#sage green nursery

[styliizeboutique]

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[xcziel]

i think i have given up on the yard now

there are things planted and we'll see what we'll see, but from everything i've read stuff will either die in the 110F heat or later on in a winter freeze so further $ invested may be a waste

and the only solution is to keep everything as potted-and-mobile or indoor plants

there's already been issues with ants and gnats so the impetus to leave them outside and then bring them in later is now very low

so maybe i will just have a lot of indoor plants - at least i can take them with me when i go

the one pothos is at least VERY enthusiastic and all the greenery is *so* fucking mentally soothing

... i just really want to buy so many more plants and i *have* to stop

[shepherdsheart]

Forgotten Child

DpxDc

Bruce would admit that he wasn’t near a perfect man. In all truth he was far from it really.

He had made hundreds of mistakes through his life and he had hoped he had learned something from them all but there was one mistake that stood out more than anything else.

The box in his hands had been proof of such, everything in it entailed just how badly he had failed. Failed as a man, failed as a person but most of all how he failed as a father.

It all started a year before he welcomed Dick into his life. It was one of his biggest regrets but also one of his biggest blessings as he stared at the new born baby boy in his arms. Soft blue wrapped around the little boy like tight arms as he held the sleeping baby close.

He had drilled that moment into his memories as he held the soft little bundle. It would be his first and his last memory of the boy in his arms. He knew the moment the pregnancy was announced that he wouldn’t be able to keep the babe. His life as Batman was to dangerous for a baby and as such he had made the decision to hand his baby to someone else.

Nobody but a trusted few would ever know of the young babe, no one would know Batman or Bruce Wayne had a son.

It had taken time and research but he had picked the perfect family. They would take care of his little star, he would be their son and not his. He would grow up safe and protect as Daniel Thomas Marshal.

Or at least he thought so.

Bruce didn’t give up contact with Daniel, each year he would send the boy anonymous gifts for his birthday and the holidays just as the elusive Uncle B. And as the boy grew they often exchanged letters.

His boy was smart, the top of his class and he was ohh so brilliant. He often drew pictures for Bruce where then man would store each with the letters in a box for sage keeping. Things had gone that way for years and Danny and he talked about many things. Bruce talked about life and Danny liked to talk about stars and the things he learned at school.

It had all been going so well till it all fell apart.

Jason had died and Bruce fell apart, losing himself in his grief for his lost child. Somewhere along the line after Jason’s death Bruce had stopped responding to the letters young Danny sent. He couldn’t bear to read them while he grieved Jason and at one point he must have told Alfred to just store them in Daniels letter box in instead of bringing them to him.

Somehow he had forgotten, he had forgotten the letters of messy cursive and doodles of stars and galaxy’s. Stories of school or life in the farm where he was being raised out in Wisconsin.

It was only because of his children that he remembered. A normal day of roughhousing and being shooed away by Alfred to take their antics elsewhere while he cleaned.

The kids had decided to take their games to the halls between there room and Damian and Jason to pick a locked door of a spare room that was never used and always locked. The others would never think to check the room as it was never opened. 

The boys weren’t expecting to find a old but well cared for nursery. The walls a soft blue, the The ceilings dark blue with plastic stars in the patters of constellations. A crib in one corner with space themed decor and a small bed in the middle of the room obviously for when the crib was outgrown.

On the far wall was multiple shelves with a few old toys along with books and many other small items. Then there were the picture frames scattered about the shelves and other furniture in the room. All had one thing in common, a boy with soft black hair and ice blue eyes but each photo the boy was more grown.

At first they thought it was Bruce but the photos were to new and Bruce didn’t have ice blue eyes. The boy was in a picture with his parents, a blond woman with blue eyes and a Black haired man with green eyes. Those weren’t Bruce’s parents so who were they and who was the child that was in each photo.

Before they could snoop any further the door had been opened and a Stern Alfred shooed them away.

It didn’t take long for the boys to question Bruce about the room he had long ago forgotten about. Bruce didn’t say a word as he had rushed over to the room that he had long sense abandoned before he closed himself inside.

There Bruce had cried, he had forgotten one of his children and he cried as he looked at the photos.

He had spent hours in that room before a wooden box to the side on a Dresser caught his attention. He knew exactly what that box contained and he dreaded opening it.

When he found the courage to lift the lid he was greeted by hundreds of letters. A portion opened but most were untouched, never opened to be read.

He’d spend the next few weeks slowly going through the letters. Danny wasn’t sure why he hadn’t responded but the boy wrote that even though he didn’t get a response he hoped the letters were reaching him.

He learned soon after Jason’s death when Danny was 10 that the Marshals had died leaving Danny to the State only to be adopted by a family called the Fentons a year later.

After that Danny’s letters became less detailed and more vague about his life but instead asking questions Bruce would never answer. The boy avoided talking about his home life and manly talked about school and his 2 new friends or he’d ask about Bruce, how he was doing? If he was ok? And so on. Somehow Danny never gave up writing to Bruce.

That was until the last letter, sent over a year ago in handwriting Bruce didn’t recognize. Jasmine, Danny’s adopted sister had written that dated letter over a year ago.

Over a year ago Danny had been killed, killed in an accident in the Fentons Lab. No body left to be buried only the address of an empty grave.



Notes

(Danny is 11 years younger than Dick, 4 years younger than Jason, 2 years younger than Tim, 4 years older than Damian)

Damian - 11

Danny - 15

Tim - 17

Jason - 19

Dick - 26

(Danny is Phantom but when he died he decided he didn’t want to deal with an abusive Jack and Maddie anymore so he continued on as phantom only being Danny with his friends and in the realms when he was safe with Allies)

[farfallasims]

Sage Green Nursery🌿

[peachesofteal]

oooh okay but what if the guys find Darling right before she’s about to give birth?? She took off after the confrontation and just never went back, and they gave her space hoping she’d come back. So then they were actively looking for her and finally found her? What’s one of the ways that could go down? Sorry I’m sure your ask box is absolutely full of asks about the baby trap au and other things but this idea struck me and I had to get it down 😩

👀 these little stories have completely consumed my brain.

🩵🩵🩵

18+ / baby trap AU / mature/dark themes

Deep breath.

Just breathe.

You can do this, you can do this. It happens all the time. You’re not the first person on earth to have a baby, for Christ’s sake.

Your feet step one in front of the other in a pattern down the hall, to the kitchen and then back to your bedroom, over and over while you try to stretch your back. It’s been almost forty minutes since your last contraction, and your muscles are sore, everything from your fingers to toes cramps.

It’s way too soon to go to the hospital.

But it’s not way too soon to be really uncomfortable, and nervous, and kind of freaking out, which you currently are.

You’re unprepared, even though you’re not sure there’s anything more you could do. You have the nursery set up, to the best of your ability. You even painted her room a soothing sage green color, and got all her clothes put away. You baby proofed everything. You have bottles, and formula, and nappies. Blankets and a boppy, even some pacifiers. On the outside, it looks like you and your little flat are totally ready.

But the reality, or at least how it feels, is the opposite. You don’t think you’re ready. You’re not even sure you can do this, if you’re being honest. You don’t know if you can be a mum, if you can take care of a baby, a defenseless little human who will need you for everything.

You struggled to take care of yourself half the time.

Your muscles tense, slow building pain splintering across your lower belly and you blink away some tears that threaten to form. It’s not just the pain… it’s everything.

You’re alone. You’re alone, after the two people you loved more than anything did the worst thing in the world to you. After they took your choice away. After they ruined everything, betrayed your trust, hurt you beyond repair.

Even worse was… you missed them. You hated them for it. Hated yourself for it. Everything felt so complicated, so fucked up. You were so angry, so heartbroken and still… couldn’t stop yourself from mourning their absence. Couldn’t stop from thinking about them at every doctor’s appt, every night when you closed your eyes to sleep.

You couldn’t even think about what was going to happen… after.

It was torture. It was hell.

It was affecting your health.

You had long been on restriction, light duty, almost mandated to bed rest. You had trouble eating, trouble sleeping, trouble with your blood sugar. It was exhausting.

Bee moves, not kicking but something else, a ripple pinging across your belly and you rub there soothingly.

“I know, I know.” You murmur, eyes wandering to your bed. Laying down sounds really good right now.

When you wake one hour later, it’s to pain. More intense, more sharp, lingering in the muscles of your back and thighs. It’s clearly a contraction, much more intense, and nausea rises in the back of your throat.

Fuck. That hurts.

You bite your tongue, heaving yourself out of bed as the pain fades, leaving you a little breathless while you waddle to the closet.

Maybe you could take a bath, or try to walk some more.

Just as you’re about to turn the tap on your tub, you hear a noise, a knocking on your door. That’s odd. You hadn’t ordered anything, food or packages. And you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either. Your stomach does a somersault, and you approach the door hesitantly, standing on the other side, staring at it blankly.

Without even checking the peep hole, you know who it is on the other side. You don’t need to look.

You always knew this would happen. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that sometimes, in the middle of the night, you didn’t dream about this. Even though it was wrong. Even if it meant you were weak. Stupid. Foolish.

You take a deep breath, and pull the handle.

