#still have so much basil and they will keep growing with all this rain

[sakizm]

avocado toast BUT make it with basil pesto

[hedgehog-moss]

I finally planted my garden last week! We had a couple of days of sun which gave me hope, but it's once again raining every day. Thoughts and prayers for my tomato plants, but I couldn't keep everyone in the greenhouse forever, I had to make room for other plants.

(In the fourth picture above you can see what's inside the hügelkultur mound—it's a pile of branches + llama manure + compost + potting soil. One thing I find great about it is how well it retains moisture! Well it's not a problem this year so far but during heat waves I water these plants a lot less than non-mound plants.)

In the greenhouse my seedlings have been struggling due to lack of sun. Impossible to get courgette plants so I had to buy a few from the young couple in town who recently started a plant nursery—they didn't have many either, and I had to share with the mayor who also came looking for courgette plants because slugs devoured all of his.

He must have seen on my face that I thought my plants didn't stand a chance if slugs don't even respect municipal authority, because he kindly advised me to place crowns of bedstraw (see above) around my plants to protect them. I didn't dare to ask "If it works so well why do you have no courgette plants left?" I just said thank you, and then spent an entire evening last week weaving this sticky weed into crowns and whatsapping photos of my art to the mayor, who always replied "More! More! It needs to be thicker! Like a doughnut!"

Meanwhile 1 leek in the greenhouse suddenly grew a lot thicker while the other 3 remained skinny and fearful-looking and I'm not sure why. They share a pot, so maybe it's like vanishing twin syndrome. My bell pepper seeds had the same asynchronous development issue—one pot is just now starting to have timid seedlings while the other (right next to it) already contains a grown-up plant with baby peppers:

By far my happiest greenhouse plants are the potatoes and lettuce. They shot up so fast! I've been eating a lot of lettuce lately but I can't keep up with how quickly they grow in this cold, rainy spring. And I haven't had any slug raids in the greenhouse so that's great.

My greenhouse squash, onions and pickles are still tiny and not worth a photo (harsh, but this post already has too many photos). My strawberries in the aquaponic towers are beautiful despite the lack of sun and I've been getting mini-harvests of 2-3 strawberries a day for two weeks! They're done now, but I started more seeds so maybe I can get a second round at the end of the month.

Three more things:

1. Morille helped a lot as I was planting the garden. She kept an eye on my gardening tools so no one would steal them, and sometimes used them as cheek-scratchers. At one point I put one of my beautiful bedstraw crowns around her neck so she looked like Philip III of Spain in that painting where he wears a big ruff, but tragically she ran away in outrage before I could take a picture, and when she returned she'd got rid of her collar.

2. At the cow parade the other day there was a lady at the market who sold jars of homemade pesto sauce made from all kinds of different plants, and it opened up my mind to entirely new pesto horizons!! I always make the traditional kind with basil, but I have plants that grow much faster than basil, like my rocket, so I tried making pesto with 1/3 basil 2/3 rocket (plus garlic, olive oil, parmesan, cashews) and it was so good! I have to explore all of her recipes now, like plantain or nettle or sage pesto...

3. There's a monster in the greenhouse. It appeared practically overnight and is quickly claiming more and more territory. Unlike last year it's not a parsley monster—it's my lemon balm. One day it was growing in its vertical tower, luxuriant but tidy, like a normal plant, and the next it had quintupled in volume and was threatening to swallow the nearest planter. Look at the tiny tomato plants, they look terrified of it!

I urgently need to fight back against this giant mélisse (as we call lemon balm) but I've been really busy and I keep putting it off, and then remembering anxiously at 11pm that I still have this creature to take care of, which is ironic seeing as lemon balm is supposed to relieve stress and anxiety. This is the exact opposite of why I planted you. Anyway if you never hear from me again after this post it's because I finally engaged in battle against this year's vegetal menace, and lost.

[iloveschiaparelli]

Garden mini-update + african violet photo

Sorry for the lack of garden posts lately. I've been under a lot of extra stress and the idea of taking photos + writing status updates has been overwhelming. Here is a photo of the African Violet blooming for the first time in the last couple months. Its been gloomy to just see leaves every time, so I'm really encouraged by the new blossom and the promises of more, hidden underneath.

I moved from the apartment into a house, so here are the locations of all of my plants:

Windowsill above the kitchen sink (south facing)

African Violet

Small sea urchin echinopsis #1 and #2

Small spider plant (in the face-shaped pot)

Snake plants #1 and #2

Spider plant in the process of propagating roots (just sitting in some water that gets changed out daily. I was originally preparing it to give to a teacher who was looking for classroom plants, but we fell out of contact so now I'm just letting the roots grow while continually forgetting to text her back)

Top of the Spice Cabinet (Not a permanent home as there's not much light), next to the south-facing door

Big spider plant momma. A bunch of the babies turned brown immediately following the move. I'm thinking maybe I stamped on them by accident, because they dragged on the floor and ground when I was moving them to and from my car to get it out of the apartment.

Unknown succulent (Was a gift from a friend). This one is currently outside of its pot. I forgot it on the front porch during the move by accident. It hadn't been watered for weeks, also because I forgot, and was already getting kind of soft. Then it got drenched by the Virginia summer thunderstorms and started dry rotting. I Lifted it and the bottom fell off. Yeah. So I left it on a paper towel to dry, with intent to repot and try to save. But It's been a few weeks and I still haven't repotted it. I need to do so soon, before it dies...

Deck (Outside, south-facing, no rain protection.)

Large basil plant --- I received a piece of someone's home-grown basil bush. i was expecting a bough but it had roots attached!! So I potted it in the large pot and it's twice the size. It's thriving with the full sun and regular rain. I water it frequently during dry spells. I'm excited to harvest and dry the leaves for the winter, once it starts to get cold.

Catnip plant --- It's bigger than it was, but the leaves are yellowing a lot. I think it's scorching because it's in full sun? It's enjoying the rain, though. I want to step it up to a larger pot and move it to below the deck, where it will get some shade, but I'm somewhat concerned about the neighborhood cats eating it, or it inadvertently spreading into the backyard. Either way, I'm struggling to keep it from scorching.

Big sea urchin echinopsis!!! I have it underneath the glasstop table to prevent excess watering, which works marginally well, except when the hurricane brought the rain in at a 45 degree angle. I think it's gotten taller, but I'm not sure haha. I keep an eye on it and check the soil every so often to make sure it doesn't need water or isn't overwatered.

Front Porch

Potato!!!!!!!!! I had a. bag of those mini potatoes. I put the last two in a pot as an experiment, and surprisingly they're thriving!!! They should be ready for harvest in a couple weeks. I'm not expecting much, but the prospect of harvesting vegetables is still really exciting! My once concern is that it looks like, in the last couple days, some leaf-eating bugs found it.

The thyme has mushrooms growing in it D: and the thyme itself has pretty much failed to grow any more. I think I need to throw out a bunch of garden supplies that I brought over in a black trash bag and then left on the deck. It had holes, and when it rained everything got soaked. But then it sat in the heat and dark and now there's, like, mold and mushrooms on everything. It's really unfortunate-- even the bird feeder! Gah. I was stupid to leave it out like that. But it's alright, it's only $30-40 worth of otherwise unused materials. I might be able to rescue the pots for reuse, since it's ceramic and terracotta.

Since I'm still struggling financially (although not as desperately as early summer), it will be a while before I can replace the extra seeds and birdfeeder. But life goes on, I suppose.

Moving was very expensive. It overlapped our old lease by a month, so housing was roughly 3x as expensive as normal, because of both months rent and the security deposit. And now my rent is $50 higher. I would not have moved if it had been my choice LOL, but my roommates really wanted to leave the apartment, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a better situation to have the house with a yard and a quiet neighborhood. I did learn there is an HOA, though. And since the landlord pays for a mowing company, he has decided not to allow me to put in any garden beds :( which is sad.

I think, though, that he got the impression I meant center garden beds in the middle of tthe yard. I might ask him again in a while, about ones against the side of the house. The reason he gave was that it would be difficult to mow around them. But if they were against the house, then it wouldn't be much different aside from reducing the area of the lawn.

There is a hose outside, but it's cracked and old as hell. It basically fell apart when i tried to use it. If I want to use the hose, I'll have to buy a new one to hook up. But the faucet it goes to works fine.

[winters-mistress]

even in the dark, you will not be my light

"Quickly, get in." Yennefer grits her teeth, finishing the spell with the last of her physical energy. The hut she has created, the invisibility and anti-tracking shells taking much more out of her than anything she'd done before sodden. It's a little shack, not much of note, but what can you expect out of a mage of stuttering magic and a frantic spell to get a child with a fever get out of a cold rainstorm?

Geralt doesn't even spare a moment to consider Yennefer's possible ulterior motive, doesn't consider that it could be a trap. But thankfully, both he and his child end up secure in a small, raggedy cottage, out of the rain, out of the storm.

The witcher places the child on the settee, sparing a glance at the movement in the corner of his eye. It's Yennefer, because of course it is, but she's not doing anything nefarious this time. All she's doing is leading Roach, Astoria and Thanau into a barn she's made up for them, and his attention is quickly caught by a stuttering breath from the girl laying in his hands.

She breathes in, raggedy and unkempt, as Geralt makes work of removing her sodden clothes and boots, leaving her only in her chest band and undershorts. Her skin is so hot, it almost rivals his own witcher warmth, and he quickly bands her hair up from her face and lays her in the bed he sees in the corner of the room.

There's only one, he realises in passing, but it's hardly the mist important thing when he realises Cirilla's skin is damp with sweat and her cheeks are flushed. She's always so confident and strong that seeing her shuddering and flushed and feverish is greatly concerning.

Yennefer comes in by the time Geralt has filled a clay bowl with water and is running a rag over her forehead after covering her up in the blankets.

"How-how is she?" Yennefer gasps out. Geralt spares her a glance, biting back a harsh response to her hypocrites. She's raggedy, her hair is unbrushed and wild, her eyes are big, and she's hunched over with her hands on her knees, looking small as she looks up at him.

"Alright. As much as she can be. She needs medication. Willowbark and salix willow. Mint, basil and ginger." Geralt lists from the top of his head, still wiping down the girl. "Need to get the sputum out as soon as we can. Keep her warm but cool, get water into her."

"Do you have any herbs in your sacks?"

"Not anything that wouldn't melt her insides." His eyes lock on the vulnerable child once more. "And the storm would take away any scents of herbs growing in the forests."

Yennefer takes a shuddering breath, walking over towards the water bucket Geralt had filled the clay pot from, and ducks her head inside, drinking greedily until her stomach aches and she belches in a way that make Tissaia bend her over and tan her hide.

"Let me see what I can conjure." Yennefer gasps out, wiping the water from her face. "I need to find somewhere to draw from afterwards. I can't give too much of myself in case she needs anything bigger, it'll hurt me."

Geralt's jaw flexes, and she knows he struggles to hold back words that she knows will hurt just as much as if they had struck her around the face.

She looks down. "Tomorrow, hopefully." She says, her voice quiet. Only he can make her feel so small with just a look. "After she's awake."

"Yennefer, she suffers. She needs the herbs." Is his way of telling her to shut the fuck up and get on with it. She nods slowly, slinking down to her knees as her eyes close, reaching inside herself.

Yennefer has to lay down next to Ciri after she has conjured a handful of several herbs. Blood drips from her eyes and she faints briefly, sending Geralt into a panicked anger. He doesn't like Yennefer so close to Cirilla at the best of times, after all that bullshit with the demon, and her role in his brothers deaths so strong she may as well have dug the knife in their hearts herself. So to have her laying next to the girl when she's so sick, it unnerved him. He doesn't even want to blink for fear of her being taken from him.

Ciri's breathing easier now, after he managed to get a teapot full of herbs and leaves down her. She's less flushed, and he keeps cold cloths all over her body to break the fever. It's all he can do for now, just brew more tea and change her cloths and get water down her in her moments of lucidity. The girl is now clothed in a long tunic with sleeves stopping just past her shoulders, it looks more like a sleep gown than a shirt.

When Yennefer sits up an hour later, Ciri's sleep is peaceful and her tanned skin is clean of blood. Geralt is at their bedside, watching them both with equal intensity. It makes guilt sit tight on her chest, to see a man who would have lay his life for her and fall to his knees in her worship so tense and untrusting and paranoid, watching every move she made. It's her own fault, her selfishness, and her entitlement, but the fact and her attempts of atonement don't go far with this man.

"Are you feeling better?" Geralt asks her.

"Yes. I-I can't draw from myself too much, not after the fire. I'll need to find a riverbank or draw from stones in the coming days." her voice is quiet as she looks to Ciri. Geralt tenses. "She's breathing easier." Yennefer comments.

"She will need another dose of her tea soon, can't have her sleeping too long without it. We'll need some lemons and honey when she wakes up, clear out the thickness in her chest."

Yennefer nods. She gets up from the bed, slow. She drinks more water and flexes her fingers.

"The rain is slowing a little." she says. "Can't imagine we'll find any lemon trees or honeycomb in the middle of winter. I'll see what I can conjure after the storm breaks." she's rambling and she knows it, but she's so desperate for Geralt to see that she's sorry that it hurts.

He looks exhausted when she looks at him. Yennefer doesn't know if it would help if she pulled back all together, at least for a while. He's so worried, for Ciri, for her health and her physical safety from those who want to hunt her and use her, of the hunt who's invasion is imminent and his paranoia that she would all of a sudden snap her from his grasp and make away with the elder blood princess.

"You need to sleep, Geralt." She says.

He snorts. "No rest to be had these days."

"Be that as it may, lay down with her, she's not awake and you cannot make her drink when she is asleep. Her fever is down and she breathes easier, you've done all you can for now."

