#also time to start looking at mulch. we have a little and i think it’ll be all we need

[emjaydoubleyou]

with the romas and the zucchinis germinated, transplant is probably only a week away, maybe less. once they have true leaves we’ll start hardening them, and that will only take a day or two.

so, time to consider trellis plans.

we have some bamboo and twine, which will hopefully be enough to make a simple DIY solution that will be cheap, reusable, and if it truly breaks, compostable. so expect to be flooded with pics of those in a week or so lol

the grape and roma tomatoes are technically bush and not vine, but i think we’ll trellis anyway to keep the fruit off the ground. we do really minimal pest control, and preventative measures like that are part of it. not that that’s ever stopped an aphid, but maybe a slug or two...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So i just worked my ass off and retail is always crummy this time of year so I’m gonna escape with some sweet Arvin Russell writing. 

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The spring air was warm as the breeze swept over the low fence and fluttered the tails of shirts hung across the line. You grabbed two pegs and a swathe of damp fabric and stretched it over the cord, pinning it in place before moving along. Your old machine had taken much of the day to wrangle and had even received a kick. It was decades old, an heirloom inherited with the old country house and much more clunky than the modern machines. Not many in the county had anything more than the old wringing machines.

Roy would be home soon. Your husband hated to hear about how the wringer jammed so easily and the fear that your fingers might again be bruised by the mechanism. Even so, you were certain it wouldn't last for much longer. It's rattles foretold its imminent fate. You'd be back to a bucket and board soon enough.

As you hung the last piece, Roy's oil stained overalls, you heard the putter of the truck. You picked up the woven basket and headed for the gate along the front of the house. You waved as he pulled up, tires loudly mulching the dirt, and you stopped short as he came to a jagged halt. He wasn't alone and you were stillwearing your grimy and wet apron.

Roy pushed his door open so roughly it creaked. He stepped out and gave an exaggerated stretch as he glanced across the roof of the truck and slammed the door.

"Don't forget your bag, boy," he growled at the other man as he felt around the chest pocket of his overall for his smokes. "Looks like you're too late for laundry day."

"Roy?" You unclasped the gate and opened it as Roy stomped across the gravel and lit up a smoke, "How was your day?" 

You peeked over at the other man who climbed out of the truck. He wore similar overall, though they were unbuttoned over a greasy white shirt, and he was shorter and thinner than your husband. He reached back into the truck and grabbed a long military style duffel before he swung the door shut. 

Your husband grumbled and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

"We have a guest?" You asked as you stayed by the gate.

"Arvin Russell," Roy flicked the ash away, "You remember I was talkin' 'bout renting out the attic."

"Um, yes," you blinked as the other man, Arvin, neared meekly. Roy had mentioned the idea once when he noticed the way his truck had started rumbling.  "It'll need a good dusting."

"So you better get on that." Roy coughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," you answered and turned back to smile at the other man as he bowed his head and passed through the gate.

"Hello, missus," he said kindly, "Nice to meet ya. I work with your husband, says you're a fine cook."

"The one thing she can do," Roy muttered as he ambled up the steps of the porch and dropped onto the bench sat by the window. "You go grab us some bottles."

You closed the gate behind Arvin but he waited for you to precede him before going any further. He was surprisingly polite for any man who worked at the shop. 

"Yes, Roy," you hid your disappointment. Those nights when Roy started drinking before dinner rarely ended well.

"Can I just have some water?" Arvin asked as he followed you onto the porch, "Please. I didn't get to my lunch today so I'm not really feeling like drinking."

"Of course," you said, "If you're hungry, I got a box of crackers and some cheese I can bring out."

"Thank you but I'd hate to spoil dinner." Arvin sat on the end of the bench and kept his bag between his feet as Roy threw away his cigarette. "Thank you both for having me."

You nodded and quickly skirted inside. You were a bit confounded by Roy's sudden burst of generosity. He rarely did anything for anyone else. To think he'd offer a room to a coworker was unlike him.

You went to the old fridge, marked with dings and dents, and wiggled the handle until it opened. You remember the day you Pa had broken the handle, he'd always promised to fix it but had only managed to make it worse. You missed him. It was easy to miss him in this old place. His wedding present to you and Roy. It was too tragic he hadn't lived long enough to see you enjoy it.

You grabbed a brown bottle then filled a tall glass from the tap. You went back to the door and opened it with your elbow. You handed Roy his beer as Arvin stood to accept his glass of water.

"Thank you," he chimed but your husband only popped the cap of his beer with his teeth and glared out at the yard.

"Well dinner is in the oven still. I'll just be finishing that before I get started in the attic." You told Roy but he only shrugged and gulped down the beer. "Let me know if you boys need anything." 

"Peace and quiet," Roy snarled. "S'all I need right now."

Arvin gave a sympathetic look and traced his thumb along the side of the glass. You hid your discomfort and retreated inside. That was just Roy. He was always in a mood after work. An hour or two and he would mellow out. The beer would surely help.

🚬

When you finished supper, you called the men in to eat. Roy started his second beer as Arvin remained quiet and awkward at the table. You didn’t say much as you pondered the work still left to be done. You had to tidy the attic before the night ended and collect the laundry from the line. You would also have to clear the table and clean up the mess of your cooking.

You stood before the men finished. You scraped your untouched scraps into the dish of leftovers and placed the glass lid on it. You scoured the loaf pan as you listened to the clink of cutlery on plates and set the pots on the drying rack. You returned to the men to gather their empty dishes and Arvin thank you as Roy belched and stood with a satisfied but gruff rumble.

Arvin watched you as you tried to ignore the pity in his face. You knew your husband wasn’t the most loving or vocal, but he was yours and he worked hard. You turned away and went back to the kitchen. You finished washing the last of the glassware and dried it before stacking it in the cupboards.

As you passed through the dining room, Arvin was gone and you could hear the buzz of the radio from the front room. Roy always liked to listen to the game after he ate. Sometimes you sat with him and crocheted or read but not often.

You tiptoed upstairs and found the footstool hidden in the bottom of the linen closet. You climbed onto the step and reached up to unhook the cord of the attic door. It dangled down and you pulled it carefully as you backed off the stool and kicked it away. The steps unfolded and you barely stepped out of the way of their descent as the heavy wood thumped against the carpet.

It had been a while since you ventured up to the third floor. There was only dust and forgotten memories up there. You slowly made your way up and sneezed as you reached the top. A wall of boxes blocked the window along the front of the house and shrouded furniture sat beneath grimy sheets.

You started with the boxes. You took one and peeked under the flaps. Some old oil lamps hoarded by your father from his own parents. You awkwardly made your way back down to the second floor and placed the box at the bottom. When you had them all down, you’d take them into your father’s old room to store. Perhaps you should sort through them at last and get rid of the unneeded artifacts.

You were six boxes deep when you were startled by a shadow in the open hatch. You exclaimed and nearly dropped your armful as Arvin poked his head through and peered over at you.

“Arvin,” you gasped. “My apologies, this place is a mess.”

“Not so bad,” he climbed up and stood, “You need some help?”

“Don’t be silly, I can manage--”

“You’re right. It’s a mess,” he insisted, “A lot for just one person.”

You stared at him and gave a small smile. He was funny. He neared you and reached out for the box in your arms.

“How about this, I’ll stay on the ladder and you bring the boxes to me and I’ll take ‘em down.” He took the box gently from you, “It’ll be much quicker.”

You looked into his soft brown eyes and let him. He backed away and cautiously made his way down the ladder. You turned and grabbed another box and he reappeared through the hatch. You handed him the box of figurines and he retreated once more. You carried on and soon, the boxes were stacked high on the lower floor.

“Alright,” Arvin climbed up and dusted off his hands, “Already lookin’ better.”

He neared the old sofa against the wall and pulled off the sheet. He coughed as the dust was kicked up and it soon turned into a chuck as he waved away the cloud.

“We can keep this here,” he draped the sheet over his arm and pulled the next from the tall lamp with the glass shade, “Move this into the corner,” he continued on and peeked under a sheet before unveiling the tall shelf, “If you don’t mind, of course?”

“Not at all. We should’ve sold all this years ago.” You teetered on your heels anxiously. Every piece reminded you of your father. “There’s a cot folded up over there,” you pointed behind a hidden end table, “But that wouldn’t be much better than the floor.”

“It’ll do,” he assured you and turned to sit on the sofa. He bounced as he hugged the sheets. “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a bed down in my pa’s room. We could try to bring it up tomorrow. If you don’t mind offerin’ a little more help.” You wrung your hands. You were never very good with strangers and Roy’s friends often weren’t much nicer than him. You were tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think I could do that,” he stood and wiggled his nose as a sneeze threatened. “You got a broom? Maybe a duster?”

“You’ve done enough, I can finish it--”

“Ma’am, I’m a guest in your home. I might be paying for the room but it doesn’t make you my maid,” he intoned, “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t think I’ve eaten so well since before my momma died.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” you uttered. “I--”

“Now, don’t be sorry,” he cooed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I assume you lost your daddy if his bed is free.” 

You nodded dumbly and blinked.

“Well, at least let me take these,” you reached for the sheets and he hesitated before he let you take them. You struggled to keep them balled up and hugged them against your hip as you turned back to the hatch. “I’ll bring you the broom.”

“Thank you,” he said behind you and you looked back at him as you took your first step down the ladder, “You let me know when you bring that washin’ in and I’ll help you fold.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. Makes me feel a little better about stealin’ your attic,” he assured you.

You looked down and slowly descended. As your feet met the carpet, you sighed and looked around at the boxes. You couldn’t remember a time Roy had ever offered to help with anything. If it wasn’t to do with his truck, he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger.

🚬

You were completely drained by the time you retired to your bedroom. You were still on edge, your exhaustion laced with anxiety as you unbuttoned your blouse. You sat on the side of the bed as you slowly undressed. It was still absurd to you that another person, barely more than a stranger, was living in your home. In your father’s house.

It changed your whole routine. You couldn’t help but go over it in your mind. That meant three plates, not two, for every meal, that meant the laundry basket would fill up quicker, than meant the shoes tracks in the front entrance would need to be mopped up more often. That mean you had to act like your marriage was truly happy.

You pulled on your night gown, the short sleeves tickled your upper arms as you dropped your clothes in the wicker basket on your chest of drawers. A framed photo of your parents’ wedding day sat beside it and on the shelf beside the door, was your own wedding portrait.

Three years wasn’t so long but it felt an eternity. You couldn’t quite recall when Roy had changed. When the beer had started to taint his kisses and his words. When all pretense fell away and only the man remained. The brutish country boy with the churlish demeanour.

Maybe the first day of your marriage. Maybe. You were so nervous on your wedding night that it angered him. You’d mend your dress one day, hopefully when you had a daughter of your own so you had something to promise her. 

Or maybe a week after the wedding, when you broke the vase gifted to you upon your nuptials and it shattered across the floor. Roy’s booming voice and his boulder-like fists.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, a month in when the world went black with his hand on your throat and you awoke alone on the kitchen floor.

Maybe a year when your finger was dislocated by a slammed door. Maybe the next year when you couldn’t sit for the pain in your hips. Maybe the one after when he’d grown impatient for a child only to find your sheets soaked in blood. 

Maybe it had always been there, from the first date, but you’d simply refused to accept it. Not you. Not Roy. You loved him and he loved you, didn’t he?

The door slammed and shook you from your sombre recollections. You looked up as Roy stumbled in. He snickered darkly as your eyes met his and his legs wobbled beneath him drunkenly.

You slid off the bed and turned to plant your elbows on the mattress. A prayer before bed, as your grandmother had taught you. Another sarcastic chuckle aimed in your direction as Roy’s stained white tee missed the basket.

“On your knees for me already,” he sat beside your elbow as he unbuckled his belt.

You couldn’t focus on your inner recitation. You could smell the alcohol on him, the stench of oil and his sweat. You clutched your hands together and cleared your throat.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You asked calmly.

He frowned and stood to shove his pants past his knees. He kicked the jeans away and fell heavily back to the bed.

“Call you?” He sneered.

“To let me know about our guest?” You wondered innocently. “I could’ve readied for him better.”

“Workin’,” he growled. “I don’t got time to be callin’ you with my head under an engine. Fuckin’ Christ.”

“There isn’t a bed in the attic.” You said.

“So. Arv’s small enough. I’ve seen him sleep on a stool.” Roy spat. 

You hid your chagrin behind your hands as you pressed them to your lips.

“Why’d you bring him?”

Roy’s nostrils flared and a fist formed atop his hairy thigh. “I gotta explain to you?” He snapped. “He paid me outright and he been sleepin’ at the motel since he started.”

“Mr. Dace has a room--”

“Mr. Dace lives twice as far as we do. I did the kid a favour. He saved my ass his first day.” Roy stomped his foot. “Woulda burned down the whole garage if he hadn’t caught that leak.”

“Kid? He that young?”

“Couple years younger than you, I s’pose, maybe less,” Roy rubbed his cheeks and shook his head, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Curious,” you said quietly and closed your eyes as you rested your chin on your knuckles.

Roy was quiet. He let out a long, thick breath and the bed jolted beneath your arms.

“You finished bleeding?” He asked gruffly. 

“I’m praying, Roy,” you insisted.

“How long’s it take you? I’m sure God’s heard it all before.”

“Don’t talk like that, R--”

You squeaked as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arms away. He rose and lifted you with him. Always a strong man, he moved you like a puppet to his will. He took your other wrist and pulled you against him.

“You know, I don’t even care if you’re bleeding.” He turned you and shoved you onto the bed. You cried out as you bounced so hard you bit your tongue.

“Roy, please, I’m tired,” you stared up at him fearfully as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You could taste blood.

“You’re my wife. You do your duty.” He pushed his underwear down as his cock twitched. “You got energy to wash all them clothes, you can lay on your back for your husband.”

“Roy--”

“Shut up!” He shouted. “We got company. I don’t need ya keepin’ him up with your whining.”

You closed your eyes as he fell onto you. He crushed you beneath him as he tugged your skirt up harshly. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and you braced yourself for his painful intrusion. Even so long into the marriage, you had never grown used to his touch.

He retracted his hand and began to touch himself. He stroked his cock as he swore under his breath.

“Fuck. Come on.” He moved his hand quicker and rubbed his soft tip against your folds. “Open up.” 

He forced his dick against your entrance and tried to push inside. He was still half-flaccid and struggled to get further than an inch. You balled your hands and sank your head into the mattress as he thrust. He fell out of you, softer than before.

You opened your eyes sat up on his knees and looked down at his limp dick. He gritted his teeth as you watched him.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he punched your stomach as hard as he could and you wheezed as you folded in on yourself. “Can’t even keep me hard.”

“Roy--” You hissed. “I’m s--”

“One more word and you’ll be real sorry.” He pushed himself from between your legs, making certain to pinch you as he did.

He stood and turned. You barely moved out of the way before he sprawled over his side of the mattress. You held your stomach, a painful pressure lodge there, and rolled to the edge of the bed. You reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp. 

