really be?

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── �� · ·

It's mid-August, and Joel is adding extra supports to the ceiling to hold the crystal chandelier that illuminates the front showroom. His brows pull together as he takes the final support screw from between his teeth and inserts it into the ceiling with an electric drill. 

You're arranging baby pink alstroemeria and white carnations in a red-tinted vase at the front counter. A soft, unconscious smile pulls at your lips as you preen the bouquet before you. This is the kind of moment Joel likes the most. The kind that makes all his labors around the shop worth the effort. It's only the two of you. The store is quiet, apart from the same poppy tune you've been humming all morning. He can ignore all the world's demands outside and enjoy the peace that being with you like this brings.

"What's your favorite?" Joel's voice pulls you from your reverie. 

Your head jerks up, eyes wide in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What's your favorite flower?" He repeats.

It was a simple question, but you're taken aback. You aren't used to Joel asking you about yourself. Truthfully, you aren't used to him asking you anything.

You try to collect your thoughts. "Well, I like sunflowers. Primrose begonia. Mecardonia. Black-eyed Susan. Creeping Zinnia" 

A sudden wave of self-awareness washes over you. You feel a bit silly, rattling off half a dozen names. You let out a nervous laugh while your cheeks begin to warm. Adding in a rush, "Anything yellow. It's my favorite color."

If Joel notices your onset discomfort, he doesn't let it show. He returns his attention to screwing in the last support. 

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

Joel completes his efforts regarding the chandelier and makes a final trip from the shop to his work truck to return his tools. You want to catch him before he can make his usual silent goodbye. Tugging at the apron strings tied behind your back, you pull your head through the neck-straps, hanging it on a hook by the register. "Think I'll close up for an hour and grab something for lunch."

Joel turns around sharply at the sound of your voice, his dark eyes immediately finding you. He's just staring at you, so you continue, "Would you like to come with me?" 

The gears in his head start to work overtime. You want to get lunch. 

With him. 

Over the past several weeks, the two of you have spent countless hours together. You've seen each other more regularly than ever before. The idea of getting lunch together shouldn't fluster him like this… but it does.

You are still waiting for a reply.

Shit. Shit, say something, he mentally scolds himself.

"Yes." Is all he can force out.

You didn't realize it, but you had been holding your breath, waiting for his answer. The last time you presented him with a similar offer, he had blatantly shut it down. You crack a slight smile that develops into the kind that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle. "Okay, let me lock up real quick."

Joel brings the last of his tools to his truck and waits outside for you. You carry a camel-colored leather tote under one arm and meet him outside. Flipping a small sign that reads 'Be Back Soon' you lock the front door before dropping the keys into your purse.

"We can walk from here. One of the perks of being downtown." You lead the way to a coffee shop just around the block. It's the type of trendy business that has been popping up throughout the downtown district for the last several years. Joel would never go somewhere like this on his own. The crowds that frequent these places were a little too clean cut for his liking and don't typically mix with working-class folk like him.

The two of you enter and join the line to order. The café's interior is decorated in warm earth tones and natural wood.

"They have the best bagel sandwiches here." You look up at Joel with bright eyes and a broad smile, making his stomach flip. Giddy excitement is painted across your face. How could he think of food when you're looking at him like that?

Stepping up to the counter, you ask, "Can I get a medium iced caramel latte with extra drizzle and a toasted turkey bagel sandwich cut in half, please?"

The college-age barista behind the counter scribbles down your order on a palm-sized notepad before turning his attention to Joel. "And you, sir?"

Joel is still looking down at you, but his gaze is fixated on your bare upper arm. The short puff sleeves of your orange and white gingham linen dress left most of your arms on display. He imagines reaching out, just a few inches, and brushing his knuckles down the exposed skin—feeling how soft you are.

"Sir?" the barista repeats, louder this time.

This finally pulls Joel's attention back to the café. But his mind has been too preoccupied; he hasn't given any thought to what he wants to order. 

"Black coffee." He hurries out.

The barista looks a bit confused but writes it down on the notepad.

"You don't want anything to eat?" Your gaze is directed to Joel, concern swimming in your eyes.

He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

"Hmm," you're not convinced, but you choose not to push the issue. Opening your purse, you dig through the mess, looking for your wallet. The medium-sized bag seems bottomless, filled with old receipts, a pack of baby wipes, ChapStick, a travel-size bottle of sunscreen, a used tissue or two, and an astronaut LEGO figure you're sure Ellie dropped in there.

When you finally find it, Joel is already pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his own. He reaches around you and slides it across the counter to the barista. 

"Why did you do that?" you ask, shooting him a disapproving look. "I invited you. You need to finally let me thank you for all your help."

Maybe it was his southern upbringing but Joel could never imagine letting a lady pay for their date. 

Not that this is a date, he thinks to himself.

"I'll get it next time." You huff before marching off to find a table.

