#the prune tree is on it's last legs and the apple tree is very old

[artemistorm]

I've had a small jar of seeds in the fridge for 3 months to simulate winter (have to do that or they won't germinate) and I took them out of the fridge 2 days ago and within 24 hours they started sprouting and I'm sooo excited! They're apple seeds and prune seeds (Italian plums). I also have some rose seeds but non of them are showing signs of life yet.

[queerpyracy]

I hope it's ok to ask your farmer expertise for writing purposes? if a farm was abandoned for c. 2 weeks, with no one to care for the animals, how would the ones you are familiar / have experience with fare -- starve, break out of barns/enclosures, etc? I'll drop dollar in your ko-fi if u answer thx

i'm gonna put this under a cut both bc it's long and bc some of the content might be upsetting, general content warning for animal death and injury

so, what kind of farm infrastructure you have/how it was left is going to matter here

animals with outdoor access are going to have a much easier time getting out than those closed up in a barn, though if they are closed up they'll push on anything they can get to move and doors can come off tracks/hinges, a big enough and desperate enough animal will break a chain on a gate or break a latch on a door. (bulls, especially, are great for fucking up gates for less desperate reasons than thirst. we had a mature bull jump over a gate for horny reasons, and there is now a permanent bend in the top bar.) sometimes they even lift gates off their hinges, which isn’t a perfect way to get out bc cows don’t like walking over that kind of stuff but they will if they have to.

chickens aren't great fliers but they can get over fences pretty easy if there's not a roof in the way, so if they're penned but not in a coop, they'll get out to look for food and water. they'll have the easiest time food-wise (unless it's winter) but will also be the easiest for smaller predators (hawks, raccoons, foxes, skunks, coyotes, etc) to pick off. this'll depend on whether or not your hypothetical farm was abandoned during the day with chickens outside or at night when they were shut up in the coop for protection, in which case, unless your birds have access to two weeks worth of water, they're fucked. mine made it about 8 days on the water provided them when we had to evacuate because of wildfires, but they were topped off knowing we might not be able to get back to them and given extra water because of it. we're talking a 2 gallon covered water can + a coffee can for seven hens, it wasn't too hot, and they were almost dry when i was able to come home.

chickens might be able to make it without food for two weeks, but they might also start cannibalizing each other. this would probably start with a bird at the bottom of the pecking order getting injured and then the situation escalating from there. (this, by the way, doesn't happen unless chickens are under a lot of stress. like chickens are fucked up but i feel the need to be clear that this is not Normal chicken behavior. they will give each other minor injuries but cannibalism happens bc of extreme stress.) chickens will also kill small snakes and rodents.

chickens that are outside without being able to get back in their coop will find a tree or other elevated place to roost at night. chickens that are outside with access to their coop might choose to roost in their coop or outside. laying birds will also start to pick fun new secret places to lay their eggs, under bushes and such. even fed chickens will sometimes eat their own eggs, hungry chickens are absolutely likely to become routine egg eaters. extremely hungry chickens will stop laying.

roosters might be able to fend off skunks and raccoons, but hawks drop out of the sky* and anything much larger than a raccoon is going to devestate an unprotected flock. chickens that are outside in winter and can't get out of the cold are going to be vulnerable to frostbite, particularly their toes and combs. also: if a chicken gets wet down to its skin there is a very high likelihood it will get sick and die.

*hawks will kill a chicken but chickens are also generally too large for them to carry off, so they’ll leave most of the chicken where they found it.

a note on predators in general: you'll have to decide how aggressive they were before the humans were no longer around. where i am, the coyotes are pretty good about keeping their distance, but that's not true of every place, and if they were already a problem, they'll definitely increase their hunting in the absence of humans to keep them at bay. larger animals like cows and horses might be able to drive off or kill a coyote/dog or a small bear, but if they're contending with mountain lions that'll be more of a problem for them. not impossible to drive off/kill, but much more likely to successfully kill livestock.

i don't have much experience with sheep but a problematic dog can kill tons of them in a relatively short time so you can extrapolate from there. i can't think of anyway people tend to keep rabbits that wouldn't leave them dying of dehydration after a few days, unless they manage to pop a latch on their cage/hutch, but they too are going to be extremely vulnerable to predation, being small, unaccustomed to wild conditions, and possibly a highly visible color. domestic rabbits also can die of fright very easily. (my sister's rabbit, who survived a cow sitting on her cage and lived many years after, is an outlier and should not be counted.)

what kind of fencing you have is going to matter: cows don't give much of a shit about barbed wire fences even when they aren't thirsty and hungry, so that won't be much of a problem for them either. if the fence is old, they might push over a rotting post and get out that way. downed wires (barbed or otherwise) might result in an animal getting tangled up--they might be stuck or they might have a horrible ankle bracelet which will cut into them and get infected. they might break the wire from the fence, have a horrible ankle bracelet, and get stuck/tie up their back legs somewhere else.

electric fences are going to be a bit more problematic unless the power is down. cows (and i assume most other livestock) will go through an electric fence if the voltage is compromised in some way, which can happen just from having tall grass/weeds that get wet and short out the fence. if an animal gets tangled up in a hot electric fence and there's no one there to free it, then it's fucked. an electric fence isn't going to be hot enough to kill it fast, is the problem, just enough to make it harder to escape. (i had a rather frightening experience this last summer with a heifer getting her back legs tangled in a temporary wire. she's fine but she wouldn't have gotten out without my help and her legs didn't work for a couple of minutes, and she seemed kind of Off for weeks after that. you wouldn't know anything had happened to her, now.)

wire mesh fences are going to be the hardest to get out of. cow/hog panel fences can be busted where they're tied together/stapled to a post (especially, again, if the fence is old and the posts are decaying.) wooden fences they will just knock over or break through. hedges will be eaten and used for shelter. if for some reason this farm has stone walls that could be a problem for everything except maybe goats and chickens.

goats are escape artists anyway, as long as their horns to get stuck in anything/their feet don't get tangled up, they'll be out and roaming. they are smaller and thus more vulnerable to predators than larger livestock.

access to water is going to be the primary motivator in the short term and the thing that will kill shut-in animals the fastest, as for whether or not anything that manages to get outside will starve in two weeks time, that's going to depend on the season and place. the middle of winter in a place with snow and ice is going to be very hard, obviously, but if we're anywhere between spring and autumn and there is food to be had somewhere, then hungry animals will try to get to it. if they can't get out of fences, hunger might drive them to eat toxic plants they ordinarily avoid. how deadly that is to them depends on how toxic it is, how much is available for them to eat, and how big the animal is. a large cow can probably survive a few stems of tansy ragwort but not a field. (sheep, weirdly enough, can apparently eat young tansy ragwort plants without issue? again, not much experience with sheep but this fact has haunted me since i read it. tansy ragwort causes liver damage in almost everything but sheep, which die at the drop of a hat, Fine, I Guess.)

they'll also start chewing on things that aren't toxic but they might avoid for other reasons, like risking scratching up their nose by eating blackberry leaves, or lower branches of conifer trees. any branches of deciduous trees they can reach, if in leaf, will be one of the first things they go after. if they're regularly pastured under these trees, they'll already have pruned up the bottom branches to however high the tallest animal can reach. if it's autumn or after and there are apples or other fruit on the ground they'll absolutely clean those up, no matter how old--tho after two weeks anyone who finds the place will probably have missed the period of time in which there were drunk livestock. goats will also strip bark off trees, girdling and ultimately killing the tree.

if they can get out of fences they'll wander however far they need to go to find more food. how lucky they are again depends on the season and location. steep hills will provide more danger, especially if it's wet and slick. how regularly they return to the farm itself probably depends on where the water is and if there's better shelter there than anywhere else. (depending on how isolated your hypothetical farm is, wandering livestock might be the indicator that something is Wrong.)

if there are stores of grain laying around that ruminant livestock get into and gorge themselves on, they could get bloat and die that way. they'll also eat bedding straw if hungry, which isn't really nutritious, as long as it isn't covered in urine or feces. in a mixed species group of animals they're more likely to graze closer to/around the feces of other species than in their own. don't ask me why this is just something i've observed.

under severe stress like dehydration or hunger a lactating animal will dry up, which could have consequences for their offspring. if they're old enough to eat solid foods this isn't necessarily lethal, but could stunt their growth in the long term, or leave them more vulnerable to hypothermia bc of the decrease in calories.

some bullet points bc this is A Lot:

animals that are closed up in a barn/coop/etc are at a much higher risk of dying in under a two week time span than animals that aren't

thirst and lack of shelter will kill them faster than hunger

winter is going to in general be the most dangerous season for them to go two weeks without care

most livestock find ways to escape their holdings even when they aren't desperate

small and very young animals are going to in general be more vulnerable to weather and predation

that's about all i can think of off the top of my head, if you have any more questions i'm happy to help.

[vannahfanfics]

Greener Pastures

Category: Angst

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Characters: Link

Link awoke to the gentle crunch of his horse’s hooves against the dirt pathway and the whistling of the breeze rustling his hair. Blinking awake, he realized that he had dozed off atop the horse; his back ached when he straightened up, irritated from an hour or two of slumping forward in sleep. He grimaced as he stretched his arms over his head, trying to appease the burning in his inflamed muscles. As he did so, he cast a look around, wondering how far his horse had managed to travel while he napped. 

