#So they also grow on a plant and you pick them off when they're ripe and then they grow up and get fluffy haha

[alex51324]

Fall Foraging: Pawpaw!

Pawpaw is a tree-growing fruit that is the largest edible fruit native to the United States! It's the most-northern-dwelling species of a tropical fruit family called the Annonaceae. If you are lucky enough to find some, you will definitely notice that they remind you of tropical fruit.

Check out the map below to see if you live in a pawpaw region:

(Image from Wikipedia)

I live near the edge of this fruit's range in Pennsylvania, so I was lucky to be able to find some! I heard about this fruit a couple of years ago, and early this summer I found some pawpaw trees in a nearby park. I've been keeping an eye on them ever since, and this week, they were finally ready to harvest!

Here is my haul of fruits, US quarter for scale:

Don't worry; there's plenty left for the wildlife! These trees grow about 30 feet high, so most of the fruit is out of human reach, but will be enjoyed by various species of birds and mammals when it falls to the ground. Here's a cluster of fruits just out of my reach, zoomed way in:

Here are some fruit clusters, non-zoomed:

You can recognize the trees because they have a slim trunk with smooth bark, and huge leaves. In early spring, they have purple-brown flowers:

(another Wikipedia photo).

The fruits start forming in late spring/early summer, and once the fruit is visible, there's really nothing else in this region that you could mistake for them. The immature fruits can be hard to spot among the leaves, but as they grow, they start to bend the branches down with their weight, and they become easier to see.

(Note: a tree that looks an awful lot like a pawpaw but doesn't have either fruits or nuts could well be pawpaw--in order to produce fruit, they need to be fertilized by a genetically distinct individual, so trees that are isolated or surrounded by their own clones may not produce fruit. The other common tree in the same range with similarly-sized leaves is the hickory, so if it has the big leaves but has small nuts growing on it, that's a hickory.)

Here's the park pawpaw patch from a little distance away:

The trees along the edge of the water, on the left-hand half of the picture, are pawpaws.

The fruits are ready when they start to feel a little soft, and easily break off the stem when pulled. Really ripe ones may fall of when you shake the branch. Here's how they look cut open:

Inside, there's a soft pulp and a lot of large, lima-bean-sized seeds. The pulp is the only edible part. Pick out the seeds, then scrape the pulp out with a spoon. It tastes sort of banana-y, and sort of like candy that's labeled "tropical fruit" with no further details. It's neat!

It's also a good reminder that most of the fruits we regularly eat have been modified by domestication to decrease the size of seeds and increase the edible part. There isn't a lot of "meat" on these guys--just a few big spoonsful from each palm-sized fruit. (You can get a little more by carefully sucking the pulp off the seeds, but I only did that with a couple of them, because they're very slippery and I'm not sure how bad it would be to accidentally swallow one. I decided to err on the safe side.)

You may have to be a bit lucky to find a fruiting pawpaw tree, but if you do, there isn't much chance of misidentifying it, so in that sense, it's a good species for beginner foragers.

If foraging on public land, be sure to check the laws and regulations--here in Pennsylvania, it's OK to forage "reasonable amounts for personal or family consumption" in our state parks, but it varies.

In terms of ethics-of-foraging, pawpaws are also pretty easy, because harvesting them does no harm to the plant, and there will probably be plenty of fruit that you/other foragers can't reach, and that by default is reserved for the wildlife.

(Additionally, the large seed size suggests that the pawpaw probably evolved a seed dispersal strategy based on extinct megafauna. It's likely that humans have been substituting for the original disperser species since the last ice age. All you have to do is put the seeds somewhere they have a chance of growing--i.e., not the garbage--and the tree has successfully gotten its seeds dispersed by a mammal, which was why it grew the fruit in the first place.)

(I found a lone, fruitless pawpaw tree in a different part of the park where I got these, so I thought I'd return the seeds there, because I am a conscientious mammal.)

[hoofusdoofus]

Ahhh, Helium day… A day like no other in the deercowsheepie household…

It's a day Eli bashfully looks forward to every year, given that the forest prince gets to set about on one of his more… eccentric rituals! Massive floor dragging tummy sloshing about as he shuffles off for his daily waddle throughout his glenn, that pudge-filled promande huffed and puffed through with a sense of purpose!

Heavy hoofsteps echoing across the glade, THWUMPHing and sending the earth beneath him trembling as he squeezes that enormity through the foilage, lard laden rolls dimpling and pancaking as they're wedged and unwedged from the thicket in turn, spilling and sagging and pooling to fill and overflow any bit of space it can find as that underbelly brushes through the underbrush. Finally coming to rest at a peculiar little clearing, because you see! 'round this time of year there's a strange little corner of the forest burgeoning out of control - a trait soon to be shared by a certain blubberbuck/doughydough!

