#I'm going to compost it or something

[dreamytfw]

Question for y'all: is this fic any good? Can't decide if I should I read it or sell it to a 2nd hand book store.

[alienolives]

which is worse: roommate who never takes out the trash OR roommate who takes the trash out but doesn't sort it properly, so I have to redo it anyway -_-

[night-raven-tattler]

Can you offer me a nice shirt in this trying time?

Summary: The usual shenanigans leave you with an unwearable shirt. All you can do is ask your friend (?) for help.

Characters: Leona, Jade, Epel, Malleus and GN!Reader (separate, platonic adjacent...?)

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and mild panic over the dirty shirt

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈��┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looking at your pathetic expression akin to a kicked puppy while you tried to cover your dirty shirt made Leona burst into laughter, even after you just stepped on his tail

You looked away, flustered, not even wanting to recount the embarassing turn of events that just happened

But you didn't need to; Leona heard it all

He heard you from the other side of the botanical gardens talking with your friends, who started bickering with each other

Things got a bit physical in a playful way, but none of you really expected to shove each other so hard you all crumbled to the ground like a ridiculous domino

And the only thing you could be glad for was that you missed the pile of compost nearby

And now you were in front of him as he quite enjoyed your flustered state

"I wanted to apologise for stepping on your tail, you know. But I changed my mind."

Leona's laughter turned into snickering as he wiped nonexistent tears away from his eyes

"If you don't want me to laugh, then stop acting like a clown."

You stomped your foot, which made Leona look at you

"This is serious! I have no other clean shirt and class is going to start soon. So you can either help me or give me an idea or leave me alone."

Something in Leona's eyes changed at your words: his mocking aura went away slightly, and you could almost hear what he was thinking

Still thinking about class after being dragged in dirt? Damn goody-two-shoes.

"Alright, I'm doing this just this once. But if I catch you play in dirt again, you're on your own, you damn warthog."

Leona put a hand in his pocket, then tapped his foot

To your surprise, the dirt started vanishing from your outfit right away

All you could do was stare at Leona, mouth agape

And he stared right back at you

Until his smile turned into a frown in a secons

"What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek? Just go to your class already."

You just frantically nodded and scurried away from him

...just to return a few seconds later and leave, in fact, a kiss on his cheek

He just stared at you while you awaited any kind of reaction beside his resting tired face

"...Forget what I said about not helping you. Next time I'll shove you into dirt myself."

That reaction seemed to satisfy you enough, as you took your leave right after his threat

『••✎••』

Working at the Mostro Lounge had its ups and downs

Ups: the job is on campus, the place is always looking for workers and it's one of the best paying jobs on campus

Downs: one of your coworkers is Jade, and the other is Floyd

They'd be relatively nice coworkers if they didn't take their sweet time with helping you while enjoying every second of suffering from all living creatures

Like they did when you tripped on your way to a client and spilled the drink on yourself

They just watched for a few seconds how you panicked over the dirty shirt and the irritated customer

Jade came and dragged you away a few seconds too late for your liking while Floyd started on another drink against his will

You had no idea why Jade led you to the Lounge's changing room, but his smile did not calm you down at all

After all, Jade was very talented at everything except of being reassuring

He left you on your own for a few seconds, coming back with a new uniform shirt, which he handed to you

"This is a replacement for your dirty shirt. Please get changed so you can resume your duties."

You stared at Jade suspiciously

Was he handing you a shirt just like that?

He accepted your silent confusion for a few more seconds before his smile widened, showing his teeth

"What is the problem, Reader? Perhaps you require my assistance with getting changed?"

No matter how hard you frowned at him, the blush was not making your disdain too effective

"What? No! That's not it!"

"...So you're saying you would not refuse my services if that were to be the case?"

"I- no! Ugh!"

Even while you hid your face in the shirt you knew he was still giving you that annoying grin

"You're saying I can just change into this? Without any payment or punishment?"

Jade gasped and put a hand over his chest, feigning offense

"What an incredulous accusation, Reader. I can assure you that no consequences will follow you needing another shirt for the remainder of your shift."

"..."

"..."

"...Are you sure?"

"Certainly."

You knew better than to trust any of the tweels, but you supposed you'll cross that bridge when you got to it

Besides, being MIA on your shift might make Azul take thaumarks out of your paycheck, and you didn't need to manifest that kind of outcome

"Fine, I'll take it. Please leave so I can change."

"As you wish."

So he left you in the empty changing room, a hint of a blush still on your face

You knew getting revenge on any student at NRC was a bad idea, but you couldn't help but imagine "accidentally" spilling some cherry juice on Jade's dorm uniform

『••✎••』

Cleaning duty in the library was not fun, but at least Epel knew how to make things entertaining

He wasn't a comedian or anything like that, but his Vil-themed tirades were always animated and gossipy enough that they had you hooked on his every word

Or every word that you could understand, at least

And a complaining storytelling Epel is not the most careful Epel

So you were not too surprised when he spilled some ink on your sleeves

"Hey, my shirt! You spilled ink on me!"

Epel noticed the big stains and his eyes widened

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"What am I gonna do?! I have no clean laundry today!"

While you were frantically pacing around, Epel was staring at the floor, not being able to meet your eyes

"Hey, come on... It's not that bad. See, it's just a small stain!"

The death glare you threw his way rivaled Vil's, and Epel took a step back instinctively

"Okay, okay! I get it, let me think..."

A few seconds of contemplation later, Epel went to the window and looked outside

"Hey, Vil is having a club meeting outside right now. He must have a stain stick or a spell or something."

"What about cleaning duty?"

"Just go deal with your shirt and come back when it's clean. I'll put away all the old ink in the meantime."

After Epel's convincing, you relented

But now you had the perfect opportunity to show off your newly aquired NRC thirst for revenge...

Let's just say that Vil was very thankful you told him about Epel's attitude towards your stain while he dealt with it....

Epel did not talk to you the next day

Except for that time during lunch when he came towards you with a bitter expression and some comically overfilled pockets

When he got next to you, he shoved his hand into one of his pockets and, with difficulty, pulled out 5 stain pens

"I hate you."

That was all he said before walking away

『••✎••』

During your days as an NRC student you've learned a lot of things, including facts about the weather

1: The weather will always be nice on the date of the monthly scarabinelle debates in the courtyard

2: The statue of the King of the Underworld from the courtyard never got wet from rain

3: Unlike his statue, you were not waterproof

Neither was your shirt

So by the time you reached the Hall of Mirrors, you were soaking wet

You marveled at your misfortune right as Malleus entered the room through the Diasomnia mirror

His mild surprise from bumping into you made him almost not notice your predicament

"...Child of man? What happened to you?"

You sighed and told him you were caught in the rain, but you had no clean change of clothes and were feeling pretty cold already

"Hm. This can't do. Humans are very fragile creatures, a simple soak can leave lasting effects on your body.

Malleus seemed to fall deep in thought, as if he was presented with an incredible puzzle, and not the random misfortune of a friend

He nodded to himself, and you were curious to know the conclusion he reached

"Allow me to help you."

You sighed of relief at his decision

Out of everyone on campus, you trusted Malleus to be genuine and helpful, so you accepted his help

You didn't think much of it when he pulled out his magical pen from his pocket; you figured he was just going to use a small drying spell

Boy were you wrong.

Malleus rotated his pen slightly in the air, creating an ever growing wind

The speed and intensity of it grew very fast, and you had to grab onto a pillar to hold yourself in place

You watched in horror how a few students were pushed by the wind back into their mirrors as soon as they entered the Hall of Mirrors

You couldn't even attempt to do any damage control, since the wind was too loud for your voice to be heard

After what felt like forever, Malleus' wind started to dwindle and your feet were able to be on the ground again

"That... That certainly was a method of helping."

"Well? Was it successful? You seem pretty dry to me."

He smiled proudly at you

It was obvious how he knew that he did a good job and he was simply awaiting your praise

You patted down your uniform, and were surprised to notice your uniform was, indeed, dry

"...Yeah, actually. Thanks!"

"You are very welcome."

His smug words were carried by his confident grin as he proudly marched away from you and out of the room

The whole interaction was definitely weird, so you couldn't help but share it over lunch with your friends, Ace and Deuce

After you shared Malleus' small drying machine job, Ace started laughing at you, while Deuce put a hand on your shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face

『••✎••』

[norrisradio]

PRESSED BETWEEN PAGES

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever." - Lord Alfred Tennyson

ᝰ PAIRING: yuki tsunoda x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.4K ᝰ GENRE: fluff!!! mention of one (1) fight, yuki is in love ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: turns out me and a have a shared favorite quote! i'm a big lover of the language of flowers so this one is special to me ꨄ︎ requested by @hello-car-fandom !

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

Yuki doesn’t say much when you change the flowers.

It happens quietly, usually on a Sunday. The kind of slow morning where the sky hangs low and the light in the apartment turns golden for no reason at all. Sometimes he’s just getting back from a run, shoes damp with dew, shirt clinging to his back. Sometimes he’s on the couch, scrolling through lap data, one leg tucked under him and his hair still damp from the shower.

You move through the room like it’s something sacred—plucking limp stems from glass jars, fingertips stained with water and wilting green. On the kitchen counter. By the window. Once, tucked inside a toothbrush cup by the bathroom sink.

You never make a big deal out of it. Just hum under your breath and hum again when the new bouquet unfurls its petals under the faucet. It’s the only way you really keep track of the seasons, you told him once, hands full of lilacs and eucalyptus. When you don’t have time to notice the air changing or the daylight shifting, you trust the florists to do it for you.

He listens to that in the back of his mind, files it away. Like how tulips mean spring. Daisies mean rain is coming. Marigolds mean you’re starting to sleep with the fan on again.

He never says anything when the old ones go. Just watches as you slide them from their vases, one by one, and lay them gently into the compost bin. The petals fall apart in your fingers sometimes, thin and papery. The stems bend too easily. They’ve softened with time.