Hyrule Field stretched around him, long green grasses interspersed with trees and creeks and dilapidated buildings that once housed farmers or soldiers. A half-decayed fence lined the path on which Link’s horse was leisurely trotting, and the Hylian could see a gate swaying gently back and forth in the wind. After dropping his arms, he scooped up the reins to gently spur the horse into a quicker pace. The mare nickered and tossed her long blonde mane before obeying his command. He directed the horse through the gate before easing her to a halt, squinting around curiously as he slipped down from the saddle. He procured an apple for her to munch on before taking a few cautious steps forward, reaching for the hilt of his sword in case some Bokoblins had decided to make camp in the abandoned structure. 

The fence surrounded a spacious pasture. Wildflowers bloomed amongst the lush green grass, dotting the landscape with soft pastels of yellow and blue and white. A gnarled oak tree towered in the corner, spreading its leafy branches to the sky to soak up the bright sun rays spilling down from the heavens. A few other smaller trees were nestled against the fence, as well as some brambly bushes, but it seemed that mostly weeds had taken over the field. As he strode through the pasture, the aromatic tang of Hyrule herb and the sweet perfume of blossoms harmonized with the freshness of the grass and the scent of the loamy earth. 

On the left side of the pasture stood the charred ruins of a small ranch house. Link kept his grip on the hilt of his sword while he cautiously approached the dilapidated structure, though he couldn’t hear the characteristic grunts and growls of Bokoblins snuffling around the ruins. The door hung on by half a rusted hinge, knocking against the threshold in the wind. Dust filtered through the air, illuminated by the bright rays of sunlight spearing down from the cloudy sky. 

The wood groaned under his feet when he stepped into the house. The dust and fractals of light played over the pale blue of his tunic as he edged around a collapsed section of the roof. He squinted in the gloom, looking for anything that could be of use in his journey. His boots clunked on the wood, his steps throwing up clouds of dust, as he walked to a pot in the corner. He found soil and the long-dried remains of a houseplant. He turned to look at the shelf overlooking a fireplace, on which sat a single framed photo somehow untouched by time. He plucked it from the dust-laden shelf and ran his gloved hands over the glass, brushing away the dust to reveal the visage of a smiling young girl with blonde hair standing next to a horse. 

Something tugged at the recesses of his memory. Did he know this girl? The horse looked familiar as well; she was a gorgeous mare with a caramel coat and a blonde mane and tail, with a patch of white on her snout and blotching the bottoms of her legs just above her hooves. He stared at the photo for several minutes, but after nothing but the nagging suspicion that this ranch was known to him, he set the photo back onto the shelf and walked into the kitchen. 

After rooting around in the kitchen, the only relatively useful thing he discovered was a soup ladle and some dried prunes that were probably well past their expiration date. He walked out of the house with the soup ladle in hand, using the spoon end to bat at the fronds of grass and Hyrule herb growing in the pasture. He cast his gaze to his left to see several stable stalls attached to the side of the ranch house. He meandered over, peering into the stalls to find only old hay and weeds. Whatever horses had resided there had long since fled, and probably sired the wild horses galloping throughout Hyrule Field today. 

As Link went to turn, the sunlight caught on something metallic, making a glitter of light appear in the corners of his eyes. He looked back to see something peeking out from beneath a disarrayed bundle of hay in the middle stall. He tossed the soup ladle aside, no longer entertained by the wooden spoon, and approached the mysterious item gleaming within the stable.  

He kneeled down in the soot and dirt to gently brush away the bits of hay, revealing a gleaming bridle. Its golden accents still shone despite the layer of dirt and grime; Link smudged it away with his thumb to reveal its shining splendor. The purple fabric had long since faded into a dark grayish color, and the fibers were beginning to fray, even unraveling with Link’s gentle handling. As the sun spilled in through the charred gaps in the woods, it illuminated the royal crest that would sit in the center of the horse’s forehead. 

Yet there was something special about this crest; it was not the standard Triforce and winged emblem. A rendition of the Master Sword sliced perpendicularly through the three-triangle emblem. This bridle was made specifically for a knight of the Royal Armor unlike any other— for the Hylian champion’s steed. 

Epona, Link thought with a rueful smile as he brushed his hand over the crest. His beloved steed, the horse who had borne him in so many dangers. She danced before his eyes, a caramel mare with blonde hair rippling in the wind as she pranced among the grasses and wildflowers of Hyrule Field. She’d been born here at this very ranch, and Link had met her the day she came out of the womb. She’d been gifted to him when he was eight years old, and he’d watched her grow into a spirited, powerful steed. 

When he had been named Hylian champion, the rancher’s daughter had made him the special crest. She was a bit younger than Link, not a day over thirteen when she’d shyly presented her gift to him. “Starstruck,” Urbosa had joked at the girl’s shining eyes and bashful smile. None of them could have imagined then the things that bridle would see… the destruction to which it would bear witness. 

Link held the half-decayed bridle gently in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the crest to smear the sludge of one hundred years away. He’d taught Epona the way home early on, in case he never came back. He’d lost her in the chaos of Hyrule Castle and his endeavor to keep Zelda safe; like he’d taught her, she’d wandered back to the ranch. He let his fingers travel the length of the bridle, right up to where it was cleaved clean through by a blade. She’d always been a wily horse, he thought with a wry smile. 

He dropped the bridle and scooched forward a little, digging through the hay and dirt until his fingers caught something hard. His stomach churned in his belly as his hands dusted over the smooth white bone of a horse’s skull. 

So here she came, and here she stayed, he thought and closed his eyes. He pushed the dirt back over the bone; there was no need to disturb her grave any further. It was never in Epona’s nature to be free; down to the last, she was a war horse, a knight’s horse. When she’d realized that he wasn’t coming back, he wondered if she decided, too, to go to sleep. 

Except, unlike Link, it was a sleep from which she would never awaken. 

Sighing gently, Link picked up the bridle to press a kiss to the chipped emblem. It tasted of soot, and dirt, and gold, and memory. After holding it to his lips for several moments, he dug into the earth several inches and coiled the bridle up in the hole. As he did so, he revealed something that had been hidden underneath the layer of topsoil. He picked it from the earth, watching the dirt fall away to reveal a silver pendant with a charm in the shape of a prancing horse. 

“My mother made it for me before she died,” he heard the little girl’s voice ring in his head. He could see her smile, too, with a missing front tooth. “Mother loved horses. Daddy built this ranch just for her, and that’s why he keeps the horses even though she’s gone now. Mr. Knight, do you love horses, too?” 

He’d nodded with a small smile, and she’d wiggled her shoulders, that same bashful lilt on her lips as when he’d first met her. She was so young then, so full of life. Link closed his fist around the necklace and brought it to rest over his heart. Sleep seemed to have claimed her young life as well, far too early. She’d deserved to watch this ranch grow and prosper, to raise many horses, to fall in love and have children to pass the ranch onto, and then to live out her days riding in the hills. 

I am sorry I couldn’t protect your future, he lamented, opening his eyes slightly to peer at the hold with the bridle. After a second, he pulled it back out and ripped away the crest. After dropping both the shield-shaped piece of metal and the necklace into the pocket of his trousers, he covered up the hole, restoring the grave where Epona and the rancher’s daughter both rested in eternal slumber. I won’t fail you this time. I will bring a future that you would have loved, where you would have lived in peace. 

Link then stood, pausing to brush the dirt off his gloves, then wandered out of the stable ruins into the pasture. His horse had grown bored of waiting on the road and had wandered into the field to graze upon the sweet grasses. He smiled as he walked up to her; she nickered and nosed at his thigh, and he responded by gently patting her neck with a soothing sound. While he stroked her muscular body, he pulled out the necklace and crest. It took some finagling, but he managed to tie both of them into the bridle he’d gotten from a roadside stable. They both gleamed in the sunlight, resting just above his saddle. 

Sweet dreams, he thought while he looked at them. I cannot join you yet… I still have much to do. But one day… One day far, far in the future, I will finally sleep too. But not yet. He patted his horse, indicating for her to stay still, and then climbed up into the saddle. She knew that it was no longer time to graze, so she started heading back for the road while Link settled himself. The grasses fluttered and bobbed around her hooves. Link smiled and stroked her mane, which another stable girl had woven with flowers. 

For now, this mare had to bear him into many dangers, just like his trusted Epona once had. One day, though, hopefully one day soon… She could gaze in peace upon greener pastures, in a future one hundred years in the making.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[bethagain]

I wasn’t actually planning on this, but somehow I’ve been sucked into @drawlight‘s Good Omens advent calendar fic challenge. I was watching all the mistletoe fics go by, and while the many first-kiss fics are fluffy and lovely, my genfic-loving self couldn’t resist putting a different spin on things. No kisses here, but things do get a little schmoopy by the end. Also on AO3.

----

The Dose Makes the Poison

Warlock was a month shy of two years old and walking with more confidence every day. Nanny Ashtoreth, walking beside him on the way to the garden, had to bend a bit to hold his hand. The brim of her black sun hat tilted down toward the tiny child toddling at her knee.

They were on their way to the orchard, because entertaining a two year old indoors all day is boring. Also because Crowley fancied an apple. He’d always been intrigued by the variety of the things, by all the different combinations of tart and sweet. For something that was supposed to be forbidden to humans, God sure did spend a lot of energy coming up with different versions. Something to tempt just about everyone.

Or maybe She’d simply lost track of them. Crowley had long suspected that the evolution thing had been set into motion and then left to run wild. After all, you had to have a sense of humor to invent the elephant. There was that whole “man plans and God laughs” thing, but privately Crowley wasn’t sure She was actually all that funny.