Johnny’s holding his breath when the door creaks open. He doesn’t know what to expect, he just prays to nothing that it’s you on the other side. That after months of trying to track you down, they’ve finally got it right. He just hopes that you’ll give them a chance, that you’ll listen to them for even a second, so they can get down on their knees and tell you how sorry they are. So they can tell you they love you. So they can beg you to come home.

You peek around the door, just barely, enough for them to catch a good glimpse of your face.

He feels like he’s gotten the wind knocked out him. It’s been so long since they’ve seen you, too long, and you’re so pretty, so perfect he has to squeeze his hands into fists to try to calm his racing heart.

“Hi.” You keep the door more than half shut, and he swallows dry.

“Darling.”

“What’re you guys doing here.” You don’t phrase it as a question, and your voice is flat. Unenthused.

“We wanted to see you.” Simon starts. “We… wanted to check on you. See if you need anything. If you’re okay.” You give him a grim smile, and shake your head.

“Let’s not pretend.” You shoot back, and Johnny feels his heart wilt.

“We’re not pretending, love. We’ve been so worried. We’re so, so sorry. I cannae start to explain, how sorry we are. We did something awful. We-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” The door moves, just a little bit wider, and reveals more of your body, swollen belly, heavy on your frame. You look tired, like you haven’t been sleeping.

Johnny wants to break down. He wants to cry, if he’s being honest. He failed you. They failed you. They were supposed to love you, protect you, care for you. Instead… they allowed their twisted, selfish desires to influence their decisions.

He can’t imagine how this has been for you. Pregnancies were difficult for anyone as is, and you weren’t just anyone. You never have been.

“Can we come in?” Simon tries, voice soft. His eyes haven’t left your frame, taking in everything he’s seeing, Johnny’s sure. Coming to the same conclusion.

“No.” You bite out. “I don’t want you here.” He’s about to start begging, start pleading with you, but you make a face, brows pushing together, mouth screwing up like you’re in pain and his blood runs cold.

“Darling?”

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, but your hand cradles your belly, and your eyes are closed, face still screwed up in discomfort. “You should leave.” Not bloody likely.

“You’re in pain.” Simon summarizes the obvious, and you shake your head.

“I’m fine. I just uh- am having some cramps.” Cramps? He knows you’re pretty far along, by the math. Worry prickles along his spine.

“Cramps?” He takes half a step, not even. It’s enough to startle you, make you draw back, door jerking in your fist, closing it to only a crack, and he holds a hand out, cautiously. “Darling. Hey, it’s alright.”

“Go away.” You spit, but the words are choked out halfway, and they sound rough. Like you’re in pain. He tries to count, in his head. How far along you are, how close to a due date you might be.

“What’s going on?” Simon tries, and they can just barely see your palm press over your mouth. Johnny’s heart is galloping in his chest now, scared. Panicked. You’re in pain. You’re in real pain, and you won’t talk to them. Won’t let them in.

He’s about to ask you if it’s more than cramps, if you need help, or a doctor. But he doesn’t get the chance.

The door slams in their faces.

[nobody7102]

The 4th

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Fireworks, Loud sounds

A/N: I told you I was running off of a big bong hit and lavender ices coffee, lol

Master-list

--------

As Beau stands in the kitchen, his hands hard at work covering ribs in marinade and dry rub for later on in the day, Y/N opens the front door, waddling her way into the kitchen with grocery backs and a package. 

Looking over his shoulder Beau smiles as Y/N enter’s the kitchen with her left arm carrying the package and her right holding the groceries. Hoisting the package and groceries onto the counter Beau starts to clean off his hands.

“Did the store have everything?”

Y/N nods and her hands move to start to take the groceries out of the bags. “We should have decided to have a baby sooner” she jokes “When I walked in, as soon as anyone saw the bump they let me grab whatever I needed” as soon as everything’s unpacking she turns to Beau placing a hand over her bump. “They had everything for the potatoes and the steaks”

“Well thank you for going all the way to the store for me Baby… you really didn’t have to” Walking over to Y/N he leans down and places a kiss upon her lips as his hands rest over her bump as well. “I after I get the ribs on the grill I should be able to get started on the steaks”

Y/N smiles as Beau runs his hands along her bump “Then I’ll probably do the potatoes when you start on the steaks” her hands rise up to push some of Beau’s hair out of his face “Ohh… by the way…” the corner of her mouth turns upward into a slight smirk “I got you a present… but you have to open it later” 

Beau raises his brow with a slightly surprised smirk upon his face “A present?... Baby you know you always scare me a little bit when you say that right?” He jokes.

Shaking her head, Y/N chuckles “No no no, I promise… its not a bad present like the paint color for the nursery” Her smile grows wider as she remember’s Beau’s surprise to see they were painting the nursery a sage green color. But to be fair Beau said that she could do whatever she wanted with it and he would be there to help.

__________________________

As the morning passes into the afternoon, Beau stands at the grill. Cooking away as Y/N relaxes in a chair on the patio watching Beau grill, every once and a while getting up to check on the potatoes as they cook inside the kitchen. 

As Y/N watches Beau, she can’t help but frown a bit at every firework people in their neighborhood decide to set off early, hating how Beau subtly jumps and gets startled every time a firework goes off. Acting as if it doesn't bother him in the slightest, but Y/N sees how he goes far off for a few seconds every time. 

Not long after the food is done and Beau and Y/N set the patio table for themselves, laying out paper plates and the food. Ribs, steaks, mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and garlic bread (as per Baby Simpsons request). 

They take their time as they eat, enjoying the weather, the food, and each other’s company and after a while Y/N notices how the sun starts to set and gets up.

Taking her and Beau’s plates as she stands. Beau starts to get up to help her, Y/N raises her finger. “Tsk Tsk Tsk, sit down” she hums and points to his chair.

Letting out a chuckle, Beau listens’ knowing better than to argue. 

Waddling her way back into the house, Y/N disposes of the paper plates and puts their utensils in the sink before grabbing a pair of scissors and the package from earlier and bringing them back outside with her.

She sets the box and scissors down in front of Beau before taking a seat back in her chair. “Tada!” she hums.

Beau raises his brow at the box before taking the scissors and opening it. Taking out the packaging on the inside, his brow furrows in slight confusion as he pulls out a box for wireless headphones. “Baby… what is this?” Letting out a sigh, Y/N’s eye’s soften as she gazes at Beau. “Do you remember how we were talking last year… about how you wanna watch the fireworks but you know you shouldn’t” she reaches her hands out and pushes back some of Beau’s hair.

“When you were talking earlier this month about how you can’t wait for Peanut to be here and how you think Peanut would love to watch the fireworks… it got me thinking about how you said you used to love watching fireworks before you enlisted… and so I went online… and I got you some soundproof wireless headphones” she gives a soft smile “You can download this app that pairs with the headphones and you can control how noise canceling they are… and since they’re wireless you could play music if you wanted to or watch something…. But i figured… now you could just watch the fireworks again and now worry”

As Y/N explains how the headphones work and why she got them, tears start to form in Beau’s eyes at how Y/N thought about him

“And if they don’t work then that’s totally fine but I figured you could try it out and if it works then great and if no-” Before Y/N has the chance to finish her sentence Beau gets up from his chair and leans down to Y/N as she sits and presses a kiss to her hips before pulling her into a hug, burying his face into her neck.

“Thank you baby…. Thank you so much..” he mumbles against her skin.

_____________

As the sun finally sets. Y/N and Beau sit in their driveway, looking out on the water. 

When they were looking at houses, the real estate agent talked about how you could see the city beach fireworks perfectly from the house and they were right. Every year they could watch the city fireworks from their living room window as Beau and Y/N snuggled on the couch with the music cranked loud enough to drown out the echoing booms from outside.

Holding Beau’s phone in her hand, Y/N connects the headphones and adjusts the soundproof to fully drown out any noise. Looking at the time Y/N looks over to Beau as he holds the headphones. “Two minutes till they start… Do you wanna put them on now?”

Beau nods and places the headphones on, before reaching out and taking Y/N’s hand in his, looking out at the water in the area where the fireworks will be. As they wait for the fireworks to start, Beau squeezes Y/N’s hand every few seconds. Anxious to see if the headphones will actually work.

And after a minute, Beau squeezes Y/N’s hand tightly as the first firework of the night goes up into the air, and Y/N’s attention focuses on Beau’s face. Ready to take him into the house and resume their usual Fourth of July night activities if her plan fails.

And just like that the loud BOOM of the fireworks goes off and Beau watches in awe as the green and blue fills the sky before he turns to Y/N with the most giddy smile on his face ever as it dawns on him that he can’t hear a thing.

Y/N smile grows as she leans over to Beau and plants a kiss on his cheek before both of them turn their attention back to the fireworks.

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Tagging: @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @bobfloyds @auroralightsthesky @fanboygarcia @beachbabey @sarahsmi13s @writercole @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @lewmagoo @sailorscuttle @shawnsthighs @ohtobeleah @sweetlittlegingy @t-nd-rfoot @mothdruid

[bagdaddyb]

Nursery

Summary: You shop for the last item you need in your nursery with your wife.

Pairing: fem!Reader x g!pNatasha

Warnings: None, this is pure fluffy fluffy just a short snippet because I'm feeling soft.

AN: If you're with someone long term, intentions of meeting family and maybe taking it to the next level. And them and their family speak another language at home. Learn that language don't be a dumb American. English is a dumb hard language. Don't assume others speak it take the steps so that you can communicate with them.

