#peat moss potting soil

[meekamaye]

To Pot or Not Pot, That is the Question

Its a hot, steamy day in Minnesota and even after torrential rains the past couple weeks, my plants need watering. The ones in pots are already setting up like cement. Today’s potting ‘soil’ has no soil in it at all. Most of them consist of sphaghum peat moss, coir fiber, perilite, vermiculite, sand, limestone, compost, compost wood chips and fertilizers. There are special soils for specialty…

[cande-dooder]

god, I just want to sob

I looked and looked and looked and FINALLY was able to get a money tree and now it’s got root rot (pretty sure bc the trunks are getting squishy) and I’m about to move and I know the plant is going to be stressed and I’m worried that I’m going to lose my money tree. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Sugar”

No Outbreak!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Based on a request I got on my DMs

Summary: You return to your hometown to care for your ailing father and your brother with special needs, leaving behind your bakery—and your dreams. Overwhelmed and alone, you find unexpected comfort in your neighbor, Joel Miller

WC: 7k

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), fingering, undisclosed age gap, undisclosed illness mention, stress, references to behaviors commonly associated with ASD.

The screen door creaked the same way it did when you were a kid — rusted, unchanging, stuck in the same soft whimper it made when your mom was alive. It groaned under your hand as you pushed it open, the sound like an old ghost stretching its bones.

You were coming home with tired eyes and a back that ached from early mornings spent kneading dough. You had your name on the window of a tiny bakery four hours away, a reputation for sourdough that could make grown men cry. People used to line up before the sun came up. You’d smile, tuck flour-dusted hair behind your ear, hand over something warm and sweet and know, just for a second, that you were good at something. Needed. Steady.

But now, all of that had to be left behind.

Your father had taken a fall—nothing life-threatening, just enough to leave him limping, bitter, and suddenly in need of help. And then there was Caleb—your younger brother, your heart. Nonverbal, sweet, and sensitive to noise and touch, Caleb needed structure, softness, predictability. You didn’t trust anyone else to give him that. You couldn’t. So you packed up, closed the bakery temporarily—you told yourself—and came back.

You wiped your hands on your apron and nudged the oven door closed. Muffins. Your brother’s favorite. Blueberry, if you could swing it. The kitchen was too small and too hot, the ceiling fan rattling like it might fall down any second, and your hands were cracked from too much soap and not enough sleep, but at least baking made you feel useful. Like something still worked when everything else didn’t.

Later that day, you walked outside to look for your brother and glanced over just in time to catch a tall, broad man in jeans and a gray T-shirt looking your way. Arms crossed, one brow cocked. He nodded once.

You gave a half-smile, a shy tilt of your chin.

That was all.

You had enough to carry without adding neighbors.

…

It wasn’t long before you met him properly. Joel Miller.

He introduced himself a week later while helping you lift a sack of potting soil out of your trunk. You’d been starting a garden in the back—tomatoes, squash, something about it reminded you of home before everything cracked. Hoping the rhythm of planting, watering, tending might calm your nerves. Joel had said something about the soil being too clay-heavy and offered to help you mix in peat moss. He was quiet, observant. Lived alone with his daughter, Sarah—bright, friendly, called you “ma’am” with a little grin.

…

Joel Miller doesn’t mean to spy.

But when his truck rumbles into the driveway around 6PM each night, there’s always that moment where he glances across the fence and sees you. Bent over, carrying groceries inside, or pushing a wheelchair ramp into place. Once, he watched you chase your brother barefoot down the yard, laughing even though you were out of breath, even though your smile looked like it might crack in half from exhaustion.

He’s got a good eye for people. Years of working construction will do that to a man—you learn how to read a room by the way someone holds their shoulders. Yours? Always tense. Drawn up around your ears like armor. Always trying not to show how heavy it is.

He noticed the way your hands trembled by 10 a.m., the way you always carried two bags of groceries and never asked for help. He watched you gently calm Caleb when the trash trucks rolled by and overwhelmed him with noise. The way your voice changed—soft, steady, full of practiced comfort. He saw you clean up after your father, even when the old man snarled, humiliated by dependence, too proud to say thank you. He heard you mutter it’s okay, it’s okay, when you thought no one was listening.

He watched you wear yourself down to threads.

All for people who didn’t know how to say how much they needed you. Who probably didn’t even know how tired you were.

And Joel saw the cracks in your armor.

The nights when your lights stayed on too long. The way you sat on the porch after Caleb had gone to bed, face in your hands, shoulders trembling just a little too hard to be blamed on a breeze. He didn’t say anything. But he stayed on his side of the fence, porch light still glowing, just in case you looked up and needed someone to wave at. Just in case you needed to know you weren’t invisible.

He doesn’t say much. Not at first.

Just nods at you over the fence line, a muttered, “Evenin’,” as he wipes sweat off his neck. Sometimes he leaves an extra bundle of firewood near your steps. Pretends it just fell off the truck.

But Joel notices. Everything.

And he’s starting to realize—he can’t stop.

One Thursday, the heat finally breaks.

The air is thick and wet, but at least it’s moving, the storm that rolled through the night before cracked the sky in half and left the streets smelling like dust and ozone. You’re carrying too many bags of groceries for your arms to possibly hold, the plastic handles cutting into your fingers, sweat trickling down your spine when you hear a voice behind you — low, familiar, and warm.

“Howdy,” Joel says.

You pause, breath catching, a carton of eggs nearly slipping from your grip.

“Oh, hey…” you say, catching your balance.

“Joel,” he reminds you, offering a small, crooked smile.

“Joel, right.” You give him a polite smile in return, shy, a little breathless.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for you to answer. His hands are already reaching, already taking the heaviest bags from your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay, really,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction — and you don’t protest.

Joel just walks beside you, carrying the load like it’s nothing.

“Never seen you before around here,” he says as you both step onto the cracked walkway to your front door.

“No… I… I left a few years ago,” you say, shifting the bag in your hand. “But I’m back now. Had things to take care of.”

Joel doesn’t press. Just nods.

He steps into the kitchen and sets the bags down gently on the counter, like he belongs there, like this isn’t the first time he’s crossed the threshold of your life.

“Well, if you need help with… anythin’, I’m right next door.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

…

And it starts like that. Small things.

Joel changes the porch light when it burns out. You don’t ask—he just notices, brings his ladder over, and does it without saying a word. He helps you haul a busted dresser from the curb, his hands firm on the edges while you mutter something about termites and too many memories. He lets Caleb sit in his truck while you run to the store—“You like country music, bud?”—and doesn’t blink when Caleb claps too loud at a Willie Nelson song. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Just grins when Caleb taps the dashboard like a drum.

And you?

You bring him pie. You bake too much when you’re anxious, when the world feels too loud and too full of things you can’t fix.

“Peach,” you say shyly, cheeks pink as you hold out the tin wrapped in foil. “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

Joel bites into it right there on his porch, standing barefoot in a white T-shirt that clings just slightly to his chest, sun catching the lines in his face. He groans, low and honest, the sound curling in your stomach.

“You tryin’ to kill me or marry me with this?” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

You choke on a laugh, startled and pink to your ears, trying to hide how much you’re blushing.

He just smiles — slow, warm, real.

Not the polite kind, not the distant one he gives most folks in town.

Just for you.

And suddenly, all those heavy days feel just a little lighter.

It happens on a Saturday night.

You’re sitting on your porch, elbows on your knees, the wood warm beneath your thighs even after sunset. There’s a half-melted glass of water by your side, untouched. Your body hums with exhaustion — not the sharp kind, but the kind that sinks into your bones after a week of taking care of everything and everyone but yourself.

Your eyes are half-closed when his voice rumbles through the quiet.

“You ever take a minute for yourself?”

You blink and sit up, startled. Joel’s leaning on the fence like he’s been there a while, two sweating bottles of beer in hand, the porch light catching on the edge of his smile.

“Sorry?” you ask, caught off guard.

“I said,” he smirks faintly, “Do you ever rest?”

You glance at him, then down the street like you’re looking for a way out of the question. “It’s not really about me.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of that. It’s too familiar. He’s heard it too many times—from women who carry the weight of the whole damn world on their shoulders and call it love. From people who forget they’re allowed to need.