But when you leave the room—off to take a call, or switch on the kettle, or pull laundry from the dryer—he moves.

Softly. Like it’s a secret. Like he’s doing something wrong, though it never really is.

He reaches into the bin, fingers threading through damp coffee grounds and orange peels until he finds the stems. Not all of them. Just one. Maybe two. The ones still holding their shape, even if their color has started to fade.

❀˖° THE TULIP - APRIL °˖❀

The front door creaks open with the soft click of a key turning too carefully, like he’s afraid to wake the walls.

Yuki drops his duffel bag quietly just inside, his shoulders stiff from the flight, neck aching from hours spent tilted awkwardly against the seat. Tokyo rain clings to the sleeves of his hoodie, tiny dark circles blooming where it soaked through.

He’s barely taken a step inside when he sees you—curled up on the couch, arms folded tight against your chest, knees drawn in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. You’re asleep, mouth parted just slightly, hair falling across your cheek. The TV flickers with the low hum of some late-night rerun, casting moving shadows over the blanket tangled around your legs.

He moves quietly, kneeling beside the coffee table. That’s when he sees the bouquet—still wrapped in brown paper, tulip heads peeking shyly from the fold, pale pink and a little bruised around the edges.

The receipt is folded underneath it, timestamped from hours ago. You must have picked them up right after your shift. You must’ve waited.

Yuki swallows around something that tastes too much like guilt and gratitude and everything in between. He should wake you. He doesn’t.

Instead, he touches one of the tulips lightly, presses the soft edge of its petal between his fingers. He smiles, just a little. Then he stands, pads over to the kitchen, and pulls an old mug from the cupboard. Fills it halfway. Snips the stems like you always do.

By the time you stir awake, groggy and blinking through the television static, the tulips are standing tall in the center of the kitchen table, catching the soft, early light of dawn.

You don’t even notice the single tulip missing from the bunch.

But Yuki does. He presses it between the pages of an old notebook that night, the faintest scent of your waiting still clinging to its petals.

❀˖° THE DAISY - JUNE °˖❀

The clouds break with no warning.

One second it’s thick summer air, heavy with sun and the low buzz of heat, and the next it’s thunder cracking over the buildings and rain hitting the pavement like applause.

You don’t even flinch.

Yuki’s still drying his hair from a post-run shower when he hears the balcony door slide open. The curtain lifts with a gust of wind, carrying the scent of wet concrete and ozone.

When he walks into the living room, towel draped over his shoulders, he freezes at the sight of you—barefoot, already soaked, arms outstretched like you’re trying to catch the sky in your hands.

You laugh—head tipped back, eyes closed—spinning once on your heel like a kid. Your white T-shirt clings to your sides, and your hair sticks to your forehead in wet strands, but you don’t seem to care.

“It’s raining,” you say, like he hadn’t noticed.

“I can see that,” he replies, deadpan—but he doesn’t pull you back inside. He leans on the doorframe, watching you twirl barefoot on the slick tiles, lightning stitching its way across the clouds.

There’s a tiny jar by the railing with a single daisy, already sagging under the weight of the water. You must’ve grabbed it from the little garden box, some spontaneous, sunlit moment made permanent in glass.

He’ll take it inside later—after the sky clears, after you’ve come back in, dripping and radiant, tugging him by the wrist to dance with you in puddles.

That night, while you’re brushing your hair out, back turned to him in the mirror, he plucks the daisy from its jar and slips it between the pages of a half-filled journal.

Even months later, it still smells like summer rain.

❀˖° THE MARIGOLD - LATE AUGUST °˖❀

The silence after the argument feels like its own kind of noise.

Yuki sits at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers knotted in his hair. You’re in the kitchen, pretending to do dishes, though all he hears is water running and not much else.

Neither of you meant for it to go that far. The fight was stupid—about groceries, or maybe laundry, or maybe the way he sometimes shuts down when things get hard. You’d raised your voice. He’d left the room.

Now it’s sunset, and the apartment glows with that soft, golden hush that only comes once a day, like the light is trying to forgive everything it touches.

When you appear in the doorway, your expression isn’t angry anymore. You’re holding something in your hands—a marigold, still bright, pulled from the vase on the table.

You walk up to him slowly and offer it out, wordlessly.

He looks up, meets your eyes. Then he laughs—quiet and a little embarrassed—and takes the flower from you, twirling it once between his fingers.

“I was an ass,” he says.

“You were tired,” you reply. “So was I.”

He tugs you down beside him, your thigh pressed against his. The marigold rests between you on the bedspread, its orange glow catching the last of the sun.

Later, he pretends to be asleep while you make dinner. He slips the marigold into a folded napkin and places it gently in the spine of his notebook.

It smells like apologies and soft light and the feeling of coming home again.

Each flower is carefully flattened between the pages of an old notebook he keeps zipped up in the lining of his suitcase. He doesn't need to label them. He remembers. Which flower came from which Sunday. Which week you couldn’t sleep. Which day you laughed so hard you spilled water all over the counter.

Sometimes, he tucks one into his pocket before a flight or race weekend. It crumbles a little each time he does, but it’s still enough. Just a whisper of the color, the shape—of you.

You never notice.

Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you started tying the stems with twine now, something softer and easier to unwind, like you’re giving permission. Like you’re saying, go on, take this one too.

And he does.

Quietly, always.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Cain (p3)

Tw: Violence, Cain is a mean asshole, he is also mentally unstable, lost his shit in this chapter; smashing furniture and shit. This is just abusive relationships man, yandere themes. Reader is gender neutral. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 3

Click here for part 4

Click here for part 1

Days turned into weeks, into months. You've let this stranger live in your apartment rent-free. But you don't think he's a freeloader, because you noticed that whenever something runs out at home, be it eggs, toothpaste, or your favourite snack, it magically replenishes itself. But you knew Cain was behind this; you barely go to the grocery store anymore because it just keeps getting replaced with new versions of it.

You know that he's not paying any of it. The first time you went grocery shopping with him and saw him with the duffle bag, it had a purpose. His stopping by your shopping cart every so often had a purpose; his being a jerk about people looking at him also had a purpose.

You deduced all that when you came back that day and found that there were duplicates of every item you bought in your pantry and fridge. You weren't hallucinating, you weren't going crazy, you didn't pay extra. Cain stole a copy of what you lawfully bought that day.

Asking him about it (no matter how gently) will make him yell at you for being "ungrateful", "picky" and a "Stuck-up asshole", and make him storm off to "cool down" somewhere else on earth. He would come back either injured or with a whole bunch of random valuables, which would disappear the next day. Being the kindhearted person you are, you wanted to think that Cain returned the items to their rightful owners.

Regardless, Cain still replaces your favourite cereal whenever it's running low.

He still maintains his quirk until now: refusing to eat anything unless you take a bite or sip out of it first. You don't have to worry about cooking too much and wasting the leftovers, or eventually finding out that you don't like the dish. Because Cain is like your compost bin, he would just eat it for you.

He doesn't cook. You found that if you left nothing behind, he didn't get to eat that day... or so you assumed. But either way, you made it a habit to cook a larger portion so he could be fed too.

Conversations are few and far between. You know virtually nothing about the man aside from a few fun facts: he likes keeping his hair red because you caught him one day dyeing his hair with a box dye in your bathroom. You thought that you're going to get kicked out or yelled at because it might be an embarrassing situation to be seen in, but instead, upon noticing that you're there, he said:

"Go piss or shit. I don't care." while applying dollops of dye to his hair in front of the sink mirror.

You said that you do mind it very much, you want your privacy.

"Then hold it in. I'll get out when I'm done." He said so nonchalantly.

Other than that, he's surprisingly respectful in his own way. You thought you would need to do everything yourself on top of taking care of a grown man. But Cain learns. He observes you and, most importantly, does what you do to keep this household afloat.

He noticed that you would clean the dishes a few hours after the meal. Cain would do the same thing, just an hour before you're expected to get up and do it.

He noticed you would take out the trash whenever it filled up, which used to be weekly before he came along. Cain would take care of that before you do.

He noticed that you would stress over the bills and how much it has risen since he came into the picture. And there was the question of your mortgage, too. You're too scared to start charging him rent, fearing that he might not take it well, as he seems to be the type who does not like explicit directives.

However, it seems like he would pick up on it. You would find extra cash that is sometimes speckled with some red liquid. And these aren't chump change either; they can go up to hundreds of dollars, usually enough to cover all your bills and give you a bit of fun money.

He would put them in places where you would absolutely find them, but it's an objectively strange choice. You found a rolled-up stack of hundred-dollar bills in your shoes once, five dollars in the shower caddy, twenty dollars taped to the inside of your uniform (scratching you as you put it on), eighty dollars under your pillow... Asking him about his choice to do this leads to the same angry rant about how you're looking down at him and not appreciating his efforts.

Out of all the places, you don't think that he has ever put cash in your wallet. But with the help of Cain, you managed to get yourself a brand new phone and made the mistake of getting him one too. To which, he took great offence until you framed it as your thankfulness for his efforts around the house. And it was a token of his appreciation. Only then did he accept it without speaking any further.

He's unfortunately not too much of a tech wizard, often leaving them at home when going out for long periods. The way he acts made you wonder if he's someone from the 90s being brought forward into the present.

Cain also had an effect on your work life.

You don't think you have missed a bus anymore, as Cain had the balls to block the doors and force the bus driver to wait for you.

Whenever you're doing the closing shift, he would be there to escort you home. And it was the safest you've ever felt, despite feeling embarrassed when you think Cain is being unnecessarily hostile to innocent people who just "appear" unnerving.

You had an idea to try and get Cain to work alongside you. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, Cain agreed to it. Since this is a small town, your boss favours you; he had no problem getting in without an interview or even a background check.