Peculiar little puffshrooms spewing spores high into the air from the feet of a thicket of towering sufflo trees, colorful fruits hanging ripe and heavy from their branches, plump as can be… Unassuming as they may seem though, they propagate in quite the interesting way! These plants have developed a bit of a symbiotic relationship

Growing at the base of the sufflo tree, these mushrooms feast upon dead leaves and over ripened fruits falling down from the canopy overhead, puffing out clouds of midlly psychoactive spores that cloud the mind and rouse the appetite of any who inhale! Once under the spore's thrall, the newly gluttonous mark makes their way to feast upon the sufflo fruit, only to be met with quite the surprise! Nestled in close with the fruit's seedpods are also little nodules filled to the brim with highly condensed helium. As soon as the victim takes a bite, these nodules burst open and proceed to unload all of that lovely little payload directly into their maw, and in turn, their stomach, scattering seeds to rest all over them alongside the puffshroom spores!

….And as their victim begins to helplessly drift away on the wind, so ballooned out as they are, they help spread seed and spore alike, raining them down upon the earth below! An ecological wonder Eli is oh so admirably keen on making himself an example of! For you see, if left unchecked during their peak season, these plants can rapidly spread far beyond control. So the forest prince, steward of his domain as he is, takes it upon himself to perform a bit of population control! Every year he waddles on over to their territory in his forest, and willingly harvests the sufflo fruit in an effort to Limit the puffshroom's food source while also taking some sufflo seeds out of the rotation in one fell swoop!

….Unfortunately one can resist the effects of the puffshroom so long while picking bushels and bushels of fruit! Deity as he is, its only inevitable that his penchant for indulgence overtakes him and he chows down on a fruit with a resounding HOMPH Before rapidly ballooning outward!

Massive globes of doughy facefat swiftly swelling as a gale of helium is jettisoned directly into that flabby maw of his! HISSSSSSSSing loudly as it spills into that greedy grumblegut, packing in as a seemingly ceaseless stream! billowing forth unburdened, bloating out the blubberbuck's belly, those plush doughy folds and creases pulled increasingly taut, curves growing ever more pronounced as the crest of that frame advances forth, rounding out to increasingly cartoonish proportions…

Letting loose a muffled "mmmrrrrph!!" while he sinks into the sides of his own form, helium filled tonnage surging forth to consume and overwhelm him, stance forced wide as he grows ever lighter on his feet! Hooves buried in the bulk of that stretched hide, plump overfilled rolls bouncing about bouyantly, overstretched expanse of deerblimp plush enough to still have give even when rendered a helplessly wriggling orb… Drifting up and bouncing against the trees as the helium reaches critical mass, enourmous sphere of a body carried into the air, an errant tree branch prodding deep, perhaps a little too deep! Swollen sides ominously CRRRRRRRKING as it sinks in - pushed against that pillowy overfilled hide, helplessly buried hooves wiggling clumsily, desperately trying to grasp on and wrest himself free!

Miraculously managing to find purchase, carefully dislodging himself from the branch while hanging on for dear life as his foothooves drift up over his head, airborne enormity turning him over on himself! Now that he's drifted up over the main sporecloud and managed to find an anchor to hold onto his head'll clear and he can deflate on his own time! But until then he's gonna spend the next few hours stuck up there….

[balkanradfem]

On rain-related pests in the garden

So this year has decided to have one of the most rainy springs I've seen. It's been raining for a week and a half, and the prognosis is rain for another week. It reminds me of the first year of my gardening; we also had incessant rain for almost a month, and everyone was saying it was the absolute worst year for gardening yet. Me, who has not gardened ever before, thought it was the best year ever because I had garden produce like never before in my life (because I never gardened before), and was extremely pleased with it.

So, what does constant rain mean for gardening?

It means different things for different plants. Peas, for example, absolutely love it. Wet and cold is their ideal growing conditions, they're having a great time and growing visibly bigger every single day. Peppers are also having a great time! They love being watered and being watered constantly makes sure they'll produce some good roots. I've also noticed cabbage and kale doing very well in the rain, potatoes seem pleased, and all of the squash and the beans I've planted are coming out of the ground, and I'm guessing they're growing roots and waiting for sunshine to do better. Tomatoes, however, are not pleased at all. They're prone to getting sick if their leaves get water and then dirt on them, and since they're all small and close to the ground, they're getting dirty easily. They're also struggling to draw enough nutrients from the ground in the cold, so some are turning black, and others are a little frozen in time, just waiting until it's sunny again so they can grow.

