#Mud planters pots

[hariththarangblog]

Exploring a World of Indoor and Outdoor Plants at Your Local Garden Nursery

In a fast-paced world dominated by technology and concrete jungles, the allure of nature's tranquility has never been stronger. This is where garden nurseries play a pivotal role, offering a haven of greenery for enthusiasts and nature-lovers alike. Whether you have a sprawling backyard, a Terracota planters pots, or just a small windowsill, garden nurseries provide a diverse range of indoor and outdoor plants that breathe life into your living spaces. The experience goes beyond mere shopping; it's a journey of connecting with nature and discovering the profound impact of plants on our well-being.

Stepping into a garden nursery is akin to entering an artist's palette, only the colors and textures are provided by Mother Nature herself. Rows of potted wonders create a breathtaking mosaic that instantly soothes the senses. Vibrant petals of roses juxtaposed with the velvety leaves of the African violet demonstrate the astounding diversity that indoor and outdoor plants offer. Whether you're seeking the meditative presence of bonsai trees or the graceful elegance of orchids, a well-equipped nursery is a treasure trove for both the seasoned gardener and the budding enthusiast.

One of the most valuable aspects of a garden nursery is the treasure trove of knowledge it offers. Nurseries are staffed with experienced horticulturists who understand the nuanced needs of each plant species. They provide not only care advice but also personalized recommendations based on your space, light conditions, and level of gardening expertise. This transforms the buying process into an educational journey, empowering customers to make informed decisions and fostering a sense of responsibility towards the plants they bring home.

For those without access to outdoor gardens, indoor plants act as green bridges between urban life and the natural world. The nursery's collection of indoor plants ranges from air-purifying marvels like snake plants and peace lilies to the charming quirkiness of succulents. These plants not only beautify interior spaces but also contribute to improved air quality and mental well-being. The nursery offers a gateway to explore the benefits of indoor gardening, turning apartments into lush, oxygen-rich retreats.

Garden nurseries aren't limited to indoor plants; they're a haven for outdoor enthusiasts as well. The nursery is replete with outdoor plant varieties, from towering sunflowers that sway with the wind to meticulously pruned topiaries that lend an air of sophistication. Whether you're envisioning a fragrant rose garden, a vegetable patch for farm-to-table delights, or a tranquil pond fringed with water lilies, the nursery provides both the materials and the guidance to turn your dreams into a vibrant reality.

Beyond the immediate aesthetic and psychological benefits, nurturing plants bought from a garden nursery contributes to a sustainable future. The act of planting a sapling is an investment in the planet—a promise of cleaner air, preserved biodiversity, and a more harmonious coexistence with nature. Garden nurseries often embrace eco-friendly practices, such as promoting the use of organic fertilizers and biodegradable pots, further amplifying their role in environmental stewardship.

In a world where time seems to move faster than ever, a visit to a Buy Indoor Outdoor Plants Garden Nursery is a reminder to slow down, to appreciate the marvels of the natural world, and to reconnect with the rhythms that sustain us. Whether you're a seasoned gardener seeking the rarest blooms or a novice eager to add a touch of green to your life, the garden nursery welcomes all with open arms. It's not merely a transaction of buying plants; it's an investment in well-being, an education, and a step towards a more sustainable planet. So, step into the green haven, explore the myriad shapes and colors, seek guidance from the experts, and watch as your world transforms, one leafy companion at a time.

[officialstrawhat]

Hello! This is my first One Piece Fanfiction, But I hope you like it! I'm currently about to start the Zou Arc so if I get something wrong sorry :P

Gif is not mine.

Trafalgar D. Law x Fem!Reader

Chapter List

Summary:

After King Riku is dethroned, Doflamingo takes you under his wing and asks you to follow only one strict rule, "do not leave the palace alone". However, your sense of adventure is too great.

Law had only one thing in mind... Revenge. And you seemed like the best way to do that.

Warnings: Dark themes, manipulation, death, murder, creepy doffy

Word Count: 1.2K

The Rose of Dressrosa

Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly on the kingdom of Dressrosa. In the Market Square, flamenco dancers and musicians entertained the crowd as children weaved and played between shoppers and vendors. There on the furthest corner suite was flower shop. It hadn't been there long and at first glance one could mistake it as one of the many flower boutiques on the island. But the word around town was that it sold the best bouquets on the island. 

“Would you happen to have any red carnations?” An old woman asked the owner of the shop. 

The florist smiled kindly, “Of course one moment ma'am”. She moved to the doorway pushing away a satin curtain that covered the entryway to see a young girl no older than ten sitting on the counter reading a book. Tales of Grand Adventures the title read. Next to her rests a long trough planter full of rich soil. 

“Y/N” the woman called, causing the girl to look up from the pages of her book.

“Yes Mama?” you say politely.

“A nice lady wants some of those pretty red flowers you like. Can you make me a bouquet sweet girl?”

“Yes mama” you nod excitedly, knowing exactly what to do. You raise your arms up, placing them in front of your chest palms facing outward. “Grow,” You say, eyes closed.

In the pot something began to grow. In a matter of no time red carnations in full bloom sprouted in the container.

“Good work my love,” Your Mother says proudly as she begins to snip the stems out of the soil and prepares it for the customer.

When your mother is done she makes her way back to the front and you naturally follow. 

“Thank you, we’re all so lucky to have you,” the old lady says, “You do such good work, your flowers are always the freshest in town.”

“You're welcome,” your mother says, taking the berry being held out for her.

“Come again,” You say as the customer leaves the shop.

You watch your mother place the money into the box underneath the store counter. 

“We’re just a few months away from getting our own home.” she smiled and grabbed your hands, “All thanks to you my sweet girl.”

You smile at the amazing woman in front of you. Things got hard after your father left, not that you remember, but your mother went hungry most nights to make sure you were fed. And there were some nights when you both did… 

So hungry in fact that when you found a strange-looking fruit you couldn't help but eat it. It was the miracle you both needed. It had granted you the power to grow any type of plant you wanted. As long as there was soil you could grow anything. Your mother dragged herself out of the mud and started to sell the pretty flowers that would sprout around you. Once she had enough berry she managed to buy passage to the prosperous island of Dressrosa. Here she rented a corner store with a tiny one-bedroom apartment upstairs.

“A home with a garden?” You ask excitedly. 

Smiling, your mother embraced you, “A home with whatever you want.”

In her arms you hugged her back tightly. It was a hug you would later wish had lasted much longer.

---

Night fell and you slept soundly in your mother's arms until screams in the streets could be heard outside. 

“Mama,” you shook the woman awake.

“What's wrong?” she said groggily, but her question was answered when a sudden crashing sound could be heard. “Wait here my darling.” 

Quickly she put her slippers and robe on and rushed to the staircase

“But-” you tried to follow.

“Please darling, it’ll be okay, mama just has to see what's wrong.”And with that, she left you…

The screams however did not stop, in fact, they seemed to be growing louder. After what seemed like forever you had had enough. You found your slippers and robe and ventured downstairs to go outside. From the shop windows what you saw was much worse than anything you could have possibly imagined. 

Fire, there was an actual fire that danced on rooftops, people who you recognize were laying in the street unmoving in puddles that were the color of your favorite flowers. Men in uniform wielding dangerous weapons caused chaos and struck down anyone in their path mercilessly. 

“NO! PLEASE! I have a child!” you heard, causing your head to spin to the left.

The Royal Guard's face looked torn but that didn't stop his blade from swinging down on the poor defenseless woman. 