He got fired and banned from the establishment on his first day.

A woman in her mid-ages complained to Cain that her coffee wasn't done well when he had followed all the instructions to a T. She has complained that it wasn't hot enough for her, despite it being at a temperature that can burn. You don't know what set him off that day; maybe it was the ridiculous nature of her complaint, or maybe she reminded him of his many foster mothers who neglected him.

To your horror, Cain decided to splash the cup of coffee against her face. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Raising his voice, "Fucking hot enough now, isn't it?"

Cain walked out of the cafe with eyes all on him; it was a miracle that no one was recording. And it was an even bigger miracle that you kept your job, the woman didn't press charges, and neither did your boss. You, of course, apologized profusely to them.

The woman screamed about suing them all, putting Cain behind bars, and closing the cafe down. But you never heard from her again, not even a subpoena. You thought she had a change of heart, and such a nice woman for forgiving everyone.

You expressed your thoughts about it, and Cain kept his lips sealed. He also didn't want to look you in the eye. Perhaps he's feeling remorseful?

You had no idea what happened to your bicycle; it disappeared the day you got your new phone. Asking Cain about it will just earn you a huff and silence. Pressing him about it will get you yelled at for being a dumbass and potentially being part of the statistics of idiotic bicycle deaths.

You think he sold your bicycle.

But it's alright, because he made it up to you by getting a Roomba. You don't know how that is the equivalent of your bicycle, but in his mind, he thinks it is. It was one of the things he's actually proud to present to you, and you didn't have the heart to express anything less than gratitude.

You have to admit that it's quite interesting and fun to watch the small robot just scutter around the room. You would catch him doing that, too, and he doesn't seem to care that you're there, unless you stare at him for too long and not at the Roomba.

Laundry is a strange ordeal with him. There is a Laundromat nearby, and he would always be the one to do it. Whenever you tried doing your own, he would hiss and snarl like a wild animal before snatching it away from you.

As it turns out, he just likes watching the clothes spin and spin through the windows of the front-loading washing machines and dryers. You deduced that it's almost meditative to him, because he would be at his calmest in the laundromat... as long as no one keeps his eyes on him too long.

You even joined him one day, sitting next to him and watching the hypnotizing spin. He paid you no mind, but you knew that he was aware of your presence, as there was one time someone tried striking up a conversation with you. Only for the stranger to be met with Cain's snappy attitude, no one dared to approach you after that.

All seems well. Even though it felt like you were walking on eggshells around him at first, you quickly learned his unspoken, sacred rules and easily maneuvered this strange friendship you have with him. You think Cain is perfectly integrated into your life, and he seems content either sleeping on the couch or on the floor.

He never asked for more, but you're sure that his back is probably killing him from sleeping like a shrimp. So you made the change from a regular couch to a sofa bed, and you made sure to clarify that you're doing this for yourself. Cain didn't object to it, which you can safely interpret as approval.

And approved he did, he was the first one to try out and explore the new piece of furniture. Cain hogged it entirely, using it as a bed and also a shelf, having items randomly placed as if they're soft plushies- you noticed that he's a bit of a hoarder with the random jewelry and items he brings home. He wouldn't encroach on your cabinets and drawers, save for that one portable closet you bought online for him. It was empty for a few weeks until he got the hint that it was for him to put his own stuff. And boy, did he really utilize it.

He doesn't verbally express his gratitude, but you know that he's not taking whatever you gave him for granted. You can see it in his actions, you can feel it.

You don't really have a lot of contacts in this town. But sometimes you do have friends and family flying in and asking if they could spend the night at your place. And you're always put in an extremely difficult position, because what the hell should you tell them? You tried asking Cain if they could stay over, and he flew into a fit of rage. Now, you only saw him cry once, and that was when he first asked you if he could stay at your place. But there were hot, angry tears whenever you mentioned friends and family.

And you could tell that he felt really hurt for some reason. You couldn't tell what the hell he was ranting about, but he goes ballistic over the thought of you having a life outside of him.

Unfortunately, you end up turning them away, because at one point, his outburst got so bad that he took your phone and smashed it against the ground while screaming about how life is unfair to him, about how he wishes death upon your friends and family that he hasn't even met, about how it was only supposed to be you and him. And no one else.

You told him that you didn't understand why he was so upset over your friends and family. You said that you wouldn't have them over if he doesn't want them encroaching on his space. Though you felt bitter when you realized you didn't have full control over your own home.

"Of course you don't! You don't- Don't know what it's like to be me! I fucking hate it, I fucking hate myself! I-I-" He was pacing around, tugging on his hair and grinding his teeth. His teary face scrunched up, as if he were in unbearable pain.

He curled up into a ball on your living room floor and just sobbed. He was expressing a lot of pain, the type that would kill any normal person. But not him, because he's strong and fueled with determination to live in spite of it. But there is only so much stress a man like him can handle.

You looked around. And saw the broken furniture, electronics, and decor that Cain destroyed during his massive meltdown. Most importantly, the phone that's in pieces on the floor. You should have left, you should have called the police, and changed your locks.

Yet, you made the conscious decision to stay and hold a respectful silence for him. You didn't touch him, you didn't give him words of comfort, you just stayed.

And to Cain, that was his first taste of warmth that didn't scorch him. The type of warmth that soothes him, the warmth that he was supposed to receive from the one who loves him.

He mumbled something. You let out a "huh?" as you didn't catch what he said.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered in between sniffles.

That shook you to the core; it was the first time you had heard him apologize. It must have taken tremendous strength for him to have said that. And so, you verbally and clearly forgave him.

He broke down further, crying harder and coughing more.

You didn't know why or what you were doing, but you scooted over and coaxed him to place his head on your lap. You then started to play with his hair. And this seemed to lull him into a deep sense of safety, as you saw him struggling to keep his eyelids open.

He felt warm.

Over the following days, Cain tried his best to clean everything up and to replace whatever he broke. Which is nice of him, but you knew he shoplifted a lot just to do that, and you wished he didn't.

Neither of you spoke about the incident. You end up using his phone as your own now. Cain offered that as a solution. He didn't mention getting another phone for you or himself, though.

Disappointed, but accepting, your friends and family ended up deciding to get a hotel instead. But the visitation date would be pushed back further. You don't think it was a good time to talk to Cain about them visiting, regardless.

Life went on as usual. Except Cain would be at home a lot more, seemingly wanting to get close to you. His temper became much milder, and he became a lot less snappy, instead opting to stay silent when he gets irritated.

You didn't think much of it, until one day he dropped this bomb on you:

"I'm in love with you."

He said this with such conviction, no room for doubt, all certainty. It wasn't phrased as a question, but a solid statement.

You were sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, doing the crossword puzzle book Cain got you as a silent apology for destroying your phone. You looked up and examined his face.

His eyes were soft. Weary, even. There was no hint of wrath, trickery, or shame. There was an air of desperation and even... vulnerability around him. It's a new look on him, and it felt uncanny to you.

You have no idea how to respond. So you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, but said nothing.

Eventually, you expressed that you're speechless and you don't know what to do with his confession.

He looked crestfallen. Cain then averted his eyes to somewhere else. You saw that he's blinking a lot more and taking deeper breaths.

You thought that was the end of that conversation because he didn't continue it for a while.

But you were wrong.

"...What would it fucking take to make you love me, huh?"

You felt the chills down your spine once you heard the harshness return to his once tender tone. He's back, and he's pissed.

His expression became mean. He became the Cain that you always knew. You sighed inwardly, realizing that you had made him put his walls back up.

"Was everything not enough?! Am I not enough for you, huh?! You think you're better than me?!" He shot up from his seat and slammed his hands onto the table. You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. But you could feel the excruciating torment of being rejected once again, and he felt cold. He felt unwanted once more.

You made yourself much smaller in your chair, putting your hands up as a shield.

"You're a fucking asshole, a fucking piece of shit, I hate-" He choked on his own tears, knuckles turning white over how tight he balled his fists. "I..." He gulped and then coughed, then gasped for air. Then sobbed.

It was a pitiful cycle, and it was scary to watch. But you do so anyway, because you believe that everyone deserves to be heard, no matter how insane.

Cain collapsed back into his chair and sobbed into his hands. He kept wiping his eyes and nose harshly, until they turned red.

"I-I can never hate you, I can't. I..."

Cain sounded so broken. But there isn't anything you could do aside from waiting it out.

"I don't know..." He rasped. "I'm in love with you, and it hurts. It really fucking hurts."

You gave him a minute to calm down before speaking up.

You asked him how you could help. To that, you were met with a long pause from the distressed man in front of you.

He reluctantly put his hands down, not before giving himself one last wipe.

Cain then brought his gaze to yours, and you never realized how beautiful his deep brown eyes were. Tortured, but they held an almost ethereal quality to them.

"Will you... Love me back?" He asked, with caution and hope.

You hesitantly replied that you could... try.

Save for the birds outside and the humming of the refrigerator, it was a pin-drop silence. It seems like Cain was processing all of this on his own.

You don't know if you should have said that. Immediately, you started wondering what you had gotten yourself into. But before your thoughts could get too deep,

"Thank you."

It was said in earnest, filled with gratitude and reverence.

Both of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's quiet and comforting company.

[leupagus]

Guys I Might Have Three Nickels

I've been watching "Agatha Christie's Marple" for the past few days and it's pretty good! Marple adaptations all tend to have a better caliber of actors than a lot of bog-standard mystery shows (looking at you, "Madame Blanc"), and while Joan Hickson's Marple is right up there with David Suchet's Poirot and Jeremy Brett's Holmes as "literally can never be beaten, these are the best anyone's done it," both Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie do a fantastic job as Miss Marple.

Then I got to "The Secret of Chimneys," Season 5 episode 2

and guys

Guys

So there's a murder of a viscount, like there is, and this detective Finch rolls up and immediately spots Miss Marple (in her NIGHTIE! standing at the window like some kind of hussy, honestly Jane) and doffs his cap to her with that little smile that makes you go, "huh."