He also thought it was a bit ridiculous that this one house should have such a huge garden and several dozen apple trees, all for exactly three people. (Eleven people, if you counted the staff. Not that the Dowlings ever did.) Whose fault that was, he had no idea. Maybe it was just a human thing. Same way some people got to own a Ferrari and some people took the bus.

The apple trees were old, gnarled, and heavy with red fruit. Here and there, a bunch of bright green mistletoe interrupted the shape of a branch, whitish berries standing out against shiny leaves.

Brother Francis, the gardener, was halfway up the nearest tree, feet planted on the middle rung of a ladder and a pair of pruning shears in his hands. 

The angel’s smile was so bright, Crowley wondered what he could possibly be looking at.

“Well, that’s adorable.” Aziraphale waved to Warlock, who stared up at him, mouth open and a bit of drool on his chin. “Holding Nanny’s hand, are you?”

Crowley’s lip curled into a growl. “Don’t have a choice,” he groused back. “He’ll wander off otherwise. Faceplant into a rosebush. Fall down the well.”

“Babies do take some watching,” Aziraphale agreed.

The baby, otherwise known (or so they thought) as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, pulled free of Crowley’s hand, lost his balance, and sat down in the grass with a soft thump. He patted the ground with his little palms, found a stray apple leaf, and put it in his mouth.

“Were you wanting a break?” Aziraphale offered. “I can watch him for a while.”

“You just want to teach him good things.”

“Of course I do.”

“Go on then.” Crowley patted Warlock on the head, and the toddler looked up at him with a gummy smile. “I’m getting an apple,” he said to Aziraphale. “You want one?”

Aziraphale crouched down beside Warlock, looking at him earnestly. “Shall we have an apple?” 

Warlock burbled at him. 

“Yes?” He called after Crowley, “Yes, we’ll have two.”

“Kid barely even has teeth yet,” Crowley grumbled, but he took a few moments to wander among the trees, looking for the brightest, best-looking apples. They all looked good, in fact, plump and shiny among healthy green leaves, in spite of the equally lush mistletoe living its parasitic life on the branches.

He wandered back a few minutes later, three perfect apples in his hands. He gave one to Aziraphale, set one in the grass in front of Warlock, and took a bite of the third. It had a nice crunch. Not too sweet, these ones. An appealing sourness in the background.

He used the hand holding the apple to point toward the trees. “You should trim that away,” he told Aziraphale. “The mistletoe. It’s a parasite. Sucks the life right out of them.”

Aziraphale swallowed his own bite of apple. “I suppose I should, but it’s so pretty. And it doesn’t seem to be harming anything.”

Crowley knew that guilty tone. “We’re not supposed to be calling attention to ourselves, Angel.”

Aziraphale shifted his posture. Looked away. Took another bite of apple.

“Angel.”

“Oh all right. Fine. No more miracles. I’ll trim it tomorrow.”

Crowley stretched out on the grass, long legs crossed at the ankles below the demure knee-length skirt. Aziraphale leaned back on his elbows. Between them, Warlock gummed at his apple, tiny front teeth making little furrows through its bright red peel.

“Humans have a thing with mistletoe, don’t they?” Aziraphale said, after a while.

“They do,” Crowley said. 

“A sort of romantic thing, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.” Crowley, in fact, knew all about it, because he was the one who had invented it. 

-----

300 years earlier

In a windowless room in one of the middle levels of Hell, a dozen demons sat around a conference table. Its scratched surface was littered with coffee mugs. The mugs were chipped and the coffee was cold. Crowley had made the mistake of adding creamer to his. Clumps of beige powder now floated on top, refusing to dissolve. 

Up above their heads, through layers of stone, earth, and spiritual darkness, horse-drawn carriages rattled along the streets of eighteenth century London. It was late December, the time of year when days were short, weather was cold, and tempers were easily frayed. 

At least Crowley’s chair still had both its arms. That didn’t quite make up, though, for the fact that the adjustable height didn’t adjust anymore. Crowley’s head was six inches lower than it ought to be. To his left, Ligur was six inches taller than he ought to be. On Crowley’s right, a demon whose name he’d never bothered to learn was trying to balance on a seat that was no longer properly attached to its base. 

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, lounged in the cushy executive chair at the table’s head. Their chair was at the exact right height. Their coffee cup steamed. 

Ligur’s demonic possessions of a dozen housewives had earned a round of applause. Merihem, who had tempted a cook to poison an entire banquet hall, had gotten a nod of approval. 

Crowley was the last to give his report. He sat straighter, trying to make up for the missing six inches. He’d done some good demonic activity this season, really he had. If a few of them were trades with Aziraphale, this crew didn’t need to know. Frame it right, and he’d get credit for tempting a father to go out for tobacco one night and never return. Never mind that the man was an abusive bastard.

He got full points, too, for leading a man into bigamy, against the marriage vows he’d made before God and man in London’s finest cathedral. If all three of them are now living together on a farm in northern Scotland, it’s nobody’s business but theirs. That one wasn’t even part of the Arrangement, it was just Crowley thumbing his nose at Her stupid rules--and breathing a sigh of relief when he got away with it.

He did have one thing he thought they’d genuinely get a kick out of. He thought it was particularly demonic. Right up their alley. “I invented a new Christmas thing.”

Beelzebub took a sip of coffee and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Go on, demon Crowley.”

Crowley reached into a jacket pocket and drew out a sprig of mistletoe. He had to stifle a giggle.  He was really, legitimately proud of this one. “They think it’s a symbol of love!”

He looked around the table, waiting for the response. 

Everyone stared back at him.

“They hang it above their doorways. If two humans stand under it, they have to kiss.”

Beelzebub tilted their head, set down their coffee. “Sszzzoo?”

“So, they think it’s romantic,” Crowley said, a little desperately.

Blank looks.

“It’s poisonous!” He shook the sprig of mistletoe at them. A few berries came loose and bounced their way across the table. “The berries make you sick to your stomach. If you make a tea out of the leaves, you’ll be nauseated. It makes your vision go blurry. Butterflies in your stomach, weak in the knees… Get it?”

They didn’t get it.

He couldn’t help grinning, even then. They’d get it when he told them. “It’s all the symptoms of unrequited love!”

Ligur leaned across Crowley to the demon on his other side, hissed, “I don’t get it.”

“And how,” said Beelzebub, “does that get us new soulszz?”

Crowley set the sprig of mistletoe down on the table. He smoothed the leaves, brushed a finger across the remaining berries. It didn’t. That wasn’t the point. The point was, it was funny. 

Wasn’t it?

-----

“That was very clever, my dear” Aziraphale said, when Crowley finished the story. 

“It’s all right,” Crowley said, “It’s not your thing. You’re all about the requited love, not the other kind.”

“It’s not as though I haven’t seen it. They do get so upset. It’s just like your poison, isn’t it. Not enough to kill them, but it does make them feel like they’re going to--” He trailed off. “Where’s the baby?”

Crowley sat up, looking around wildly. “You said you were watching him!”

“He can’t have gone far.” Aziraphale got to his feet, eyes scanning the grass around them. “Oh,” he said, relieved. “There he is. He’s just playing with the mistletoe.”

Warlock was there beside the nearest apple tree, about twenty meters away, wobbling a bit on his short little legs as he peered at a branch weighed down to the ground with ripe apples. A bright green bunch of mistletoe rested at the level of his head. He reached into it, tiny fingers grabbing a greenish-white berry that immediately went into his mouth. 

Demons can move very quickly when they need to. Crowley crossed the distance at a run, grabbing Warlock and plucking the berry from his mouth. Warlock immediately began to wail. 

Aziraphale snatched the crying toddler from his arms. He whispered something against his hair, and Warlock quieted. “You didn’t have to scare him like that.”

“He was eating the mistletoe!”

“You said it would just make him sick to his stomach.”

“That’s adults,” Crowley groaned, sinking to the ground as though his knees were giving out. “And only if you just eat a little. Higher doses will kill you.” He gestured weakly at Warlock, now sitting calmly in Aziraphale’s arms. “It doesn’t take much to make a big dose for a baby.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale looked horrified. “Why would you-- And they’re using it for Christmas decorations?”

“They were doing it anyway,” Crowley sighed. “I only added the romance part. And I didn’t make it poisonous in the first place,” he added. He pointed upward. “That wasn’t me, that was Her.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “Death by poisoning. I suppose that would have been one way to put an end to our problem.”

Crowley reached out and Aziraphale handed Warlock back over. The little boy snuggled up to his Nanny, who bounced him gently against her chest. “I suppose it would have been.” Nanny leaned her head down to look Warlock in the eyes. “You ready to go back to the house now?” 

Warlock giggled back at her. 

Nanny set him on his feet and reached down for a tiny hand. “See you later, Brother Francis.” The two of them walked back across the garden, toward the big house. Nanny had to bend down a bit to hold on to Warlock’s hand, the brim of her black sun hat tilted down toward the little boy toddling by her knee. 

Brother Francis watched them go. Then he crossed the grass back to the orchard, picked up the shears, and began pruning away the mistletoe. 

[arizaluca]

Stories and Costumes - Chapter 2

And here is the second part. Honestly, why am I doing this and not being productive doing something else?

Oh yeah. I’m sitting in a hotel room.

After a few minutes of cautiously poking at her surroundings to confirm that they were real (in other words, getting scratched by one of the thorn branches and nearly tripping over a gnarled tree root), she ended up looking at a bush with this weird fruit that looked kind of fuzzy. Think a peach, but about the size and shape of a strawberry.

Also the color of a blue raspberry Jolly Rancher.

“Didn’t realize little humans were interested in fuzzfruits.” A deep baritone issued from behind Allie, sounding rather smooth and calm.