Geralt breathes and looks at the girl. In her assessment of the girl, Yennefer is correct. The princess sleeps soundly, and his arms ache to hold her, to assure himself that she's still okay.

He silently toes his boots off and removes the armour, keeping the steel sword in arms reach as he gets on the bed, hearing it creek in protest of his considerable mass. Geralts arms wrap around her, and he pulls her to his chest, laying on his back with the young girl laying on his torso. He can feel her heartbeat, listen to her pulse, his hair moves with her breath.

Yennefer stumbles when she comes back, holding another handful of mint leaves in her hand.

"Stop, Yennefer." He orders. "You'll only hurt yourself if you keep going with no source." He huffs.

"I just-I just need to sit." But she ends up collapsing against the bedframe, and is caught on instinct, pulled back onto the sheets as her body lays down again.

"Geralt, what-"

"We both need to rest, we'll be no good to her collapsing on our feet tomorrow."

"You don't trust-"

"I do not. But lay there and collect yourself, now is not the time to speak of such matters."

"I'm sorry, Geralt."

"You've said. We can't talk about this now, Ciri is what's important now. So rest, you can't help me get her better if you run yourself ragged."

[z0mbdino]

Basil, the girl with all the love in the world.

She was hurting, it was her time. I don't hold it against her, she was just a little girl in a world that could never love her. She lives inside of me, listening, watching, feeling as I feel. She doesn't know about him, how he hurt us, how he doesn't love us. All she knows is what I tell her. She knows her little brother is safe, that Bobby is watching over us, that her family loves her so fucking much.

She doesn't know that we don't have a dad anymore, she doesn't know that her daddy isn't hers anymore. She doesn't know that Juno had to leave us, she doesn't know that Brutus did either. She doesn't know anything bad. All she knows is the good in the world. I keep her safe, safe from the realities of the world she left so long ago. She's my baby girl and I love her with my whole heart, it just wasn't meant to be.

Basil just wasn't meant to be in this world, she was meant to live somewhere she could thrive and stay a baby girl forever, reading books and making friends with anyone she met. She wasn't meant to deal with her dad not loving her, she wasn't meant to deal with the pain of losing everything, she was meant to be a scientist, discovering new things every day. She was meant to learn and grow and love until the end of time.

I don't hold any resentment towards her. She didn't know the pain that I went through, living as her, she just wanted everyone to like her.

And everyone does. She is the sun and the moon, the stars in the sky, the rain and the clouds, and all the love in the world is hers. She never knew resentment, she was made of love.

She was me and I am still her, in a way.

[pockymun]

2024 Garden - Week 10 (8/11-8/16)

Surprisingly, there were hardly any cucumbers on the plants Monday that were close to ready. I'm starting to see where my pruning has caused too much damage. The plants aren't producing what they used to, and the leaves aren't looking better.

Someone helped themselves to the large cucumber at the top of the plant. That's getting frustrating.

The big dills get plenty of little bees in their flowers, but no signs of seeds yet. I did find some dills in the community plots that have gone to seed, for when I next pickle!

Some baby dills have emerged again, along with what I'm assuming is some basil. Finally another herb decided to grow, after all that rain.

What was also surprising is that not many tomatoes split after all of the rain last week. More leaves are yellowing and wilting, but the fruits look fine.

The carrot stems are filling out more. I hope that means I will get actual carrots this year. I've never had luck with them before.

The top of the green bean plants have gotten knotted together on the cucumber trellis. The flowers were really pretty on Monday!

The gym was closed this week, so I spent two days after work weeding a section of the garden space where some apple trees were planted. Everyone is supposed to do an hour a month of volunteer work at the garden, but I suspect most don't. The weeds have gotten pretty bad in some areas. It took 2.5 hours to clear out the apple tree corner. Everywhere else is easier, and someone else can pitch in now.

As awful as my cucumber and tomato plants look, at least the fruits are easier to find now!

The carrot stems keep getting bigger. Some are growing too close together, so it will be interesting to see what I end up with. I'm thinking of planting them alongside some onion next year.

The baby dills and basils are getting more established, too. I hope it's not too late in the season for the basils.

By Thursday night, the green bean flowers were less noticeable. I think a lot have dropped off. The plants had another surprise instead.

I did not think the green beans would be ready to pick tonight. I expected them to need another week. But I found some large ones on the vines that were ready! I still haven't counted how many I picked. It wasn't much; enough for a side dish. But there should be plenty more next week!

Four cucumbers were ready to pick tonight. I left one on the vine to overripen. It seems to be hidden by leaves....

I cut all of the seed heads of the dead cilantro plant finally, as well as some sprigs from the big dills. They are in the paper bag.

Two tomatoes are changing colors. Hopefully everyone else will follow soon.

[whiskeynovember]

All the rain makes my garden look so good.

I don't have much to add today. pruned the cucumbers and harvested the last 2. pruned the tomatoes and stabilized the 2 in the front.

i didn't realize my buttercup squash had FOUR squashes, all on the same trellis, which is now trying to topple over...

and then I went and tried to impregnate another. 😆

the basil is doing well, lots of sprouts. there was an infestation of little white gnats on the thai basil so I sprayed it down and pulled the other plants away from it. I'd like to add a few more holy basil seeds to the pot, but I don't have many left.

all of the strawberries are looking good, even the one I was a little worried about. i wish I had purchased runners in the beginning of the season, but I was adamant in trying to grow from seed.

i pulled two of each eggplant and potted them in an attempt to see if they will grow better. i feel like I can at least do a better job of keeping the flea beetles away. i pulled the smallest of each, and then another of each that was in the worst shape. we shall see how they do. If they do well, I'll pull one more, which will leave me 3 of each and I believe that's a decent amount.

i go back and forth about the dill, so I decided to do a much better job of sprinkling them on top of the soil and then covering it with nursery soil. hopefully it will give me fuller pots and I'll be more determined about them.

as for the patio garden... i think one of the cucamelons will die because of the fucking 🐛. it's very limp. all I can do is hope it pulls through. i added 3 more seeds and a very light dusting of nursery soil, but at this point, my hopes are at zilch.

the pine berries are sprouting much better going directly into soil. it feels like something is still eating away at the sweet basil, but I can't find anything. 🤷🏾‍♀️. same goes for the Korean mint.

i did find this fucker hitching a ride on my trimming bag

i swear, if I didn't have to deal with all of these pests, my shit would be thriving.

until next time...

[vela-pulsars]

Skykid OCs :] More under the cut !

Abalone Season: The Little Prince A curious but shy skyfolk that loves nothing more than to explore ruins. Their flight is pretty mediocre, but they make up for it with efficient swimming. The dark plants growing from their body are a result of regularly diving through darkness a bit too often. They make their body heavier, a liability when flying, but useful when trying to dive deeper. Fortunately they are harmless in this state, simply growing on Abalone and not within. Still needs a regular trimming though, just in case. It’s unwise to play with darkness after all. Like a few other skyfolk, they sometimes have dreams about a past life. Likely an explanation to the feeling of déjà-vu they may feel in some parts of the kingdom... Something their travel companion, the Bird Keeper, can relate to, albeit for different reasons. The Bird Keeper Season: Flight A strange skyfolk, they are friendly but do not seem to be able or want to talk. They are uncannily great at mimicking birds and other light creatures... and that’s because they originaly were one. By a stroke of luck (for them), the shard that split a skyfolk named Vigil in two while descending back to the kingdom was where their memories (and thus significant fragments of their soul) were trapped. They ended up landing in the Wind Paths with just enough to take on the shape of a skyfolk, not even their true form but at least they were free. They are now looking for elder birds that could remain in the kingdom, so they are often found exploring with other skyfolk such as Abalone or Robin.

Robin Season: Dreams Talented musician, Robin enjoys travelling around the realms to play to any audience that might find them. They regularly show up in the Village Theater to improvise or be an extra, but when they find the crowds too tiring, they can also enjoy some solitude in scenic places such as their cosy little hideout in the Hermit Valley or the Starlight Desert. Oftentimes, they go back to the Prairie to visit Basil, an old friend, and the skykids that they are watching over. They keep themselves busy with music, but their meanderings often follow those of interesting characters as they like to know the latest findings, stories... or gossips if nothing interesting was uncovered below the parting clouds.

Basil Season: Sanctuary A very laidback skyfolk that seldom leaves the Prairie, often found under their tarp in the butterfly fields helping other skyfolks make flowers out of light offerings for the spirits. Their easygoing nature and relative ease to find often means a few younger skykids hang around them to play or ask advice to. They don’t really mind, though they appreciate when their friends come over to distract them. Especially Robin, who always has something new to bring from their travels, and enjoys quiet company when Basil is low on words. They gave up on finding Vigil, the one that took care of them when they were a moth themselves. Wake Season: Flight While the Bird Keeper fell in the Wind Paths, what remained of Vigil’s body crashed in the Isle with much less light than they should have... The trauma was so intense that they were left pretty weak from the experience. Mourning lost power and memories, they hide away in the Forest, ushering skykids and skyfolks through the rain as a distraction until they find out what to do to heal. For now, they’ll be the kind-hearted guide sharing what little light they have, that umbrella of theirs is big enough for two. Robin sometimes visits them to play duets and pass the time. They avoid the Bird Keeper.

[ao3bronte]

Butter

I have been utterly enchanted by the spoiler images Zag keeps posting of Chat Noir and Ladybug's rooftop dinner date in the movie and I simply had to write about it for Christmas because it's so darn romantic! I've also been honing my food writing skills, which I hope you'll enjoy as well! This story is part of the @mlsecretsanta​ exchange and I was paired up with a Tumblr user named @yuki-sukinomoto​. I hope they like what I have put together for them. Also on AO3.

Like many people around the world, Adrien has a special place in his heart for Disney films. He and his mother had enjoyed many a fireworks celebration at Disneyland Paris, not to mention the mini-vacation he'd taken with her at Disneyland Hong Kong while they were there for Father's flagship store opening. Even now, he regularly enjoys flipping through the archives of Disney+ just as frequently as he does his other streaming services; there's nothing like a rewatch of a favourite film to get his mind off the bigger shadows lording over his life.

He's halfway through his last year of lycée when it occurs to him that he hasn't watched Ratatouille in ages. There are only a few animated films set in Paris that he can think of off the top of his head and he's always enjoyed the romance of Un Monstre en Paris more than the trials and tribulations of a rodent gourmand. It warrants a look though, especially since he's got nothing better to do; the glacial December rain is no place for Paris’ favourite cat.

“Anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great.”

Something about that statement resonates within him, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally slotting into place. Adrien gawks at the screen, then down at his fingers.

“I’m pretty much fearless,” he murmurs, the cogs of his brain suddenly propelling into motion. “And if that Linguini guy can learn how to cook, then so can I!”

~

That evening, Sous Chef Maurice humours the youngest Agreste when he strides into the kitchen and affably demands to be taught how to cook. The spritely blond’s attitude has always been world’s away from his boss’ brusque, frigid demeanor and Sous Chef Maurice welcomes the change of pace, if only to lighten up the evening as the snowy skies grow dim.

“So, where do we start?”

“With the basics, of course,” Sous Chef Maurice responds, tapping away at the mounted iPad on the wall nearest to the pass. “Watch this video and familiarize yourself with the classical knife cuts of French cuisine. Once you’re finished, bring three large carrots and two bulbs of fennel from the garde manger to my station to practice.”

“Yes, Chef!”

And so, with all of the flagrant gusto of an Agreste on a mission, Adrien watches the videos and does exactly as he’s asked. Wielding the chef’s knife is a bit of a task but he manages not to amputate any fingers, much to Sous Chef Maurice’s relief. All in all, he ends up with a fairly decently sliced pile of carrot batonnets on one side of the cutting board and half a julienned fennel bulb on the other.

“That’s all? There are several other techniques you’ll be required to master if you want to learn to cook.” Sous Chef Maurice frowns beneath his wiry moustache. “Cut a medium and small dice from the batonnets. And as for the fennel, slice the rest of the bulb into wedges. Monsieur Agreste requested it braised this evening.”

Adrien’s tongue wriggles out between his lips as he hacks the carrots into even smaller pieces. “What’s braising?”

“A cooking technique,” Sous Chef Maurice replies, “One you’re about to learn in a moment. Now chop.”

“Yes, Chef!” Adrien flashes his million watt smile before diving head first back into the task that was given and quickly catches on. He’s no Guy Savoy, of course, but he manages well enough with the careful precision of a boy who secretly destroys things for a living. Once he’s finished, he watches as Sous Chef Maurice crafts the rest of the evening’s dinner beneath the copper hooded hearth, stirring and seasoning every dish. Spreads of freshly baked bread and Saucisson Sec jostle for space on the platter, nestled in among wedges of Crottin de Chavignol and small jars of stone fruit jam that remind him of summer. On the burner, Sous Chef Maurice reverently sautées tomatoes in a magnificent French oven until buttery tender.

“Why, exactly, have you decided to learn how to cook all of the sudden?” Sous Chef Maurice asks as he sprinkles a fragrant chiffonade of basil over the tomatoes. “Don’t you have enough on your plate, so to speak?”

Adrien shrugs. “I was watching a movie and realized that I don’t know how to cook anything.”

“And now you suddenly have the inspiration to become a chef?”

“Not exactly,” Adrien says, passing him the pepper mill. “Cooking is...daring. You have to be fearless to be a great chef!”

Sous Chef Maurice begins to chuckle. “You’re doing this to impress a girl, aren’t you?”

“I…” Adrien’s jaw practically drops to the floor. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Ladybug wouldn’t be able to resist his Chat Noir charm if he could pull off the ultimate homemade dinner for Christmas! She’s always appreciated his do-it-yourself gifts over the ones he’s bought her over the years...he could ask about her favourite foods and create a holiday masterpiece for her to devour as the perfect Christmas present, just for the two of them! “Yes! How did you know?”