At this point I've watched a couple dozen Miss Marple episodes where she goes through detectives like wildfire and this guy's supposed to be a "*guru*" so I'm expecting some battle of the egos or something and like, Stephen Dillane is great! But bleh, I might have to skip this one.

Then my dude asks Miss Marple to SHOW HIM THE BODY, with a pleased little smile at her as she goes "uhhhhhhhh but my knitting?" (He even does that thing where you use someone's honorific and wait for them to give you their name, and that's when I was like "ohhh this bitch knows exactly who she is.") What follows is what I can only describe as a meet-cute in the secret passageway where the viscount was shot (and in fact the body is STILL THERE) and where Miss Marple literally asks the police equivalent of "is there a Mrs Finch" and he looks at her like this:

At which point I'm like "ohhh my dude not only knows who she is, he deliberately came here without a sergeant so he could draft her," and sure enough he just starts...handing her pieces of evidence like "hey babe can you decipher this note for me thanks love you" while Miss Marple is like, "this approval and camaraderie coming from a cop... not sure if want."

Next is a series of romantic strolls through the gardens while they discuss murder, during which Finch reveals his undying love I mean his research into Miss Marple and the "dozen case files" of her previous exploits that he's collected like some deranged fanboy. Miss Marple responds to this by BLUSHING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL and stammering about how pish tosh it's nothing really, and I couldn't find a gif of it but he's staring at her like this:

Yeah I bet u r tempted

He also makes a half-hearted attempt at negging her "amateur sleuth" status, only to then immediately assure her that he makes like, so much money being a big fancy detective and can keep her in all the yarn and garden seed she could ever desire.

There's also a late-night tryst at the compost pile right after Finch has been (mildly) poisoned and Miss Marple is like "men are so weak" as she roots through the garbage for clues.

Not how he wanted their first date to go D:

The next morning there's another murder which: bummer, but also allows the two of them to read love letters together and for Finch to give Miss Marple the following look as she explains how secret assignations among lovers can "quicken the ardor":

Miss Marple then goes onto solve the murders and btw hands over the priceless diamond that's been literally missing for two literal decades that she found in her spare time. The entire scene features Finch looking at her like this:

After the dust settles, Finch and Miss Marple have a lovely moment where he calls himself "another one of your casualties," then super casually mentions that he's probably going to have to go on assignment to use the diamond in a daring international espionage case and I can't decide if he's asking Miss Marple to go with him or simply trying to show her that he is cool and smart and would make an excellent wife, but either way the episode ends with her turning him down and Jane, we need to talk about your priorities.

Anyway I've already written 2K about the subsequent 10-year epistolary romance these two have following this episode because I make poor choices.

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? . . . MY PERCY JACKSON REALITY

a brief tour of the bag I carry around with me in my percy jackson reality! like all my bags, she's old as hell and gone through it too (literally, mind you, i tend to frequent the underworld). I'm one of the people who has everything in their mary poppins bag, so if any campers need something, they know who to ask. (as always inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!)

I got my messenger bag for a steal at a local thrift shop in montpelier and modified it with hand painted patches, pins from local pop-culture shops, and keychains.

THE DECOR

— patches that include an my chemical romance front and center, a dazey and the scouts one, and one that says "compost in training", two autism awareness patches (one that says "people not puzzles" and "flappy hands are happy hands". all these were handmade by me. the "easily distracted by shiny objects was bought from a comic shop as was the "memento mori"

— pins including "not flat, we checked" from a trip to the nasa space center, "being polite is totally punk rock", "bored teenager", and "let's talk about music" all from a small business fair

— a plushie dreadfuls autism bunny keychain from my mom, a grim reaper keychain from connor stoll, a "cringe but free" keychain from a small business fair, and an mcr keychain from my friend raven

— finally, a butterfly hairpin that was given to my sister by thanatos before I lost her. I keep it on my bag in their memory.

THE FRONT POCKETS . . . each of which has their own theme for the objects inside.

LEFT POCKET — WITCHY SHIT

— a portable altar in a mint tint for on the go spellwork

— jars of bones and teeth some human, some not. collected over the years

— animal bones I've found in the forest around my house and in the woods around camp. there's nothing more sacred than the effects of death on the world.

— a lighter for candles and bonfires

RIGHT POCKET — FOR MY CAMPERS

— sunblock because this is a summer camp after all and some of these kids don't know how to not get burned, I swear

— mints and gum in a ouija tin because I always get asked for both

— (not pictured) first aid supplies such as bandages, gauze, alcohol wipes and neosporin for wounds that don't require ambrosia or nectar to heal (i teach sparring, this is a necessity)

LEFT SIDE POCKET — PHONE SOLT

— self explainatory, really. if I don't want to keep it in my pockets while sparring or playing capture the flag, it goes in here. unfortunately, this makes it very easy for the stolls to grab and take stupid pictures of themselves on

RIGHT SIDE POCKET — DEFENSE

— a flip out butterfly knife that my mom gave me for my birthday several years ago. not celestial bronze, but I use it more for cutting things that aren't monster flesh anyway. I have my scythe for that.

— a lighter from my father that emits greek fire. very usual, so long as I don't get it mixed up with my regular lighter.

MAIN POCKET . . . where all the important shit goes. also a bit of a complete mess

— my black iPad that i use to communicate with my father in the underworld. he has a matching one he uses to categorize souls and also call me

— my sketchbook. very very important. it's a bit more of an art journal than anything. a mix of proper sketches, journal entries, lists, and actual trash I've saved because I'm a sentimental hoarder who likes to junk journal

— a vampire fang reusable tote bag for trips to the camp thrift, stoll's store of outside junk, the athena kids' greek bookstore, or the muses' record shop

— a digital camera for peak aesthetic photos of my summers at camp and of my friendgroup's shenanigans

— my tarot deck for my daily advice and also to swap reading with the hecate kids, including my friend lou ellen blackstone

— my wallet, because of course that's of vital importance

— a vintage flask I thrifted that's full of nectar, just in case

— my frankenstein's monster pencil case that's literally bulging from being overfilled and falls apart whenever I try and open it. will I take anything out? no, absolutely not

speaking of . . . THE PENCIL CASE

all of my favorite art supplies that I can easily carry with me . . .

— micron fineliners. literally the best pens ever — my tombow fudenosuke brush pens. also the best, especially for ink drawings — pentel brush pen my other favorite brush pen — white posca paint pen for correcting mistakes and adding highlights — mechanical pencils because they're the only pencils I will sketch with (also led because duh) — those multicolor pens that everyone had as kids. I adore them and they're super useful as I don't have to carry around like 10 different pens for color — bone pens . . . from lou ellen. they're pretty sick ngl — a kneaded eraser from lightening graphite — paint brushes and my winsor & newton watercolors with are just *chefs kiss*

inside the top pocket . . .

— my mcr earbuds inside their case, this way they don't get lost in my pockets (nor stolen by clarisse!!!)

—skull bandaids that got shoved in here from my first aid pocket

—hairties because someone always needs them and they will get lost in my pockets as well

—dice for impromptu vibe checks

— literally the best eraser known to man

— and random trash and notes including: psycho killer by talking heads lyrics from raven, "sorry for being a bad influence" from clarisse (given to me with a shit-eating grin on her face), minmalism is dead from some magazine which I cut out ages ago to use and never did, and a receipt from the camp coffee shop from when annabeth and I got lunch (NOT lovebirds, 'phia! don't embarrass me like that istg)

WALLET . . . where all the important shit is kept

— drachmas for interacting with the mythical word

— cash for interacting with the mundane

— a receipt from the muses' vintage record shop at camp

— a "one more chapter" and "go to bed" coin that annabeth gave me. honestly, she needs it more than I do

— photos of my friends from my digital camera!

— a picture of me and my mom from when I was a wee baby — a picture of me and my camp friendgroup (clarisse, annabeth, lou ellen, raven, dorian and I) making a star with our fingers during a camp bonfire — me and (cr bestie) with our son. he is a build-a-bear frog. his name is harold. — a picture of me, annie, and percy when we first start to become friends — another group picture of my camp friendgroup. this one has me, grover, lee, annie, and clarisse in it. — a picture of me and raven posing with the three cheers for sweet revenge cover — the last photo I have with my sister before she died

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍 . . . EIRINIKÓS which means "peace bringer" in greek is my scythe. it was given to me by my father, thanatos, and is made of stygian iron. it's discreet form is a ring, in which you rotate a full 360 degrees to activate scythe mode. kept on my person at all times. if not on my finger, than in the pocket of my bag with the greek fire lighter

divider cred: saradika-graphics

. (🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sparkle in my Eye 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Syverson and Gem.

Summary: there's more growing in the garden than flowers.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Oh, I’m just getting ready—yeah, yeah, we can go tonight.” Her voice trickles down from the open doors of her balcony. 

Sy wipes a sheet of sweat from his brow and snips another thick stem with the pruners. He nearly catches the fingertips of his thick gloves. He’s working off of instinct rather than focus. He’s entwined in her conversation, though the other side he only catches pieces. 

“Ew, Margo, please, you know I'm not doing that. The kind of guys that take you home aren’t what I’m looking for,” Gem scoffs and sets something down. “Oof, I cannot get my hair to behave!” 

“You look fine,” the muffled response comes from her phone speaker. 

He knows she does. She always looks perfect. He pulls away a dried out stem and drops it in the clutter. It’s a nice day out but the sun is burning through his shirt. It’s like fire on the back of his neck. He pauses to adjust his hat and looks up. 

He sees her shadow looking off the balcony. The house is just as immense as the yard. His work takes at least a day but he can’t complain; her father overpays him for what he does. Who wouldn’t? With a house like this? A family? You’d want it all to be kept just so. 

