#i planted some petunias with the seeds i got last year

[kawaiianimeredhead]

I planted some seeds last week and I knew most of what I planted but one seeds packet I got from a baby shower and it was just labeled "wild flower mix" and boy did it look like a whole lot of different seeds I didn't know

And when looking up a rough Google of what seeds grow fast I determined the earliest I'd start seeing sprouts would be today. And low and behold I have itty bitty leaves in one of the pots! But unfortunately in the pot where I don't know what it is because I just dumped some of the mix in it lmao

They're outside so I've been worried they're getting too dry now that it's warmer out. But this gives me hope I did ok watering them. But it also makes me impatient because I wanna see more and double confirm I did ok lmao. Also because it's outside. There's a chance it's a weed but i am like fairly sure it's not? So that also has me concerned?

And yeah

[audible-smiles]

Last spring, when I finally moved into a place with a deck and some sun, my family got me a selection of garden center annuals to put in planters; pansies, petunias, lantana, verbena, etc. I figured since they’re always sold as starts, they must be a bit tricky to grow from seed? But this year, on the ground below the porch, I found these guys:

The pansies have escaped captivity! I probably shouldn’t let them live, because they’ll just set seed again and establish in the nearby native plant bed where I don’t want them, but they were a charming surprise.

[songofsaraneth]

I've been meaning to make a container garden update post for weeks now, but health/life kept getting in the way. So these photos are taken within the last week-ish but I've been getting it all set up over the last month! Including finally getting through the last of my rain barrel so I could scrub and rinse it out.

First major thing is I finally bit the bullet and bought the expensive porch loveseat of my dreams. I've been wanting a little couch or egg chair out there for 2.5 years but nothing ever appeared secondhand, and they're SO expensive. But finally there was a half off sale and so I went for this one from target. The best part about having that wicker back means I can use an umbrella or clip fabric to it as a shade cloth, and since it's already almost 90ºF here, that's a big motivator for spending time outside. Anyway here’s the breakdown of what I’ve got in now. Text and photos not in order bc it was too hard. Also, I tried to put a readmore here, but... I guess tumblrs not letting me have those today so sorry, long post it is! For edibles, I’ve got 4 containers of tomatoes (3 cherry/snacking and one slicing), 2 containers of strawberries (all that survived from last season!),  2 kinds of chives (normal and garlic), 2 kinds of basil (sweet and spicy globe), oregano with lemon thyme, and my hardy old rosemary. The basils got chewed up by a stray cat so I had to keep them inside for a week to recover. Then I sprayed the general area with orange oil to deter it and the orange oil ended up burning their fragile leaves, so thye’ve had a rough time of it. but! finally recovering 😬 And the big blue container I’m trying to repurpose for melons this spring, and will plant spaghetti squash later in the summer. Will I be able to get cantaloupes supported on the treils with netting? Not sure but I’m gonna try. Def most experimental inclusion this year. For perennial flowers from last year, almost all survived! I’ve got 4 kinds of sage (one of which seeded into an adjacent empty pot, so I left it and added some annual violas), guara, penstemon, 2 kinds of lavender, and a miniature rose. My red geranium kept blooming all through winter, so I got a pink and a purple one as well. The sages look a bit rough right now because I left for a week before I put in the other annuals and they’re the thirstiest of the bunch, so dropped a lot of blooms. Oh well.  For new additions and annuals, I went crazy lol. My most dangerous to shop with friend and I went to the local nursery and stores together so of course we both went overboard. I finally got one of the jasmine I’ve been eying for a year and a half, which just started blooming and already smells amazing. My 2 gailardia were tiny rosettes but ones forming a bloom and I’m so excited. Also marigolds, zinnias, petunias, lantanas, those fluffy spike ones I’m blanking on the name of, and a fuchsia! And probably some I forgot. The fuchsia’s been swapped to a shader spot already, but it’s getting ready to bloom and I’m excited. I also, while visiting Colorado two weeks ago, accompanied my friend to a nursery and ended up driving back with a clematis, one of my favorite flowers ever. It’s still vining up right now but fingers crossed for flowers.  SO. Lots of things in at the moment, so far been good for the last week and we’ll see what ends up surviving the summer heat or not once we get to the weeks of 100ºF+ days. I’ve got some other plans/tweaks, but this is the bulk of things. Otherwise, life has been a lot and I’m still goin through it...grad school, research, coping with the porch birds I love getting killed by the feral cats, and so on :( Getting up to water has been motivating at least for finally leaving bed in the morning despite all my eye pain troubles (easier to just keep them closed for an extra 3 hours than to start the sequence of drops and compresses it takes to get them open). But then I can do my morning doomscrolling at least surrounded by beautiful flowers and birdsong instead of huddled in my cave.

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Garden, Yet Again

It’s been a really rough week but I got through it, and now it’s time for GARDEN PHOTOS!

Black-eyed Susans, asters, and cornflower. No blossoms yet, but they’re doing remarkably well. Also some photo-bombing marigold leaves.