The two of you settle on a two-person table next to the front windows of the café, but the gravity of the situation quickly makes itself known. Sitting across from each other like this feels more intimate than it should.

Silence falls between you, both waiting for the other to break it first. You keep a small, practiced smile on your face, but hidden under the table, your fidgeting fingers betray you. Joel nervously bounces his knee, his posture too straight, and his usual stony expression occupies his face.

"So," you can’t take the silence anymore and ask, "Is Sarah ready for the first day of school next week?" hoping to ease the growing tension.

The butterflies raising havoc in Joel's stomach cease at the mention of Sara. Like all proud fathers, his favorite subject is his daughter. His expression softens, and his shoulders relax. "Yeah, first day of high school. Makes me feel old."

"I understand what you mean." You let out a small laugh. "Ellie's starting first grade. She's so excited to leave kindergarten and start 'big girl school.'"

Joel nods, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. The memory of Sarah in the same scenario comes to mind: "I reckon I was more scared than Sarah was for her first day. I walk her up to the classroom. As soon as she sees they have a rabbit for a class pet, she runs for it. Didn't look back once."

The atmosphere lightens as you discuss how nervous Ellie's transition to elementary school is making you. Deep down, Ellie is a sweet girl. She loves animals, likes to play with the younger kids she meets during trips to the park, and is fascinated by all things outer space. But you're also aware that she is a handful at the best of times.

The barista arrives at the table, holding your food and drinks on a black serving tray. He lays your respective drinks down and places a white ceramic plate in front of you before wishing you both a good meal. 

Looking over at Joel's lonely mug of black coffee, you place half of the bagel sandwich on a paper napkin and slide it across the table. As he opens his mouth to object, you shoot him one of those mom looks that reads, 'Don't even try to argue.' His mouth snaps shut, knowing this isn't a fight he will win.

You pick up the other half of the sandwich from the plate with both hands and take a bite. It's just as good as you remember. Washing it down with a sip of your latte, you wrap your lips around the straw. Joel becomes distracted by the seemingly innocent action as he watches your mouth carefully. Absent-mindedly, your tongue runs over your plush lips after removing the straw from between them. His mind drifts again, imagining what else he'd like to see your lips wrapped around.

Before you can catch him staring, Joel clears his throat and pushes those thoughts away. "Why a flower store?"

"There's no better gift than a bouquet of your favorite flowers." You set down your sandwich and wipe your hands on a napkin. "When I was a kid, my dad would come home from work and surprise my mom with flowers' just because'. I'll never forget the look on her face every time he did. Thought maybe I could be a part of that for someone else."

You take another drink before continuing, "And I've been digging in the garden for as long as I can remember. I never went to college, so plants are the only thing I really know."

Joel can understand that. He had been working his trade since he was fourteen. His father would dictate that he accompany him to different work sites during school breaks. His dad had insisted it would 'help him become a man,' but Joel knew the real reason was the family could use the money. After high school graduation, college seemed like a distant fantasy for him. He was a decent student, but the family's financial situation hadn't improved over the years. Joel knew his younger brother would have to take his place with their father if he had left. Tommy was only twelve at the time.

Eventually, Tommy finished his education and joined the Army. Joel stayed home and worked as an independent carpenter until he finished his enlistment. That's when the two brothers agreed to start Miller Brothers Contracting.

"Just before I lost my husband, I realized I didn't have a life outside of being a mom and an Army wife. So, when the life insurance money came, I put half away for Ellie's college fund. The rest I used to help open the shop."

Joel sipped his coffee as you spoke. He is sure that life must have been lonely. He knows firsthand what it's like to raise a daughter alone.

"You're not from here. Why stay in Austin?" Joel can't stop himself now. He's gotten a small look at who you really are and wants to see it all.

You squirm in your seat momentarily while thinking of an answer, and Joel wonders if he has overstepped.

"My hometown," you look down at your drink and stir the glass with the straw, apprehensive to continue, "isn't the type of place with a lot of opportunities. All the guys I grew up with joined the military, and all the girls got married right after graduation and started having babies. It's just not the kind of life I want for Ellie. I want her to have every opportunity I never had."

Joel can only nod his head. Your dejected look pulls hard on his heart, making it ache.

Without thinking, he blurts out, "Tommy's comin' over for dinner this weekend. You and Ellie should come on by."

"Really?" Your eyes jump from your coffee to the man sitting across from you. The beaming smile you give him melts away the aching in his chest. "That would be great!"

"Five o'clock, Saturday," Joel says before checking the time on his phone. "I gotta go. But, yeah, Saturday." He stands from his seat.

He exits the café, phone still in hand, and dials Tommy's number. 

"Tommy," he speaks into the receiver, "I need you to come over Saturday."

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

Standing on Joel's front porch, holding a bottle of expensive French wine that you can't pronounce the name of, you take a deep breath before knocking on the front door. Just before 5:00 PM, you and Ellie pull into his driveway.