“Ugh, don’t be a bitch,” Gem sneers. “It’s my car, I can take it when I want--” 

“Yeah, but daddy--” 

“Do you even want me to come over?” She snips. 

He laughs but not loud enough to be heard. She has some fire and her friends deserve that. They're all spoiled. She is too but she’s not like them. 

She closes the doors. Good. She forgets to do that sometimes and from the right angle, anyone could see in. If they knew the gate code, they could even get in. 

He shoves the snipped ends and dead bits in a compost bag. As he rolls the edge, she comes out. He keeps her in his peripheral but doesn’t look directly at her. She waves. 

“Is my dad gone?” She asks. 

“Em, yeah, think he left a while ago,” he peeks over at her. He takes off his cap and wipes his face on his arm. 

“Oh, it’s very hot. I should’ve brought you some water,” she tuts. “Anyhow, I’m on my way out. Looks nice out here.” 

“Thanks, miss,” he says. 

She smiles at him, “Sy?” She asks, hands on her hips. 

“Yes, miss?” 

“How does my hair look?” She turns to show him all of it. His eyes dart down to her checkered skirt. Quickly, he lifts them back to her face. 

“It looks very nice,” he assures her. It always does.  

“Aw, thanks, Sy,” she shimmies. “Well, have a good day. I’ll see ya next week.” 

She dances off in her platform heels and digs in her purse to find her keys. The white mercedes beeps and unlocks and she takes her time getting everything sorted. Purse in the passenger, pink leather knapsack in the back.  

She’s finally in. She backs up and the gates open at the push of her button. She swerves around and drives through. He watches until she’s gone. He just needs to clean up anyway. 

He leaves an hour later. He leaves his truck at home. It’s too obvious. He takes the pontiac in his garage instead. The pet project put together from his fruitful business and scavenging in junk yards. He drives past Margot’s and parks a block down. 

There’s a place around here where he does the hedges. They have a nice tree in the back too. It’s not exactly cozy and a bit of an effort but he gets to the top and perches between the branches. He’s been trying to cut weight but he’s always been on the thicker side. 

He can see almost right into Margot’s room. Gem is there. She has a glass bottle with bright pink liquid inside. He doesn’t think she should drink so much or so early but that’s why he keeps an eye on her. 

The girls eventually head out. He follows them to the mall. He eats while they waste time at that makeup shop. They come out and he gives them a bit to get ahead of him. He’s tired but he doesn’t have any other jobs to do. 

Dinner at a fancy place that demands ties and jackets sees him scrolling on the Discord. A few of the other men say they made progress, whatever that means. Some of those guys are a bit off. Especially that Cole fellow. Clumsy, to boot. 

After, the girls go down the street to a flashing marquee. They head into the bar without being stopped. The pretty ones never have trouble. He waits an hour, restless, then goes in after them. 

He trawls the place. He finds her. She’s got another drink. A bad habit. He nearly drowned in the stuff after he got back from serving. She’s young, she’ll learn. 

A man approaches her and Margot. He’s up on Gem before she even notices. She grabs his hand and moves it away from her hip. The other girl giggles. It’s obvious her friend is uncomfortable but she just thinks it’s amusing. 

Gem deserves better. She deserves people who care about more than labels and credit cards. She just needs that bubble popped. One day she’ll see.  

[friend-crow]

I think I've rambled about this a little bit before, but I really believe that if we were able to shift our standard burial practice to human composting and memorial tree planting, the impacts could be huge.

Imagine how much more people would care about trees if they were the grave markers of their loved ones (and unlike grave markers, actually grew from the remains of their family). Think of the legal protections people would place on ancestral forests. A lot of people would probably be more invested in learning about the biodiversity needed for a forest to thrive -- not like the bullshit "carbon offset" single species tree plantings used to alleviate consumer guilt.

Some people would probably be motivated to spend more time in and learning about forests. Others probably wouldn't really, but you'd better believe people would be up in arms if they heard that somebody wants to cut down grandpa's tree.

Something I've seen in recent years is that the increase in fires on the west coast has made the reality of climate change a lot more real for a lot of people here. Especially after the week in 2020 when Portland had the worst air quality in the world due to wildfire smoke, people could no longer think of it as something for future generations to deal with. It became clear that we were going to be living with this, effective immediately.

I'm not saying that having ancestral forests would suddenly stop forest fires, but it would be another thing to get more people invested in environmental protections and technology.

And yes, I am on some speculative fiction hippy shit, but dammit, ancestral forests would be cool. Don't you want to remember your loved ones by going and talking to a tree? Or a group of trees? Like yeah, they'd be less permanent than a stone monument, but once an ancestor's tree falls, it can become a nursery log for younger generations.

Don't you want to become part of the forest when you die??

*Disclaimer: idea presented primarily as an alternative to preserving corpses with toxic chemicals and burying them in expensive boxes as is common where I live, and not meant to replace all other cultural traditions related to death and burial. Please don't come at me for responding to the norms of my own culture, I am aware that other cultures exist.

[manicpixietboy]

How to survive in the apocalypse, non exhaustive list-

Improve the lives of ourselves+

Others+

Combat a fascist police state

Many scattered sources, just my thoughts;

Share/spread info (posts, articles, zines, paste-ups, posters, stickers, etc). Run across fascist posters/sticker? Safely take it down or cover it up with something.

Utilize community gardens, food banks, forage/find out what local edible plants are around/educate yourself on foraging, grow your own food if you can, cook meals/share food, etc.

Turn to diy hrt if needed/wanted; share resources.

Pick from trash/dumpster/the curb, thrift, be "thrifty."

Attend protests (no phone + n95 mask).

Get involved in local level politics.

Get in the way of ICE agents; report their presence. Be willing to get arrested.

Reduce, reuse and recycle. Try to lower your waste if possible. Compost. Upcylce. Reuse plastic, glass. Make your own clothes. Etc.

Rest/use your spoons wisely.

Read, educate yourself and others. Buy used books. Shared PDFs. Make and share zines. Do you have a local "give a book, get a book" sitch?

Pick up litter.

Learn how to make stencils, how to graffiti.

Do home repairs yourself if possible. Learn how to diy as much as you can (opting out of capitalism as much as possible); but also know when to turn to your community. We are social creatures, too. All we have is each other.

Pirate as much as possible. Support physical media. Support local businesses. Cancel subscriptions. 

Look into guerilla gardening; seed bombing.

Be kind- give directions, check on ppl, smile at ppl, help ppl, hold the door, ask if they're ok.

Intervene when needed- learn healthy bystander intervention

Fallingfruit.com

https://fallingfruit.com

Volunteer- library, animal shelter, humane society, soup kitchen, etc.

Help our neighbors if they need + when we can.

Walk + use public transport as much as you can.

Go to the library- books, movies, CDs, computers, printers, WAY MORE!

Support local artists/music shows.

Be as unmarketable as possible- buy less online + decoy emails + delete permissions from apps + privacy settings, etc.

Use cash, good for small businesses.

Give what we can- time? Money? Skills? Space? Stuff? What will make the most impact?

Talk about your wage.

Think about where your money goes/how it flows/whose hands it goes into.

Create art. Do it at work if you can get away with it.

Put yr body outside.

Learn good conflict resolution + interpersonal skills where you can!!

When you feel scared about resources, list which ones you have and which ones you need and move accordingly.

Listen to others.

Teach a skill for free.

Boycott.

Civil disobedience! (;

Make systems obsolete by opting out as much as you can.

Nap

Cry

Scream

Feel + express your emotions

Make space for joy, too 

Hug

Breathe

If you don't have hope, have spite.

This is a list that I'm keeping and adding to, in an effort to remind myself I am not powerless, I have many actions I can take. We must live.

[turtlesandfrogs]

Ok, now I'm really concerned that how to prevent rats isn't common knowledge like I thought it was. So, to anyone whose parents/guardians/adults didn't teach you, here's the basics of prevention*:

Rats, like you, need three things: food, water, and shelter. If they don't get these things, they don't bother sticking around. Access to food is probably the biggest draw, and the one you can do the most about.

Rats eat the same foods you do, and the same food that most pets eat. You don't want them to have access to this food, so:

Don't leave dirty dishes laying around, the smell will attract rats. Don't put leave dirty dishes in your bed room, or under the couch, or in your car, or whatever. Dishwashers are great, but if you don't have a functional one, and you're low on energy/executive function, at a minimum cover your dirty dishes with soapy water instead of leaving them out. Rats can't eat soapy food.

Work to minimize food waste, because the smell of tasty food in your compost or garbage will attract rats.

Don't put food scraps in your indoor garbage unless your garbage can is rat proof. Take it outside asap, to a rat-proof bin.

When composting, if you're composting food that would be attractive to rats (grains, fats/oils, dairy, meat) it's best to: bury the food down in the center of the pile, try out bokashi composting, or have a rat-proof composter. Generally people do tell you not to compost dairy and meat, but I do know that some people do it anyway.

Keep your grains & legumes in rodent proof-containers. Glass jars, metal trash cans, etc.

If you have dogs, put their food away at night. If you have birds or other animals that eat a seed-based diet, then it pays to make their food/enclosures inaccessible to rats as well. Cats are rat deterrents so leaving dry food out for them is probably the one exception.

Clean up spilled foods immediately.

If you have fruit trees (like those apple trees everyone has that were planted 3 or more decades ago) and notice that something besides a deer is eating them, it's really best to pick all the fruit. You probably can't eat it all, so giving it away is a good option. Compost the rotten/icky ones fallowing the advice above, or dig a hole and do some trench composting.

Rats also need water, which is another reason to make sure you don't have any leaks anywhere, and to not leave beverages out in open containers.