It happened in slow motion for you. Her scream seemed so far away. The way she fell… it wasnt real it couldn't be real. 

"MAMA!" You shriek, tears fill your eyes, and blur your surroundings.   

“Get out of the way girl or you’ll be next,” she heard the slayer warn frantically. 

At his words anger to the likes of which you never felt before filled your body, your vision turned red. The guard swung his sword but the blade never made it to you, in fact, everyone within a thousand feet dropped to the ground unconscious. Allowing you to run to your mother's body to sob into her bloodied robe. 

Up on the rooftop of the flower shop Donquixote Doflamingo watched you, this little speck of a thing, had managed to knock out at least thirty of his puppets. This girl's Haki was strong. Just his luck to come across someone in this stupid kingdom who with some training actually had the potential to be of use. 

He smiled and jumped off the roof in front of you and the corpse of your mother. 

As if it was a reflex you place your palms away from your chest and create a shield of thick spiked plants to barricade yourself and your mother from the unknown threat. The Young Master’s smile widened, you were a devil fruit user as well. And not just any fruit, this was the Grow-Grow Fruit. Now this was definitely a rarity. And in theory, if brought to its full potential…

The thought made him smirk.

“I saw what happened, child. No need to fear me,” he said in a soothing voice. 

Upon hearing this you debated on dropping the barricade but before you could decide the voice spoke again, “Please let me help you and your mother.” 

At this you let a few branches of cacti deteriorate making slits in your barrier allowing you to see the man who spoke. He looked strange, you had never seen anyone like him before. He was large, with spiky blond hair, and donned a pink feather coat.

“You poor girl, allow me to take you and your mother to a safe place.” he could see the distrust in your eyes, then added, “Before more of the king's guard shows up.”

This made your heart clench. He was right, chaos still reigned around them. Your eyes flitted over to the storefront to see the stucco from your former home catching fire. Looking back at the strange man your mind was made up. The prickly plants browned and decayed around you until they were flat on the ground. 

Doflamingo was proud of himself for being able to conceal his smirk, as he bent down to carry the pathetic dead woman in his arms. “Follow me girl, I’ll take you to a safe place where we can lay your mother to rest. 

You wiped away a few tears and did as you were told. Walking away from everything you once knew.

Next Chapter

[plantanarchy]

week 10 is nearly over and the perennials are nearllyyy done and I've filled 1/4 of a house with combo planters aaand the first plants have been moved to the new houses. the downsides are everything else.

the house we started planting annuals in has progressed from "furnace iffy" to "furnace no work" and a week ago when it would have been simple to move the few things in there I was assured it would be fine rip. the emergency furnace replacement is undersized if we get a good steady freeze.

and next week I lose my whole planting and pot filling crew to the nursery rip. I have a weird foot blister. I'm having to fill pots by hand and cross a frsshly dug french drain with my cart. the golf cart is functional again but leaks gas so is it really. there's a lot of construction going on both on the main road and on the property. I still don't have a veggie house. my blue hydrangeas are pink. thrips. Mud.

good news: the killdeer and mockingbirds are back.

[mushroomposting]

Reasons why I have dirt on my face and mud on my jeans:

potting mix made & pots prepped;

flytipped buckets converted and sunflowers planted;

more buckets (trash) storing compost and potting mix;

7 hand painted metal planters with really cool designs (definitely not trash) repurposed from oil drums (trash);

rose bush replanted with a clock face (trash) and prepped to plant nasturtiums, calendulas, dahlias & salvias;

scarily fast growing beans temporarily potted up so they dont strangle me from the windowsill while I sleep;

blackbirds keep ripping up my beetroot seedlings so I make increasingly elaborate covers for it and they continue to best me;

my wall collapsed, burying my gnome (rip);

my boiler has been broken for about a week and I am not a fan of cold showers (definitely trash)

But there is also good news:

carrots: growing!

chard: growing!

cat: ???

[nacrenecitygardening]

I would say we've been slow today, if not for the fact that Caleb stopped by and so my niece has been "helping" us today haha

Which thus far has included dragging pots around and making a "mud castle" in an empty planter with her mudkip

[equalonline]

Advantages of Using Metal Stands for Organic Gardening

Because of space and time constraints, everyone wants to incorporate some of the green jungle into their urban life and home.

With this metal stand, you can build a beautiful and functional urban organic terrace or balcony garden, increasing the garden space and making gardening easier, displaying plants, flowers, and garden decorations on a multi-level plant stand for enthusiastic gardeners. There are many types of metal stands that can be utilized indoors, outdoors, and on patios.

METAL - Mild steel or galvanized iron is a durable, strong, and wonderful material used for plant stands.

A metal stand allows you to organize and arrange plants in your garden according to your requirements to bring a sense of delicacy to your home. This pleasant garden stand combines modern style and natural beauty with the perfect amount of steel and powder-coated to prevent rusting. It is made of Mild Steel coated with a rust-proof coating so that you can use it indoors, outdoors, or on your patio. It is ideal for decorating homes, gardens, patios, and more. With this metal garden stand display, you can bring style and organization to your indoor or outdoor space.

Because people have a hard time lifting pots, grow bags or any containers due to their weight, and are unable to clean mud stains or water logs from underneath the containers, it makes a perfect habitat for several insects. Utilizing the stands can help with maintaining the cleanliness of the garden because they elevate the containers.

Plant containers placed on the stand reduce water seepage issues on your balcony or terrace and provide sufficient air circulation underneath the containers.

In urban cities, space is a constraint for gardening. To expand your garden in a limited amount of space, you can use plant stands like vertical plant stands, double-step plant stands, and triple-step plant stands.

While gardening, the stand reduces staining.

Different types of plant stand:

1. Vertical Plant Stand

The vertical plant stand occupies less floor area than the ground. The height of the vertical plant stand is more than that of others. Taking care of indoor plants can be a stress-buster, as well as an enjoyable hobby. Research has demonstrated that indoor plants detoxify polluted air and regulate humidity.

The garden stand serves as an excellent aesthetic decoration for your indoor plants as well as a means to display your indoor gardening skills.

2. Balcony Plant Stand

From small planters to large containers, garden stands can be layered for multiple layers of plants on a balcony; there's something for every budget and space. These types of plant stands are integrated with all the features for balcony use like durability and lasting for years.

3. Terrace Plant Stand

In this category, we can divide stands into two types first is single steps and the second is multiple steps.

Terraces can be maintained with the aid of these products, helping to maintain a clean environment. Plant stands can be layered from small to large; with everything from budget to space-saving options.

If you want to purchase a plant stand for your home there are some points to keep in mind:

Plant stands can withstand both indoor and outdoor situations.

A specially designed stand - There is little bending involved in gardening, so there is no strain.

Unique design to fit your unique vision.

No slippage issue.

Conclusion:

Your home will be rejuvenated and energized with plants! Connecting with nature often requires scheduling trips. Bringing nature inside keeps us from being overwhelmed by the concrete and asphalt that surrounds us daily. For those who lack space for planting, garden stands can be used as an innovative and artistic way to create a vertical garden, utilizing limited garden space.

[floraldecorimports22]

Best Custom Made Pottery Supplier

Ceramic pots are a superb choice since they offer numerous designs and are quite long-lasting. They're an outstanding choice for indoor and outdoor decorations. Pots can be chosen to keep both artificial and real plants. If, however, you decide to keep real plants, then you must look for ceramic pots which have drainage. Ceramic pots are a great means of designing your place too. A good flexibility with them is they can offer several shapes in accordance to your requirements. Another latest addition is the fiber glass pot. They're primarily chosen for keeping outside the window or for hanging purposes since they have a tendency to be tremendously light - pottery manufacturing company.