There's a common problem in the community gardens, and people's gardens in general, where this much ran can cause a flood, meaning your plants can get their roots and stalks completely covered in water, and they do not enjoy or tolerate that. Plants that are drowning end up with their roots rotted away; it can happen to seeds as well, if they're completely underwater, they'll rot before managing to sprout.

There's another, equally big problem with this much rain – the slugs are thriving. Slugs have gotten into everyone's garden, and they're eating, well, almost everything in sight. I have had a good share of my baby bean plants eaten away, and I'm seeing big pieces of my baby cabbages missing. Beans seem to be their favourite, they're focused on annihilating them instantly, but they'll also happily eat strawberries when ripe, lettuce, cabbage, peppers, green beans, and anything that is pulled out of the ground and rotting. I actually found most of the slugs in my garden feasting on some old plants and weeds I pulled out that started rotting, there's something irresistible in it to slugs, apparently. So what can you do about slugs?

There's many tricks and methods commonly used and shared, like, put a container of beer in the ground, and they'll all drown in there. They can get picked off and eaten away by a specific variety of ducks. Some people will grow plants that are specifically alluring to slugs to distract them from their other garden produce, others will just go ahead and use diatomaceous earth or some kind of poison to get them to go away. I've never tried any of that; my true and tried method is picking the slugs off, and putting them somewhere else. It takes a lot of dedication and time, but it seems to work; if you're constantly in the garden and picking slugs away, they don't manage to reproduce, so you don't have to deal with their babies next year. With this much rain though, you'll get slugs no matter what you do, they can easily slide to your garden from any patch of grass nearby. Their eggs can also last for several years underground so eradicating them is completely impossible.

If you're trying to pick off your slugs, you need to know how to find them; slugs are not out there and eating your produce all day. They come out early morning, late evening, and after the rain stops. I will usually pick early morning or late evening to visit the garden, and pick them off once a day. It's good to remember to take some gloves so you do not have to deal with the slime (though apparently it's very healthy for the skin), and it's good to have a little container to put them in, so you can easily gather a lot before taking them away.

I found it's easier to find slugs if you're out there weeding and fertilizing, then you catch glimpses of them more easily than when you specifically go and look for slugs. We humans have the advantage of seeing the world from way higher above than slugs, and we tend to move a bit faster, so walking for 2-3 minutes and releasing slugs away from the garden, can disorient them from easily finding your garden again; it's likely they'll find something else to eat closer to their destination. I've never had slugs return in any significant number, it's more likely that you'll get new slugs who are just living closer to your garden.

From the book about 'pests' I've read recently, it's described that killing them largely does not work at all, because it's the food source for the animals that determines how fast they reproduce. So I don't think annihilation is possible, if you're creating a food source, they'll take it as a hint to reproduce at a higher rate, since resources are made available for them to do so. If you're introducing a species that is a predator, you have to count on that species reproducing massively as well, as you've put them in an environment with a large food source. Dislocating the food source, making it unavailable, or dislocating the animal that is eating your produce, so they can't find it again, could potentially hint them into slowing down reproduction, as they're not seeing any food source nearby, I think that's why this method works.

Another problem that is appearing in the garden as the result of the ongoing rain are ants. Ants by themselves are not that harmful to plants, but you know what they do? They'll farm leaf-lice on your plants. They'll find a plant and let lice put their eggs there and then guard the eggs and have bunch of lice eat all of your plants and it's terrible. So ants also need to get a little displaced and find somewhere else to build their farms other than your garden! I've not figured this one yet; I know you can mix 2 anthills in order to create an ant war and have them annihilate each other, but I don't want to make that kind of historical ant drama. I'll look into other options!

[rjalker]

[ID: Seven pictures of a creeping cucumber plant and several of its fruits.

The first three pictures show fruits, both ripe and unripe hanging on the plant. The fruits are small green ovals that range from light to dark green with light spots, like tiny cucumbers, to smooth black. The leaves are light green and spiky. A fw tiny yellow flowers are visible.

The next four pictures show a white hand holding several ripe fruits, then holding them up to unripe fruits to show the difference. The last picture shows a different handful of ripe fruits that are partly dried and winkled, all of them solid black.

End ID.]

Creeping cucumbers that are being collected to save seed from from our plant, which we took as a cutting from a wild plant two years ago. The original plant, unfortunately, has been murdered by McDonalds, so this is all that remains. I will make sure some of the seeds are planted in the wild to continue the genetic line. 🫡 [a saluting emoji].