This is just like the other times you've been here. It's nothing new, you remind yourself, trying to untangle the knots forming in your stomach.

The door swings open, and Sarah greets you both with a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Williams." She steps aside, allowing you two to step inside.

The sound of glass shattering echoes through the home, followed by a loud 'Damnit, Tommy' coming from the kitchen. 

"Dad and Uncle Tommy are in the kitchen." Sarah winces at the sound of broken glass. "They might need your help."

You let out a small laugh and shake your head. The Miller brothers never cease to entertain. Ellie and Sarah follow behind as you enter the kitchen.

Turning the corner, you see the two brothers bickering in front of the stove. There is a glass jar of spaghetti sauce splattered across the floor.

"I told you not to put that there." Joel points a wooden spoon at his brother's chest.

"Maybe if you looked where you were goin' for once, you wouldn't've knocked the damn thing over." Tommy shoots back. You imagine this is what they have been like since they were kids.

You clear your throat, and both men see the three of you watching them fight.

Tommy beams, stepping over the mess painting the kitchen floor, and bends to wrap his arms around Ellie. He picks her up into his arms and plants a quick kiss on her cheek. "How's my favorite baby girl?"

Ellie wraps her little arms around his neck but turns her nose up at the question, "I'm not a baby, Uncle Tommy. I go to big girl school now."

"You do?" he plays along as though he doesn't know. "Well, shit, kiddo. Pretty soon, your mama's gonna be teachin' you to drive."

"Tommy," You give a soft smack to his upper arm "language, please."

"Sorry, Sugar." He turns his head to you, a cheeky grin taking over his face. He gives Ellie one more kiss before returning her to the ground. He wraps his arms around you next, squeezing you tight. As he pulls away, he slips the bottle of wine from your hand.

Tommy lets out a low whistle as he reads the label "The good stuff. You tryin' to get me drunk?"

"Like you ever need help with that." You roll your eyes. "It was a gift from a client for doing their wedding arrangements on short notice."

Tommy nods to Joel over his shoulder, "I'll put this somewhere he can't knock it over." He exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Joel looks ready to start round two with his brother but stops in his tracks when you turn your attention to him. You give him a small wave, accompanied by a gentle smile, and he forgets whatever heated remark he was going to make.

"Hey, Ellie." Sarah crouches down to her eye level. "Wanna play with bubbles in the backyard again?"

Ellie nods so fast that you think she'll make herself dizzy. The two girls exit through the glass sliding door and disappear into the late August sun, leaving you and Joel alone.

You look down at the mess on the floor. Taking a large step over it, you reach for a roll of paper towels on the counter. Crouching down, you collect the larger pieces of glass before discarding them in the trash can. Joel lowers himself to the floor beside you, and you hand him a wad of paper towels.

"So, I'm guessing we are having spaghetti." You tease.

"Was supposed'a be." He mumbles.

The two of you work to mop up the remaining spilled sauce. When the paper towels absorb the last few drops, you look up to see Joel is closer than you realize. His face is only inches away from your own. Heat burns at your cheeks and your breath hitches in your throat. Shooting up to a standing position, you throw away the soiled paper towels.

"Let's see what we can put together." you rush out, turning to wash your hands at the sink.

Joel stands back in amazement as you expertly scurry around the kitchen, making a single jar of pasta sauce stretch enough for five people. To the jar of premade sauce, you add two cans of crushed tomatoes and a tin of tomato paste he didn't know he had in his pantry. As the sauce thickens in a medium sized soup pot on the stove, you sprinkle in several dried seasons, stirring as needed. A pot of salted water comes to a boil as you place the pasta inside. After raiding his fridge for scraps, you pull together a salad from half a head of lettuce and miscellaneous garden vegetables.

When you find out the men hadn't thought of what to serve for dessert, you dig through the pantry to find a half-full bag of chocolate chips and just enough flour and sugar to make a single batch of cookies. You roll dough balls between your palms and place them on an oiled baking sheet. 

The comfortable silence that has taken over the kitchen as you worked breaks when Sarah and Ellie come running into the house from the backyard. Tommy had found himself outside playing with the girls, and now they are trying to outrun him. Tommy throws open the sliding door, baring his teeth and growling while he looks around the room, putting on his best monster impression. He catches sight of Ellie and bolts toward her. She bursts into laughter and runs to hide between you and the kitchen counter, trying to obscure herself behind your legs.

Tommy takes slow, heavy steps, getting closer and closer. His gaze moves from the laughing girl to the individual balls of cookie dough on the counter before you.

"Tommy, don't even think about it." You warn, "You'll ruin your appetite."

Tommy's eyes shift back to Ellie, who is still hiding behind your legs. He gives her a quick nod, a mischievous smile stretching across his face. He lunges forward, grabbing three cookie dough balls off the baking sheet and shouts "Girls, run!"

