#gardenwork

[501guy83]

Enjoying my good Old 30-36 501 in the spring. I give it a few more weeks 😉

[corner-stories]

no.4 - story idea you havent written yet ☺️☺️

✍️ more fic writer asks!

4 || a story idea you haven’t written yet

I've discussed this idea elsewhere and I've been brainstorming it for a while.

But basically, the gist is that 5 years after the second timeskip (so roughly 872) Mikasa discovers that Jean has been living on Paradis for the last few years and didn't tell her. He's been hiding out in some coastal cottage where he spends his days living quietly, not drawing too much attention to himself, and painting like the art hoe he is. He even uses the alias "Jehan" when selling his works.

She's conflicted between being happy to see him and being mad that he's been on the Island the whole time without telling her. She's hurt to think that a friend has been so close to her this whole time and she didn't know it. In Jean's mind he kept things a secret because he thinks it's safer for Mikasa to not associate with someone who betrayed Paradis and even now he's concerned for her safety.

And why is Jean living on the Island? Because my man just needed a break from ambassador duties to spend a few years painting and hanging out with his dog. He just needs to live quietly for a while before figuring out the next step.

Meanwhile, Mikasa is still slowly healing from *gestures to her first 19 years of existence* by working in Historia's orphanage. I imagine the Queen ordering her to take a break because she's overworking herself it's scaring the children, and that's how Mikasa ends up in the coastal village where Jean is living.

And in between the saga of Mikasa and Jean reconnecting in their late 20s are flashbacks to 857 during the Ambassadors first visit back to Paradis for peace talks, which explains why exactly Jean and Mikasa act like awkward exes in the present. The tldr is that they hooked up during that time.

Funnily enough, the things that really motivated me to maybe write this is both because my sanity requires it and me stumbling across this S-Tier fanart of Jean being a bearded DILF on twitter because that's exactly how I imagine him in this scenario.

But unfortunately, him looking like that does make it implausible that the Jeankasa reunion doesn't involve her jumping his bones on the spot.

[dividedsingularity]

Menix doing normal things! The beanbag is just a direct portrayal of a time (possibly the first) I sat on a beanbag, interesting experience; and clipping the hedge is what I came up with on the specific request of 'Menix doing some everyday activity'.

[vainvex]

a big reason why i'm so into gardening is because my grandma taught me when i was little how to help re-pot and care for the flowers on her balcony, and eventually we had a community garden plot too where we grew veggies. it was so much fun, and i remember the feeling of her hands on mine, and how happy she looked when i was excited about our fresh carrots.

i found out in march that she passed away sometime last year, and i have no information about when or why it happened. i hadn't seen her since i was 13, nor had i gotten to talk on the phone with her since i was 18. it was so, so awful when i learned she was gone. but when i work in the garden, and love and care for my plants, and slowly remember the things she taught me as a kid.... it's like she's still with me, in a way. i can feel her love for me as i garden, just as i do when i crochet (she taught me that too; she would be so proud of the sweaters i've made).

it's hard. and sad. and sometimes overwhelming. but even as i grieve, i'm kept out of my depression by doing the things she taught me. remembering the way she held my hands, the way she always, always smiled at me. how gentle she was when teaching me, and how strong she could be, and how loving.

i know how to love the way i do because of her. and no matter how or why she was taken from me, that never will be.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 ii. rose petal wounds 】

summary: from the confines of their study, yuu spots riddle doing an odd task— trimming roses in the garden. wait, why was riddle doing gardenwork…? was this another prank by floyd? either way, yuu had to find out.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: idk if you can tell, but i absolutely love teasing riddle hehehe (also doesn’t dumple’s art of riddle look so cute ?)

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Distraction, it seemed, came in many shapes and forms. And for Yuu, it came in the color red. There was a flash of red in the corner of their vision. And they allowed themself to be distracted, their gaze following the color to their window.

Yuu was supposed to be putting together the final expenses list for the butler. But never mind what they were supposed to be doing.