“I see you,” he says, and his voice is lower now, softer. His eyes flick over your face, your slumped shoulders, your tired mouth. “Always runnin’ around. Cookin’. Haulin’ things. You look tired.”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Something in your throat tightens.

Joel scratches his jaw, like maybe he regrets saying it. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just… if you ever need a hand with somethin’. I’m around.”

You nod. A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thanks.”

He steps up to the porch with one of the beers extended toward you.

You take it. You’re not much of a drinker — never have been — but tonight, the cold glass feels like kindness. Like relief.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

“You brought me a beer,” you say with a weak laugh. “It’d be kinda rude if I just kicked you off.”

Joel chuckles and climbs the steps with that familiar grunt, the kind men his age make without realizing it. He leaves a respectful bit of space between you as he lowers himself down beside you. The wood creaks under his weight. He hands you the bottle. You take a sip, and the beer is sharp and cold and exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

He doesn’t say anything for a while.

You don’t need him to. That’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t talk to fill silence. He lets it stretch, lets it breathe.

“I used to sit out here every night,” you say eventually, eyes fixed on the dark yard. “Back in high school. Pretend I didn’t live in this house. Pretend I was anywhere else.”

Joel nods, slow and thoughtful, his gaze on the distance like he’s seeing it too.

“It’s hard,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back. They don’t mean to… but they pull at me. All day, every day. I feel like I’ve been running on empty for months.”

You let out a shaky breath, the truth bleeding out of you like water through cupped hands.

“I know I’m strong. I’m not helpless. But God, Joel… sometimes I just want someone to tell me I don’t have to be so damn strong all the time.”

Your voice cracks on the end of it. You bring the bottle to your lips to hide the way your eyes burn.

Joel doesn’t speak right away.

Then, slowly, he shifts behind you. Closer. The boards groan under his weight.

“Here,” he says, voice low and rough by your ear. “Lemme see your shoulders.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re wound so tight I can hear your muscles beggin’ for mercy. Just let me help a little.”

You hesitate. But something inside you cracks. Not loud. Just a quiet fracture — a tired, trembling thing that gives way.

You nod. Set the bottle down.

Joel’s hands are large. Warm. Calloused from years of work. He starts slow, thumbs pressing gently into the stiff muscles behind your collarbones, and you suck in a sharp breath at the pressure.

“You carry it all right here,” he murmurs, his voice low, a kind of reverent hush. “All of it. Like if you let go, the whole world’s gonna fall apart.”

Your throat works around a swallow. “Feels like it might.”

He doesn’t rush. His hands move in steady circles, drawing out knots like they’re made of memory.

“Let it fall, then,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to hold everythin’ alone.”

Your eyes sting. You close them, head dropping forward slightly. The weight of his hands, his words, his presence — it grounds you. In a way you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

…

Later, Joel sits alone on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.

The house is quiet. Sarah���s gone for the weekend with her uncle, and the stillness makes everything louder.

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

The massage — hell, it wasn’t even a massage. Just a gesture. A small kindness. A way of saying: I see you.

But the truth is, when his hands touched your skin, something in him shifted. Something broke loose. It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It wasn’t clean, or easy. It was older than that. Deeper. Lonelier.

He hadn’t expected the way your skin would feel — soft and warm beneath his palms, like something fragile trying hard not to break. He hadn’t expected the sound you made — that little sigh, that barely-there release, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected the way it would wreck him.

And then you’d leaned back. Not even thinking. Just trusting.

And that had been the end of him.

Now the bedroom feels too quiet. Too honest.

He knows what this is. Knows what it could turn into if he let it.

But he also knows what the mirror shows him every damn day. The years. The scars. The cracks that never healed right.

You? You still had time. A whole stretch of road ahead. And Joel… Joel had already walked through fire and come out carrying ash.

But still, he can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at him tonight. Like maybe you didn’t care about the years, or the scars, or the weight.

Like maybe you just wanted someone to sit with you in the dark and say, you don’t have to be strong right now. I’ve got you.

And God help him.

Because he wanted to be that person for you.

More than anything.

One evening, you were sitting on the porch steps again, your head bent over a cold cup of tea, fingers curled around the mug like it might hold you together.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, but you hadn’t moved. Not since your father slammed the screen door and disappeared down the hall, grumbling about the cable being out, blaming the weather, the neighbors, you, whatever he could throw his anger at without having to face himself. Caleb was inside, stacking soup cans like building blocks, humming under his breath. Happy, for now.

But you looked like you were trying not to cry.

You missed your old life, missed baking, you could almost smell the scent of fresh dough, yeast rising sweetly in the air, mingling with the rich, buttery aroma of pastries just pulled from the oven.

Baking had always been your escape, your way of shaping comfort and joy out of simple ingredients. There was something sacred about the quiet hum of the ovens, the soft clatter of mixing bowls, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time a batch of peach pies came out golden and perfect—just like Joel had said.

Your jaw was tight. Your shoulders hunched. The porch light painted shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago.

“Hey there, sugar.”

Joel’s voice was low, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. But it did. You looked up, eyes wide, smiling and blushing at the pet name—Sugar. There was something about the way he said that word that sounded both sweet and incredibly hot at the same time.

He stood at the edge of your yard in a flannel shirt and worn work boots, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands stuffed into his pockets. Like he’d just stepped off a shift. Like maybe he’d been watching for a while and only just worked up the nerve to speak.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

You blinked. Shook your head without thinking.

“I was thinkin’ of makin’ chili,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “Sarah’s got a sleepover. Too much for one.” A pause. “Come over if you want.”

Your stomach growled before you could answer. You hadn’t eaten more than half a sandwich all day. Maybe less.

Your voice came out small. “Okay.”

He nodded once, slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon then, sugar.”

You stood. Left your mug behind. And followed him across the lawn like it was the easiest decision in the world—though something about it made your chest ache. Like the gesture was too kind. Like it might undo you.

It was the first time in weeks someone had taken care of you.

Joel’s house smelled like cumin and garlic and something deep and rich simmering on the stove. It wrapped around you like a blanket the second you stepped inside. There was warmth here, not just from the food, but from the space itself.

Lived-in.

A coat hung over the back of a chair. Sarah’s sneakers kicked off beside the door. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. A photo of the two of them smiling under a Ferris wheel, framed and proud on the mantle.

It was a home.

You lingered in the entryway, awkward, hands clasped like a kid at someone else’s birthday party. Unsure if you should sit, take your shoes off, or run back outside and cry behind the steering wheel of your truck.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

You swallowed. Nodded. Your shoes stayed on.

“It ain’t much,” he added, already pulling bowls from a cabinet, “but the chili’s good. I promise.”

You sat at the kitchen table with your spine stiff, hands in your lap. Watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—grabbing spoons, stirring the pot. There was a rhythm to him. Something grounding.

He ladled two bowls full, steam curling into the air. Grabbed a spoon. Then paused.

“Cheese or no cheese?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He looked up. “I always ask Sarah. She says yes. I say no. Figure I better ask you too.”

And that—that—made you laugh. Soft. Unbidden. Like a cracked window letting in the breeze.

“Cheese,” you said. “Please.”

He gave a small nod, grating sharp cheddar with slow, even strokes. Slid your bowl across the table. Then sat opposite you.

You ate in silence. But it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. You were too hungry to pretend you weren’t. And the chili—God—the chili was perfect. Spicy, earthy, just sweet enough to settle something hollow inside you. You scraped your bowl clean.

Joel looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just sat with you. Not pushing. Not prying.

It didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like patience.

Eventually, you broke the silence. Because the warmth in your stomach had spread to your chest. Because you were full for the first time in days and it made your guard slip.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Your voice was quiet. Barely more than a breath. The spoon stilled in your hand.

Joel didn’t speak.

“My dad… he’s not a bad man. Just… proud. Stubborn. And Caleb, he—he’s good. He’s sweet. But it’s all the time, you know? Like my brain never shuts off. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear hit your wrist. You wiped it away fast, ashamed.

“I used to run this bakery,” you said, voice breaking around the memory. “My own place. I’d wake up at 3 a.m., roll dough, bake till noon. And I loved it. Every part of it. But I gave it up to come back here. I keep telling myself it’s temporary, but… I don’t know anymore.”