The three troublemakers race for the backyard, laughing the whole way.

A soft 'Damn it, Tommy' leaves your lips, but there is no malice behind the words.

Joel chuckles to himself at the exchange. A month ago, the same scene playing out in front of him would have left him seething. A bitter taste would have coated his tongue for the rest of the night. But as he has come to understand his feelings and gotten to know you better, the relationship between you and Tommy warms his heart. Add the fact that seeing you in his kitchen like this felt so domestic, so right. Like it is always supposed to be like this.

When dinner is ready, Joel calls out for Tommy and the girls to come inside. The five of you cram yourselves around a small, circular dining table. Throughout the meal, everyone bumps knees and is nearly rubbing shoulders, but no one minds.

Joel scolds Tommy for showing Sarah and Ellie a trick where he can pull a piece of spaghetti noodle from his nose that he learned while in boot camp. Sarah tells you how she has already planned every outfit for her first week of high school. Ellie shows the whole table how Uncle Tommy taught her to make farting sounds with her armpit. Then it's your turn to scold Tommy.

You sit back from the content chaos and take a sip from your glass of wine. You can't remember the last time you ate a meal like this as a big family. For years, it had been just you and Ellie. Before that, it was usually just you alone. But being here, watching the mayhem unfold, makes you feel whole.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

After dinner, you sit with the two brothers on the deck overlooking the backyard. You notice Joel must have bought a third Adirondack chair since you were here last, which is nice as you no longer have to sit on the arm of Tommy's. You're explaining to Tommy all the work Joel has been doing around the shop; all the while, he throws his brother knowing grins.

Joel tries his best to block him out and listen to you speak. Usually, he would shrink away if someone were to gush about him like this, but it was coming from you. Your praises are making his heart race and filling him with a sense of pride he has never felt before.

You hear tiny feet stomping up the stairs, connecting the deck to the grassy yard and across to where you sit. 

"Mommy, Sarah said she can take me to the park. She said it has two slides, a little one and a big one, and a swing set." Ellie's eyes are wide with excitement. "Can I go?"

"Well," you draw out skeptically, thinking it over. You trust Sarah to be responsible, but letting Ellie out of your near proximity has always been anxiety-provoking.

"C'mon, now." Tommy pipes up, "Let the poor girl go swing." He takes a drink from the brown beer bottle in his hand. He had started drinking during dinner and now was on bottle number five.

You shift your face to him, about to say something about Uncle Tommy being a bad influence, but then your eyes turn to Joel. Sarah is his daughter. If he thinks she is mature enough to do it, you would say yes.

"Why don't you ask Sarah's daddy if it's okay." You give your daughter a reassuring smile and point to Joel.

Ellie turns her attention to Joel, "The asshole."

You think your heart has stopped beating. Your very coherent thought leaves your mind as the horror of what Ellie said settles around you. 

Tommy nearly chokes on his drink. He erupts into a screaming fit of laughter, squeezing his eyes shut as tears threaten to stream down his cheeks. 

"Ellie!" Your voice is shaky and panicked. You turn to Joel, face burning hot and crimson from mortification. You try to put on an apologetic smile, but your face feels like it's going numb. "I-I'm so sorry. I have, I have no idea where she heard."

"Mommy, you said that," Ellie replies nonchalantly as though she doesn't understand how you forgot.

"My love," your pitch is a bit too high to be natural. An artificial sweetness becomes present. "Remember when we talked about not repeating what Mommy says at home?" 

Ellie still doesn't see the problem with what she said. She shrugs her shoulders and gives a slight shake of her head.

"Okay, Ellie. Go to the park with Sarah." The unnatural sweetness is still in your voice.

Ellie runs off to rejoin Sarah without a second thought.

You shoot to your feet, refusing to look at either of the men next to you. "I'm going to grab another glass of wine." You rush into the house, clutching your empty wine glass, and slam the sliding door behind you.

Tommy wipes the tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. His sides are sore and he feels like his face is going to split in half. He slaps a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Well, at least you ain't gotta wonder what she thinks about you anymore."

You fumble with the bottle of wine as you uncork it, pouring the burgundy liquid into the crystal glass. You throw back the entire glass before pouring another. 

Your heart rate has almost returned to normal when Joel enters the kitchen. 

A second wave of guilt washes over you again. You can't bring yourself to look at him. "Joel, I am so sorry."

"It's okay." he offers as he steps closer to you.

"No, really." Your voice grows small. "I'm so sorry. I never should have said that in front of Ellie, and I especially never should have said that about you.

"It's okay." He repeats.

You place the wine glass on the counter and stare down at your hands, fingers fidgeting. "When I said that, we barely knew each other." The more you speak, the more nervous you become. The fear of ruining your already fragile new relationship with Joel terrifies you. "You've been so amazing with all the help around the shop. I feel so awful. I just—"

Joel grabs you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms. "It's okay."