“I was a young man once too,” Sous Chef Maurice points out, shaking his head with mirth as he turns his attention back to the hearth. He pulls the olive oil braised fennel from the oven and slathers a huge spoonful of buttery fava bean purée onto the serving platter, smearing it across the china like a streak of bright green paint. Then, he artfully stacks the braised vegetables over the purée and drizzles the juices from the pan in haphazard circles from a height, dressing the dish like Father would a high fashion model. Adrien can hardly believe his eyes as Sous Chef Maurice sprinkles Maldon sea salt on top and places it onto the pass, ready for service.

“Like modelling, cooking is an art. It requires patience and mastery,” Sous Chef Maurice explains, turning towards the youngest Agreste with a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “If you’re serious about learning how to cook, I suggest you start studying the books of Paul Bocuse.”

“Do you think Father will let me?”

“I heard you discussing your latest school project with Mme Sancoeur just yesterday in the dining room. Perhaps you can change the focus of your study to better suit your interests.”

The lightbulb above Adrien’s head suddenly flickers to life. “Yes! Thank you so much! You’re the best!”

As Adrien races from the kitchen to the dining room in a frenzy of inspiration, Sous Chef Maurice simply wipes down his knives and smiles.

~

Cooking, as it turns out, is easier said than done.

The first task on Adrien’s check list is to find out what Ladybug likes to eat. She doesn’t really know what to make of Chat Noir’s sudden barrage of questions about what her favourite meat is or what types of soft cheese she likes to spread on freshly baked baguettes. But she’s spent years by his side at this point — his chaotic behaviour always seems to stem from some haywire plan to prove his worth — so she goes along with it as he goes along with her crazy ideas; trust has always been integral between the two of them.

The second task is to watch as many cooking TV shows as he possibly can. Adrien stays up into the wee hours of the morning bingeing Masterchef and soaking up every detail he can memorize. Always salt the boiling water before cooking pasta; add acid to bring out the flavours of your food; season, season, season! Instant coffee powder accentuates the subtleties of chocolate; toast the spices to release their full potential! Adrien writes it all down and figures that it can’t be that hard to break down a whole chicken for roasting — the judges make it look so easy!

“Merde! I am so sick of this stupid—Plagg, transforme-moi!” Adrien growls that very afternoon after mistaking the back of the chicken for the breast...again, “Cataclysme!”

(Sous Chef Maurice finds the smoking pile of chicken soot in the bin later that evening and doesn’t have the heart to ask.)

~

There are two weeks left until the beginning of his school’s winter holidays and Adrien is bound and determined to host an evening that Ladybug will never forget. Anaïs gives Chat Noir permission to use one of the transparent bubble tents on his restaurant’s rooftop patio as a favour after de-akumatizing him back in September; Le Cochon Joufflu gives him a live edge cheese board to use in exchange for getting his beloved kitten down from the chestnut tree hanging over the patio. Ladybug mentions that she loves strawberries the most out of all of the fruits and Chat makes sure to stop by the Dupain Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie to order a Frasier for pickup in two weeks time.

It’s all coming together...kind of.

The cooking bit is still an issue. Adrien has figured out the difference between the top and the bottom of the chicken (after an embarrassingly long time, though he’ll never admit it). Yesterday, Sous Chef Maurice taught him how to put the mirepoix on the bottom of the roasting pan first, then settle the chicken on top.

Seems simple, right?

Except how much of what goes into the mirepoix? What’s the ratio again? Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose and tries desperately to remember on his own, especially after Sous Chef Maurice nagged him for looking things up too often on the iPad. Cooking is supposed to be about instincts and...well, Adrien’s aren’t proving to be very reliable. Is it two parts celery to one part onion and carrot? Or does he have it all mixed up again?

“I have a secret to share with you,” Sous Chef Maurice says, standing alongside Adrien as they peel potatoes together. “It’s the secret ingredient to make a woman fall in love with you, even when you’ve made a mistake...what do you think it is?”

“Is it...love? Like, when you’re cooking from your heart?”

“That helps, certainly, but it’s not what I had in mind,” Sous Chef Maurice reaches into the wash basket for another potato, “Let me give you a hint. It’s as quintessentially French as it gets.”

“...camembert?”

“I—” Sous Chef Maurice takes a weary breath. “...no. It’s butter. All French cooking tastes better with butter. In fact, no meal is complete without it.”

“Don’t tell Father that,” Adrien says with a grimace.

“What Monsieur Agreste doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sous Chef Maurice raises his brows conspiratorially. “Besides, it makes a world of difference. It’s delicious. It’s decadent. It’s a chef’s little secret. And if you want this girl to fall in love with you, there’s no better way than with butter.”

“Really? She’ll fall in love with me right away?”

“I promise. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed.” Sous Chef Maurice plops a package of Charentes-style butter in front of him. “No woman can resist a homemade meal made with French butter. Just a little makes a world of difference to the richness of the taste and tonight, I’m going to show you how.”

To Adrien’s unlimited delight, Sous Chef Maurice teaches him how to make the creamiest, silkiest mashed potatoes to ever grace his palette. His knees weaken at the thought of Ladybug sliding a spoonful of his mashed potatoes past her lips...he can imagine the way she’d groan just like he had when Adrien had finished whipping what felt like an entire block of butter into the spuds. His body burns and tingles with the notion of her enjoying his creations and he doubles down in the kitchen, taking it upon himself to slather the skin of his chicken with an obscene amount of butter before popping it into the oven and hoping for the best.

It comes out perfectly.

~

“Happy early Christmas!” Chat Noir delights, opening the little door to their plastic bubble tent for Ladybug. “I know we promised to exchange gifts on the 23rd but I...I just really couldn’t wait any longer!”

“Why am I not surprised, Kitty?” Ladybug rolls her eyes and bops him on the nose. “Did Anaïs give you permission to use this?”

“Of course he did,” Chat responds, pressing his hand to his chest in mock-insult, “I am a cat of honour! I don’t just go stealing things without permission.”

“Mmhmm,” Ladybug teases him, tapping his bell as she climbs inside. The supporting structure of the transparent dome is decked out with sparkling fairy lights, adding a warm ambiance to the table and chairs set for two. “Is that a bottle of wine?”

“Yup,” Chat confirms, latching the door behind him and scurrying around her to pop the cork. “It’s a 2001 vintage. I picked it myself.”

“Fancy!” Ladybug’s smirking tone falters for a moment as she takes in the elaborate spread. “Did you...is Anaïs picking up the tab for dinner too?”

“Not exactly.” Chat pulls Ladybug’s chair out from the lip of the table and gently drapes her serviette across her lap once she sits down. “I made you dinner tonight.”

“Uh oh.” Ladybug starts laughing. “Is there an ambulance parked outside?”

Chat sticks out his tongue and sits down across from her. “I took lessons! And I had a little help from a professional.”

“So it’s safe to eat? Should I call the hospital just in case?”

“Very funny. And no. Everything here is edible. I know because I tried it.”

“Just because it’s good enough for an alley cat—”

“—hey now, I have a very sophisticat-ed palette!”

Ladybug’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Come on then, Kitty. Show me what you’ve got.”

“As you wish, M’Lady.” Chat bows his head and pulls the aluminium foil off of the dishes with a flourish. “May I present to you your dinner this evening. It’s roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and a frisée and endive salad.”

Ladybug’s eyes bug out of her skull, much to Chat Noir’s delight. “You made all this yourself?”

“I did!”

“And you made this...for me?”

Chat practically preens with delight. “It’s all homemade. I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Wow…” Ladybug trails off, her stare bouncing from dish to dish. “I’m...I’m speechless, Chat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Chat whoops, jumping up to serve her. He carefully places a chicken thigh onto her plate and scoops a dollop of mashed potatoes beside it. “These are the best mashed potatoes you’ll ever eat, by the way.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ladybug responds, her voice wavering a little as he spoons out the salad. “They smell good though.”

“That’s because they are good!”

“...I’m still skeptical.”

“Buuuug!”

The conversation between them flows like the wine from their bottle, leaving them both a little lightheaded and enchanted by it all. It’s warm in their garden igloo, an Eden of good company and beating hearts cocooned against the December chill and the gently falling snow cascading from the heavens. Chat wishes he could spend the rest of his life like this, laughing and joking with Ladybug over a homemade Christmas dinner made just for the two of them.

“Well?” Chat asks as Ladybug takes a dainty bite of his roast chicken. “What do you think?”

“It’s...it’s actually pretty good.” Ladybug chews thoughtfully, her cheeks flushing pink.

“Yes!” Chat narrowly keeps himself from pumping his fists into the sky. “Try the potatoes!”

Ladybug leans forwards to dip the tines of her fork into the exquisitely satiny spuds and Chat holds his breath as she brings them to her lips.

This is the moment she’s going to fall in love with him!

thump thump

Tentatively, Ladybug opens her mouth.

thump thump

She slips the fork between her lips.

thump thump

Chat can hardly breathe as her eyes flutter closed.

“Oh wow.” Ladybug moans, driving her fork into the potatoes and shoveling an enormous helping into her mouth. “Thish ish so goo!”

Chat truly can’t help himself and starts giggling with glee, every nerve ending in his body firing as his heart nearly bursts in his chest. “I knew you’d like them!”

“I love them,” she gushes around another mouthful. “You have to teach me how to make them.”

“Or I could just make them for you again.” Chat grips the edge of the table so firmly that the wood creaks beneath his fingers. “You know, next time I make you dinner.”

To his absolute elated delight, she doesn’t even sass him. “Deal. But bring your own bowl next time, this one’s all mine.”

Their Christmas dinner lasts long into the evening, their teasing and laughing comments as breezy as the winds coming off the Seine. It’s safe here, just the two of them together, tucked away from prying eyes and miscreant moths looking for trouble. Through it all, she talks and tastes and laughs like an indefatigable hybrid of Brigitte Bardot and Aphrodite. There’s no doubt she looks at him differently now, the stars reflecting in her eyes no longer just the reflection of the fairy lights in their snowy igloo. His heart beats a thousand times a minute as she snags him by the wrist while he tidies their empty plates, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Dinner was amazing,” Ladybug says, still seated beneath him. “I can’t believe you made this all yourself.”

“Anything for you, M’Lady,” Chat breathes, his voice shaking from the heat of her touch.

“I’m not sure how to thank you.” Her eyes trail away for a moment and glance outside at the falling snow pooling around their dome. “Actually, I think I do.”

With a small, tentative smile, Ladybug tugs him down to her level and ruffles his hair when his jaw drops open at the sudden proximity. He’s helpless when she gets into his space and she knows it; it’s why she’s always got the upper hand whenever they’re together. He turns to jelly as her expression turns mischievous — he knows she’s up to something, but what? What could she possibly be thinking? Chat glances down at her lips before catching himself, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers once again.

“L-Ladybug?” Chat’s voice cracks, pitching up into the stratosphere. She giggles and he feels like dying and flying all at once.

“I think you deserve a well done kiss after all that hard work.” Ladybug tips her head to the side and grins as he begins to stammer and splutter all over himself. “But where? On your cheek? On your forehead?”

Gently, she wraps her fingers around his bell and steadies him, fully aware that he might just come crashing down on top of her. She hovers a hair’s breadth away and hesitates only for a moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It only lasts for a fleeting moment but Chat swears the world grinds to a halt on its axis, stealing the ground from his feet and the air in his lungs. She kissed him. She kissed him! She honest-to-goodness kissed him — by her own volition! On the lips! She kissed him on the lips with her mouth! Her lips touched his lips! They kissed! They kissed!! They kissed!!!

“Not that your reaction isn’t sweet enough,” Ladybug teases, bopping him on the nose to shake him out of his reverie, “But what’s for dessert, Kitty Cat?”

Chat Noir may be Paris’ number one cat hero, but tonight he’s nothing but a puddle in the wake of her smile. “One Christmas Frasier, coming right up!”

[the-melting-world]

Strength | Side B: “Chasing Dials”

Art by @ligiawrites

~ In which a secretive barhand brings in the new year…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar

Track Origins: “Chasing Dials” by Blanco White

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength

Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably

cw: alcohol, implications of vampirism, mentions of blood

~  2.3k words

***

Fireworks broke and rained hot glitter over the southern border of Center City and Goldgrave. A handful of bartenders were off duty and on the move.  

Khlee von Heine walked among them. She was the only one who hadn’t taken the time to change out of her work clothes. Her coworkers were loud, merry, and prone to recklessness as they stumbled from one pop-up bar crawl to the next. 

“Another year,” Gabe managed to roar over the next round of fireworks. “Can you believe we fucking did it?” He took a deep swig from the communal growler. The night was far from young and the barhands had lost track over how many times they refilled it. Gabe reluctantly handed it off to the next coworker so they could say their piece.

Khlee hung back in order to stand under a wooden arch whose sign was eclipsed in dead vines. But Khleo had committed its message to memory years ago.

Der Biergarten.

The plot of land overgrown in weeds and other invasive species was still up for sale, to Khleo’s relief. Though it was out of the way on most of her delivery routes, Khleo did her best to stop by every now and then. Just to make sure no one had bought up the property.

The barhand checked to see that her coworkers were distracted as she stepped up and snatched a flyer with the lot info off the gate. She folded it up and quickly tucked it in her pocket before the arm of a good friend looped around her neck. 

Basil leaned on Khleo as he pressed the convex surface of the growler against her sternum.

“Your turn.”

Khleo playfully shoved him off of her, but kept the growler. She took a sip. Basil and the other barhands chided her — she was supposed to make a toast.

“Fine. Fine.” Khleo held up the bottle. “To progress.”