The ripe fruits from this species are not safe to eat, they have extreme laxative properties when eaten by people, but are eaten by many other types of wild animals. We are only harvesting them to save seeds.

The unripe fruits, the green ones with the spots, are safe to eat, and as their name implies, taste like tiny cucumbers. Because this is just a tiny itty bitty cousin of the domestic cucumber.

This species is native to North America, and if you're in or around Savannah, Georgia, at the very least, you can find it in a lot of places if you know what to look for.

We have it in a pot with a tomato cage, but eventually we'll have to get it a proper trellis, as these can grow big enough to climb up trees and hang their fruits 30ft overhead.

fun fact - fire ants will also be happy to eat the ripe berries, which I know because of trying to save seeds from one that had climbed a tree and had to wait until its ripe fruits fell down.

The scientific name is Melothria pendula, because the fruits hang from the vine like the pendulum of a clock.

A lot of scammers online will call them "mouse melons" and photoshop the inside to be red and claim they're tiny watermelons. Do not fall for it.

To save seeds, as with many small fruits, you place the ripe fruits in a bowl or cup of cool water, squish them, pick out the skins, and strain the seeds through a mesh, or if they're too small for that, drain off most of the water and put them on a paper plate. Let them dry somewhere for at least a week, preferably longer, then store them with a label marking the species, date (at least mark the year), and if applicable, the specific plant they came from.

The seeds for these are little solid yellow-white disks.

We started this clone from pieces of stem buried in soil. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, so take multiple stems (if the main plant is big enough not to hurt it, don't try cloning little babies) and try with multiple containers.

[sysig]

Various DQIX doodles

[innytoes]

21 + 46 and Reggie/Alex/Willie?

Dystopian AU + Blind Date

Anon I am so sorry but I cannot not make this pun. This is a Day of the Triffids AU. Basically, everyone who saw a mysterious asteroid shower woke up blind the next day (which is a huge portion of the population since everyone was really hyped about it). Also there's walking plants who will murder you with their tongues and then feast on your corpse.

Considering the chaotic mess the world was, they'd done alright for themselves, really. It probably helped that the band had been super tight beforehand, and that Carlos and Reggie had been super into zombie apocalypse movies. It was really not that big of a stretch to turn a zombie apocalypse plan into a 'my entire family and the whole world is blinded' plan.

In the beginning, Reggie had been the only one in their group who could see, and that was pure dumb luck. He'd forgotten what day it was, worked a full shift at the coffee shop, worked on the song he'd wanted to show Luke later, and then crashed like thirty minutes before the meteor shower was supposed to start, sleeping through all of it.

So yeah, in the beginning, it had been rough. Terrifying. Getting around as a sighted person had its own perils. Plenty of people were willing to get really violent for their chance at a sighted person to lead them around. They'd quickly worked out a system: Luke up front, Reggie subtly steering his shoulders through squeezes. That way, they moved like the others, didn't attract unwanted attention.

It was better when they'd linked up with Flynn's family. Flynn's mom was blind, had been most of her life. She'd helped the others, taught them how to get around. She's started teaching them braille. Alex' little sister, Stevie, and Carlos were picking it up quick as anything. She also loved to garden, so over the summer they'd turned a lot of the available front yard space into edible plants. Reggie's job was to do the morning patrols, finding and burning any triffid podlings that had taken root before they could become dangerous.

That's how he'd found Willie, who had been crouched in front of one of the tomato plants, shoving them in his mouth. He'd spoken before he could think about it, scolding him about not waiting until they were ripe, and Willie had shrugged and said 'they're red aren't they'. Both had realised their mistake almost immediately, but before Willie could run - or skate - away, Reggie had offered him a place to stay.

Willie fit in with their little group perfectly. He was friendly, funny, and just the right amount of chaotic. He was also beautiful, and kind, and great with kids. His laugh was the prettiest sound in the world and he knew how to get pretty much anyone out of a funk. So yeah, Reggie was smitten.

But when he’d seen Alex and Willie grow closer, of course Reggie had taken a step back. Alex deserved the world. Besides, Reggie had other responsibilities, he shouldn’t waste time mooning over some boy. He’d done it before, pushed down his crush on Alex even before the whole world fell apart, and now that was just a dull ache. In time, the same would happen with Willie, and he could move on and be happy for them.

It would be easy to hide his feelings, he figured, since only one person was around to see him. But one day Julie had followed him out during his morning patrol and confronted him about it in the most gentle way she could, and he’d spent an hour just crying in her arms. She’d urged him to talk to Willie and Alex, hinting that there might be feelings there as well, but he’d blown her off, taking her hand and describing the gardens to her while he weeded out any problems. They’d only gone back when Julie had promised his voice didn’t sound all wobbly and hoarse.