You looked down at your hands, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I just… I guess I needed to say it out loud.”

Joel leaned back slowly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t look away.

“You’re doin’ everything for everyone else,” he said, low and even. “And no one’s doin’ a damn thing for you.”

The truth of it hit like a gut-punch. You stared at him, stunned, not because it was harsh, but because it was true.

“You ain’t weak for bein’ tired,” he added, voice quieter now. “You’re human.”

You blinked fast. Tried to breathe around the lump in your throat.

“Sometimes I think about just packing Caleb up and leaving. Taking him back with me. Starting fresh. But that would mean leaving my dad behind.”

Joel frowned, jaw tightening. “And what about you? When do you get to matter?”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He reached across the table. Covered your hand with his. His palm was big, warm, rough—like everything he’d ever built still lived in the skin of him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” he said, softer now. “Not by yourself.”

Your shoulders trembled. You nodded once. Fast. Because if you opened your mouth, you’d sob, and you couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of someone who had been nothing but kind.

But something inside you shifted.

Maybe it was the warmth of his hand. Or the way he didn’t fill the silence with empty words.

Maybe it was the first time in months someone looked at you—really looked at you—and didn’t expect anything in return.

Maybe it was the first time you believed someone might stay.

You still remember the first time you kissed him.

The porch had gone dark again—that same damn fixture that chewed through bulbs like candy, flickering out after barely a week, and you were up on a shaky old stool, arms stretched, fingers fumbling with the new bulb as dusk slipped toward dark.

You were just tightening the last turn when the stool wobbled—a sharp, treacherous lurch of one leg off the uneven wooden plank.

“Shit—”

Your breath caught, heart leaping into your throat.

And then strong hands caught you.

Warm. Steady. Unmistakably Joel.

One arm braced firm around your waist, the other coming up beneath your thigh to guide you gently down. You didn’t fall—you landed against him, your feet scrambling awkwardly to the porch floor, your whole body pressed to the solid wall of his chest.

“Careful, sugar,” he muttered, breath hot at your ear, voice rough and close and a little too soft for your thudding heart. “You tryna give me a heart attack?”

You let out a breathless laugh, more surprise than humor, your hand still clinging to his shoulder. Your face tipped up automatically, and the porch light, freshly fixed, cast a glow over both of you. Warm. Intimate. Like a spotlight on something neither of you had dared name.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, quieter than you meant. Maybe because he was still holding you. Maybe because you didn’t want him to stop.

Joel didn’t let go. His hands lingered low at your waist, thumbs just brushing the edge of skin beneath your hoodie.

“Still,” he said, voice steady but heavy, like he was trying not to say more. “Lemme do this kinda thing next time.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He hadn’t shaved. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest from yard work, and the ends of his hair curled slightly where it stuck to the sides of his face. But it was his eyes that got you—soft, warm, focused entirely on you, like you were fragile and rare and he didn’t want to break anything.

And suddenly, the lightbulb didn’t matter at all.

You climbed down slowly, but your hand, deliberately or not, brushed against his chest on the way down. And neither of you moved.

It was a moment suspended in air. Like standing at the edge of something tall and dangerous and beautiful. A quiet hum beneath your skin.

Joel’s voice dropped, barely audible. “I been tryin’ not to look at you like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Like what?”

He reached up—so gently, so slowly it felt like your body moved before your brain caught up—and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. His thumb skimmed your cheekbone, a soft drag that made your whole face warm.

“Like I want you.”

Time cracked open.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because you did, you wanted him, had wanted him for weeks. Longer, maybe. Longer than you were ready to admit.

The kiss, when it came, wasn’t fire—it was smoke. Slow and curling and inevitable. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, like he didn’t believe you’d let him. But when you leaned in, just a little, he deepened it, his hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring you to his chest like he needed to feel all of you at once.

Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into damp cotton, needing to hold on to something, anything.

His arms came around you fully then, pulling you in until you could feel every line of him—broad chest, firm stomach, the barely restrained tension coiled beneath his skin. The kiss shifted, turned warmer, messier, like a need finally slipping through the cracks.

You broke away just to breathe, lips still brushing his.

“Joel…” your voice was a gasp, a question, a plea.

He kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring something he’d been denying himself for a long time.

His hand drifted lower, beneath your hoodie, callused palm sliding across the bare skin of your waist. You shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer tenderness of it.

He groaned low into your mouth, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. You pressed closer, hands sliding up beneath his shirt, seeking skin. His breath stuttered. His hips shifted—just slightly—but enough that you felt him, hard against you.

And then—he stopped.

Abrupt. Breathless.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours as he sucked in air like he was drowning.

“Shit.”

You blinked, disoriented. “What—what is it?”

Joel’s hands were still on your waist, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back just enough to see you.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, voice tight and raw.

You froze. The words hit like a slap. “Oh.”

He saw it—the flicker of hurt in your eyes—and rushed to speak.

“It’s not you, sugar,” he said quickly. “Jesus, it ain’t you. It’s just—” He stepped back fully, ran both hands down his face like it hurt. “I don’t wanna start somethin’ with you just to make your life more complicated. You are too young f’me, and you already got so much on your shoulders, and I—fuck, I care about you too much to be one more thing you gotta manage.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Joel…”

He looked at you like it broke him. “You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re incredible. And I want this. I do. But you deserve somethin’ else. Somethin’ that’s not me.”

You stood still, the air between you suddenly cooler. But you understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was protection. Restraint sharpened by care.

And that, somehow, made it ache even more.

Because he meant it. And you believed him.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

But it made you trust him more.

It was past nine when you showed up at his door.

No call. No warning. Just you—hoodie zipped halfway, face pale, eyes dull from the weight of the day. You didn’t even knock properly. Just a soft, hesitant tap of your knuckles, like you weren’t sure you deserved to be there.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and sweats, hair mussed, a faint line of exhaustion on his brow. His eyes widened, not in surprise exactly, more like fear. Like he thought this might be a dream.

“Hey,” you breathed. Barely audible. Fragile. “You alone?”

He nodded. Didn’t ask a single question. Just stepped back silently, let you pass, and shut the door with a quiet finality that felt like safety.

You stood there in his dim entryway, fingers twitching at your sides, tension radiating off you like static.

And then—you cracked.

“It was a bad day,” you whispered, like admitting it made it real.

Joel didn’t move. Just listened.

“My dad fell again. Caleb lost it in the store because they moved the cereal aisle and I didn’t know. He screamed and sobbed while people stared like he was a fucking exhibit.” Your voice broke, trembling. “I cried in the car after. Not because of them. Not even because of him. Because I didn’t know what cereal he wanted.”

You let out a laugh that was more of a sob—wet, broken, raw.

Joel’s face—God, the way it fell when he saw you hurting like that—was almost too much to look at.

“I haven’t had one goddamn second to myself, Joel. Not to bake. Not to read. Not even to shower without someone banging on the fucking door needing something. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

Your breath caught, and you looked up at him, eyes wide, glassy.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

And that was it. The unraveling. The surrender.

Joel stepped forward so quietly you didn’t hear it, just felt it. His presence. Solid. Grounding.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I need you,” you whispered. “And I know we aren’t… anything. Not really. But I need the way you look at me like I’m not some empty shell holding everyone else’s bullshit together. I need you.”

That shattered him.

He gathered you into his arms like he couldn’t stop himself, like the second he felt your body hit his, he knew he wouldn’t survive letting go. You collapsed into him with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a sigh—just something deep and painful and desperate.

He didn’t say much. Just held you. Tight. Warm. Real.

“I’m here, sugar,” he murmured, mouth against your hair. “Right here.”

You nodded against his chest, shivering in his arms. “I don’t wanna do this alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Joel said thickly. “Lemme help. Lemme be here f’you.”

Your eyes lifted to his, swollen and rimmed with tears. “Even if it’s messy?”

His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and careful. “Especially then.”

And when he kissed you—fuck, there was no going back. No restraint. No apologies. Just need. His mouth slotted over yours with aching tenderness, but his grip on your waist was possessive, like he needed to feel your bones under his palms, needed to know you were real.