They made a show of peering into the depths of the amber glass. “Maybe this year we’ll get lucky and actually make some, yeah?”

Someone snatched the growler out of their hand. Gwendolyn? Max? The streets were too dark to tell.

Khleo’s friends were off. They blended in with the city’s bar crawlers as they chased down the next booze cart. People wanted refills that night, not whatever Khleo was about to say next.

Later when Khleo had returned to her apartment, she traded her work clothes for something softer and more comfortable. Then she dug through the pocket of her discarded jacket and retrieved the folded up flyer.

It was a short walk from her kitchen to the bedroom. There was no bed frame or vanity, just three lumpy mattresses stacked on top of each other that she rescued from the alley when she first moved in.

The room was already small, but it felt even more congested thanks to the uneven piles of text, of which there two types — loose leaf recipes or pages ripped out of cookbooks and cheap serial novels with depictions of bejeweled dragons on the covers.

The only piece of real furniture around was an antique dresser, the drawers of which were broken and jutting out like crooked teeth.

All except one.

Khleo took a deep breath before crouching and using both hands to work the bottom drawer open. Like always, it did not come quietly, but with a little patience and a lot of swearing, Khleo managed to pull it out.

Most of the drawer’s contents belonged to her late adoptive father, Hans von Heine. However, it was an unmarked jar that Khleo reached for. She screwed it open and tucked the flyer for the piece of real estate between old flyers and newspaper clippings back when the garden used to host events. The jar had cash in it too. Whatever Khleo could spare went into the jar. Most of it came from what was left of her tips after paying rent, bills, and whoever she needed in order to keep certain people off her back and out of her business.

Khleo sealed the jar and did her best to ignore the tightness in her chest as she struggled to get the drawer to shut all the way. Once she had, she found that her breathing had become more than a little unsteady. It only got worse when she heard the fireworks going off outside.

Khleo shut their eyes and leaned their forehead against one of the crooked drawers, trying not to dwell too much on where they were this time last here. As it turned out, they were right here, drunk and crying at the foot of this very dresser.

Khleo curled up on their side. Yes, tonight their head was buzzing from the alcohol, somehow both heavy and light. Yes, the tears had found their way to the surface again. Khleo was never one to hold them in as long as they could find the space to spill them. 

Things would be different this year, Khleo told themself. They would make sure of it this time.

***

(Lucio’s POV)

Lucio hated the smell of this place. Rotting and damp. It was hard to believe that they were still in Vesuvia.

“You always have such a sour expression on your face whenever I come to feed. Why so, my Count?”

The silky, sardonic voice belonged to Lucio’s host, Quaestor Valdemar. 

“Don’t call me that,” Lucio snapped. He wanted to fold his arms and stifle some of the shivers running up his back, but he couldn’t as long as he was hooked up to Valdemar’s device.

“My apologies, Lucio,” Valdemar corrected themself coolly.

Another shiver climbed up Lucio’s neck as he bit back the urge to say, I don’t want to be called that either.

“Tell me, what plagues you?” They added with a chuckle. “Don’t you like your living arrangement?”

Ever since cutting a deal with the scientist turned demon, Lucio had been living out his days in the lowest cellar of the Lazaret. When he was first brought back from the Devil’s realm, he had been too weak to demand anything else. At the time, all he cared about was that he was alive and wouldn’t be devoured by the courtiers.

Lucio glanced at the tube looping around his forearm, its transparent pathways already inflated with his blood.

But at what cost?

Lucio grinded his teeth. It was too late to consider that now. 

This was how it always went anyway. Lucio would be presented with an opportunity — a way to improve what he could not on his own. He would leap at it, no questions asked.

Why, after all this time, after all those treacherous dealings could he not bring himself to stop and think things through?

As the last of Valdemar’s toll left his body, Lucio started to wonder what his mother might say about all of this. But he’d rather eat another shitty bargain than go down that road right now.

“Your contribution to our arrangement hasn’t been as satisfying compared to when we first began.”

“What are you trying to say?” Despite his nasty tone, Lucio was grateful for the distraction. “My blood’s not tasty enough for you?”

“It used to be,” Valdemar said. “I’ll be honest with you, Lucio, I agreed to keep you around as an energy reserve primarily for that reason. The notion of devouring you in one sitting and having to share with my dear contemporaries was not nearly as attractive as the possibility of having your flesh to dine on whenever I needed to during this indefinite campaign in your current reality.”

Lucio hissed as Valdemar unceremoniously removed the needle from his vein. He wasn’t sure how to react to what he had just heard. Thanks to Valdemar’s mask, all Lucio could read from their expression was the growing crow’s feet at the corners of their blood red eyes.

“So?”

Valdemar applied a cotton wad to the puncture wound and dug it in with their thumb.

“Ow! Hey – Owie!” Lucio yelped.

“So, my Count,” they sweetly clarified as they kept up the pressure, “I need you to find a way to restore that vitality you once possessed. Technically, you’re in peak physical health. I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but the evidence of your tussle with the plague has all but disappeared from your eyes. Your hair has been growing…” they took a moment to scan their critical gaze over the pale blond patches clinging to Lucio’s jaw. “You could easily blend in with the citizens.”

Lucio swallowed. “B-blend in? Why the devil would I want to blend in?”

Valdemar made a less than human sound as they peeled back their mask and bared their needle-sharp teeth at the former Count. 

“Right now you taste like a boneless, gutless, gill-infected inferior breed of mackerel. And I prefer to have rare, mercury-rich, vinegar-glazed bluefin tuna. Captivity is poisoning your blood. So I’m giving you permission to get out there in your beloved city and find a way to sweeten it.”

The Quaestor gave Lucio a not-so-gentle shove in his chair. They replaced their mask as they straightened up. The former Count’s eyes widened as he covered his hand over his arm. The last thing he wanted was to piss off Valdemar. But he didn’t know the first thing when it came to what they were asking him to do. 

“What happens if I can’t, erm… make my blood taste better? What if spending time in the city doesn’t work?”

The Quaestor sighed, their emotions back in check. They were already half occupied with cleaning their instruments and storing the sacks of Lucio’s blood in a portable cooler for later.

“Then I will have no choice but to invite my courtier companions over for a nice potluck dinner.” They glanced up. The crow’s feet were back. “And you’ll be the forgettable appetizer that no one asked for.”

Later, when Valdemar was kind enough to row Lucio across the stretch of water to the mainland, they suggested, “You should find some people who are very healthy. Outside of captivity, fish are the most robust when they’re in competition with other capable anatomies.”

Lucio hugged what was left of his royal uniform – a tattered speckled cape – around his shoulders. He grumbled, “Would you, for fuck’s sake, stop comparing me to a fish, Quaestor?”

Unperturbed, Valdemar said, “We’ve arrived.”

Lucio lowered his hood and blinked out at the morning overcast sky. His top lip curled into a distinctive snarl as he recognized where they were.

“Not here. Anywhere but here.”

Valdemar gestured to the nearest dock. “Get out, Lucio.”

The former Count wanted to blot out the images of the slumped architecture and purge his nostrils of the stale watery stench. 

“Not the Flooded District. I can’t stand this place. Can’t you see that it’s a failure that I don’t need reminding of?”

“Lucio, don’t be so foolish,” Valdemar said almost tenderly as they nudged him out of the boat. “The entire city is your failure. Much of which is hard to see. Oh, but it’s there. Now go on,” they said as if encouraging a child at the fairgrounds, “go find someone healthy. I’ll come to retrieve you in a fortnight’s time.”

Lucio couldn’t believe he was watching Valdemar row off into the mist. He tried to take a deep breath, but the air was so bad that he just ended up coughing. 

Even though Valdemar had been correct about Lucio’s appearance, looking nothing like he did in the days when he was the Count, he still found himself trying to crowd off his features with his hood any time a resident passed him by on the floating, rickety streets. But to his relief, no one seemed to know or even care about who he was or might be. 

As soon as Lucio relaxed his shoulders and began walking with more confidence, the inner walls of his stomach suddenly contracted. Then he remembered. He had just given blood. Lots of it. Usually, the Quaestor supplied him with something to eat, but this time they hadn’t.

“Damn them,” Lucio hissed. He cradled his abdomen like it was made of glass as he tried to make his way towards some kind of common plaza. He had no money, but perhaps he would be able to find a dumpster to rummage through.

He was passing by a narrow alley when he caught a glimpse of the impossible out of the corner of his eye.

A lion.

Its coat was creamy and short all over. Its size was nothing short of mythical. 

Lucio was tempted to shout at the two idiots occupying the alley with this beast on the loose, but they seemed both aware of its presence and entirely calm about it.

One of them was slumped against the wall of the grimy building. Despite their threadbare attire and weary expression, they were smiling at the other. 

“No, Khlee. Please don’t. You’ll be late for work.”

The person squatting before the first seemed to be focused on the task of sewing up what appeared to be rips in a heavy cloak. Even with their short jacket, Lucio could detect the shape of their arms. Their brown curls had enough volume to hide most of the details in their profile.

“Nah. I’m already late. This’ll only take a minute.”

There wasn’t much time to take in the rest of their features before the big cat stepped up, blocking Lucio’s view of them.

< Can I help you? >

Lucio ran. He nearly tripped over himself getting out of there so fast. But he didn’t go far. He gripped the edge of a building and poked his head out, waiting for the lioness and her human to emerge. When they finally did, Quaestor Valdemar’s words from earlier echoed in Lucio’s mind.

Go find someone healthy.

Well, the individual strolling confidently down the street with a full grown lion at their side was definitely looking like the healthy sort.

At the moment, Lucio wasn’t really thinking about what would happen to him if he failed Valdemar’s taste requirements.

Right now, his stomach was hurting. 

If the body of this lion tamer was any indication, they knew where Lucio could find himself a meal.

[365days365movies]

January 22, 2021: The Secret Garden (1993)

I KNOW that I’ve read this book. Right?

You know that book that you were supposed to read in middle school, and supposedly did read, but then don’t remember...AT ALL? Like, 5th, 6th grade, especially. Let’s see, there’s Island of the Blue Dolphins (vaguely remember that one), Where the Red Fern Grows (ugh, dog books. They all end the same), From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (kind of remember that one), Anne of Green Gables (nope, completely gone), The Phantom Tollbooth (inhabits my head rent-free 24-7; RIP Norton Juster, he signed a collector’s edition for me once), A Wrinkle in Time (ditto), Bridge to Terabithia (which I read when I was 8, so...yikes), The Indian and the Cupboard, so on and so forth.

The Secret Garden is totally one of those, right?

Gonna be honest with you guys, I remember NOTHING about this story. But, it’s a fantasy movie, it’s a British classic, it’s been made into a few films...I feel like I owe it to me child self to try and remember this thing. And hey, maybe this movie’ll jog those memories a little, right?

Well, let’s do it! Let’s just jump in! I’m in the mood for some gardening! Hell, it’s the perfect day for it, given that it’s the first day of spring! So, let’s go! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We start in an unexpected place: a desert. Apparently (and much to my surprise), this is India, the birthplace of Mary Lennox (Kate Maberly).

Mary is a 10-year-old English girl, unhappy with her life in India. Her father is always away, and her mother has parties, to which she’s never invited, and has never truly experienced love from them. She’s always angry, but can never cry, as she’s never learned how. But as unhappy as she is, she’s still greatly affected when a massive earthquake topples her home, and kills her parents. And with that, the orphaned Mary is set to England, where nobody is there to pick her up.

Until, of course, the late arrival of Mrs. Medlock (Maggie Smith), the head housekeeper of Mary’s uncle, Lord Craven. Mrs. Medlock is a harsh woman in her own right, and basically insults Mary RIGHT in front of her, and not even to her face. Jesus, this is a charming family, huh? They make their way to the expansive manor, where Mary also learns that her maternal aunt (and her mother’s twin sister) has died, leaving Craven bereft and broken.

The next morning, Mary gets a harsh awakening when she finds that she’s not going to get the pampering she’s been accustomed to for her entire life, nor is she likely to even meet her uncle at any point. It’s a massive change from India, that’s for sure. This is intensified by her exploration of the house, which she describes as dead, as if a spell was cast on it. And this place is indeed pretty spooky. Vast and expansive, yet empty and unused.

She stumbles upon her aunt’s room, identical to that of her late mother, and continues where wandering through the mansion. She hears someone crying, only to run into Mrs. Medlock, who tries to tell her that it’s only dogs that she heard, and hurriedly rushes her back to her room. Shortly afterwards, she meets Martha Sowerby (Laura Corssley), the kind young servant of Mrs. Medlock, and now the attendant for Mary herself.

Martha seems like a nice girl, but her first interaction with the stuck-up Mary goes poorly at first, with Martha’s very talkative mannerisms rubbing Mary the wrong way. But, after an argument, Mary acquiesces a bit, and Mary learns that her uncle will eventually want to speak with her. But when is...unknown.

One day, after learning about Martha’s younger brother Dickon, Mary is allowed to go outside to explore the grounds, and to find the garden. There, she finds a walled-in garden of ivy, which belonged to her late aunt that died 10 years prior. She learns this information from Ben Weatherstaff (Walter Sparrow), the gardener, who states that the only thing that gets in the garden now is a European robin (Erithacus rubecula). Which we had those here, but I still like American robins (Turdus migratorius).

As Mary tries to get information from the robin, a young man spies her talking to him, and runs away to a white horse. The next day, Martha gives Mary a jump rope, which she actually appreciates, once she learns how to use it. She goes out to the garden, where she meets the gardener and the robin again, and the robin has apparently decided to be friends with Mary, And so, I name this robin Christopher (a European robin), BECAUSE I CAN, DON’T @ ME

She again asks Christopher how to get into the Hundred-Acre Garden, and he takes her through the wall of the garden. However, she still cannot get past the gates, as there’s a lock needed. However, Mary goes back to the house and grabs it, as she’d previously discovered the key’s location. And so, she makes it into the garden.

