#crate pot thingys

[ask-hunten-and-the-slimes]

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[screwzara]

Just had one of the most cohesively confusing dreams ever

I took a nap and woke up just 30 minutes ago and omg this dream made sense but also didn't????

It began with me and two of my friends(who I rarely interact with irl) going through a shopping mall like area? We were in our school clothes too

We first went into a makeup store that was selling weird makeup products, the friends I was with literally just left the store without paying the items XD

But that's besides the point

They actually left before me, I followed behind silently afterwards and they entered a photo album store area??? They said something about clicking the perfect school album photos

I left them to it without entering the store and walked past it, in the next minute I started feeling dizzy in the dream AND in my sleep 👁️👁️

My dad walked next to me out of nowhere, took my hand and led me to a different area which looked a little run down and worn out judging by the walls and my dad sat me down on the small stairs before a door?

I was still very dizzy so he picked me up in the most odd way possible and put inside the room beyond the door I was seated in front of

My dad goes to the corner of the room, places me on what feels like a small stack of hay very gently and asked me something I don't quite remember

My eyes close in the dream and I fall asleep

I then wake up in that room again, just in front of me is a pot that actually has legible handwriting which I don't remember what it said unfortunately but I remember that I read it

I sat up from the hay and looked past the pot, there were two chicken coops and a dog

The dog was incredibly small, smaller than my own dog irl and had pitch black fur from what I remember

I got up and walked towards it then petted it for a short second, I felt how soft its fur was

I turned to my left and saw the door from earlier that I sat in front of

I went out and into the hallway

I somehow suddenly ended up in this huge ass room with plants and trees, so many trees and roaming animals

I could see a patio like area a short distance away from me, there were white bunny looking animals lined up in front of me and to my left my family was standing next to me

My dad lightly nudged me to go ahead to the people who were standing under the patio which also seemed to have like an outdoor classroom situation to it

I went ahead, carefully trying my best to avoid the white bunny things lined up in front of me because they were so small and fragile looking, I didn't wanna step on them

The bunny(?) animals sort of did run away though fairly quickly when I lost my balance and nearly stepped on one

I reached the patio area and my dad walked right next to me. Just then two small animals came around to us, one I can't remember who went past us

The other one was a black-brown cat that looked very fluffy, it had this weird ring thing around its torso

The ring also had these ball thingies???

My dad poked the ball thingy and found out it was like a slime ball so he squished it around a bit

The cat grew a little annoyed but didn't try to run otherwise

I don't know but I feel like I chuckled at the scene in the dream

I looked to my left again and looked back and suddenly all other people in the room were gone and I was left alone with the animals

I went left, saw a bunch of crates and boxes and looked forward. I saw those vineyard plant walls and it had one of those white bunnies things from earlier sitting on its side

That's when I realised those white 'bunnies' were small white and fluffy moths

The moths I saw flew over to me and hung on the lower side of my poncho which I didn't realise I was wearing in the dream since I started out in my school uniform(I was wearing the poncho while sleeping though)

It then slowly crawled into my shirt from there and I felt it hanging on my shirt

I woke up.

And I could feel the weight of the moth on my stomach for a few seconds before it faded

Edit: forgot to add but I'm pretty sure I was half awake during the whole dream too, is that why I felt everything so clearly???

[chinahatbeach]

Thoughts for Today

Wednesday and brr once again. There was snow up in them thar hills last night. Winter doesn’t want to leave us just yet. And many of us wait for the warm of Spring to shine on us. I have a list of yardwork items I want to do but alas……. I shall wait. Patience. I also want to clean the garage but it’s too cold and I will wait on that also.

Projects inside the house it is. I have material cut for kozy bowls and pot holders. I saw a crafty idea and will try my hand on it. I also want to make Swiffer mopheads with terry cloth fabric I got a couple of years ago. I dislike those throw away wet towel thingy’s and would rather have something I could re-use. I look at many things with the thought of re-using them. As I sit here, I see an empty half n half container that is a half gallon size. Hmmm…. I could use that to start plants in it.

My dad was a ‘save that for a rainy day’ type of guy. My mom saved things too. When folks go thru the Great Depression and the lack of many things, you look to the importance of saving for a rainy day. In our present world, we toss out good stuff.