“Fuzz-- no such thing,” Allie replied rather tersely, still crouching and looking at the fruit and trying to figure out what the heck it was.

“If there’s no such thing, then how are you looking at it?”

... he had a point there.

Allie reached out and took the... fuzzfruit, the stem of the fruit snapping the second she had it in a secure grip and resulting in her holding a blue fuzzy strawberry. “That’s kind of a lame name, don’t you think? I mean, at least call it a more creative name,” she said absentmindedly, turning to face the speaker-- and abruptly feeling her heart stop beating in her chest.

A wolf that was probably twice her height if he was on his hind legs with dull gray fur that was matted with something that Allie really didn’t want to think about even if this was some sort of weird fever dream and eyes that were the shade of the apple that was in the basket on her arm was sitting on the forest floor, tail ramrod straight as he leered at her in a way that would make most moms scream “Predator!” at him and then grab their kid and run away.

(Look at her, calmly describing this gigantic wolf. Honestly, she had no idea how she was processing this without screaming and running away.)

Dream. Dream. This had to be a dream. A Red Riding Hood themed dream, sure, but a dream. Or a nightmare, I guess, ‘cause the wolf was here.

“I mean, I suppose you have a point.” The wolf’s sneer grew more pronounced as his body slinked up off the ground, paws pacing himself forward as he stared at the thirteen-year-old girl, tongue flicking across black lips. “Though I don’t hear you offering any suggestions.”

Swallow. Allie was acutely aware that her throat was suddenly achieving desert-wasteland levels of dry. She was tempted to grab the bottle of prune juice and drink it, before dismissing it. She wasn’t that thirsty. “Uh... no, I guess not. Um, listen, I, I sort of had a prior engagement--”

Allie barely had time to cringe at the fact that she’d just used the words prior engagement before her back was slamming into hard dirt, basket bouncing and somehow not dumping its contents all over the ground, the fuzzfruit (seriously need a better name for that) clutched in a suddenly very sweaty palm.

The wolf’s lips peeled back in an angry snarl from where he was pressing her into the ground, paws resting on her shoulders. His voice somehow still sounded smooth, if not... menacing.

Very, very menacing.

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”

Dream. Dream. This is a dream.

A hot splotch of drool from the wolf’s lips dripped off, hitting her cheek and making her aware that his breath smelled like he smoked cigarettes 24/7.

This is a dream. This has to be a dream.

“Uh... would you care for a truffle?”

Don’t ask me why Allie asked this. Her brain had just totally short-circuited and now she was spitting out the first thing that came to her mind. Cue really, really poorly timed questions and silly responses to situations that most people in their right mind would never, ever do.

The wolf’s paw slapped the basket out of her hands, the wicker basket stinging her fingers from the force of how hard he’d slapped it into a bush somewhere behind her, snarl somehow growing more pronounced. “Good god, no, I hate truffles. Now answer me.”

Cue the good decisions train as Allie did the first thing that came to her-- her hand came up and slapped his nose. The wolf did the sensible thing, which was to jerk back, clap his hands (er... paws) to his nose, and say “Ow!”

Allie’s limbs started to move jerkily, propelling her backwards until one hand knocked the wicker basket the wolf had whacked out of her hands a few moments before. Said wolf was recovering from his surprise and glaring at her, teeth baring as he looked like he was about to snarl at her.

Panic mode promptly cued in, and Allie simply flung the strawberry... fuzzfruit... whatever the heck it was right at the wolf. Miraculously, her poor aim actually functioned this time, and said fuzzfruit went soaring straight into the wolf’s throat, as the wolf had coincidentally opened his mouth to snap at her.

He promptly choked and started pawing frantically at his throat, as if trying to keep from choking to death on a fuzzfruit. (Wow, that... would be a stupid thing to put on a tombstone.) His red eyes widened as he gagged, looking much like he would like to throw up.

Allie pawed through the basket that she’d recovered, finding a handful of truffles. Grabbing them out of the basket, along with the bottle of prune juice, she held them like they were ninja stars and not... well, a handful of fungi and prune juice. “Come any closer and I will not hesitate to throw this disgusting filth at you!” she shouted.

(Hm. That had sounded better in her head. Less dorky.)

The wolf was still trying to swallow the fuzzfruit as Allie gave an angry growl herself, lowering her ammunition and narrowing her green eyes at the wolf as her brain finally stopped short-circuiting. “Okay, look you stupid fur-face, this is a dream. I want to wake up. If you eating me is what it takes, then... fine, go ahead.”

He promptly made a grossed-out face in her direction. Which was a new experience, because Allie had not realized that wolves could make grossed-out faces. “Wh-- no! Ew! People taste disgusting, last thing I want to do is eat you!”

He gave a violent shudder, fur kind of standing on end like a cat’s momentarily. “No thank you! The heeeeeeck--”

Allie was about ninety percent sure the ‘heck’ had originally been a ruder word. This was a new experience, apparently this wolf knew swear words too.

“-- has gotten into you, Red?! You disappear for who knows how long and then you pop in and start acting--?”

“Excuse me excuse me excuse me-- what?!” Allie interrupted, one eyebrow shooting up. “Did you just call me Red?! Like Little Red Riding Hood?”

The wolf gave a scowl. Seriously, this wolf was making all sorts of facial expressions that Allie would’ve never expected. “Yes! Seriously, what’s going on with--?”

“Oh.” Allie abruptly calmed down here. It was a dream-- or a hallucination, or whatever-- so no point in getting mad now. “Uh... I’m not Little Red Riding Hood.”

His words didn’t fully make it out of his throat as his brain processed them, before the wolf cocked his head at her. “Oh, you’re not?”

“No. Why, do I look like her?” Allie paused and then gave him a weird look. “And if you’re the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood-- I am certainly hallucinating, by the way-- then shouldn’t you be trying to eat me?”

The wolf scrubbed at his head, a sheepish expression crossing his face as he gave the most awkward cough that Allie had ever heard. “Oh. Uh. That explains things.”

Upon clearing his throat, he gave his head a shake and gave Allie a sheepish smile. (Somehow. She was learning all sorts of things about facial expressions today.) “Er... no. We just reenact the whole Little Red Riding Hood nonsense.”

Allie nodded. Really, this was a dream. This was the most logical dream she’d had thus far in her life. Usually she had something about cats in her dreams, so this was really a refreshing change. “Mm-hm. I see.”

The wolf cocked his head at her again. “Uh... would you like me to explain things?” He paused again, rather awkwardly, before giving a toothy smile that somehow did not look predatory. “Er... I’ve got tea.”

“... are you inviting me to your area of residence for tea?”

Okay, maybe she was dumb for asking, but she was trying to reconcile this weird moment in her dream/hallucination/whatever-the-heck-this-was with normal logic.

A wolf...

Wanted to explain things to her...

Over tea.

"Um... yes.”

Allie blinked twice at this very eloquent response.

“Okay.”

Uh, so this was originally part of the first chapter in the original. That was dumb spacing. Here’s a ‘second chapter’ I guess.

Three notes on either the first or the second chapter and I’ll randomly upload extra chapters.

The original is crap.

... oh boy.

[prongsno]

For Every Broken Dream

Chapter One (read on ao3) {4557 words} ( chapter two) At seventeen, James Potter's only option is to work in service at the large Evans estate as a farmer. He can't mess this up- he needs it more than ever. Shame things are never as easy as we want them to be.

Amidst a heavy blanket of snow there stands a shivering James Potter. His shoes are weak and frayed, multiple holes give the bone-chilling muddy snow access to his already numbed toes. He shivers, it’s unforgivably cold and the chill bites at his skin but still he marches on.

He fights against the harsh winter elements and pulls his tattered jacket closer around his shaking body. Then he stares up, mouth half open in amazement, at the house sitting on the hills.

The Evans manor looms over the horizon. It’s almost threatening.  

It’s the largest house he has ever laid eyes on; extravagant and massive. Bright lights shine out of every window and hot smoke curls out of the dozens of chimneys, boastful and mocking.

It’s taunting him.

The closer and closer he gets to it the more… breathtaking it becomes.

It’s elegant and his saving grace, providing him with shelter, warmth, food and coin. And yet he has a terrible feeling that in some ways it will be like a prison. That it will, ultimately, also be his downfall.

He lets out a deep, shaky breath.

He needs the money, he needs to escape the madness, he needs… hope . And this opportunity rose out of the ashes like a God-send; he’d be a fool to pass it up. He could not mess this up. 

This was everything to him.

Working for the Evans family, that’s his life now.

“Potter, I presume?” An old woman with striking blue eyes looks him up and down.

He feels her stare, at the state of his mud-splattered trousers and at the drenched jacket. He has half a mind to tell her that he can’t exactly control the weather now, can he? If it was sunny he’d be in a better appearance.

“Yes ma’am.”

But he remembers why he’s here. He remembers how important this is to him. That he can’t mess this up.

He looks at the woman straight and hard, like how he’s been told. Respectful, yielding. He’s in the working world now.

He gives her a clumsy bow, long legs buckle as his back bends. His cap slides off his head almost like it’s flying and lands, gracefully, into the puddle by his feet.  

It’s the woman’s look of wild alarm as he grabs for it and squeezes out as much excess water as he can before placing it back over his windswept hair. But it’s also the precarious shadow of someone in one of the large windows, watching as the woman addresses herself as McGonagall, the housekeeper.

James feels somewhat on edge, like he’s in a lions den.

It’s when McGonagall turns away from the house and he follows after begrudgingly that he can still feel that stare on his back.