Said garden is sadly mostly dead, but you can see the former splendor of the garden despite that. She makes her way through the dried plants, and finds a MASSIVE complex there. It was clearly quite the place ten years ago, and Mary agrees She even finds plants growing there again, as she and Christopher walk around. Also, are European robins not migratory? Because it seems like this is fall, and Christopher should’ve moved on by now. Just looked it up, and they’re apparently resident in England and Ireland. Go figure!

Mary keeps going back to the secret garden (ROLL CREDITS), and she one day meets Dickon (Andrew Knott), the younger brother of Martha, and a keeper on animals on the property. Upon seeing him speak with Robin, she reluctantly invites him to see the Secret Garden, as he claims that he can determine whether or not it’s alive. He can, and he does, and the two form a friendship in the garden.

We also learn from Dickon that Mary’s aunt died by accident, falling off of a swing in the garden, which we previously saw surrounded by dead leaves. Some good direction, that was.

That night, Mary has a dream about her mother, beckoning her into the garden when she’s only a baby. She wakes up from the dream, and hears the mysterious crying person from earlier, cascading down the hallways. About as curious as I am about this, she wanders around, and finds the source of the crying: Mary’s cousin, Colin Craven (Heydon Prowse).

Colin is the son of Lord Craven and Mary’s aunt, and a very melancholy young man. He can’t get any sleep, and when Mary has the idea to fetch Mrs. Medlock to help, he asks her not to, as she will not let the two talk, and he’s terrifically lonely. They share things about their mother, and about themselves. Colin’s a very troubled young man, who’s spent his whole life in bed. He’s also been told that his mother died in childbirth. Curious.

The next day, Mary and Dickon are again attending to the garden, and Mary shares that she’s met Colin, which very few people can claim. She continues to spend more time with Colin, who is convinced that he’s fated to die, and has never even learned to walk. Just like Mary, Colin has been spoiled all his life as well, and has been told how fragile he is all of his life. Medlock also insists that people wear masks whenever they’re...near him. Well. That’s terrifyingly relevant, innit?

Mary is nearly caught spending time with Colin, which is forbidden to all but a select few, and Martha discovers her instead. Both of them ask her to leave, so she can avoid being caught. Soon afterwards, Lord Craven returns to the estate, after having been away for a very long time. And FINALLY, Mary gets to meet Lord Archibald Craven (John Lynch), a deeply unhappy man who is extraordinarily melancholy as well. However, his spirits are slightly lifted when he meets Mary, who’s the spitting image of her mother and aunt.

During their somewhat awkward meeting, Mary manages to get the Lord to unknowingly give her the garden to plant her garden in. He states that he’ll again be leaving for the winter, and the excited Mary immediately goes to tell Dickon that they’ll be allowed to plant in the garden. Nature appears to comply, as it begins to rain to help the garden grow.

Mary continues to bond with both the down-to-earth Dickon, and the spoiled-rotten Colin. In the case of Colin, he’s also quite unhappy because his father never comes to see him. Mary learns that this is because his father is afraid to fall in love with him, and afraid to lose him like he lost his wife. But he actually regularly visits him, while Colin is asleep.

He leaves that night, and as soon as the spring is set to arrive. And arrive it does, and the garden grows even greater. Mary, at this point, has also mostly abandoned her previously spoiled and ill-tempered ways. But not her stubbornness, as seen when she gets Dickon to help rip off the boards from Colin’s windows, exposing him to the sun and opening the windows.

Mary goes to help Dickon, but Colin FREAKS THE FUCK OUT, throwing a massive fit that nobody can seem to stop. But Mary is DONE with his goddamn bullshit, and finally snaps him out of it. Just then, Medlock sees this and blames Martha for letting Mary in, slapping her in the face! Goddamn, Medlock! But Colin’s seemingly also had enough, and sends Mrs. Medlock out! She complies, although she fears that this will be the death of him.

Colin now realizes that he probably isn’t dying after al, and Mary now tells him about his mother’s garden. These stories invigorate Colin, and with the help of Mary and Dickon, he goes outside for the first time, and they take him to the The Secret Garden.

Also, can I just say, there are a FUCKTON of animals on this property, and I have no idea why. They’re DIckon’s animals, apparently, but there are a lot of animals there, just saying.

After quite a bit of hard work, Dickon and Mary have made the The Secret Garden something...well, frankly, kind of magical. It’s beautiful, especially now that spring has arrived, and it makes me want to go outside. Unfortunately, it’s fuckin’ 43 °F right now, and I have work in, like, an hour, so I’ll have to wait for a warm weekend.

Colin is as in love with the garden as I am, and wants to come back the next day. But their reverie is somewhat interrupted by the arrival of the gardener, who is surprised to see Colin out of the house, as he’d heard that he was completely unable to walk. And Colin disproves this by standing up in his chair, for possibly the first time. And from there, the group invites the gardener in the maintain the garden as well. Also, Colin starts to think that the garden is magic, and also sort of proposes to his cousin, which is weird (and Mary points this out), but whatever, moving on (for now).

They visit the garden over and over, and Colin eventually teaches himself to walk. He wants to show his father, but they don’t quite know how to find him. In snooping about for an address where they could find him, they find photographs of him and Colin’s mother, which then makes me realize...when does this movie take place? The original book by Frances Hodgson Burnett was written in 1911, and takes place at that time. And knowing that now, the fashions are pretty Edwardian England. Hadn’t really thought about it, but yeah, that seems about right.

They actually find an old camera and take pictures of each other. Also, there’s totally a scene where Mary and Dickon look at each other a liiiiiiittle too long, and Colin gets jealous, but WE’RE GONNA IGNORE THAT (FOR NOW) AND MOVE ON. Mrs. Medlock still believes that Colin’s sick, despite his insistence to the contrary, and forbids him to go to the garden. Mrs. Medlock is basically going through Munchhausen’s by Proxy at this point, and blooms into a full-fledged villain here.

Not that it matters too much, as the three kids eventually a way to escape. And they decide to try and summon Colin’s dad with...well, with a magic ritual. OK. They go to the garden, set a fire, and chant around it, with the intent to bring Lord Craven back to the manor via mystic means, so that Colin can show him his progress. But that’s not going to work...right?

Actualy...it might. Because Craven ends up having a dream of Lilias Craven (Irène Jacob), his late wife and Colin’s mother, whose name I only know NOW because of subtitles. In the dream, she is calling to him from the garden, and when Craven wakes up, he leaves without hesitation and heads back to the manor immediately, to the surprise of EVERYBODY.

Freaking the absolute fuck OUT, he goes to Mrs. Medlock to find his son, only to find that he’s no longer in his bed. Mrs. Medlock insists that Mary is killing Colin with her wild ways, and has no regard for his fragile state of being. He asks to be taken to her, and they discover that she’s also gone, having somehow escaped a locked room. And that is when Martha suggests that they’re in the garden.

Medlock insists that she’s done her absolute best, but Craven angrily rebukes her. She resigns on the spot, and breaks down on the stairs as Craven goes to find his son. Martha, even faithful and ever kind, comforts Mrs. Medlock, who really was trying her best, despite her rough ways of doing so. Meanwhile, Craven makes his way to the garden, where he finds his son walking and happily playing. He’s overjoyed by the sight of his totally fine son, and Colin is excited back. The father and son are FINALLY united.

But Mary is...less happy. As she sees Colin happily reunite with his father, she runs off, with Dickon in hot pursuit. She believes that nobody wants her, and that she’s now destined to be abandoned again. However, she’s eventually followed by Colin and Craven, and Craven asks why she’s so upset.

She believes that the garden will be closed again, now that Craven’s discovered it, and that she will be cast to the wayside. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth, as Craven welcomes both the garden and Mary into their family to stay. Which is...lovely. It’s quite frankly a lovely turn of events. Together, they head back to the manor, where Medlock gets to see Colin walking, which she actually didn’t believe was possible. The entire household is brought out of their melancholy, Medlock included. And the garden is now open permanently. And Mary closes us out with this line:

If you look the right way, the whole world is a garden.

...I’m not crying. I’m not. My eyes are a little misty, but I’m not crying. But, uh...I’m gonna go outside. That was The Secret Garden! See you in the Review.

[blanxkey]

the cardinal hits the window || 3.6k

lucas like hugs. he doesn’t get a lot of them, growing up.

for nat (@nachtumringt), who said: I would really like to read sth about touch sensitivity or being overwhelmed by emotions and sensations & then some tender caring and like, boundaries and comforting?

and, umm, somehow it got away from me and yet it’s neither of those things. but there are talks about boundaries and a meek attempt at comfort so,,,i’m sorry please enjoy.

read on ao3.

///

“you like it,” she says, eyes glimmering from the stars spun overhead. crying, he nods; he holds her tight.

his mama’s hands are warm where they press over his back. she gives good hugs, and she gives them freely. he likes that she does: her fingers in his hair where she scratches lightly, lovingly, gentle arms the only solace when he’s hurt, when it’s time for bed, when he needs it; even when he doesn’t. she doesn’t hold back, and neither does he. the vanilla of her hair is his favourite smell, maybe. it makes him feel safe.

her touch is warm, soothing. light. his father’s, on the other hand, is not.

he does not hug. doesn’t like to, lucas thinks. instead, he’s fond of giving a firm pat on the back, or rough handshakes, or a high five on a very rare occasion, all buddy-buddy slaps entirely not meant for a ten-year-old. his fingers are cool and clinical and commanding when they grip his arm, and they grip it often. lucas can only do too much to not shrug it off, to not recoil away from his touch.

his ways stand in such violent contrasts with his mum’s. he never curls up with them on the movie nights they have on saturdays, that’s just how he is, because he’s the same with his mum, as far as lucas knows. even when she becomes sick and dwindles away and does not get well again, he remains cold; he isn’t warm, never will be.

lucas has learned not to expect anything less than careful, meaningless touches.

  he gets used to it, to locking that part of himself away that still wants. that never learned how to stop. over the years, he’s been given little leave to express himself, and he learns how not to. to pull away, to never let his hand linger, to repress the memories of his mum’s touch and her hands. he’s never been the one to forget. lucas misses her, misses the warmth that usually settled in her hold, and in the cool vacancies of the night, everything is far more pronounced. but that kind of things barely let him breathe, leave him with a terrible ache in his chest. he has to learn to put them away.

he doesn’t find much warmth in his new home, or rather, his only home. his nights are spent awake in a bed that feels too big, with the bone-crushing knowledge that he does not even have a previous home to miss. he gazes wistfully at mika when he places his arm around lisa so carelessly, mindlessly. the way lisa snuggles closer to him on the couch. they learn to leave him out of it, because, well, it’s his fault, isn’t it? he’s grown so sensitive over the years that little touches come to him as a shock, especially when he’s not expecting them. so.

he pulls away when arthur moves to rest his chin on his shoulder. flinches, without meaning to, when mika reaches forward to what he can guess is ruffle his hair, too many times. and they take it as a hint to keep their hands to themselves, after a while, to not linger too much near him. they’ve assumed it’s the touching that bother him, he believes, and not the fact that it happens without intent or unexpectedly. it hurts, but no one says a word, so he doesn’t have to, either.

it’s easier this way.

  he doesn’t date much throughout high school. there are occasional flings, but he leaves too soon. before there can be any questions. the sex is great, mostly, it’s the after that makes him queasy. he’s never wanted to stay, anyway.

and then there is marc, who breaks up with him towards the end of summer, when he’s still trying to deal with the fact that college is starting in less than two weeks. marc’s whole face goes red when he says those words, as though he’s let them out accidently. they sound hollow, distant, but he doesn’t take them back.

“i’ve never been with someone who’s so distant after sex. during it, even,” he tells lucas, barely glancing in his eyes, stuttering throughout. the tight line of his narrow shoulders makes lucas want to reach out and touch him.

he merely shrugs, eyes averted.

“you’re doing it again. putting up a front,” marc says, in that soft voice he uses when he talks to his parent’s labrador. strangely enough, it stings. “i know something's wrong, but you won't talk to me. it’s not fair to me, lucas.”

and lucas wants to say – there’s nothing wrong. something does not have to be necessarily wrong for him for him to be like this. he wants to say that this is how he’s always been, how he’s cultivated to be. it’s just that the thought of being that physically close to someone without any intent makes him ache. he wants to. he doesn’t. and it’s another one of his faults.

it ends with a whispered apology from lucas, a promise of no hard feelings from marc. it ends, and it hurts. but it’s already ended before lucas can think about redeeming himself. and marc doesn’t take these words back. lucas isn’t sure if he really wants him to.

  the university life starts without much fanfare. it rains for a week straight, thunder and lightning draping over paris in a watery sheen. the nights take on a gray hue, shivery and mildly unpleasant in the residual heat. dried leaves adorn the sidewalks and the grounds, and there is always some other thing that’s dying. the taste of an approaching storm is too blatant on his tongue; a perennial chill in his fingers that never goes away. nights are the same with their sullen clouds. it makes him miss the sun, and strangely enough, the stars too.

somehow, lucas knows that none of them will make much difference.

he’s grown used to the feelings the thought of physical touch brings him. ache, longing, apprehension — it’s all there like an ugly monster; crowding in his chest and pressing against his ribs. feelings made of broken metaphors and similes; mindless little synonyms stuck in his throat. but he is not a poet, has never been.

still, there’s something to be said about the way eliott demaury makes him feel the first time he bumps into him, that very first day, and every other time after. he’s a year ahead of them, but he fits into lucas life as though he was always meant to be there. his smile is serene, pretty, those glimmers like stars in his eyes, ocean-clear and beautiful. an unnatural sort of charm in his voice. charcoal always stains the skin over his hands — lucas watches him run nervous fingers over the jut of his bottom lip, rub his thumb and forefinger together, and there’s charcoal. deep obsidian smudged at the edges of his fingertips, against the pale of his hand, on the underside of his jaw.

and the scent of forest and sunlight — it makes him feel like eliott might be warm.

  the days when the sun does appear are spent in the courtyard, leaning against a concrete wall which remains cold to touch, blending in with the contrived shades. they don’t stay around for long, though, because autumn has come with biting wind – all that cold, it makes for a saturnine landscape. they’ve grown used to spending what little time they have on their hands like houseplants reaching for the sun.

not too far away, someone sighs. “i missed it so much.” footsteps shuffle on the cobblestone. above him, against the faint sunlight, eliott stands, gaze soft, entirely affectionate. and maybe there’s irony hidden in those words, but lucas does not mind. “did you?” he asks. all around, it still smells like dirt and mud. a burn stretches itself across his lungs. eliott shrugs. “didn’t you?”