You finally look at him, eyes wide. 

"I've been a real asshole to you since we met." Joel pauses. "And… I'm sorry."

The sensation of relief you feel from his words is overwhelmed by something different. 

Joel is touching you. 

He's never touched you before. The big hands and strong fingers you've caught yourself daydreaming about more than once are currently wrapped around your upper arms. Warm skin on warm skin. His palms are calloused from two decades of hard labor, but there is a softness to them as well that you didn't expect. 

Joel seems to realize this at the same time you do. He lets go of your arms and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The warmth from where his skin touched yours is gone within an instant.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

The sun was setting when Sarah and Ellie returned from the park. Joel, Tommy and you all sat in the living room. The brothers sit on opposite sides of the brown leather couch while you occupy a black recliner. The television was tuned to a Texas Rangers game, but none of you were watching it.

You and Joel sit in a comfortable silence as Tommy fights to keep his eyes open. Though he refuses to admit it, he definitely had one too many tonight. 

Sarah and Ellie enter through the front door. Without saying a word, Ellie climbs into your lap, rests her little cheek against your chest, and closes her eyes.

"Did you two have fun at the park?" You ask, wrapping both arms around your daughter.

Ellie nods her head against your chest, eyes still closed.

Sarah sits on the couch between Joel and Tommy. She leans her head on her father's shoulder and wraps her arms around his.

"Think it's time for the little ones to get some sleep." You tease, rubbing Ellie's back as her breaths become slow and even.

"Joel, can I sleep here tonight?" Tommy slurs. 

"Yeah, go ahead." Joel agrees. The idea of Tommy behind the wheel in this state would terrify anyone. And the last thing Joel wants to do is pick up his younger brother from the Travis County Jail for another DUI.

Tommy pushes off the couch and stands on shaky legs. Once he finds his balance, he shoots you a toothy grin. "Nighty night, Sugar."

"Goodnight, Tommy." You let out a breathy laugh. Tommy was always Tommy, regardless of his sobriety level.

Tommy grabs the staircase's railing and climbs each step as carefully as he can in this state. Joel watches him, making sure there aren't any unfortunate accidents about to happen. 

Sarah also stands from the couch, stretching before wishing Joel and you a goodnight.

"We should probably get going, too." You shift Ellie in your arms, making carrying her to the car easier. You rise to your feet and look to Joel. "Thanks again for having us over."

He's on his feet in an instant. "Course, anytime." 

Joel races to the front door, holding it open for you. You walk toward the driveway where you had parked your car. Securing your hold on Ellie with one arm, you fish your keys out of your pocket with the other, clicking the unlock button on the key fob. Joel moves around you, opening the back passenger door so you can place Ellie into her car seat. Joel stays there, hand on the door as you secure the belt over your sleeping daughter. Once Ellie is strapped in, you step out of the way so Joel can gently shut the door.

"Y'all two can stay." Joel offers. He knew the three glasses of wine you drank weren't enough to get you drunk, but he still worried about you driving back to the city when it was so dark outside "I can kick Tommy outta the guest room and onta the couch."

"Or you girls can sleep in my bed, and I'll take the couch." Joel was ever the southern gentleman, offering his own room so you and Ellie would be comfortable.

"Sounds like you're just trying to get me in your bed, Joel." you tease, flashing him a flirtatious smile. 

Maybe you were more drunk than Joel initially thought.

Joel's heart starts to race, and he swallows thickly despite how dry his mouth has suddenly become, "I-I wasn't implyin'—"

"I'm just messing with you." You laugh. Your smile is so big it forces your eyes half closed.

Joel's mind is moving a million miles a minute, and he isn't sure how to respond.

Before he can formulate a sentence in reply, you are walking around the front of your car and climbing into the driver's seat. You start the engine, give Joel a polite wave goodbye, and pull out onto his street, driving into the night.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⟢ authors notes: I think I must be ovulating because writing Tommy's scene where he's playing with Ellie has me feeling some type of way. But can you tell how much I love Tommy?

Also, I'm trying to keep this story as realistic as possible. I've put a lot of research into grief, military life in the 1990's and early 2000's, and the general attitude of the continue during that time it for later chapters. The one thing I did take artistic liberty with is that someone is watching a Rangers game in Austin. I know that technically Astros territory, but fuck the Astros.

⟢ tag list: @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @damneddamsy @legoemma @isabella-rose-trastamara @hoddystark @suzysface @speaktothehandpeasants @anoverwhelmingdin @orodaeh

[pnwnativeplants]

APRIL IS NATIVE PLANT APPRECIATION MONTH

My favorite native tree is Arbutus menziesii, better known as pacific madrone!!!!

These trees are cool because they are one of the only broad leaves evergreen trees in the PNW. Their roots are famous for being finnicky, so they can be difficult or impossible to transplant. Many native plant nurseries don't sell them for this reason. They also love well drained, dry soils so you'll often find them growing on sandy or rocky cliffs near the ocean or the Salish Sea. Their bark peels away as they grow, leaving the smoothest texture imaginable behind. Give one a pet if you run across one!