We invite you to come and view our full ceramics collection at our shop. If you may have an eye fixed on design and poetry, greeting cards are a great start-up home-founded business. Most of the work is done online, so the start-up costs are low, and you can start your advertising by sending them to friends, family, and colleagues for particular occasions. Do you love to colour, but your collection of artworks is presently gathering mud in your shed?

Each of our eye-catching puzzles and playthings is designed to chill out your mind, beautify your house and highlight the works of rising and established artists from all over the world. When placing an order for a pre-order product, all other products on the identical order number shall be shipped when the pre-order is shipped. If you require an earlier supply of non-pre-order merchandise a separate order must be positioned. Read more about our artisan factories and our rich history with each one. However, we are going to do our best to manage the standard of the ceramics. We have developed an in-depth range of glaze colours and finishes that can be utilized to this shape tile as nicely as any other shape we product - pottery manufacturer.

In our collection you will discover ornamental trays which are very functional. We need to say, its retro-inspired pattern makes us feel warm and fuzzy with nostalgia. These pots are a dream for styling or preserving the house in order. Enhance your botanical show with a shocking assortment of plant pots and planters, adding a contact of elegance and aptitude to your cherished vegetation. Another trouble of shopping for from an actual retailer is if you would like to order huge plant pots that vary from three feet to even 5 toes relying on the height and construction of your greater crops. You can’t carry these big plant pots alone, not to mention should you buy 5 of them. For more information, please visit our site https://floraldecorimports.com

[ohheyidothat]

One of my favorite plants is Poppy Mallow! Also known as Wine Glass Plant, and Prairie Wine Glass! It mostly grows in the center southern areas of the US, but it's cultivated elsewhere since it is soooooo pretty.

I finally found seeds!!! I've been looking FOREVER, ever since I got to see them on a field trip in a botany class. They're so so so beautiful! And I adore their family, Malvaceae! The mallows! The same plant that was used to make marshmallows! Hehe ^w^

I'm soooooo excited to try to grow them! Here are my notes so far:

Soil: low nutrient ok. Sandy ok. Needs to drain well. During the first year, steady moisture of small regular waterings. Excess moisture will cause fungi. Second year onward, a deep taproot forms to tolerate drought. Utilize this with deep, infrequent watering, which the taproot can access while the upper plant maintains anti-fungal low humidity.

Potted: a deep pot with a water reservoir dish. Watering into the reservoir can prevent fungi if the upper plant stays too moist. Plant will extend runners. A vertical-style planter might be ideal. Runners will cascade over pot. These can be propagated (allegedly needs root hormone on base). I recommend the Airplane Plant Propagation Protocol, with a greatly reduced Water/Mud period, allowing drier conditions as soon as the plant is capable of survival.

Columns ("chimneys") could be installed to provide a raised level for the vegetative tissues to remain high above moisture, and promote taproot growth.

Sunlight: yes. Full sun, especially if older than 1 year. Reducing sunlight will risk fungi, and likely lighten foliage color and stunt flowering.

Temperature: very tolerant of heat, especially if older than 1 year. Afternoon shade may assist in very hot environments, but see above section. Winters decently. Foliage dies back to soil-height for winter, and is susceptible to harsh freezes. A light layer of mulch will help protect it. Dry mulch is best. Observe moisture levels for fungi.

Seeds: may germinate better if abraded, or soaked in water for several days. Scoring not suggested, but might be worth experimentation.

My notes:

Rather than the usual "rich soil on top, rocks in the bottom" layering used for many plants, I think a potted Poppy Mallow would prefer opposite conditions. Denser, richer soils at the bottom would encourage the taproot formation and provide for the plant. Shallower layers should probably be a low-absorbing layer. Small rocks and sand. The less organic matter, the less food for fungi. No sticks or shells or fiber. Pay attention to the rock, in case it will significantly shift pH. I'm unsure if a light addition of garlic would harm the plant (potentially being washed to the taproot as well), or simply donate some anti-fungal properties to the upper layer. I think high-silica sand might assist low moisture, like the silica packs you get in foods and stuff. Placing a couple on the surface could be beneficial. Additionally, rolled paper could be staked into the upper layers, which would draw up excess moisture to assist evaporation. Observe for fungal growth. Maybe old allium shoots may function the same way! Ohhhh. A shallow-rooted water-holding plant might be a good companion as long as it doesn't contribute to fungal risks.

[packagingexpertsindia]

Now Plant Trees Easily with the Help of Grow Tree Bags

Cultivating your garden is an outstanding recreation in warmer months, but keeping track of all the grains and potting mud can be challenging. Grow bags might look unnecessary, but they make it extensively easier to take care of your garden since they're reusable and cost-effective.

What are Grow Bags?

Grow bags are a kind of gardening bags made from heavy-duty polypropylene material. They are frequently utilized to safeguard plants from insects and are famous for planting flowers and vegetables in large quantities. They are available in different sizes to fit almost any planting need and can be replenished with soil, stone, or water.

Why should you Utilize it?

Like most gardeners, you likely have at least one grow bag in your toolbox. A grow bag is a convenient instrument for filling in small spaces, and they come in various sizes to fit just about any requirement. Here are a few reasons you should start using them more often:

1. They make planting small areas comfortable

A grow bag can quickly fill an area that is too small for a conventional pot or container. Just place the plant inside the bag, and then pour mud or compost over the top. You can even use a grow bag to cultivate flowers on a window sill!

2. They make transplanting plants very easy

If you want to shift a plant from one portion of your garden to another, utilizing a planter bag makes the procedure considerably easier. Just keep the plant inside the bag, and then put soil or compost over the top. The plant will remain upright and safe while you shift it.

3. They're great for replenishing holes in your garden bed

Using a planter bag is an extraordinary way to fill the area if you have a space in your garden damaged by pests or deterioration. Place the bag over the void and pour soil or compost over the lid. The plant seeds will grow into the bag and keep it intact.

Advantages of Utilizing Grow Bags

If you're like most gardeners, you are likely to utilize a variety of containers to develop plants. From pots and pans to rain barrels and buckets, there's an adequate chance you've got at least one container in your arsenal that your plants love. But what about those other containers? You can't just plow a plant into any old container – they require room to develop, breathe, and yield flowers and fruits. That's where planter bags come in.

1. They're perfect for maturing plants in small areas. Because grow bags deliver a snug partition for the plant's roots, they assist to facilitate development in small areas. Numerous reports suggest that grower bags offer more area than conventional pots or containers.

2. They're incredible for houseplants. Houseplants are extremely prudent to temperature, light, and humidity – so they nicely thrive in bags relatively more than in conventional soil-based pots or containers.

3. They provide outstanding safety from wind and rain. Planter bags help to encompass extra water, which could lead to decay or mildew situations if it gets on the leaves of your plants. So not only do they support protecting your plants from external threats, but they similarly assist them to flourish indoors!

4. They allow seeds to thrive deeper into the mud, which helps a plant's overall health and vitality by delivering more oxygen and nutrients for beneficial growth.

Contact Best Grow Bags Manufacturers

As we know that Grow Bag is best for plants and Trees. If you want to purchase Bulk Grow Bags or a Single Grow Bag you can contact Singhal Industries as they are the best Grow Bags Manufacturer in the country.