As you laid back, Roy caught the back of your neck and kept you in a painful limbo.

“On the floor,” he jarred your neck as he tried to throw you off the bed. “Like the dog you are.”

You slid off the side and landed sharply on your knees. You stifled a shameful sob and lowered yourself down onto your side. You bent your knees and cushioned your head on one arm. You stared into the void beneath the bed as the frame groaned beneath Roy’s heavy body.

“Goddamn bitch,” he uttered groggily. “Fuckin’--”

His words turned to snores as he finally drowned in his bellyful of beer. You listened to his jagged, drunken breaths as you shivered on the cold wood. You closed your eyes and recalled the first night you’d slept on the floor. You’d been in much poorer shape and it had been the dead of winter.

At least, you didn’t have to sleep next to him.

[pascalpanic]

At Last (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Summary: you, Frankie, and your fur baby go camping! Little does Frankie know what you have planned.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, alcohol, food, language, otherwise, this is toothaching fluff!

A/N: SAMMY MY BELOVED @sanchosammy GAVE ME THIS IDEA! I hope it’s as cute as I think it is :) also, Charlie (Frankie’s pup) isn’t involved in this fic but she is still part of the fam :)

Pine trees surround you on either side, tall and majestic. You can see the blue-gray sky patching through the canopy; the clouds are leaving, but some linger a little longer to clog up the sky. The air is warm and slightly humid, but a wonderful breeze rustles through the trees and rushes across your bare arms. Your trail shoes squelch underfoot in the damp ground. You sigh, totally content with this moment. 

Frankie’s flannel is tied around his waist, leaving him in his khaki cargo pants and t-shirt. A couple of curls peek out from under his ball cap, turning into little ringlets at the nape of his neck. He walks in front of you on the trail, his boots pressing prints into the soft ground. His back profile is beautiful, even with the large camping pack, and you can’t help but grin. 

Foxtrot embodies her name- Frankie is holding her leash, and the auburn and white dog trots up ahead of him, sniffing along the mulched and muddied path. The air smells of humidity that’s just passed over and that wonderful accompanying petrichor. Fox’s white paws are surely getting dirtied, but that’s only to be expected. You don’t care, too excited to watch your boyfriend and dog walk ahead of you. 

Frowning at the bend of Frankie’s back, you catch up and take his free hand. “Let me carry something, baby.”

“No,” he shakes his head, lacing his fingers through yours. “You have important cargo,” he teases and pats your back lightly. 

Strapped to your back, in a backpack-style blue case, is your ukulele. One hand carries the cooler, slung over your shoulder, filled with food and drinks for tonight. Frankie carries the heavy-duty stuff- the tent, stakes, more essential supplies. “At least let me take Fox.”

Her red ears perk up at her name and she stops, turning and growing excited, as if she forgot you were there. “Yeah, hi Foxy!” You coo as she runs towards you, jumping with her front paws in the air in excitement. “Yeah, you love it out here, don’t you?” You ask her in a baby voice, scratching behind her ears as she circles around your legs and prevents you from moving. Frankie drops her leash in order to prevent your legs from being tourniqueted by it, and it drags behind her in the mud. 

When you pick up the leash, it’s sludgy and damp, but you don’t mind too much. You continue the hike forward and Frankie and Fox follow at your sides, both beaming ear to ear and enjoying the serenity of the woods. 

Frankie picked the campsite, so he’s technically leading the way, but the trail is fairly straightforward, meaning you don’t need to be led. Frankie points out wildlife here and there: chipmunks, rabbits, cardinals and chickadees flitting through the pine-needled canopy. He’s in his element, and you’re in yours: with him. 

The mud gives way to drier ground ahead, and luckily enough Frankie pulls off to the side. It’s the perfect spot, with a beautiful little field of wildflowers. “Welcome to your five-star hotel for the night, babe,” he assures you and kisses you softly, making you giggle and kiss him back with excitement and a pinch of nerves in your stomach.

There’s a routine the two of you have silently adopted. Frankie sets up the small tent, just big enough for the two of you and Fox. You gather kindling, set up a fire, arrange the chairs and all-around make the outdoor area of your campsite ideal.

Frankie is a man of patience, truly, but sometimes the little portable tent proves to be a challenge. You allow Fox off of her leash, knowing she’s well-trained enough to stick around the site, and find your way to the mess of fabric and stakes covering the man. “Baby. For the love of God, we do this all the time,” you tease.

“Well, something must’ve fucking changed,” he grumbles as he fiddles with the parts. You get on your knees on the soft bed of dried pine needles and help him out. With your help, the tent takes no time at all to put up, and you stand and brush off your hands. Frankie gives you a sheepish smile and you give him a kiss. 

The two of you don’t need to converse while you set things up. You enjoy the woods, the rustling of the wind and chirping of birds. Fox curls up on the blanket you set out for her, and when everything is done, you unzip the cooler and hand Frankie a beer. “Well, now we’re all set.”

“Let the fun begin,” he chuckles and twists the top open, clinking his glass bottle to yours. 

“So, Francisco,” you smile over at him. “What do you have planned for this trip? I know you have some sort of plan laid out up there,” you tease and rap on his head softly, through the trucker cap resting there.

He blushes a little and looks away. “I don’t always have a plan.”

“Hey.” You turn his face back to yours by the chin. “You do and I absolutely love it. Now tell me about it, please, baby.”

Frankie removes his hat and runs a hand through his curls. “Well, I figured we could start the fire soon, cook dinner over it. It’ll get dark pretty quick. Then hang around the campfire, maybe play some of the games I packed.”

“Is a quiet tumble in the tent on the cards?” You ask him with a teasing grin, nudging his side. 

He shrugs, jokingly, as if he’s considering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t squeeze that in. We only have, oh… three hours of time in between these plans.”

“Then we’ll use all three of those hours,” you shrug and steal a kiss, smiling into his lips. “I love you. And I love it out here.” You were never a nature person before Frankie, usually preferring indoors adventures to hiking or camping. Frankie looks like he belongs out here, and he probably thinks he does. Even if you didn’t enjoy the fun of outdoors adventuring, you’d have at least one thing to enjoy: Frankie’s excitement and enthusiasm over it. “Thank you.”

Fox is curled at Frankie’s feet, and he bends over to scratch her ears, running his fingers through her scruffy fur. “Thank you, baby. For coming out here with me and putting up with all of this. I couldn’t ask for a better adventure partner.”

-

You do, indeed, cook dinner over the fire. You’d prepped all kinds of chopped vegetables to be grilled over an open flame, and had additionally packed pre-cooked hot dogs as well as s’mores ingredients. Frankie is a firm believer that it’s not camping if it doesn’t include graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

Luckily, your Frankie is a skilled griller. He always is, always has been. He takes care of the cooking part, since you prepared everything else, though he lets you hold the hot dogs over the fire to roast. “I feel like I’m at camp again,” you laugh as you slowly rotate the food over the fire.

Frankie is taking charge of the vegetables, expertly. They’re getting a beautiful char, you notice. “It’s much better, because you don’t have to sneak around to make out with your boyfriend at night, huh?” He teases and tosses you a grin. 

“But I get my boyfriend all to myself,” you nod and confirm. “And I have my baby girl with me,” you coo as you rub Foxtrot’s head, where she’s resting at your side.

The meal is delicious, of course, when the two of you work together and each used your strong skills. Frankie slips bites to Fox when he thinks you’re not looking, of course, but it’s endearing, the way the dog’s big brown eyes mirror those looking down at her.

There’s not much conversation while you eat, mouths occupied with food rather than speaking. That’s alright. There’s plenty of time for that tonight and tomorrow.

The sun starts sinking lower when Frankie brings the marshmallows from the tent. “Guess what time it is!” He exclaims as he rips open the bag, skewering two marshmallows and holding them over the fire.

Like he’s a skilled griller, he’s also a wonderful marshmallow-toaster. Frankie toasts yours to perfection, just the way you like it, and you do your part as the s’more-sandwicher, shoving the marshmallow between the graham crackers and chocolate.

There’s no signal out here, and you agreed neither of you would use your phones unless an emergency happened. Frankie frowns as he sees your phone. “Hey. Put that away. Don’t use that.”

“There’s an emergency, Frankie,” you whine, opening the camera app with one hand and eating the sugary dessert with the other.

“And what’s that?” He asks, taking a bite of his s’more. 

Strings of gooey marshmallow connect the sandwich to his lips, making him laugh, and you snap a picture at the perfect moment: Frankie’s closed-lipped smile as his s’more falls apart on him. “You’re too damn cute, that’s the emergency,” you laugh and set the photo as your lock screen, tossing it away.

Frankie’s schedule actually worked itself naturally. After the s’mores and a wet-wipe hand-washing to remove the endless marshmallow from Frankie’s hands, you find yourself sitting around the fire, no light left in the sky. When you look up, all you can see is inky blue and pine trees, the stars yet to make their nightly rise. 

“I have a song request,” Frankie asks and raises his hand like a child in a classroom.

“Yes, Francisco?” You tease as you walk to the tent, grabbing your ukulele and returning with it, sitting back in your lawn chair with it. “Hit me.”

“Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel. No, wait- Country Roads.”

Laughing, you noodle around with the strings for a moment. You knew this moment would come, and here’s the opportunity. “I can play all of those and more, Frankie. We’ll do the Billy Joel first,” you nod decisively.

Frankie sounds like the forest wolves at night when he sings along. He absolutely howls, taken away by the song, taken to a place where his voice isn’t just a little on the rougher end of good. He belts the words and dances along in his seat, like you do.

Then Country Roads. You thought the last one was bad before you hear Frankie’s booming voice echoing the ballad of West Virginia through seemingly the entire preserve. But you don’t care in the slightest. You sing along proudly, strumming your ukulele harder and harder until you’re sure you can’t add any more volume before snapping a string. 

After the song, you pause and rest your ukulele flat on your lap. “Frankie, baby. Can I ask you something?”

He nods, smiling over at you. “Any time. What’s up, buttercup?” He asks, taking one of your hands and kissing the knuckles.

“Will you marry me?” You ask. The question is straight and to the point, blunt and honest. Your face conveys your hope, and the grandiose speech follows. “I love you beyond belief, Frankie. I love you almost as much as you love these woods. I know you love me too. I just… think it’s time. We’ll be perfect for it. What do you say?”

You can feel Frankie’s slightly-chapped lips curve into a smile against your hand. He’s grinning and then he’s crying, soft water droplets forming in the corners of his eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he grins, grabbing your ukulele and setting it aside.

Once the ukulele is on the ground, Frankie stands in front of your chair and lifts you to your feet, kissing you with such fervor you can’t help but gasp. When he breaks away, you smile, eyes watering too. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of proposals, but-”

“It was the most us,” Frankie cuts you off with a teary grin. “I would be honored to be your husband, my love. You really want me enough to do that?”

“Frankie,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand. “You are the best husband I could ever want, could ever dream for,” you assure him and kiss his nose gently.

The man laughs, wiping his tears away. “Then let’s get married,” he whoops excitedly, then lets out an excited shout to the woods. “We’re getting married!”

You laugh at his loud and booming declaration, but nothing can detract you for the love and joy in your heart.

When you and Frankie settle down in your chairs again, you pick up the ukulele and finish off with one last beautiful song that you and Frankie have always adored, with a title that truly fits: At Last.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[carpsurprise]

sam stans i come.. bearing a gift.. sooo..

plot: the farmer teaches sam how to plant flowers, despite his clumsy nature

word count: 1.9k

notes: once again, gn!farmer. this is.. way more than i usually write but i felt particularly inspired... and we all know i love sam, put under a read more bc it is a little long. i’m also posting this on ao3! don’t be surprised if another sam writing comes up soon... 

A quiet sigh left the farmer’s mouth, their eyes focusing on Sam’s clumsy, gloved hands handling the delicate flowers. He tipped the young flowers from their nursery containers with care, mindful of the placement of his fingers against the dirt and the positions of the leaves. The empty nursery container was thrown haphazardly on the ground, making the farmer’s eyebrow quirk for just a moment before returning their attention back to Sam. With the young flower held in both of his hands, he shot the farmer a nervous glance.

“Heh,” he chuckled, heat starting to creep up the back of his neck, “thought you bought seeds from Pierre? I didn’t think you’d plant already blooming flowers.”

The farmer shrugged. “They’re still nice. Besides, those are more for decoration than anything— and you asked me to teach you to plant flowers, didn’t you? Teaching you to plant a seed would take a moment.”

“I guess so,” he muttered, still nervously holding the formed potting soil. “Now what do I do, stick it in the ground?”

“You could, or,” the farmer held Sam’s hands gently, allowing him to hear his own heartbeat in his head. The farmer helped support the stem of the plant, gently kneading their thumb and the inside of their pointer finger along the potting soil. The roots of the plant had finally appeared in a jumbled mess. “See, you want to spread out the roots a little so it can get water easier.”

Sam nodded with a dry swallow, watching the farmer’s eyes focus intently on the roots of the flower. They continued, “You want to be super careful, though, they’re very delicate. Just a gentle little touch will be good to separate them out.” 

A few clumps of dirt had fallen from the plant, landing on Sam’s lap and rolling off his thighs back to the earth. The farmer didn’t seem to mind the dirt that covered their legs. He directed his focus back to the flowers in front of him, and off of the farmer’s legs. Sam mirrored the farmer’s actions with his own gloved thumb, trying to smooth out the roots as gently as his clumsy hands would allow. It was funny, he thought, that he could master guitar strings flawlessly, but at a moment of tender precision he seemed to become nervous.

“Mm, that’s good!” The farmer exclaimed, slowly retracting their hands from Sam’s. “Now gently place the flower into the hole we made,” they directed, holding the sides of the parted dirt as Sam lowered the new flower into its forever home. He let go of it with slow hands, helping the farmer pat the parted dirt into the open sides with one hand. Sam let out a breath, retracting himself from the planter box.

The farmer let out a breathy chuckle, moving their trowel to their side. “This is usually relaxing for people.”

“I know.”

“You said you wanted to learn how to plant stuff because of your mom, right?”

Sam groaned, feeling himself get caught up in his own lie. “Yeah. I think it’d make her happy to know I learned, for some reason. I’m afraid she doesn’t think what I do for myself is very… useful.”

“But you’re a wonderful guitar player,” the farmer cried, turning their body to him, “and a wonderful song writer. You’ve got more talent than most in the valley, especially when it comes to music,” they smiled, making Sam’s heart skip a beat.

This is why he came to the farmer in a full sweat, red face, and nervous hands asking them to teach him how to garden. 

He grinned, instinctively moving his hand to scratch at the base of his neck. “Thanks, it means a lot—,” he interrupted himself with a startled gasp, feeling the remains of dirt on his gardening glove slip down his spine. He quickly pulled his hand from his neck, looking accusingly at the dirty, green and yellow gardening glove he had forgotten he was still wearing.

The farmer laughed at his mistake innocently, their shoulders shaking with them. It was charming for Sam, yet felt himself still chilled by the quick surprise of things running down his back. “I’ve forgotten I was wearing my gloves many, many times,” they laughed, “It sorta just feels like normal after a while.

