#houseplant club

[x-m0rb1d-m1nd-x]

[recurring-polynya]

Day 5: Heart / Hobbies / Let’s discuss this over drinks some shinigami and their hobbies, as per Color Bleach+

[talkingtomyhouseplants]

Grief & Plants

Why do I feel comfortable sharing so many details of my life in Tumblr? Do you feel that way too? I think it is the fact that you share without knowing who's gonna read it, hoping there will be no judgement or bullying.

The 2-year anniversary of my dad's dead is getting closer and closer. The 2-year anniversary of my step dad's dead was just 3 months ago and I haven't been able to cry, even though I want to. Every single day a song, a video, a picture, a conversation with a customer, a Tupperware gifted, the fucking weather all remind me of all the time I had to let them reconnect, to amend things and build a relationship. Regrets, I lost my chance.

I'm committed to use my passion for plants and gardening and this Tumblr page to heal, to release my thoughts and hopefully even help people like me, in deep grief...bad grief... to do the same, heal and learn to live with the fact that they are physically gone, but alive within us.

I planted the nasturtiums on my pictures and many more when I lost them. I was crying while putting the seeds in the soil. Maybe my tears helped the germination process, but all have bloom and reseeded and everytime I see a new bloom, I smile.

[houseplant-unicorn]

I made a thing

[1-1-s1ay-2-2]

Live life like you're the star of your own plant-based music festival and the adoring audience is your houseplants! Plants make the best audience because they love all the toxic air you're blowing out every time you open your mouth! Sing it green like ya mean it!

💚💜💚

[helengie]

[encryptedlunacy]

Yeah see this is what I'm talking about!! I think ferns are honestly the definitions of "gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss" because if it knows YOU know it exists in your general vicinity, it will die. Without hesitation, fully and intentionally. I think they pick at random who gets to grow them and the rest of the world can suck it as far as they're concerned.

I have found ferns growing in my yard thanks to the brook we have in the conservation area at the back of my house but you can bet that as soon as I lay eyes on them and acknowledge their presence, even without touching them, they kick the bucket. They genuinely feel my adoring gaze upon their little fronds and immediately perish.

The ferns I have in sealed containers have survived purely, I think, on the understanding that I leave them alone and forget about them. We don't speak, we don't look at each other, we most certainly never cross paths unless I am re-arranging them for the sake of survival. They literally enforce a "Homosapiens DNI" principle in my own home like they're the ones who pay the rent.

Yeah these are the only ferns in my possession - that's a lie, I have a blue star fern in another pot, but it's not looking too hot rn so I'll correct myself and say the only HEALTHY ferns - and they just sit in a jar. I don't have to do anything; they ignore me, I ignore them, we have and arrangement.

[qqueenofhades]

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

[stardust-swan]

Lifestyle of the Refined, Cultured City Girl

She takes advantage of living somewhere with access to many cultural activities. She attends the symphony, the theatre, the ballet, and the orchestra. She visits art galleries and museums. She attends book readings, poetry readings, lectures by experts in various subjects, and writer's talks. She watches independent films in small cinemas. She goes to fashion shows. She unwinds by reading in a beautiful, old library. Many of these activities are free or cheap, so money is rarely a concern.

She has social hobbies, like playing an instrument in a local band, attending a book club or writer's group, participating in poetry readings, and taking evening classes and workshops on subjects like painting, fashion, learning a language, culinary classes, learning an instrument, etc.

She has private hobbies too, like writing a novel, creating art, studying, reading, and taking private music lessons.

On dates, she goes to painting classes where her and her date paint each other's portrait, pottery classes where they make each other something special, fine restaurants where she and her date try new cuisine, and upscale hotels for a fine afternoon tea.

She is always studying. Whether it's in University for a degree that will help her get her dream job, or a less formal education like learning about the world of art from her trips to the galleries, or learning about the history and culture of her city by exploring it, she's always taking advantage of the opportunities she has to expand her knowledge.

She participates in cultural festivities that may be held in her city, such as wine tastings, cheese tastings, art exhibits, film festivals, and book fairs.

She visits historical landmarks and sites to learn about her city's past and culture.

She visits rooftop bars and lounges, both to socialise and admire the view of the city.

She networks with people in high positions, and socialises at events and gatherings like cocktail parties, charity functions, and dinner parties.

She visits both high end boutiques and small, locally owned shops.

She spends time in nature by going to parks and botanical gardens.