“our lucas misses the stars,” yann says, snickering from somewhere to his right. it has eliott looking away, but lucas just stares, and all he can see are the moles dotting the side of his face like little birds and the way the sun haloes around him.

“ah, well, same difference.” he turns to face him with the corners of his mouth curving up softly. “in a parallel universe, some other star is the sun.”

it’s so unexpected, the way he looks so sincere, that it has lucas sucking in a sharp breath. his words are pretty, deceptively so, flimsy in the way they make lucas hope. he blinks, flustered. “i didn’t take you for someone who believed in them.”

“we all have something we believe in,” the conviction in his voice is unnerving. his eyes twinkle. “maybe you don’t know me well enough.”

maybe there’s more truth to it than lucas likes to believe. maybe there are a million different things he really does not know about eliott. but he knows that smile. his voice. the pretty things his hands are able to create. his gentleness to his words. and it’s enough. a certain fondness makes home in his heart.

“parallel universes?” basile is saying. “it’s so cool, isn’t it, lucas?”

no words come, so he nods. there aren’t many things he could say, anyway.

   the first time eliott leans in and touches him, his body freezes up.

it starts, as it always does, with a jibe from basile, and soon it’s turning into meaningless banter. they’re standing outside the coffee shop they like to frequent at the end of each day, and lucas’ coffee isn’t hot enough to soothe his shivering body. his friends rise to the bait almost immediately; he tunes out most of it in favour of rubbing his hands together, and then arthur and basile are laughing, and yann is laughing with them.

eliott joins in, too, and he is bending forward, gripping lucas’ shoulder lightly as he laughs and laughs. it’s a pretty sound. his fingers don’t meet lucas’ skin, pressing just over the material of his scarf, but lucas recoils, panicking, heart beating all wrong. the sudden touch is too difficult to bear. eliott doesn’t seem to miss it; lucas watches him straightening up instantly, smile slipping. a speculative look adorns his features as he studies lucas’ face.

belatedly, he realizes that no one is laughing anymore.

“lucas—” yann steps forward, lucas steps back, quickly making to leave. eliott doesn’t say a word, but he watches him go. lucas wonders what he sees.

the second time never comes. eliott is careful, almost too careful, like maybe he doesn’t understand. but he doesn’t ask, and lucas never tells. eliott never makes another attempt to touch him, and it’s silly and it should not hurt. but it does. something pointy blooming in him, all-consuming, hot like the shame that floods his insides.

“you’re awfully quiet today,” eliott comments as they’re making their way to class. to lucas’ class; eliott doesn’t even study in the same building. today, yesterday, every day. the words echo with a strange sort of pain. “lucas—” it makes him stop and stumble. he turns, searching eliott’s face, thinking this is it.

“i don’t know what you mean,” he says. there’s panic bleeding through his voice. “—we’re here.”

eliott averts his eyes swiftly, apologetically. there’s something like hurt contorting his features. he nods and says, “we’re here.” and then, “see you, lucas.”

(back home, lucas feels the cold as it seeps through his bones. it’s relentless, still, lonely. he thinks about eliott and pain and eliott, and his friends all looking at him like he’s a weakling. he imagines eliott asking them about him, imagines everyone chuckling and saying things like, oh, you know our lucas. he’s a little fucked up like that.

guilt churns messily in his stomach. he shouldn’t even be thinking thoughts like these)

  september bleeds into october. nothing changes much beyond that. a certain chill infuses the air, sharp and biting as it always is. nighttime lengthens and drags, pressing through his windows with an inexorable hunger; it feels too slow. the rain still hasn’t found a rhythm. it falls and falls and falls over melancholy shades, flowers staying dead, soft thunder brooding overhead. it’s all the same.

the second time does come, just not in the way he’d been expecting it.

  the sun sets. it’s dark and cold when they make their way towards the party daphne has invited them to. a friend of my friend’s, she says, the house isn’t too far from lucas’ place, their breaths coming out in feathery swirls as they make their way over. he stays behind when everyone else moves towards the living room to dance, and then eliott finds him there, in the kitchen, as he’s nursing his beer and searching for an excuse to head home early. it’s loud and packed and it makes his skin crawl, but there’s also something feathery beating underneath his ribcage when eliott gives him one of his grins.

like maybe he understands.

“it’s getting crowded.” there’s something hesitant in eliott’s voice. “would you like to go somewhere else?”

he nods. “i’d like to get out of here.”

eliott leads him away from the kitchen and out towards the door. they pass by yann and basile and arthur as they cross the living room, all of them giving them exaggerated thumb-ups and not saying anything else. they gather their jackets and lucas’ scarf by the door and emerge out into the front porch. the night is dark, so dark and completely lacking colour, but it isn’t raining. he breathes out a little easily.

eliott pulls out a joint from behind his ear as they walk. he turns to glace over at lucas, at the way he fidgets with his hands, his eyes colourful and colourless all at once. “do you mind?” his voice echoes strangely in the night.

lucas shakes his head. “it’s fine.”

the streets are empty, lit only by the streetlamps; there are no stars out. they’ve started walking towards lucas’ flat-share without him realizing, and he watches, enthralled, as eliott lights the joint and takes a hit, cheeks hollowing out. the smoke he exhales curls upwards in the air before disappearing.

wordlessly, he passes the joint to lucas, holding it so their fingers don’t touch when lucas takes it from him. the smoke settles almost hesitantly in his chest. he coughs on it, weakly.

“we’re nearing your place,” eliott states, after the joint gets stubbed under his shoe, and it’s another thing he knows about lucas without having to ask. the thought should alarm him. it doesn’t. “can i ask you something? you don’t have to answer, of course.”

worry eats away at his edges. glancing up at the saturnine sky, he thinks, this is it. “go on.”

“do you mind me touching you?” there’s a soft hint of reluctance in eliott’s voice; it’s not a why, or a how, either, but the words are still sharp. he could choose to not answer. he could. it’s eliott after all, he’d understand.

“i—no,” he says instead, and because it’s eliott, he makes himself keep going. “no, it’s not that.”

eliott nods. keeps on walking forward. doesn’t say anything else.

it’s cold, so cold, and maybe it’s just that, or the way eliott seems to keep his distance. it must have been the warmth lucas knows eliott wicks off, but the words come out frantically. “it’s not the touching.” he stops, they both do. “or maybe it is. it’s also that it happens without any intent, and when i don’t expect it.”

there’s a moment of silence before eliott speaks. “okay.” the light in his eyes is burning, barely concealed.

“okay,” lucas says, letting out a breathy laugh, disbelief hidden in the layers. there’s not much to say after that.

soon enough they’re outside lucas’ flat, and then eliott’s stepping closer right into his space, his fingers hovering right in front of him, never touching.

“a strand of your hair is sticking up,” he murmurs, his stare burning through the cold. “can i?”

and lucas — he nods.

it’s not touching, not really, but he has to breathe deeply as eliott fixes the strand. “see you, lucas,” he says, like all those weeks before, and he’s already turning away before lucas can form any sentence.

it’s not touching, not really, but it’s the first gentle thing he’s ever allowed himself in what feels like forever.

  it shouldn’t come as a surprise when, after that night, it doesn’t become a thing. eliott doesn’t ask again, doesn’t come close enough that lucas has to back way. he’s always touching someone else, though: a hand to the crook of yann’s arm, playfully shoving arthur’s shoulder, ruffling his own hair often, like maybe his fingers are aching to hold something. it doesn’t stop lucas from wanting to reach out, his heart taking on an odd beat that only grows worse.

the carnival happens towards the end of november, when autum has already given way to winter and hard frost, the incongruous way with which it engraves itself over the ground. no one seems to mind it; lucas has long since stopped sharing how he really feels, because, well, his words are frayed and loose enough that they might run away, were he to set them free. he often wonders how long he can keep them in for.

it shouldn’t come as a surprise when they all end up going, when eliott asks, low and sure and not too long after, if lucas wants to leave. and, maybe, that has become a thing. it surprises him, however, when this time they end up at eliott’s place. he raids his fridge as lucas peruses the living room. there are sketches taped to the walls, and a piano pushed towards the corner, blending in with everything else. his place is cluttered, messy in a way that feels lived in. home. a small part of lucas envies him for it.

eliott comes out of the kitchen with two bottles. he’s smiling in that entirely soft way of his. “make yourself at home,” he comments, plopping down on the couch and placing the beers on the coffee table. lucas watches him tuck his hands under his legs. he’s restless.

lucas joins him soon after, close enough to touch, but there are still many inches between them. silence is all there is, neither of them willing to bite the bullet. he doesn’t know what he is here for. doesn’t know how much longer he can stay before leaving becomes necessary. he knows that, maybe, eliott wants to talk. maybe they’ll do that. that, or maybe, eliott will kiss him. he doesn’t know.

and it shouldn’t surprise him when the thought does not fill him with trepidation. he trusts eliott. completely, utterly, recklessly, he trusts him. it’s probably what makes him talk.

“i don’t touch, eliott,” he sniffs, aware that it’s not new information, not really. men didn’t touch without intent, that’s what he’s been taught. “sometimes i don’t want to. sometimes i can’t. i will never initiate, sometimes i’ll ask you to. but it — you do understand that it’s not something you can expect to change, or try to, don’t you? this is how it’s always been— how I’ve always been.”

he averts his gaze, body shrinking into itself, breathing weirdly. hands clenching in his lap, uncomfortable inside his skin, and he’s tired, so tired and cold, everything hurting. the beers stand forgotten, sweating improbably on the table. one of eliott’s hand twitches at his side. the lights glow a waning shade of white, so different from the moonlight, yet so similar in the way they wash eliott’s skin in plain ivory.

eliott doesn’t say anything for a long moment. glancing up, lucas sees him swallow. “i would never, lucas,” eliott says eventually. it’s so stiff that it startles him, and maybe there’s desperation bleeding through his voice. it breaks him. “i would never do that, you know that right?”

lucas looks at him, just looks. eliott looks back. his eyes are a haunting gray.

“eliott —”

“—unless you ask me to—”

“eliott,” he says again, voice wavering but it’s loud enough to drown the beating of his heart, colour burning on his cheeks, his ears. when it feels like he’s not going to fall apart — “my hands are cold.”

the statement hangs in the air for a moment. and then, eliott breathes out, almost like relief, a smile tugging the corners of his lips up, and when he shifts closer, minutely, a hand coming in front of him, he exhales too, his own smile pulling across his mouth. everything else seems to fall into place, feathery, alight. hopeful.

“i’m going to hold your hand now,” eliott breathes, “is that alright?”

he nods, sure. eliott’s smile is blinding, moon-like.

a hand reaches out towards his lap, before a fingertip traces delicately over the metacarpals, trailing down to his knuckles, his fingers, and then — and then eliott’s hand wraps around his own. it’s tender, so tender, like maybe eliott is a little skin-hungry himself. lucas inhales sharply, the sensation of eliott’s skin, the heat pouring out of it, the affection — it’s too much, but it’s not unpleasant. lucas watches it all, barely breathing, awed.

eliott demaury is careful with his words and his touch, and with everything else he is. careful in the way the night is with its assembly of stars, that is so unlike what lucas has always known, a certain gentleness in his bones. he pulls away, leaning back against the couch, sympathizing with the beer bottles standing bereft, but his heart is singing, flailing in the cage of his body. eliott leans back, lucas watches, his eyes shut closed, mouth curved up in a soft smile.

he lets out a breathy laugh, night curling around them, soaked in understanding and maybe-love in the heady proximity and it’s warm — warm, warm, warm.

[mageicalwishes]

Day 1, Found Family - New Traditions

The Gang start a new Festive tradition filled with love, laughter, music, food & fun.

Day 2, Distance - Say I Love You When You’re Not Listening

Baz reflects on the events of Wayward Son, and the hopelessness he feels. "A trip to try and save him - To save us. A last ditch effort to put some of the sunshine back in to his soul. Rammed together in economy, the press of his knee firm against mine, but his mind miles away. His eyes ever averted. Touching yet so far apart. I just wish I knew where I went wrong."

Day 3, Retellings - Changing History

The Mage's publicized documents reveal a myriad of painful truths about the loss of Natasha Grimm-Pitch and the origins of Simon Snow.

Day 4, Side Characters - Thawing Of A Heart

Malcolm & Daphne. “I’d always known that I would remarry eventually. It was my duty for the good of the family. Basil needed a mother. And I needed … someone. It was a simple, logical decision - To find a woman of good breeding, and give her the Grimm name. To carry on. But, through all my planning and preparation, I had never anticipated that I would fall in love. Never anticipated her."

Day 5, Sleepless - Tonight He Is Mine

"I can’t sleep. I can never sleep these days, not how I want to anyway - It's always either that I’m knocked out for 15 hours, waking up disoriented and heavy, or that I can barely catch a moment's rest. But today is different. My body is tired, and my mind is too. If I let myself, I’d be gone. But I won’t. I can’t. Tonight is my last night with Baz, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it."