What they saw beyond the window was far more interesting.

"Kalim?"

"Oh! Yes, master?"

"What is Riddle doing in the garden?"

Beyond their window was a view of the estate's garden. Part of the ball would be held there, amidst the rose bushes and fountains. And lo and behold, wading through the rose bushes with a pair of pruning scissors was...Riddle.

Riddle was Riddle. Prim and proper, befitting of the Roseheart name. Always ready to help straighten someone's apron at a moment's notice, with conduct and rules at the tip of his tongue.

He was also a bit naive and a lot stubborn, a combination that made it impossible for Yuu to guess why he was in the garden. Maybe it was another prank by Floyd. Or maybe it was his own bullheadedness leading him down another rabbit hole.

"Well," Kalim seemed to hesitate, his earrings jingling as he tilted his head closer. "Riddle told me not to tell you, but..."

"But...?" They prompted, trying to sound innocent to Kalim's ears. They were sure Kalim would let down his guard soon.

"But well...he wasn't satisfied with the roses in the garden!" Once Kalim started it was hard to get him to stop. "We were on a walk yesterday whilst Master was away— just checking on how the flow of the party would be, because that’s important, Riddle said— when Riddle found the rose bushes needed more...pruning."

They folded their arms, "What about the gardener?"

"The gardener...aha..." Kalim looked even more nervous now. "She stormed off after Riddle's questioning."

Ah. Now that was a problem indeed. Riddle wasn't the most unfriendly person, but his words came across as quite confident at times. Confidence and arrogance tread a thin line in the eyes of others, especially those who aren’t familiar with Riddle’s mannerisms. It was possible that the gardener got fed up with being questioned.

"Alright. I'll be taking a break in the gardens then," They brushed off their slacks, neatening their desk before standing. "When tea time arrives, please tell Ruggie to serve it in the garden."

"A picnic! Yes, Master!" They very gently patted Kalim's head, careful not to disturb the ribbon that they were sure Jamil worked hard to tie.

It wasn't very hard to make their way to the gardens. And it was easier still to find Riddle. The garden was empty save for the single maid wielding the shears with a vice, muttering to himself lightly.

"-unacceptable state," Riddle muttered as he snipped off some overgrown leaves, bending down to get a fallen rose. "Master wouldn't be happy about– ah–!"

Yuu's eyes widened at the sight of blood staining Riddle's glove red, and before they could think about it they had stepped forward, taking Riddle's wrist in their hand.

Riddle blinked, "M-Mas...ter?"

"Ah, it's getting on your apron," They tugged Riddle's hand closer, blood dripping onto the grass. "Does it hurt?"

Bewildered, Riddle shook his head, "It…stings."

"Slowly take off your glove, and sit down," They instructed, turning toward the house. "I'll get some bandages."

"Y-You shouldn’t!" Riddle's uninjured hand grabbed their sleeve. "It would be my failure as a proper maid if I made my Master do such a menial task.” Ah. Riddle's stubbornness tended to pop up at the most inconvenient times, it seemed.

Yuu sighed. When Riddle got like this, there was only one thing to do.

"Maid Rosehearts, I would like to treat your wound personally, as you were injured tending to my gardens," Yuu said with a smile. "I hope that you will listen to your Master's selfish wishes."

Riddle looked torn. There was an adorable frown on his face as he continued to think. His obedience to rules and courtesy made this trick handy for more than one occasion, and the outcome was always the same.

The maid finally opened his mouth, "...Of course, Master. Please do as you wish."

It didn't take Yuu long to get the bandages and disinfectant, especially after they ran into Jamil. (The longhaired maid sighed, "Was it Kalim or Silver this time?" They smiled sheepishly before answering, "Actually, it was Riddle." Even the ineffable Jamil had a hard time keeping his expression neutral when he heard that.) And it only took another moment to get back to the garden.