She gives back to her community by support or volunteering with a charity or non-profit

She attends a yoga or meditation class at a wellness centre.

She discovers her local patisseries and bakeries and enjoys fresh baked goods.

She takes walking or cycling tours of the city's historic districts to learn about its culture and landmarks.

She visits a local farmers market for fresh produce and unique artisanal products.

She's always dressed impeccably. You will never see her in ratty old clothes, gym gear unless she's actually in the gym, or flip-flops unless she's at the beach. Her hair is always tidy, and her makeup never looks caked on. Her nails are always clean and neat. Her skincare routine is down to a T. She never says "I'm just going to the store" as an excuse to dress frumpily, as she knows there's always the risk of running into someone important and does not want to look like a slob. She does not hold onto clothes that are worn out, damaged, or unflattering, leaving only chic outfits available to dress in. She checks herself from all angles before leaving home to make sure there's no wardrobe malfunctions happening at the back of her outfit, e.g a hole in the back of her jeans. She honours herself, those around her, and her city by looking presentable and neat everyday.

Her home is never cluttered. It is decorated with art, including some paintings or pictures of the city, and she has photographs on the mantelpiece of the friends she's made there. She has a variety of books on a range of subjects that interest her. Her kitchen is well-equipped - no living on takeout for her. She has a set of high quality china and luxurious bedding and linen. She plays classical and jazz music instead of keeping the TV on for background noise. She treats herself to a bouquet of flowers to put in a vase occasionally, and may have a houseplant. She lights candles for a beautiful smell. She may have a collection of herbal teas to help her relax in the evenings. She may even have a well-stocked mini bar, space and funds permitting. Her wardrobe is carefully selected. Her home is stylish, yet comfortable, and always feels ready for guests. She practices the art of entertaining, and does it well.

She knows about hidden treasures in her city that one can't find out about just from doing an internet search. For example, in Paris, a string quartet of musicians meet up on a random day each week and play a free concert in the courtyard of the Louvre, but you wouldn't know this from looking up places to visit in Paris. It's something you must discover on your own or hear about by word of mouth. It could be a small unassuming café that makes the best dish you've ever tasted, or a beautiful building people rarely visit (like the medieval church/graveyard in my neighbourhood that's usually locked up and difficult to see into because of the high walls surrounding it, but if you pass by at the right time, the groundskeepers may be there and let you in to see the blooming flowers and trees beyond the graveyard gates if you ask nicely), an out-of-the-way boutique that sells gorgeous garments, a hidden park tucked away from the main streets, or a secret or exclusive bar or nightclub.

[magicfootballstuff]

Strictly Unprofessional - part 2 (alexia putellas x reader)

Summary: You’ve just landed your dream job as a photographer at FC Barcelona Femení. The only problem? You hooked up with the captain five years ago and haven’t seen her since.

Part 2/9

Read other parts here.

———

It doesn’t take long to settle into your new routine at the club. On a typical training day, you spend your mornings outside taking photos of the players on the pitch and your afternoons in the media office editing and sorting through the photos on your computer.

Occasionally there’s something a bit different to do - you have to do photoshoots with a couple of new signings towards the end of the transfer window, plus some work for the club website and shop. You even get to stand in for one of the videographers when he’s off sick and while you’re not as familiar with film work as you are with still shoots, you enjoy the experience. Plus, it’s an entertaining day filming silly challenges with a few of the players for social media.

Your interactions with Alexia are limited and entirely professional. You still haven’t reminded her of the fact you met five years ago in Ibiza, and by now it’s far too late. You keep waiting for her to remember and confront you about it, but she never does.

When the season starts in September, you get to experience your very first away trip as everyone travels to Tenerife for the team’s second game of the new season. Some of the other backroom staff grumble a little bit, especially the older ones who don’t like having to leave their families for the weekend. But you’re young, single, and the closest thing you have to commitments in Barcelona are the houseplants that will surely survive for the two days you’ll be gone. The Barcelona team is starting to feel like a little family to you and a weekend away with them, especially one in sunny Tenerife, doesn’t really seem like work. 

But before you get there, you take photos of the players getting on the bus, photos of them getting off the bus, getting on the plane, getting off the plane… and so it goes on. Every moment of the journey is documented and only a fraction of the pictures you’ve taken will ever see the light of day, but the players must be used to it because they hardly seem bothered by the presence of the cameras.