You rubbed the swell of your stomach as you walked around the store. The comforting motion having become a habit since you began your third trimester. Your baby was restless as your due date neared and now with just three short weeks left of pregnancy you found yourself eagerly awaiting your childs birth. You couldn't wait to meet the baby you'd grown inside you but you also couldn't wait for your back to have a break and to say a sentence without running out of breath. You stopped in front of a comfortable looking recliner, it was a sage green which would go perfectly with your gender neutral nursery. The gender of your baby to be a surprise per Natasha's request. The chair looked comfortable and you honestly couldn't think of anything better than sitting down. Turning the chair to look at the price you nod while contemplating. Sitting in the chair you let go of an audible sigh your swollen feet thanking you for giving them a break as you visibly relax into the chair your wife who'd stopped when she noticed you hesitating giggles.

"Comfortable lyubov?"

You hum in response hands never leaving your stomach.

"Eto prekrasno, vam ne kazhetsya?" (It's perfect, don't you think?)

Natasha smiles wide at you with those mushy eyes she's had since the first day of your pregnancy.

"Yes it would go great in the corner by the window."

You nod in agreement. Letting out a grunt as you stand Natasha's hand flies to your lower back rubbing in soothing motions as you continue to regard the chair.

"Lets get it."

You decide and Natasha nods eager to fulfill your every wish. After purchasing the chair Natasha loads it into your truck before driving home. You feel bad as Natasha single handedly works the chair in the house but anytime you try to help you are quickly swatted away. Once the chair is inside the nursery you smile happily. The green matching perfectly with the rest of the room. In an instant tears are in your eyes coming down your cheeks in a stream you can't control.

"Stupid hormones."

You grumble as you wipe your face. Natasha smiles kissing your cheeks before placing a light kiss on your lips wrapping her arms around you. You wrap your arms around her neck hand running in her hair as you smile.

"It's beautiful lyubov, I can't wait for this next chapter with you."

Natasha whispers while leaning her forehead against yours.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?"

You respond embracing this moment. Thanking the universe for the being that is Natasha Romanoff.

"Spill a drink on me while drunk at a bar in New York."

You laugh loudly as Natasha reminds you of how you two met. Not one of your shining moments.

"Mmmmh best girls trip ever."

You kiss Natashs again on the lips softly.

"I love you so much Natasha."

"YA tozhe tebya lyublyu." (I love you too)

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 21 - woodworker

pairing: woodworker!spencer reid x fem!pregnant!reader

summary: in which your husband has worked on your nursery tirelessly, so you give him a surprise of your own

word count: 1736

warnings: lots of mentions of pregnancy, the body detailing pregnancy, lots and lots of descriptors.

spence-tober masterlist

You had wanted to host a small get together with your friends and work together on decorating and putting some finishing touches on the nursery, but that hadn’t exactly gone to plan.

When you first announced that you and Spencer were pregnant, people offered their congratulations and a few even warned you of a few things you should be prepared for as your trimesters went on. One of those things was nesting, or getting your home ready in preparation for the new baby.

No one, however, warned you that your husband would be the one that was nesting. As soon as your belly ballooned and the nursery plans started, Spencer insisted on doing almost everything for you.

Mug on a top shelf? Spencer would grab it for you.

Cooked pasta needs draining? Spencer would do it for you.

You left your computer charger in the other room? Spencer would get it for you.

At first, it was endearing. You thought it was his way of caring for you since you were carrying the baby for nine months. Then, it started getting slightly annoying. You started pointing it out every now and then, but Spencer’s mother-hen mode wouldn’t turn off and you gave up on it.

Having a woodworking husband with a baby on the way is a nice thought. During your first trimester, you always found your husband hand-carving some wooden toy for your unborn child. 

Then, when the nursery plans were underway, Spencer started designing furniture and figuring out what he could contribute with his skills. 

Shelves, crib, table, dresser, chairs, nightstands, changing table, you name it. Spencer was working on it in his garage workshop.

That is why, while Emily, JJ, and Penelope are sitting awkwardly with nothing to do, you don’t blink an eye at Spencer darting around the nursery with his tool kit. He’s currently working on hanging up his handbuilt wooden shelves that you had planned to do with your friends today. 

JJ was sitting on the couch with Penelope, awkwardly watching Spencer with nothing left to do. She looks to you, unfazed in the handbuilt rocking chair Spencer had also made, “Can I get you some more tea?” She asks you, seeing as your mug is empty and abandoned on the small wooden table (also made by your husband).

Spencer whips his head towards your direction. his eyes locking onto your empty mug, “I got it!” He claims, stepping down from the small stepstool and putting down the hammer.

“Okay…” JJ says as she sits back down on the couch. Funnily enough, the couch was one of the few things not made by Spencer in the nursery. Even the sage green panel wall details were all Spencer.

You fear Spencer would have attempted the couch if you hadn’t caught him looking up springs on the Home Depot website.

Emily leapt up from her place on the floor, going over the instructions for the temporary pack and travel crib you had bought for the baby, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

“I can finish up the shelf.” She offers, already heading over to the array of tools Spencer has laid out on the floor.

Spencer hesitates for a moment, caught between a shelf and a tea mug. You see him pause, his brain strained to make a decision on what to do. 

“I can go get some more tea, don’t worry.” You say to him. You could get yourself more tea, but Spencer hated when seeing you struggle or take a while to do something he could do himself much quicker. He simply didn’t understand why he would sit back and watch you strain or tire yourself when he could just help you. You were carrying his child, afterall. 

“No,” Spencer shakes his head, already taking the mug from the table next to you, “I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” He says, quickly leaving the room. Not before pressing a kiss on the top of your head and a caress of your baby bump, that is.

As he leaves the room, Penelope sighs adoringly, “He’s so sweet!”

Emily scoffs but has a smile on his face, “Sweet? If he did that to me, I’d go crazy.”

JJ nods her head, “He is being more attentive than usual.” She comments, “How do you deal with all the attention? Aren’t you going stir crazy?”

“Of course I am. I’m eight months pregnant and can’t see my feet to put on shoes anymore.” You answer honestly, “But it makes Spence feel better about the pregnancy and the baby coming. I think he’s nesting.” You muse outloud.

You brace yourself and rock forward in the chair to get yourself back up on your feet. Penelope and JJ watch to make sure you make it while Emily is working on getting the shelf to be level and straight against the wall before nailing it.

“Alright, let’s get the paint out!” You cheer as you waddle over to the wooden cabinet that Spencer also built for the nursery. 

After Spencer had built it and attached it to the wall, there was no reason for him to open it again until you actually had something to put in there. You told him you wanted to leave it empty for storage, but you actually had taken a trip to Lowes to grab some fun wall paint colors for a small mural. 

You did this while Spencer was at his workshop helping a few of his clients load some furniture away. Ever since you had hit your second trimester, Spencer had been taking more and more time away from actively going to work so this was really the only time you could sneak away to buy paint for this planned surprise. Lowes was your pick because the Home Depot employees knew your husband very very well.

Penelope leapt up to help you, “Yes! I am so excited! I want to paint the stars!”

You had gotten some paint for a small cartoony mural of a cresent moon and stars. 

“Pen, you can’t just call dibs on all the stars.” JJ objects while still on the couch, nursing a glass of white wine. 

“Watch me.” She retorts. You all laugh. Penelope hoists the paint cans on top of the tarp you unrolled to lay on the floor. JJ soon joins the two of you to open cans and brushes.

“Why moon and stars?” Emily asks as she grabs a hammer and nails, preparing to attach the shelf finally.

You smile at the memory of why you chose it, “Spencer mentioned to me when we first found out that we were pregnant that Diana had painted a cresent moon and stars on his wall when he was a baby.” You inform the girls, “I wanted to do the same for our baby. I just thought it would be a nice surprise, especially after he’s done so much for me. I wanna do something special for him too.”

Someone sniffles and you look up from swirling a stirrer in the small colorful paint samples.

“Penelope, are you crying?” You ask with a chuckle.

She sniffs again, “It’s just so romantic and sweet!” She fans her hand at her eyes to wave off tears, “You two are going to be the greatest parents in the world!” 

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” You tell her. It isn’t a lie either, this final trimester has made you super in tune to all emotions. 

JJ gets the paint ready in small cups with brushes, “And we can’t make the pregnant lady cry. Now, let’s start painting before Spence comes back.” She says.

You all do as she says and choose the wall opposite from the window so the natural light can come and illuminate the mural after its been painted. Emily finishes up hanging up the shelf and you don’t tell her that as soon as all the girls leave, Spencer would double check her work. It was inevitable.

Penelope is already finished with three stars and JJ is nearly done with the outline of the crescent moon when Spencer joins you four once again, now with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

His eyes are trained on the cup in his hand and with his free hand, he’s waving the steam away to cool down the hot liquid tea. “Okay, it’s really hot so you might wanna let it cool off for a bit.”

When he gets no response, his eyes flicker up to the four of you working on a pretty night sky on the wall. 

There’s no reaction at first and you get a little worried, so you waddle over to Spencer who’s still hovering at the door. “Spence?” You ask your husband, waiting on any kind of response.

It’s only when you go to take the mug out of his hand that he reacts. 