Lifting their hands, also still gloved, they flipped them from the palm to the back of the hand. Sam admired the size of their hands, and the obvious wear and tear of the daily work they do written all over the gloves. 

“Need to get a new pair,” they muttered.

Sam had lit up, splaying his dirty gloves across his jeans without thought. “Oh! Let me buy you a new pair then, you know,” he began to fluster again. He stuttered out his response, weary of making his affections known too soon, “to thank you for teaching me how to do this.”

“Sam, you don’t have to do that. I had a lot of fun! Besides, I needed to do this anyway.”

Sam shook his head, grabbing one of their gloved hands. “No, no, please let me, and then I can get a pair that matches!”

The farmer was silent.

“... If that’s alright with you?”

The farmer snapped out of their little daze from his words, nodding and then reassuring him. Accepting his offer of new gloves, they promised to stick with the pair they have now until Sam came to the farmhouse with his gift. “Oh, Sam, before you leave can you bring home a potted plant for your mother? I’d like to thank her for the fertilizers she’s been sending me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, totally. She’d love that.”

Jumping up from their position, the farmer ran over to the side of their house, sifting through gardening tools and empty containers. They pulled out a weathered, but nice small pot. Sam watched as they dragged their hose out, rinsing the dust and dirt off of it before bringing it back over. “Here! I have no clue where this came from, but it’s nice and pretty.”

Sam agreed, immediately taking the trowel and shoveling dirt into it. “Ah, remember, Sam! Not too much dirt yet, we don’t want the roots exposed,” they instructed, causing him to quickly shovel out a little bit of dirt. He pushed the dirt to the sides of the pot, looking at the farmer expectedly. The grin on their face had made him nervous.

“You do it, Sam. I need to make sure you know how to do this, and I think Jodi will like it a lot more if you potted it. It can be a gift from the both of us.”

His fear of failure had returned to the center of his chest. Without another word he began to focus on the steadiness of his hands, removing the next flower from the container and carefully holding it with one hand. The plant  had seemed bigger when next to the others, but in his large hand it was evident it was still growing. His thumb and forefinger gently massaged the end of the dirt, staying mindful of the few roots poking out.

Feeling the farmer’s eyes upon his hands had made his heart pick up once again. He had always loved their eyes, especially when the sun hit them just right to show the beautiful color of— a slight crunch was heard. His right hand had immediately left the plant’s roots. 

The farmer laughed gently, placing a hand onto Sam’s arm. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to be more gentle. It doesn’t look like you’ve pulled any roots out… completely. Just focus on the roots and your hands, don’t think about anything else.”

Easy for the farmer, he thought. Trying to keep his mind from racing back to them (who had seemed to scoot a little closer to him when he was focused on the roots, now that he was thinking about it), he continued to softly spread the delicate roots of the azaleas, looking to the farmer to see if that was sufficient. The farmer nodded silently, a kind smile on their face to encourage Sam. He placed the small flowers into the pot, still holding the stems gently with his left hand and using his right to pack in enough dirt to keep it steady.

He sat back on his heels, admiring the bright pink of the flowers and the white flower pot with baby pink swirls just around the rim. He had, once again, unknowingly placed his dirty gloves onto his jeans. He was expecting Jodi to be upset with him as soon as he enters the front door, but hopefully, with this flower pot in hand, she’ll excuse his messy day out.

“See? You did amazing!” The farmer praised, fluffing out the flowers by the stems. 

Their praise had made Sam’s fleeting worries of his mother dissipate, causing him to turn to them with a teasing look. “Yeah, except for the part where I nearly destroyed the roots of the poor thing.”

Shrugging, the farmer got back to their feet and lifted the pot with a grunt. “It’s fine, you did great anyway. Like everything else, it takes practice.” 

They grabbed another bag, along with their watering can and returned to Sam’s side. They watered the flowers immediately, then cut open the bag of mulch and placed a thin layer over the wet dirt. Sam watched without question, watching their hands work around the plant and dirt effortlessly. The farmer’s moves seemed calculated, the only way Sam could relate or keep up was by comparing it to the movement of hands on guitar strings, knowing when to use gentle touch or a moment of pressure.

They pulled back, swiping the palms of their hands together to brush off any loose dirt from their gloves. Sam should’ve been doing that the whole time. “Finishing touches are done! She’s already to head to your house, Sam,” they stood up once more, hoisting the pot up into their arms and ready to hand off to Sam. 

“Make sure it’s watered when the soil feels dry; and it can’t be in the sun all of the time, it likes some shade sometimes. The pot is sorta big so it’ll grow a little, but once it kinda grows out some of the leaves and flowers may start dying. Just pluck or cut those off and it’ll grow back.”

Sam nodded slowly, trying to repeat the farmer’s instructions back to himself in an attempt to not forget them. He knew the attempt was futile, but found that with every gray cloud there is a silver lining: he can always come back to see the farmer, just to ask for it again. He gave a nervous giggle, awkwardly trying to hold the gift for his mother.

“Please tell Jodi I said thank you, it means a lot to have help from the community.”

“Well, uh, if you ever need any help don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always here for you,” Sam said sheepishly, almost immediately regretting not omitting his last sentence.

The farmer grinned, waving goodbye to him. “I know you are, and thank you, too.”

He smiled back at them, saying his goodbye and heading back down the dirt path to town, praying that no one would see him struggling with the giant pot of azaleas, potted by him, for his mother. 

[hearteyes-candyskies]

mint

yandere enji x reader

summary; every gardner knows that if you leave mint unchecked it'll take over the whole garden. enji hasn't checked up on you in a while

a/n; a continuation of houseplant and commish for @neroesecuzioni

tw; pregnancy, implied abortion, threat of physical abuse, a baby walks into enji’s fiery body and disappears in like the first couple paragraphs

word count; 4.1k

🌱

It’s the same dream again. You hold your son in your arms, his hazel eyes round and wide, gazing at you with a look so pure and curious and knowing that you can’t fathom any other option except to love him. His small hands grab at your face as you rock him in your arms, humming a simple melody as his eyelids slowly close. 

The sight of his perfectly content face as he sleeps brings a flood of joy through your heart like you’ve never known before, and you set him down gently in his crib before turning to do something else. It’s always something different every time; you go to warm up a bottle, you leave to get his stuffed animal from the wash, or maybe you go to get a cool washcloth for his slightly too-warm face. The result is always the same.

You return, object in hand, to find an empty crib. You turn around, frantically searching for your son, only to look out the window and see Enji’s burning form in the backyard. As you rush down the stairs and out the back door you finally see him- your son, the joy and love of your life, crawling towards your husband who looks at him with little more than cool indifference on his face. 

On good nights, you wake up then, sweat coating your body and chest heaving as you calm your racing pulse and convince yourself that it’s just a dream. Most of the time, though, you watch, rooted to the spot and horrified as your perfect, sweet, helpless little baby crawls straight into your husband’s fire. It doesn’t help that he vanishes almost as soon as the flames hit him. If anything, the uncertainty of his fate hurts worse. 

On these nights, the sight of Enji’s callous blue eyes are the last thing you see before you wake, cold enough to burn. You always wake with tears on your cheeks, sheets tangled from your thrashing. Enji used to wake with you, trying to soothe you in the best attempt that he could manage, but after one too many panicked blows to the face he’s given up, merely moving to the downstairs couch whenever it happens. 

You can’t tell if you’re disappointed by that or not. In the past month your dreams have been getting more and more frequent, almost always ending with the image of Enji’s cold blue eyes seared into your brain, and you can’t tell what that means. 

You don’t want to know what that means. 

🌱

Lately, the garden has become a place of refuge for you. What started as a meager little plastic pot holding a pathetically wilted tomato plant has now become two full garden beds and a hearty-looking peach sapling. The mint plant has its own cute little terracotta pot, lest it terrorize and take over the rest of your carefully-tended plants. 

As the frequency of your dreams increase, so does your time spent gardening. The raised beds are bursting with plants and produce, and you’re starting to eye the yard surrounding your little garden as free real estate. 

You’ve been saving newspapers for a while now, with Enji buying you one every time he leaves the house, and now all you need is a bag or two of mulch and some straw. And maybe also some wooden stakes and chicken wire. And more wood for more garden beds. And seeds for the new beds. 

Okay. Maybe you need a little more than you thought. At this point it would just be easier for you to go and pick it up yourself; you know exactly what you need and if you think of something else you want you don’t have to frantically text Enji and pray that he reads it in time.

You haven’t been outside for such a long time. Well, you’re outside right now, but like, outside in society? When was the last time you stepped foot in a supermarket? As a matter of fact, when was the last time you set foot off the property? Your inability to answer those questions leaves you restless and desperate to prove your independence. 

Maybe…no... Enji’s made it clear on numerous occasions that you’re not leaving the house. Except, he can’t really be thinking about keeping you here forever, right? He’ll reintroduce you to society, he has to, even if it’s not for another month or so. You assume that it’s been about six months since you were first brought here. 

The hunger for a taste of the outside world plagues you for the rest of the morning, and you find yourself unable to concentrate on anything. It’s after lunch that you grow bold and restless enough to finally broach the topic with Enji, satiated by a light meal that just happened to use some of the vegetables from your garden. The fact that you’re drinking lemonade made with mint from the garden is also a coincidence. 

“So, I was thinking about expanding the garden this morning. I’ve got enough newspaper to cover the amount of land that I want to turn into beds and I just need a couple things from the store?” Enji grunts in acknowledgement, looking up briefly from his reports.

“Write them down and I’ll get them from the store tomorrow.” Your fingers twist nervously and you take a deep breath.

“I was actually thinking that I could go with you?” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement, and you curse yourself for it. Not that it matters, apparently, because Enji doesn’t even look up again. You wait a second before repeating yourself. Maybe he just didn’t hear you correctly?

“I was thinking that I could go with you to pick the supplies up. It’s a lot to get and that way if I forget to write something down on the list I’m already there and don’t have to text you to make a double trip.” At your calm, firm tone Enji finally raises his head, putting the tablet down. 

“That’s nice, y/n.” You lean forward expectantly, waiting to hear his approval. He reaches for the tablet again, and you feel a spike of irritation lance through you.

“Can I go?” It takes a lot of effort for you to ask civilly, though it’s rewarded by Enji’s mildly surprised reaction.

“You were serious?” You stare in shock? Were you serious? Were you serious? Is he fucking serious?

“Yes, Enji, I’m serious! It’s been-” You stand, pausing to scroll through the calendar on your phone, looking for the little marker you placed on the day that you first woke up here. You scroll for a very long time.

“It’s been a little less than a yea-” You choke. “It’s been a little less than a year since I’ve first got here.” He says nothing, face dangerously neutral, and you slowly step forward, holding one of his massive hands in both of yours. 

“Please. I want to be able to go outside again.” There’s a subtle tick in his jaw.

“You can go outside. We have a yard. You have your garden.” You give his hand a little shake. 

“Enji, please. You know what I mean. I want to be able to get in a car and drive myself to get groceries or seeds or whatever else I need.” Again, that tightening of his jaw.

“I already get you what you need.” You feel tears of frustration sting the back of your eyes, and force yourself to take a deep breath.

“You know I won’t try to run. Please, I would never leave you like that. Haven’t I done everything that you wanted since I came here? Enji, I just want to have some control over my life back. I was a pro, I used to disappear for missions for weeks at a time but I always came back. Why can’t you trust me to come back to you after a trip to the grocery store?” Tears are beginning to blur your vision, but you can still make out the softening of Enji’s face as he listens to you. You feel hope start to soar in your chest and-

“You’re so cute when you’re passionate. We can talk about this later.” The hope thuds down to your stomach, quickly dissolved in a pool of irritation and anger. You resist the urge to squeeze his hand as hard as you can and instead stroke your thumb across it as soothingly as you can.

“Enji, you’re eventually going to let me go about a semi-normal life, right? We can start now, with you watching me.” Your voice is light and encouraging, and Enji raises an eyebrow, somewhat placated.

“When did I say that?” Involuntarily your grip on his hand tightens. 

“What?” He looks you straight in the eyes, gaze mildly patronizing.

“When did I say that?” You sputter.

“I just- You- You can’t be planning on keeping me locked away forever! I’ve been so good for you and I’ve done everything you wanted and eventually you’ll let me out of the house, right?” Enji just stares at you, unmoved.

“I’ve already let you out of the house. Where do you think the garden is?” Something deep seated and ugly within you snaps, and you throw his hand down and away, flinging your own out.

“ENJI! I’ve stayed here and done everything you’ve asked of me, I’ve fucking gotten down on my knees to clean up and suck your dick, I’ve fucked you without complaint and you won’t let me go to the store? I had a perfect mission completion rate before you took me, you know.” You sneer.

“Except you wouldn’t because you didn’t bother to learn anything about me before you took me. Do you know how many men I could’ve killed in the dead of night, how many men’s throats I could’ve slit as they lay beside me? Consider yourself lucky that I haven’t decided to do the same to you.” 

The shock on his face quickly gives way to anger, and you scoff at the way flames dance along his hands. 

“Go ahead. Burn me. Mark me like your property, cripple me like you crippled your fucking wife and like how your wife marked your son. Maybe after you brand me I’ll start to love you more.” Flames burst out along his whole body and face, until you’re no longer looking at Enji, only Endeavor.

“You ungrateful little bitch!” He swings his arm down, hellfire in his grasp, and it takes everything in you not to flinch. If he wants to hurt you he can hurt you. You both know there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

His hand stops millimeters away from burning off your face, flames vanishing abruptly in what you know is a massive show of power. His fist trembles before falling, and when you look him in the eyes again his face is confused and awe-struck. 

“You would have let me hit you.” The words come out whispered and reverent. Your tears fall in a silent stream down your cheeks.

“When have I ever been able to stop you?” There’s nothing Enji can say to that, and nothing more that you have to say to him, and slowly, laboriously, you climb the stairs and make your way back to your old bedroom. 

🌱

When you open the door you’re met with the same sight you saw after first waking here, and the memory alone is almost enough to break you. Apparently Enji’s love for you alone isn’t enough to grant you even a sliver of control. Apparently, Enji’s never truly loved you.

The world outside is dark by the time you decide to stop sulking. Enji barricaded himself in your, no, his room shortly after you slammed the door on your own and left once to fix himself dinner. You’re pretty sure that he’s been done for a while, but just to make sure you peek your head out the door, listening intently for any sounds of movement.

Upon hearing none, you creep your way down the stairs, finding the kitchen lights on but the room empty, to your relief. Your stomach growls, and you hurry to make a simple dinner of rice and miso soup with pan-fried fish cakes on the side. Your eyes go soft as you remember how your mother used to make this for you on nights that she didn’t feel like cooking. 

The meal comes together in minutes, and your mouth waters as you sit down at the dinner table to take your first bites. You don’t even taste what you're shoveling in your mouth for the first few bites until you do, and suddenly you’re making a mad dash for the bathroom. 