He’d forgotten to check if his eyes were still red and puffy. Because of course he had. He hadn’t had to worry about what he looked like in literal years. Which Willie of course noticed. Which had lead to the whole thing coming out anyway, Julie dragging Luke out of the studio by his ear so they could have some privacy.

They’d been dating ever since. And it was perfect. Except dates in the post apocalypse were really more ‘having dinner in the garage alone’ or ‘going to pick the tomatoes together’. It was dangerous to go outside of their little fenced off corner of the neighbourhood. It was hard for Alex to get around in the empty houses on the street, because he hadn’t memorised where everything was.

Still, on the nights the spent together on the pull-out sofa in the garage, the privacy was heaven. Curling up against Alex, playing with Willie’s hair, kissing them both without fear of being interrupted by his little brother or Luke who had an amazing song idea, it was bliss. Tonight, they were discussing things they missed from before the apocalypse. Willie missed skating competitions, and the internet. Reggie was sad they’d never make the next season of his favourite show. Alex sighed, and said he missed the beach.

Which was totally a fixable thing. It had taken them a few weeks, talking to the others behind Alex’ back, making sure everyone was okay with their day trip, preparing the safest route. Willie was the one who usually went outside their neighbourhood, scavenging and skating around. He’d mapped the safest route to the safest beach, getting rid of as many triffids as he could along the way.

But then the day had come. Ray had waited for them at the door, giving him a hug. Reggie had clung to him, nervous. He didn’t want to leave them alone. He’d been responsible for their safety for so long, it felt wrong to leave. Which was exactly why he should, Flynn’s mother had told him firmly, the week before. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Ray said. “You boys deserve this. Go have fun. And Reggie...” He paused, and Reggie tensed. “Remember to wear sunscreen.” Ray winked at him, squeezing his arms before ushering him out of the door. 

The walk to the beach was long, and slightly tense. Willie had a make-shift molotov cocktail in one hand, and Alex’ hand in the other. Reggie was on Alex’ other side, quietly leading them around debris and muttering a running commentary of what he saw around them.

They set off at first light, so they didn’t really run into many people, and they were mostly able to avoid the ones who were out, only stopping to make polite conversation with a group of women lead by an old lady with a guide dog. They told them that the beach seemed to be clear today, as Rover hadn’t alerted once while they heard the waves. They even let Reggie give Rover a quick pet, and Alex joked that whatever happened, Reggie’s day was already made.

When they could hear the waves, Willie climbed one of the palm trees to scout the area, declaring Rover was right and it seemed to be all clear. As soon as they hit the sand, Alex laughed, stopping. He yanked his shoes off, and Reggie smiled, shoving them in his backpack while Willie pulled Alex towards the waves.

They played in the sand and the water for hours, taking turns floating on their backs, splashing at each other, just sitting in the surf and letting the waves crash over them. Kissing each other with salty lips. Eating the lunch that Flynn’s mom had packed them. Laying on their backs and soaking up the sun. Maybe even spreading out the big towel they’d packed and... taking advantage of the privacy they had (after they checked and reassured Alex there was nobody around, of course).

And when they got home, salty and sated and happy, they were welcomed with open arms, a home cooked meal, and a good bit of healthy teasing when the first thing Reggie said when asked how it had been was: “I pet a dog!”

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

[ethereal-not-occult]

patience and the mulberry

"With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown."

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Character(s) of Color, Sericulture, silkworms, past religious trauma, but nothing bad happens in this fic I promise, mixed bookverse w/ TV elements, references to Chinese culture Notes: Originally written for the @goodomensfashionzine​ !

“I'll only be a minute, dear.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek as he opened the door of the Bentley. “You don't have to see me to the door if you don't want to.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sure, angel. Sounds good to me.” The sibilants slid far too quickly past his clenched jaw, and he bit his tongue to stop the instinctive hiss from escaping.

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, but shut the Bentley's door behind him and soon disappeared through the doors of the church. Once he was out of sight, Crowley slumped forward slightly, sliding his sunglasses up and rubbing at his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he felt composed enough to exit the Bentley himself in blatant disregard for the “NO PARKING” sign on the curb.¹

[¹ Given his new job position (or lack thereof), lawbreaking was no longer a necessity, but old habits die hard.]

The bright afternoon sun made him wince a bit, and two robins in a nearby bush were getting frisky in a way he would never be able to unhear, but they made it easier to forget the distant wail of air sirens. Even standing out on the road, Crowley's skin prickled faintly with the remembered sting of consecrated ground.