Day 6, WLW - To Her, I Taste Of Nothing At All

Fiona & Ebb. "But then, before I even knew what was happening, she was kissing me back. And Crowley, I swear I melted. She tasted of cigarette smoke and spiced rum - Like fire personified."

Day 7, Animal(s) - Family Dog

My interpretation of ‘I was a 15-year-old closet case whose parents pretended they didn’t notice when the family dog disappeared’. “A shallow grave. So much less than she deserves. But … I can’t breathe. I can’t even think. I’m running on autopilot and adrenaline alone. Everything is just - I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how I got here. I'm losing control. I can't - I can't even look at her. She's still wrapped in my sheets. I can see her bleeding. I still want it. I still want more."

Day 8, Rain - From Across The Courtyard

"When I first met him, it was hammering it down. I was rushing to the main door in a desperate attempt to rescue my suede shoes, umbrella snagging against the wind, when I heard it - An impolite 'Oi! Are you new?'"

Day 9, Kids/Childhood - At The Top Of A Tower

Simon reflects on the few happy memories he made with Baz at Watford.

Day 10, Crossover - I’ll Give You The Stars

A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. “He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Day 11, Fluff - Keeping Warm

Simon & Baz spend a tentative first night together after the events of the forest fire. “He’s sighing against me, and sliding a hand up towards to my neck to hold me closer against him, and - Fuck. He’s freezing. I jolt backwards without meaning to. Staring down at him in awe - His pupils blown wide, and a faint (But definitely present) blush spread across his cheeks."

Day 12, Wings - The Guests Can Wait

"Weddings are even more exhausting than I had imagined. What with the panicked last minute search for Simon’s vows (Which ended up being in the mini-fridge of all places), and having to parade ourselves around all of our well-wishing friends and family. All I want to do was get him alone. To tell him, without the presence of a hundred witnesses, how much he means to me - How much the fact that we’re here, together, after everything, means to me."

Day 13, Below the Surface - Below The Surface

"Las Vegas is a sham of a city. Outside it’s all bright lights and glitzy shows - Normal magicians and celebrity chefs. But, beneath its shiny exterior, it’s nothing more than a grim desert, filled with counterfeit culture, and people burning through money they don’t really have. The Katherine is no exception."

Day 14, Constellation(s) - Mirror, Mirror

Simon struggles with his body image Post-Carry On. “Sometimes I just … get so mad at them (At myself, really). I wish that they’d just grow up and tell me like it is. Tell me how much I’ve disappointed them. Tell me that they no longer want me."

Day 15, Hurt/Comfort - First Aid

Simon cares for Baz's Buckshot wounds. Less angsty re-write of the scene in Wayward Son. “I glare at him - At his blackened under eyes, and matted hair. The slight hunch of his back. It does hurt. I know it does. Liar. I move my face closer to his, and breathe in his air. I want to hug him. To kiss him. To cheer him up, somehow. Make him better. But I can’t. I don’t know how. So, instead I step away. My hands dropping limply, to my sides."

Day 16, Meme/Crack - Baby, You Can Pick Me Up Any Day

Oovoo Javer? Oovoo Javer. AKA: Baz is Simon's slightly dickhead-ish Uber driver. “I kept trying to talk to him - Asking about his night, and whether he always listens to Classical music, or if it was just for show - but he ignored me. Staring unamusedly at me in the mirror, eyebrow raised and lips tilted downwards. He got 2 stars for that trip."

Day 17, Blanket Fort - Torch The Night-Filled Fort

Baz surprises Simon with a living room blanket fort transformation. “I turn to him, beaming. ‘Baz, what? What is this?’ He hums against me. ‘Blanket fort. You’re terribly inobservant, Snow.’ ‘Yeah, but … I mean, why?’ ‘Well, it’s been a year now since we left for America, and we’ve come a long way since then. Thought it was worth celebrating,’ he confesses, smiling shyly down at the floor.”

Day 18, Side Ships - You Got A Boyfriend?

Shepard & Penny. Shepard asks Penny a very important question (Well, in his mind, anyway).

Day 19, Misunderstanding - Wrong Bottle, Moron

Simon makes a VERY stupid mistake while showering. Cue, Baz coming to his rescue.

Day 20, Technology - Screenless

Baz and Simon have been chatting online for a year. It's finally time to meet IRL and take their relationship into HD reality.

Day 21, Warmth - Out In The Cold

Fangirl era. Simon and Baz get stuck in a snowstorm, and have to find a way to stay warm.

Day 22, Unlikely Friends - You’re My Bro

Shepard comes over to hang out with his bro ... Baz?

Day 23, Cooking/Baking - What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’?

Simon is making dinner. Baz is soft.

Day 24, Song - He Made It Easy, Darlin’

Simon & Baz struggle with trying to take the next step in their relationship. Inspired by Easy by Troye Sivan

Day 25, Parallel Universe - Parallelt Univers

Simon and Baz spend the day recovering in bed, after their first kiss. Inspired by the 'Parallel Universes' talk from Skam.

Day 26, Break - I Think We Should Break Up

Simon is trying to do what's right for Baz. Baz disagrees.

Day 27, Snowstorm - Searching In The Snow

Simon has lost his cat. So the only obvious choice is to hammer on his neighbour's door at 2AM ... And Baz is not impressed.

Day 28, Party - Festivities, Food, and Family. Chapter 1

"I’m over the bloody moon. After everything that happened after we left Watford, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever get to see this Snow - a truly joyful Snow - again. And it broke my heart. Yet, here we are, spending our fifth anniversary together, surrounded by friends and family in our own little London flat."

Day 29, Secret Santa/Gift Giving - Festivities, Food, and Family. Chapter 2

Day 30, Any Way the Wind Blows - Worst Road Trip ... Ever!

Shepard is NOT enjoying his trip back to England with the Gang. "I feel like a kid again, sat in the back of my mothers pick-up, hyped up on sugar, but belted down to the seat. Unable to run. Constantly being shushed."

Also huge thanks and praise goes to everyone involved in running the @carryon-countdown Countdown this year!!! I really enjoyed taking part :)

[starbornvalkyrie]

what we could be | part two

what we could be masterlist

Breathe. 

Breathe.

Brea--

Aelin retched again, unsure whether it was morning sickness or fear. Probably a little bit of both. Lysandra just held her hair and rubbed her back.

After a few minutes of silence, Aelin whispers, “Now, what do I do, Lys?” 

“Well, you don’t need to make any decisions right now. I’ll set up the guest room for you so you can sleep off some of this initial shock, yeah? Then tomorrow you and I can figure it out.” Aelin leaned against Lysandra's chest, unable to dull the roaring in her brain. “This time, Aelin, you are not alone. I will be with you every step of the way. Do you want to tell Aedion?”

That brought her to her senses a little bit, and she shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe once the initial shock has passed. One thing I don’t need right now is Aedion turning into a territorial Army bastard and booking the first flight to Wendlyn to beat Rowan to a pulp.” 

Lysandra laughed. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you a shower and then I’ll find some food for you to eat. Maybe some soup?”

“Let’s try tomato? I make no promises, though.” Aelin stood up and turned on the shower. Lysandra waited until Aelin was safely inside before leaving to find some tomato soup.

Left alone with her thoughts, Aelin let the water flow through her hair, down her back and face. She didn’t even know where to start, so she allowed herself to stand there and think of nothing. She allowed herself this shower to be numb, if just for a moment, because the fire in her heart was already burning.

Aelin didn’t know how to be a mother. She didn’t know much about pregnancy. Being an only child, she never had to babysit. What vitamins is she supposed to take? What if she has a boy?  She didn’t know what was going to happen with her senior thesis now.

She doesn’t know what Rowan will say, and that thought causes the most panic. She focuses on what she does know, instead.

She isn’t religious, but she knows abortion is not an option. She knows what happened to her own parents was unavoidable--a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time--but after Arobynn, she knows she will not subject this child to adoption. She knows that she doesn’t know anything about parenting.

But she’s going to learn.

Even if she had to do it alone.

The fire in her heart burned even brighter with the thought. Growing up, she was always passionate about what she did, from learning the piano to Tae Kwon Do. Her mother called her Fireheart for a reason.

When her parents died, she worried about her fire, her will, going out. But it must have been some innate force that kept it alive. Even when she was scared for her life in foster care, her fire never extinguished. It was the only thing she had to fuel her determination to make it out of there in one piece.

All her life, Aelin’s heart burned only for herself.

But not anymore.

Aelin allowed herself the shower to cry her shock away. Here, standing in the scalding spray, will she be weak and selfish for the last time. When she steps out of the shower, she’s going to sit down and make a plan and move on with her life. Whatever that means from here on out, she will do whatever it takes to make a life for her unborn baby.

Forty-five minutes later, Aelin walks into Lysandra’s kitchen wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants and a shirt that says “Army” on the chest. She can only assume her cousin left it behind.

A glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, and a bowl of basil tomato soup with bread on the side were already waiting for her. Lysandra was preparing something for herself at the stove. Before she sat down at the kitchen island, Aelin walked up to her friend and hugged her from behind.

Lysandra fiddled with something in the pan for a minute before turning off the burner and turning around to wrap Aelin in her arms.

Neither woman said anything for a few minutes. Aelin took in a deep breath and pulled away.

She waited until they were both seated at the table before speaking. “I’m going to keep the baby. I don’t know what that means with my relationship with Rowan, whether he wants to be a part of their life and mine. But no matter what, they will not be given up.”

“I support you completely with everything you decide. Do you know how you’re going to tell Rowan? Or when? He isn’t due back here until the end of the semester. I don’t want to push you, but by then, you might be showing already. Everyone will know, which means there’s a good chance he’ll find out from someone who isn’t you.”

Aelin nodded. “I know, I know. I did think about that already. I was thinking of telling him after my first doctor’s appointment? Once it’s confirmed and I have some sort of idea how to move forward medically, I’ll be a little more comfortable with explaining the situation to him.”

“Okay, that’s a great idea. Do you want to call and make an appointment now? The clinic should still be open.”

Aelin agreed and went to grab her phone. She was surprised to see so many notifications, she doesn’t have that many people she talks to on a regular basis. When she unlocked her phone to see who had been calling and texting her, her heart sank. It was already 4:30 in the afternoon, and she was supposed to meet Chaol at 4.

With furrowed brows that caused a look of confusion to appear on Lysandra’s face, she texted Chaol. The last text from him asked, Is everything okay?

She replied, I am so sorry. I felt awful after class today so I ran to a friend’s house. I’ve had my head stuck in the toilet for most of the day since then, I didn’t have my phone on me.

He didn’t take long to type a response. It’s okay, that’s understandable. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?

Aelin groaned at what a sweetheart he was and said, My friend Lysandra is on duty right now and is currently shoving soup down my throat as we speak, but thank you. Let’s take a rain check on that coffee?

I’d love that. Let me know if you need anything, and we’ll definitely talk when you feel better. I’ll do my best to get a copy of the notes in class for you in case you need to take the rest of the week off. Feel better, Aelin!

Aelin put down her phone and dropped her face to her hands. “I feel so terrible,” she said.

Lysandra’s mouth was full, but Aelin understood her when she asked what happened. She explained who Chaol was and how she was going to finally put herself back out there and go on a date. “But now I don’t know how to let him down easy without spilling my guts to him. Should I still reschedule?”

Her friend chewed and thought for a second. “I think you can get coffee with him, but after your appointment and after you tell Rowan. At that point, you should be able to figure out what information to give him. If anything, you can still be his friend.”

Satisfied with that answer, Aelin picked up her phone again to call the clinic. She put it on speaker for Lysandra to hear. A receptionist with a sweet voice named Evangeline asked her for some basic information to book her appointment.

“I do believe we are all set, Ms. Galathynius. I have you down for this Friday at 10AM. Since this is your first appointment for this pregnancy, we ask that you arrive at least thirty minutes in advance to fill out some paperwork and questionnaires. Will anyone be accompanying you?”

Aelin looked to Lysandra who nodded. “Yes, ma’am, a friend will be with me. Her name is Lysandra Ennar.”

“Sounds great, I will make sure she is on your approved list before you get here. We look forward to meeting with you, and congratulations!”

Aelin mumbled a thank you and hung up. Since Lysandra was the only one at this point to know she was pregnant, Aelin had yet to hear the word congratulations in regards to it. Evangeline sounded genuinely happy for her. It touched her a little more than it probably should. It gave her hope.

---

Friday morning came sooner than Aelin expected. The last day and a half were spent making lists and plans and researching. Aelin was really good at making lists and plans and researching.

Aelin was doing just that on her phone in the waiting room with Lysandra when the Medical Assistant called her back. Everyone was lit up with smiles when they saw her, and Aelin had to admit that eased her nerves.

They took her height, weight, and blood pressure, then instructed her to wait on the examination table for the doctor.

She and Lysandra were talking about how to tell Aedion about where they are this morning when there was a knock at the door and a beautiful woman with golden-brown skin and long, brown ringlets for hair walked in.

The woman shook both their hands and introduced herself as Dr. Yrene Towers. “It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Galathynius, and I’m so excited for you on this journey. We’re going to go over the paperwork you filled out in the waiting room, and I also have a series of questions I have to ask you as well.”

Dr. Towers sat at the computer next to the table and began logging into it. “Let me pull up your chart, and if at any point you have any questions, feel free to interrupt me. Does that sound good?”

Aelin nodded. “Great! So first things first, this says your last period started the 20th of December, putting you at about nine weeks along. This gives you an expected due date of… September 25th! We’ll be able to get a more accurate date when we get an ultrasound.”