He kissed you until your lungs burned, until your body arched into him without thinking, until you couldn’t remember why you were crying in the first place.

A rough, needy sound escaped his throat—low, primal, like he was holding something back and failing.

Then he walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You gasped when you dropped onto the cushions. He followed—a heavy, hot presence between your thighs, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly up beneath your hoodie.

“I tried to stay away,” he rasped, mouth brushing your throat. “Told myself you had enough goin’ on… that I was too damn old, too broken for you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, voice trembling. “Joel—”

“But then you show up at my door,” he growled, “and all I can think was how fuckin’ stupid I was for leavin’ that night on your porch with your lips still warm on mine.”

He tugged your hoodie up, his hands reverent, like he was peeling back something sacred. You let him. Raised your arms. Gave him permission. Gave him you.

And when he looked down at you—bare under the soft glow of the lamp—you saw it in his eyes.

Worship. Hunger. Need.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re fuckin’ divine, sugar.”

You pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his, wanting more. Needing more.

His hand dipped past your waistband, calloused fingers skimming hot and slow over bare skin. You whimpered against his mouth—a needy, broken little sound—and he swallowed it whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Say the word, baby. I’ll pull back.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please… don’t stop.”

That was it. That was all it took.

Joel groaned—a filthy, desperate sound—and kissed you harder. Rougher. His hand slipped lower, fingers dipping into your slick heat, and the moan you let out damn near broke him in two.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped. “You come over here wantin’ me like this, baby?”

You nodded, hips grinding shamelessly against his palm. “Needed this. Needed you.”

Two fingers pushed inside —slow, steady— filling you with a stretch that made your eyes flutter shut. He curled them just right, and your back arched, thighs trembling as your breath stuttered out in ragged little gasps.

His fingers worked you open, pressing deep, curling, teasing your walls. The wet, obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the room, only broken by the soft, strangled cries you kept trying—and failing—to hold back.

Each stroke was deliberate, meant to pull every sound out of you. He didn’t just want you wet, he wanted you trembling, messy, ruined for anyone else.

“Please, Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Don’t stop—feels s-so good—”

“Tonight is all about you. About making you feel good, just like you deserve. You work so hard… let me give this to you.” His voice was low, reverent, like prayer—like worship—and every word seemed to sink into your skin like heat.

He watched every twitch, every gasp, like it fed something primal in him. His thumb dragged over your clit, a single, devastating swipe, and your whole body jolted, your hips bucked helplessly. A strangled sob ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did. And the way he held your gaze—steady, reverent, hungry—made your whole body tighten with want.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he murmured as he kissed down your chest, then your belly, pausing to mouth gently at the soft skin above your hip. “How you’d feel. How you’d taste. How you’d fall apart if someone just… took their time.”

You whimpered, breath shaking. “Joel…”

“Gonna take care of you, sugar. Gonna make you feel worshiped.”

Then he moved, sliding down between your thighs, kissing over your belly, your hip, his beard scraping your sensitive skin in the best way.

He spread your legs with steady hands, thumbs grazing your inner thighs like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something sacred.

“You smell like fuckin’ heaven,” he growled. “Bet you taste even sweeter than that peach pie you make.”

His breath ghosted over your skin, so hot it made you squirm, your thighs instinctively trying to close—until he spread them open again with a low, possessive growl.

“You deserve to be worshipped, sugar. Deserve someone who sees nothing but you, someone who lives to make you feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue met you, soft and slow at first, just a gentle press, then firmer, deeper. He groaned like he could live off the way you tasted. Like he needed it—your slick, your heat, the way you melted under his tongue.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, steady, while his mouth worked—kisses, licks, teasing sucks that made your hips jerk before he calmed you with a firm hand to your belly.

“Easy now, sugar,” he muttered, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision. “Let me take my time with you.”

That tongue was sin itself—warm, deliberate, unforgiving. Every flick felt like it rewired your nerves. Every slow drag had you twitching, clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

His tongue licked a slow stripe through your folds, then circled your clit until your back arched and your fingers clawed at the cushions.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t give you a single breath to recover.

You were panting, whining, rutting up against his face without shame. He didn’t even blink, just held you wider, lower, like he wanted to drown in it.

He fucked you with his mouth like he meant to memorize every twitch of your body, every whimper, every desperate moan that spilled out of you.

His mouth worked in tandem with his fingers—two thick digits fucking deep, curling just right, pressing to that spot that made your toes curl.

Every push dragged another broken sound from your throat, and the slick, wet squelch of your body around him only made him growl harder.

“Lemme feel you fall apart, sweetheart,” he groaned into you. “Lemme drink you in.”

You sobbed. Literally sobbed. The pleasure was too much, too deep, like he’d reached inside and touched something you didn’t know you were allowed to feel.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasped. “Look how good you take it. Like you were made for this. Made to be loved like this.”

His fingers pumped faster, his tongue relentless, and you were unraveling so fast you couldn’t even think. All you could do was feel the rhythm of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the drag of his beard catching slick against your thighs.

He sucked your clit harder, just once, and your whole body seized. A tremor ran through your thighs like a live wire.

You couldn’t speak. Only moan, high and breathy, fingers threading into his hair, hips lifting into his mouth before he pinned them again with a low, warning growl.

“Uh-uh. Lemme. Lemme have this.”

And when you came—it was loud, wild, wet—a cry tearing from your throat as your whole body spasmed under his mouth. He held you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer, even as you trembled and gasped, your body giving out beneath his hands.

Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop—licking through your release like he’d earned it, like it was his right.

Joel moaned like he was coming too, grinding against the couch, keeping his tongue on you, licking you through the aftershocks while you trembled, boneless and wrecked.

When he pulled back, his beard was slick with you, lips swollen, eyes dark and wrecked.

But he didn’t reach for himself. Didn’t demand more. He just hovered over you, brushing hair back from your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw, thumb tracing your thigh.

You nodded, dazed. “No one’s ever… no one’s ever made me feel like that.”

Joel leaned in, kissed your forehead. “That’s the only way I know how to touch you now.”

You looked up at him—face flushed, eyes glassy—and whispered, “Can I have you now?”

He stilled. Blinked.

You reached for him. “Please. I want to feel you. All of you.”

“You don’t gotta ask me twice,” he rasped. “But I need to hear you say it again. Need to know you want this.”

“I do,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his. “I want you. Not just tonight. Not just because I’m tired or broken. I want you because it’s you, Joel.”

His control shattered.

He kissed you again, rougher this time, like he’d been holding back and finally let himself feel how badly he needed you. His body pressed down over yours, the heat of him unmistakable through the fabric still between you.

He tore his shirt off in one motion, sweatpants shoved down to his thighs, cock heavy and thick, flushed dark with need. It slapped against his stomach, leaking already, pulsing with need like it was aching to be inside you.

You opened for him, no hesitation. Just yes—in every movement, every breath, every inch of skin you offered.

Joel braced over you, gaze locked to yours.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, chest heaving. “Need you inside me.”

He lined up and pushed in—slow, careful, so fucking deep—and you gasped, arching, clutching at him as he filled you inch by aching inch. Thick, hot, unrelenting, he opened you up with the kind of stretch that made your whole body seize.

The stretch burned in the most perfect way, your walls gripping him tight, pulsing around him like your body didn’t want to let him go. Your cunt clenched like it already knew who he was, like it belonged to him.

You’d never felt anything like it.

Like being claimed. Possessed. Worshiped.

He bottomed out with a broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours, like he never wanted to leave.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel like—fuck—like I’ve been waitin’ for this my whole fuckin’ life.”

He stayed there for a second, buried so deep you could feel the throb of his cock against your cervix, like he was trying to become a part of you.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, voice catching in your throat as he sank in deeper, stretching you open with agonizing, delicious slowness. “S-so big.”

“Can you take it, sugar?,” he growled, voice rough and ragged against your ear. “I want you to feel good.”

A helpless sob spilled from your lip. “I-I am,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

He thrust deep and slow, grinding his hips with every roll, letting you feel all of him, every thick, perfect inch. His cock dragged against your walls just right, pulling wet, slick sounds from your body that had him groaning like he was losing his mind.