He pushed the feeling aside and walked resolutely forward. Aziraphale was bound to take his sweet time as he mooned over the church's dusty old tomes, but Crowley had his own investigations to conduct while he waited. No rest for the wicked and all that.

The concrete pavement under his snakeskin shoes gave way to grass, and the tingling sensation in his soles faded. Soon he found himself at his intended destination—an Edenic grove of mulberry trees, clustered together in a ring in the church's backyard. He'd spotted them on the drive over and couldn't resist the temptation of a closer look.

Crowley wandered into the garden with a scrutinizing eye. They were young, for trees, but growing well despite their callowness. A particularly stocky sapling hardly flinched when Crowley gave it a token glare, much to his disappointment. Then again, outdoor plants were rarely as well-behaved as properly cowed houseplants. It seemed this attitude persisted even in ecclesiastic gardens such as these.

He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then reached a hand up into the tree's umbrella-like branches and tugged. The season wasn't quite right for fruits, but he still withdrew clutching a handful of dark ripe mulberries. Hardly apples, but his lips twitched upwards nonetheless. He plucked a berry from the pile and raised it to his lips.

“Zaoshang hao!”

Only a hasty miracle saved Crowley from choking as he jumped and swiveled around. Hovering right outside the churchyard was a middle-aged human, well-dressed and smiling pleasantly at him. Judging by her formal clothing and the Bible she carried, she was a part of the congregation, maybe even the priest herself. Crowley swallowed and stepped backwards.

“Ni shi jiaohui de xinshou ma?” the human called again, picking her way across the dewy grass in his direction. Crowley eyed the Bible she held, willing himself not to break out into hives.

“Um. Wo bu—er, no. I'm not new. Not here for church at all, actually.” He fidgeted and clasped his hands, still full of pilfered mulberries, behind his back. “Just waiting for someone.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “You're welcome to wait inside, if you like,” she said, also switching to English. “I reckon we still have biscuits left from the children's morning service—”

“No!” Crowley said too quickly, and perhaps too sharply. He winced. “I mean. That won't be necessary. I'd much rather stay out here, if it isn't too much trouble.”

The human gave him a Look. Crowley's cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, willing his sunglasses a few shades darker.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Crowley's head shot back up. The human had turned her back to him and was running a hand through the glossy green leaves of the nearest mulberry tree. Crowley could practically see the branches stretch out in delight beneath her touch, like a purring cat.

“Volunteers from our congregation take care of them,” the human continued, smiling at the young tree. “The kids here like raising silkworms, you see, and we welcome them to pick leaves from the trees each week to feed them.”

Silkworms. Of course. Despite himself, a hazy memory rose to the forefront of his mind: Sichuan, China, several hundreds of years ago. A family farm, weathered and cozy and oozing enough sheer goodness to make the average demon ill with it. Crowley wouldn't normally be caught dead in such a place, but he had owed a favour to the angel. His fingers twitched at the phantom memory of butter-soft silk fibres against his skin; long, winding threads that stretched out thin and fine, tangling so easily around his uncertain fingers. With this memory came the golden, moon-round face of a child he hadn't thought about in centuries, grinning toothily as they held out a box to him, a box filled with small pale larvae that wriggled among the spade-shaped leaves. “Zhe jiao can.”

Crowley forced himself to return to the present. The human was speaking to him.

“—waiting on Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Crowley blinked. Shook himself a little. “Yeah. He's helping out with the restoration of some old manuscript or other.”

The human smiled again. It was an unnervingly piercing expression. “I'm aware. I was the one who requested his help. Such a lovely man. Are you a friend of his?”

Crowley tensed. “His husband, actually.”

He braced himself, but the human only brightened. “Goodness, then you must be Mr. Crowley! Mr. Fell talks ever so much about you. Finally gone and tied the knot then, have you?”

Before Crowley could stammer out a reply, something dinged loudly, making him jump. The human pulled a phone out from her pocket and squinted at the screen.

“Sorry, I have to run back inside. But it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Crowley.” She stuck out a hand—thankfully not the one that had been holding the Bible—and after a brief hesitation, Crowley shook it. As quickly as she had arrived, the human disappeared from the garden, leaving Crowley alone and off-kilter amid a grove of mulberry trees.

---

Aziraphale emerged from the church around an hour later to find Crowley seated on the curb next to the Bentley, basking in the last rays of the afternoon sun as he scrolled through his phone.

“My dear,” the angel sighed. His joints creaked as he eased himself down to sit next to Crowley on the roadside. “Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’. “I toured the gardens for a bit. Swiped some fruits, too. The mulberries aren’t half-bad, for a bunch of church plants, but they’ll need a good deal more threatening before they're really up to snuff.”

Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale chewing his lip, brow furrowed as he studied Crowley's face. Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh.

“Really, angel. It's fine. I was hardly bored.”

The expression didn't leave Aziraphale's face. A soft brown hand reached out and brushed aside stray wisps of hair from Crowley's forehead. The demon hadn't bothered to cut it since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and it was growing longer and more unruly by the day.

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand and held it, carefully. He pressed his lips against the well-manicured fingers. “It was years ago, angel, and we both came out of it all right. You don't need to worry about me.”

Aziraphale still looked vaguely distressed as Crowley drew him close. With the sun setting behind him, framing his face and curly dark hair in a golden halo, he was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

He kissed him then, right there on the road, in full sight of the church and probably Someone Else, too, if She happened to be watching at that particular moment. Once, he would've been terrified of such a public display, but he hadn't gone through hellfire and holy water to care anymore about what others thought of them.

As he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley, he noticed abruptly that the angel was carrying what appeared to be a shoebox, of all things, along with his usual camelhair coat.

“What on Earth is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale carefully pushed the box over to Crowley. “Mrs. Lao gave it to me once I'd finished with those manuscripts. She said it was a gift for you, actually. Have the two of you met before?”

Crowley stared down at the box, baffled. “We talked for a bit in the gardens just now, but I can’t imagine why…”

He trailed off, and his mouth dropped open as Aziraphale eased open the lid and beheld the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“Good heavens. Are those caterpillars?”

“Silkworms,” Crowley corrected automatically, leaning in for a closer look. There were so many of them, somehow both smaller and larger than he remembered, all white and wiggly and chomping away busily at the layers of mulberry leaves filling their box. None of them paid any attention whatsoever to their occult observers hovering above them.

“Why would she give you such a thing? Not that they aren't dear little creatures,” Aziraphale added hastily, glancing into the box, “but I doubt I have the means to keep them in the bookshop.”

“No need,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. “I can raise 'em in my flat.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look. “You know how to care for these… insects?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gently shut the lid of the inhabited shoebox and curled a hand around the Bentley's stick-shift. “I've done something like this, before. I know what I'm doing.”

“If you say so.” Suddenly Aziraphale chuckled. At Crowley's affronted look, he demurred, “I'm not making fun, my dear. It's only that you still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

Aziraphale leaned in and pecked Crowley's cheek, making him blush red and sputter. Much to his disgruntlement, the Bentley chirped a light-hearted rendition of Haydn's Crazy Little Thing Called Love all the way home.

---

Crowley had spent the past eleven years co-parenting the Antichrist with Aziraphale.² They had faced this challenge head-on, and in his opinion, it hadn’t gone too shabbily. Now, without the threat of the Apocalypse hanging over his head, becoming a surrogate parent was far less daunting the second time around.

[² Even if young Warlock hadn't really been the son of Satan, it was the principle of the thing.]

Still, Crowley worried. He had always been something of a worrier, and that hadn't changed even after the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley returned to his flat, where he commenced the preparations for introducing his unexpected twenty-odd guests to their new home. This was accomplished by miracling up a small glass aquarium onto his desk, lining the bottom with paper towels, and carefully (read: nervously) placing the silkworms one by one into the tank. Once this was done, Crowley scattered the half-eaten mulberry leaves from the box around the aquarium. The silkworms set upon their interrupted lunch with all the enthusiasm of Aziraphale devouring a meringue pie at the Ritz.

Crowley slumped into his chair, took off his sunglasses with a wince, and rested his chin on his desk, staring into the glass tank.

“I raised your ancestors once, you know,” Crowley informed the wriggling creatures. “Tiny farm in China several centuries back. We'd weave branches together into a tray and let you loose inside. Bit like how manmade beehives work, or something.”

Crowley paused. Watched one silkworm slowly inch its way across a stem to tackle a new section of leaf. “‘Course, humans use wire mesh nowadays, but the general premise is the same. Always thought it was bloody clever, what humans could come up with. If you gave me a bunch of moth larvae and told me to make a living out of them, I definitely wouldn't think to make clothes.” He snorted. “Whoever came up with that, I'd like a glass of whatever they were drinking.”

The silkworms munched on. They ate much faster than they crawled, that was certain. In the quiet walls of his flat, away from prying human eyes, Crowley loosened the knot of his silk tie and tugged it off, easing the tightness around his neck.

“You're the ones who made this, in a sense,” he said, waving the tie at them. He laid the tie beside one glass wall of the tank at just the right angle for the inhabitants within to see. Several silkworms looked up curiously.