[azen13]

To Gaze at Polaris

Description: After you manage to escape Jing Yuan's home, the General chases after you to Aurum Alley, intent on bringing you back.

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Nudity, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing Together

Pairing: Yandere!Jing Yuan x GN!Reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a cold night on the Luofu when Jing Yuan strides through Aurum Alley.

By this time, all the shops, restaurants, and homes have gone dark. There is the faraway din of starskiff traffic, and the quiet buzz of cicadas in the moonlit neighborhood. As he walks through alleys lingering with the scent of day–the smell of tea leaves in particular lingers in his nose–there are no signs of you.

You are good at this, Jing Yuan thinks sadly. He wishes you weren’t.

“Y/N,” Jing Yuan calls quietly, though his voice carries. He does not need to be loud or aggressive to have a presence. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

There is no response.

He sighs. There is no anger in his voice, no vitriol or rage. Jing Yuan–as you have learned by now–is not prone to fits. In fact you’ve never seen him mad, or without at least a fleeting trace of a smile on his face; it's as if he was blessed by Aha THEMSELF. Because whenever he sees you he cannot help but feel light glimmering in his heart like starlight, making it bloom like pink morning glories. They have tender stems, delicate petals and grow in soil that is rocky and dry, but they are growing nonetheless, guided by your light.

He enters a different alley knowing you are hiding in the dumpster. Trivial really, but impressive nonetheless. Your determination is one of the things that attracts him to you most. It is a double edged sword. It comes in various shades and hues. He sees it in your eyes when he challenges you to a friendly game of Star Chess. Or when you’re cooking a new dish.

Or when you are shouting insults at him like if you curse him enough, you can make him disappear. In a way, it has the opposite effect. Every time you sob and plead he coos and reaches out for you, pulls you in tighter with comforting embraces and sweet, cloying words. 

For a few moments, he simply stands there. A part of him wishes that you would just come out. His footsteps are perfectly audible, and you are entirely perceptive enough to know that he has stopped in front of the alleyway. You know that he is there, waiting for you to surrender to his comfort and charm.

But you don’t. 

It drapes his heart in darkness, those flowers wilting when you don’t. He steps forward slowly, eyes fixed on the dumpster, his expression forlorn. “Dearest…please come out. I won’t hurt you.” It’s a promise, and it is one he cannot break. He hates seeing you in pain. He loves your smile. It is radiant in an infinite number of ways: the upturned quirk of your lips; the soft crinkling of your eyes; the way your irises seem to glow. You are a star of glass in his hands, and he is afraid he has shattered you.

But, he thinks, as he continues his slow conquest forward, nearing the dumpster, would that be so horrible? 

His mind flashes to the art of repairing broken pottery–kintsugi–where broken pieces are glued together with a lacquer mixed with gold powder; it is not meant to not hide where the breaks have occurred, but allow them to shine. He could bring you back together, multiply your luminescence by a thousand suns, and he would want you even more. The flowers in his heart would grow and bloom until his veins have become xylem and his tissues petals, every cell in him wanting your light. Craving it. Needing it.

When his hands–gentle and calloused from centuries of spars and fights–lift you from the dirty dumpster, you scream and wriggle in his tight embrace. His heart is flooded by rainstorms, flooding the flowers.

It has been raining for countless months. It feels like dying.

“Shh…it is alright my love,” he murmurs, his arms squeezing tighter around your torso; it’s not enough force to hurt you or bruise you, but enough to keep your squirming contained. “Let’s return home. I think this has been…enough excitement for one night.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He runs you a bath. You smell like trash now, and that won’t do. He wants the best for you. The best food, the best clothes, the best life. Because when he sees your happiness, even if it is as ephemeral as a shooting star, it rejuvenates his soul. 

The gentle smell of jasmine fills the bathroom as he quietly works shampoo into your hair. By now, you have lost the battle. Is it a sacrifice, though? Or have you truly blundered a piece away on this grand chessboard? Jing Yuan has played you enough times to know your strategies and tactics, the most inner machinations of your mind. You lose to him every time, but always put up a good fight. He hopes that pattern holds true for this game you and him seem to be playing every waking moment.

Water cupped in his hands is brought to your head, washing the suds out of your luxurious hair. Gentle kisses are peppered on your bare shoulders and neck, before his hands reach to massage your shoulder blades. This is what Jing Yuan longs for: days spent in pure domestic bliss. The kind of sunlit silence that leaves him warm and sleepy, craving an afternoon nap next to his lover.

He hums a song. You lean a little more against him, exhausted from your little escapade. He smiles, careful not to chuckle, lest he scares you away like one of his sparrows. Later, perhaps in the morning Jing Yuan will have a conversation with you about this. But for now he is content to enjoy this honeyed moment, bathing in your incandescence, enjoying these brief moments of sunlight before the deluge begins again.