Nothing comes up, thankfully, but you spend a good minute or two gagging and producing spit. Okay, maybe you ate too fast. It’s when you catch sight of the pregnancy test in the trash that you pause. Enji doesn’t give you birth control and he sure as hell doesn’t wear a condom, so to soothe your anxieties you ordered a bulk box or pregnancy tests online and take a test every week. You’ve been lucky so far, but…

The hastiness with which you open the box makes you fumble it, and you take a minute to calm yourself. As you set the test aside after peeing on it, you think about how you would go about telling Enji that you’re pregnant. Would you tell him? There have to be home-brew remedies to an unwanted pregnancy. 

Before long, the ten minutes are up. With shaking hands, you pick the box back up. For a second, you hesitate. Is this really something you want to know? What do you even want to see? You can’t answer either of those questions, so instead you just open the box, eyes closed as you grab at the little stick of plastic. 

You feel the front, orienting the test so that you’ll be able to read it, and open your eyes. The world drops out around you and you feel all the air on your body leave in a single, shaky breath. God. Maybe you should tell Enji.

🌱

You get up early the next morning, needing the extra time to prepare a traditional breakfast before Enji wakes. You hope that the familiar food will make him more amiable to what you’re about to say to him.

You’re just about done pan-frying the fish when the telltale sound of Enji’s footsteps hurrying down the stairs reaches your ears. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen, and you turn to see him looking at the already set table with a look of mild shock on his face. 

He just stands in the doorway, watching as you turn off the stove and carry the pan over to the table to serve up the fish. You place the now-empty pan back on the stove before untying your apron and getting a mug from the cabinets.

“Coffee?” His shoulders tense at the sound of your voice, and something close to guilt and apprehension crosses his face.

“Yes please.” You hum in acknowledgement, filling the mug almost all the way before pouring in a little bit of whole milk, just the way Enji likes it. You set it down on the table before going to get yourself a glass. 

Enji gingerly slides into his seat, like a child who’s not quite sure whether it’s okay for them to sneak into their parent’s bed at night. You smile at the comparison, and the relief that breaks on his face is obvious. 

You fill the glass with water, emptying the coffee grounds in the trash before taking a seat at the table. Enji stares expectantly at your glass of water, and then to the coffee pot. You raise an eyebrow.

“Yes?” He blinks.

“Are you going to pour yourself a cup of coffee?” Enji’s voice is mild and hesitant, like he’s afraid that the smallest change in tone will set you off. You slide into your seat at the breakfast table, setting your glass of water down.

“Oh, honey, too much caffeine isn’t good for the baby.” The effect of your words is instantaneous. There’s a look of guarded wistfulness in his eyes, mouth slack with surprise and his formerly clenched hand soft as he reaches for yours. You let him take it.

“The baby?” He glances down at your stomach, as if it’ll confirm what he’s hearing. “You’re...pregnant?” You give him a sweet, affirming smile.

“Judging by when my last period was I’m two weeks in.” Enji rises from his seat, walking around the table to kneel between your legs, a large hand splayed reverently across your abdomen. 

“I’m going to be a father again.” This is both the happiest and weakest you’ve ever seen Enji in your life. This is probably the happiest and weakest he’s ever been in his life. Then, like a bucket of ice-water being dumped on him, his mood switches.

“You don’t want a baby.” There it is. The realization you were waiting for. You smile with far too many teeth, eyes cruel and sharp.

“But you do.” The words hit him like a slap across the face, and sadistically, you revel in the pain his inner conflict causes him.

“You don’t want a baby.” Enji repeats his words dumbly, as if saying them again will make them make sense. Your smile grows wider.

“But you do.” You take his hands in yours, squeezing gently. “Everything that I do is for you, isn't it? My life revolves around you.” He yanks his hands back as if he’s been burned. 

“Stop. Stop this.” You lean forward, until your noses are almost touching.

“Stop what, Enji? Stop trying to please you? Stop trying to mold myself into the perfect image of your wife? Stop fulfilling every foolish wish you made in bringing me here? Stop what?” He swallows hard, blue eyes wary.

“Y/n, stop this.” There’s a slight growl to his voice. You press on.

“You could stop this. Force me to swallow plan B. Take me to a clinic. Push me down a flight of stairs. Take a coat hanger and-”

“STOP!” His voice rings out, desperate and pained, and finally, you acquiesce, face grave and serious.

“I always wanted kids, you know. If you had just dated and married me properly I would have given them to you, happily.” Your eyes go fuzzy around the edges, gaze faraway and wistful. 

“I wanted a girl, first. A sweet daughter to spoil and coddle. And then another, so that they would always have a friend. I always switched back and forth on whether I wanted a third child. I think that if I were to have one, I would want a son.” Your eyes refocus, spearing Enji with a look far too knowing and cognizant. 

“You know, the youngest child always learns faster. They have their siblings to model after. How does that sound, Enji? A strong, talented, prodigy of a son. Finally a child worth neglecting the others for.” 

His face is tight with pain, and you tread carefully. Not because you’re afraid of what will happen should he shatter, but because you haven’t decided whether he would be more useful broken. You lay a delicate hand on your stomach, rubbing gently as if you can feel the baby kicking.

“Do you think that the daughters would come back and visit a father who was never there for them? Do you think that they would still see the man who cast them aside for their younger brother as a father? Would they call you daddy as they reach for your credit card? Or maybe they would call you father, in the same way you call a teacher sir. Maybe even Enji, if they’re feeling bold enough. Bastard when they’re talking about you to their friends.” 

Enji’s hands clench spasmodically, opening and closing like the fluttering wings of a dying bird. 

“Or maybe they don’t talk about you at all. Why spare any thought for a man who obviously never thought of them?” You lean back, satisfied at the complete and utter destruction written across his face. Enji may have taken you from your life to his own, but in doing so he gave you the keys to his emotional annihilation. You don’t think that he even knew that, not until this very moment.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want?” His words are broken and strangled, his head bowed. You regard him with a cool sort of disdain. 

“Where was this concern for my desires when you decided that I was going to be your wife?” He hands his head, unable to look you in the eyes. 

“Is this what this is? You’re getting back at me for bringing you home?” Though his words are muffled, there’s a slight edge to them. You bristle. 

“I may have some sort of feeling close to love for you, Enji, but know that it’s not by my own choice. It’s my brain literally trying to keep me alive.” He lifts his head, blue eyes blazing.

“I know you love me. You’ve said so yourself.” You scoff incredulously, almost choking on your own spit.

“You think saying something makes it true? Oh my god, I pity you, Enji Todoroki.” His fists clench once more, anger and humiliation boiling just under the calm facade that he forces onto his face. He says nothing, not that there’s anything to say. 

You let him stew in his own fury and shame for a minute or two before sighing and shifting in your chair, watching as his ire is slowly replaced with a look of deep, intense apathetic sadness. 

“I’m not actually pregnant.” The emotions that play across his face at that are instantaneous; first relief, then grief, then yearning, then resignation. 

“That’s probably for the best.” Enji sounds so, so tired. You’re sure you look just as much so. The food on your plate no longer looks appealing, and you push it away, going to pour yourself a cup of coffee. 

For a couple minutes there’s nothing but the sound of you sipping at your coffee and Enji finishing off his breakfast. It’s when he sets his chopsticks down that you finally break the silence. 

“Do you really think you love me? Like, when you say ‘I love you’ do you actually mean it?” Enji looks at a loss for words, and you tilt your head slightly to the side. “Do you even know what it means?” In what might be the most humbling act of his life, Enji slowly shakes his head. You sigh. 

The look of shock and mistrust on his face as you cross the table to straddle his lap and place your hands on his shoulders is almost amusing, but you force yourself to stay focused. 

“Enji, with the way our relationship is now, I can never love you. I may feel sexually attracted to and affection for you but love requires some level of respect and I don’t respect you because of what you’ve done to me and how you’ve handled it.” He opens his mouth, probably to protest, and you squeeze his shoulder to get him to shut it.

“Maybe you don’t need me to love you, and I get that. Companionship and sex aren’t poor substitutes for that. But when you have your kids and they ask why mommy never leaves the house and why you and mommy fight every night when you think they’re asleep, well, I expect that companionship and sex won’t fix that.” You slide off his lap, going to get yourself a mug of coffee.

“I’ll love my kids. But will they love you once they know what you’ve done? Because half of them will be from me and I know that I will never love you if you refuse to change this relationship you have with me.” 

Cream, a little bit of sugar, you stir your coffee before taking a sip and watching his face. The breakfast table isn’t really the ideal place to be having moral crises at, you know, but you don’t think that Enji’ll complain about it. You sit back down, not touching a bit of your food as you watch what could be spiteful silence or genuine consideration play across his face. 

It’s after the five minute mark that you consider speaking up, reminding him that though you’ve had plenty of chances to run recently you haven’t. Knowing Enji though, you think it’ll do more harm than good. It’s when your tense silence hits the ten minute mark that Enji looks up, jaw set mutinously. 

“We can go to the hardware store today.” He spits the words out like poison, but you smile anyways, a bright cheery thing that has Enji’s rock-like expression melting slightly. You swoop in for a short kiss before picking up your plate to put away for later, smile growing wider as you hear Enji huff and begin eating again. 

You know this isn’t a guaranteed road to freedom yet, but you like to think that you’re pretty similar to the innocuous looking mint plant in your garden. Enji’s just buried you in open ground. 

🌱

commission a fic here

[blackberry-gingham]

if you haven’t already, could you do something with being childhood bffs with george and it developing into romance?

Aw, this is cute 🥺 of course!

Ik I've done the teddy!george to Beatle George romance, so for this I'm going to do like actual kids to like high school/teddy! George romance :)

Also, this is super long sorry, but idk how to do a cut so oof 💀 anyway, enjoy!

---

You've known him since forever, the boy with the raven hair and funny eyebrows.

You're earliest memories go back to growing up on the streets of Liverpool. Causing trouble on the playground, getting into mischief behind your mother's backs...

He was your best friend. Still is, as a matter of fact. Until the day everything changed.

You're story starts off on a playground, during a mild day in mid August. The sun is shining brightly and the birds are chirping and flitting through the trees happily. If only you could say the same for your mood.

The old swing set creaks methodically as you and George go back and forth.

It's your last summer before your senior year of high school. You two have been going to the same school this whole time at least, but you can't help this nagging feeling that you and George are going to drift apart after school.

He's changed so much since you were kids.

Lately he's made some... other friends. It's not that that's bothering you of course. No, it's more so that they're all teddy boys. And now, so is George. Not to mention they fancy themselves a start up band, which has only been eating up more of George's time away from you.

Besides, you have no idea what to expect with this final year. Honestly, you're scared as it is, and even the thought of losing your best friend is too much to bear.

"Whatcha thinking about square?", George detects the worry undulating off of you, despite the neutral expression on your face. He knows you too well.

You snap out of your thoughts and paint a smile on your face, "Oh, nothing! Are you looking forward to your final year?"

George fixes you with a look. He doesn't believe that nothing's wrong, but knows to not push you if you don't want to talk about it. "Suppose so, although more just to get it over with. Oh, that reminds me! The lads and I have a gig lined up in a few weeks, can you believe it?"

You're heart drops, and you fear you can already feel him slipping away. "That's wonderful George, I can't believe it!"

His face lights up, "Isn't it? We're going to the top I tell you, I'm sure of it!" George digs his boots into the mulch abruptly, and you slow to a stop as well. "Um, I don't suppose you'd come to the gig, will you?"

You fix him with a suspicious look, there's something afoot here... "When and where?"

"The pub downtown, two months from tomorrow, at 3 am", George's voice gets quiter as he goes. The old him would know not to ask something like that in a million years. After all, your parents would never allow it. And if you got caught...

"George... I-"

He cuts you off, suddenly feeling bad it seems, "No no! I-it's alright, I shouldn't have asked. It's not right, you have school and all"

"So do you, ya know", you lean in and laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood. Thankfully the tension seems to melt and George laughs, brushing off the accusation. At last he stands and offers to walk you home. You agree and take a few steps after him...

...Only to trip over an old piece of tarp sticking up from under the mulch.

You let out a yelp, but before you hit the ground, George catches you. He helps you up right and holds onto you for a moment to make sure you're steady, "That was close! You alright square?"

"Fine, thanks to you", you laugh, then kick some mulch over the exposed tarp. "Damn thing..."

George laughs and the two of you walk on, "Say, do you remember when we were kids and you fell off that same swing set?"

"Ugh, how could I forget! I still have the scar on my knee", you pout.

"Really? I didn't know it was that bad"

"It certainly was! Don't you remember, after I fell you picked me up an-"

"...Carried you all the way home?", George finishes the thought for you.

You smile distantly, reminiscing on better days. "Yeah..."

The two of you talk a bit more about your younger days. All sorts of fun and embarrassing stories come to light as you make your way through town. For a moment, you feel like you're with the old George again.

And then, it all screeches to a halt as you arrive on your doorstep.

"Well, here you are then!"

"Yeah... Um, see you tomorrow per chance?"

George's face falls, "Oh... Actually I have practice with the lads... Then I'm helping with chores around the house all this weekend. M-maybe we can hangout again next week?"

The smile you give him doesn't quite reach your eyes, even as you agree that that sounds like a good plan.

It turns out that date does get pushed back a bit more, but you're thankful to have at least one last day together before school starts up again. Things are normal for a while. Well, the new normal, that is. George tries to be in three places at once between you, the lads, and school, and you're worried for him.

You keep waiting to see which of the three he's going to drop to take a load off his schedule... And you're deathly afraid it'll be you.

But somehow he manages to juggle all three, and before you know it, the night of the gig is upon you. George brings the topic up with you momentarily at school, just to give it another try. You’ve been feeling so estranged from him lately that you want nothing more then to say yes...

You just... can’t.

George says he understands, but he can’t mask the disappointment in his eyes. It’s the last look you see from him that day. However, that night, is a different story.

Clack... Clack. Clack clack... Clack.

A strange noise rouses you from sleep and you get up to investigate. It’s coming from the window... You peak outside to find George out in your yard, throwing rocks at the glass. He sees your outline and starts waving his arms franticly. Quickly, you check the time. It’s 2:03 am.

You heft the window open and George immediately starts chattering. “Morning square! I’m on my way to the pub, I thought maybe you could just sneak out with me since you want to go!”

“Are you mad? You’ll wake the whole house!”, you whisper angrily.

George drops his voice a bit too, but refuses to leave. He says a few more suave and charming words, but more then anything, you can’t deny that you do want to go with him... It takes a little convincing, but you make up your mind to go. You disappear to throw on some going out clothes and navigate your way down out the window and over the roof. It’s a little trick you learned from when you were young.

You haven’t done that in ages...

At last, you and George race off to the bus stop and as though sneaking out past midnight wasn’t exciting enough, the way he grabbed your hand to pull you along through the dark sent your heart soaring.

And when you arrive just in the nick of time the gig to start, you almost hate to admit how much fun you’re having. To think, you almost missed this... The boys are amazing up on stage and the crowd loves them. While you must say, they are all good, you didn’t take your eyes off of George the entire time.