He gulps; uncertainty and fear cripples him. But he marches on.

Past the house, up the gravel pathway, and into the never-ending wood where the trees are so numerous and dense that in summer time you probably wouldn’t even be able to see the sky through it.

It’s about a ten minute walk before he’s met with the farmer’s fields.

There’s a thick scattering of frost, but he can make out the allotments filled with seeds and growing vegetables, apple trees and bushes surrounding the large farm that’s to the side. A quaint looking, but relatively decent-sized, cottage smiles at him from across the lane. Animal noises and sounds fill the air, it’s almost refreshing.

A plump and excited looking man stands waiting for them, a dog wags his bottle brush like tail non-stop by his feet.

“Mr Slughorn,” McGonagall states when they finally halt to a stop. “This is the boy.”

Slughorn takes James’ hands and he’s swept up into the most uncomfortable and yet pleasant hug imaginable. Calloused and rough hands then shake him, gigantic smiles and well-spoken wishes fill the air, that James is most welcome and that they’re now family.

The big dog lets out a happy woof, far too excited now by the prospect of making a new friend, and runs towards the newcomer. Dirty paws jump at him and then James is on the floor, laughing for what seems the first time in years as a smelly, wet tongue licks his face.

Despite everything, James finds himself grinning. 

As long as he tries to forget about what happened… as long as tries to forget about the large house acres away and the rich family who reside inside it, he thinks he’ll enjoy it here.

He gets used to the routine pretty quickly.

It’s a fast paced environment; he wakes up early and sleeps late and does chore after chore. But James wouldn’t change it for the world.

He feeds the chickens with a smile on his face, grooms the Captain Evans’ horses with care and even learns how to milk Myrtle (which he quickly dubs Mooing Myrtle, for the cow is always mooing about something).

Slughorn is also quite the character, forever getting into sticky situations to which James is forever and constantly helping the old man get out of. He’s like an old, embarrassing uncle which he’s never had and it’s suddenly as if he’s always been at the Evans estate.

The farm is like his home, the animals his friends and Slughorn the family member he needs now more than ever.

It’s peaceful and full of tranquillity and soon a day becomes a week, then a month and suddenly he finds that he’s been working at the farm for what feels like his whole life.

He’s never seen the family that live on the house on the hills and he's keen on keeping it that way.

He gives the food and milk to the servants, who then take it back to the house in old wooden carts. One servant, a sweet girl named Mary who he befriends quickly, speaks of nothing but high praise for the family. But he’s determined and stubborn.

No one with that much money is good.

He would much rather stay in the quaint little farm and block out the family living in luxury just on the other side of the field, thank you very much. And so that’s what he does.

There are other helpers and workers on the fields, but the main duties rely heavily on Slughorn, and thus, as his new apprentice, James too.

“You’re doing well, m’boy.” Slughorn beams up at James one day (he towers over the short man, but neither seem to mind).

It’s a fine, spring day when the two are out in the fields, checking on the strawberry plants and discussing the many uses of manure as a fertiliser.

“Thank you,” James grins and picks up a daisy, threading it through the top button hole of his shirt. “I never thought I would say this, sir, but… manure is so fascinating.”

“It really is, my dear boy!” The old farmer laughs and, with a shocking amount of force for such an old and small man, whacks him hard on the back. It brings tears to his eyes, but they’re happy.

“I needed a good chortle,” The old man smiles a little absently. “Say, how much do you think you’ve learned since coming here?”

“Quite a lot, sir.”

James begins to list off the duties he knows how to do by heart, bending his fingers as he ticks them off his mental list.

He admits that he’s still rather new to pruning and that shearing a sheep is his worst nightmare, but Slughorn doesn’t see that as a problem and brushes it off with a wave of his hand.

The man clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs, thinking how best to tell the lad.

“Listen, Potter.” Slughorn starts. “I have to run an errand. Just for a short while… can I leave the farm and the fields in your capable hands?”

James is nodding in an instant. Of course, he would have never been able to say no… but the thought of being in control of the farm and (hopefully) getting a few more coins out of it is certainly enticing.

“I’ve already sent word for someone to help you. Sirius, a young lad who lives nearby. He’s helped me on occasion and has kindly agreed to keep you company and to share the workload.” Slughorn smiles. “He’s a troublemaker, but no doubt the two of you will have immense fun. As long as you don’t neglect your duties to the farm then I have no problem. He’ll be here on the second day of my departure, alright?”

“You can count on me, sir.”

Throughout the following days Slughorn helps James with anything he needs, but the man says he has the utmost faith that he will do a good job.

Then the day finally arrives.

Slughorn puts on his ‘going out’ hat, gets his nicer looking walking stick and embraces him in a tight, father-like hug. He tells James he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but will send a letter once his errand is done.

Then he places a rake into James’ scruffy hands.

“Remember, Sirius will be here tomorrow to help. I’m depending on you, boy. Don’t let me down.”

He watches as the man hobbles down the lane, waving one last time before the trees block him from view. James waves the rake, feeling too many emotions at once.

And suddenly he’s alone.

It’s a feeling he hasn’t been used to in a while, since before it all happened. He loves and hates it at the same time; it’s unsettling but the fact that Sirius will be here tomorrow makes it slightly more bearable.

So, he decides today he’ll do his best to relax.

Should be easy.

As he walks up towards the vegetation fields he hums out a merry tune. The sun is hot against the back of his neck and he basks in the delightful southern heat. It’s far more pleasant than the horrible weather he’s been used to.

He closes his eyes and exhales. The peace he feels is so uplifting, it’s like he could float away into the clouds.

Breathing in that fresh air had at first seemed so utterly bizarre. He was used to smog and smoke; pollution and dirt everywhere, the tell-tale signs of a bustling, metropolitan city on the move.

But here the air is crisp and kind, the sky always clear and gentle. Here he can relax and not worry.

That is, until he notices a figure by the batch of strawberry plants. The figure clings suspiciously to a basket that’s full to the brim of flowers, whistling rather merrily as they help themselves to strawberries.

James lets out a furious gasp.

The strawberries that he has spent so much time and effort on. That he has laboured and loved over.

He breaks into a run and races towards them.

“Oi, thief!”

His voice rings throughout the fields, causing a few birds to scatter and flurry out of trees. The thief looks up in alarm then breaks into a sprint.

He swears under his breath and hurries after. His legs ache and his chest burns, but he picks up his speed. The thief is fast but James, thanks to all of the manual labour he’s been doing, has the edge.

He reaches out and, after a few failed attempts, finally catches hold of their thieving little basket and pulls with all his might. The handle rips off and maybe he didn’t think this through enough because suddenly the thief gives out a little yelp.

They trip over a stump in the ground then fall, face flat, into a patch of daisies.

He tries to slow down, but it’s no use. He widens his eyes, unable to stop himself, and flies forwards; he hits the thief’s back and falls forcefully on top.

“Ooof!”

Well, this is one way to catch a thief.

James has no time to check for injuries. The thief groans underneath him and tries to wriggle free but he quickly grabs hold of their arms and winds a leg around the theirs, keeping them locked underneath him.

“How dare you steal from this farm! What gives you the right?” He huffs, breathing heavily in the hopes that his racing heart will quickly calm down.

“I wasn’t stealing!” The thief says hotly… sounding extremely feminine and high pitched for a male.

James narrows his eyes and grips a little tighter. Then, with as much strength as he can manage, flips the thief over (surprisingly an incredibly easy thing to do).

The thief isn’t a man at all. It’s a woman.

James blinks and looks at the girl underneath him.

The strawberry thief…

...she’s blinding.

She’s a beautiful sunset. Soft like velvet against his skin.

Her bright red hair flows out onto grass around them, and wide, almond shaped green eyes look up at him. 

Freckles adorn her smooth looking skin, splattering across her cheeks and nose like a dusting of icing sugar on a victoria sponge (not that he’s ever had the honour of tasting such a delicacy but he’s seen the beautiful cakes through shop windows, when he’d press his nose against the glass, close his eyes and breathe in so heavily you could almost taste the sweetness on your tongue).

James swallows, suddenly unsure on what to do.

His hands still grip onto her tightly but he realises numbly that their bodies are pressed rather unceremoniously close together. He’s so close that he can hear her short gasps for breath amidst his own heavy breathing. Finally he breaks eye contact and nods towards the basket.

“What do you call that then, eh?” He asks, reaching out to grab hold of one of the plumper looking strawberries.

He waves it in her face. In return he receives a lethal looking scowl and eye-roll. The thief grumbles something under her breath then tries to wriggle free from under his grip.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what the hell you think you were doing.” He warns. “And why you’re in boy’s clothes.” He’s only just noticed and stares at her in shock.

She’s wearing an oversized button top and grey cotton trousers. And she’s barefoot.

He opens his mouth to comment on that too, (about how she’s a weird person because, aren’t there brambles and nettles in these parts?) but she huffs and stares up at him defiantly.

“Who even are you? Where’s Slughorn?”

“He’s off doing some errand, he left me in charge.”

He finds it slightly odd that the two of them are making conversation (if that is what you could call it, anyhow) in the bodily situation they’re in and tries his best not to blush. He can’t let the thief know, otherwise she’ll have the upper hand.

He’s never even really talked to a woman his age before, let alone be straddling a young lady and branding them as a strawberry thief.

“Aah.” She nods her head and gives him a smile that throws him off guard.

“So you’re the new protege?” She seems to have no problem whatsoever with the whole situation; she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and his heart skips a beat, his grip on her loosens.

She glances up at him, craning her neck to look at the rest of him.