I have a client who has a ‘goodwill box’. It sits there in her dining room and she will take it away about once a year. She told me if I see anything I want to just take it. She has had great items and I have brought home a few of them. To reuse an unwanted item that I wanted and for me to save money is perfect. Yeah, I’m still removing many items that need to go in my eyes. I shall get rid of a couple of items that I really have no use for and I won’t be sad to let them go.

Yesterday, I watched a video of a very small tiny home a lady lives in, in Australia. It was too small for me. I need assorted ‘rainy day items’ and can’t let go of many special things. I need room for my doggos, cats, and their stuff. And yes, my critters have their own stuff. I do know that I have at least two wire dog crates in the garage that need to go. I do not think I’ll have more than one or two dogs from now on. That’s sad. I always have had at least three dogs at one time. I do have a dog exercise pen that I’ve used when we would go camping with the dogs. I have used it for chickens in the past but now, I think I need to let it go too. Time changes things and it teaches you to let go of stuff. When the weather gets better, I’ll post pictures of the dog crates and exercise pen and sell them on Buy, Sell, and Trade or Facebook Marketplace. They can go to good homes.

Well, time to get ready for my day. Things to do, people to see, and work to be done. I’ve inspired myself to go clean out a couple of bins of stuff and say goodbye to some of it. Less stuff means less mess. The file cabinet is another area I want to clean out. Maybe this afternoon I’ll take time to straighten it out.

Happy Hump Day! Enjoy your day!

And that’s the way it is………

[bellmel]

An unknown magic

A little fic written for the Hinny Birthday Challenge, with the theme ‘television’.

In the centre of the back wall was a large black box, its dark glass front reflecting a distorted version of themselves and the cluttered space around them. “Ron and Hermione gave it to me yesterday,” Arthur said. “A bit of an early present. It was all Hermione’s doing of course, she figured it out.”

Arthur is given a television for his birthday, and Ginny and Harry discover a show with a unique idea of how magic works.

Read it on Ao3

---

“Mum?”

The front room was empty as they stepped inside the house, the only faint sound coming from behind the kitchen door, a muffled scraping of bowls and clanging of spoons.

Ginny continued through to the kitchen, swinging the door wide for Harry to follow behind her.

“Oh, hello dears,” her mum said, putting the spatula down. She wiped her hands on her paisley apron before making her way over, pulling them each into a hug. Behind her, the dishes carried on cooking without interruption, as a spoon continued to idly stir a simmering pot and a brush flicked its way over a tray of pastries, evenly coating each crescent with an egg wash.

The Burrow was oddly still otherwise, almost unnaturally so. The silence buzzed with an expectant hum, that almost eerie quiet that comes before an impending swarm of bodies and voices and activity.

“Where is everyone? Where’s Dad?

“You two are the first ones here,” her mum said, picking the spatula back up and resuming her task of spreading mint-coloured icing over a large square cake. “Your dad’s out the back. In his shed, of course.” She rolled her eyes, but the affectionate turn of her lips belied any hint of annoyance.

Ginny turned towards the back door, swiping her finger through the icing to taste it on her way past. Her mum ignored her, well accustomed to such things by now.

She didn’t bother knocking on the door of the shed - no one ever did. It took her dad a few moments to realise they were there. He was sitting on the low stool by the bench, hunched over a black handheld gadget. Around him, appliances and contraptions lay idle, save for the gentle flick of an alarm clock as it ticked over to a new minute.  

“Hi Dad.”  

“Oh!” he said, spinning around and jumping up off his stool. “Ginny! Harry! Come look.” He waved them over towards the back of the shed.

Ginny gave him a quick squeeze once she reached him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” He smiled at her briefly and quickly returned the hug before hurriedly ushering her again to the rear of the shed.

There in the centre of the back wall was a large black box, its dark glass front reflecting a distorted version of themselves and the cluttered space around them.

“Ron and Hermione gave it to me yesterday, a bit of an early present. It was all Hermione’s doing of course, she figured it out.” He spoke rapidly, a childish glee lighting up his face.