Your nails dug into his back, mouth parted in soft, breathless cries.

The drag of him was obscene, slick and hot and thick, your body clenching tight around him every time he pulled back.

You were soaking him—dripping down his length, soaking the base of his cock, the couch beneath you a mess of heat and sweat and need.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Never,” he promised. “Not with you.”

Joel groaned like it hurt, like being inside you was too much, too good. “You feel—Christ, sugar, you feel like heaven.”

His thrusts turned rough, frantic, filthy—skin slapping, couch creaking, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest as he fucked you like he meant it. His balls slapped against your ass with every stroke, the wet, messy sound of him slamming into you filling the room.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, hips grinding into yours. “So fuckin’ tight, sugar… can’t believe I waited this long—”

You clung to him, breath coming in soft, desperate moans. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back to pull him even deeper, faster.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I want it—want you all the way. Please, don’t stop—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing your plea with a growl as he drove into you faster, deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not stoppin’. Can’t. Not when you’re takin’ me so good—fuck—look at you.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered. “Joel—please—” You were trembling, cunt fluttering around him, desperate for release.

You cried out, hands scrambling to grip his forearms, needing something—anything—to anchor you while he drove into you with slow, punishing thrusts. Each one landed deeper, harder, until it felt like he was carved into your core.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and desperate. “Look at me. Want you to see me when I cum inside you.”

You did. You looked at him and it was all it took for your second orgasm to explode inside your body, ripping through you like a fucking firestorm, your whole body locking around him, crying out his name like it was the only word you remembered.

And when he came, he let out a deep, broken moan, thrusting hard, grinding into you with everything he had—his seed spilling deep inside you, filling you, claiming you. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, every spurt making your walls flutter, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck… fuck, baby…” His voice went ragged, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you like he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him through it, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You felt full. Claimed. Loved, even if neither of you had said the words yet.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, skin against skin—like he couldn’t bear to leave that closeness.

He kissed your temple, murmured your name low and warm. And then, quieter still: “You don’t gotta carry everything by yourself anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and he pulled you closer.

“You hear me, sugar? You don’t have to be strong for everybody all the time. Not with me.” His lips pressed against your hairline, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re gonna figure it out. Together.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just wrapped your arms around his broad back and held on like your life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

Joel’s hand stroked slow, soothing patterns across your spine. “You got me, sugar. All of me. Always.”

And in his arms, for the first time in too long, you believed it.

A/N: Thank you to the person who requested this for your patience. I loved the idea and hope it meets your expectations🫶🏻

Thank you too to everyone reading this for supporting my work and for your nice words🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[schistostegapennata]

can you talk about moss poaching i'm actually really curious

How can I refuse! Absolutely!!! It sounds kind of ridiculous, but it's actually very sad.

So, let's start off with some numbers. Every year, the moss black market is estimated to garner up to $165 million for trafficking approximately 82 million pounds of moss.

I cannot even wrap my mind around how much moss that is.

You might ask, why does moss poaching exist and why is it so lucrative? Well, the quality that has made mosses the prey of an illegal trade is simply their aesthetic appeal. Soft, velvety, and moist, mosses are extremely pleasant to the touch and calming to look at. Some people are willing to pay large amounts of money to collect them and put them in private gardens. However, most of the mosses that move in this underground black market are actually sold to companies/wholesalers for use in potting/gardening soil, plant nurseries, decor, and as craft materials. The majority of the preserved mosses in your run-of-the-mill chain craft store, planters, floral wreaths, or very-much-dead living wall decorations are gathered illegally, bleached to death, and then dyed green. This goes for a lot of prepackaged peat moss and soil mix blends as well.

Even though it is illegal to gather moss in public places (in the US, at least), people still harvest it. Why? Probably because there's a fair amount of money to be made and the consequences are very rarely enforced, and when they are, they are quite light--usually a $50 fine at worst if you're caught. Most of this black market moss is actually poached from the national park system, with Appalachia and the Pacific Northwest usually being the hardest hit regions.

Mosses play vital roles in many ecosystems, provide homes for threatened species, regulate water distribution in forests, and help with erosion, so their loss is a terrible blow. Additionally, moving such large quantities of mosses from one location to another may spread unwanted, invasive hitchhikers, like insects that lay their eggs in the plants, or even seeds and spores.

I'll end on this thought:

It can take 20 years for a small patch of moss removed from a fallen tree to grow back with the right moisture conditions.

How long would it take to regrow 82 million pounds?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Dahlias

Dahlia - tuberous plant native to Central America and Mexico.

Dahlia flowers come in a range of colors and sizes, including the popular waterlily, collarette, pompon, peony, and cactus dahlia varieties.

Smaller bedding dahlias have flowers that are only a few inches wide, while taller dinner plate dahlias can grow blooms up to 15 inches in diameter.

Though dahlias are a perennial plant, they can only survive the winter in USDA hardiness zones 8 to 11, and gardeners often grow them as annuals in other climate zones.

How to Plant Dahlias

Planting dahlias is a straightforward process as long as you follow the proper guidelines.

Choose healthy dahlia tubers. When buying dahlia tubers at your local garden center, look for ones with pink buds and a tiny bit of green growth, and avoid any with a wrinkled appearance.

Plant dahlia tubers in late spring. Dahlias flounder in cold weather and require a ground temperature of at least 60 degrees Fahrenheit, so make sure you plant them outdoors after the last frost date. You can also start dahlias indoors four to six weeks before the last frost and then transplant them outside. If starting dahlias indoors in a container, plant dahlia tubers two inches deep in a soilless potting mix, and wait until you see new growth before you water.

Choose a sunny location with wind protection. In most climates, dahlias thrive in full sun conditions and require six to eight hours of direct sunlight. In hotter climates (USDA hardiness zones 8 to 11), it's best to give dahlias some afternoon shade to keep them from getting overheated during the hottest part of the day.

Plant dahlias in rich, well-drained soil. Dahlias grow best in slightly acidic soil with a pH between 6.5 to 7.0. If your soil is high in clay content, try working in some peat moss or sand to loosen it up and provide better drainage. You can also use bone meal to add nutrients to the soil.

Give dahlia plants plenty of space. Plant smaller bedding dahlias eight to 12 inches apart. Larger dinner plate dahlia varieties may need two to three feet of space.

Bury dahlia tubers in stages. Dig a hole about eight inches deep and slightly larger than the dahlia bulb's root ball. Place the bulb inside with its eyes (buds) facing upwards, and cover it with about two inches of soil; once it begins to sprout, fill the rest of the hole.

Stake taller dahlia cultivars. Staking taller dahlia varieties (three feet or larger) may be necessary to provide support. Use wooden or metal stakes that are at least five feet tall, or place a tomato cage over each plant.

Wait to water until the dahlias have sprouted. Watering immediately after planting may cause tuber rot, so wait until sprouts have breached the topsoil before watering. Avoid mulching unless you're planting in a particularly hot climate.

How to Grow and Care for Dahlias

Dahlias have a bloom time from late summer through the first frost in the fall. In order to grow healthy dahlias that bloom all season long, follow these growing tips.

Water dahlia plants deeply once they’re established. It's better to water your dahlia plants thoroughly once or twice a week throughout the growing season than to give them a light watering every day. Dahlia plants in hotter climates require slightly more water but avoid over-saturating your soil to prevent rotting tubers.

Feed dahlias with a low-nitrogen fertilizer. Using a low-nitrogen liquid fertilizer approximately every four weeks after your dahlias sprout can lead to larger, more beautiful blooms.

Practice deadheading and disbudding. Make sure to remove dead flower heads to keep your dahlia flowers blooming longer. To produce extra-large flowers, try disbudding: Remove the smaller flower buds in each cluster so your plant can put additional energy into growing the central bud. To produce bushier dahlia plants, once they grow about one foot tall, pinch off the top of each center stalk to promote outward growth.

Monitor your dahlias for diseases. Dahlias are prone to contracting powdery mildew, which is often the product of wet leaves and poor air circulation. Water from below to keep your dahlia leaves dry. If you do spot powdery mildew, treat the disease using an appropriate fungicide. Dahlias may develop stem rot in poorly drained, waterlogged soil, so make sure not to overwater.