“You’re a bit… well. Not what I was imagining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m extremely capable, thank you very much.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Strawberry Thief laughs and James has to breathe out slowly again.

He needs to keep his wits and remember that she’s committed a crime.

“I just thought you would be younger. More youthful-”

“I’m only seventeen.” James grumbles. “Not exactly a pensioner.”

When she laughs it’s exactly what he imagines Heaven to sound like. Like something in a dream, in a faraway land under shooting stars and beside hundreds of ancient, shimmering caves.

“Look,” The thief starts, catching his gaze. She smiles at him and this time it’s a sweet and genuine expression.

“If I promise not to run away can you, please, release me so we can both stand? Unless you like being in this kind of position-”

In an instant he lets go, like she’s burning metal in his hands. He hears her chuckle and avoids her eyes as he stands. She’s grinning like a mad-man, looking smugly at him, as he moves his chest back, untangles his legs and leaps upwards. Her smirk widens even more when he offers out his hand and she takes it without a second thought.

She’s tiny, only reaching the bottom of his neck and yet she almost outran him. James can’t believe it.

“What’s your name?” She asks as soon as her feet hit the soft grass.

“Uh… James. James Potter.” He drops her hand and scratches the back of his neck. He’s in foreign waters and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Well, James Potter.” Strawberry Thief nods. “It was fun, but I have to leave now.” She walks towards the basket and James gapes after her.

“Wait, what? I just caught you stealing those and now you think you can get away with it?”

He lunges for three of the berries that still scatter the ground, grabbing them just before she can.

“I have half a mind to report you and bring you to McGonagall. She’s the housekeeper of this estate and runs it for the family who own it.”

“Oh?” She asks, her eyes twinkling. “And what of the family?”

“Dunno. They’re just some poncy rich folk who have too much money on their hands.”

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s saying any of this to her… he could get in trouble for that.  And he’s caught her stealing, he’s just seen it with his own eyes, and yet… yet why is he so reluctant to do what he deems just? She’s just committed a crime.

She’s a thief.

“Then what’s the harm of me taking a few strawberries and flowers?”

He pauses, she’s caught him there. And they both know it.

She stares at him expectantly and folds her arms against her chest, waiting for his answer. He wishes he could wipe that smug look of her face but in the end all he does is sigh.

“Well…” He’s baffled. “I…”

Maybe this girl is poorer than he is. Maybe she’s having as much trouble with life as he was. She only wanted to pick a few harmless flowers and strawberries. Surely he isn't that cruel, right?

“I guess I can let you off this once.” He grimaces at his defeat, trying not to blush when she grins at him and her eyes shine like the stars.

“You can keep those.” She says, nodding to the bundle still in his hand. “For the trouble I caused.”

And with that she skips off down the lane that leads towards the estate.

James shakes his head and follows her with his gaze.

What a crazy woman. Hopefully he’ll never see her again.

Sirius, as Slughorn promised, arrives at the farm promptly at 8’oclock the following morning.

Tousled, messy black hair, bright grey, twinkling eyes. He’s biting a large red apple, chewing it loudly like a cow as he looks James up and down.

“I thought you’d be…” Sirius trails off, crunching into his apple once more. Juice dribbles onto his chin and he wipes his face with the rolled up sleeve of his blue shirt. “Younger?”

“Seriously? What’s wrong with me being the way I am?”

“Nothing!” Sirius lets out a merry hum and walks towards the farm. James has no choice but to reluctantly follow after him.

The lad grabs a spade and hands James the rake with a grin.

“It’s just, well. McGonagall must have really liked you. Usually apprentices are eleven or twelve, y’know old enough to learn and grow but young enough too… are you her son or something?”

“God, no!” James gasps. It’s like something has just stabbed at his heart. He gulps, trying to laugh off the pain. “I was just extremely lucky. At my old home we had a neighbour who was friends with someone whose brother’s wife is McGonagall.”

“Ah, okay. Do you miss your home a lot?”

A deeply personal question, one James isn’t sure if he should (or even could) answer.

“Well I…” He trails off, uncertain. “There isn’t much left for me there. But… yeah. Of course I miss it.”

Sirius nods, biting down the question on his lips.

“So!” He says, trying to brighten the mood. He twirls the spade as they enter the fields. “Have you met any of the Evans lot yet?”

“Honestly, I’ve been avoiding them as much as possible. I don’t really feel comfortable around… um… rich folk.” James says the two words with a grumble, glaring up at the sun as he wipes his forehead.

He misses Sirius’ startled look. That’s not the answer he was expecting. He forces out a huge yawn and stretches his arms up towards the sky.

“They’re not so bad, as far as rich people go anyways.”

As he talks, Sirius shows James a handy trick with the spade. And, once their chores are done, they trail down the fields, towards the farmyard.

They have to load the carts full of dairy produce for the manor today, something that James always hates doing but he’s relieved that he’s got help this time.

It’s Mary who waits by the lane as always, a sweet smile gracing her lips. She has the ability to brighten up any gloomy day and as soon as James sees her he can’t help but relax a little.

“Alright, Mary? Here’s the whats-its and what-nots as always,” James stops the cart, waiting for the other usual servant, Mr Diggory, to catch them all up.

“Afternoon James.” She smiles and gives him a friendly smile and nod. “Who’s your friend?” It’s when her eyes fall onto Sirius that a slight blush appears on her cheeks.

James grins and whacks Sirius, who’s pretending to be fascinated at the dairy produce, hard in the side.

“Sirius.” The boy almost belts out. He glares at James and then finally allows his eyes to fall onto the small girl standing in front of them.

She smiles hopefully at him, her cheeks a little blushed and her eyes full of wonder and hope. He grimaces and forces his gaze to fall onto Mr Diggory, who’s now exclaiming what a wonderful day it is.

“Ello lads, isn’t that sun glorious?” The man smiles and points to the magnificent sun that’s shining so brightly it’s like the manor is sparkling.

James supposes, rather begrudgingly, it is a beautiful sight. And perhaps, when he casts a sneaky glance towards Sirius, who has a tinge of red on his cheeks and is trying his hardest not to meet the gaze of the still awe-struck and bashful Mary, there are some other things in life that have beauty in them also.

Sirius is unusually quiet on their short walk back to the farm (in the short amount of hours James has known him it’s highly apparent that the boy can talk the hind legs off a donkey). He had said goodbye rather abruptly and loudly after the chore was done, forcing James to give a shocked (and definitely disappointed) Mary a sheepish smile as he told her he’d see her later.

What Sirius’ problem is, he has no idea. The boy is definitely handsome and he’s certain he has had his fair share of women showing an interest. But James isn’t one to pry.

“Hey.” He asks, finding it strange to see Sirius so silent. “So what can you tell me about the Evans family then?”

That seems to cheer him up and soon James is listening to an oral essay on the gentry and the manor house.

“The one to avoid is definitely the eldest daughter. Lady Petunia Evans. Horrid woman. She’s betrothed to this walrus of a man and they’re just the most dreadful people. The youngest daughter is nice though, Lady Lily.”

“Huh. I didn’t know they had any daughters.”

They reach the farm. Padfoot runs towards them, woofing happily. The canine jumps up at Sirius, who seems as excited to see the dog as the dog is to see him. Mooing Myrtle moos moodily in the distance, she’s getting a little restless.

“Have you worked here before, then?” James asks, nodding towards Padfoot who Sirius is now cradling in his arms like a giant, fluffy baby.

The boy freezes. “Here?”

“Padfoot’s acting like you’re his best friend. And Slughorn mentioned that you’ve helped him before. He said you lived nearby.”

Sirius lets out an awkward chuckle, puts down Padfoot and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, ha. I err, I just come by sometimes to help is all.”

“So are you from the estate nearby… what was it called again? Like a colour or something…” James grabs hold of a bucket and walks towards Myrtle.

He misses Sirius’ grimace. “Black. It’s the Black Manor.”

“Right. You work there?”

“I guess you could say that.” He grins.

They work in silence for a while, Myrtle seems a lot happier now and the pig Dolores snorts happily in her pen. But James still has that burning question and he finally lets it out.

“Do you get a lot of thieves around here?”

Sirius looks up in alarm. “Thieves? Like... highway men?”

“Like… um. Girls.”

“Girls?”

James nods, his cheeks hot. “There was a girl and she stole some strawberries.”

“Weird.” Sirius shrugs. “I’ve never heard of a strawberry thief around here.”

“She was weird. She was absolutely barmy. Wore boys clothes and was barefoot. I mean, who does that?”

“That is a very unusual thing… didn’t you ask for her name?”

“Ah… I um.” James drops a glass bottle and he moves his feet quickly away from the shattered glass.

Sirius snorts. “Lost your speech to her beauty, eh?”

“No!” They both know he’s lying.  James tries his best to ignore the boy’s suggestive eyebrows. “I err, she didn’t say her name-”

“Well, if she was stealing I doubt she’d give that away freely.”

“I let her go. I could have reported her to McGonagall… but I didn’t.” James scowls as he remembers her. How guilty he felt, how unsure he was. He picks up a daisy, threading the fragile flower through his fingers. “I kept thinking, ‘what if she’s as poor as me?’ and the guilt just gnawed inside at me.”

He doesn’t notice the strange way Sirius scratches his nose. Or the way he looks like he should say something, the boy opens his mouth, but closes it almost instantly. When James turns to look at him he just shrugs his shoulders innocently.

“Guess you won’t find out ‘till you see her again.”

“You think I will?”

The sun is setting behind them. The farmers fields look almost alight under the fierce glare and hot air swirls around them, caressing their faces.