“Look!” he said, waving the black gadget she had seen him tinkering with when she walked in. He pointed it towards the screen and pressed a button. The screen instantly lit up and a second later red and golden beams were revolving and zooming out to reveal a globe, while a dramatic overture filled the shed. He looked over at both her and Harry, his eyes searching for their reactions as his grin grew impossibly wider.

“Merlin, Dad. This is incredible!”

“Safe to say Hermione wins best present,” Harry said, impressed.

“They even gave me a whole box of these disc things,” her dad said, pointing to a small wooden crate with what looked like a couple dozen little thin plastic cases neatly lined up inside.

“DVDs,” Harry said helpfully.

Her dad nodded giddily. “They said we can’t get normal tellovision here, the magic interferes too much with the beam, something like that. Hermione’s still working on it,” he said. “But we have these disc things - DVDs - for now, and there’s even a little machine that sucks the disc in, and then you can watch it on the tellovision.”

The image on the TV had continued to play out while he was talking, eventually stopping on a still image of two men laughing.

“So what have you got?” Ginny asked, making her way over to browse the contents of the crate.

“Plenty. Hermione and Ron picked out-”

“Arthur!” Her mum’s shrill voice sounded from outside the shed door. She refused to step foot inside Dad’s shed. ‘Sometimes I figure I’m better off not knowing what’s in there,’ her mum had told her once.  

“I need a little help getting things all set up. Would you mind, Arthur?”

Her dad smiled at her apologetically. “Best I go and help your mum. Help yourselves,” he said, gesturing to the selection of disc cases. “You know how to work it, Harry?”

“I should be able to figure it out.”

“Wonderful.” her dad grinned at them one more time before slipping out of the shed.

“What’s he got there?” Harry asked.

Ginny turned back to the crate and started riffling through it, picking out cases and looking at them quizzically before returning them to their spot and continuing on.

“Vicar of Dibley, Titanic...” Ginny read out, her back to Harry. “Something called ER, French and Saunders, Home Improvement - Merlin, this isn’t some show about how to build a house or something, is it? ’Cause Dad will do it, you know, and Mum’ll go spare-”

“No, it’s just a funny show. I reckon your Dad will like that one.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, already moving on to the next one. “Ooooh!” She spun around to face him, grinning widely as she held up a case for him to see.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “They gave your dad that?”

“Are you kidding? A Muggle show about a young witch? Dad will lose his mind over it!” She was surprised he wasn’t already watching it when they got there.

“Yeah, alright. I see what you mean.”

Ginny didn’t turn back to the crate this time. Instead, she stood there patiently, her smile fixed at him.

“We’re watching this one, aren’t we?”

She nodded unapologetically.

“Fine,” he sighed. He pushed off from the bench and took the disc from her as he rolled his eyes, any hint of ridicule negated by the amused smirk he failed to hide.

“The remote?” he called over his shoulder.

“The… what?”

“Oh, sorry,” he looked around, quickly spotting the black plastic stick on the stool and holding it up to her. “This thing.” He turned back to the smaller black machine, which was now slowly spitting out a shiny disc.

Ginny settled herself into the weathered tan recliner chair that her dad had repositioned to face the screen. She watched as Harry pushed the disc into the machine and scrutinised several of the buttons on the remote. Just a few moments later, the screen came back to life, an image of a young blonde girl appearing on the screen alongside a list of sorts.  

The black stick thingy still in his hand (she’d already forgotten what he had called it), Harry walked over to the recliner and sank into it, lifting Ginny’s legs and placing them back down to rest across his lap.

It wasn’t her first time seeing a television, of course. In the years since the war ended, she had increasingly ventured out into the Muggle world, and it was impossible to do so without being exposed to the large screens that Muggles seemed fixated on. The television had also been on a couple of times when she went to Hermione’s parents’ house, either the Muggle news or some kind of game show, Hermione had called it. And they had been to Muggle pubs that showed sports games on big screens fixed to the wall, never with any sound. But this, sitting down and watching a television show from beginning to end, was different. Familiar, in a way. But new.

She sank a little deeper into the chair and let her head fall back against Harry’s shoulder. He leaned into her a little more, his arms draped casually over her legs. Content, she returned her attention to the black whirring screen where the blonde girl was hovering, asleep, over her bed.

‘Her sixteenth birthday started five minutes ago,’ came an unseen woman’s voice. ‘Oh look, Hilda, she’s levitating, right on schedule.’