“Be careful.” He instinctively says, slowly moving the mug away from your hands and carefully putting it down on a coaster on the small table next to the rocking chair.

When he turns back to you, his eyes still stare at the half painted wall mural. Penelope is still working on stars, JJ has moved onto coloring in the moon, and Emily finishes up a cartoony cloud you were working on.

“Y-you did this for me? The moon and the stars?” Spencer asks you softly, adoration twinkling in his eye just like the stars being painted on the wall.

You nod and can’t help as the tears well up in your eyes at his reaction. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” You say.

Spencer comes up behind you with an embrace and rests his hands on your stomach, something he’s gotten into a habit of doing since you started showing.

“Are you surprised?” You ask him. When you turn your head to look up to your husband, his eyes still are on the wall. 

He nods and presses a gentle and sweet kiss to the top of your head. “I am.” He answers, “I could cry.”

You smile up at him and when you hear a sniffle, you half expect it to be your husband with tears coming down his cheekbones. But when he meets you with the same confused expression, searching your own face and coming up with an absence of tears, you know who it belongs to.

“Penelope, are you crying again?”

a/n: i enjoyed writing this one and i see you all are enjoying pregnancy and dad blurbs so i decided to give you all a few more! honestly though, i had no idea how to end this.

[jungle-angel]

Twelve Little Troublemakers (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett were definitely not counting on having to watch over twelve little rabbits

Warnings: Animal births, parenthood, Rhett being Snow White coded etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts

The spring sunshine spilled through the windows of yours and Rhett's home and into the room that had become the animal nursery. Rhett lay on his stomach on the soft rug, his arm curled protectively around Clover, the female bunny rabbit who had escaped the property of an infamous Wabang animal hoarder with her mate, Hazel.

You knelt beside him, brushing a loose chocolate brown curl off his face and kissing his stubbly cheek. Rhett purred in his sleep, a broad grin crawling across his face.

"You know I've got a pregnant doe with me right?" he chuckled.

You giggled a little, kissing his cheek again. "Your Ma says if you're not upstairs for dinner in twenty minutes she's gonna beat you with her sandal."

"I'd like to see her try," Rhett laughed.

Very carefully, he picked Clover up and brought her back to the birth box where Hazel was waiting for her. God she was getting big. Judging by the size of her belly, Rhett had guessed that she'd birth her litter any day now.

Upstairs they went to join his parents and Amy for dinner, the smell of roast chicken filling the whole house along with the herbed biscuits, white cheddar mac'n cheese and green beans. But while you and your family ate together, someone had other ideas.

"What the f---? Rhett your little rat's begging for food again," Royal announced.

Rhett looked under the table and there was Alberto, the little black and tan chihuahua dog with his American flag bandana around his neck, ears back and tail wagging like crazy.

"Hey!" Rhett ordered, snapping his fingers. "C'mere."

Alberto's nails scritched the floor as he hurried to Rhett's chair, laying right down near his feet.

"Little guy's spoiled fuckin rotten," Royal chuckled.

"Hey if ya'll were out on the streets you'd be beggin for food too," Rhett laughed.

"Ain't too proud to, son," Royal told him.

The family finished dinner and as soon as the leftovers were put away and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher for the night, you, Rhett, Cecelia, Amy and Royal all settled in for a weekend movie. "The Empire Strikes Back" had always been a favorite of Royal's, one he had watched with the gang of childhood miscreants who had been his friends growing up. You and Rhett had laughed when you found the video tape copy, still with the worn out piece of masking tape on it.

You had been in the middle of the film when Rhett had gotten up to go and bed the animals in the nursery down for the night, when he poked his head back into the basement living room.

"Darlin," he hissed. "C'mere."

You quickly got up and followed him upstairs to the room and sure enough, there was Clover with her little legs sticking up as she licked between them.

"Is it time?" you asked him.

"Yep," Rhett answered. "I'm gonna go scrub in the bathroom. Ya'll wanna go get some clean towels and the supplies?"

You nodded and went to go retrieve whatever Rhett needed. You both gently helped Clover as best you could, but thankfully no intervention was needed. The first little kit was born after about five minutes, a little ginger and cream colored one that you and Rhett had named Thresh. Eleven more followed in his wake, Blackberry, Nettle, Rosie, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, Thyme, Angelica, Lily and Holly.

The next morning, you could never have imagined the surprised expressions on your in-laws' faces nor Amy's when she meets the baby bunnies for the first time. You and Rhett are adamant that Amy keeps her hands off until she's learned to be gentle. But you and Rhett can't help but be proud, because every animal birth that occurs, you know that it's bound to be successful.

[siriusleee]

ii. sage green

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.5K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to desperately thank @gazs-blue-hat, @lethargicluv, and @victoria-writes-sometimes for proofreading this for me when I was in an exhaustion field brain melt. If you'd like to help wake me up, my Ko-Fi is always open for commissions and donations. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

At first, you think it’s the sun warming the attic enough to be stifling, to wake you up from the heat pulling the air from the room. 

But your nose catches up with the rest of your brain when the acrid smell of fire catches your senses. You’re awake in an instant, shooting up from your spot. Blind panic overtakes you first; your hands scrambling in the darkness for something . Instinct has you reaching out for a fire extinguisher, for a way out of the room, fingers scrambling against the splintery wood before the rest of you catches up with the situation. It takes almost a second too long before your brain finally processes that there is no fire extinguisher, nothing to do but try to escape.

You scramble to tug your boots on, shoving your thermal blanket into your pack at the same time. Slinging it across your back, you fumble for your bow and arrow pouch; your fingers pull against the rope you’d tied to keep the attic door shut, and in the darkness, you can’t undo it. 

The blind panic starts to rage inside of you. Smoke is filtering faster through the cracks in the flooring, obscuring what little you could already see in the moonlight filtering in through the little attic window. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, repeating it louder as your fingers slip against the rope. “Fuck.”

When the hint of flames shows themself at the edges of the attic door, you abandon the attempts to pull the rope off. You pick your way across the attic, lungs screaming as the oxygen is pulled into the fire. The little window overlooking the back garden shatters easily under the weight of your bow slamming into it. But as you watch the glass shards tumble onto the roof, you know that even if you could slice yourself to bits and not attract the Biters, you would never fit through the window. Gulping down the fresh air, you try to hold it in your lungs as long as possible before you’re forced to turn back to the rest of the smoke-filled attic.

Your feet stumble against what you can’t see - you have to pull the rope away from the door. The only other option is to -

The floor falls from beneath your feet. Rotted drywall and insulation rain down with you; your back slams into something solid, a sharp pain shooting through your spine and rib cage. The blaze from the hallway illuminates the sage walls; as you try to catch your breath around the lack of oxygen and the pain spitting through you, you realize that you’ve crashed into the empty nursery.

From the first floor, just loud enough to be heard over the fire, the groans of the Biters come to you around the ringing in your ear. Struggling to breathe around the smoke and moldy insulation that fill your mouth, you scramble to your feet. The taste of iron coats your mouth; through the dirty window, you see a group of Biters congregating on the front porch of the little house.

Whatever human instinct has forced you to survive these past 5 years takes over; you push through the half broken bedroom door and stumble directly into a Biter. 

There was a saying - it slams into your brain as you watch the burning mass roll towards you - that whenever soldiers go to war and their adrenaline starts to pump, explosions turn into little “poofs” and gunshots no more than a “pop.” You wonder if it was the adrenaline that turned the Biter’s unearthly wailing into a soft whisper as it flails on the landing, hand reaching for your ankle. 

Without thinking, you kick out; the flames bite at your boots, at the skin that shows above the leather. The bottom landing is ablaze, the floor beneath you buckles; the house groans with the weight of the fire and the Biters groan and wail in hunger. Any minute the entire place is going to crumble down into a pile of burning bodies and dust and take you with it.

You stumble past the burning Biter, shoving it away with the end of your bow so that it falls down the steps. Feet heavy and lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen, you punch your way into the other bedroom. Without thinking, you throw yourself through the half open window.

The ground races up to meet you; you try to catch your feet beneath you, but you collapse into darkness instead.

The ringing in your ears is thunderous; the hands that pull at you try to rip you apart. In the darkness, you feel yourself slam into something hard and cold, feel hands slap at the fabric covering your legs. You try to lift yourself, to swing at the force but your body won’t do what your brain is telling you and you wonder if you’ve already been bitten and this eternal blackness is just the beginning of the end.

The ground pulls from underneath you and vaguely you realize that you’re moving. The growling of an ATV cuts through the darkness you’re hovering in along with the feeling of cold metal biting into your back. Your sight is the last sense to come - the sun trying to break through the horizon just barely illuminates the hulking figure driving the ATV - fuzzy at first and then coming into sharp focus. 

You thrash out, becoming keenly aware of ropes wrapped around your ankles and feet. You teeter dangerously on the back of the ATV as you roll. In the corner of your eye, you can see the entire village ablaze, the howls of the Biters nearly drowned out by the crackling of the flames. One large hand reaches back to grip the front of your shirt and pulls you back before you can fall off. Too scared to fall off of the back, you lay still.

Like a deer, dressed and ready for slaughter, you ride on the back of the ATV until the flames of the village are gone, and the forest swallows the two of you up. Heart in your throat, you wonder if finally, the body snatchers had gotten to you.