Keep pests under control. Aphids, caterpillars, earwigs, slugs, and spider mites all commonly plague dahlia plants. Spray away aphids with a stream of water from a garden hose, handpick any caterpillars off the leaves, use slug bait to control slugs and earwigs, and spray leaves with neem oil to take care of spider mites.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[heavenly-fag]

24-hour minizine (8 pages) about DIY propagation from leaf and stem cuttings (free to copy and distribute!! pls just take my name out if you change any content)

EDIT: thank you for all the love! check out @contentsunderpressurezine (instagram) for more of our stuff!

pdf download for print and read friendly versions on this ko-fi I just set up! pay what you wish, free to print and distribute

plaintext under the cut:

So You Want to Make Some Plants Into Even More Plants?

A Quick + Dirty Guide to Propagation from An Amateur Who Likes Watching Roots Grow. (by Fran Tirpak)

propagation - n.

"multiplication or increase, as by natural reproduction."

1. Prepare!

Important: Sterilize your shears w/ rubbing alcohol.

Wear gloves -- some plants can irritate your skin when cut.

Gather supplies: shears, gloves, soil medium, pot, glass jar.

Optional: plant food, rooting hormone, cinnamon, tealight.

^ we'll talk about these all more later on.

2. Take your cutting!

Succulents -- just pop off a leaf!

Vining plants (Pothos, Monstera), cut below one of the root nodes.

Woody stems (fiddle leaf, rubber plant) -- cut with 1-3 leaves at the top

3. Root your cutting!

(Optional) Dip the cut end in rooting hormone. For a homemade method, dip in cinnamon, then seal with melted wax from an unscented tea candle.

Place the cutting in a glass of warm water in indirect sunlight.

Succulent owners: simply place your leaves flat on damp potting soil.

4. Plant the cutting

(the scariest part)

Once the cutting has roots (~3-4 weeks later) time to put it in soil.

Depending on your plant, your soil needs will change.

When in doubt: good drainage, airy & loose, added nutrients.

For tropicals: 1/2 peat moss or coco coir, 1/4 perlite or pumice, 15% orchid bark, 10% compost/organics (i.e. worm husks).

(For succulents, just watch 'em sprout!)

* Potting Tips

Experiment with lighting and humidity levels.

Try out LECA or a mix to slowly introduce your plant to solid ground.

LECA: Lightweight Expanded Clay Aggregate. Balls of clay used in hydroponic gardening - popular with Monsteras

Some tropical plants also have no prob being in water full-time!

5. Now you have a friend!

Pro tips: You can take props from anywhere (as long as you're responsible -- and sneaky).

There's no one way to care for a plant. Do your research, go with your gut, & have fun!

[forest-and-fauna]

Native Gardening: A Guide for Cold Stratification

It's nearly January, which means that it's time for me to start stratification for my native seeds.

Many native seeds have a built-in dormancy mechanism which will prevent germination until it is broken either naturally by weather, or artificially via cold/moist stratification in the refrigerator. This is a guide for the refrigeration method.

It's best done about 2-3 months before spring if you plan on starting the seeds indoors, or 2-3 months before your last frost date if sowing outdoors (depending on germination requirements). This year I'm using peat moss but you can substitute it with moist sand or damp paper towels.

Choosing Your Plants

One thing to consider before buying native seeds is how successful they will be once planted in your garden. The best way to determine this is by going outside and seeing what grows naturally in the yard.

For example, my yard has mostly shade-loving plants like the Common Blue Violet, Bloodroot, and Witchgrass, along with some hardier, more tolerant species like Blue Wood-Aster and Common Milkweed. Sun-loving plants like goldenrod are present but restricted to the edges of the property. Despite having no natural water source, I have seen a few water-dwelling species pop up as well.

This means that I have a pretty moist/shady backyard and that I should focus on species that either prefer these conditions or are very tolerant of them.

Remember to choose species that grow naturally in your biosphere. Some native seed vendors will provide range maps which will show you where certain plants exist in the wild. This is important because the entire point of native gardening is to support your local ecology and wildlife.

This year I'm raising Virginia Strawberry, Early Goldenrod, Sundial Lupine, Columbine, Spotted-Touch-Me-Not, Bloodroot, and Highbush Cranberry. In addition to pollinators like bees, wasps. and butterflies, these plants will be beneficial to songbirds, hummingbirds, and small mammals.

I always buy seeds from Prairie Moon Nursery. I've had great experiences with them and they even offer native range maps and germination instructions for each species.

Materials:

One bag of peat moss

A mixing bowl

A pitcher or measuring cup of water

Lidded jars or sealable plastic bags (1 per species)

A permanent marker and painters tape for labels.

Seeds of your choosing

Instructions:

Fill your mixing bowl with peat moss.

Slowly add water and mix with your hands until the moss is moist but not soaked. You should be able to form it into a ball.

Press peat moss into each container.

Sprinkle in the seeds. I covered the larger seeds with more peat moss, but the smaller seeds were just sprinkled on top so that I can actually find them when it's time to plant.

Seal containers and label each with the species name, length of time required in the fridge, (usually 60-90 days), and if it requires double dormancy.***

After this, place the containers in the fridge for 60-90 days, depending on the germination requirements. You should check on them weekly to make sure they don't dry out or grow mold. If a seed starts sprouting during stratification, remove it from the container and plant it in a starter pot.

After the 60-90 day period, the seeds will be ready to germinate. Move them into starter pots with soil or plant them directly into your garden bed.

I prefer starting my plants in Peat Pots, which are compostable and can be planted directly in the ground. This allows me to raise my seedlings indoors without the threat of wildlife or competition while preventing me from disturbing their root system when transplanting.

***Note on Double Dormancy

Some plants have double dormancy requirements for germination and can be more challenging to grow. This means that the plant will need a period of cold moisture, then warm moisture, and finally another period of cold moisture before they will germinate. Bloodroot, American Cranberrybush, and Spotted-Touch-Me-Not are all species that need double dormancy.

[mishhty]

Monstera deliciosa 🪴

Information -

Kingdom: Plantae

Order: Alismatales

Family: Araceae

Genus: Monstera

Species: M. deliciosa

Monstera deliciosa, the Swiss cheese plant or split-leaf philodendron is a species of flowering plant native to tropical forests of southern Mexico, south to Panama.It has been introduced to many tropical areas, and has become a mildly invasive species in Hawaii, Seychelles, Ascension Island and the Society Islands. It is very widely grown in temperate zones as a houseplant.

It is called Swiss Cheese Plant due to their natural leaf holes. The Monstera plant's scientific name, Monstera deliciosa, derives from the Latin words "monstrum" meaning "monster" and "deliciosa" meaning "delicious."

Monstera plants are natural detoxifiers. Their broad leaves absorb and strip away indoor air toxins. The ideal temperature it requires is around 70°F. With a little humidity added to that, they get to feel right at home. Monsteras need bright light but do not tolerate direct sunlight. They can survive in low light, but their growth will be inhibited. To grow a striking Monstera plant with the lacy leaves and the coloration you adore, you need to provide it with good light. Monstera prefers bright indirect light. Keep out of direct sunlight for extended periods, as it can burn the leaves.

It is safe to come into skin contact with Monstera soil, foliage, and stems. However, it is not safe to ingest any part of the plant. Monstera is mildly toxic to humans and is toxic to cats and dogs but is not considered lethal. All parts of the plant are harmful to ingest except the fully ripe fruit, which rarely develops on indoor Monstera. The toxicity comes from insoluble oxalate crystals in the juices inside the plant. Indoor Monstera Deliciosa doesn’t yield fruits.

In various cultures, the Monstera has been a beacon of good luck, protection, and prosperity. It also fills spaces with positive energy and attracts good luck, according to Feng Shui.

Tips to grow and maintain Monstera:

Light: The plant thrives in bright and indirect light. It is advisable to keep it on a windowsill that receives good amount of indirect sunlight. Direct sunlight may burn its leaves. Note, if you find the leaves have small or no holes, then it means that the plant is not getting adequate light.

Soil:Use soil that retains moisture. Peat moss, perlite, and compost helps in the plant growth.