[capuletangel]

Slow Like Honey

Inspired By The Song; Slow Like Honey

Word count: 2706

Story Summary: Ben Solo falls into a deep obsession with the local new baker, and Ben always gets what he wants.

Tags: DEAD DOVE; Stalking, Obsession, Creepy Ben Solo, Non-Con, Bittersweet Fluff, Misogyny, Major Character Death, Dark Themes and Eventual Smut. AFAB. 

Also Posted to AO3 | Wattpad

Thank you for all the love on my last post, really means a lot to me! If you’re reading on AO3 Chapter 5 should be coming out soon I’m just taking my sweet time lmao.

Masterlist

Chapter Two; Sweet Relief

Sometimes Ben follows her home. It isn’t creepy. He wants to make sure that she gets home safe. There are creeps in Texas, especially when you’re a twenty-year-old girl. Country boys that would stop at nothing just to get a taste of her. He knows that she’d be grateful. He gives up his free time to make sure that she is safe. Ben is a gentleman. He just wants to make sure that no one follows her home. That she’s safe .

He stands on the curb, just about hidden by the van opposite her apartment, watching as she leaves for work. Eleven o’clock. It’s a Monday. She wears her brown knit jumper and Ben’s eyes trail to her shoulder as she walks, seeing the bare skin that drove him wild.

Her apron is slung in her hand. She hums as she walks. He waited until she walked round the corner before he stalked over to her door, turning the handle. Locked. Good girl, Ben thinks, can never be too careful.

He reaches in his pocket for the pin he’d acquired, moving it between his thumb and index finger with a shaky grip. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, deafening the world around him. All emotions were muted, distant now, all except excitement. He’s waited so long for the right moment. And he’s got it. Sliding the pin into the lock, turning it and shuffling until he heard that click. It sent shivers down his spine.

Taking a sharp breath before walking into the small studio apartment, the smell hit him before anything else did. The gourmand vanilla smell that clung to her skin was far more intense when he stood in her home, like it was being pumped through an air vent just to entice him. To lure him in. Mesmerise him.

He shuddered as he took it in, softly shutting the door behind him. Finally here. In her apartment. So long had he waited for this moment. Three months since the day he first met her. That hazy autumn day was now a distant memory. Now she was his.

He walked into the kitchen area, looking up at the pots and pans that hung above the countertop, swinging like she’d just washed them and hung them up. His fingers traced the cold marble, looking over the fridge, which was decorated with magnets.

He smiled as he glanced over them, a photograph of her and her friend in a booth, probably back in Seattle he thought, a small whiteboard with a pen that listed the shopping she needed to get that week, eggs, vanilla extract, oat milk. There was a magnet which read Texas, and beneath it, a postcard.

He picked it up, remembering the position it was in so he could return it to its former place. An image of Pike Place Market, with cursive writing written on the back. Please come back soon to visit! We miss you so damn much. Tell Peter we love him, much love Lela, Ellie & Will. He slipped it back under the magnet, peeking at the last one, which was a photo of her as a kid. She wore red rain boots and a blue mac, soaked with rain and mud.

He’d never seen so many plants in such a small space. Some were hanging from the ceiling, placed on windowsills, some were standing tall in big planters, reaching the mid-wall. She had a green thumb. That’s good. She would love his family’s ranch. Ben worked on the land, planting his own fruit and vegetables for harvest, looking after the horses and the chickens. He’d supply produce for local farmers’ markets.

A small table was placed against the wall, wicker table matts placed on both sides, though there was only one chair. A basket of fruit sat in the centre, filled with peaches, apples and mandarins. A few paintings hung on the wall, some were Matisse and others were children’s drawings. He figured she painted them as a kid. Sentimental, he noted.

He couldn’t fight the grin that slipped onto his face. Being in her apartment just told him how right he was about her, how lovely she was. How caring she was. The postcards, the art she made as a child, the recipes that littered the kitchen counters. And the bookcase filled with patisserie books, baking books and home-style cooking. He was infatuated with her; now more than ever.

He wandered to the sofa, slate grey, littered with a few pale green pillows and a mustard yellow throw. It was clear she spent a lot of time on it. The left cushion, sunken in more than the right, showing that she liked to sit in front of the window that showed the neighbourhood.

Light drifted in and hit the coffee table. He ran his hand over the top, a warmth still lingering on the seat. It was breathtaking for Ben. To be so close to her.

The coffee table has a mug placed on it, stains from where she had picked up her coffee too quickly or put it down too harshly.

He brought the mug to his plump lips, pressing them against the stoneware to get any hint of her presence. Her mouth. It was too much to handle. His grip tightened around the handle, any more pressure and it would’ve cracked under his hand. He’d feel her lips someday soon. If he were smart about it. If he played it cool. Proceeding to place it back onto the table, restraining himself.

His erection was already present in his pants, tightening the denim material around him.

The space was cosy. Lamps littered the room. He knew she liked dim lighting. Hated the harsh fluorescents of overhead light bulbs. She always tried to keep the store full of natural light instead of artificial light, and if she had to turn the light on, they’d be as low in power as she could manage.

He paced to the bed, which sat opposite the sofa. A beige knit throw draped over the duvet, tucked in from making the bed that morning. Now, his heartbeat had increased to maximum speed. She’d placed candles on the bedside table. Some were vanilla, matching her smell, and the rest were jasmine. Mellow scents seemed to be her favourite. Sweet musks.

He couldn’t resist it any longer. He laid down on the bed, making sure his boots didn’t contact her soft covers, burying his head into one of the pillows. Sweet relief. She was his drug. Her smell calmed him like no other and made him feel weightless, whilst also remaining provocative and tempting.

Smelling where she slept and relaxed, gripping the pillow in his large hand to nuzzle further into it. He knew she would be able to smell his cologne all over the sheets. But he knew she’d like it. Might even make her like him more if she could smell him next time when he came into the bakery. Comfort might arise from his smell.

He couldn’t wait to comfort her, have her wrap around him and cling onto him as he soothed her of her troubles, supported her. Delving into the soft blankets, clutching one pillow and snuggling with it, pretending that it was her for a moment.

Running a hand through his hair, looking over to the left, towards the nightstand, where a few books piled on top of each other. Kafka On The Shore, Where The Crawdad Sings, Play It As It Lays.

Ben couldn’t wait for her to read to him. He imagined them being in her bed, a candle flickering next to them, the room just light enough for her to read the pages to him. He’d hold her in his arms, she’d fall asleep against his chest and she’d be frustrated with herself for losing the page. But he’d remind her she could read the same newspaper to him for fifty years and he’d never get bored with listening to her voice, the smooth cadences, the perfect tone, the femininity.

Flipping himself over, so that he stared into the ceiling. Fine cracks ran through it, paint flaking and peeling. He got up, though he didn’t want to. He laid there for two hours, in a daze, thinking about her and all the things that they’d do together, and it still felt like mere seconds. Running his eyes over the bras that lay on the floor, he’d help her clean up.

He’d do all her laundry, he’d cook, he’d help her do all her work, he’d pick her up from the bakery to make sure she was safe, he’d try out all of her baking experiments. He could see her baking something bad and them laughing about it, Ben trying to act like it wasn’t that bad. They’d be so good for each other.

Raising to reach her laundry basket. She had placed a pair of lace white underwear on top. Jackpot. Feeling the tempting material, savouring the texture before raising it to his nose. His deep, guttural moan raised from his chest as he took in her musk. She smelt tastier than he could have ever imagined.

He slipped them into his pocket for later.