You struggle against the rope binding your hands together. If you can get your hands free, you can fight against him - you’d rather be subject to the Biters, to starvation, than end up the dinner of a savage from the woods. 

But the struggle is for nothing: there’s a blinding pain crawling up your legs, and you’re distinctively aware of a pain in your side that you think might be a broken rib. The inside of your mouth and throat are covered in the thick taste of ash and burning Biter and iron. Your soot lined lungs can barely pull in a breath - there’s just not enough strength for you to break free. 

The sound of the ATV changes to a lower purr and the vehicle jerks as the driver downshifts. You nearly tumble off the back, but your kidnapper’s hand reaches back around and grips your shirt again.

He doesn’t let you go until the ATV cruises to a stop beside a felled tree, propped up against a second fallen tree, ivy and moss trailing down from where the two meet. When he shifts in his seat to turn the ATV off, you see your bow and pack on the front of the ATV behind a dusty red gas canister and a rifle. 

You can’t tell if it’s the angle you’re laying at or if the guy is just huge; there’s not a chance in hell you can fight him off - especially not with the pain that’s radiating through you as the adrenaline wears off. 

But it kickstarts again when he turns to you - his eyes are dark in the shadows cast by his mask. A graying skull stares down at you, and you know he’s going to take you to a body farm, that you are fodder beneath his gaze. 

He reaches towards you; you jerk back, heart in your throat. The little animalistic part of your brain that’s kept you alive for so many years takes over; you thrash away from him, rolling off of the ATV and slamming into the ground. Your teeth clack, pinching your tongue in between, and fresh blood blooms in your mouth. 

“Stop it,” he growls out, peering at you over the edge of the ATV, annoyance written into the wrinkles around his eyes. 

You wiggle away from him in the dirt, but this time you don’t escape his hands as he grips the front of your filthy shirt and hauls you upright. 

You don’t know what to do, so you spit on him. Saliva and blood spray across his faded black jacket; he doesn’t let you go, and doesn’t even seem phased by your actions. Instead, he drops you down onto your feet; you teeter, struggling to stand with the rope wrapped around your ankles; he keeps one steady hand on your elbow to keep you from falling.

“That make you feel better?” He asks, voice rough and low. You keep your mouth shut; if he’s going to take you to a body farm, he’s not going to get you to talk or beg. 

“What were you doing there?”

The silence stretches through the forest; the man breathes heavy through his nose, the sound muffled by the black fabric and skull. This close you can’t tell if it’s real or fake, but you don’t want to find out. 

“Are you one of them?”

“One of who?” The question escapes you before you can stop it. But once it’s gone, you realize the ball is in his court - the only bit of power you had was your silence, and you gave it away.

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.” 

You chew on the possibilities, but you have to admit that if you don’t answer he may just leave you tied up here for the Biters to find. 

“I’m moving north, to where it’s too cold for them during the winter.”

It’s not a good enough answer; he squeezes your elbow. Beneath his fingers, the joints rub together, and you can’t help the yelp you let out.

“I was staying the night there! My group has stayed there for years on our way through.”

“Where’s the rest of your group?”

It’s iron and pennies to say it.

“They’re all gone; I’ve been on my own for the past year.”

He must believe something written on your face because his grip on your elbow loosens. Slowly, he reaches down to tug on the ropes binding your ankles and then your wrists until they fall loose. He keeps one hand on you as he drags you over to the ATV. 

“You’re not going to let me go?” Your voice rises in pitch with each word.

“Dunno who you might run back to.” 

He shoves your pack in your arms. Beneath it is another pack, this one dark black and dusty. He slings it onto himself, along with your bow and arrow carrier. The rifle also comes off of the ATV and over his other shoulder. He never lets go of the grip on your arm, pulling you around painfully as he moves.

“Go move the ivy out of the way,” he says, shoving you towards the two fallen trees. You eye the rifle on his back - it would drop you before you could get ten feet. So you follow his directions, pulling back the ivy. Behind it is a cut out in the hill, a dark pit, and for a moment you think he’s going to push you in. But then, without a sign of a struggle, he pushes the ATV into the hole and you realize it’s a hiding spot. 

He pushes you out of the way, rearranging the plant life until it again looks like just two trees toppled onto each other. With a smooth, practiced motion, the rifle slides into his hands, and he gestures toward the open forest with it.

“Start walking.”

You don’t know how far the two of you walk; the cold starts to seep through the thinning material of your boots, and with each step the burns and bruises you acquired during the house fire grow more painful - the sharp pinch in your rib makes it hard to breath, but you don’t want to show a sign of weakness. If he thinks you’re not eatable, he might just shoot you where you stand. 

But you know that if your feet are beneath you, you have a chance of running free.

The horizon grows gray with the threat of snow; some flurries that must have fallen in the nighttime cling to the highest branches of the tree. It isn’t until your feet are numb, and you can’t feel your pinky toes that you finally ask the question that’s been nagging at you for hours. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“You can just slaughter me now if you think I’m going to let you take me to that farm.”

His footsteps don’t falter behind you, but when he speaks you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’m not going to eat you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The trees start to grow thicker around the two of you, the snow growing heavier on the limbs until finally, it starts to dust the ground. Your whole body is numb at this point, and whatever has been keeping you together is starting to fall apart. Your tongue is dry and fuzzy, stomach empty. You think for a second that he might be trying to walk you to death, that he might find some sort of pleasure in watching you break down as you walk.

The rough edges of a cabin peek out at you from the trees and snow. The barrel of his rifle digs into your back, pushing you towards the cabin. You stumble over your boots, nearly tripping from the weight of your pack and empty stomach. Your kidnapper herds you towards the door, pushing you out of the way to unlock it with a key tucked beneath his jacket until he can shove you inside.

Inside it’s dark and dusty; your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness when the door finally shuts behind you, trapping you in the place with your kidnapper. A thread of fear tries to go through you at the thought of what he might be doing to you in the dark, but you’re too exhausted for your heart to beat faster. 

He leaves you standing there to fumble with something in front of you. A moment later his face is illuminated by an oil lamp blazing to life. It illuminates just enough of the room that you can see a small fireplace and little couch on the opposite sides and a little kitchenette you’re standing in. 

You stand awkwardly as he shuffles around the room, shrugging his pack off, lighting another oil lamp, but never dropping his rifle.

He turns towards you, gun held loosely in his hand and studies you over the top of his mask.

“What’s your name?”

[dellalyra]

Just had a thought about gojo and reader doing pregnancy shopping while she was pregnant with Aiko. I feel like gojo would pick out the stupidest things and be like "this would be so cute!" And reader is like "im gonna divorce you, put that down". And idk, maybe reader showing megumi all the stuff they got and megumi just being a happy boi for once cause his parents are excited

𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 - 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘮 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘛𝘌𝘋 𝘔𝘠 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛

𝘊𝘞: 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪

Recommended Listening:

Tongue Tied - GROUPLOVE

Babydoll - Dominic Fike

“Princess! We have to get this! Look!” Satoru says as he bounds up to you with a tiny white onesie in his hands. You rest your hand on your bump and read it.

I’m proof daddy doesn’t play video games all the time.

“Put that back or I’m divorcing you.” You point at him and waddle away, being 8 months pregnant makes movement almost as difficult as dealing with a hormonal Nobara.

He trails behind you with a pout, after putting the cursed item away at your behest.

“Oh, ‘toru - look!” You show him a set of tiny pyjamas with small forest animals printed on sage green, with tiny matching socks.

He just widens his eyes behind the sunglasses and puts it in the now overflowing shopping cart.

He then leans over to another section and begins to coo - a tiny, little dressing gown, fluffy and dark blue with tiny yellow ducks printed on it and a hood with a duck bill on it.

This was your turn to just wordlessly put it in the cart, your son just had to have this.

After hours more, Satoru is loading the car with about 20 shopping bags, with delivery arranged for a beautiful dark wood gliding crib and wicker Moses basket. He also insisted on a sleek, black baby carrier he could wear that would match his uniform - why he insisted on it matching, you’ve no idea.

After plopping into the passenger seat, you turn to him.

“What about Daichi?” You ask him, resuming the 7 month long conversation on baby name possibilities.

“Nah. Had a great uncle Daichi, he was an ass. What about Hotaru?” Satoru added.

“We will constantly get asked if we named him after Hagenezuka from Demon Slayer.” You joked.

“Kentaro?” You propose, after a beat of contemplation.

“Princess, you’re having my baby - not Nanamin’s.”

Satoru smirks and you laugh, then he turns to you.

“Ooh! What about Rei?” He smiles, obviously liking that one.

“I like that one. I’ll put it on the list. Keep the creative juices flowing, c’mon!” You swipe and put it on your notes app filled with name ideas.

“Me too. Jin?”

“It’s pretty, but it was Itadori’s father’s name.” You nod.

“Hmm…” he’s silent as he takes the turn to your cottage.

“What about Akio?” He says, an air of something wistful in his voice.

“Akio. Akio L/N Gojo.” You mutter to yourself, something tingles in your chest as you hear it.

“Google what it means, princess, cos’ I have no idea, just liked the sound of it.”

So you do, and you smile at the result.

“Bright. Akio means bright. I -” You’re smiling now, but your sentence gets interrupted as the as yet unnamed baby in question gives a little kick in response. You giggle as Satoru looks at your belly smiling.