Watering: Ensure that Monstera Deliciosa is planted in a pot with good draining facility. The right time to water the plant is when the soil looks dry at the top. Note, overwatering may lead to root rot. During summers, the plant needs water regularly, however decrease the frequency of watering during winters.

Humidity: This plant grows well in humid conditions. You can mist its leaves or place it in a water tray having pebbles to increase the humidity level around it.

Temperature: Monstera Deliciosa grows well between 18°C and 29°C.

Support: As Monstera Deliciosa is an understory plant with aerial roots and large leaves, it needs support to grow.

Pruning: Prune the plant to maintain its shape. Remove yellow or damaged leaves so that the plant grows well.

Propagation: Monstera Deliciosa can be propagated through stem cuttings that can be rooted into water or directly planted into soil. You can also choose the process of air layering that involves creating a root system in a mature stem when it is still attached to the mother plant. Once roots are developed, the stem can be separated.

[chokrihizem]

🍓🌱 Excited about growing your own organic strawberries right at home? 🌱🍓

Did you know you can grow delicious, pesticide-free strawberries even if you have limited space? 🍓🌿 Container gardening is the perfect solution! 🌞🏡

👩‍🌾👨‍🌾 Whether you're a seasoned gardener or just starting out, here are some tips for growing juicy strawberries in containers:

1️⃣ Choose a sunny spot: Strawberries love sunlight! Place your containers where they'll get at least 6-8 hours of direct sunlight daily.

2️⃣ Pick the right container: Opt for large containers with drainage holes to prevent waterlogging. Terra cotta or plastic pots work well.

3️⃣ Use quality soil: A well-draining, nutrient-rich soil mix (like compost and peat moss) is ideal for strawberries.

4️⃣ Planting time: Spring is perfect for planting strawberries. Space your plants about 8-12 inches apart to allow room for growth.

5️⃣ Watering and feeding: Keep the soil consistently moist, but not waterlogged. Feed your strawberries with organic fertilizer every 2-3 weeks.

6️⃣ Pest control: Keep an eye out for pests like slugs and birds. Netting can protect your berries while still allowing sunlight in.

➡️ Want to read my full article: How to Grow Organic Strawberries in Containers!

🎉 Growing your own strawberries is not only rewarding, but also a delicious way to enjoy fresh, organic fruit all summer long! Have you tried growing strawberries in containers? Share your tips and experiences below! 🍓💬

[makoredeyes]

Itty bitty baby Ginko Biloba sapling I started from seed about 18 months ago graduated into a bonsai training pot today mostly because I cannot focus on anything else and even though it had plenty of room in the 4” pot it had it was still in its peat moss seed starting media still and having some real soil will be good for it (helloooo nutrients!)

I was really shocked at how tiny it’s roots are for something that’s had significant growing time at this rate, especially compared to the canopy. I’m not sure if this is typical of Ginko or a product of not having very good soil so far, but it seems healthy and happy overall anyway. They’re tough trees.

(That’s it, that’s all it has for roots)

I also suspect the seed wasn’t very good. It was one of 5 I started and the only one to germinate, when they’re easy enough that if they were sent to me healthy they should have all gone no problem. But here’s the one! I have other bonsai experiments going outside (with mixed results, all looking particularly haggard rn or maybe dead idk yet because of some terrible heatwaves) so no pictures of those, but this little one is so young and tiny it lives inside in my kitchen greenhouse window where I can keep a very close eye on it.

(I gave it a friend cx )

I decided to take the time to clean up the window just a little so y’all can see I uh.

Like plants. And have a few.

Finding the poor little Ginko is like playing Where’s Waldo 😅

[eggxeggxegg]

Im trying to become a better plant parent so I’m going to get a few doodads

Sol soil chunky potting mix - seems like a good peat moss free potting medium to have

Diatomaceous earth - because I think one of my plants has fungus gnats

Cinnamon - to try and get rid of the fungus in the soil that’s causing the fungus gnats

Leca balls - as a soil chunkifying additive

[seegreenseeds]

Calathea Couture Flower Calathea seeds

25 Seeds Purple Tip Calathea Couture Flower Indoor or Outdoor Beautiful Plant

Instructions:

Select a Suitable Container: Choose a container with drainage holes at the bottom to prevent waterlogging. Calathea seeds require well-draining soil for optimal germination.

Potting Mix: Use a well-draining potting mix suitable for tropical plants. A mix of peat moss, perlite, and compost works well to provide the necessary nutrients and aeration for Calathea seeds.

Sowing Seeds: Sow your Calathea seeds in the container, following the specific planting depth recommended for Calathea seeds. Typically, small seeds should be lightly pressed into the soil surface, while larger seeds can be covered with a thin layer of soil.

Watering: Keep the soil consistently moist but not waterlogged. Water gently to avoid displacing the Calathea seeds. A misting spray or a fine watering can is ideal for this purpose.

Humidity: Calathea seeds often require high humidity for successful germination. Cover the container with a plastic lid or a clear plastic bag to create a humid environment. Remove the cover once the seedlings emerge.

Light Requirements: Place the container in a location with bright, indirect light. Calathea seeds need light to germinate, but avoid direct sunlight, which can overheat and dry out the soil.

Temperature: Maintain a temperature range between 65-75°F (18-24°C) for optimal Calathea seed germination. Avoid exposing the seeds to drafts or sudden temperature changes.

Fertilization: Once the Calathea seedlings have developed their first set of true leaves, start fertilizing them with a diluted, balanced, water-soluble fertilizer. Fertilize sparingly to avoid overfeeding the young plants.

Thinning: Thin out the Calathea seedlings if they are overcrowded, leaving the strongest plants with adequate space to grow. This helps prevent competition for light, water, and nutrients.

Pest Control: Monitor your Calathea seedlings for pests such as aphids or fungus gnats. Use organic pest control methods if necessary, like neem oil or insecticidal soap, to keep your seedlings healthy.

Transplanting: Once the Calathea seedlings are large enough and have developed a strong root system, transplant them into larger pots or their final growing location. Use fresh potting mix and ensure the new container has proper drainage.

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

~

"Special delivery!" Wels called. He entered the little capsule in the cave, removing his breathing mask as the seal closed on the door and just getting a faint taste of sulfur on his lips. X hugged him and traded a cup of coffee and a stack of hardtack and jerkey for a new map and a little present wrapped in a ribbon. The "present" was a little soil and peat moss filled pot tied with a bow.

X cupped it, he set the pot of greenish fungus on the table, and watched as X arranged the beginnings of a tendril to climb the door frame. "Low water and sun needs, nice!"

"But you do seem to like cutting the schedule awfully close."

"Eh, no worries, I know how we take turns, I've just gotten sharper, and better at side trips. And we've got enough bread and water now." He added the latest and the map to his pack in the corner.

"Well, off to go Searching again." He continued, sliding on his now full sack, the coal-silk light and sturdy against the heavy load. He wandered upwards in the cave until he came to a new marker on the rock, a new part of the ruins, and a new slick warping of the air.

[pbandjesse]

It is confusing my body that I have work tomorrow. Having Monday's off has been such a thing that it feels weird that I'm going to camp tomorrow. But even more it feels weird that other people will be there! Because camp is starting!

I have tried very hard to enjoy my day off. Me and James stayed up late talking and laughing and hanging out. It was a really nice evening and I would sleep really well. And I got to sleep in.

I woke up at 9 and I could have kept sleeping but I wanted to get up. I would go get washed and dressed. I felt pretty. It was going to be pretty sunny and warm but I had much to do!

I would feel a little dazed today. I don't know why. I feel very introspective and quiet. It's interesting for sure.

I would go downstairs and had a little breakfast. I had a toasted cinnamon raisin English muffin with butter. And gathered myself to go out.

My whole plan today was to get the supplies to build Crabcake's outdoor enclosure. I had a few ideas but I'm very happy with my final decision.

But I was getting frustrated. I would start my day out by going to five below to look for bar soap for camp. I have one but I wanted a backup. No luck though?? No soaps at all at that location.

I would get a blind bags and a snack. But then I was off. I walked across the parking lot to target. I would try our soda stream liquid there. And looked around at the clothes but I didn't want or need anything. I paid and went to my next stop.