‘Let’s wake her up and tell her she’s a witch,’ another woman (presumably Hilda) said.  

“Sixteen!” Ginny said in disbelief. “How can she not know she’s a witch until she’s sixteen?”

Harry gave a short laugh. “It’s just a show, Ginny. If you want to watch it, you’re just gonna have to ignore these things.”

She huffed a little and returned her attention to the screen, trying to lose herself in the story. It didn’t take long. There was something captivating about the absurdness of it all, and the teenage struggles that seemed to transcend worlds.

When the shed door opened only a few minutes later, she ignored the interruption, but Harry turned around, looking back towards the door.

“Oh, hey.”

“Look at you two, spending Dad’s birthday holed up in the shed like a couple of unsociable gits,” Ron said.

“Well no one else was here yet, were they?” Ginny called back, distracted, gaze still fixed ahead.

“What are you two watch-” Hermione began to ask before she cut herself off. “Oh, I should have guessed.” Ginny didn’t have to look at her to know that she was smiling in that slight smuggish way that she often did.

“Did you used to watch this?”

“Not really,” Hermione said, leaning against the bench which Ron was now perched on top of. “I was already at Hogwarts when it began. But Mum and Dad were quite excited when it was first on TV, so I watched a couple of episodes with them. But I haven’t watched it since.”

“The talking cat freaked her out,” Ron said helpfully.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “The talking cat freaked you out?”

“Yes. Animals shouldn’t talk, Harry!”

“So after all the shit that you’ve seen and done, it’s a talking feline that scares you?”

Ron laughed and Hermione lightly slapped his chest with the back of her hand.

“It was a few years ago, to be fair,” she said pointedly. “But yes, talking animals give me the creeps. Mum read me a book about a young witch when I was little, and there was a talking cat in the story. It gave me nightmares.”

“Were you scared of normal cats?” Ginny asked, attention completely on Hermione now as the show continued unnoticed in the background.

“Of course not. But I kept thinking about it, that first week after I got my Hogwarts letter. I asked Professor McGonagal about it the night of the feast, actually. I asked her if there really were talking cats.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just laughed.”

“She would,” Ginny said, while Harry and Ron snorted.

“What about you, Harry?”

“What? Was I scared of talking cats?”

“No,” Hermione huffed. “I mean, have you seen Sabrina before?”

Ginny shifted in the chair to look up at Harry, curious.

“Sure, Hermione. My aunt gathered us all around the TV together to watch a show about a young witch living among Muggles. ‘Wholesome entertainment’, I believe she called it.”

“Ok,” Hermione muttered, looking just a little sheepish. “I get the point.”    

They eventually fell silent and continued to watch the screen, where the girl, Sabrina, was fumbling her way through a class in which they were supposed to be cutting up a dead frog. Ginny had at times wondered what Muggle students learnt at school, but this wasn’t exactly what she had imagined.

“If it isn’t the woman of the hour,” she heard George call out in greeting as the door of the shed slammed shut behind him. “You set an impossible standard you know, Hermione. I may as well just concede defeat and not bother with presents for Dad from now on.”

“You never do anyway,” Ron said.

George simply shrugged in agreeance and nudged Ginny’s elbow off the arm of the couch, perching himself on the only part of the couch that was now free.

The five of them sat there, watching curiously. The show held hints of the familiar, but Ginny found there was little she could relate to in the way the story exaggerated what she guessed was the novelties of magic. She’d never had to hide her magic, never had to come to terms with the reality of a new world. But navigating the awkwardness of school and teenagehood, and desperately guarding secrets from her peers - these were all things she knew too well.

“How come they have no wands? Seems like a bit of an oversight,” George said.

“Right?” Ginny interrupted. “It’s all bonkers George, they have no idea.”

“How would they?” Harry asked.

George ignored him, turning to Ginny instead. “So why are you watching it then?”

“Why are you?”

He paused for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right.” He stood up and turned away. “I’m done.”

They came and went over the next hour, a rotating door of brothers and girlfriends and her dad. But still Ginny and Harry sat there, content, squished together in the chair. Harry showed characteristic patience with her and her rhythm of questions and comments - “Is that what they really learn at school? What IS the deal with that cat? What the hell are those stupid things those dancer girls are throwing around?"