Thriving marigolds and somewhat struggling zinnias. It’s mostly because we had some serious wind last week and the zinnias didn’t like it much. I put little tags there to keep the poor things from uprooting, as you can see. They’re holding on regardless, at least. I will keep pampering them, and if they still seem to struggle, I’ll swap them for the daisies or petunias and keep them inside. (The marigolds are fine; running absolutely riot.)

So this is my parsley. The tallest of these (not pictured because TOO MUCH PARSLEY) comes up to my waist, just about. I’ve hit up my Facebook friends to see if anyone wants some parsley because it needs cutting back in a significant way and I don’t want to waste it. Hell, I’m considering slipping notes into the neighbours’ post boxes at this point.

Sage and rosemary, still doing wonderous well. There should be a roast chicken for them at some point. (Also on the far right, photo-bombing oregano.)

Oregano and thyme. Some of those oregano leaves are the size of two-penny pieces, I swear. The oregano, thyme and mint have taught me a whole lot about plants that you should just cut back in winter and leave alone, and see how they thrive come spring.

Mint, coriander / cilantro, and my two dill plants. I’ll be cutting back the coriander a bit because I need the leaves for my next planned curry dinner, and we’ll see how it thrives after that. The mint will be getting the same treatment. As for the dill, well, I have two plants of that now; I didn’t expect the supermarket rescue dill to thrive as much as it has when repotting and I’m not going to just ignore the one I grew from seed just because I have a pot of it already. I have refrigerator dill pickles to make!

And back inside (because we’re running out of room), the petunias and daisies. They sprouted a bit after the flowers that ended up on the balcony, but they’re doing well after repotting.

And finally, the basil and cayenne pepper. I have a special place on the balcony prepared for the basil, and as for the cayenne pepper, well ... I can get one more hanging pot for that; I think I can just squeeze that onto the balcony rail and still have room to lean while looking out over the view.

Not pictured: beetroot taking over the world, strawberry taking longer to bounce back than the herbs did, lemon balm veeeeeeery slowly sprouting, lavender not sprouting at all, two potatoes that actually survived last year (since replanted), a raspberry branch cutting I’m trying to propagate, and tomatoes that are slowly gaining enough height for me to consider cutting them. I just want them to get tall enough to grab the sun that hits my balcony wall ... without growing higher than my head this year. I might actually get more fruit that way.

I’m still not 100% sure what possessed me to start this whole thing - I just kind of wanted to. I’m really glad I did, though. I’m learning a lot, I’m enjoying myself, and now I can find new recipes as an excuse to use all these herbs I have.

[sinisterbug]

I live in the United States bread basket - the Central Plains, if you will. It's been an unusually cool and wet season so far. This is helpful because my DEPRESH can plague me and the result will be my garden almost dying from lack of care or watering. Which activates MORE DEPRESH.

I am slightly concerned about my vegetables producing with so much lack of sunlight.

Anyway, it's another rainy day and I decided to take some pictures.

It's a nightmare keeping up with all the grass-pulling so its quite obvious I'm behind on that. It's hard to pull grass in the rain, lol. I've also been planting long enough, and been letting enough produce decompose where it falls that things have started just... sprouting up. I decided to let it grow where it may.

First up is this year's nod to Tolkien. I planted none other than... Lobelia! It's quite vibrant and lovely, and pops against all the surround green. The rain has made it look a little droll.

I am a sucker for calibrachoa:

My dad's geriatric cat, Oddball, was having none of my shit. Two days ago he came up to where I was squatting and pulling grass, and he rubbed himself along my back and sprayed me. Joy. Some sage and thyme in my pots.

Sage in a pot in a plastic swimming pool, because.

Randomly growing mystery squash (probs pumpkin) that grew up in an unexpected location.

I had allocated all my planter space when Pops brought home a cherry tomato. It almost died before I found a spot. There are tiny nasturtiums from previous years growing up around it.

Hot peppers (Thai dragon and Armageddon variety) I'm growing for my nephew.

Behbeh Black-Eyed Susans I'm growing near my grandmother's antique trellises.

My strawberries, which I need to mow down immediately. They finally produced this year. If I want a good yield next year, I gotta cut this nonsense down.

My beloved okra plants. SO DELICIOUS. I got the red okra variety this year.

Some type of sweet pepper, lol.

My tiny circle wildflower meadow. I have yarrow, echinacea (white and purple), Russian sage (I'm so proud of that little mother fucker), guara, hot lips sage, hollyhock, purple balloon flower, flying cardinal, black-eyed-susans, lamb's ear, milkweed, and amaranth, that I can yet identify. There are a couple mystery plants.

Rain-bedraggled wave-petunias.

Tons of seeds dropped from our bird feeders. Probably sunflowers? Just letting them grow to see what happens.

Ever since Animal Crossing had a whole hydrangea themed thing on the mobile camp game a few years ago, I've been dying to get some. The ones I planted last year - my dear Papa mowed over them TWICE, successfully murdering them. These ones are SO gorgeous and I'm so happy and proud to have them.

Some clematis next to a trellis. I may never win yard of the month because it's about COMPLIANCE and not beauty, but I sure do have the most gorgeous fucking yard in the neighborhood.