Beyond that, thoroughly looking around your house, inside and out, to make sure there's no access points. Vents can be covered with wire mesh, holes the size of a dime need to be patched (because mice exist, too). Keep vegetation clear from around the base of your house, and make sure there's no trees or shrubs growing close enough to your house that a rat could make the leap to your roof. Keep an eye out for tunnels near your house's foundation, because they will tunnel underneath.

Also, while I'm at it, for the love of your house's structural integrity, DO NOT store wood piles against your house. Termites people!!!

And yes, there's a reason why cats are such a common pet. Not only do they hunt rats, the very smell of a cat is enough to deter rats. Do not just get a cat for rat prevention though, only get a cat if you're going to provide it a good home and are able to take on the additional care tasks without over extending yourself. Getting a housemate that comes with a cat is a great alternative to getting your own cat (and I'm only halfway joking).

*because prevention is much easier and much less terrible than dealing with an infestation. Prevention is so, so, so much easier than getting rid of them, particularly because once they're there, they'll start eating other things that wouldn't have been enough by themselves to draw them in.

[blizzyblitz]

Broken Halos - Chapter Four

Pairing: Prince! Sung Jinwoo x Gn! Angel! reader

Warnings: Fantasy/Royalty AU, cursing, slight religious themes (reader is an angel), slow burn

A/N: I'm so sorry that it's been over a month since I last updated this! But we are so back!

Taglist: @soft-dots @blackcat-star

Masterlist

"That broth you brought back yesterday was delicious! And this is even better!" May-Lee exclaims, setting the bowl you'd brought her down on your bed.

The two of you are sitting on your bunk, and had managed to come to an agreement; every time you and Darvin cook for the royal family, you're allowed to take the leftovers and make something for the servants. You save a little extra for May-Lee and give it to her during her lunch break.

"This time Darvin taught me how to fry chicken; apparently this is how they use up their stale bread."

May-Lee's eyes go wide with excitement. "That's so cool! Despite never eating leftovers or stale food, the royals really aren't wasteful. You said they even compost plants that have gone bad, since those can't be eaten anymore."

You nod. "And that compost is used to help more plants grow."

May-Lee finishes off her snack, then stands from your bed. "Well, I better get back to work. Thanks for the food!"

"Anytime," you say, waving to her as she exits the building.

Lucky for you, you only need to work before mealtimes, so three times a day. Sure, you have to get up early to help prepare breakfast, but you have free time for the majority of the day.

You decide to wander around the palace grounds for a bit; despite the obvious class distinction, servants were allowed to go most places in the palace. The only spots you can't go were the royals' bedrooms, bathrooms, and the treasury.

For today, you decide to just walk around the palace until you have to help Darvin cook dinner. You have to get to the kitchen about an hour before dinner is served, so that gives you about three hours to walk around now.

Yesterday, you'd asked Darvin what he does in his free time, and he said that he tends the fields and cattle, and if there's a foreign merchant in town, buys new spices.

You'd come to the conclucion that walking around the grounds will allow you to people-watch, giving you a better idea of how humans behave. The perfect strategy to both stretch your legs and learn how to blend in.

After walking around for a bit, you come across the palace garden; it's absolutely gorgeous, filled to the brim with brightly colored flowers. This is probably where Darvin gets some of his herbs from, too.

As you step inside, you notice someone with short, dark hair sitting on a bench. It takes you a moment to realize that this is the prince; he's not dressed in formal attire, and he doesn't have that same regal air about him he did before. He looks more human.

You stand there for a moment, debating whether or not to approach him, when he looks up and spots you. The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before he quickly stands up and leaves.

Odd, you think, but shrug it off. His personal business is none of your concern.

* * *

The previous night . . .

"My Liege!" Beru exclaims, burtsing into Jinwoo's quarters with a book in hand. "I've found something interesting." He places the book on a table, then flips open to a marked page. "It says here that angels fall from the sky in a pillar of bright light. They're usually cast out of Heaven for committing heinous crimes. If this is true, the person we've taken in is most likely a fallen angel and incredibly dangerous!"

Jinwoo nods. "Thank you, Beru. We'll have to keep an eye on them."

[midnight-drip]

@lautski-week day 6 — home!

steph is coming to pete's house for the first time, and he's got everything planned out so this night goes perfectly. there's just one little thing he fails to keep in mind— this is the spankoffski house. nothing can ever be perfect.

first, when they arrive, he finds ted sitting on the couch in what is possibly the most hideous t-shirt pete has ever seen. normally, he wouldn't mind. ted lived in his own apartment downtown, but he still had a key to the house, and he came and went as he pleased. pete was happy to see him, but he wished ted hadn't decided to come home tonight of all nights. he pulled ted aside, awkwardly explaining that steph was over and saying he was sorry for asking this but, see, their parents weren't home, so he really was thinking tonight would be just for him and steph, so would he please just go somewhere else for the evening?

"yeah, okay," ted acquiesced after a moment of thinking. "I'll go home, let you two have the place to yourselves, eh?" he nudged pete playfully, wiggling his eyebrows. "you know what I mean?"

"it's not like that, ted," pete muttered, shoving his brother gently. "but thanks."

"yeah, yeah, yeah. have fun." ted ruffled his hair, grabbing his things and heading out.

with him gone, pete felt a small weight off his shoulders. now he could get down to work making the perfect night. he turned to steph, smiling.

"I'll get started on dinner. you wanna pick a movie to watch while it's cooking? t.v.'s just over there," he said, pointing steph in the right direction as he walked around the kitchen island and started getting everything ready.

after getting the food into the oven, he walked around to the couch, sitting beside steph. she'd put on some shitty horror film— steph had this odd love for bad movies that pete never quite understood. he had to admit, though, the stupid writing and awkward cgi was kind of growing on him. steph leaned her head on his shoulder, and pete sat there, trying really hard not to talk. he knew that with ruth and richie, it was fine to yap all throughout a film, pointing out little details and fun facts and correcting things— but he didn't yet know how steph would feel about that little habit of his, so he'd been trying to keep the interrupting to a minimum when watching things with her.

suddenly, there was a loud *pop* from the kitchen, making both steph and pete jolt. pete jumped up from the couch, stumbling his way into the kitchen and trying to figure out what had gone wrong. carefully, he opened the oven, taking out the chicken that had been cooking in there.

shit.

it was burnt, and it looked to be that way all the way through. suddenly he remembered something his mother had said earlier that week. the oven needs fixing. he wanted to punch himself. how could he have forgotten? he put the burnt chicken into the compost, sighing. so much for a nice, home-cooked meal.

"uh, so... change of plans, I suppose. I— but— that's okay! we have some leftovers in the fridge, so I guess I'll just—"

there was a gentle crackling noise. the movie stopped, and the t.v. screen went black. then, so did the rest of the room.

everything was going wrong. pete felt like his head was spinning, and he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"woah, hey. are you okay?" steph smiled at him, her eyes warm. pete felt his face flush. god, even in the dark, it was like she herself was glowing.

"I'm sorry, steph. I— I wanted this to be perfect, but now... I mean, nothing is going the way I planned. it's turning out to be a total trainwreck. I'm sorry."

"hey. it's not a trainwreck. so what if it's not going to plan? maybe we need to rework the plan."

"rework the plan," he repeated, quietly. "right. okay. yeah."

pete took a deep breath, looking around the kitchen.

"let's rework, then. there's candles just under the sink, there, do you mind lighting a few of those? and I'll... I'll boil a pot of water, there's instant noodles in the pantry."

steph nodded, taking the candles out and starting to place them around the house. she kept looking back at pete as he wandered around the kitchen, thinking aloud.

when the candles were put up around the living room, she returned to the kitchen. pete put two bowls of instant ramen onto the little kitchen island, and the two ate together. afterwards, steph offered to clean the dishes, but pete insisted on doing it himself.

"huh," he remarked when he was finished. "there's still lots of hot water left. I think I'm going to make hot chocolate, uh, would you like some? or coffee? tea?"

"tea would be nice, thanks."

"of course."

as pete set to getting the drinks ready, steph began to talk to him. pete was still a little worked up over everything that had happened, and at first, he thought she was just talking in an attempt to calm him down. still, though, he listened to her. he would always listen to her.

if relaxing him had been her goal, she'd succeeded— by the time he was sliding her mug across the kitchen island, he felt a lot more comfortable with how the evening was going. they went to the couch and curled up together, cradling the mugs in their hands.

"steph?"

"mm?"

"tell me the truth, here. are you really not upset at me about how this night went?"

steph blinked at him.

"why would I be upset with you? nothing that happened was your fault. besides—" she leaned a little closer to him. "I had a good time tonight."

"really?" pete turned to look at her, surprised. everything had gone wrong tonight. yet still, steph had enjoyed it somehow.

"yeah, really. 'cause..." steph trailed off.

"...'cause?" pete prompted curiously.

"nevermind. it's embarrassing."

"come on, that's no fair. I say embarrassing stuff all the time, this is your turn."

steph looked at him, and sighed.

"fine. I had a good time tonight... because I was with you. because no matter what happens, no matter what goes wrong or how bad things get, you're right here for me." she smiled. "you're my home, pete."

[werezmastarbucks]

11. i am running out of plant themed titles

flowers over boys masterlist

in which you decide flowers aren't enough and bring Yoongi a tree

word count: 2951

author's note: please tell me you get the hole reference

it's a long day. you stride along the walls of the throne room, reading the last letters of the previous executed florist. Hoseok definitely wanted yo scare you into being quiet by saying that, but you, biased in your attachment, are trying to see who they were, how they saw the king, and what they brought with these flowers. wilted and dry, they vary from completely obnoxious (gerberas) to simply inappropriate near the throne (poppies). according to what you remember about flower meanings, this person was either in love with Yoongi or wished him death. something like that.

you gather the dead flowers into the basket you bring over (that requires leaving the hall and then finding your way back again; thankfully, Taehyung is around) and then take them outside. a part of you wants to stroll into the Eastern Garden to see if peacocks have been released yet. it takes several walks of you alone, without the usual support of the girls, to get all of the old flowers into the farthest back yard where the compost storage is; every stride, no less than ten minutes. the sun is blazing, but you focus on the new activity and the ribbons flying in the air after you. you sing, like you always do, working. you know it cannot go unnoticed forever.