“Well, the kids spoken - that’s going on the list.” You say patting the top of your belly.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t call him Mochi.” Satoru pouts.

Later that evening, Megumi arrives home for the weekend from school and you and Satoru usher him into the nursery you have been working on together. His eyes widen to the size of saucers at what he sees - he knew you guys would create the most extra nursery possible, if your track record of decorating his and Tsumiki’s rooms were anything to go by. At age 11, Tsumiki decided she wanted an underwater themed bedroom and the next weekend, with the DIY help of uncle Nanamin and Yaga, and moral support from behind a glass of wine from Aunty Koko - the room was complete. The ceiling was patterned with waves, there were dolphins painted on the walls, floating sea turtles hanging from the ceiling and the bed was surrounded in a canopy of sea green tuille. Tsumiki barely left the room for weeks. Megumi had sheepishly asked for an ‘animal room’ when you had asked him what he wanted after you all moved to the cottage. The then 7 year old was greeted with the most fantastical room. His bed had a canopy of large leaves covering it, with a long plush snake hanging around them, the walls were a dark green with any animal you could imagine painted in random spots across the room, a chair was sitting in the corner where he could hide himself away by pulling down the cover which made the chair look like a frog, the walls were lined with books and all his accumulated toys and Lego - the books would later become only a fraction of what he owned when you got bored one weekend in a few years time and converted a spare room walk in closet into his own little library den.

You and Satoru opened the nursery door with a flourish, and walls of the deepest, richest blue welcomed him - patterned in small gold constellations, which when he looked closer - he could see most of them were labelled with their own names, he realised each constellation was the sign each family member was born under. There was yours, with Sagittarius beside it for Satoru. Capricorn was under them, his own sign, then Cancer for Tsumiki. Then the baby’s, who would be born under Leo. The more he looked, the more he say. There was one for Nanami, Shoko, Itadori, Nobara and the other students, your mom and dad. In the corner, nearest Satoru’s, was an unlabelled Aquarius sign, he didn’t need to ask who that was, a silent hope that from another world the Aquarian in question would watch over their child.

The ceiling of the room was covered in white cotton, mimicking clouds and the furniture that you already had was all dark wood, mostly family heirlooms from your side. You motioned him to sit in the rocking chair you had in their for nursing while Satoru dragged in bags and bags and bags of baby clothes.

You both enthusiastically showed him each and every thing you bought, you smacking a diaper on your husbands head when he snickered holding a white onesie which you had apparently threatened divorce over. You pulled out a jumpsuit of the fluffiest brown fabric, decorated with little ears at the top so the baby would look like a bear and you both cooed over it for ages, then Satoru took out two shoeboxes - both labelled Nike and showed him two pairs of white and green air force ones - one tiny, and one in his size.

“So you guys can match! Brother shoes!” He said, almost shoving both pairs in Megumi’s face.

A bundle of funny little hats and silly patterned socks were laughed over by you too, and as you both took out a bag with all of the newborn size clothes, he couldn’t help but smile. A proper smile, not just a smirk. He looked at you both, so painfully in love it made him cringe sometimes - and often forget that you’re actually 2 people, and not one. You were glowing, big round belly protected by one of your husbands hoodies and slippers on your swollen feet but just radiant - he knew his mom was beautiful, he heard his dad say it a million times a day, but you looked like a goddess now. Satoru, his dad, sat beside you, arm around your waist and not a blindfold or pair of glasses in sight, black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants in place of the usual uniform and real smile on his face too - no smirk, no teasing grin, no grin laced with sharp intent, just smiles and eyes so bright and full of joy they almost blinded.

Megumi looked at the shoes in his lap. One pair in his size, 11, and the other barely the size of the palm of his hand. He was getting a baby brother. It truly hit him in that moment, in a few weeks time the tiny life that you two created would enter the world and he knew that any combination of you and Satoru’s genetics would only make for the most beautiful, caring, loving, powerful and world-changing person ever. He was never vocal with his love or emotions, but he knew you guys knew. How much he loved you both (even when Satoru really pisses him off, you chaotically whirlwind into a room or you both try to rope him into one of your dual-minded hairbrained schemes). You had both only been 19 when he and Tsumiki entered your lives, and sure, you hadn’t always known what the hell you were both doing - both you two were the best parents kids could wish for. He knew that lil’mochi was going to be so loved, by him included.

He noticed he was smiling at the shoes, in his own world when you ask him.

“Okay there, ‘Gumi?” You smile, folding up some small pieces of clothing.

“I got the right size, didn’t I? Surely you can’t grow more! You are absolutely forbidden from being taller than me. Or you’re grounded. Til’ - til’ college.” Satoru says with absolute resolve.

“I’m not going to outgrown you, Daddy Long Legs. I’m just… excited.” He says, raising his head so you both can see the smile on his face. You nearly gasp, smiles like this are rare from the boy.

“It’s gonna be awesome, having a baby around. Itadori already talks about babysitting. I think - I think being a big brother is going to be fun, yaknow?” He finishes. Satoru’s hand tightens on your waist in a silent show of ‘this is an important moment, isn’t it?’. With his hand where it is, he feels the flurry of movement as the baby moves around.

“Seems like someone else is excited about you being a big brother, kid.” Satoru says, nodding toward the bump.

“He’s already communicating. God, he’s gonna talk as much as you two isn’t he?” Megumi says, snorting a laugh and rolling his eyes - sardonic humour coming back.

“Whatever he is, he’s going to have the world’s best big brother, now C’mere, help me fold these because if I try to bend down I won’t get back up - I haven’t seen my feet since May.” You laugh, as both your boys join you in preparing for the little one soon to arrive, as a family about to expand.

[styliizeboutique]

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Add a charming touch to your baby girl's nursery with our Sage Green & Pink Girls Bunny Prints! This adorable wall art set is more than just a decor - it's a heartfelt expression of love and joy. Crafted in soothing sage green and delicate pink on antique style backgrounds, these cute bunny prints create a delightful atmosphere that your little one will adore. The perfect nursery wall prints that bring out the beauty and warmth of the room. Don't miss out on these adorable prints!

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[pancakes4two]

room for three

The one where you and Harry welcome a tiny new addition into your family.

PREVIEW: 

“He’s getting so restless,” you laugh, watching the afternoon sun stream in through the windows as you turn towards Harry. The light illuminates the peaks and valleys of his face, softening his features. Here, in the quiet of your nursery, it’s easy to picture what the future would look like soon: the same golden sun peeking through the curtains as tiny feet putter across the hardwood floor, the sound of heavier, surer footsteps following close behind as Harry chases your son through the room, their matching giggles echoing in the space.

hi hi hi! hope everyone is doing well <3 haven’t written a long(er) piece like this in a minute so i wanted to do a dadrry one. please ignore the timezone inconsistencies in this... i tried my best LOL

MASTERLIST (read the ig blurb for this here!)

Saturday, late September.

It was getting to be that time of year when the days started and ended with a slight chill in the air, the fall breeze calling for wool cardigans and a pot of hot chai every morning. Your afternoons were getting slower and slower—at nine months pregnant, there was a frustrating amount of things you simply didn’t want to waste your precious energy on anymore—so most days consisted of you wobbling through the house tidying up until you inevitably got tired, and then you’d lay in bed and Harry would tend to you before he had to jet off for tour again.

Your shared London house was a bit of a nightmare these days, given that you and Harry were designing the nursery by yourselves. Empty boxes that used to hold furniture scattered the floor and baby clothes were draped haphazardly over the couch. Your due date was now only two weeks away, so lots of last-minute decorating was being done. Harry had decided yesterday, right after painting the nursery walls, that the shade of green you two had chosen didn’t end up looking the way he wanted it to. You tended to agree with him, so the two of you picked out a new color this morning, lighter this time, and started to redo the walls.

Harry apparently decided to take a break after three hours of painting, flopping down next to where you were currently laid on the floor. You had tapped out earlier when your back started to hurt. Your limbs were splayed across a fuzzy rug, and you had one hand resting atop of your stomach, feeling the small human inside of you kick every so often.

“He’s getting so restless,” you laugh, watching the afternoon sun stream in through the windows as you turn towards Harry. The light illuminates the peaks and valleys of his face, softening his features. Here, in the quiet of your nursery, it’s easy to picture what the future would look like soon: the same golden sun peeking through the curtains as tiny feet putter across the hardwood floor, the sound of heavier, surer footsteps following close behind as Harry chases your son through the room, their matching giggles echoing in the space.

“I’m sure he is,” your boyfriend says, swiping his hand across his shirt and leaving a streak of sage green paint on the fabric. “We keep talking about this banger of a room, he probably can’t wait to come out and see it for himself.”

“Never describe this architectural masterpiece as a banger again,” you joke, raising a brow at Harry.

“I can call it whatever I want! I helped design this room too, you know,” Harry huffs, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence for a while. Outside, a bird lands on the windowsill, its wings fluttering as it hops around. Harry shifts his body so that he’s closer to you, his eyes slowly scanning your features until they land on your hand, still resting delicately atop your stomach. He grabs your wrist and turns your hand towards him, lacing your fingers together.

“What if I’m away when it happens?” Harry says nervously, his brows furrowed. You can tell by the tension in his shoulders that this has been worrying him for a while, but he was too shy to bring it up to you until now.