Riddle was sitting on the grass obediently, his back pin straight as they approached, "Welcome back, Master."

Yuu sat down and took his hand again, "Let's clean your hand first." They carefully used disinfectant to clean off the blood around the wound, before cleaning the wound itself. Riddle flinched slightly. It seemed that they should quicken their pace. They carefully wrapped his hand with the bandages.

"All done," They looked up to see Riddle staring. How long had he been looking this way? The red-haired maid immediately looked away with a cough. His cheeks tinted, and they vaguely wondered if it was due to the heat or embarrassment. Either way, it was a lovely look on the usually stern maid.

"Thank you, Master," Riddle bowed slightly, flexing his hand. "If I may ask, how did you know that I was here?"

"I was working when I saw you from my window," It wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was a white lie. They weren’t going to throw Kalim under the bus, since they did get effectively distracted by Riddle’s hair. "I also got these."

They dropped a pair of gardening gloves onto Riddle's lap, "Gardening...gloves?"

"If you want to keep pruning, I want you to do it safely. And besides," Yuu grinned as they pulled out another pair of gloves and shears. "I'll help you out this time."

"Master!" Riddle looked absolutely horrified at the thought. They almost chuckled. "You are going to inherit the Duke's title soon, you mustn't spend your time doing something so trivial as gardening!"

"Then what if I ask you to teach me?" Yuu said before they stood up, dancing away from where Riddle was trying to take their gloves. "As a way to broaden my horizons?"

Riddle huffed, brushing off his skirts and petticoats, ready to go after them, "A maid cannot teach their Master."

"I give you permission to," They waved over Riddle's shoulder. "Is it tea time already?"

Ruggie looked to be carrying a picnic basket, "We're getting to it, shishishi~"

Ruggie's laughter made Riddle sputter slightly, "T-Tea out here?"

"Riddle! Did you get hurt?" Kalim was also running toward them, his apron flying wildly behind him. It seemed that he had a tray of cakes in his hands. It was a wonder that none of them fell as he was running.

Riddle sighed, clearly defeated, "I am fine now. Master has tasked me with teaching them how to prune roses." Yuu beamed at Riddle’s cooperativeness. It seemed that Riddle had finally given in.

Ruggie spread a picnic blanket over the sunny ground, just as Kalim set down the cakes. And Riddle… He started on the tea. Tea was his specialty after all. They sat on the blanket next to Ruggie as they waited. There was a time for arguing over technicalities, and there was a time to serve. For now, they would look forward to Riddle’s tea.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[koeni9in]

Pookie do you fw Nikto doing some gardenwork

I DONT KNOW WHY THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN! I love the outcome and this lineart/sketch brush UGH 😫

[moethh]

yooo you wanna draw valjean doing gardenwork while at petit-picpus (or like anywhere? rue plumet would prolly be neat too). i hope this is enough information. uhm. hes probably gonna be wearing a large straw hat too

here you go bestie pal amigo friend buddy bestie pal

as for the straw hat……

it uh. blew off his head (I TOTALLY DIDNT FORGET IT)

btw guys this was the post asking for requests. rn i probably wont do any but yall are always free to ask! (animation requests could be fun too!)

[head---ache]

Sonic when Emily's born be like: I am no longer Baby!!! I am now... Father.

*Dresses exclusively in birkenstocks and socks and hawaiian shirts. Does all the gardenwork, even though he's allergic to pollen. Calls everyone younger than him "champ"*

Had to draw it

[katiekatdragon27]

Fuck you @/rainbow-wolf120 anyways hello Rayman fandom🧍.

Every time I draw my line art style just gets more and more complicated💀😭.

Guess who gained a new interest to stick on the wall?? That's right! Me~~~~!

So, I have this very unhealthy habit of choosing favorites that never get fanart ever. In this case, Goth Teensy (my pookie💖) and Romeo.