It’s only when you finish your final shoot of the day - the players arriving at the hotel - that you get to relax.

“So, your first away trip, huh?” Mapi asks you, as she stands behind you in the queue in the hotel’s dining hall that evening. She’s one of many players who has been friendly since you started this job. “How are you finding it?”

“Tiring,” you admit, because you’ve been on your feet all day with barely a moment to rest. “But good. I got some cute photos of you and Ingrid on the plane.”

“I don’t remember seeing you taking any.”

“That’s because you were asleep.”

“No!” Mapi pouts. “You paparazzi’d me?”

“It’s my job,” you grin at her with a shrug.

“Can I at least see?”

“I’ll show you in a bit.”

You load your tray up with food, then as you start to walk towards a table where some of the other staff are sitting, Mapi catches your elbow with her hand.

“Come and sit with us,” she says, steering you towards a table where a few of the players are already eating. “We’re allowed to mix.”

Mapi sits down in an empty chair next to Ingrid and you take the seat opposite, more than aware of Alexia’s presence at the other end of the table, though she’s deep in conversation with Patri and Aitana and doesn’t seem to notice you.

“Show me the pictures then,” Mapi says, almost as soon as you’re sitting down.

Your camera bag is still slung across your body and you unzip it to take out the camera, loading up the photos you took today and scrolling through until you reach the ones you took on the plane.

“Here,” you say, angling the camera to show Mapi the photos. 

There are a few of her and Ingrid, all with Mapi’s eyes closed and her head resting on Ingrid’s shoulder. In the later photos, Ingrid has spotted the camera and poses with a smile and a peace sign while Mapi sleeps through.

“Oh, those are cute,” Ingrid says, leaning over to look at the camera screen.

“Do I always sleep with my mouth open?” Mapi asks Ingrid. 

“Sometimes.”

Mapi’s complaints have caught the attention of the rest of the girls at the table, Alexia included, and soon they’re all asking to see the photos.

“See, Mapi, this is why you should never fall asleep when there are cameras around,” interjects Alexia.

Mapi rolls her eyes as she gives your camera back and says, “Little Miss Media Training over there is always camera ready.”

“Oh, I’ve probably got some bad ones of her too,” you grin, sparing a glance at Alexia to test her reaction.

“Really?” Alexia asks, her eyes going wide.

“Show me!” Mapi says gleefully.

You scroll through the hundreds of photos you took today until you get to some of Alexia waiting to get on the bus from the airport to the hotel and click through them more slowly.

“She looks perfect,” Mapi comments as you show her each photo in turn. “Perfect, perfect. Come on, there has to be one bad photo of Alexia - aha!”

Mapi’s triumphant cry comes when she sees a picture of Alexia with her mouth twisting upwards as if she’s about to laugh, but you move onto the next picture which is the real gem. Alexia is about to get on the bus with Patri but both girls are laughing, Alexia with her eyes closed and cheeks half-puffed out as she struggles to contain her laughter.

“Let me see!” Alexia says, getting to her feet and circling the table until she’s standing beside you to get a better look. You angle to screen of your camera so she can see and she lets out a groan, before saying, “You have to delete it.”

“But only after sending me a copy,” interjects Mapi, still full of glee.

“Relax,” you reassure Alexia. “It’s not going on social media. Anyway, I don’t think it’s a bad photo.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alexia says, as she returns to her seat with a pout. “It’s not a picture of you.”

“It’s a picture of two friends sharing a joke,” you say. “It’s so fleeting and so human and it’s immortalised on film.”

“That’s very poetic, but please send me that photo,” Mapi grins at you.

You glance back over at Alexia, who is back in her seat but has a curious expression on her face as she looks straight back at you, head tilted to one side as if she’s trying to read into your soul. Your cheeks flush, remembering that in theory Alexia knows you far better than anybody else at this table, even if she doesn’t remember it herself, and you put your camera away to continue eating your dinner.

———

Later that night, when you’re in bed in your hotel room, having one final scroll through your phone before going to sleep, an Instagram notification pops up at the top of the screen.

alexiaputellas is now following you

You almost drop your phone in surprise. 

Somewhere in this hotel, Alexia is in an identical room to this one, probably on her phone too, and one of her last thoughts before going to bed is you and your Instagram account.

That thought makes you feel a certain kind of way, though you don’t think you describe it exactly.