“You took a whole week off around my due date,” you said reassuringly, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, he might end up coming a little earlier or later than we expected, but there’s nothing we can do about that, right? You can always get on a flight as soon as you find out I’m going into labor. And I wouldn’t be angry with you if you got here late, that’d be silly of me.”

“I’ll be all the way in LA, though,” was Harry’s response. He chewed on his lip, still looking a little nervous. “I’ll probably miss it if he doesn’t come during that week.”

“Hey,” you replied, smoothing over the knit in his brows with your thumb. “You took as much time off as you could. No use worrying about this now, I’m sure he’ll be a very punctual baby.”

Early October, one week later.

Clearly, you were wrong. 

You were standing in the kitchen making dinner, the thought of giving birth not even on your mind when your water broke. Thankfully, your best friend was over that night, adamant on not leaving you alone in the house when you were so close to your due date. You had tried to brush her off over text that morning, but now you were incredibly grateful to yourself for not doing so.

“Call Jeff,” you said, frantically reaching into the pocket of your sweatshirt for your phone. You handed it to your friend, unlocking it quickly in the process. “Call Jeff and tell him it’s happening.”

“Okay,” your best friend replied, scrolling through your contacts and clicking on Jeff’s name. It rang only once before he picked up. She put the phone on speaker and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“Is it happening?” Jeff asked before she could even say anything, his voice cracking through the speaker.

“Yeah,” your friend said as you breathed through a contraction. “Her water broke just now. I’m taking her to the hospital. What time’s it in LA? Is H about to go on?”

“Fuck,” Jeff sighed. You could imagine perfectly what he looked like right now, pacing and rubbing his hand anxiously down his face. 

“They’re wheeling him up now, it’s too late to cancel. He’s got a day of break between tonight’s show and the next one. Tell Y/N to hold on, I’ll get him a flight right after the show and we’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Jeff,” you said through gritted teeth. “Don’t tell him it’s happening until he gets off stage. I don’t want him to worry while he’s out there.”

“Mhm. We’ll see you as soon as humanly possible. Call me if you need anything!”

Late evening, that day.

You were bouncing on a yoga ball in your hospital room when he texted you. A nurse had come in and checked on you a few hours earlier. She said you were only a few centimeters dilated, that you might have a long night ahead of you. When she asked where the father was, all you could do was sheepishly smile and say he was on the way. That was easier than having to explain that your baby’s father wasn’t in the hospital with you because he was in the middle of a sold-out residency in America. She’d brought in the ball and suggested that you try and move around on it to ease your anxiety and manage the pain of your contractions.

H ❤️ (5 unread)

You okay?

I’m coming right now. Flight leaves in 30 minutes.

Can’t believe this is happening.

I love you, you’re so strong.

And I can’t believe you lied and said he would be a punctual baby.

all good

in my defense, i really did think he was going to be on time

guess he just wanted to spite you

Heyyyyy.

Well, I’m glad you’re feeling alright.

What’s the ETA on my child?

nurse said probably not for another 12 hours

he’s waitin for his daddddd

I’m cutting it close!!! Tell him to waittttt!

Boarding now. I’ll be there so soon.

Love you the most.

i know, i know

see ya soon :)

Eleven hours later.

The door to your hospital room swung open with force, disturbing your best friend from where she was currently curled up asleep beside you.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Harry huffs out breathlessly, hands on his hips as he tries to steady his breath. His sunglasses are pushed up carelessly on his head, his curls a wild mess as he rushes to be by your side. “I made it, fucking hell.”

“Took you long enough,” you say jokingly. You think you probably look a mess right now. The contractions were getting more frequent, and you were pretty worn out, to be honest. You were sure your hair was sticking to your face, and your hospital gown bunched up in all sorts of places.“I’ve been bouncing on this ball for literal eternity.”

“Where’s Jeff?” you asked, letting yourself relax a bit as Harry began to massage your back. Your friend slips out of the room silently, happy to pass the responsibility to your baby’s father.

“Stood outside in manager mode. He’s handing out NDAs to the nurses and stuff,” Harry replied, “I got papped on the way here.”

“Okay. We’ll probably have to do a social media post later, then. Get ahead of it.” You sighed, but you understood. The internet had suspected your due date was soon, and the fact that Harry was currently on a very high-profile tour meant that more eyes were on him now than ever before. It was to be expected that someone would photograph him at the airport; you were sure those pictures of Harry Styles rushing off to tend to his pregnant girlfriend could be sold for a fortune.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Harry said, his voice full of comfort. You felt another contraction coming, stronger this time, burning through your abdomen and back. Harry noticed the shift in you immediately, getting up to hold your hand through the pain.

“Coming in,” Someone said from outside. The door to your room opened again, the same nurse from earlier walking in. She did a double-take when she noticed Harry standing next to you---clearly Jeff hadn’t gotten to her yet---and made a small noise of surprise.

“Hello,” Harry said calmly, pulling up a chair next to you so he could be closer.

"Mr. Styles,” The nurse hesitated, then seemed to steady herself and remained professional. “Did you just get in, then?”

"Harry’s just fine,” Harry laughs, endeared by the nurse’s reaction. “Flight landed an hour ago. I got here as fast as I could.”

“Perfect,” your nurse smiles, before walking up to you. “Just came here to check on a few things. It seems like your contractions are getting more frequent, so I want to see how dilated you are. If things are far enough along, we’ll call the doctor in and you can start pushing.”

You nodded along, not able to say much else through the sensation in your stomach. She lifted your gown, the fabric rustling underneath her touch.

“Y/N, you’re ready now,” the nurse smiles at you when she comes back up. “Let me guide you back to the bed and we’ll send the doctor in. Looks like he just wanted to wait until his dad got here!”

“Now?” you ask breathily, as the door shuts behind the nurse. “It’s happening now?”

“I’m right here, love,” Harry says, rubbing circles into your palm. Another contraction comes and you grip the sheets below you, mumbling in pain. Your OB-GYN walks in then and the rest is a blur. You remember being told to push and blindly doing so, your knuckles turning white as you put your entire body into giving birth to your child. You push and you push and squeeze your eyes shut until you hear the sound of him crying for air, and then you squint and see the nurse ask Harry if he wants to cut the umbilical cord. His hands hesitate around the surgical scissors and they correct him when he’s too gentle with the tool: he’s scared of hurting you. They assure him that you won’t feel a thing, and he cuts, and then your son is swaddled in a blanket. He’s wailing and reaching for you and the doctor places him in your arms. You feel Harry’s presence at your side, his arm wrapping protectively around you as the two of you look at your son for the first time.

“Congratulations,” the doctor says, and everything is over as soon as it started. The two of you are left alone in the room. Your son has quieted down now and is looking up at you curiously with big, brown eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry whispers, kissing your forehead and then his. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I can’t believe you still want to be with me after watching me do that,” you joke tiredly, cradling the baby in your arms. Harry moves the blanket to the side gently with his finger so you can see more of his face. There’s a tiny patch of hair at the top of his head, curling at the end already. You smile and think he couldn’t be any more perfect.

“What do you mean?” Harry says sincerely, “that was the hottest thing you could have ever done. Giving birth to my son. Fucking hell. I’m so fuckin’ obsessed with you.”

“Stop cursing in front of the baby!” You yell, using your head to poke at Harry since your hands weren’t free. 

Harry gasps and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, looking apologetic. You giggle at how seriously he’s taking the whole being a dad thing. How did you get so lucky?

“You know,” you start, watching as Harry extends a finger towards your son and tries to make him wrap his impossibly tiny hand around it. “I wonder if he’ll grow up to have a voice like yours. Look at those eyes and that hair. Looks like the spitting image of you already.”

Harry laughs at that, then shrugs. “Think he has your nose and lips, though.”

“What are we naming him?” You ask suddenly. The two of you had talked names before, but none of them really stuck. You’d decided that you would wait until he was born, both of you expecting that the right name would come to you once you actually saw him.

“We should say his name together on three,” Harry says. You nod and he starts counting. “One, two, three...”

“Beau!” The two of you exclaim together. You laugh happily in surprise and Harry’s nose crinkles with fondness, overjoyed that you both had settled on the same name.

“Beau,” you say softly, watching as your son stirs in your chest, his legs kicking gently like they had so many times before when you were still carrying him in your stomach. “He’s half of me and half of you.”

Harry smiles and smooths down your hair, gazing lovingly at Beau. “One perfect tiny human.”

TAGLIST: @crazygirlinthisworld @grapejuice-rry @b-reads-things @s8tellite @michellekstyles @vrittivsanghavi @alienorknight @flwrmuse

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 28

Downstar calls a Clan meeting to honor Parsley for her service and guide her to the elder’s den.

[Image ID: Parsley, now laying down in an elder’s sprite, says to Puddlespeckle, “It looks like you aren’t alone anymore, Mr. Puddlespeckle.” Puddlespeckle says, “How wonderful…”]

(Parsley: 122, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 154, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade find another abandoned kit near the gardens.

[Image ID: Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade face a white kit with gray stripes and sage green eyes. Under the kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MOUSEKIT, 5, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL, ODDLY OBSERVANT.]