Some info and progress photos under cut:

My sibling indoctrinated me into this fandom, and I should have seen all the signs but my fixation on GT rn is too much for my ape brain to see though. (First a fanfic about GT that is eerily characterized close to me, then forcing me to endure CLH twice (it's not that bad), then being nice to me while playing Origins, then being there while I played Rayman 3, then wrote a story about GT together that's in the works lol).

Anyways, I have a sort-of interpretive version of the tennsys lol. They remind me of Moomins, so I gave them tails lol. Also, the amount of "nightmare" magic a teensy uses determines hair growth and fluffiness.

Since this is based in our AU origins story where Goth Teensy turned into a nightmare during his formative years, he's a purple fluffy teensy. Romeo is a regular nightmare magic user (Livid Dead resident), so he's fluffier than the average teensy and is able to maintain a head of hair lol.

(Ales fits in this too, but he can't keep his hair cuz his magic is super weak and embarrassing L Bozo.)

Romeo is Goth's babysitter-sorta-found-family-adoptive-brother. When Goth isn't in the lower levels of the Livid Dead (where all the nightmares are), he's with Romeo doing gardenwork, learning about the Glade, or just practicing his magic with someone who can coach him properly. They both listen to rock a lot too.

Have a nice day jahombres.

[501guy83]

Maybe it doesn’t show but these are real tight. Don’t dare to bend over much 🙈

[hell-much]

The cutting room floor of my Once In A Lifetime sequel is filling at a steady pace, so I thought I'd treat you to a draft of a scene that I'll (most probably) won't be able to squeeze in.

Please accept this as your belated Valentine's treat. 💕 (Can be read as a smutty standalone too, no real context of the original story needed.)

...

With the dial tone in her ear, Sansa stares down at numbers that long have stopped making sense.

She’s almost sure there’s a mistake somewhere in there. At least she hopes there is. There has to be a mistake. If this right there, looking back at her is their profit—

“Hello?”

Sansa breathes at the sound of Margaery’s voice and for a second all numbers, balance sheets and taxes are forgotten. “Hey.”

“Hey to you.” Something rustles in her background. “Is everything okay?”

No, Sansa thinks with her eyes skimming the paper once more. Not particularly.

“Of course,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s bright day outside and you’re calling me.”

“Jon went to Sam together with Robb. They’re helping with the forestry. Alis is at friend’s house.”

“And what are you up to?”

“I’m stuck in the office, bookkeeping.”

Margaery hums like that explains everything. “The way you sound I’d guess, you’re looking at a lot of red?”

“Grey,” Sansa says weakly. “I like to do a first calculation with a pencil. In case I make a mistake.”

“You make mistakes?”

Sansa stares down at the numbers. No, she doesn’t make mistakes. “I don’t know,” she says striving for more levity than she feels and closes the daybook. “My diligence has been lacking lately. What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting the bad weather out on my couch.”

Casting a look out of a window blind with rain Sansa smiles weakly. “You might be stuck on that couch until May.”

Margaery groans. “Don’t say that.”

“We might have snow soon.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me up?”

Sansa leans back in the office chair, playing with the phone cord. “You were pretty excited when you mistook that heavy rime for snow the other week.”

“You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

“Probably not,” she gives back, unable not to smile. “You were too adorable.”

“It’s frozen water either way,” Margaery scoffs back. “Technically I wasn’t wrong.”

“Did you get those winter tires yet?”

“I have an appointment at the garage on Thursday.”

“Good. They’ve forecasted frost for next week.”

“Do you have to sound so joyful when you say that?”

Sansa smiles. “I’m looking forward to winter.”

“You do?”

She really does. This year more than ever before. “It’s the only quiet time we get around here. No gardenwork. No fields that need ploughing, threshing, harvesting.” She pauses, and her hand probes for her cigarettes in her dress pocket but comes up empty. “I’ll have a lot more time for you.”

“If you can get to me with the metre high snow.”

“We have snow chains.”

“That’s quite the effort for a little tryst,” Margaery quips. “I’ll need to step up to make it worth your while.”