When your fingers start to wrinkle like prunes from the water and your eyes are beginning to droop, he knows it is bedtime. He wraps you up in a fluffy towel, letting you get ready for bed as he does the same; his eyes watchful but fond as he brushes his teeth and lets his hair out of its usual ponytail. Searching for the first signs of wind picking up or darkening skies.

The two of you cuddle in bed, though it’s more like Jing Yuan cuddles you, and you tolerate his embrace. His arms wrap around you, loose enough not to hurt but tight enough to anchor him around you. Drift too far away again, and Jing Yuan doesn’t know if he can recover. He needs you. 

He is tired, too. But he is tired in a different way. His fatigue is like that of a mountain carved in twain by the river of time. One day, both sides of that once-mighty peak will collapse. But you give him strength. You are his guiding light. His North Star. His sun. His Polaris.

His breathing begins to even out and he pulls you closer against him, sweet dreams of you and him begin to dance behind his eyelids. Hopefully, he thinks as he lets himself slip into slumber, one day you will forgive him for ripping you from the sky and placing you in his chest, in the space right next to his heart.

[kiseiakhun]

I would've made more but I'm leaving for China in 3 days so I restrained myself to succulents. The moonstone might suffer a bit without being watered for a month (it'll probably lose its flowers u_u) but the lithops are fully plumped up and actually look a bit over watered to me and I probably won't need to water them again until autumn 👍 it's my first time keeping lithops so I'm a bit nervous but I'm going to stick to watering them only twice a year. Or even once a year. Also separating the lithops took me ��2 hours✨ last night and this is why you don't keep your succulents in peat, kids.

Anyway. Made some impulsive purchases yesterday.

[naturistgirl]

NAKED SNOW WALKING AND THE BIRCH MOON

The first new moon after the Winter Solstice has various names. Some call it the Ice Moon, others the Snow Moon. Here in the High Pennines the snow has been plentiful and deep. The weather feels exceptionally icy. Here in the Britain however it is rarely ever far below freezing. We have a mild climate compared to say, Continental Europe or the Northern States. It's a great time for naturism!

We headed up to the Wild Wood on January 6th. It was an invigorating walk, uphill. We walked briskly, we had to! Walking clothes free when it is this cold is a very different experience to textile walking. In the depths of Winter, people tend to layer and muffle up. True, all those clothes DO keep you warm when sedentary; layers trap body heat. However, as you exercise, particularly when walking briskly, things are very different. Muffled up in layers, you rapidly slow down as you overheat, carrying the burden of heavy clothing. Naked, you walk briskly, unencumbered by the weight of clothes. You don't want to stop or slow down and your naked body soon acclimatises to the cold. Stepping out and climbing the hill to the wood felt refreshing, invigorating and ever so free!

The wild, wooded hills around here were once heavily mined for coal and yellow clay to make bricks. The industry left its scars for a while, even after it had gone. Nature will always reassert itself and soon, woodland returned. The countryside began to recover. One of the first trees to regenerate is birch. The Wild Wood has older trees, mainly oak, but around it's fringes, birch and alder predominate. On snowy days like this, the silvery bark of birch shines like a beacon. It isn't a long lived tree. The soil is thin and rocky here. Birch often succumbs to the ravages of winter storms. Birch has a more human life span than other trees; 80 would be a good age for a mature specimen. This tree is nonetheless a hardwood and has long been used for all manner of beneficial things.

Birch, being the first tree to grow back after devastation, has a connection to birth and new life. Baby's cradles were made from birch wood and the tree is deeply associated with fertility, renewal and re-birth. Birch twigs make good broomsticks, perfect for a clean sweep of your house at the start of the year. Cattle were herded with a bunch of birch twigs which was also thought to ensure fertility. When birch grows again in Spring, its delicate pale green leaves are heart shaped. The sap of the birch tree is also used to make a delightful wine. Britain's Queen Victoria was said to have been very fond of it!

We made our way to the very summit of the Wild Wood. Here, the woodland is denser and criss-crossed by little paths. Holly shines green and glossy amid the larger trees. There are also larch, oak, ash and sycamore. Out on the sheep pasture beyond, sheep were scraping at the snow, searching for grass. We walked the wood but saw nobody. There was only one other set of prints on the previous night's snow. We stopped to take the photographs which we have shared in this blog. Thank you to Mart, my loving husband for these. He adores naturism every bit as much as me.

The ground temperature was low and I was glad of my pink wellingtons with two layers of socks. My green wool beanie (thank you sheep) was a must; most of the heat you lose is from your head. We hope you find our photographs inspiring.