He hummed a tune as he walked into her bathroom, the only place that wasn’t open for his gaze in her studio. Pale green tiles lined the walls, complemented by the pale white shower curtain, and the plants that were plotted on the windowsill, flourishing in the humid environment, small pink flowers blooming.

He felt the cold taps under his fingers, grasping the bar of soap—he eyed her toothbrush with hesitation, wondering if he should.

He shrugged to himself. She wouldn’t know. And he knew she wouldn’t mind, knowing that they were going to share saliva in the future. He grasped the wooden toothbrush with excitement, looking at the pink and white fibres in anticipation. Running it across his teeth, eyeing the brush in the clouded mirror, hot with his breath. Savouring the feeling of something she’d touched, tasted, had in her own mouth. He couldn’t wait to feel her soft lips against his own, how he’d melt under her embrace.

He sighed before placing it back into the pot that sat above the sink, hooked into the wall. Returning to the bed and laying down again, feeling the soft cotton beneath him. Groaning at the sensation of his erection grinding against his pants. She made him so sensitive, no one had ever tempted Ben. Not to this level. Never. He found people unbearable. He didn't do well in social situations. Trying to find the right words.

Once in a blue moon, he’d go with them to a bar, The Moon and The Moth, in the town centre, and he’d listen; sometimes he’d put in his two cents, but other than that he didn’t pay attention to anyone. Only her. Every person he would come into contact with only reminded him of how he wished to be with her instead of him.

Ben palmed himself through his jeans, eyes rolling back as he did so, running a hand through his hair.

He couldn’t do that here. He isn’t a creep. He wouldn't do that in her home. He couldn’t. Ben isn’t a creep. Rising from the bed to look at her desk, cluttered with books which had bookmarks peeking from the pages, plants, incense packets, a pot of pens. But the most intriguing item is the laptop that sat, telling Ben to turn it on.

Flipping up the screen, hoping and praying to some higher power that it wouldn’t have a password, and to Ben’s luck, it didn’t. A huff of relief escaped his throat as he inspects the home screen. A picture of her and a friend sat on a bed in a goofy pose with one of the photo booth filters fixed on them.

His heart swelled. The face she pulled every time he’d make an awkward joke or when they’d flirt. Though, the most encapsulating thing about the image was her lack of sweater—or shirt—sat in a pretty sage green bralette, nipples just about visible.

Stop it, he thought to himself, tearing his eyes away. He couldn’t risk edging the member that was fighting so hard to be teased, not right now. Clicking on a folder titled Seattle.

He flicks through the image with a grin. God, she looked so happy, with all her friends, joking around and seemingly not being able to hold back her laughter in most of the images. Photos taken in high school, where she appeared nerdy.

They would’ve been friends in high school, Ben thought. In the Seattle aquarium where she posed like a fish, sucking her mouth into a pout, Pioneer Square, holding a huge sack of mandarins and photos of her and her mum. He assumed; the woman looked a lot like her.

Ben studied how she typed her messages out on iMessage, just in case. In case he lost control at some point. In case she refused him and he had to take matters into his own hands. But that won’t happen, he reminded himself. He is a patient man, and besides, he knew she liked him too.

His heart dropped when he heard a sound at the door. Two o’clock. She shouldn’t have been home yet. Her shift usually finishes at around six o’clock. Why was she coming home so early? She’d had to shut the bakery for the day to come home this early. Did she know he was there?

Ben quickly shut the laptop, closing down the tabs he opened just to be sure there was no evidence left, climbing up from the chair and smoothing out the covers on the bed to look like he’d never been there. The keys jingled in the door, making his throat swell, hurrying over to the wardrobe against the wall next to her desk. Climbing into it, focusing on making his breath lighter so it wasn’t audible. Reminding himself that she wouldn’t see him, preventing a panic attack that was swarming in his brain.

There is a slither in the doors. He can see her slipping off her shoes and placing her apron on the kitchen counter with shaky hands. Her eyes were puffy and red, glazed over with tears that spilled down her flushed cheeks. Ben’s heart beat increases at the sight. He wants to hold her, comfort her, console her.

Watching as she trails to the bed with hunched shoulders, lifting her phone from her pocket and typing something, raising her hand to wipe down her face. She looks so soft, Ben thought. So beautiful, sat surrounded by duvets and pillows with her flushed face tear-stained.

A ring tone exploded from her phone, making Ben jump slightly, not expecting it. But she clearly did, raising the phone to her ear after accepting the call. It pained him when he heard a sob escape her lips. Breath hitched in her throat as she tried to utter words.

“He’s in palliative care. They don't know how long he will be there, but it looks bad.” Her voice was hoarse, obviously sore from crying. Oh.

Ben watches her talk and sob for another fifteen minutes on the phone, ignoring the instinct to lie in bed with her and stroke his fingers through her hair, watching as her eyes flutter shut with his tender touch. Instead, she ends the phone call and cries herself to sleep, all alone.

When he’s sure that she’s dead asleep, no longer grasping at being awake, he steps out of the wardrobe he’d been hiding in. Glancing over her face that is pressed into the soft pillow he’d been laying on just over an hour ago.

Her hair covers some of her face, but he can still see her tear-stained cheeks and red nose. His eyes moved down to her neck, looking at the cleavage that was on display through her position.

He took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead, inhaling the scent of her hair. It wouldn’t be long now.

[fairykukla]

A Goblin Tea Party

I have a cluster of cousins who are my Fairy Godchildren. They have requested a tea party, but "not too girly." All three are various forms of nonbinary,

I suggested a Goblin Tea party, because I've thrown fairy tea parties for years (decades, even) and shifting to a goblin aesthetic wouldn't be a big stretch.

I have a couple of 70s vintage tea cups with mushrooms on them (sort of like the one above), and I picked up a matching tea pot on eBay.

I also have a daisy tea pot of a similar era, and I made up some tea cups from a punch bowl set and transparent mushroom stickers:

I have more cups and stickers if necessary.

I have leaf-shaped plates and a gorgeous wooden platter that I just caught at Aldi that's a log cross section.

I want to serve Dirt Cake, Mud Pie, and a Yule Log cake (but without the Christmas elements.) Dirt cake is easy; pudding with crumbled up Oreos on top. I want to see if I can find some weird planters I can serve it in. (I'm looking at you again, 1970's kitch ceramics.)

Mud pie is an easy hack; do Mississippi Mud Pie and serve the whipped cream separately.

Yule log cake is a sponge cake rolled up and decorated to look like a log. Meringue mushrooms are a traditional accessory, so I want to make those for sure.

Here's the trouble; chocolate still smells gross to me. So I'm considering what other flavors I could incorporate into these treats to make it easier on me. Dirt Cake is dirt cake; and I don't have to bake it so I think that's fine. (I'm planning gummy worms and gummy bugs if I can get them.)

I'm thinking of maybe doing a pumpkin spice pudding pie for my mud pie? Dusted with cinnamon powdered sugar? Or brown sugar?

Caramel flavors for the yule log?

I'm planning a ton of mushrooms in a variety of color coded flavors.

I want to do some hard boiled eggs and I plan to try to get some smaller chicken eggs for it (to be all tiny and cute). Or maybe get some quail eggs.

I'm also going to order some Candy Rocks from The Peanut Shop, both varieties.

I have all manner of teas, so I'll have the kiddos let me know what they want. I have sugar in the raw cubes, and I'm going to look for miniature wooden tongs to serve them.

And a set of unbleached muslin napkins, artfully grubby (tea-stained) and embroidered with a mushroom on the corner.