“I bet she’s even closer than you think.” Is all Sirius says.

The two boys watch, Padfoot laid across the both of them, as the sun slowly sinks behind the hills. One day down, another is just about to begin.

[sharkspuppies-blog]

TOP 25 WASTED TIME QUOTES

"Another day nearer the battle, So drink up my lads and look brave, 'Cos every day nearer the battle Is another day nearer the grave."

A warriors' song of the Imperial Guard

"The green tide of Orkdom is upon us and we are alone.

There can be no mercy.

No surrender.

If we survive this day it will be a miracle." Commissar Yarrick at Armageddon

"Heresy is like a tree, its roots lie in the darkness whilst its leaves wave in the sun and to those who suspect nought it has an attractive and pleasing appearance. Truly, you can prune away its branches, or even cut the tree to the ground, but it will grow up again ever the stronger and ever more comely. Yet all awhile the root grows thick and black, gnawing at the bitter soil, drawing its nourishment from the darkness, and growing even greater and more deeply entrenched." The Chronicles of Horus Heresy

"The strong are strongest alone." Tyrant of Badab

"Listen but closely brothers, for my life's breath is all but spent. There shall come a time far from now when our Chapter itself is dying, even as I am now dying, and our foes shall gather to destroy us. Then my children, I shall listen for your call in whatever realm of death holds me, and come I shall, no matter what the laws of life and death forbid. At the end I will be there. For the final battle. For the Wolftime." Last words of Leman Russ

Primarch of the Space Wolves Chapter

Whoever speaketh of Cthulhu shall remember that he but seemeth dead, he sleeps, and yet he does not sleep, he has died and yet he is not dead, asleep and dead though he is, he shall rise again. Again it should be shown that

That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.

H.P. Lovecraft

"Mighty Messenger - Nyarlathothep from the world of Seven Suns To his earth place the Wood of N'gai, wither may come He Who Is Not to be Named"

Cthulhu Mythos

"They say foul beings of Old Times still lurk In dark forgotten corners of the world, And Gates still gape to loose, on certain nights, Shapes pent in Hell." Cthulhu Mythos

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island in the midst of black seas of infinity and it was not meant that we should voyage far. Some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality that we shall either go mad from the relevation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age. Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents." H.P Lovecraft, "Call of Cthulhu"

A war refugee sought the Master. He said, "You are wise and serene. Teach me to escape the horrors of this world."

And the Master blinded him with fire-irons.

The Book of Cataclysm

(from the computer game "Syndicate Wars")

Dont Miss to read quotes about wasting time

The people stood like corn in the high fields and listened to the Master. As the reaper's blade scythed them all, the Master fell silent. The lesson would be learned by others. The Book of Cataclysm (Syndicate Wars)

Flee fools, flee! Gandalf

The bees of Death are big and black, they buzz low and sombre, they keep their honey in combs of wax as white as altar candles. The honey is black as night, thick as sin and sweet as treacle. It is well known that eight clours make up white. But there are also eight colors of blackness, for those that have the seeing of them, and the hives of Death are among the black grass in the black orchard under the black-blossomed, ancient bouhts of trees that will, eventually, produce apples that ... put it like this ... probably won't be red. Terry Pratchett - (Faust) Eric

They were big and little creatures. Some were hairy with long, thin tails, and some had noses long as pokers. Some had bulging eyes and some had 20 toes. In they came -- crashing through the door, sliding down the chimney, crawling through the windows. They shouted and cried. They banged pots and pans. They twirled their tails and tapped their toes upon the wooden floor. He watched as the trolls gobbled the food and threw the plates and drank everything in sight. They continued to shout and scream, to scratch the walls and pound the floors and slap their tails upon the table. The tiny trolls were the worst of all. They screamed at the top of their lungs and pulled each others' tails. The Brothers Grimm

"The Antichrist will become a world leader even though he misuses his power. The root meanings of his names will give a clue of his destiny and what he is capable of. The name may sound somewhat barbaric to European ears. He will be influenced by old customs known in the literature but generally forgotten. [...] The Antichrist will be worse than Hitler. In ~1989 he's living in the Middle East. He is at a very crucial time in his life, when impressions will influence his future lifepath. Currently in the realm there is a lot of violence, political maneuvering, and corruption. The atmosphere is having an effect on him and he's coming to realize what his destiny is. [...] His followers will regard him as a religious figure. [...] He will gain immense world-wide power. Thursday will be an important day for him, he will take it as his day of worship. [...] There will be enormous warfare and bloodshed from his weapons, one "a monster borne of a very hideous beast". Hard radiation will cause gross deformities, terrible mutations in nature, in plants and animals as well as Mother Earth. In the period 1997 or 2001 there will be great pain and despair." "Prophecies of Nostradamus"

(Dolores Cannon)

AD&D; Spells Not Worth Memorizing

Acid Trip

Alamir's Fundamental Theorem

Anger God

Animate Bread

Anti-Magic Magic Missle

Become Dead (reverse of Resurrect Self)

Bigby's Clenched Teeth

Bigby's Critically Fumbling Hand

Bigby's Insulting Hand (the second finger is rather prominent)

Break the Wind

Change Elf

Charm Dead

Clear Audience (usually follows Delayed Blast Flatulence)

Create Coat Hanger

Cure Light Winds

Cure Smoked Ham

Deathwish

Detect Dead (Yep, he's dead alright...)

Detect Detect Spells

Detect Lightning Bolts (area: 5')

Detect Pervert

Detect Self

Drawmij's Instant Coffee (components: hot water and cup)

Enlightening Bolt

Enrage Dragon

ESPN

Evard's Blue Testicles

Explosive Friends

Feign Orgasm

Foreskin

Get Life

Globe of Vulnerability

Guess Alignment

Hair Extension I, II, III

Heel

Hold Bladder

Hold Self

Impress Plants

Improper Suggestion

Invisibility to Dead

Irritate Self

Kender Summoning I, II, III

Knock Knock

Legend Bore

Leomund's Grass Hut

Lightning Blot

Locate Right Hand

Maggot Missle

Magic Gristle

Mail of the Banshee

Melf's Acid Trip

Mildly Surprising Grasp

Mistaken Identify

Mordenkainen's Aroused Hound (can't get it off of the nearest leg)

Mordenkainen's Unfaithful Wife

Otto's Irresistible Disco-Duck

Part Hair

Phantasmal Fork

Power Word, NO!

Power Word, Puke

Protection from Self

Psychoanalyze Without Error (Zo, ven dit you shtop lofink your mutter?)

Rectum of Retention

Remove Hand (yours)

Reservation

Rest Erection

Resurrect Living

Sheepskin

Shocking Gasp (usually follows Tenser's Shocking Suggestion)

Silence of the Lambs, 15' radius

Speak With Self

Tasha's Controllable Mildly Unpleasant Laughter

Tasha's Uncontrollable Bladder

Tasha's Uncontrollable Hideous Flatulence

Teleport Without Destination

Teleport Without Terror

Tenser's Formatted Disk

Tenser's Shocking Suggestion (you want to WHAT??!)

Transmute Rock to Jazz

Unseen Manservant

Unseen Pervert

Wall of Dog

You Wish!

ZX-Spectral Force

Originally compiled by Bill Garrett and Nushae Siobhan Fahey (101 Spells Not Worth Memorizing)

Iä!! Iä!! Shub-Niggurath! Ygnaiih! Ygnaiih!

Without change something sleeps inside us and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken. Duke Lito Artreides, Dune

"Do you see no hope?"

"Hope is the denial of reality. It is the carrot dangled before the draft horse to keep him plodding along in a vain attempt to reach it." Tanis Half-Elven & Raistlin

"And the shadow fell upon the Land, and the World was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the world. The moon was as blood, and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead." Robert Jordan, "The Eye of The World

https://sharkspuppies.tumblr.com/post/167833965336/quotes-about-fantasy

[daveywankenobie]

(We continue our adventures in Wales with the final part – number three)

The evening after climbing Snowdon was unexpectedly painful. I’d expected my legs to hurt, but quite without warning when we got back to the hotel room after dinner something in my lower back went into a spasm and I was suddenly in real pain.

I ended up temporarily on my knees (quite literally) at the side of my bed trying to alleviate the discomfort – and thought I’d done myself a real injury. I’ve had problems with my lower back in the past and it still troubles me from time to time. After spraying on embrocation and taking paracetamol and ibuprofen it was still agony, however I was so tired that I fell fast asleep flat on my back shortly after (I couldn’t do that a year and a half ago!) and awoke several hours later feeling absolutely (and quite surprisingly) fine.

As well as my miraculous back recovery my legs weren’t the tortured pins of agony I was expecting them to be – and although I had some cramp when I moved around and they un-siezed I definitely had life left in them.

I’d set my alarm for 7am so that we could get down to the main hotel for breakfast. We’d missed it due to our early start the previous day – and upon arrival when I saw the choice I wasn’t disappointed. There were many slimming friendly options and I chose to have (to start) berries and natural yogurt with a couple prunes and peach slices sprinkled with a dessert spoonful of muesli.

The waiter then took an order for the main breakfast and I went for a poached egg with some smoked haddock – which arrived cooked to perfection. I left feeling pleasantly satisfied, but not overly full and we busied ourselves with getting ready to check out.

I have to be honest – I didn’t want to leave.

It seemed like a complete injustice to go home after just two nights with so much still just aching to be explored. Thankfully there was plenty of time left in the day and neither myself or my companion planned to waste it.