It would be lovely to see other's photographs of their own naked snow hikes. We look forward to seeing your posts. Tumblr has way too many endlessly recycled photos of naked young women on summer beaches! Give it a rest. The promotion of naturism needs contemporary photos of yourselves, enjoying your local environment as nature intended. why not write as well, describing what you do. Non-sexual nudity should, and does represent, all manner of body shapes and types. You are never too old to walk naked. You were born this way.

We receive lots of messages of affirmation from likeminded naturists. Thank you so much. I also receive some flattering yet less suitable comments and requests from others who are; how shall I put it? - not exactly passionate about naturism, more about sexy naked ladies! Let's face it, who isn't? Sex is great and I love it. It isn't however the focus of this blog.

My purpose in writing this, is to inspire you to your own naturist activities. So while it is gratifying to have you send photos of one tiny part of yourself, please don't. Most of these messages come from Tumblrs who follow hundreds of others yet are entirely empty with no avatars. Sadly, I have come to realise that these accounts are best blocked, no offence. We do welcome messages of support however as well as photographs of your own naturist jaunts and hikes. So if you want to follow me and have me follow back, post an avatar which is actually you and some real pictures of yourself in your blog. Message and tell me what motivates you to naturism! OK?

Stay naked!

Jane xx

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Hi! I read your posts offering tips on how to describe dark coastal and academia settings. They were super helpful! I was wondering if you had any writing tips for dark forests..? Hope it wasn't too big of an ask. Thanks for your time!

I truly love this so much! I apologize for the delay in my post. I tend to put things off sometimes, I'm a serial procrastinator and it took me a little while to gather my thoughts on what you might encounter in dark forests. But hopefully these are similar to what you wanted!

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜List of Random Things For Your Dark Forests Settings | For Writers

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜

The Overgrown Trail 🌿

Winding dirt path obscured by tangled roots and underbrush

Twisted, gnarled tree trunks reaching up to block the sky

Shafts of pale moonlight cutting through the thick canopy

The distant hoot of an owl and the chittering of unseen creatures

The earthy, damp scent of decaying leaves and moss

The Abandoned Cabin 🏚️

Dilapidated wooden structure, its paint peeling and windows boarded up

Cobwebs draped across the porch railing and doorframe

The creak of warped floorboards and the groan of the sagging roof

Rusted tools and broken furniture scattered among the weeds

The stale, musty odor of neglect and the faint tang of rot

The Moonlit Glade 🌕

A small clearing, the grass blanketed in a carpet of wildflowers

Gnarled, ancient trees ringing the open space like silent sentinels

Faint wisps of fog drifting across the still surface of a dark pond

The soft susurration of leaves in the gentle breeze

The faint glow of bioluminescent mushrooms dotting the forest floor

The Winding Stream 🌊

A burbling brook cutting through the undergrowth, its water crystal-clear

Thick, twisted roots breaking through the soil along the banks

Schools of darting minnows and the occasional flash of a trout

Clusters of delicate ferns and mosses clinging to the damp rocks

The soothing sound of rushing water over the pebbles

The Ritual Circle 🕯️

A ring of large, moss-covered stones in a small, secluded clearing

Remnants of burned candles and wilted flower petals scattered within

Carved wooden totems or animal skulls adorning the perimeter

Thin wisps of incense smoke curling up towards the treetops

The eerie silence, broken only by the distant cry of a raven

The Fog-Shrouded Ravine 🌫️

A deep chasm obscured by tendrils of swirling mist

Gnarled, skeletal trees clinging to the steep, rocky sides

The faint sound of running water echoing up from the unseen depths

Thick vines and twisted roots snaking across the uneven ground

The chill of the damp air, raising goosebumps on bare skin

The Witch's Cottage 🧙‍♀️

A crooked, thatched-roof hut nestled between the twisted trees

Dried herbs and animal bones hanging from the eaves

Smoke curling from the chimney, the scent of charred wood and herbs

A small garden of nightshade, mandrake, and other sinister plants

The eerie cackling of the resident witch, her shadow glimpsed through the windows

The Forgotten Graveyard 🪦

Crumbling, moss-covered headstones half-submerged in the undergrowth

Skeletal tree branches reaching down like grasping hands

Ravens perched atop the weathered grave markers, cawing ominously

Shreds of tattered funeral wreaths and faded flowers scattered about

An unearthly chill in the air, as if the spirits of the dead linger

The Enchanted Pool 🌙

A small, still body of water reflecting the night sky above

Luminescent flora blooming along the murky banks

Schools of glimmering, ethereal fish drifting through the depths

Mist swirling across the surface, obscuring the view of the bottom

The faint sound of otherworldly music drifting from unseen sources

The Cursed Clearing 🕳️

A barren, circular area devoid of vegetation, as if scorched by dark magic

Twisted, blackened tree trunks surrounding the perimeter like sentinels

Jagged shards of obsidian-like rock piercing up from the soil

The crunch of bone-dry leaves and twigs underfoot, shattering the silence

An oppressive aura of dread and unnatural stillness permeating the air