Sansa laughs, flattening the crinkled part of her dress. “Any ideas how you’ll do that?”

She hears Margaery’s soft inhale. “I could think of a few things.”

Warmth coils in Sansa’s stomach, easing some of the constant churning. “Like what?”

“What you said the other night,” Margaery says her voice just a little more husky. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.”

“I said a lot the other night.”

“That part about what the sex would be like if…”

She trails off and Sansa knows that has nothing to do with being too shy to say it. She’s daring her to say it. Sansa holds her breath for a second before she can get it past her lips, “If you had a cock?”

That bloody crooked smirk is evident in Margaery’s tone. “That. Yes.”

Sansa smooths fingertips down the button border of her dress. “You were right though. We manage pretty good without.”

“No, I know.” She pauses. “There are possibilities though. If you’d be interested in giving that it try.”

“How?”

“There’s appendages you can put on yourself.”

The warmth spreading through her abdomen creeps up her neck. “Have you ever…?”

“No. But I have been told it’s fun.”

Sansa swallows. “I can imagine.”

A breathy laugh sounds from Margaery, vibrates through Sansa as if she was right there next to her, her warm breath right at her ear. “And just what are you imagining?”

“Fucking you like that.”

“Such a top.”

“I haven’t heard you complaining,” Sansa quips back.

“How would you fuck me?”

Sansa considers for a moment, thinks what it would be like to press her in the mattress like that. Or to have Margaery on top of her. Then another image appears in her mind and she hears herself saying, “From behind.”

“On the bed? Me on all fours?”

“No,” Sansa gives back, soaking up the anticipation for a long few seconds. “I’d bend you over the back of the couch.”

Margaery groans quietly. “Fuck, that’s sexy.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you would fuck me hard, wouldn’t you?” Margaery’s voice sounds a little ragged, almost like when they— “Grip my hips and pound into me?”

Searing hot realisation rushes through Sansa. “Are you…” She can’t get the words out to overwhelmed with the idea. “Gods, you are, aren’t you?”

“Touching myself. Yes.”

For a moment Sansa just sits there, her core clenching almost unpleasantly with arousal. “Do you,” she licks dry lips, “do you do that often?”

“You have been pretty busy lately.”

She’s still touching herself. Sansa can tell just by the sound of her voice. “How often?”

“After I wake up. Before I go to sleep.”

“After we talk?”

She gives a quiet hum, like she does when Sansa finds that spot she really likes. “Sometimes in between, too.”

Sansa can’t help a smile. “That sounds slightly excessive.”

“I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. And you are on my mind a lot,” Margaery returns, the words coming out taut. “Don’t you ever?”

“No,” Sansa says quietly. “I wouldn’t even know…”

There are too many ways to end that sentence. When. Where. Only the how is somewhat clear in her mind.

“Give it a try tonight,” Margaery suggests and her voice turns yet a little tighter. “When you’re in the shower … Close your eyes and imagine I’m touching you. Imagine all the things you want us to do.”

“What do you imagine?”

“I imagine…” For a moment only heavy breathing sounds in her ear. “You on top of me. Sitting on my face. Your face buried between my legs.”

Sansa fingers trail over the skin of her cleavage and for just a second she dares to close her eyes, imagining it’s Margaery’s touch. With her soft breaths in her ear it almost works too. “That sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it? We could make it a little competition. See who gets there faster.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“What would you want?”

“I’d like to watch you. Touching yourself.”

A first soft moan sounds through the line. “Gods, Sansa.”

She dares to slip beneath her dress, just far enough to reach the seam of her bra. “What are you, right now, tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m on my couch. One leg up on the backrest. Rubbing my clit.”

“Are you dressed?”

“I’m in my bathrobe.”

Closing her eyes, Sansa can see her there, a toned leg up on the backrest. Painted toes curling. The edges of the bathrobe offering a generous glimpse at her cleavage. All the way down to her stomach. “Open it,” she presses out.