They tuned in and out of the show as it carried on playing, sometimes watching in silence with whoever was in the shed at any given minute, or all laughing as they picked apart the many, many holes in the show’s take on magic.

Bill was the last of her brothers to stop by the shed. Although the nearly empty bottle in his hand suggested he’d arrived at the Burrow some time ago.

“You two going to come out and see everyone?” he asked.

“Don’t need to,” Ginny said. “They’ve all been coming in here to see me.”

“You know they’re not actually coming to see you, right? That thing,” he tilted his head towards the screen, “is the real drawcard.”

“Lies,” Ginny whispered. “It’s all lies.”

Harry sniggered. Bill shook his head before asking her about the training camp she was heading to in a couple days’ time, successfully drawing her attention away from the screen.

Eventually, the last of their companions left and it was just the two of them, still curled together, still watching.

“It’s funny,” Harry said, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

“What is? This show?”

“No, the show’s kinda lame. I mean, it’s funny sitting here with you now, watching TV like this… I used to watch TV when I was a kid, when the Dursleys had it on. But I never watched it with anyone, if you get what I mean. Dudley would have mates over and they’d watch it together, but it’s obviously not something I ever did. It’s funny that it’s only now, now that I’m a wizard…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the sentence for Ginny to know what he meant. It’s only now that he’s a wizard that he’s able to do something so typically Muggle.

But Ginny didn’t think it was funny at all.

“Dudley never got to watch television with me though,” she said, wrapping her arms around him a little tighter, burying her head into his chest a little deeper. “So I’d say you got the better deal after all.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I did.”

And on the screen the story continued. A world somewhat like hers, with witches and wizards, but with a whole lot less magic.

[thesoilmate]

2/28/2021

Got this crate box thingy from ikea and you’re supposed to put potted plants in there but I decided I will plant directly to it like a bed. I will move my tomatoes and peppers to this boy.

I used trash bags as liners lol I mean ain’t nobody gon look, they gon look at the plants lol. I stapled my finger when I loaded the stapler midway hahaha

[iliamo]

The Uncanny Valley (part 2)

AO3 link thingy:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336024/chapters/44268367

Part 1: Tumblr | AO3

Somewhere in France near the Belgian border, 1914

Michel Morand wakes up to the sound of gunfire and the smell of death.

He's been lying down in the trenches and he is not sure for how long he passed out. As soon as he tries to get up, his vision spins and has to will his stomach to keep his food inside.

He tries to get up at a slower pace and while he's still not feeling well, it's good enough for him to stand on his feet. He is sure he has more injuries on his left arm and his ribs, but he is alive and grateful for that.

Michel looks carefully at his surroundings and looks for survivors. When he sees none, he begins to walk back where the medical camp was located (and silently prays that it wasn't destroyed or abandoned during the fighting).

He tries to not pay much attention to the corpses covered in blood and mud, although he is sure he managed to catch a glimpse of Jacques and Albert's bodies near some empty crates.

Suddenly, a sound catches his attention. It seems to be the sound of someone moaning in pain. He squints his eyes and finds the source.

A blond man that seems no older than thirty is trying to get up from the dirt, but his mangled leg is having none of that. Michel tries to run to get closer and help; however, his head injury forces him to slow down, so he shouts to let the man know he's coming to help.

The man looks at him once he hears the shouts and gives him some hand signals Michel doesn't understand. Either he's telling him to crouch or to get away, which he finds weird.

"Go away! Go back to camp!" the man starts to yell.

Michel ignores him and tries to help him get up. He takes on the the man's arms and the other guy leans on Michel's shoulder in order to not fall down again.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine" says the guy in annoyance. Michel can tell from his face that he's grateful and can't blame him. That leg must be causing a lot of pain.

The march is agonizingly slow. The guy can barely walk even with assistance, and Michel would have tripped over a dozen times except that the other man warns him whenever he's about to step over a corpse or crate.

The guy introduces himself as Francis Bonnefoy from Paris. He's been fighting since the beginning of the war. He doesn't want to talk about his family, so he hardly says anything more.

"What about you?" Francis ask him.