Suggestions? What would you love to see at a goblin Tea party?

[wanderlustphatty]

Animagus

Summary: The process of turning in to an animagus takes, at minimum, a whole month. Can I make it through?

Word Count: 1260

Notes: I wrote this for myself for reasons, but thought you all might enjoy reading about the process of turning in to an animagus.

Warnings: None

It was going to be a long process, and posed a great risk, but someone was eventually going to have to replace McGonagall. The students always joke that even Death wouldn't bother her, but maybe one of these days she decides to bother Death? It's hard to tell when it would happen, or why; perhaps one too many Weasleys, or the Potters, and the Malfoys. Years of stressful children would do a number on anyone and I wanted to be prepared for when something happened. 

During the night on a full moon I snuck off to the greenhouses where I knew some mandrakes were growing. Careful not to make much sound, I slowly closed the door behind me. The faint grunts of sleeping mandrakes rose from the pots and I made my way towards the back of the long line of planters. Even though I highly doubted Sprout would count each leaf, I decided not to have a bald spot staring her in the face in the morning.  I started gently stroking the leaves of one, making sure it was nice and calm. It cooed beneath my touch and I almost felt bad when I unceremoniously yanked 3 leaves off and it whimpered. Immediately my hand went back to stroking its other leaves. The poor thing snubbed a few times, but calmed back down. Once I was sure it was asleep once more, I crammed a leaf and bolted out the door.

I was already halfway to my dorm, giggling on the inside because I got what I needed and a couple leaves to spare, when the flavor hit me. Primarily it was mud, but with a whisper of citrus - like someone said the word "lemon" two doors down and your brain remembered what it tasted like. The Lacroix of leaves, if you will. My face turned into a grimace and I shook my head. It was going to be a long month. 

Gradually the flavor became more tolerable, but the consistency left much to be desired. At first it was this awkward leaf taking up my whole cheek, but then it started to break down into something similar to stewed spinach. Keeping it in my mouth became more difficult, especially when I brushed my teeth or ate. For the last week I know I solely consumed smoothies that I could drink with a straw because I couldn't risk actual chewing. I was so hungry.

While my leaf reduced to mush in my mouth, I spent a ridiculous amount of time gathering the other ingredients. First I painted a phial black so I could save dew that hadn't been touched by sun or feet. Then I spent many early mornings before sunrise, laying on my belly in the grass next to the castle, collecting dew with a dropper and placing it into the black phial. My weekend trips to Hogsmeade were spent trying to locate a Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalis. Finally I found one about a week before I needed it. 

By the time the full moon came around, I was ready and praying that there would be no interference with the moonlight. Carefully I slipped through the halls and up to the Astronomy Tower. Much to my relief, the light poured in and not a cloud was in sight. I laid out all of my ingredients on a towel, with the exception of the mandrake mush in my mouth, and picked up the crystal phial that wasn't painted. 

At this point I didn't know what to do. Was I supposed to do a belly dance with the phial in the moonlight? Hold it up and let it soak in the energy? Or just go for it? As awkwardly as anyone could imagine, I held it up as if showing the moon "see? Got it. Right here. Shine on me crazy diamond." Then I gladly spit the leaf into the phial and repeated the same awkward Vannah White showcase to the moon. That alone felt like a victory. Pushing on, I yanked out a hair and dropped it in before measuring out a silver teaspoon of the dew I worked so hard for and pouring it in. Lastly I shoved in the Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalis. As soon as the phial was plugged, I let out a sigh of relief.

Next stop was the Room of Requirement. Sticking to the shadows I raced to the 7th floor, hoping no one would be in the room already. Impatiently I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. At last the door appeared and I hurried in. It was a dark, quiet room with a table in the middle. I placed my phial on it and backed away slowly. Considering no one would have the exact same desires or needs as me, I felt confident my potion would be safe in there. Not wanting to test my luck further for the night, I made the long trip back to my dorm. Apparently luck was on my side that night because the sky was clear and I managed to avoid both Filch and Mrs. Norris. 

At sunrise the next morning I began the ritual. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus," I recited with my wand over my heart. For the first time on my journey, I felt like I was close to my dream. At sundown I did the same thing, still excited. All I could do was hope for an electrical storm.

Unfortunately it took its sweet easy time. Three whole months, to be exact. The chant was no longer exciting, and I even tossed in a "domo arigato mister roboto" joke afterwards a few times. On the final sunset, I could feel the electricity in the air. The wind held a different aura and every nerve in my body felt energized. In the distance, lightning cracked and jazzed across the sky. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus," I whispered again with my wand over my heart. It wouldn't be long.

I had enough time to grab a snack and do my nightly routine, with a quick detour to recover my phial from the Room of Requirement, before the night sky lit up as if it was day. I ran as hard as I could out onto the grounds and held my arms out wide, allowing myself to feel the forces around me. Another crack of lightning and I uncorked my potion. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus!" Down the hatch the potion went. I'd be lying if I said I didn't gag. That was disgusting. It had fermented into an awful concoction that tasted like feet, cheese, burnt toast, and wet fur. It was so bad, I mistook the shake that rattled up my spine as a shudder. 

My stomach started to churn and I thought my efforts were going to be wasted on the grass, but instead I morphed into the cutest cow cat form. Quickly I ran, tripping a few times because paws were much different than feet, to the edge of the lake where I could see myself. White fur, black spots, witch shadow on my back. I had done it! Allowing myself a moment of feline enthusiasm, I pounced a few times in the grass to celebrate. Once I was through, I concentrated as hard as I could, and eventually my human form returned. 

It's been fun practicing ever since. McGonagall docked points from Hufflepuff, but she also was kind enough to escort me to the Ministry to register. So now I am legal and, most importantly, can nap on windowsills.

[takethehighwaytoheaven]

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

[aspiringdoctors]

Extraordinary Flower Pots For Our Home Garden

In gardening, commercial planters present more prominent advantages a lot than the normal mud click here pots that we use at home. Beside strength and quality, commercial planters have more elements like oneself watering gadgets and repositories. Yet, today, there are as of now commercialized pots accessible in the market.

Flower pots used to be made of mud. Truth be told, earth is definitely not an ideal material for open air planters since they are not entirely strong and they can without much of a stretch break. In this manner, dirt pots can't withstand solid climate conditions any longer. However, with the development of commercial planter boxes, flower pots would now be able to be placed outside and may just need less support.

Most flower pots nowadays are as of now made of sturdy materials like fiberglass, metal, or PVC. These materials are ideal for outside planters so they will not effectively get obliterated if there should be an occurrence of addition climate or minor mishaps. They are additionally made with superior grade by confided in makers.

These modern planters for private use for the most part make them inundate and self-watering gadgets also that make gardening more reasonable for us. Beside that, we can likewise guarantee that our most loved plants will clearly be supported regardless of whether we can't take care of them too habitually. Regardless of whether we bring them inside our home, there isn't anything to stress over water spilling out of the flower pots.

The primary concern of this article is that flower pots for our home gardens are as of now not customary as what they were utilized to be. We would already be able to utilize those lavish lodging planters and rich eatery planters that we find in some business foundations. Possibly we can have quite recently the little ones that will fit in our home or the medium-sized planter boxes to put outside.

[ericsonclan]

Raindrops Keep Falling

Summary: On a particularly rainy day as the Ericson kids huddle together in the piano room for warmth, Clementine and Louis brave the outside to get some herbs in their quest for a hot meal.

Read on A03:

Rainy days were the worst.