You open up the app and tap the notification to get to Alexia’s profile. You don’t follow her yet - you thought about it years ago when you got back from Ibiza and did a little internet stalking but chose not to, then you also haven’t followed her since starting your new job, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself to remind her that she met you before.

Does she remember? She’s mentioned before that she thinks she recognises you - what if the Instagram follow is her way of confirming that she’s finally put the pieces together? Or maybe it’s just a complete coincidence. Maybe she’s following you purely for your photography.

It keeps you up for longer than you planned, and when you finally fall asleep, you dream of Ibiza.

———

You like matchdays. You get to sit in the sun and watch a game of football, even if you see most of it through the lens of your camera. And it’s where the players are most able to be themselves, showing all their emotions out on the pitch, the passion, the frustration. It delivers some beautiful opportunities for the perfect photo.

Barcelona wins the game comfortably to continue their perfect start to the season. A photo that you took of Alexia after scoring her second and Barcelona’s third goal is picked to go out on all the social media channels to announce the final result, a shot of her screaming in passion as Pina jumps on her back with a few of the other players out of focus in the background as they chase after her. 

There’s not much time to celebrate after the match as the buses will be heading directly to the airport to take the team back to Barcelona. You get straight on your laptop as you sit near the front of one of the buses while waiting for the players to shower and change, but as you’re sorting through photos, a shadow falls over the screen of your computer.

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up and see Alexia standing in the aisle of the bus.

“No,” you say, moving the strap of your camera bag out of the way to clear the seat.

Alexia stows her bag and coat above the seat, then drops into the seat beside yours. There’s an unspoken rule that further towards the back of the bus you get, the noisier it is, especially after a match, and you don’t say anything to Alexia, unsure if she’s sitting here to keep you company or if she just wants a break from the celebrations taking place at the back of the bus.

In the end Alexia is the one who breaks the silence.

“I’m glad I’ve got the chance to speak to you,” she says. “There’s something I wanted to talk about.”

You know what Alexia is going to say before she even opens her mouth.

“I remembered where I know you from,” she continues. “Ibiza, right?”

[itsbansheebitch]

Ideas if you live in a community where people at least sort of know each other (In regards to the election)

Ask your local public library if you can hold support group meetings for people who are stressed about/in danger from the election. Ask them if you can bring blankets, snacks, etc. Be mindful of allergies. Ask if they have anything you can borrow/use like coloring books, a TV & Cart, beanbag chairs, etc. Make a group chat & share mental health resources. You can even host a book club.

Talk to your local bookstore & ask if they have study areas. Bring a friend to study with you.

Start a movie club if one of your friends has the space and some stuff to watch, make it an event.

Have Zoom/Facetime meetings with friends where you talk about your houseplants and bitch about life

Bring your own food picnic in the park: exactly what it sounds like. Make or order your own food, then bring it to the park. Have someone responsible for bringing a easy-to-clean blanket

Make a list of comfort YouTubers, shows, movies, books, fandoms, etc to return to

When you feel helpless about a situation, educate yourself & find out what you can do to help. When in doubt, visit your local library and ask for help.

Feel free to add to the list

[everybodyshusband]

per aspera ad inferi ; chapter four

[aka: the university ghouls fic]

aeon & rain & swiss (the band ghost)

mature | gen. | 1.7k words (11.9k in total) | alternate universe (university), banter, fluff, alternate universe (coffee shop)

big thank you to @wrathofrats for helping me figure out the name of the coffee shop because oh goodness i was STRUGGLING and there's always a thank you to @ghoultrifle for pre-reading this for me and cheering me on :3

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

The first thing Aeon notices about the courtyard when he rounds the corner is that it’s completely empty at this time of the morning. The only sign of life is the sound of coffee beans grinding and a milk frother hissing filtering out through the open door of Rain’s cafe. Well, it’s not actually Rain’s cafe, Aeon reasons with himself, but since learning that Rain works here, Aeon has been unable to refer to it as anything other than Rain’s cafe in his head. The official name is Sunshine Cafe according to the sign hanging above the door, which makes him giggle to himself. He’s sure that Sunshine probably knows this is here and has made a plethora of jokes about it but he can’t help but run through a load of possible jokes in his head too, just in case he can come up with one that Sunshine wouldn’t have made yet.