One of the teds, Paul you think, steps up to the mic. “Thank you, you’ve all been wonderful! But before we go, there’s one last song we want to play for you... This goes out to all the sweethearts tonight, it’s called Love me do!”

It’s not on the itinerary, but the crowd whoops and applauds regardless. You focus your attention back to George and he winks at you. In that moment, you experience a feeling you’ve never had in your life. Your blood runs cold, yet you feel on fire. Your fingers and toes tingle, yet you still have complete control over your body. You feel weightless, and yet as though you could collapse.

The song is wonderful, but you were hardly able to pay attention, you were so busy mulling over what that wink meant...

When everything is over, George hurries to catch up with you after the show. He seems so alive.

"You were amazing up there Georgie, absolutely wonderful!"

"Really? You liked it?"

"Of course! I didn't know you were so talented! Why have you never played for me before?", You laugh, but George seems to grow shy all of a sudden.

"I didn't think you were interested... But uh, now I know, I suppose!", he laughs, trying to mend the awkwardness before you can interject. "You know what? We should be getting you home, yeah?"

You whip around to look at the clock. It's nearly 4:30. When you turn back to George, he can already see the panic in your eyes. Without another word, you both race out to the bus stop and wait anxiously to catch a ride.

George tries to make a little small talk and reasure you, but you're having a hard time loosening up. All you can think about is what'll happen if you're caught...

And when you get home, your worst fears are realized. Your dad is sitting on the front porch and the lightning your room has since been turned on. George goes to hold your hand, but you nudge him away as you trudge to your doom.

Your dad doesn't say a word. You already know how much trouble you're in. He looks at George with a deadly scowl etched into his face.

"Sir, I'm sorry, it was m-"

The door slams in his face, and all George can hear is the sound of yelling from the other side as he's forced to walk away.

You're not allowed to see George outside of school for a looooong time. Which is almost fine with you. You can't believe you listened to him...

George tries to apologise to you fervently the next time he sees you, but you blow him off. It takes a few days before you speak to him again, and George feels crushed. That night couldn't have ended more terribly. There was so much he wanted to tell you... But, he can't let you go.

Over time you come around to better terms with your lifetime friend. It takes some work, but George is determined to restore your trust in him. And slowly but surely, your grievance becomes forgotten. He hasn't spend this much time with you since you were children. And honestly? He hasn't been this fun since then either...

He takes you out for ice cream on weekends. You go to the park after school together nearly everyday, that you can. And once you're officially allowed to spend time with him, he even invites you over to watch practice with the lads.

And before you know it, winter has passed and spring is nearly gone too. It's the end of the year and there's one last hurrah to come before graduation. Prom season is upon you.

You know who you want to ask you, but you fear it's too much to even hope. But then, one sunny day...

Clack... Clack. Clack clack... Clack.

Curious, you get up from your desk and wander over to the window. You throw it open and look out. There in the lawn, George stands with a large, handwritten sign above his head. He looks up at you with big, puppy eyes, and he's never been more afraid in his whole life.

Prom? The sign reads.

You scamper out of your window, and nearly trip in your excitement to say yes. George drops his sign and catches you before you hit the ground. You jump up, alight with excitement, "Yes, yes!", you can't stop bouncing, even as George holds you steady.

George smiles at you with an affection you've never seen before. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he picks you up and gives you a spin while you yelp in surprise. When he puts you back down, the two of you share a long look and you think, there's no one in the whole world you'd rather give your first kiss to.

As though he can read your mind, George leans in slowly, giving you an option. But you can't contain yourself, you rush forward and throw your arms around his leather covered shoulders. The smell of his musky hair gel and warm leather jacket wash over you as he holds you tight.

It's the kind of embrace you'd grow familiar with. You don't know it now, but you'll find yourself wrapped in it for the rest of your days.

[time-to-cause-chaos]

the sunny parts

Webpril, day 5: MIT

AO3 link WC: 1, 543

There are papers littering the floor of Peter’s room that have been there for the past month, he can’t bring himself to pick them up, just looking at them gives him a headache.

It’s a real pain though that every time he wants to cross the sea of chaos and forms that is his room, he has to take painstaking measures to make sure they don’t mix up or crinkle.

May’s voice echoes as she yells from somewhere across the apartment, calling him for dinner but he’s not hungry.

Instead of going out and finding May at the table with some take-out, he grabs a pillow from his bed and plants it right in the middle of the room, the eye of the hurricane.

Sitting criss-cross on the cushion he takes a long - exhausting - look around him. Picking up the packet of papers directly in front of him he glances at the corner, this one’s NYU. Shuffling through the pages are his applications, guides, and other papers he hasn’t decided are good enough to look at.

He’d already applied for colleges last year and it had been so fun, him and May had applied for a bunch of colleges so he had alternates and other options in case the other ones didn’t pan out well.

Most, if not all of them, had already replied back and he’d gotten into great ones so that wasn’t a problem.

Nope, the problem now was that with finals and studying, he hadn’t actually chosen which one he wanted to go too. There were so many options and they were all amazing, but each of them had different things and perks.

At first he’d been leaning towards Harvard, May and Ben’s university, that they’d talk so much about when Peter was younger. That’s where they had met and since they both used to speak so highly of it, it seemed like the best option. There was sentimental value as well as academic, and that made it special.

Then there was Stanford, MJ had gotten in yesterday and she’d told Ned and Peter over the phone. For the MJ-standard, she looked practically exhilarated, her eyes were practically glowing and she kept pausing her sentences before starting again. Ned had also gotten into Stanford but he was still undecided.

It was mostly narrowed down to 5 places and frustration boiled over as he looked over the list again. He could read it as many times as he wanted, at this point he had it memorized, the names running over and over in his brain, NYU, Harvard, Stanford, MIT, and UC Berkeley.

NYU, Harvard, Stanford, MIT, and UC Berkeley.

God, this was exhausting. When he’d submitted those applications oh-so long ago, it was thrilling and exciting. He would do anything for that feeling to come back now to replace all the dread and anxiety he currently felt.

MJ was always talking about how great Stanford was, May about Harvard, Tony about MIT, and Ned about all of the above.

Peter didn’t know which one to choose, and he knows he should just do it, but it’s pretty close to impossible.

He needs some air, he isn’t going to make a decision right now anyways, that’s for sure. Peter leaves a note on the door in case May comes looking for him, and uses the fire escape to leave, clambering down with muffled steps. He didn’t take his web shooters and just strolled down the streets, dodging people and dogs was second-nature to him.

It wasn’t till he actually focused that he realized where he was, he’d gone to a park. The same one where Ben would push him on the swings until Peter felt his stomach flip every time because he was so high. When he was much younger he called it “My Park”, mostly because it was hidden from the public eye with the trees that surrounded it. No one was ever there and he’d brought Ned once in 3rd grade, it was much easier to have fun when there weren’t random little kids taking up the slide and parents watching like hawks. It was practically his own.

Reminiscing, he ran his fingers over the chains for the swing and sat down, lightly kicking his legs just enough so that he was a few feet above the ground.

The sun was setting and Peter watched as orange light filtered through the trees, making half his face warm. The other half was still cold in the shadows as swift breezes brushed over him and he ran his fingers through the bright spots in front of his eyes.

He tried not to think about the decision waiting for him at home, but it was inevitable.

He knew he was picking college for himself, it was his future, but he really didn’t want to make the wrong decision.

Tony always told him stories about MIT with Rhodey and all the fun they’d had there. The time Rhodey had broken a wrist and Tony an ankle because of a stupid dare that they were foolish enough to try. The time they’d sent the sprinklers off and everyone had to evacuate. Sometimes they were said in the kitchen with everyone around laughing at the stories that you’d expect to be exaggerated, other times they were said in whispers as Peter fell asleep, probably in medbay after an injury during patrol.

Peter hunches in on himself as the sound of Iron Man flying, he already knew it would only be a matter of time before May sent the cavalry his way.

Peter doesn’t even glance at the suit as it lands on the faded playground mulch with a crunch. For his credit, Tony doesn’t urge him to, instead sitting on the swing next to him, hands placed carefully in his lap.

Peter hates when they all do this, when they all act worried and get cautious, treating him like a bomb about to explode with one misplaced movement.

The two swing in silence next to each other for a few minutes, letting the cool breezes as they whistle through the trees, speak for them.

There’s no movement from either one of them until Tony twists and faces Peter, throwing one leg over each side of the swing.

Peter does the same, watching Tony warily, pressing his nose in the chain.

“What if I choose wrong?”, Peter asks, shifting his eyes to the ground, avoiding Tony’s.

“Impossible, no chance” Tony immediately shakes his head, “First of all, trust yourself, you know yourself better than anyone. Second, you’ll be a force to reckon with for any college or university you go to. I don’t even want to try and imagine the crazy stories you’ll be telling me as I get grey hairs.”

“What about Spiderman?”

“Don’t refer to him as another person, Spiderman is Peter Parker and Peter Parker is Spiderman. You’ll always have Spiderman, even if you decide to take a break from it for a little but”

“No, no, I won’t do that. I’m going to be Spiderman” Peter insists.

“Your choice, Petey. You know, you could also take a gap year”

“I feel like that’d just make me more stressed”, Peter’s eyebrows crinkle, in thought.

“Then go for college, Peter. Be great, and get a degree, and make me and May cry at your graduation, just make sure you’re doing it for yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably be crying too.” Peter laughs, “Isn’t it weird though? To think that after everything that’s happened in the past few years, I’ll just go, go away from you all and,” Peter doesn’t air the last part of the sentence. All the fear that everything he’s had is going to be gone, all to waste and forgotten as he’s off somewhere else. The thought makes him queasy.

“You know, as the Tony Stark who actually used to go to MIT, I could apply for work there.” Tony smirks, “We can go to coffee shops and I can meet all your friends and embarrass you” THe last part is said as a joke as Tony smirks, Peter smiles and cringes inside.

“Maybe...no?”

Tony gets up and pulls Peter to his feet, “Let’s continue this lovely conversation at your place, we can talk over burnt asparagus, or some take-out”

Peter nods as he glances around, the wind’s stronger and it’s getting colder as the sky gets darker. Peter shivers and he melts into Tony as the man wraps an arm around him.

Tony holds onto Peter in the same park Ben did, building sandcastles that were really just piles of sand with him. The same park where May had chased him down the slide and wrapped her arms around him and she slid behind him. The same park where Ned and him had lost a bunch of lego pieces as the built model broke and the parts got lost in the sand.

It’s nice, he realized. As terrifying as it is to leave something behind, there’s a secure feeling you get when you know it’s always going to be there for you, forever a shield for you to hide behind when you need to.

Peter just wraps his arms back around Tony, face buried in his shoulder.

It’ll be okay.

[star-anise]

Wait, what's bad about tilling?

I will explain but leave the googling up to you instead of hunting down sources to link to.

Tilling leads to soil erosion and nutrient loss! This is one of the things I’ve been pondering a lot lately–the plough is like, the FUNDAMENTAL technology upon which agriculture as the Western world knows it has been based since Mesopotamia in 3000 BC!  That’s how agriculture WORKS! You till the soil and plant in it!!!

But like… that means we’ve been on this merry-go-round for thousands of years where the moment you begin to farm a piece of land, it begins to lose topsoil and nutrients, so your land fundamentally becomes less valuable as you work it, so you will inevitably need to go out and acquire more land from somewhere. That’s why England became almost entirely deforested by 1800; the answer to the depletion of old land was to “assart”, or hack down some forest and convert it to farmland, until eventually they ran out of forest (tho Age of Sail shipbuilding helped too) and started getting their trees from Canada instead. So we have this neverending cycle of depletion of resources and conquest of new land. 

The cycle got slowed a little when European settlers to the Americas learned about Indigenous traditions crop rotation with nitrogen-fixing crops like peas or clover, and fertilizing the soil with fish carcasses or bat guano, and things got deeply weird in the 20th century when the use of artificial soil additives exploded–but not even chemicals can stop this process; if you add fertilizer to tilled soil, the vast majority of it won’t sink in and help the plants, it’ll wash off in the rain and go create algae in a nearby pond. If you want to improve the rate at which both water and chemicals are absorbed into your soil, you have to increase its organic content (vs plain mineral dirt)–which means not destroying all the dead plants in it, nor burying them underground, but keeping them around and relevant.

Meanwhile, certain Asian and Indigenous North and South American traditions do not use ploughs, and their land seems to be enriched the longer it’s worked? Because they’re not just preserving the soil, but continually adding nutrients to it? And I’m trying to figure out how much of a change this is–like, on what scale moving to new methods has the power to change Western agriculture and shake up its basic assumption. I’m not agronomist, and this isn’t @kawuli‘s specific area of expertise, but it… doesn’t feel like nothing.

So when I was a kid, this just showed up in the “zero till” technologies–farmers would harvest the crop but not till the soil, and use a vastly expensive air-seeder to inject the seeds in under the stubble and thatch of last year in the spring. But it’s starting to spread as people wonder about the other possibilities of this kind of thing–what if you do a controlled burn of weeds and stubble, thus reducing weeds but returning the nutrients in them to the soil as ash? What if you fight soil compaction not by “fluffing” it with a plough, but planting a thick tuber like a tillage radish and letting it decompose in the soil?

There’s kind of a split I can see in my local garden communities, where younger and less conventional people are very much anti-tilling and anti-bare-dirt, and prefer methods where you smother grass you want to turn into a garden plot with something thick and biodegradable like newspaper ten sheets deep or corrugated cardboard, and then top it off with fresh mulch of leaves or straw or wood chips. That, they say, suppresses weeds, encourages beneficial insects, helps plants overwinter, and keeps nutrients within the soil. Meanwhile, older and more conventional gardeners tend to be openly skeptical and contemptuous, or even feel like they’re being accused of having harmed the environment of their gardens all the time they’ve been tending them. I’m sure there are also people who are like, “Look, Europeans weren’t DUMB, we KNEW what mulch and compost were before the Columbian Exchange started,” and it’s like, technically yes, but on the other hand, also no.

I don’t fundamentally support “organic” farming, necessarily, because it basically says, like… “Anything created before this date (1800? 1850?) is okay, and anything created after is Bad.” Stuff gets a pass just because people know and are comfortable with it–vinegar is highly processed and extremely acidic, but we’ve used it to cook for centuries, so it’s Totally Natural and Definitely Better than some milder, recently-invented thing.

I don’t think you can simply and easily divide things into Good and Bad without taking a really intense look at their effects. Some “organic” farming methods are really shitty, and some artificial modern ones are really great.  I believe in looking at the evidence. 

But these days, well… I’m definitely leaning further away from tillage the more I learn.

[kihaku-gato]

Because it's your birthmonth, you can choose between two questions. (also Happy birthday!) 1) Which plant in your garden are you most proud of? Are you surprised to see it do so well with your care or lack of it? Aaaaand 2) How is your symphotrichums and clematis corner this year?

Thanks for the early Birthday wishes (once it’s Wednesday I’ll be an older lad)!