It had been raining for the entire day. They had woken up to rain, taken turns keeping watch in the rain and finished the daily chores to the best of their ability despite the downpour. Most of them had spent the majority of the day indoors, boarding up all the windows to prevent the wind from blowing more water inside the halls. They’d built up a fire in the music room’s fireplace, most of the kids holing up there when they didn’t have anywhere else they needed to be. It was miserably cold throughout most of the school, but they managed to keep it warm in there.

Ruby and Aasim had gone to check the traps in the morning and found all of them empty. There wasn’t any point in hunting either as all the animals were hiding from the rain. Luckily they’d dried some extra meat in the past few weeks, so they had something to tide them over, that was, if the rain didn’t go on too much longer. The group sat around the fire, chewing jerky and playing every card game Louis could come up with.

By dinnertime their stomachs were all growling again. Omar insisted that he wouldn’t allow them to suffer through another meal of solely jerky if he had anything to say about it. They could improvise a wood fire within the old kitchen. As long as they cracked open a few windows, the smoke created from one meal shouldn’t be too bad. All they needed from outside was the cast-iron pot and some fresh herbs from the greenhouse to bring the dried meat’s flavor out. Willy and A.J. volunteered to get the pot, with Aasim tagging along to make sure they stayed on task.

“I can go get the herbs,” Clem volunteered eagerly.

Aasim looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I mean, I know you’ve gotten really good on the prosthetic lately, but it’s super muddy out there,”

“Anything to get outside for a few minutes. Being in here since morning’s driving me a bit crazy. Plus it’s not like I don’t know the way,”

Louis rose up with a groan, dramatically bowing as he offered Clementine a hand up. “If my lady insists on getting out for some fresh air, who am I to say no? I’ll accompany you,”

“You really don’t have to. I know you just got dry from watch,”

“Alas, too true. But a few raindrops are a small price to pay to see you smile,”

Violet rolled her eyes. “God, you get more sappy every day, Louis,”

“Why, thank you! I do try my best,”

“Just get out of here before I have to gag you. Clem, do us all a favor and take him with you,”

“Alright then,” Clementine took Louis’ hand, making it upright with only the tiniest wobble. “To the greenhouse we go,”

---

They were surprised to see how bad the rain had gotten when they stepped out the front of the administrative building. The overhang did little to protect them from the rain as it fell down in showers before them, forcing them to squint to make out anything in front of them. In hindsight they should have known how bad the conditions were when Ruby had come in dripping wet from watch and announced that watch duties would be suspended until the rain let up. Still, there was nothing quite like seeing the storm in person to really put things into perspective.

“You sure you want to do this?” Louis shouted over the wind, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Clementine nodded. “It’ll be worth it to get a hot meal!”

Before she could say anything further, A.J. and Willy came barreling out the front doors, laughing wildly as they ran out into the rain. Aasim was close behind them, not looking nearly as happy.

“Slow down!” he called out, trying to sound authoritative. “Stay on task!”

Clementine turned back to Louis with a smile. “I guess we gotta go for it!”

“Wait!” Louis exclaimed. He quickly took his trenchcoat off, an action that surprised Clem until he draped the coat above his head, stepping behind her to draw her into the makeshift shelter. “OK, on three?”

Clementine felt her heart warm at the selfless gesture. She leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “On three,”

Louis glanced down in surprise, clearly flustered by the kiss. The same dorky grin that had crossed his face the night she’d confessed her feelings reemerged now. He nodded quickly, signaling he was ready.

“One, two… three!” With that they began their sprint across the yard. Well, it was really more of a brisk jog with Louis making sure not to outrun Clementine or pressure her from behind while Clementine did her utmost to not slip and fall in the mud. She had a couple close calls, one of which had Louis wrapping his arms around her to prevent the fall and dropping his coat in the process, getting them both momentarily soaked. They quickly righted themselves though, getting back on track to their destination.

They burst through the greenhouse door with uproarious laughter, taking a moment to catch their breath as they leaned against the nearest planters. As their laughter stilled, the sound of the rain came through. It was a much more peaceful sound when inside the greenhouse. The patter of the rain falling against the glass panes was comforting and they could see individual rivulets of rain making their way from the roof all the way down the sides of the greenhouse. Even the howling of the wind felt distant despite the stark chilliness inside.

Clementine involuntarily shivered and Louis immediately threw his coat over her shoulders, drawing it round her to try to fend off the cold.

“Lou, c’mon, that’s too much,” Clementine said, trying to shrug it off. “I’m fine, really!”

“Nu uh,” Louis shook his head, some droplets falling down from his dreadlocks. “You keep it for now. It looks cuter on you anyways,”

“I don’t know, you look pretty great in it too,” Clementine quipped.

Louis blushed at her words. He turned round quickly to survey the greenhouse. “So… what was it exactly that we needed?”

“I got this,” Clementine made her way among the planters, picking a few herbs here and there in various planters. “Omar tends to have his favorites. As long as we bring a wide selection back we should be fine,” They made their way amongst the aisles, tucking the herbs into the sleeves of Louis’ coat as they went along.

When they’d made a full circuit, Clementine offered Louis’ coat back to him.

Louis took it reluctantly. “Only for pseudo-umbrella purposes,” he said, tucking it under his arm.

With that, they were ready to face the storm once more. The first time Clementine tried to open the door it slammed back shut with the force of the wind, surprising both of them. Clementine planted her good foot, anchoring the other against Louis’ left side before gritting her teeth and trying again. This time they didn’t hesitate, leaping outside before the door unceremoniously slammed shut behind them. Louis tried to use the same trick with his trenchcoat as they’d done on the way there, but this time the wind was blowing the rain towards them instead of against their backs. They were forced to adopt a new plan: holding the trench coat in front of themselves instead of behind, they used it as a sort of shield, peeking out from underneath occasionally as they made their way back to the main building. It certainly wasn’t an easy or direct route they ended up taking, but finally they found themselves at the steps of Ericson.

Rushing inside, they stopped by the kitchen first to give Omar the herbs. He already had the water boiling over the makeshift fire and told them it would only be about 15 more minutes till dinner could be served. With the promise of a hard-won hot meal in their minds, they rejoined the others in the music room. A.J. was busy regaling the others with a story of a close call he and Clementine had a couple years back and how they’d gotten out of it. Louis and Clem took their places on the outer edge of the circle, leaning against the piano bench for support.

Louis looked at his trench coat rather sadly before laying it out beside him to dry in the fire’s glow.

“Too wet to wear?” Clementine asked with concern.

“Only for a while. It fought bravely out there against those stormy winds. It deserves a moment of rest and recovery,” Louis saluted his coat with a wry smile.

Clementine joined in with a grin. Looking over at Louis, she could see he was still shivering a bit. She was freezing too. Perhaps if they combined their warmth though… Silently she crawled forward, settling in front of Louis before leaning back to rest against his chest. She heard some nervous spluttering from behind her, but Louis didn’t protest. In fact, after a few moments his arms circled round her, drawing her closer. They basked in the warmth of the room and each other’s company, neither wanting to move at all for the rest of the night.

“Well,” Louis murmured, his mouth close to her ear. “Not a bad end to what could have been a very sucky day,”

“Every day is a good day when I’m with you,”

She could hear Louis happily chuckling behind her. “Careful. If we get too sappy, Vi might just gag the both of us,”

Clementine interlocked her fingers with Louis’, drawing his arms more tightly around her. “I’m willing to take that risk,”

And so the rest of the night passed in blissful peace, stories and stew being shared round the circle till all eyes grew heavy and surrendered to sleep.