Crowley tossed his suit jacket aside, then unbuttoned his shirt collar. He had always prided himself on his sharp, modern attire over the years, the better to tempt humans with—or so he claimed. Despite repeated scoldings from his superiors, his Lust quotas had never been quite up to par.

Sufficiently dishevelled, and feeling all the freer for it, Crowley sank back into his chair to watch the silkworms.

“The only thing I didn't like about the process was the boiling,” he murmured. “Logically, I can see why it was done. And you would all be in cocoons, so it's not like you'd be in any pain. Not like I was.” He exhaled, the sound becoming a low hiss. “But still. Never liked it. Always felt like an awful lot of trouble just for the sake of some silk threads.”

One particularly adventurous silkworm had nosed its way upwards and was now creeping over the edge of the tank opening. Crowley made a mental note to devise a lid of some kind and stuck his finger against the lip of the tank. The silkworm crawled onto his hand without any hesitation. Tentatively, he drew it closer. Its many feet stuck stubbornly to his skin, and it reared up as he approached, swaying slightly, its mandibles twitching.

Crowley stared at the silkworm. The silkworm stared back, and seemed disappointed when Crowley had nothing else to offer. Just to prove it wrong, Crowley materialized a single large mulberry leaf in his other hand and presented it to the insect, who fell upon it with gluttonous enthusiasm.

Staring at the miracled leaf, an idea formed in Crowley's mind. He smiled, slowly.

“I need a hobby, now that I'm jobless,” he said aloud to the silkworm, letting it creep onto his palm. He ran a careful finger over its smooth back. “I think I'll take up sericulture again, for old time's sake.” He reached back into the tank and gently encouraged the silkworm to crawl back inside.

“Humans have to boil you alive to get those nice unbroken threads off your cocoons,” Crowley mused, withdrawing his hand. “Fortunately, I don't have to do things the human way.” He lowered himself until he was eye-level with the inhabitants of the tank. The silkworm he had carried paused in its perpetual eating and turned its head, almost like it was looking at him.

“How's this?” Crowley asked. “You'll be able to grow into a fuzzy, fully grown silk-moth, and I can take your cocoon after you've finished with it and miracle the threads whole again.” He paused and mulled it over. “I guess I could take it a step further and just miracle the finished silk together, but there's still something to be said about the human way of doing things.”

The silkworm bobbed the front half of its body as though in agreement. Crowley smiled again.

“We can make silk, and no one gets hurt. I'm a few hundred years out of practice, but I'm sure I could make it work, somehow.”

The silkworm turned its attention back to its meal. Crowley didn't notice. He was too busy wondering if Aziraphale had any old texts on silk-weaving that he could borrow, just so he could refresh his memory.

The angel would appreciate having a new silk bowtie to add to his collection.

---

Thank you for reading! Replies and reblogs are always much appreciated. <3

[queensnarf]

Well actually, some plants DO want to be eaten. They know they're being eaten because they release pheromones that warn nearby plants and produce a substance that tastes bad to the consumer. For instance, any bitter tasting plant doesn't want to be eaten. Bitter flavor, biologically, is an indication that the plant itself is not meant to be eaten (even though we do it anyway).

For instance, tobacco plants increase nicotine production as a defensive response to stop insects from eating it. It also increases pheromones that attract wasps, so the wasps will eat the bugs that are harming it. But I digress.

There ARE also plants that want to be eaten. For instance, anything that produces fruit WANTS to be eaten. The plant itself keeps it's seeds inside the fruit, and makes the outside sweet to attract animals. The animals that eat it will often spread the developed seeds around the ground, and thus, new plants will grow. Lemme ask this: ever wonder why ripe fruits come off a plant easily, but unripe fruits don't? Also, how come ripe fruit are so bright and colorful and easy to see? The plant literally weakens the stem on the fruit and the fruit becomes easy to spot when it's ready to be picked. It is basically saying "Look over here! Hey this fruit is ready to be eaten!"

Another example is peppers. Peppers are a little different. The spice of a pepper is supposed to scare away mammals. However, it attracts birds. The bright colors (when it's ripe) will attract the eyes of all animals–naturally–but the cool part is which animals are affected by the spice. Animals that are capable of digesting the seeds of a pepper will taste the spice. Animals that cannot digest the seeds (aka birds) will not taste the spice. Those that cannot digest it will have the seeds pass through them, and in turn the seeds will end up in a different place and planted with a natural fertilizer.

Basically, plants know they're being eaten, and you know they want to be eaten if they taste sweet or don't taste spicy or bitter. So there you go.