(I’ll choose both questions cause I love both questions)

Plants I’m proud of… I can’t really recall/think of any from my past that really come to mind (the Jackamanii Clematis and Jack in the Pulpits somewhat come to mind for possible past prides and joys, but I can’t say that with strong certainty since they have both been in these gardens for almost as long as I’ve been gardening, so they’re as much staple to me as Hostas are to a shade gardener). I’d say the fact the Jack in the Pulpits have done so well for me (until the recent summer drought and squirrel harassment started) definitely surprised me, and it still surprises me that I don’t see them more often in peoples’ garden spaces, generally they’ve done great with very little help from me.

For more recent plants, I suppose the dwarf wildtype Iris pumila pair definitely have thrived better than I expected. Like the Iris sibirica in my gardens I was expecting a significantly weaker performance than I got (I expected I’d have to coddle them which is not my gardening style so I expected a guaranteed death from them); they’ve done very very well for an alpine species. Pretty much taller plants or the feet of a untactful person or animal are the only thing I fear for my little dwarf irises now. I hope to eventually propagate them into other gardens so that I feel like I have some more insurance on them.

First time to hear the sunny sector of the Neo garden referred to as the Clematis/Symphyotrichum corner but its definitely an accurate one being they are the plants to roar the loudest in that gardenbed when they flower.

Dandelions and Twitch grass continue to try to encroach the edges of the bed so that annoying work is cut out for me (the Prairie smoke nearly got drowned in dandelion foliage this spring) so I pray I can charge up my weeders ferocity to keep it under control, but luckily the majority of the plants in that gardenbed are looking decent. Though it does feel like my number of Tulipa tarda dropped a little bit.

The Munstead Lavenders look good- or did until I pruned them very very hard and now look half dead (some of that is due to the fact they should’ve been pruned after they flowered last year- so they got woodier than they should’ve been allowed to), luckily the crowns of them look like they’ll give me the growth I need to hopefully rectify my initial mismanagement of them.

The New England asters both in that gardenbed and the greenhouse pots are looking ready to rumble as expected for the true autumn queen. The oldest specimens I’m almost tempted to grab the spade for and divide them and take the divisions to other gardenbeds. Since they did not take the midsummer prunedown last year I plant to hit them just a little harder to try to force away their habitual lankiness. I stg I grow more and more fond of New England Aster every year. I think we kept them from reseeding this time- I think; icr if we pruned off the seedheads by autumn’s end or not but the fact I am not seeing much for “volunteers“ tells me we accomplished that.

When I pruned those Clematis they showed me something I am not used to for a Clematis; thick af stems comparable to young Grape vines. Part of it is likely cause they are species Clematis and also cause they were unpruned for their first/second year in the Neo garden. C. tangutica was a wiry mess to prune but should be easier to prune from here on out. C. virginiana did what they do every year; sneak some vines past my radar and attempt garden/world domination. Had to sacrifice some Hosta sprouts while trying to yank that clematis’ mischievous roots.

Ratibida pinnata at the border of the sun/shade sector also plot world domination but luckily only a few seedlings need to be yanked out; we realized quick enough last autumn that the seedheads had to be removed asap if we wanted to keep order in that section of the garden.

I plan to possibly plant some of my Penstemon hirsutus yearlings from the greenhouse into that garden to give the species a second chance on impressing me; the species has grown well for me in the greenhouse before but have been rather unimpressive for me last time I grew some, but I am taking the theory that the species is the type to give you Bang for the Bed if you plant them in larger numbers and allow them to age a bit (yearlings aren’t that impressive in the flower department- but perhaps older plants are more floriferous?). I’m also eyeing up the stormwater overflow area to maybe plant a Skunk Cabbage seedling and see if  it’ll do well (my choices in wet areas to garden is extremely narrow).

Overall that garden needs a little reweed and a little reapplication of mulch so it’s doing pretty decent I’d say.

[pictureamoebae]

Hiii! In Planet Zoo, what Biome are you playing in? It looks like the desert? Just curious cause i like the lightning it gives!! Also how did you get the inspiration from the parking lot, or the buildings in general? It looks fantastic!! cant wait to see more!

Hi Anon! I’m using the grassland biome. I like the lighting there too. The only thing I don’t like is the colour of the terrain paints, in particular the soil. I wish we could use any biome’s paints, especially in sandbox. I end up using a lot of mulch as a result, but it’s a pain to put down over large areas, especially those with awkward angles and shapes. Still, it is what it is. 

I downloaded both parts of the parking lot -- the multistorey and the flat area beyond that -- from the workshop and edited them a little. I’m not entirely pleased with how it joins up to the entrance road I’ve built, so I think I might build a tunnel leading in. That way you don’t have to see it.

The main building in the zoo, the big, sprawling, massive monstrosity with all the silo-shaped things, is a recreation of Ricardo Bofill’s Cement Factory in Barcelona. Before I started the zoo I had in mind a particular type of Spanish architecture, but I didn’t know who it was by or if it had a name. I spent some time searching, and then I found Bofill’s stuff and that was exactly what I wanted. The Cement Factory actually isn’t especially indicative of the rest of his work, but it was such a statement piece I really wanted to tackle it as the central focal point of the zoo. I doubt it will ever properly sit comfortably there, and will always stick out like a sore thumb, but I don’t mind. It was fun to build. It was the first big project I’ve ever taken on from scratch and I learned a lot doing it. I’d still like to tackle some of his other buildings, or at least analogues in the same style. 

The general white buildings I’ve made for visitor centres and the like aren’t taken from anything, they’re just built to fill whatever space I have. I like the skylights I’ve added.

I’d love to incorporate some Gaudi in there too, but I don’t know how feasible it is because of how curved and sumptuous it is. It’s probably doable using art shapes, but you lose the texture of plaster and concrete that way. It should be possible to do a lot of the mosaic decoration though, although it’ll lose that beautiful glass-like quality it has in real life.

[salbidum]

Garden log 4-25-21

I will regret it later if I don’t keep up the garden log even though I don’t feel like it! Because when I look back later on my old entries they’ve been very helpful. Warning in this post for an EYE INJURY, though not a very exciting one

1) Went to the Other Gay Farmer’s plant sale last weekend and bought a fig tree and two elderberry bushes (different kinds so they’ll pollinate). Also bought annual starts: nasturtium, okra, two kinds of peppers, two kinds of basil. Then it promptly dropped below freezing at night and we had to put them in our living room, which made them scraggly and weird before we finally got them in the ground Thursday.

2) Bought an extremely large (maybe too large) tub for the fig - if you are shopping at Lowes etc and just need a large durable tub, look for the ones made for fountains - but haven’t used it yet as we probably need drainage field rocks. 

3) Am now out of potting/planting soil, and kind of pissy as I thought the Costco stuff must be peat-free as they go on about coconut coir all over the outside. It is not! It has peat. I’m not extremely active about avoiding peat but I do try, and now I feel like I’ll have to get other more annoying-to-obtain soil somewhere. Probably frankly the hydroponics shop. 

4) Pulled up such a large amount of wisteria that we decided to sneak it into the yard waste dumpster the landscapers use, and then I tried to throw it over the top and it snaked around and hit me in the face such that I had to go to the optometrist to get my scratched cornea looked at and now I’m on drops. Wear sunglasses or eyeshields when pulling vines I guess. It’s fair of the wisteria to try for vengeance after everything I did - the vines in the tops of the trees are dying now and I feel good about it. 

5) We fenced the rest of the garden bed in the neighbor’s yard in and I went up to the top-of-the-driveway perennial bed and stuck the okra in at random points. Deer often avoid it and it has a bonkers flower so it might do well up there. 

6) Despite cold weather, taro has an inch-long sprout on it, malabar spinach continue to come up but are all still in cotyledon, jacob’s ladder is putting out its second set of blooms, ranunculus could not be more done. Star of bethlehem is feeling pretty done after yesterday’s heavy rains. The tulips are starting to yellow. I think I might dig them up and put them in the freezer this year so they can get their chill hours and bloom again. Maybe I’ll put them in containers next spring so that their commute from outside to freezer is a little simpler. 

7) Today: since we resolved the swampiness behind my downhill neighbor’s unit (it was a leaking meter head, not a natural spring of some kind) I’ve been taking back some of my mulch bags for other purposes (and throwing the mulch on the trail, which I’m sure the neighbors find confusing). I was going to put the Chaotic Elderberry in across the driveway next to the Chaotic Blueberry, but frankly there’s old power line tape kind of randomly appearing from beneath the leaves and I probably lucked out that I didn’t have a problem the first time I dug a hole in the easement. Further up the slope the ground is all tree roots and a nightmare to dig. So I pulled/chopped out a lot of bush honeysuckle, ivy, and smilax, and a multiflora rose - everything but the smilax there is invasive - and then planted the Chaotic Elderberry in a burlap bag full of potting soil set far enough back that hopefully it will not be obvious that it’s new until the roots escape the bag, the bag breaks down, and it’s just a shrub among shrubs.

I put the Lawful Elderberry (the one going in my own yard, that I actually have the right to install) next to the immovable mound of tree roots in my front yard. It’ll be competing with the maple for water and nutrients there, but I do have a longer-term plan of creating a more supportive working environment for that maple, and maybe this’ll help me stay on-goal.

[fisherfurbearer]

Keeping busy this week, now that the weather has finally turned around. We're in a pretty good place, physically. Place we rent is actually owned by Jessie's dad, HOA laws are fairly lax, and most importantly the neighbors who matter are super chill. I have big plans for the rest of the year and into the next, and this is the official start of it.

Besides the literal HOURS of research I've already put into Outdoor Plans, most of the existing areas are already weeded, we now have mulch being delivered on friday, which we'll spread over the weekedn. I'm also starting to rake and collect leaves today for composting, which I'm pretty excited about. Going to ask the neighbor for help removing some ugly and weedy shrubs along the property line too. Should give are old hackberry some more growing space, and give us much better sunlight in the backyard. c:

Also have some plans for an outdoor aviary (!!!!) for the two lovebirds (Danny and Papillon, of course!), which I think they'll really enjoy. It'll probably be 4'x8' in footprint, and I'm putting a lot of effort into making sure my design is as predator-proof and safe as possible. Pretty excited about it, they're gonna love it, though it'll be a little longer until I get it started!

I've also done some re-working of the rat enclosure...it's cool and functional, but it was never properly finished after the fire, and there's a few changes I'd like to make to make it easier to clean. After this is done, I'll be moving them from the spare room (which is TOO COLD) into the warmer office room, where they can hang out next to my art desk. Jessie's going to help me go through all my art stuff and get those situated on my supply rack so I can get back into that, which is exciting. I have a lot of big plans, but I still need to take things slowly.

It's...really looking like "normal" jobs aren't an option for me anymore, for so many reasons, and there's no way I'm ever going back to retail. I have Plans that are Sooner than my initial Future Plans, but it's still very tricky and there's a lot to figure out. But I have a lot of support this time and I'm taking it slow. No guarantees, yet, but I'm excited, regardless. No matter what happens, I have to keep going. Even if it's scary.

[aheartstillbeating]

Something I've been working on. This may be chapter 1. Let me know what you think. I can take critiques. Beginner writer but it's what I love to do... it doesnt have a title yet. PM if you want. God bless.

I can still see her standing there near the shore, a giant beach towel wrapped around her. Her hair was blowing in the wind as she anchored her toes in the sand to help her stand steady. It was the end of summer and just as the cold weather was about to come through, so was she about to blow out of this town and head back to wherever she called home. She would be gone forever and things would go back to the way they were before... Before she came in like a hurricane. It may be cliche to say, but she truly came in and wrecked my whole world. Here I was, a small-town boy in southern Georgia planning to spend my summer on the beach. A little work here and there with my dad at his landscaping business. You know, trim a few bushes, mow a few yards, keep it simple. Easy-peasy. Never did I expect to meet a beautiful red-headed angel dressed in lace and pearls. She was a walking natural disaster, according to her friends. They tried several times to convince me not to get involved. 

    "She's just a heart-breaker." One would say.

    "She will eat you alive." Another chimed in

    All I could say to these warnings was, "Yeah, it's possible. Did you see those gorgeous blue eyes though?"

    

    There is an amazing phenomenon that takes place as the sun sinks down over the horizon into the depths of the ocean. An eclipse if you will. That flash, so brief that the naked eye can barely see it, that is the only thing I can think of that can come close to the magic I see in that smile of hers. I've met a lot of girls in my time down by the beach. I've lived all of my life on the coast of one of Georgia's many beaches. On one side I have the ocean, a gateway to the world all around. On the other, an interstate that transverses the entire continental United States. Sadly those options of exploration keep bringing in tourists. Usually, if I'm honest, it gets quite annoying. Traffic increase. Confused people everywhere stopping me to ask if I know how to find the "white sand" as described in one of the brochures at the local rest stop. I just not and point. 

    That worked up until a very different kind of day. Have you ever had one of those days where NOTHING seemed to work right? This day takes the cake, I promise. My plan was to just hit the beach. Lay in the sand and chill. I even bought a twelve-pack of Dew. I only do that on special occasions. You know what they say about plans changing? Well, I'm pretty sure my dad started that. I had no sooner put the cooler in the truck when my phone rang.

    "Yeah Dad, what's up?"

    "Hey Conner, what are you doing?" Dad responded

    "I'm about to head to the beach. Do you need something?" Please, please, please don't say you do, I thought

    "Yeah, actually I have to run into the city for the day. It turns out my delivery of mulch has been delayed and I'm going to go get it sorted out."

    "Okay. What does that have to do with me?"

    "I need you to head over to the Abernathy house and trim their bushes. You know they have the premium package for the summer so make sure you do any extra trimming that you see needs done."

    "But Dad, I just worked..."

    "Conner, please?" I hate when he says please

    "Yeah Dad. I got it."

    "Thanks. The trailer is already loaded, just stop over here and hook it to your truck."

    "Did you fix the weed eater yet? You know it's been acting up."    

    "Not yet. Haven't had a chance. Just mess with it. I'm sure you can get it to work. I'll try and grab one while I'm in the city."

    "Alright. Thanks. Be safe Dad. See you soon."

    "Thanks son. You too. Sorry to steal your day."

    "It's okay. You'll just have to make it up to me later."

    "You got it. I'll give you the weekend off."

    "That works." I laughed. "See ya." I hung up the phone before he had a chance to change his mind.

    So with that, I headed to my parent's house to get the trailer. Not only was the trailer hitch broken, it also had a flat tire. After half an hour and not one but two smashed thumbs, I was on the road toward the Abernathy household when my radio in the truck decides to crap out. No tunes. I could use my phone with my headphones, but that means it'll be dead before I finish work. No music for now.

    I pull into the Abernathy drive just in time to see their dog, Buttercup come running toward the gate. A stupid name for such a large dog, but it wasn't my choice. Was the gate locked? Of course not! "The premium package" meant we have to take care of the animals on the premise as well. I jump out of the truck and run to latch the gate. The Doberman had other plans.