"i know it's my language, but it sounds so different at the same time", Jungkook can't look more fantasy-like in his everyday purple and white dress, sitting on top of the small storage building. there's no way he just casually wandered in here, as well; it's the rough, unpretty back area where the palace workers dump garbage and keep tools. you try imagining him walk here, then crawl the small wooden building, assume the position, one knee up. funny little adorable monkey, he is. the sun makes his round eyes glisten as he smiles.

"even if i'm not by your side, you know we're still together? what's this song about?"

the seagulls circle around this part of the royal grounds low in the sky, and he looks, simply, dreamy, accompanied by their shrill cries. you smile, closing one eye against the sun.

"it's called telepathy".

"what's telepathy?"

you change hands and hook the empty basket on your elbow, then continue your walk. it's been dangerously much time, and you've only finished clearing out the throne room. Jungkook has nothing else to do but leave his perching place, jump down on the ground and follow you.

"i guess no word with the root tele- will be of use to you for now", you muse instead of an answer. Jungkook is ridiculously tall against you. his clean, empty right hand catches your eye.

"so, barbarians also write songs about love?" he teases.

you sniff.

"joke's on you. also, a tip for your Highness".

"go on", he walks easy, with a string in his step, obviously, because he doesn't work fourteen hours a day.

"when you're tryna chat a girl up, abstain from calling her a barbarian".

"i am still not over you scolding me for peacocks, and you only keep bringing the fight".

"you're quite the poet, Monkey Prince".

he gives out a breathy, charming chuckle, and you can't help but smile warmly.

you see shadows of people fly by the corridors as you walk back into the central part of the palace. by now, seven or ten walks in, you have finally memorized the way to the throne room. but now, your way is into the gardens, because you need to make a new selection of flowers for Yoongi. the flowers that will be appropriate for his presence. you think late magnolias, cockscomb, azaleas and plum blossoms. not too many varieties, but they win over in shape agreeability. all of them are lush and round, and will look like garlands, especially if you put magnolias closer to the throne platform. they have creamy, lemony scent that will reach him. magnolias should also go to his study room, but maybe a hint of citrus will finish up the composition. you can't believe how tightly your mind clutches on the concept, and how clear it is for you.

"you seem to have a good grasp of it", Jungkook follows you out into the garden, carrying the basket already, trying to make himself useful. you slow down and lead him into the Western Garden that has most flowers. your eyes concentrate on the ground, mapping the candidates.

"what's the big steppa's favourite flower?"

he snickers.

"i don't think he has one. uncle prefers blades and women".

you produce the silver knife from your pocket and bow down to sever a flower from the ground, and he quietly booms:

"oh, isn't that his?"

"yeah. tried to disfigure me with it twice. chickened out the last second both times". you get back to your feet with a little yellow cosmos in your hand.

"i have another task for you, little one".

"me? little? you're getting quite preposterous".

your hand sneaks to his head and you poke the flower behind his ear, into his dark hair. Jungkook is spoiled enough not to get unaffected.

"please talk to him about the light in the throne room. all flowers will die in that cave with no sun, especially now, in autumn".

"what's that called?"

"asteraceae. daisy family".

you tap him on the shoulder.

"dismissed".

Jungkook is about to do something you would have to punch him for - you wonder what colour of the dungeon squaring one on the royal nephew's nose would earn you - but thankfully he and you are both saved. (wow that was a long sentence).

"Monkey!"

Hoseok's voice makes even this adorable little word sound hard.

he turns around, his eyes are still glassy. you step away and pick up the basket.

"aren't you supposed to be training?"

"i was taking a break, uncle", you know he smiles in the widest way, although his head is turned from you.

"an hour long? slacking off".

"my mind was racing, so i decided to quieten it by immersing myself in beauty".

"you remember what uncle told you?"

he sniffs in a very Jungkook way, rolls the limp belt on his robe around in his fingers, and walks slowly away, without looking at you again.

"yes, i am starting to put it together".

Hoseok all but yanks him into the corridor, and they disappear. you want to take out a pen and a paper out of habit, to make the list of flowers, and make a rough drawing of the order of composition. how are you supposed to do it without? memorizing? your eyes travel across the garden, then you at least come up with a way to mark the specific flowers to cut later, so that the other gardeners do not touch them. the laces on the inner side of your hanbok, designed to fasten up the underdress, are never used because you wrap yourself up with the big belt. you undo the dress for a minute, thinking about how Jimin is going to report this, if he can't see, since he's the little minx keeping an ear on you. then cut the both laces off and wrap back. you cut the laces into short ribbons and tie them around the heads of flowers you choose as you go. that takes another twenty minutes. so far, this has been the most chill day, it even feels a little like you've been cheating and not working. a pang of guilt stabs your ribs, light, but nevertheless. the others are probably in the tangerine garden, asses up and heads down, while you're here entertaining your creative talents. guess you're white collar now, even if for all the wrong reasons.

you need a pair of good scissors and a bigger basket, you think, some ice-cold towels, buckets of water, but firstly, you need to run back into the throne room to do something about the windows. badass shade is great and all but the composition of flowers will not even be visible if they keep the shutters drawn.

afternoon is here, the sun changes the position, and now the angle is perfect to see what the room really looks like, so you hurry there, your hands itching. once inside again, you open the shutters one by one, letting in the light, and, like a dog that's been kept away from the sacred part of the house too long, it races inside, and the colours ambush you. the red columns, green tapestry, the golden wood of the platform, and the painted walls; it washes away all concerns from your head as you realize how freaking genius you are. this room will be so cunty when you're done with it.

rushing, running into the gardens, you assault Jiyoung, asking for good scissors, and she produces a fine pair; you notice how she keeps giving you things. her ribbons, her paint, her advice, her scissors.

"oh", she blushes, gushing, in the whole face, for a moment. and shows you something else. it's a tiny pouch of good fabric, something like velvet, soothing in your fingers.

"you've seen Taehyung today?"

you raise your eyebrows.

"yes, i did".

"if you see him again, give it to him".

"what's inside?" you grin. she coughs, looks away.

"Jiyoung?"

"my hair", she whispers. you clutch your chest and put the pouch away safely.

"oh Jesus".

some heads turn up, their glare is half-scared, half-judgemental.

"i mean Buddha? um. anyway. i ship you so hard".

Jiyoung looks even more terrified.

"where?"

"i hope straight to the afterglow", you ruffle her hair and get up to run back. too much work, not enough day left. "i will give it to Taehyung and say nothing".

Jiyoung isn't sure whether to be concerned or grateful, and returns to work.

of course you'd fill the room with lotuses as well, if only you knew how to sustain them outside the lakes. you make a mental note to incorporate them somehow, most probably in the Night Garden.

your wrist starts aching, the still visible, crusty scar on the back of the hand even cracks a little, with the amount of cutting you do. the sun is getting pretty low, but you're still in the garden, stomach turning with hunger, forgotten by you as you're taken by the little project. basket is filling with flowers, then you bring it inside, then return in some time. the whole process takes so much time, but you're deeply satisfied. you're thinking about calling someone to light the lamps in the room so that you can work later. as you assemble the first corner of cockscombs further from the window, you take a break to search for Taehyung.

the sound of clashing bamboo sticks is coming from the inner yard where the first exercise was, and you decide to check it out, thinking that there's always a good chance to find tae where kook is. you walk down the corridor, hand doing the fist open and close, towards the sound, and turn around the corner, and prove yourself right. of course.

Taehyung is on watch, on the brink of the yard, his eyes fixated on the center of it. you try to step very quietly, making yourself small, and your hand slides into the pocket for the pouch. there are other guards watching Jungkook exercise, so you don't feel like getting scolded for walking somewhere exclusive again. staying behind the columns supporting the roof, you move sideways, then poke Taehyung in the shoulder with your finger. the clash is so pleasant to listen to, it's almost like music. Jungkook laughs, then Yoongi's voice cuts it, saying,

"you better not expose your teeth like that".

Monkey Prince ouches, then snickers again.

your hand freezes above Taehyung's shoulder as your eyes fall on the two sparring in the yard.

with no shirts.

you feel like you're seeing something you were absolutely not supposed to see; understandable is also the amount of guards around, keeping them hidden. must be hot, huh, swinging sticks around at each other. historically accurate king Yoongi is so big it's not even funny; his shoulders are defamed by the dark fabric of his usual dragon robe. there's scars on his back, and his tail thrashes around in flashes, the movements so quick that he looks like he's flying.

your eyes go dry, and Taehyung is trying really hard to shake you awake, without turning around. you keep behind the column, then look at him, unsure whether you're traumatised or bothered. come on now, you're a twenty-first century girl. his hand clutches the pouch you're still holding, and he keeps motioning for you to disappear, his jaw clenched, eyes worried.

"y/n", he whispers through clenched teeth, "crawl back". trying not to move his lips.

"i am just a hole".

his face is an expression of horror.

"meet me in the throne room later".

you walk away, dumbfounded, disturbed, forever restless. you even forgot to look at Jungkook at all.

hour later, he finds you at work, and you jump at him with your ideas:

"listen. we need to find, like a saw, and cut off two huge magnolia branches. preferably, the same size. preferably, from two different trees. now, we have blooming magnolias in the Garden of the South, and as far as i know it's empty today".

Taehyung is looking at you like he is scared for your life.

"you understand what you saw today was completely not for your eyes?"

"i didn't know what i was walking into".

Taehyung is such a gentle soul; he even takes his time to formulate the next words politely.

"maybe you should practice... walking around... less".