Rainy days really were the best.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 9

(This one got a few re-writes and wound up not very connected to the prompt. Sorry! CW for some violent intrusive thoughts, but not very graphic.)

This is part of a single story for the @goodomenscelebration​ “Theme” prompts.

Parts 1-6

Part 7

Part 8

Doubt

It’s a trap. He’ll hurt you. Destroy him.

The whispers were starting again, but the Antichrist waved them aside. The first ones were always easy to ignore. Once, he’d been able to go weeks – almost a month – fighting them off, but the times when he could be himself were getting shorter and shorter. Maybe soon there would be no time at all.

He studied the demon crouched beside him for another moment. Dark clothes, red hair, sharp features. He’d been wearing a pair of sunglasses before, pitch-black lenses curved over his face to hide the glint of his bright yellow eyes from most angles. Now they were in his hand, the metal arms (black with bright red flames) hidden.

He didn’t look like a demon, not really. The eyes did, the black wings he’d briefly revealed, the sigil on the hinge of his jaw.  But apart from that, he looked human. Demons didn’t usually bother to look very human.

“So,” he started, ready to teleport the demon as far as possible if he didn’t like the answer, “if you’re not supposed to bring me back to the war…why are you here?”

“Looking for an angel.” The demon glanced around, his eyes distant. “Not even sure where to start.”

The Antichrist nodded. Some of the angels and demons were sworn enemies, locked in eternal single combat. “Your Adversary?”

The demon grinned, but there was nothing bloodthirsty about it. “Oh yeah.” He stood up, brushing himself off, then held out a hand for the Antichrist. “Had him in my clutches this morning, but he slipped away. And now…” the grin faded.

Ignoring the hand, the Antichrist stood up. “The nearest fighting’s down by the coast. Brighton, when I ran, probably spreading from there. Th biggest is over America…” he closed his eyes to concentrate. “Yeah, New York. And smaller fights in what’s left of the Amazon, and somewhere over the mountains in Asia and…” he looked at the demon again. “Is this angel good at fighting?”

“The best,” he said, with some kind of strange pride.

“Probably America. That’s where I’m supposed to go next, but…”

“I don’t think so.” The demon wandered back to the inn, where a still-partially-green plant in a red pot sat in the box planter. Tucking the glasses in his pocket, he carefully picked it up and walked back. Was it some sort of weapon? He hadn’t heard of that type of biological warfare, but you never knew. “He was here, my Adversary. Or not too far, anyway. I And he doesn’t really like America. He’d stay close, I think.” The demon sauntered past the Antichrist with hardly a glance. “Just gotta keep looking.”

More whispers, destroy him, forget him, find your destiny, but the Antichrist pushed them away again, and found himself following after. “Is he on one of the Retrieval squads? They’re supposed to be some of the best fighters. The Guardian of Humanity only picks the best.”

“I don’t know about Retrieval Squads,” the demon said. “He doesn’t get on well with other angels. But Guardian of Humanity…that sounds like his kind of scene. They keep the humans safe?”

“It’s what they say,” Adam said darkly. “If he’s mixed up in that, I can’t help you.”

“Adam, if there’s anyone who can help me, it’s you.” The demon frowned, studying the buildings lining the road behind them.. “Can probably help me figure out what happened here, too. This…” He tucked the plant under one arm and waved a hand at the last house, bricks melted to mud. Across the street, the remains of a stone wall and a marker stone of some kind, broken down and scattered as if kicked over by an unruly toddler. “This is wrong.”

“Dunno. Same thing that happened to all the villages.” Rumor had it there were still a few holdouts, but they tended to be destroyed a few hours after the Antichrist arrived. Having an army of demons will do that.

He didn’t realize the demon had stopped until almost too late, and the Antichrist very nearly walked into him. “Look. This is going to be a lot easier if you just do your mind-reading trick. I give you permission.”

“No,” the Antichrist said firmly. “I don’t – not anymore.” He shuddered, trying not to remember the last time. The feel of maggots on his flesh, the voices in his head. Rip his arm off, one of them suggested, rising a little above the whispers. That’ll teach him some respect.

“Adam? What happened?”

The Antichrist knew if he looked up again, he’d see golden eyes watching him. Might even see an expression he’d never expected to find on a demonic face, on any face ever turned to him again.

He kept staring at his shoes.

“I…didn’t want to fight. Kept teleporting home, even though no one was there. They’d drag me back. One day I read their minds and told them their battleplans were stupid.”

The demon chuckled at that. “That’s my boy. Bet they were stupid.”

“They were glorious,” the Antichrist said, bitterly. “Battles that would rip apart the Earth, shows of power that would make everyone quake in fear. And more than half our forces would be lost in the first three years.”

A long pause while the demon glanced around, taking in the destruction, the boiling red rivers cutting across the field, the pond reduced to an empty pit with a black tar at the bottom. A swarm of locust rose from the dead grass, the only sign of life. “I take it you didn’t convince them to change their plans?”

The Antichrist raised his head to meet the demon’s eyes, but wasn’t ready for that. It was easier to stare at his shoulder. “They. They locked me in a cell with a pair of demons.” His throat grew tight. “Made me read their minds. Over and over. Every…nasty thing they’d ever done, all their awful thoughts…”

For days afterwards, he’d thought like them. Gloried in the idea of ripping people apart, destruction for the sheer joy of it. Even now, one voice whispered, Hurt him. Rip his wings off. Lock him in a church and laugh as he tries to escape. He didn’t even think there were any churches left, not around here.

“Hey. Adam.” The Antichrist let his eyes flick up for a second, meeting the golden eyes of the demon. Like a cat. Or a snake. “Let me guess. Hastur and Ligur?” He nodded. “Nasty pieces of work. And you were…all alone? No friends? No dog?”

The Antichrist shoved his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t really have any friends. All those rich kids, we just tried to outdo each other, you know? Who had the better toys, who could throw a cooler birthday party. Never really talked with any of them. When things turned bad…” he shrugged, frowning. “As for the dog, he finds me sometimes, drags me back to the fighting.”

The demon scratched his head, looking confused. “Your dog does that? ‘S not right. You should be able to control him. He was designed to obey you, be loyal only to you.”

“You’re kidding.” The demon didn’t look like the kind to joke around. “How’s a kid like me supposed to control a Hellhound?”

A long silence. The Antichrist wished he knew what the demon was thinking about, but he still refused to read his mind. Refused to allow another voice in. Finally, he stepped in front of the Antichrist, making it very hard to look away. “Call him by his name, Adam.”

“Killer?” His expression crumpled into pained disbelief. It would have been funny, if anything in the world could still be funny. “I know. The kids at the party suggested all these really violent names. Widow-Maker. Throat-Ripper. Luger. They said a bit scary dog needed a big scary name and…I didn’t want to look lame.”

“What did you want to call him?” the demon asked.

“Dunno. I had one I liked but…I mean…it was dumb,” he confessed. “Stupid kid stuff.”

“Call him that next time, Adam.” A hand with long, thin fingers fell on his shoulder, squeezed gently. “Every creature prefers to be called his real name.”

The demon started walking again, and Adam followed.

--

--

For those curious, Crowley’s new glasses:

I wanted something a bit more relaxed post-Apocalypse. He’s started letting the walls down a little, so we’ve lost the side-shields and gone for a Ray-Ban-style design. I think Aziraphale helped him pick them out, in that Aziraphale was there, saying vaguely encouraging things for each pair of glasses while not really having a strong opinion.