Margaery chuckles throatily. “You like to my tits, don’t you?”

The mild obscenity of her words rushes through Sansa. “I do.”

“My nipples are hard for you, darling.”

Sansa’s breath hitches when her fingers breech the fabric of her bra. She feels the flesh of her areola pebble beneath her touch, and imagines she’s touching Margaery.

“Would you like me to wait for you on that on Friday? Spread out here, getting ready for you?”

“Yes. Gods. Yes.”

“Tell me what you’d do to me,” Margaery pleads, like she has her so very close to the edge.

“Fuck you,” Sansa says rolling her nipple between her fingers. “Hard. Until you beg me to stop.”

She might bend her over the back of that couch after all. Appendage or not. Palm her ass, and keep her in place and fuck her until her legs will give out.

“As if I’d ever want you to stop,” Margaery laughs.

“I know. I never want to stop either.”

“Tell me, what you like about fucking me.”

“I love it. All of it. … Those, sounds you make. When you moan my name. “

“Sansa…”

“Yes,” she says with a satisfied breath of her own. “Just like that.”

She shifts in the chair and feels the slickness between her legs. For a second she considers following Margaery’s example, but doesn’t quite dare. Not here.

There’s only Margaery’s heavy breathing for a while before she says, “What else?”

“How you feel,” Sansa says, squeezing her eyes close a little firmer. “Soft. And then so strong wrapping around me. I love how you smell. How you taste.”

“I’m so close, darling.”

A lazy smile spreads over Sansa’s lips. “Go slow. Like I do.”

“I can’t. I’m—"

“Slow.”

Margaery breaths rings brittle, laced with frustration. “You’re a cruel woman.”

“And you’re needy.”

“As if you aren’t dripping wet.”

“I am every time we talk.”

Fresh undiluted lust laces Margaery’s voice, “You are?”

“Before I even pick up the phone,” Sansa says, a single finger teasing her breast. “Just in anticipation of hearing your voice.” She makes a pregnant pause, rejoicing the soft pants that bear proof that Margaery has given up any endeavour to hold back. “I get wet every time I think of you.” She hears her breath hitch. “And I think of you all day long.”

Margaery’s soft, throaty moan sends satisfaction through Sansa as if she’d just come herself.

For a small eternity afterwards it’s just soft contented breathing sounds, followed by soft rustling and Margaery’s husky, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sansa chuckles as she slowly bats her eyes open. The reality of the stuffy, in dire need of a clean-up home office, isn’t as harsh as she deemed it would be. Not with arousal still tingling through her, with Margaery’s voice and breaths still softly in her ear. “I think that one’s on you.”

“I can’t wait to see you Friday.”

“Neither can I.” She traces the edges of an almost forgotten daybook. The deadline is only next week. And she made good progress today. And Jon will still be gone for a while. She’d really be a fool to let this chance pass her by. For something as dull as taxes nonetheless. “What would you say—"

A car door sounds outside and sends Sansa lurching forward in the office chair. Craning her head, sure enough she finds Jon’s truck parked out in the driveway. She didn’t even hear him in the rain.  That could have gone really wrong, really fast. Her face burns when he spots her through the window and waves. The idea of how he would have found her here just a minute ago, is mortifying.

Margaery reads her abrupt halting correctly. “You need to go?

“I’m afraid so,” Sansa says, pressing a hand to her still warm cheek.

The door to the office opens and Jon sticks his head in time with Margaery’s sighed, “Well, I should really get myself dressed.”

Sansa signals Jon to wait, as she tells Margaery, a bit stiffer than usual. “I really cannot thank you enough for calling.”

“The pleasure was all mine, love.”

The softly mewled words, in contrast to her husband right there looking at her, is more of a turn on than it should be.

Sansa hesitates a moment, then she says, “I swear I didn’t even notice dropping it.” She covers the mouthpiece, but not enough so Margaery won’t hear her the words directed at Jon. “I lost my wallet at the store. Someone found it.”