    I was fast enough to get my pinkie and ring finger just inside the pink spike collar as she ran past me. I held on with all that I had and was able to drag the giant back into the gate. Thankfully I've been drinking those protein shakes my sister suggested. 

    I was able to latch the gate and put Buttercup in her kennel but not before she got a good bite of my favorite blue jeans. Needless to say, they were toast. From the left knee down was now the property of the beast.

    After looking around, I noticed a few branches out of sorts on the bushes in front of the house. I grabbed the shears and put my headphones in. "Time to terminate." I mumbled while holding the shears in front of my face.

    I clipped the few branches, which mind you, are full of thorns and dug around the bases of the bushes to make sure it looked "perfect." Would I recommend the "premium package" to anyone else? Absolutely not. It's good money, but is it really necessary to make sure that the mulch is exactly where it is supposed to be? Whatever. The nearly twelve new small cuts on my hands provided a wonderful sting as I hoisted the weed eater off the trailer. I should probably edge around the sidewalk going up to the house before I head out. Wouldn't want the grass to be an eighth of an inch too high over the bricks.

    I pulled once, twice, three times. No luck. There is gas in it so that's not the problem. I was getting really frustrated. I threw it down and headed back toward the truck to get the oil when I heard this loud "Honk."

    What now? I thought.

    I turned in time to see an incredibly beautiful red-headed queen jump down out of a ruby red Jeep. Here I was, completely covered in dirt and dust so thick that even I forgot what color my shirt was. None of that mattered though. To me, the entire world melted. This freckle-faced beauty of about five foot five walked right up to me. Clearly she was in the wrong place. She wasn't going to talk to me, right? Maybe she was a friend of the Abernathy's. I was wrong.

    "Hey, Hi... Um... Hi." I'm really good at this, if you can't tell.

    "Hey, I'm..."

    "I like bread..." facepalm

    "Okay. That's good. I like mine toasted."

    "Cool... me too."

    "So, where can we find this white sand that everyone keeps talking about?"

    "Um... white... yeah..."

    "Do you know?" She was so beautiful.

    "Yeah... It's... Just go that way" I pointed.

    "Thanks." She said as she turned to head back toward the Jeep.

    "Yeah... Any... Sure." I stammered.

    I watched as she climbed back into the back of the Jeep. Three very beautiful women were about to drive away when I heard, "Come find me later, Bread."

    "Okay..." I called back.

    What a way to make an impression. Her friends just laughed. One even looked me up and down shaking her head. Even though the blond riding shotgun shouted "Good Luck," I couldn't help but be intrigued by the challenge in that sexy redhead's amazing blue eyes.

[thiswasinevitableid]

5 for Danbrey sfw? 3 would be fun for nsfw but idk if you do Danbrey nsfw

I decided to mush the two prompts together. I gave them saucy overtones, but they’re still SFW

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for 

3 Okay so when they wink at me after a great comeback, is that just their charismatic arrogance or do they maybe like me back?

“I think I should ditch the cape. I mean, she didn’t mention it all Cleopatra.” Dani sits down on the greenhouse bench to adjust her bootlace. Cleopatra tilts her head, curious, but does nothing else. This is because she is sentient venus flytrap and is limited in her ability to communicate.

“I did catch her checking out the boots. I think. Maybe she was just looking for a way to knock me off my feet.” She mists Cleopatra and her sisters, continuing, “which, also, she literally made a quip about wanting to sweep me off my feet. I just cannot get a read on her.”

She stands, walking to her devils-mouth orchids and checking their water levels, “I mean, I even picked fabric for the cape that made my eyes look nice. Jake helped me make sure the colors on the cape and the boots matched up and everything. Uggggggggh, I cannot believe it’s come to this.”

“Haha!”

“Not helping, Juice.” She turns to the Myna bird (one of three) perched on a nearby branch. They’re trained to be spies and minions, but mostly they offer unsolicited commentary on her life.

“Ask her.” Squawks another

“DON’T ASK!” Shrieks the third.

“Come to a consensus or I’m not putting that intelligence serum in your water anymore.”

The birds exchange a look.

“Don’t follow our advice!” says the smallest one.

“Don’t, don’t” echo the other two.

Dani sighs, turns back to Cleopatra, “Come on, help me figure out what to wear for the next time.”

The plant slithers along behind her (she modified the flytrap genome with anaconda DNA), curls up on the counter in the bathroom as she pulls out her make-up case. 

“Okay, copper is good on the eyes right? It’ll highlight the gold. I think. Hmmmm…” she taps her chin with the end of a brush, “vampy red would definitely make her look at my mouth. Which is apparently a thing I want, because I am the worlds most cliche supervillain.”

Cleopatra rustles her tendrils sympathetically. 

“But the red clashes with everything. Maybe a deeper color, oooh, the cute cashier at the coffee shop said this one looked good on me. I tried to think of something flirty to say back and just ended up complimenting her pompadour. God, why is villain me so much smoother than civilian me? Or is she even that any more?”

A vine pats her hand.

“Thanks girl. Now, having my hair up is safe for fighting, but does it make me too severe? Like, too dominatrixy? Or does the Lady Flame like that sort of thing? Uhg WHY DO I CARE?” She thunks her head onto the mirror.

“Half-twist?” The purple-crested Myna bird pokes it head in, cocking it’s head robotically.

“.....Perfect.”

---------------------------------------------

The Pine Guard has once again gotten the drop on the Crystal Cabal, much to Dani’s annoyance. What is the point of having a team mate who can see the future if this keeps happening to them?

She dives out of the way of a burst of flame, tossing a handful of her latest creation at her nemesis.

“Aw, flowers for me?” Lady Flame flutters her eyelashes, “they’re prettyYYYow, fireflower.”

“That’s right, I turned your own element against you.”

The hero picks up the flaming flowers and starts juggling them, “I’ve heard of hothouse flowers, but this is ridiculous.”

“She’s flame-proof, Demeter, for goodness sake, OW that hurt.” Indrid, aka Nyx, throws a punch at The Ranger, who absorbs the blow easily. 

Dani hadn’t been thinking of flame proof heroes when she made the plants; she’d been thinking what color to make them so that the Lady Flame would think they were pretty.

“If you all would kindly just surrenderPUT ME DOWN!” The Agent yelps, indignant, when Barclay, aka Hermes, hoists him over his shoulders.

“And if you’d ‘kindly’ just hold still and not bother us for ten minutes, this could all be avoided.”

The fireflowers turn to ash, Lady Flame stepping through it with a grin, “I dig the new boots, very classy. Got a whole ‘don’t fuck with me vibe’ I like a lot.”

“That’s exactly what you should have done. You should have left us alone.” Dani musters her most imperious voice as she launches vines across the ground, taking Lady Flame by surprise and trapping her in the grasp of two large, green, fireproof tendrils. 

“Hah! Surrender, all of you, or my pets will-”

“Eeeep! Hey, what the-” The Lady Flame looks behind her at the smaller vine that just pinched her butt.

“Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry-”

“C’mon now Demeter, no need to get fresh with her. That ain’t sportin.”

“That’s rich coming from the man currently straddling me.” Indrid hisses. 

“I ain’t straddlin, I’m restrainin.”

“I mean I, whoah, hey there” another vine caresses Lady Flame’s chest, a third touches her cheek, “I’m not, like, opposed to someone getting handsy, or uh, viney, I guess. But you have to buy me coffee first.”

“I’m, I don’t know why they’re doing this. I’m so sorry, they’re being so rude and they will be mulch if they touch you in a way you don’t like.” Dani takes one step forward and a vine grips her ankle, starts twining upwards. 

“Uhhhhh, why are they doing that?”

“They shouldn’t be! They respond to my thoughts and emotional state.” She tries every trick she can think off, but nothing makes the vines obey, and two more encircle her chest and stomach.

“Wait, if they respond to your feelings, then do you-GAH!” The vine around Lady Flame’s ribs visibly tightens, as the ones holding Dani drag the two women face to face. 

“I’ve always thought you were breathtaking, but the literal approach is kinda freaking me out.” 

“Me too.” Dani thrashes, and the vine tightens around her. She’s starting to get lightheaded. 

“Guys, a little-”

“-Help!” Dani finishes the Lady Flames’ sentence, and the four other figures in the room turn towards them as one.

“Oh shit.” Barclay tosses The Agent away,  drops down next to Dani, hacking at the larger vine with his utility weapon. The Agent recovers, tries to yank the main vine from it’s source only for a tendril to whip out and strike his cheek. 

“I would like it noted that this was not a likely future.” Indrid tugs at the tightest vine, slashing it with his sharp nails. The Ranger manages to rip one off of Lady Flame’s arm, only for it’s larger cousin to shoot out, sending him flying into Indrid and knocking them both to the ground. 

As their teammates continue their losing battle against her unfortunately durable creation, Dani turns to meet her enemies eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, “I never really wanted to hurt you. I just wanted you all not to hurt us.”

“I mean we, like, don’t hate you all or anything, but you’ve, like, been putting people in danger, and blowing things up-”

“Nyx didn’t blow up that bridge!” If they’re both about to die, there’s no point in keeping up the act. 

“Wait, what?”

“He was framed, but we thought it made people take us seriously as a threat, listen to us, so we let people believe it was true. Same with me and that power plant. I just blackmailed the CEO into admitting they’d been dumping toxins in the water supply. None of us blew the place up. Hell, you guys were the ones who destroyed that factory.”

“.....wait, they told us you did that.”

“Who told you?”

“Them? Y’know, the big bosses?” 

“We don’t have those, but we do have informants.”

“What the fuuUUUCk, ow, squishing my ribs, we’re being played.”

“That, ow, that sucks. All this time we’ve been fighting, we could have been dating, I mean, uh, working together.” 

Lady Flame laughs, a bright, beautiful sound, “I knew you were checking me out.”

“Me?! You were the one who kept making flirty comments.”

“Hey, banter’s part of the job. Also, you have a cute butt and that costume really shows off your, um,” The last word is so quiet Dani can’t make it out, but given that Lady Flame glances at her chest, she’s got a good guess as to what it was. 

The vines constrict and they both hiss in pain, the world going fuzzier at the edges as breathing gets almost impossible. 

“I, if this, if this is the end, I just wanna say it’s been a pleasure doing battle with you, Lady Flame.”

Fire colored eyes meet her own, accompanied by a weak smile, “You can call me Aubrey.”

“Dani. Nice to meet you, Aubrey.” She has just enough energy to tip her head forward, bringing their lips together. It’s barely a kiss, but as soon as they connect the vines go limp, dropping them to the floor. 

For a moment they gasp jointly for air, then Aubrey is in her lap, fingers tangling in her hair as she kisses her hard and happily. Dani sighs into the kiss, melting into the embrace, knowing full well the near-strangulation isn’t what’s causing the dizziness in her vision and the butterflies in her stomach. 

“Uh, can’t help but feel we missed somethin.” Over in the corner where they were both thrown (twice), The Ranger tries to disentangle himself from Indrid, who sits up with a knowing look.

“Oh, I see. It appears we are about to form an alliance.”

“Really?” Barclay looks back at them from where’s hes sitting, checking the cuts on The Agents face. 

“It’s a long story, but the cliff notes are: we’re pretty sure someone’s been setting us against each other on purpose. Making us each think the other caused certain disasters.”

“Which means it’s time for a team-up.” Aubrey cracks her knuckles, sending sparks flying. Then she glances shyly at Dani, who reaches out to brush stray ash from her cheeks, “Um, but before that, would you like to go out with me?”

Dani kisses her again, bumps their noses together with a smile as she murmurs, “That sounds really fucking awesome.”

[strvwberryblcnde]

👫 ford nd bradley

send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons i have about our muses’ relationship.

i feel like they have a recurring theme of rooftops.... they’re always hanging out on them historically in threads bt i also feel like they have a couple of different things they do on rooftops. obviously a staple is drinking an atrocious amt n smoking until their throats r hoarse with it bt. i feel like once bradley invited him to a rooftop in college n when he arrived she just had a duffel bag w a bunch of watermelons in. how had she lugged them all up there i honestly dnt know. n it would be a weird cathartic thing in a way of just. hurling them off n watching them splat on the pavement a few stories below. inevitably once bradley said smthn rly alarming bt she’d say it in her nonchalant way like. sometimes i picture it as my skull when it cracks open. all tht gutted fruit kind of looks like brain if u stare long enough. if u know what brain looks like. know what i mean? n she’d look at him n smoke n do a small smile like tht wasn’t the most horrific thing to say in a casual conversation..... Just Bradley Things <3 bt then also maybe this wld evolve into a fun thing where she brings a sharpie n they draw someone they kno tht pisses them off on the watermelon to give it a face before they toss it. she probably drew elias once n before she threw it she was like She Slept In My Bed! Sh-sh-sh-sh-she Slept In My Bed! pretending to remix him crying at the party tht time before lobbing it n laughing when it exploded into mulch. mayb once it hit a car windshield of a professor n the alarm started blaring n they were like. shit. n had to run away. bradley wld laugh as they ran she finds chaos amusing

i dnt think they’ve ever kissed tht i can recall???? n in a way bradley is probably kind of thankful fr tht. it’s like when ur a kid n u shut ur eyes like somehow that means the monster won’t b there bc u can’t see it. her eyes r very much shut to the concept of ever actually indulging tht want bc it just is clearly.................. a doomed possibility tht she knows shd be let go. black balloon by the kills playing in the bkground. even if they were in a situation where they got told to kiss as a dare or smthn like that i feel like bradley wld deflect from the dare being given n start roasting a random npc tht had given her the dare just fr the sake of shifting the focal point of conversation n avoiding it. it’s jst a bit like giving a crumb to a starving person n expecting them to nt want to eat more. it’s better to have nothing at all than to get a taste of something bt know u’ll never be allowed to feel full. he’s destined to get married n have bebes with vee n bradley knows this n knows she’s destined fr........ something else shall we say! reminds me of the new girl nick n jess scene where he doesn’t wna kiss her on the dare n she’s like why not let’s jst do it n he blurts out NOT LIKE THIS!!!!! n she’s like huh.... except the roles r reversed n bradley wldn’t say tht it’s just. the sentiment. it’s a nice daydream every so often when she’s drunk enough to nt be able to ignore it bt that’s what it’ll have to remain <3

ok so building from tht one time when she vanished fr a month to mexico n didn’t even contact anyone except fr ford in the form of rly weird concerning postcards when... she was unravelling a little mentally..... they were mostly incoherent n just saying random choppy sentences that didn’t quite cooperate with one another n just.... making strange jokes n doing little drawings n whatever..... bt i feel like there was one that was the least nonsensical of them all tht bradley never sent to him bt she just kept it fr herself n the front was a beach at night where nothing was rly visible except fr the moon in the water n everything was almost jet black. n on the back she just wrote “i don’t want to be scared any more.” bradley hates being vulnerable w her emotions so much n any admission of a bad feeling she categorises in her brain as stupid n childish bc of her dad’s brainwashing so idk if she wld ever share this w him n..... she’d usually expect herself to erase the evidence n rip this up into pieces n throw it away bt she just can’t bring herself to. she doesn’t know why. in a way it feels like the only physical manifestation of the trust she has in ford tht she’s ever been able to put her hands on n hold. n even if it makes her feel small tht isn’t something she can bring herself to get rid of. subconsciously she doesn’t wna give up on the idea tht someone is still capable of reaching her like tht

lastly. idk if u remember tht one time she lived in a loft n she ws rly depressed n she just let a bunch of randoms come in n party in her place all the time n she ended up w so many strangers jst.... squatting in her place n partying 24/7 she’d hv to lock herself in her bathroom if she wanted to b alone fr a minute to breathe in her own place... she jst was not doing well.... which was made most evident by the fact she splashed a bunch of black paint of her white brick wall n painted out a rly messy weird scrawled lump of a Thing with holes for eyes and teeth. it kind of looked like a wolf bt nothing Of This Realm. if we’re being real it ws meant to be her dad n how he’s always with her no matter where she is jst Looming. she was just.... Not Okay to say the least bt. i feel like one time she wld have greeted ford if he came over n she’d just b in her rage against the machine tank n no pants smoking lking so run down.... someone get her a banana bag iv..... some vitamins.... please im begging..... n anyway i jst feel like if he saw that on her wall n saw all the people there he’d evict them for her bc she was at a point where she honestly didn’t care abt anything so wouldn’t even think to do it herself n maybe he’d come back w white paint n go over it once she’d finally let herself crash enough off 45987425 drugs to get a few hrs of sleep..... jst like...... them being there fr each other is always thru indirect acts i feel rather than actual acknowledged words n. sighs. i can just see this being the conclusion to tht whole destructive narrative or at least an attempt to rectify it. again bradley hates being vulnerable bt she wld just rly briefly be like. thanks. nt even looking him in the face n then just change subjects like she hadn’t said it. ask if he wanted to go to a dive bar n shove ppl over in mosh pits so they gt stampeded like mufasa fr the thrill

[chaos-burst]

do you hear the flowers sing

Molly is resurrected by Caduceus Clay. They drink tea, smoke dead-people-leaves and try out some new things.