As I handed our keys in at reception I enquired whether or not it was ok to leave the car in front of the hotel for a few hours whilst we wandered off to explore a little more. One of the guests at breakfast had mentioned to me that by the road in front of the hotel there was a gate leading to a river side walk and a nearby copper mine (that I’d mentioned to him) that might be of interest.

Both me and my companion (who was also not completely crippled) felt pretty game for another walk so we made our way to the river.

This was a lovely shady (and well maintained) path to the nearby visitor attraction – and it was extremely relaxing to watch the fast moving (and quite swollen) river rushing past us as we twalked the morning away.

Before long we arrived at the mine – very very early for a Sunday – and we realised that we were pretty much the only ones there!

Instead of paying for a tour (it wasn’t that expensive it turned out later – £8.50 each) we decided to follow some of the marked walks nearby and initially started making our way up the mountain. However I think we took a wrong turn somewhere as the trail abruptly stopped at what turned out to be the exit to the mine’s guided tour and a rather lovely panoramic view.

At the exit to the mine was a gated metal turnstile – and inquisitively I checked whether it locked if you tried to go in. It turned out that it wasn’t – so (a bit cheekily) we had a look inside.

There wasn’t a lot to see at the end of the mine tour – just a really long tunnel – and we decided not to venture too far in (there were loads of signs about wearing hard hats and I’m not the type to needlessly tempt fate) but it was amazing just how much water was pouring out of the rock and how the temperature plummeted within just a few feet of the entrance.

Both my companion and I absolutely s**t ourselves when we turned the corner at the end of this long corridor and saw a mannequin behind a mine cart. In the dark the dummy looked real and he was staring right at us!

We headed (briskly) back outside into the warm sunshine and down past the visitor centre to see what else there was to do. Both of us still felt a bit crampy – but a flat stroll along the river to a nearby lake a mile or so away seemed like a nice alternative to the cold and wet mine.

We headed off along the route to see what was at the end.

As we made our way along the bank we saw a marshall in a high visibility vest standing by a gate. I said hello to him, but oddly he just looked at me, so we carried on. By the side of the path were occasional markers where someone had tied polythene signs saying ‘this way’.

We ignored them for the time being and continued along the peaceful path that wound it’s way along the valley.

It didn’t take long before we reached Llyndy Isaf – which is a large lake surrounded by woods, waterfalls and small boat houses. As we arrived a family with children were taking advantage of the opportunity for a free dip and there were a group of young boys all splashing about and having fun.

It seemed like a nice place to take a few ‘this is me and I’m here’ photos so we stopped for a moment to indulge in vanity!

Nearby there was the sound of rushing water, and there was a small stream that was feeding the lake.

We pushed our way through the bracken, hopped over a couple of rocks in the river and found ourselves in a lovely secluded little spot by a waterfall. If there was ever a place for a picnic in an idyllic location then this was it!

It was by now though (as we made our way back over the little stream and onto the path again) that we realised what the Marshall was staring at us for. The quiet, unspoiled walking paradise that we’d been ambling through was part of the route for a race from Llanberis to Snowdon.

Initially we’d seen a couple of (unrealistically fit and very muddy) runners flying past – but all of a sudden there were literally hundreds of them in small groups, meaning that we had to walk single file and keep stopping as they flew past us with various pained expressions.

After a while it got quite annoying, so when we saw a large stile over a wall that lead up the hillside into the forest we jumped at the chance to explore.

As this wound up the incline we realised that this wasn’t really a walking path as such – but more of an trodden route through tree roots and over boulders. It wasn’t an easy walk – but it was interesting and quieter than walking through a stampede.

After about 20 minutes of making our way up the hill – we found ourselves on the site of an old derelict stone cottage of some kind. There were three outlines of what looked like three very old buildings (clearly built before people thought windows were a cool idea) and we decided to have a look.

As we got closer it seemed that occasionally this place had seen a few campfires and there was evidence that someone had maybe toasted a few marshmallows – but otherwise it was an idyllic little oasis of green and calm half way up a hillside and completely hidden from view by the canopy of trees.

After looking around for a while we carried on up the hill – but things started to get a lot more overgrown and slippy.

Given that neither of us were completely fresh after climbing Snowdon the day before and hadn’t brought anything with us we decided that it was sensible to turn around – and instead to make our way back to the hotel and car to munch on our packed lunches.

There was after all still the little matter of a three and half hour drive home to contend with…

As we strolled back the torrents of runners just kept coming – and we even tried (and failed) to walk along the opposite bank of the river (there was a bridge next to the lake) in an attempt to get away from them. Sadly this just resulted in getting jammed up in head high bracken, but it made us laugh the whole way through, and we were still smiling as we once again crossed the river back onto the path full of runners.

Soon we were back at the hotel – and upon arrival we were greeted by the cutest and friendliest Staffordshire bull terrier who was sunning herself by the front door. She loved a good fuss and lots of patting and questions about ‘who’s a good girl?’

Strangely there was no answer – and  this question remains an enigma.

I popped to the loo and then myself and my companion sat outside for a while on the garden furniture munching on our boiled eggs, apples and muesli bars, drinking in the scenery one last time.

It had been the perfect end to a pretty perfect little holiday.

According to Apple Watch we’d both walked 28.5 miles in three days – and most of those were over some kind of gradient.

Now all that remains is to find out next weekend whether this has helped me lose any more pounds! I’ve tried to be good – but at the same time, boy did I have an appetite after our riverside walk.

The rest of this week will be all about getting back into the swing of normal exercise, cooking meals, not eating things out of packets and wrappers and making forward progress.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my Snowdonia experience internet – I know I certainly did!!!

If anyone fancies doing the same I really really recommend these guys – https://www.hfholidays.co.uk which owned the hotel we stayed at. Although we stayed there on a B&B basis only (paying less because of that) the other guests were getting the ‘whole’ experience with guided tours of the area and a variety of walking excursions each day.

(I’m not selling their services – nor do I get commission – they’re just nice people!)

Davey

  Snowdonia part 3 (We continue our adventures in Wales with the final part - number three) The evening after climbing Snowdon was unexpectedly painful.

[isaiahtate868-blog]

An Essential And Helpful Guide on Pruning Fruit Trees

So, it will not be incorrect if I state fruits trees are beneficial for all seasons. Just like any various other plants, fruit trees require unique care and also attention for optimum growth. Trimming fruit trees is necessary to remove dead and also diseased parts, while boosting development of new shoots. By doing so, you are enhancing sunlight infiltration and also giving room for advancement of brand-new efficient shoots.

Method Establish the form of the fruit trees, which will certainly make sure maximum fruit bearing for the variety. This action is vital due to the fact that an apple tree is pruned in a central leader system and a peach tree is best pruned in an open center system. In case, the old fruit tree still shows up jammed, think about reducing even more branches, while keeping a few of the healthy and balanced ones. While for trimming old fruit trees that are high, you will certainly need more innovative loppers, preferably telescopic pruners. Your best goal is to select 4 to five healthy main arm or legs that are spaced uniformly, while removing branches formed at slim crotch angles. Mentioned below are a few of the fruit tree trimming suggestions, which you could apply throughout fruit gardening: https://www.buzzle.com/articles/pruning-fruit-trees.html Growing and caring for healthy and balanced fruit trees is such a relaxing hobby, that you will certainly appreciate to the max. Throughout the non-fruiting time, the exuberant foliage gives a greenery touch in the yard. So, when to prune fruit trees? The optimal time for trimming fruit trees like apricots, plums, cherries is early spring of yearly, a period when they are still in their inactive or inactive state. In order to boost new shoot development, cut down all the dead and also diseased branches. All fruits trees must be pruned yearly throughout the inactive phase. The Best Ways To Trim Fruit Trees? Numerous fruit tree trimming techniques are used to boost the fruit return. In the former technique, the primary stem is kept and you reduced the lateral branches; whereas the main stem is pruned and also the side branches are provided importance in the last approach. Trimming Branches of Fruit Trees Initially, trim suckers (if any kind of), dead as well as infected branches. When the fruiting duration shows up, you will obtain to enjoy the blossoms, after which little fruits will create and also develop with time. To obtain an excellent yield, trim off the blossoms and also young fruits for the very first 2 fruiting seasons. Or else, you could use ladder as well as routine pruning saw to trim high branches. Fruit trees are mainly grown for their edible fruits, while a lot of them do boost the aesthetic value of any residence landscape style. And also with this valuable overview of prune fruit trees, I wish you will certainly be successful in preserving healthy and balanced fruit trees in your yard as well as collecting a good yield yearly. Furthermore, timely trimming lowers the threat of developing weak branches, hence lessening their damage due to fruit tons and also harsh ecological problems. Weak and also infected branches could be eliminated at any kind of time of the year. Called for Supplies In order to cut the branches of young fruit trees, you call for proper yard tools, particularly, secateurs as well as loppers (or pruning saw). Besides providing enough nutrients as well as optimal development problems, you require to cut the branches at regular periods. In both situations, you will see quick healing of the trimming injuries. While wintertime is best to trim pear and apple trees. Correct Time Sometimes, we discover horticulture specialists highlighting value of timely and normal pruning of plants. Hence, unlike trimming decorative plants to offer cover shape, fruit trees pruning is targeted at regulating their development and also at the very same time, minimizing condition invasions. Trimming Old Fruit Trees Old fruit trees, the name itself provides an impression of large, neglected trees. In the beginning of development, you must also get rid of sagging branches and also inward growing branches. Imagine the elegance of a properly maintained orchard with fruit trees all over. In short, proper approaches of trimming as well as training fruit trees are vital to make sure high efficiency and also longevity