Over to the Petco. I wanted to get a better hearing bulb. Which was a little confusing but I think I got a good one. Ceramic heating bulb. I would also get a hide and some extra food pellets and dried flowers for snacking. I had a nice conversation with the cashier. On my account Crabcake's name is Frank. But in talking to her it has been decided that his name is Crabcake Franklin Lentzwiler the first.

I would try to go to ace hardware next. But I kept having to drive in circles because of all the one way streets. I was struggling. I did finally make it inside but they didn't have anything I needed for my idea. So I felt dumb for all the driving in circles.

I would go to Aldi next. This Aldi did not have as many things as the Lidil did the other day. Disappointing but not surprising. It's funny how nice some of the Aldi and lidils are while other are so bare bones and you literally never know what you're going to get.

So I went to my final stop. I drove to Home Depot. And it wasn't perfect but it would work out in the end.

I was very frustrated when I could not find a staff member to help me. I found the tub I wanted but I couldn't safely pick it up off the pile without knocking everything over. But I circled the garden center 3 times before I gave up and went inside the main store and I found someone. And was like hey I know that it isn't your section but can you help me get something and he was surprised no one was available in the garden section but he was really kind and came and helped.

I would get two bags of peat moss topsoil, which is what was recommended online for tortoises. And then I chose a yellow flower plant and an egg plant plant a low dish and a terracotta pot. I was pretty happy with my choices.

The line took a long time. I chatted with the girl in front of me. She was super excited about my plan to make an enclosure garden for a tortoise. I was also very excited.

I paid and they offered to load the car for me but I decided that since I needed to get it all out of the car I should put it in myself. The guy thought that was funny.

I'm glad I did that though. Nothing was actually heavy it would just be a lot of thinking and moving things around.

I went home and got a parking space right in front of our door. Excellent. I came inside and put Sweetp in the basement. And brought everything inside.

I let Sweetp be free while I was working on setting up the tub. I had decided to get the tub without a bottom and so I would put a tarp down first. I used the two bags of top soil to cover that and then the two blocks of coconut fiber. I soaked everything and got it all mixed and set up and was pretty happy.

Both plants were pretty badly root bound. I had to chop some off of the flowers just to get it to break apart a bit. Pretty annoying. I really hope they don't die.

I got them planted and put in the other things I got. I filled the soaking tray. I half buried the pot as a hide. And I placed the log I got. It was time to introduce the boy.

Crabcake had been out when I left earlier. And he was still hanging out when I went to get him.

He is so stinking cute. I think this may have been the first time he was really outside. Born in captivity and such. So he seemed a little nervous when I put him in the tub but he has been exploring and hiding in the flowers and I am really excited that he seems happy in there. I want to grow chia for him to eat in there. I still need to figure out predator protection but for now, as a supervised activity I think it is all good.

Once I was done setting up and I had wash all the dirt off of my hands I would set up our camp chair out there and put the umbrella over it. I made nachos and set myself up to watch TikToks and eat my little lunch.

James asked me to water the plants so I did that. And sat down to eat. I opened my blind bags. Got a small dog dressed like a sorcerer named Justin. It was a good day.

I eventually got a little to hot and would move inside. I would go outside to check on Crabcake and Sweetp often. But I would also just hang out and eat snacks. It was honestly lovely. Though I got very sleepy.

James would come home at 5. And I would show them my hard work. I had asked them earlier in the day if we could go out to buy a porch swing this evening. And so after they changed their shirt and we brought all our animals inside, we would go out into the world.

We did not have luck at the first store. Disappointing. We still got a few small things. Pastries. We had to go to the Lidil I went to the other day. And they would have it! Amazing! James was very strong and carried it to the car. I was very happy.

But very quickly I fell apart. Callie let me know that some boys are trying to get the block house we want. Which upset me. And then we got to Mathews for dinner but they were out of pizzas??? I was so disappointed.

James pivoted and is still trying to cheer me up. We went to get pizza somewhere else but then their soda was flat and my stomach hurt so much and I was so upset. And it was worse that I knew I was being irrational. But I just feel all out of sorts.

I'm hoping eating helps. We are almost home. Where I will eat and try to be normal again. I was having a really good day and I would like to continue that.

Especially because I am very excited for camp tomorrow. I hope it's a really good day and I get a lot done.

I hope you all have a great night tonight. Take care of eachother. And be safe. I love you all. Goodnight!!

[souqgarden]

 Fittonia Foliage Plants (Non-Flowering) Indoor

Fittonia Is A Genus Of Flowering Plants In The Acanthus Family Acanthaceae, Native To Tropical Rainforest In South America, Mainly Peru. The Most Commonly Grown Are F. Albivenis And Its Cultivars. They Are Spreading Evergreen Perennials Growing 10–20 Cm Tall.as A Tropical Plant That Naturally Grows In The Humid, Bright Shade Of Tropical Forests, This Plant Prefers Similar Conditions When Grown As A Houseplant. It Dislikes Full Sunlight, Preferring Bright, Indirect Sun.fittonia Grows Well In Standard Potting Soil With A Peat Moss Base. It Prefers A Slightly Acidic Soil Ph (6.5). The Soil Should Retain Some Moisture But Should Also Drain Well.keeping The Plant Appropriately Moist Can Be A Challenge. Nerve Plant Is Prone To Collapse If It’s Allowed To Dry Out. Although It Will Recover Quickly If Thoroughly Watered, Repeated Fainting Spells Will Eventually Take Their Toll On The Plant. At The Other Extreme, Fittonia Plants That Are Allowed To Stagnate In Water Will Develop Yellowed, Limp Leaves. Nerve Plant Thrives At Temperatures Around 70 F But Will Tolerate A Range From The Low 60s F To Low 80s F. These Plants Prefer Humid Conditions Similar To Those Found In Rainforests. Regular Misting Will Keep The Plants From Drying Out. Most Growers Find It’s Easiest To Grow These Lovely But Temperamental Plants In Terrariums, Bottle Gardens, Or Covered Gardens Where They Can Get The High Humidity And Diffuse Light They Love So Much. They Also Do Well In Steamy Bathrooms.during Its Growing Season, Feed Plants Weekly With A Weak Dose Of Liquid Fertilizer Formulated For Tropical Plants. A Balanced 5-5-5 Fertilizer Diluted To Half Strength Is A Good Formulation. Nerve Plant Grows Quickly In The Right Conditions, And If The Stems Grow Leggy, Pinching Off The Tips Will Keep The Growth Full And Bushy.nerve Plants Propagate Readily From Stem-tip Cuttings

[garden-with-squid]

9/17/23

Today, I attempted to mix my own potting soil:

I wanted to do this for 2 main reasons. First, I want to stop using peat moss because of its negative environmental impact. Coco coir is the good substitute. Second, I want to save money on potting mix, especially since I want to add more container plants to the backyard.

I used 50% coconut coir, 50% compost, and an additional 10% sand. I didn’t not add any amendments or fertilizers, though I do have them on hand to mix in as I go. I ended up with about 20-25 gallons of potting soil mix today. It seems to expand a bit after mixing, very loose and airy. The recipe comes from this video, around 5:55 mark:

I found a great price on coco coir from a local farm supply store, the compost was free from the landfill, and the bag of builder’s sand was cheap from Home Depot.

Based on my rough estimations, it would cost about $42 to mix ~70 gallons of soil (no added fertilizer,) which is 6.25 bags of soil (1.5 cu ft per bag). That’s $6.72 per bag, compared to $10-$15 per bag of premium mix, even more for peat-free stuff.

Some considerations: How much nutrition does the compost provide? Is the compost weed/disease free? How long could this mix feed my plants, and how much additional fertilizer would I need? It does take significantly more time and effort to DIY, especially in large amounts - hydrating the coco coir took at least 30 minutes of soaking and mixing, then over an hour to measure and mix the big pile.

I would like to experiment more - perhaps add more sand to make a well-draining succulent mix, add sulfur for an acidic mix, etc - though I will need to learn more about soil amendments to make a mix that works.

I might also try buying soil from a landscaping company, though the quality will vary and they may need extra amendments anyway.

Overall, I’m very excited to try this mix, and it was quite good exercise too.