Stepping into the cafe, he’s to be immediately enveloped by a sense of warmth and comfort. The temperature outside is much too low for Aeon’s tastes and he can only hope that Rain is actually working the early shift this morning and that he hasn’t woken up too early and braved the cold for nothing. Inside, the atmosphere of the place is incredible and definitely well-matched for the early hour, especially with those heaters cranked up to such a high setting to combat the frostiness of the outside world. The tables and chairs are all mismatched, with leather couches replacing chairs along the far wall. There’s a bench along the window that faces out to the courtyard too, with high stools lined up, ready and waiting for the customers who want to enjoy a spot of people watching while drinking their morning coffee. Three out of four walls are exposed brick, all decorated with a combination of framed artwork, posters advertising events and clubs around the university, and the creeping tendrils of houseplants. The other wall, the one behind the counter, is decorated with teacups, bottles of syrup and tins containing all manner of things. Underneath the decorations, it’s painted teal and it matches the coffee machine behind which someone who is decidedly not Rain is standing.

Damnit.

“Morning,” the man says cheerfully, stepping away from the machine to stand behind the register.

“Morning,” Aeon replies, stifling a yawn as he makes his way to the counter.

“Someone’s up early,” the man—his name tag tells Aeon that he is: Swiss, he/him—jokes.

Aeon nods. “I was hoping to catch Rain this morning, but I guess they’re not working until later?”

Swiss shakes his head in disagreement. “Nope, they’re here. They’re just doing muffins or something out the back, I can grab ‘em if you want.”

“Oh, yes please!”

[ineffableaddiction]

Angels vs Demons

Aziraphale

-Goes to discreet gentleman’s club, learns to dance

-Owns a gun (and has a permit)

-Leans about new and promising restaurants in places he visits

-Understands more about romantic human emotions and affections (probably due to books)

-Learns magic and French “the hard way”

-Socializes with humans on a somewhat regular basis

- Owns and runs a bookshop

Crowley

-Has a human vehicle (Bentley)

-Drinks excessively on a semi-regular basis

-Has favorite TV shows (comedies, one with excessive alcohol consumption)

-Owns mobile phone

-Likes houseplants

-Likes humans, but doesn’t know what to do with them (see: conversation with Nina about rain and canopies)

-Likes to wait in the bookshop

-almost perpetually unemployed

It amuses me that Crowley’s dear angel is more worldly than his introverted self is.

Oh, and labels suck. See above for proof.

[talkingtomyhouseplants]

String of pearls

I've grown this plant for several years now, but I had never repotted her...it was time.

I took her out of her plastic pot that was slightly smaller than this clay pot. This whole time I had the plastic pot inside of that clay pot, so I decided to simply pot her directly in the clay one.

I added my regular soil mix of coco coir, perlite and smart release fertilizer and also gave her a haircut.

Let's see how she continues to grow 🪴

[houseplant-unicorn]

Ryuji's helping Akira pick an outfit.

He's not sure about the shirt but the boots are a definite win!

Here are the frames:

[willameena]

Nine (or however many) people you'd like to get to know better:

Thank you for the tags, @heretolurkandnothingmore and @nytpicking!! 💖💖 I love hearing all the random little factoids about everyone when these go around! You all are so dang cool, I love everyone in this little pocket of tumblr 🥰

Last song: 1979 by Smashing Pumpkins

Fav color: green

Currently watching: I just finished reading Fight Club, which was amazing and now I want to watch the movie again. So maybe I'll watch that this week! Otherwise, the kids and I watched RoTS and Narnia over the past couple days

Sweet/savory/spicy: savory and spicy! I used to have a sweet tooth, but I lost it after having covid about 1 year ago. I still can't smell, for the most part

Relationship status: I came out as lesbian a year ago, despite being married to a man and having 3 kids. We tried to struggle through plans of separation and divorce for most of 2023 and last month, we decided we would try to continue living together with our kids, but as platonic co-parents. It's not easy and there is a lot of sadness on all sides, but I have 3 kids that I love more than anything in the world, and I just don't want to share custody of them right now, for a variety of reasons. But I'm really happy to be out, finally, at least to some people. So.. Yeah :)

Current obsession: well the ongoing and neverending star wars obsession, but other than that.... my houseplant collection has crossed the line from hobby into obsession I think, haha

Last thing you googled: "will oral antibiotics help pinkeye?" lol fun times over here. Kids and their germs are gross.

No pressure tagging: @lesbianakins @trannakinskywalker @grapenehifics @palfriendpatine66 @kenobster @tideswept @underacalicosky @fangeek-girl @cottonraincoat and anyone else who wants to join, of course 😙😙