---

Rattlepaw was not a stalker. She had a perfectly normal interest in Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Why shouldn’t she want her mother to find someone that made her giddy? Oilstripe was the perfect choice! How else could Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle grow their little family? They deserved more than just one another. They deserved a bigger family. As such, while Rattlepaw practiced a song with Rabbitjoy, she had one ear cocked toward Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who were happily sharing tongues before their sunset patrol. Recruiting them to practice dancing for the Harvest Moon had been the perfect plan!

“Mom?” Shadowdrop marched into the camp, scanning for Downstar. The sand caught on his muddy paws, making it look like he had white mittens. “Mom?”

“Fennelspot took Downstar out to exercise,” Rabbitjoy explained, looking over her shoulder at the black tom.

“Well then is Weedfoot around?” Shadowdrop sighed.

“I heard my name!” Weedfoot jogged out from the dirt place. “I’m here, I’m here. Hi, Shadowdrop. Was there an issue with your hunt?”

“You could say that,” Shadowdrop admitted. “We were hunting by the gardens and you’ll never guess what we found.”

“What, a kit?” Oilstripe scoffed. Shadowdrop went eerily quiet. Oilstripe’s eyes exploded. “Wait, am I right?” Rattlepaw’s leather pelt slipped off her back as she scurried up to Shadowdrop. Carnationspeckle stood beside her, her tail brushing against her side.

“That’s where you found me,” Rattlepaw gulped, catching Carnationspeckle’s eye.

“Tell us about the kit,” Weedfoot said. “I assume it isn’t a Clan kit from the way you’re acting.”

“We think so,” Shadowdrop admitted.

“You think so?” Carnationspeckle repeated with a tilt to her head. “Does the kit have a Clan name?”

“Yes, but when we spoke to her, she said she didn’t come from a Clan,” Shadowdrop explained. “I don’t remember anyone in the last few Gatherings mention a Mousekit, unless she’s lying about the name.”

“No one outside the Clans would name their daughter Mousekit,” Rabbitjoy pointed out.

“Rustshade is checking the borders in case the kit’s description matches a kit from another Clan,” Shadowdrop said. “Clammask is bringing the kit along.”

“Carnationspeckle, wake up James and make sure the nursery is ready for a guest,” Weedfoot sighed with a soft flick of her tail.

“We won’t be long,” Carnationspeckle chirped, bouncing where she stood. She seemed more like a kit than a grown molly as she hurried to the warrior’s den. 

“She might be cold…” Weedfoot muttered, glancing at the windy sky. “Rabbitjoy, can you start a small fire? Oilstripe, I want you to fetch Fennelspot. A lone kit like this will likely need a check-up.”

“Downstar might get mad at me if I interrupt her exercise,” Oilstripe gulped, avoiding eye contact.

“I saw them not long ago, I’ll get Fennelspot,” Shadowdrop grumbled. Just as he turned around, however, a wirey white molly strolled past him, flicking her tail while Clammask followed behind. The kit had the faintest of stripes and fur paler than Rattlepaw’s ashy skin. She couldn’t have been much younger than half a year. 

“This is RippleClan?” the kit scoffed. “You live in a big boat? How has it not fallen over?”

“You must be Mousekit,” Weedfoot purred, stepping in front of the newcomer. “Welcome. Hopefully we can get you home soon. What Clan are you from?”

“I already said I’m not from a Clan,” Mousekit huffed, sneering. 

“You have to be with a name like Mousekit,” Clammask sighed. “If you ran away because you were being hurt, you can tell us. We won’t drag you back.”

“I’m called Mousekit because my furless, spineless, coward of a mother spent my whole life telling me everything she knew about the Clans,” Mousekit snapped, turning on Clammask. “She’s the one who brought me out here. About time, too. I was sick of catching mice for humans.” Rattlepaw’s stomach twisted as she held her breath. No wonder Mousekit didn’t react to her.

“Your mother was furless too?” Rattlepaw gulped. She slowly approached Mousekit, who studied her with a cold glimmer in her green eyes. “Was her name… Rebecca?”

“How do you know that?” Mousekit said as the fur on her neck bristled. Rattlepaw couldn’t stop herself. She squealed and dove at Mousekit. She shoved her face into her shockingly soft fur.

“She was my mother too!” Rattlepaw cheered. “You’re my sister!” 

“Get off of me!” Mousekit snapped. She shoved Rattlepaw away. Rattlepaw tumbled onto her back. The sand scratched her fragile skin.

“Rattlepaw!” Carnationspeckle hurried out of the nursery. She and Oilstripe helped Rattlepaw back to her feet. Oilstripe brushed sand off Rattlepaw’s skin while Carnationspeckle licked her white ear.

“That was a hard tumble,” Oilstripe huffed. “Are you alright?”

“A little sore, but I’m alright,” Rattlepaw said.

“So you’re Rattlesnake,” Mousekit said, whiskers twitching with a strange contempt. “Our mother talked often about how she had to ‘save you’ from a breeding life.”

“How is she?” Rattlepaw asked. She braced herself for a venomous response as Mousekit’s tail flicked about.

“Why should I care?” Mousekit snapped. “She didn’t care about me. All she talked about were her plans to take me away as soon as she got the chance. I guess she took it.”

“If you like to hunt, you’ll like this place,” Carnationspeckle purred. “I took in your sister when she arrived here. If you wanted to, we could get to know each other more.” Carnationspeckle rested her tail over Rattlepaw. Rattlepaw pressed into Carnationspeckle with a soft purr.

[Image ID: Mousekit stares down Carnationspeckle and Rattlepaw. She yowls, “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!”]

“You want to treat me like your kit?” Mousekit scoffed. “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!” Rattlepaw pressed harder into Carnationspeckle. Her big copper eyes poured unspoken needs over Mousekit, but the pale molly turned away and back to Weedfoot. “So where can I stay?” It took Weedfoot a moment to collect her words; the small crowd looked between Mousekit and Rattlepaw, unsure whether they should have said something or not.

“Come this way,” Weedfoot said softly. She guided Mousekit across camp to the nursery. Mousekit walked with her tail high, leaving Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle in her dust. While Carnationspeckle continued grooming Rattlepaw, something hardened in Rattlepaw’s chest.

She was already trying to find her mother a mate, and she’d just been given a sister. If she could push Carnationspeckle to fall in love with Oilstripe, she could convince her own flesh and blood to love her back.

(Rattlepaw: 11, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Shadowdrop: 20, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Rabbitjoy: 65, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Weedfoot: 77, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 32, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 30, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Mousekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, oddly observant)

(Clammask: 22, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

[farfallasims]

Hey beautiful, where can I find the sheep rocking horse from the sage green nursery?? Btw, I love your builds!! <3

Hi gorgeous, thank you so much!

You can find the rocking lamb here x

[disabled-dragoon]

Gardening with A Disability

Everyone answering my gardening questions has been so helpful and kind. It's made me feel a lot better than when I started the week, but I've reached a point where I'm getting quite a bit of advice thrown at me all at once and it's getting difficult to keep track of it all, so I'm going to note it all down here!

Recommended Plants:

Mint, Tomatoes (Regular, Cherry), Cucumber, Radishes, Strawberries, Peppers. Aubergines, Potatoes, Squash, Lettuces, Chard (Swiss), Beets, Spring Onions, Garlic, French Beans (Specifically Dwarf French), Carrots, Kale, Spinach, Onion, Celery, Bush Beans, Blueberries, Bok Choy, Zucchini, Edible Flowers, Sunflowers, Green Beans, Currants, Lavender, Thyme, Rosemary, Oregano, Sage

Methods:

Fabric Pots

Raised Beds* I was pointed towards Vego garden beds as a starting point. They are quite expensive but I think it's still worth a look to see what you might consider with raised beds.

Trellises

Gallon Buckets

Grow bags in inflatable kiddie pools with a few holes drilled inches from the bottom

Bottomless Pots

Grow Tents and Greenhouses

Nursery Plants

Vertical Grow Towers* Was helpfully linked to this site.

Soil and hay bales

Soaker hoses on the topsoil of small raised beds

Grow bags in bins or on low tables, in 1-2 inches of water

Using a grabber to weed

Long handled tools

Things to Note:

Someone recommended if growing potatoes not to do them in pots as you generally have to lift the pot and tip it over to harvest them.

You can specifically get "container-sized" varieties of plants.

If looking into growing squash and cucumber in pots, look for "bush" varieties, or get "short and wide" trellises for the vines so they're not on the floor.

Big pots for aubergines.

Vertical grow towers are useful because they spin and you can adjust the height, but the price is a bit expensive.

Peppers and aubergines do well in 4-5 gallon buckets.

Cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and potatoes do well in 5 gallon buckets. You can grow blueberries in 5 gallons as well if they are of a "bush" variety

Bush beans do well in window boxes.

You can grow beets in window boxes but they might not get as big.

Strawberries grow well in 1-2 gallon buckets, and can be rooted into other buckets for more plants.

Bok Choy grows great in 2-3 gallon buckets and a "slightly shady" spot.

Containers need more consistent watering and fertilizer than ground plants.

"Lettuce in a “cut and come again” variety should be pretty easy to maintain but do prefer cooler weather".

Apparently immature sunflower heads are edible.

Thyme, rosemary, oregano and sage don't need much watering. Neither does lavender if outside.

Get a bag of soil specifically for container growing.

Buy already established plants and put them in containers larger than maybe necessary.