Aelin beamed at Lysandra and reached over to hold her hand.

“After today, we will see you every four weeks to monitor the baby’s growth, run blood tests, and talk about your overall well-being.”

The rest of the appointment was great, Aelin warmed up to Dr. Towers immediately. So much so that when she switched to the next subject, Aelin didn’t shy away in the way she thought she might.

“I noticed that you didn't fill out the questions regarding paternity. It’s not completely necessary, but we like to know the health histories on both sides to get a better understanding of what your pregnancy will look like.”

Aelin bit her lip, then said, “I don't know anything about the father’s parents. I, uh, haven't even told him we’re having a baby. I’m not sure how involved he will be, either.” Lysandra squeezed her hand.

“I get it, Ms. Galathynius, and there is absolutely no pressure in regards to that. I’m satisfied knowing you have support in any form.” This time, Aelin squeezed Lysandra’s hand.”

Dr. Towers typed a few more notes on the computer, gave Aelin a few pamphlets regarding food and exercise, then instructed her to schedule her next appointment before leaving. 

By the end of the appointment, Aelin was in good spirit, that fire in her heart burning bright.

“If you have any questions or concerns before now and then, feel free to call us at any time. We always have a doctor on call after hours. I’m looking forward to being with you on this journey, Ms. Galathynius.” She extended her hand. 

Aelin shook it. Smiled. There was something about the way they interacted that told Aelin the seed of friendship beyond their doctor-patient had been planted. “Please, call me Aelin.”

“Only if you call me Yrene,” she said with a grin.

On the way home, Aelin told Lysandra she would make dinner for her and Aedion the next night so they can tell him together. She’d do it tonight, but she feels obligated to talk to Rowan before anyone else finds out.

She doesn't know how he will react, but her fireheart flickers with hope.

--

The next morning, Aelin woke up feeling better than she had all week. She felt like no matter what happens, she can take on the world. She was ready.

Before her mind could convince her otherwise, she picked up the phone and dialed the number she knows by heart.

The fire in her heart dimmed when a female voice answered, “Hello?”

tag list:

@maddymelv​ || @lucy617​ || @tillyrubes10​ || @faerie-queen-fireheart​ || @tottenhamboys20​ || @the-third-me​ || @superspiritfestival​ || @rolltide7​ || @courtofjurdan​ || @sleeping-and-books​ || @aelinchocolatelover​

[herbwicc]

Hi, was wondering if you knew of any good plant pots that aren’t necessarily pots? And how would I keep the drainage water from spreading lol

DO I EVER

For seed starters:

Ice cream cones.

Newspaper pots. If you're worried about it falling apart when you water it, remember that this is for seed starters and you shouldn't be drowning the soil when you water it. By the time it does start to fall apart is usually when it's time to transfer the seedlings :)

Toilet paper rolls.

Egg shells . I'm actually doing this one currently and it's going great! When it's time to transfer the seedlings, crush up the egg shell a bit. This one has an added bonus of calcium to your plant babies.

Reuse yogurt cups.

Also, if you're growing a certain fruit or vegetable from seed you got from the fruit/veggie yourself, use that fruit/veggie as a pot! Like starting bell pepper seeds IN half of a bell pepper itself! It'll start to decompose when it's time to transfer and it'll add nutrients for the seedling.

Can also use plastic cups of course!

For small plants/decorative plants:

Reuse tin cans.

Glue riverstones together to make a pot. This ones in Spanish so maybe translate if necessary.

Use a Colander. This ones neat because it already has drainage holes and handles to hang it up by.

In a wicker basket. (Video).

Vertical shoe organizer. I hate those DIYs of this where they put herbs or veggies in these... There's not enough space for herbs or veggies!!! Think smaller, decorative plants that will make your wall or porch just, look nice.

Cinder blocks.

Hypertufa planters. (Video). Hypertufa looks like concrete, but it's a mix of cement + soils and is much lighter! You can make a mold out of almost anything for endless shapes/designs. And the cement mix is much cheaper than one would think!

Recyclable grocery tote bags (video).

UNWAXED Canvas. In this video they bought the canvas fabric, but if you're like me and have lots of paint canvases that you said you would use and never did, just rip off the canvas fabric and sew it into a planter. It's important that you not use waxed canvas (as with some totes) so there's still airflow and drainage. You'll definitely know if it's waxed.

Wine bottles and glass bottles. Ok so I HATE that bottles don't have drainage holes and doing the layers of draining soil has never once worked for me. Here's a video for cutting wine bottles and here's one for making drainage holes in glass.

For bigger space:

Upcycle dresser drawers. The important thing with this one is to water proof it, which you can do with a spray sealant, and drill in some holes. This is what I have some of my veggie garden in and it's doing great :)

A bookshelf laid down. Same concept, make sure you water proof and drill holes. This is my next project coming up soon!

Plastic storage bins. Here's a 44 second video but it's seriously as easy as drilling some holes and filling it. I have 2 different kinds of tomatoes, basil, and 2 bell peppers in my storage bins and they're thriving!

Other plastic containers such as buckets, water jugs, trashcans, rain barrels, and olive barrels all work! Just drill in holes and you're good!

Burlap sacks, much bigger than tote bags. I'm dying to grow a big ol' cabbage in one of these, or maybe a lil lemon tree!

Laundry basket. In this video, she plants strawberries. My grandma has a wide laundry basket rather than tall, and she grows endless turmeric in hers :)

A bigger hypertufa would work too using two cardboard boxes as a mold!

A car tire, but I chose this link for the health considerations it discusses, give it a read before deciding what you want to plant in them.

And of course there's always !!!!!

Hydroponics

Which you can do in practically anything without having to worry about drainage holes.

Other than that, literally anything you can think of can likely be made into a planter as long as you cover the important factors: drainage and water resistance (to avoid mold)

As for catching water, any dish you can fit under will do! If you can lift it, you can also water it in the sink and let it soak out. *whispers but with Hydroponics you don't have to worry about that hmm* and for the bigger bois, such as the ones i use for my veggie garden, there's so much soil that it doesn't really leak to the bottom, it all gets used up.

[flappypineapples]

Escapism

"I need to get out". Cordelia burst through the doors of Anna's flat in a fury of red and emerald. Her hair had come undone and was now heavy with rain, sticking to the edges of her face. Infact all of Cordelia was soaked through to the bone. She had come through the building like thunder. Likely Anna's neighbors thought nothing of it; just another girl caught up in the storm of Anna's courtship. She rushed across the room and began to pace by the window, dragging in the cold air and rain after her.

"I know it may be too much to ask and I'm not even sure it's a day they're - er - you know holding it but I truly wish to just get out a little bit and oh-."

Cordelia had stopped pacing and came nose to nose with Matthew Fairchild. He was looking quite startled. Cordelia started.

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were...where is Anna?" She turnned away from Matthew, confused, and scanned the room.

"She's out on an errand", Matthew said still a bit blown back, "she should be home any time now. Cordelia what's happened?" Matthew stepped up to stand beside her, putting his hand on the crook of her arm. She shuddered and shrugged him off, clearly starting to shut herself away from him.

"Nothing's happened I just - I just wished to speak with Anna. She called on me for tea and and- oh god I can't lie to you Matthew it's James." A jolt of fear went through Matthew like an icicle, freezing him in place.

"He's not-"

"He's not hurt", she interupts "it's about him and I- no. It's about him and Grace actually". Cordelia takes a distracted seat on the loveseat closest to her.

"I found him and her in a...compromising position. I was coming home from training with Lucie and I just -". Once again the room is interupted by another presence at the door. Anna Lightwood walked in rather confidently, shaking rain from her hat.

"Matthew I do say it's pouring buckets out there, I feel as if God is crying for London. 'London, my greatest sin'. Matthew do you think- Cordelia?" Anna stopped mid thought as her head raised from removing her boots. Her long black eyelashes were still lightly dusted in rain drops as she blinked lazily from across the room.

"Cordelia my dear I beg your pardon I hadn't realized you were coming by. Though may I say it's not a wholey unwelcome surprise it is a surprise none the less. Would you like some rum cake? The most wonderful debutante dropped it off for me." Anna spoke as if a dripping wet and distressed girl in her flat living room was as common to her as putting on socks for the day, and perhaps Cordelia thought, it might be. She strode across the room loosening her necktie and disappearing into the kitchen.

"No actually, I came to ask a favor of you", Cordelia spoke surprisingly levely for having just worked herself up not moments before Anna walked in.

"Oh?" Anna poked her head out and raised a pointed brow at Cordelia.

"I'd like to visit the Hell Ruelle". It was stupidity simple statement to say out loud but Cordelia wanted to be clear in her intentions. She cursed herself for saying "visit" she thought it made her sound like a young girl wishing to see an extended relative in the country. But she stepped forward with her chin held high and repeated herself.

"I'd like to go to the Hell Ruelle and I'd like to go now". The directness of Cordelia's request seemed to peak Anna's interest. She emerged from the tiny kitchen with no rum cake and a kitchen rag. She handed the towel to Cordelia and smiled.

"That's quite a request, Matthew?" Matthew, almost completely forgotten, looked up inquisitively at Anna from behind Cordelia, "do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?"

"I was going to go home, get fantastically drunk and see if I could use my new pomade to make Oscar look like a Gibson girl but this sounds like it may be even more entertaining". Matthew replied with devilish intrest. Cordelia began to rummage through her hair for her remaining pins. She plucked them out hastily and started drying her hair with the kitchen towel.

Anna's eyes grazed over Cordelia's soaked attire, "Forgive me for asking but there isn't some noble alternative reason for this request? You're not seeking some information or making an arrest?"

Cordelia struggled for a second to come up with a convincing reason as to why she would desire to go to an art salon in the middle of the week out of no where.

"No, I simply wish to get out of the house. The last two trips I've made with you to the Hell Ruelle I have not fully been able to appreciate the experience." Cordelia shuddered thinking of her last trip and the whispering room... James's hands on the nape of Cordelia's neck and the way he kissed her. James's arms around her petit figure, his hands coming up to run through her silver hair-

"I just need to get out". It's what she had said when she first walked in to Matthew. Anna turned around again, waltzing through the kitchen to her bedroom and rummaged around. Cordelia wasn't sure what she fully meant by the statement herself. Did she simply want the escapsim of sensation or to get out of her emgamemt to James or get out of her own skin completly.

Anna emerged moments later with a velvet wine colored evening gown with black satin panels adorning the breast and waist.

"I never let a lady stay in wet clothes long." With a wink Anna wisked her away to her bedroom in a flurry of black and red, closing the door from the outside.

Cordelia layed the dress out on Anna's bed examining it. It was soft with a simple but flattering figure. She ran her hand over the silk and velvet feeling down and then up against the grain. She dressed with haste. Unclear on where to put to wet clothes she folded them up and placed them at the feet of Anna's bed on a large brown trunk. The dress was a little large around the waist and Cordelia took it as a blessing to loosen her corset a bit. Considering the atomosphere of the place she was aiming to attend and her distict lack of pins she decided against pinning her hair all the way up and settled for pinning the front of her hair in a crown around her head. Lastly she reached down and securely sheethed Cortana under her dress in it's back harness.

Cordelia opened the door of the bedroom to find Matthew seated on Anna's counter eating a slice of the afformentioned rum cake.

"Whoaht?" Matthew responded with a mouthful of cake. Cordelia couldn't help but chuckle and Matthew had to force is eyes away from the sight.

"Beautiful, Cordelia", Anna responded clapping her hands together and giving her a long glance over. "Now if you'll excuse me I think I'll change out of my own wet clothes. Matthew do keep Cordelia entertained while I find the right silk to go with tonight's hat." And with that she shut the door leaving her and Matthew once again alone in her tiny flat kitchen.

"Do you often waltz into into people's flats sopping with rain and demanding light debauchery? Because I think that's the kind of attitude I could get used to around here." Matthew had abandoned his now empty plate to the counter top beside him and was uncapping his metal flask.

"No this is a new trait of mine, and I'd like to point out that much like books no exciting things happen in the sunshine." Cordelia walked over to the small window over the dining table and thumbed a well groomed bonsai tree sitting in the window sill, another romantic gift from a lady she guessed. "Mr. Darcy didn't confess love in the sunshine, Jo March ran after Professor Bhaer in the pouring rain."

Matthew raised his eyes lazily over the rim of his flask and lowered it. "If I'm not mistaken it was raining when Dorian dumped Basil's body in the river as well."

"Well", Cordelia quipped back, "one would be hard pressed to find someone who would describe 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' as dull."

A catlike smile crawled across Matthew's lips and up his face crinkling his eyes, "I suppose you're right about that".

The door to Anna's room opened suddenly and with a flurry of silver and blue pinstripes. "Alright, let's go". She started forward with Matthew hopping down from the counter to follow suit.

Cordelia caught up quickly as they neared the front door. "So you decided to take me?"

Anna turned her head slightly to peer over her right shoulder, hand still on the doorknob. "Cordelia I decided the moment I walked in and saw that look in your eyes. Whatever you're battling you need not battle it alone and certainly not in its own domain. Now come on, the night grows darker and I long for a drink more with every passing incessant word out of Matthew's mouth".

"Hey! I've hardly even said anything!" Matthew interjected good naturedly.

"Yes Matthew but your thoughts are so loud and obnoxious I feel as if I'm thinking them for the both of us, now do seize those speedy thoughts and help me show Cordelia a good time. She looks as if she needs an escape and who am I to deny someone in such a radient dress a night out". Anna smiled smugly and opened the door.

And with that they were out into the damp cold night.

Notes: I haven't written anything outside of school in like 6 years and I haven't written a fanfiction since I was like 12 or 13 so forgive me for being a bit naive to the writing side of this website. I hope you enjoy :-). More to come soon.