[ ao3 ]

Molly doesn’t have a type, really. He likes all kinds of people, has as long as he remembers. Yasha could probably tell a tale or two about Molly’s varied tastes when it comes to taking people to bed with him. 

One of the ways to live life to the fullest is to connect with all sorts of people and Molly always found it easiest to connect with them… well. Physically. Not necessarily in a sexual manner, but he likes touching people and he loves being touched in return, be it in form of a hug, a tickle or bending someone over a table and making them forget their own name. 

When he wakes up, his first thoughts vary from “Fucking shit” and “Not again” to “I really need a hug”.  

What he gets first is a loud screech, a suppressed sobbing sound and a muttered “Den Göttern sei Dank” which he doesn’t understand. But he recognizes the voices even though it’s hard to believe that Beau could make a sobbing sound like this. 

“Molly?”, Nott yelps and Molly turns his head to see where she is. Her nervous wiggling makes him wonder if she wants to hug him but she stares at him with wide eyes and doesn’t seem to find the courage to come closer. 

Both Caleb’s and Beau’s eyes are blue and huge and Molly wants to complain about the rather cold welcome when he realizes what makes them so apprehensive.   

They don’t know if it’s really me, Molly thinks. They brought the body back and don’t know who’s living in it. 

He feels cold and stiff and everything hurts and when he opens his mouth only a broken sound comes out. 

“Careful there, coming back is never easy”, a fourth voice says. Molly doesn’t recognize it so he turns his head and… there is a Firbolg.

He has no idea who it is but damn, that guy is huge. And rather pretty. Molly loves people who are just as colorful as he is so this pink and turquoise giant of a man is right up his alleyway. 

“I’ll make some tea, purple fella. You should just take it easy and breathe.”

Molly turns his head and looks at Beau first. She is definitely crying while simultaneously trying to hide it. It doesn’t work at all. 

He manages to stretch his hand out a bit and wonders what he can do to make them realize that they brought the right one back—not Lucien, not Nonagon or whatever the guy called himself—without talking. 

So he opts for sticking his tongue out and throwing Caleb a wink.  Nott’s screech is so loud it hurts his ears and finally, finally they come to him—Nott first, Caleb second and Beau third. 

She is still terrible but wonderfully alive so it was all worth it, the pain, the dying. Beau got away so it was all worth it. 

Molly will never tell her that. 

He wants to ask where the others are, if they managed to save them, if Yasha is alright—she has to be, Yasha is so strong, but… damn, those fucking slavers were also very strong.

Molly hates not being able to speak. Maybe it’ll come back in a few minutes but he feels like he should take it all one step at a time. 

Nott hugs him, which surprises him immensely. What surprises him even more is that Caleb actually touches his hair. Caleb. Touches. It’s so faint Molly almost misses it but those are definitely fingers stroking his hair and then there is Beau, looking down at him with bloodshot eyes, dark rings under them like a physical testament of all the things she’s lost. 

“You fucking asshole, Molly”, she croaks and then without any warning she hugs him as well, crushes him, buries her face in the crook of his neck and actually starts sobbing again. 

He tries to lift his arm and wrap it around her and it hurts like hell but he desperately wants to comfort her. 

“Glad to have you back, friend”, Caleb says quietly, his blue eyes never leaving Molly’s face as if he’s drinking him in.

All well and alive. 

Beau keeps mumbling profanities into his bloody shirt and his shoulder. 

“I didn’t take any of your stuff”, Nott sniffs and touches the jewelry on his horns, “because you taught me not to steal from happy people.”

That’s all she manages before she starts sobbing as well and now Molly has his arms full of a goblin and an unpleasant monk. It makes him so happy he almost can’t bear it. 

“We got the others. They still need healing, so they are staying with Nila.”

Molly has no idea who Nila is but a faint memory tickles his brain in which a Firbolg woman tells them of Nila, the mother who left her clan to save her son. Molly hopes she got to save him. 

Yasha is free. Jester and Fjord are safe. 

And Molly is alive. 

He feels laughter bubble up in his chest and it hurts when it breaks free but damn, it feels good. 

“I made some—how did you call it? Dead-people-tea. It’s ok, you can drink it even when you’re alive and I assure you it won’t kill you again”, the stranger says, his face appearing above Molly. Molly really digs his pink hair. 

“This is Clay. We found him on a graveyard and he brought you back. He grows tea from dead people”, Nott explains, still sniffing. She sits up again and now helps Caleb and Beau to prop Molly up as well so he can take the teacup that is offered to him. 

Clay bows a bit after Molly took one of the cups from his hands. 

“Caduceus Clay. At your service. And you must be Mollymauk Tealeaf, the good friend of these fine, slaver-killing people”, Clay says and sits down facing Molly before taking a content sip from his tea. 

Molly—despite what his last name is—doesn’t care that much for tea but this is delicious. 

He tries to open his mouth and a broken sound comes out.  Fucking shit. 

“Take your time, friend. Your voice will find its way back as well. Or. Did he talk before?”, Clay wants to know.

Beau snorts and wipes her face on her sleeve. 

“Didn’t ever stop to fucking talk. This is actually quite nice.”

Molly snorts and sticks his tongue out again.

Damn it feels good to be back. This big ass chunk of nothingness and black void really doesn’t do it for him. No, he prefers this vibrant, terrible place above all other places. 

And this time waking up, instead of dirt he had to claw himself out of, there is actually… well. 

His new family. Or at least parts of it. And a hot stranger who offered him dead-people-tea safe to be consumed by the living. 

After two cups of tea Molly actually feels his limbs again and they wrap him in his coat and put him on a horse in front of Beau. 

Caduceus trots alongside them, humming under his breath and stopping from time to time to look at a fern, flower or a tree. 

“Will you look at that, those little buggers don’t grow in my graveyard. I’ll have to have a talk with the Wildmother. Aren’t you just beautiful. And what about you—”

“He’s mostly talking to himself”, Beau explains while Molly watches Caduceus touch some rather plain, yellow flowers he seems to find exceptionally beautiful. Molly thinks that Yasha will probably like him a lot. 

He tries to use his voice again. 

“Are—do we adopt this one?”, he rasps out. 

Finally. 

Beau snorts. 

“Hell if I know. He turns dead people into mulch and heals, so I feel like he’d be pretty useful. And he wanted to leave his weird swamp. Garden. Graveyard. Whatever, you’ll see the place.”

Molly listens to Caduceus’ proclamations.

He has such a calming voice that Molly actually falls asleep against Beau, his head lolling back onto her shoulder. In his slumber he could swear that she wraps an arm around him to hold him upright and maybe it feels like she presses her hand on his ribs as if to see if he’s still breathing. 

Molly didn’t intend to sleep for so long but when he wakes up it’s dark outside and he needs a moment to realize where he is. This is definitely a graveyard, so it might be the place the others talked about. 

It smells overwhelmingly of all different kinds of flowers, which is the first thing Molly notices.

The second thing is that he is the center of a cuddle pile. His head rests on Yasha’s shoulder—Jester is curled up against the both of them. Beau’s head lies on Jester’s soft stomach while Nott is splayed all over Jester’s legs. 

Caleb lies a bit apart from them, but his hand is stretched out to bridge the distance and his fingers lie just inches away from Molly’s hand. Fjord sleeps on his side, quietly snoring while loosely hugging Beauregard from behind. 

This never happened before but here they are, suddenly deeply connected through the trauma that grabbed all of them, either in the form of loss or being lost in one way or the other. Molly would love to stay like this forever, he thinks. He hopes that they’ll keep on doing this even after the pain heals. 

As he turns his head slightly his gaze locks onto a tall figure sitting on a boulder a few feet away. It smells like tea and something smoky and sweet which he can’t place. And while Molly loves cuddling he can’t bear to lie down for just a minute longer. His body wants to move again after lying in the dirt for so long so he gets up slowly before standing there beside his family, just watching them sleep and snore and drool. 

Damn, he loves them. All of them. So fucking much it actually hurts in his chest. 

His body still feels as if someone put metal spikes into it but he still walks over to where Caduceus Clay drinks his tea and looks at the night sky.

“So this is where you get your dead-people-tea?”, Molly asks and stretches his legs, his arms, rolls his neck and wiggles his fingers. What a wonder this body is, moving around on demand, heart beating steadily in his chest. All those nerve endings that feel as if someone set him on fire are just a sign that he is wonderfully alive.  

“Oh yes. You want a cup?”

“No, thanks. Maybe later.”

Molly looks at the small pipe Caduceus holds in his other hand. The sweet and smoky smell seems to come directly out of there. 

“Want to try, purple friend?”, Caduceus asks and holds out the pipe for Molly. 

“What is it?”, Molly wants to know and takes the pipe, inspects it and smells it again. 

“Oh, you know. It’s just a bit more dead-people-tea but for smoking, I guess. Makes lonely nights less lonely and sometimes it makes the flowers sing.”

Singing flowers sound as if Caduceus is talking about drugs and Molly is all for trying new things, so he puts the pipe to his lips and inhales. It tastes as if someone set a field of sunflowers on fire, which is interesting enough and he enjoys the slight burn in his throat before he pushes the smoke out of his lungs and sends it up towards the sky. 

Then he hands the pipe back to Caduceus. 

“Thanks for bringing me back”, he says quietly. His voice still sounds as if he’s been screaming for hours. 

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Usually I’m all for the natural order of things to unfold but you know, your friends there told me all about you. How you only had two years in this borrowed body of yours. And, uh—violence is natural. But deliberate cruelty really isn’t. So I feel like the Wildmother will understand why I uh—took someone back from her soil.”

Molly watches smoke escape Caduceus’s mouth as he talks before the huge Firbolg hands the pipe back to him. 

Up in the sky the full moon shimmers brightly and bathes them in a pale light, making Molly wonder if the Moon Weaver is up there smiling down on him. He puts the pipe to his lips again and breathes in. 

“So… you lived here… how long?”

“Oh, since I was born. Never been out that far before, let me tell you. It was quite the wild ride.”

“And you lived here alone?”

“No. My family lived here with me but they’re all gone now. I’ve been alone for—hm. Two seasons.”

Molly knows that there are probably more interesting topics to talk about with a Cleric who turns dead people into mulch and guards an ancient elven graveyard in the middle of a cursed forest. But he is still Mollymauk Tealeaf—thank the gods and thank his friends and also Caduceus—and these tealeaves he smokes at the moment make his tongue looser than it usually is anyway. 

“So that means you never had sex before?”

Caduceus turns his head to look at Molly, his head cocked to the side, his eyes full of mirth. 

“Guess that’s what it means, aside from other stuff it means as well. We never got visitors out here. But I have plenty of visitors now.”

Molly chuckles and thinks about this for a while and the pipe passes back and forth while Caduceus drinks his tea and looks at the moon. Sometimes he also looks at Molly as if he’s trying to assess the weird and colorful mystery that is Mollymauk Tealeaf. 

“Do you hear the flowers sing?”, he asks after what seems like eternity. Molly could swear that the moon starts turning pink. He closes his eyes and listens and well, there is definitely a weird sound in the air, almost like tiny hummingbirds mixed with the sound of small bells ringing through the night. 

He laughs and opens his eyes again. 

“I suppose I do”, he says. Whatever those leaves are, they make him feel warm and heavy and at the same time wonderfully lightheaded. He feels as if his mind could take flight any second and maybe even touch the moon. The pain in his body subsides. 

“So you also never kissed anyone.”

“Not yet.”

“Would you want to kiss anyone?”

Caduceus looks at him and grins lazily. 

“Dunno. Maybe kissing is terrible. I wouldn’t know either way, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly shrugs and nods.

“I guess that’s true. Wanna find out if kissing is terrible?” Caduceus puts his teacup aside and turns until he sits cross legged on top of the boulder, his tall silhouette framed by moonlight. 

“Do you like kissing?”, Caduceus wants to know. Molly turns to face him the exact same way and takes one last gulp of smoke before putting the pipe aside. 

“Oh yes. I like almost everything that involves touching. And exchanging bodily fluids, for that matter. Well—ah, never mind.”

Caduceus cocks one of his pink eyebrows but doesn’t answer, just looks at Molly. 

He just returned from the grave the second time so who the hell would Molly be to refuse a hot guy his first kiss. He wants to grab life by the collar and yank it in, take as much as he can because tomorrow he might face a foe who is stronger. And then he might die yet again. 

So living life to the fullest in this very moment seems to involve kissing pretty strangers and smoking flowers while the moon smiles down on him. Molly leans forward, tilts his head and carefully presses his lips to Caduceus’. 

He’s warm to the touch and tastes like tea and burning sunflowers. Molly cups his cheeks and presses closer, nibs at Caduceus’ bottom lip and then pulls back a bit. 

“That was quite nice”, Caduceus says. Molly chuckles. 

“Wanna try with tongue?”

Caduceus grins at him. 

“Well, what can I say. The dead rise, the flowers are singing… It seems to be an appropriate night to try all sorts of things, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”