"maybe. good thinking. good call. i can't burn the picture out of my eyeballs now. need tumblr like right now, because i am shook, but then again i am an adult". you huff, not very grateful to him for bringing this up again.

"anyway".

"the saws are in the back in the tool storage".

"right!"

you have become a little dumber today.

"we need to do it... now?" he asks, like he really wants to hear a no. then you both hear steps outside, and he does a curious thing: Taehyung hides.

people pass by without peeking inside, and he steps from behind the column. the hair on his face, glowing in the dark, almost throws a shadow on it, and you are reminded that you need some light.

"what was that?"

you give him a long look. Taehyung plays fool.

"nothing".

you realize there's no point, he is stubborn like the stallions in his stables.

"yes to going now. i don't feel like going to sleep yet".

he licks his lips apologetically, looks down.

"what?"

"i kind of... have something".

he gives you a minute to think. then says,

"Jiyoung".

"aaaahh!"

Taehyung's glance runs over the corner you've prepared. the beautiful, plump, cherry-red cockscombs are tucked together in the round shape in the vases hidden beneath the wooden panels.

"oh, it's really pretty".

"just like you. go on then, i'll do it myself".

"no, let's wait for tomorrow, i'll help you".

you shake your head. when something takes you...

"don't worry, Taehyungie. go see her. if it's too hard, i won't strain myself".

you will. you've seen two gigantic vases, very old by the looks of it, in the tapestry hall, and they are just gigantic enough to nest blooming branches.

guess you're on your own then.

it takes a while to figure out the way to light the lamps. as the sun sets, the watch changes, and two guards barge in, and you waste another fifteen minutes wrestling them to leave you alone. eventually you threaten to stab them with scissors if the flowers wilt, and they retreat. the whole fight makes you angry: they keep looking away, disgusted, like they can't make it any more obvious you are an extra here.

once the coast is clear, you engage in the dangerous, risky venture to bring (roll) the vases to the throne room. they were supposed to be in the tapestry hall? well, shit, things have changed. the palace has a new florist. your back starts aching again and the ribbons keep getting in your face, but eventually you place the vases on both sides of the platform, the room lit with golden tiger light, and you don't even crack them.

finally, it's saw time.

you get that realistically, it's a job for two, three people, but all familiar faces have dispersed, scattered to their rooms, even the grumpy General, so it's only you, the moon and the moaning magnolia trees. if handled properly, the big branches will continue to bloom and even give new roots after a very long time. inside, magnolias won't know that winter is coming, and keep their flowers. you know to add a special alcohol and honey tincture to the water to keep them alive for a great while. soft coma. you do it all alone, wondering why the fuck you're enjoying it so much. guess it's a way to realize your potential.

you nod at a night worker who keeps their hands together in the sleeves, and is startled by the sight of you, in the blue darkness of the inner yard, carrying a branch with delicate pink flowers over your shoulder. it's bigger than you. it needs to be. the throne is set at an elevation. the worker, upon seeing you, turns around and scurries away, evoking an eye roll from you.

carefully, you carry the branch through the doors of the throne room, nodding again when the door is opened for you.

"thanks", you say mindlessly, consumed by the fact that it weighs way more than it's supposed to. scarred hand and the bearing shoulder hurt, but you march on towards the vase, heave the branch above your head, focused like your life depends on it, and plunge it into the water finally. the door slides back shut with a soft hiss, and you realize at last that someone is there with you.

taglist: @cerulean1riz , @kiki-zb , @mar-lo-pap , @ashyiiy , @enfppuff , @coolpeanutskeletonpersona , @jajabro

[spooniechef]

Produce Issues (variable spoons)

Not recipes so much this time, but a short PSA for Americans, because the issues they're about to be facing are pretty much the exact ones we faced with Brexit over here, except worse.

With all the bullshit going on, there's a pretty good chance that produce is going to get mega-expensive over there. A lot of people talk about growing your own vegetable garden, without thinking about how the people who are going to be hit hardest by price increases probably don't have a house with a garden, or in fact a house at all, and many are lucky to have an entire apartment to themselves. That makes having a vegetable garden difficult ... but it doesn't make it impossible.

Storytime: when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few years ago, I needed something. I didn't specifically know what I needed, but I knew in general. I was so angry and scared and ... well, mostly depressed. I'd been down the depression road before, and I recognised the signs well enough. I needed something to get me through the worst of it - something that I could look at and feel productive, like I wasn't a waste of space. And, most of all, something I'd have to actually continue getting out of bed in the morning for. Turned out that for me, the thing I needed was a garden.

I'm fortunate. I live in a decent-sized apartment with no flatmates, a few decent window ledges and even a balcony. Less fortunate in that all of it's north-facing and I live in the UK so it doesn't get a lot of sun at the best of times. Still, I've managed to get some pretty wonderful things out of my windowsill and balcony garden. Mostly herbs, which gives me cookery herbs, medicinal herbs, and just nice-tasting herbs for tea, but vegetables and fruit too. There are varieties of strawberries and tomatoes that do just fine in shaded areas, and peas and some varieties of lettuce will grow faster than you can eat them all. I haven't done so well that I could completely stop buying produce, but I'll get there one day.

I can't give you all the tips - it'll take too long. But I can give you some basic ones, and the titles of a few books that might be helpful for you overall. (I didn't link to the books because regional booksellers.)

Indoor Kitchen Gardening by Elizabeth Millard. This one lets you know how best to use the space you have available and how to take advantage of any lighting conditions you might have in your home.

No-Waste Kitchen Gardening by Katie Elzer-Peters. This one's particularly good because while some of the suggestions are better for outside, it's a guide to how you can grow more fruit and veg from the remnants of the stuff you bought - onions and stuff.

If you do have a balcony, best thing you can get is the humble grow-bag. It's basically like a pot, but ... fabric, sort of. They go well with "No-Waste Kitchen Gardening" because potatoes, onions, and carrots can be regrown from the leftovers of purchased ones, and if you can manage that, you've got a recursive source of staple vegetables.

Another good investment if you have a decent-sized balcony is a composter bin. Potting soil can be expensive, and turning your food waste into compost as well as a source of recursive vegetables will nourish your produce and help make a bag of potting soil stretch.

If you don't live directly in a city (and maybe even if you do, if you've got green spaces in your area), you could also look into foraging. I actually have a forager's guide, but it's for the UK. For Americans, I did a bit of a search and found the 50-State Foraging Guide, which gives basic information and information about regional foraging guides. If you've got the spoons for it, it's nice to be out in the fresh air foraging for things.

If you're going to try medicinal herbal teas, do your research and find a reputable guide. There are lots of them around, so read carefully and try to avoid ones that sound too ... witchy, I guess. I have a copy of Rosemary Gladstar's Medicinal Herbs, which I check against my copy of Culpeper's Complete Herbal - Culpeper's is old, but it's been an authority on herbal medicine for hundreds of years, so it's still pretty helpful.

Things are really tough for everyone right now, I know. There's so much going on, and so little of it's good, and it's easy to feel depressed and powerless. I honestly did find that growing things helped me feel less powerless on the whole. I'd made life happen! I'd created life out of dirt and water and hope. I've had mornings when my breakfast was alpine strawberries fresh off the plant. I've got coq au vin marinading in the fridge with three sprigs of thyme I got just by walking onto the balcony and snipping them off with the kitchen knife. I found there's no going back to dried oregano when you've had it fresh. I've learned how to dry various herbs and even my cayenne peppers. All of that was because I lavished love and attention on a pot of dirt. Which is how I think about it, because seeing an indoor garden for its mental health benefits is a lot better for ... well, the mental health ... than thinking about things like this being necessary because capitalism is bullshit and designed to crush us all.

I hope this helps. I know that nurturing something green and useful helped me. But seriously - even if you just have a little windowsill - oregano, thyme, rosemary, mint, lemon balm. They will survive anything you throw at them. Then work up to basil because homemade pesto sauce is awesome. (Though you can make lemon balm pesto too, and it's less pernickety about its growing conditions than basil tends to be.)

[ac3ofspad3s-on-ao3]

Fic Friday speedrun edition because I wrote a post, it got deleted and I don't wanna write it all again.

So it's called Take the Oreo, Theseus. And it was inspired by something something 100 miles that fic where Tommy runs away from Drean to Techno's and yeah.

So loosely inspired by that, it's a techno dad au because we love technodad here.

Our 3 main characters are:

Technoblade: a famous boxer or something, something that makes a lot of money, MMA? Who knows just something

Dream: up and coming musician, recently moved onto Techno's street. Loves throwing parties.

Tommy: Dream's kid, Dream didn't know about him until recently, his mom's sick in the hospital, had nowhere else to send him so she begged Dream to take him until she got better.

The scene it set. Our fic starts like many fics do with racoons getting in Techno's trash every night. Annpying. He's got ones specifically to prevent raccoons from getting in but they're getting in anyway.

Until one day he sees that it's not a racoon going through his trash but a child digging in it to find something to eat.

Bad, real bad, what the fuck. This is a very night neighborhood, lots of celebrities, how'd a kid get in, why is a kid digging through trash cans?

Well, what is there to do but leave out a sandwich? But the kid doesn't take it. He sees it and doesn't take it because this is Tommy we're talking about. Of course he thinks it's a trap.

So Techno gets a compost bin, he buys a bunch of fruits and shit and lets them get a little sad, a little wilted and throws them out. He's pleased when he watches Tommy dig through them and eat the cleaner stuff. After awhile he throws them straight into the compost bin without letting them go bad, Tommy just thinks that rich people are wasteful and is overjoyed.

So, the plan is simple, it's summer but Techno needs to get Tommy to trust him before it gets colder. He's got a spare bedroom for when his nephew stays over, it's got a race car bed. What kid doesn't love a race car bed?

this fic friday is really late, so I'm gonna call it a day, next fic friday will be the rest of the plot.