Margaery laughs at the insolence. “You are something else.”

Sansa bites the insides of her cheeks not to smile. “Would it be alright if I came to pick it up this afternoon? Say in half an hour?”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t get dressed?"

Getting to her feet, Sansa smooths out her dress, giving Jon a smile as she tells Margaery, “Yes, I’d prefer that.”

[benkaadee]

So #hairy , so #sweaty after the #gay #gardener 's gardenwork. And watch how my #pecbounce #chest #flexing looks in slow motion.

[vullcanica]

“You’re like a big, dirty raccoon.” (Affectionate — for Nik 💖)

 "Half your fault."

 And he has the audacity of one too, stretched in full over their little garden swing, hands dirty up to the forearm and head pillowed sweetly onto an inviting lap. Grinning. There's a growing stain on one pristine linen sleeve where he's lovingly stroking his husband's wrist. Since Antonìn doesn't move, he takes it as acquiescence.

 "If you didn't want some awful cretin bare-fisting your begonia dirt, you shouldn't have invited him in the garden at all." A playful dig. But he doesn't mean it. Not really. Not with the smooth purr of his voice at its most content. Left with a pleasant ache from hours of gardenwork, he's laid out his achy bones and sweat-soaked meat and secured a worm's-eye vantage to Antonín's fondly exasperated smile. Resting, simple as that. It's warm out. They have homemade lemonade on the little glass-top table nearby. There's a sunbeam caught in one loose silvered strand of hair up above, perfectly sundialling something like ten in the morning. It might be heaven.

 His weight heaves gently, ankle anchored over the swing's armrest, and a hip pops out long-overdue tension. God, but he's getting old. "He might need some upgrades soon, if he's to catch up with you." Perhaps it's time to get it over with and get his bones nailed down secure...

 With the huff of a satisfied bear stealing his coherence, he turns to bury his nose in Antonín's warm belly and rests his eyes. The arm he's stolen tucks securely under his chin. Ah, he'll wash the stain out himself later.

[ravusnightblossom]

ooc; The move is done. (Well, the items are out and currently taking up space elsewhere, I should say, but that's irrelevant.) Unwinding and unpacking amidst housework/gardenwork/yardwork, but Ravioli should be waking back up here, slowly.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ya they have a little garden, Sarah grows the roses she talked about and drives a white Range Rover that Simon bought her to be funny (yummy mummy stereotype). Perhaps an apple tree out front that they take a family pic in front of every year. The cottage is thatched which Simon hates because it’s high maintenance and expensive but Sarah loves it because cottagecore and she’s in her Home Counties era

This is again 100 % legit (yummy mummy 🥲)

The first thing that came to my mind when I imagined the cottage was that it's painted white and has a thatched roof my GOD it would be so disgustingly cute! Apple pies cooking in the oven in the autumn, peach pies when it's spring.

And her cottagecore would get so out of hand! She wants to plant like a hundred spring bulbs (tulips) and Simon has to help her with that. Groaning he has back pains and he just came from work and wants to relax for a bit but his wife is enthusing over the bulbs she ordered and now they've arrived so out he goes to get this thing done... Sarah follows with the box and an overjoyed grin on her face 🌷

Then he has to make love to her after that because she's just glowing from gardenwork 💗 and of course he groans some more about the back pain (doesn't really mind it at that point but he likes to whine when the house and the garden and the babies and his wife are so much work... in all honesty that's his way of saying he's the happiest man in the world)

[dendro80]

Rensat och klart. Ska unna mig kantarellsmörgås till kvällen. ❤️

Cleaned and ready. Going to treat myself to a chanterelle sandwich for the evening. ❤️

A thunderstorm is making it rain heavy outside so my eveningplans have changed. Studies instead of gardenwork. So my chanterelle sandwiches will be perfect as motivation while I read.

August 2023

Avesta, Dalarna, Sweden