Michel introduces himself as Michel Morand from Nice. His head hurts and is a bit wobbly, and doesn't say more because he doesn't fully trust his memory at the moment.

They keep on going despite being exhausted to the bone. That is, until they hear the distinct sound of gunshots coming from afar. The Germans seem to have resumed the fighting.

Francis looks alarmed and turns to Michel

"The Germans are back. Leave me and get out! I'll be fine!"

"You're injured! I can't just leave you here!" Michel fires back. All it does is make Francis furious and then he tries to let go of Michel's arm.

"You don't understand! I will be fine even if I get shot. You have a concussion and you'll die if you get hurt again!"

Michel is about to retort when a bullet pierces his shoulder. The force of the impact makes both of them fall into the mud.

Francis quickly gets on his knees and moves Michel to one of the walls of the trench. Michel can only take quick breaths as he tries to handle the pain. His shoulder bleeds and his skin is turning pale.

Michel can barely notice what is happening and thinks that maybe this is it and he's about to die. He can almost feel Francis' hand shaking his uninjured shoulder and trying to keep him awake.

"Hey... it's okay. Go, before... they sh-shoot you... too."

Francis stops and looks at him, mouth agape. A second later, Francis grips his face and says

"No. I have lost many of us already. You will survive this, you hear me? You'll be fine and when this war is over you'll return to nice and hug your mother and your father and kiss your wife Marie and return to the goddamn post office and live happily until you get old and wrinkly with grandchildren. I won't let you die like this."

Michel doesn't know what to say. Francis sounds so serious and determined that he's almost certain that would walk a marathon with his broken leg.

As his blood keeps gushing out and conciousness seems to leave him, he sees Francis get up. The last thought that passes over him is that he never told Francis about Marie or about his job.

---

France gets up and picks up a rifle from a dead soldier (Didier, from a small town near Marseille, and a vegetable farmer's only son. France silently prays for his soul), then steps on top of a crate in order to aim towards the sound of the gunshots. He hopes Germany is on the other trench, just so he can shoot him between the eyes.

His leg keeps hurting, but ignores it. He's been through worse, and this would not be the first time he has died.

Michel is unconcious, but still alive. He can feel it in his body.

France takes aim and shoots. He really can't see well, but the plan is just to keep on going until the crates below him run out of bullets or he kills all the Germans on the other side. He doesn't expect to live, but as long as he can clear a pathway so Michel can survive that's all he needs .

In the end, he doesn't run out of ammo; instead, he falls over after one too many bullets in his body. On the ground, just as he knows he's about to die again, he asks God to let Michel and the rest of his children live.

---

France wakes up to the smell of tea.

He's in a small tent. England sits next to him while brewing a pot of tea.

"About bloody time you woke up."

Francis sits up. His leg looks fine but it is still a bit sore. He can tell it's been healing on its own.

England wordlessly give him a cup and orders him to drink. France would have made a face any other time, but now he's just too tired to bother and slowly drinks it up.

"Me and a few of my men found you dead with a broken leg and at least five lodged bullets. It was hard to convince them that we had to take you in."

France just listens. Then, he remembers.

"Michel, what about Michel?!"

He doesn't realize he's close to hyperventilating when England gets up and forces him down on the cot.

"Calm down, you frog. If you mean the brat with the concussion and the busted shoulder, he's on surgery. By some bloody miracle he was still breathing when we found both of you."

England takes a deep breath and picks up his bag. He takes out two cigarettes and hands one over to France.

"Is he going to survive?" France asks as England looks for his matchbox.

"He's one of yours. You tell me."

After taking a few drags, France relaxes a bit.

"He wanted to save me, you know?"

"Oh?"

"I told him to go, but he still tried to help me, the fool."

England stares into the distance.

"Blimey, humans are one of the dumbest creatures. Always going on about defending their countries when we will outlive them all." he takes a long drag, "But then again, we are always fighting. Perhaps we are the bigger idiots."

They finish the cigarettes in silence. England just keeps looking at nothing, deep in thought.

France, meanwhile, closes his eyes. He wills his soul to feel Michel's lifeline. It's faint, but he can feel it clinging to life. He carries it in his arms, like a father carrying a son, and prays for it to stay in the realm of the living.