My cat-toilet/shade garden. The fact that any of this is still alive is miraculous. Yes, my ex is buried under there.

If I were a herbivorous dinosaur, I would eat the FUCK out of hostas. More of my shade garden.

Some lysanthus.

I have two other tomato plants, chives, and carnations as well. I have an orchid inside that is currently DYING because outdoor plants? Sure! I'm golden! Once those poor bastards go inside...

I hope you enjoyed this tour of my garden. Thank you, and good morning.

[botanyshitposts]

whats the deal with proven winners?

okay. so. this is actually how i got into botany in the first place; i got an unpaid internship at a greenhouse in high school and realized, very quickly, that we live in a jurassic park hellscape where big companies breed plants solely for their looks and performance, and i found that so fucking weird that i couldnt get enough of it and fell down the rabbit hole. i don’t find them bad per say; i find them weird and how they manage their product in terms of policing their retailers is very sketchy to me, but they’re not like, monstanto-level off the shits (yet). with mother’s day next weekend we’re coming up on one of the biggest greenhouse/ornamental plant industry sales days of the year, next to valentines’ day (which favors the rose industry especially), so this is an exceptionally convenient time to talk about this. 

proven winners is one of the biggest ornamental plant companies in the united states, possibly the world. you might know them from their patented white flower pots. they’re centered in california (as, actually, a lot of these large flower producers are) and they manage a HUUUUUUGEEE network of giant industrial flower greenhouses. 

like, you have to understand, all garden retailers have to buy their shit from somewhere, and although the centers and local greenhouses selling proven winners stuff are often small and independent (unless ur talking like...flowerama or something), a large portion of the plants themselves, like many things in capitalism, form an industry of their own dominated by a handful of oligarch corporations, of which proven winners is one. small retailers order bulk products from these companies, should it be through full-color paper catalogs (which exist, btw, and are wild in and of themselves to look at; i actually have a few back home that i keep around solely bc they’re incredibly fascinating in a slightly offputting jurassic park kind of way), online, or through a sales representative for their region. 

it depends on what they’re ordering, but they can buy seeds, plugs (the black trays of like....tiny plants you buy at garden centers to put in planters? the ones that come in, like, six packs? those are called ‘plugs’), and in the case of perennials, woody plants of various ages, among other things. these plants are bred, marketed, and sold on a goddamn industrial scale. it’s wild. 

now....this is where it gets absolutely fascinating to me. this isn’t just proven winners, but proven winners is one of the top contenders of this. some highlights of how plants are actually marketed on an industrial scale: 

-plants come out in collections. like, you have horticulturalist designer people who put their names on some stuff and they all go out as like, The New Hot Thing(tm). 

-they always promote their top selling stuff, and the plants that won awards, and like, the most popular flower arrangements and stuff. this in and of itself, again, isn’t like.....bad, it just feels weird how plants are marketed as objects rather than living things, you know?

-these plants are 100% bred and optimized for their commercial value and how they look. see the above point about how it feels like they’re treating them as objects. 

-every year, there are new plants, which are put at the front of the catalogue and like, show them off as the Hit New Products. these are all part of the year’s collective collection, so like, proven winners has their 2019 collection all ready on their site in a special little tab: 

FUN INDUSTRY SIDE STORY: looks like they have some new orange petunias this year, which reminds me fondly of the 2017 purge ordered by the USDA of a ton of illegally GMO orange petunias....

you see, orange petunias don’t exist naturally, so what companies do is either 1. systematically breed orange into them, which can take years, or 2. take red petunias and just put in some coding for yellow from the maize genome, which makes them orange. usually, you have to submit all this paperwork and go through a ton of government red tape to sell GMOs, including required trials conducted by the federal government, but what some of these large ornamental seed companies were doing was just....not telling the government and just kind of...pretending that they bred them. so in 2017, a netherlands team noticed that these were like....kind of Suspicious(tm), and started doing some tests....and accidentally uncovered like, this huge international orange petunia scandal across all these companies, over 30 varieties of illegal petunia being sold internationally. they had to alert the actual EU, which then alerted the USDA, who then gave an actual government order for these large companies to literally burn, bury, or otherwise destroy all their industrial stock of the proven illegal GMO orange petunias. 

small retailers who had bought them assuming that they were legal were allowed to keep and continue selling what they bought, but the actual producers were ordered to just fucking. violently destroy everything. the USDA informed these companies that they could sell them again, but only if they were put through the proper government channels and received proper certification. i checked the old recall list and didn’t see these, so i’m assuming they’re like...Legit, but. im 👀 somebody test these lol

AAANNNNYYway that aside, if you would like to see the Proven Winners 2019 Flower Collection Showcase(tm), they have a bunch of......weird kind of ads on their youtube channel showing artsy pics of their new shit. to this day i can’t pin down exactly what about them makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, but you really do get a sense that they’re selling an object to preform, which i guess is the point, but...idk, it’s just a very different view of plants, i think, then i personally have. very sci-fi-y, if you will. all their ads are like this; these video are essentially very similar to what you get from their print sales booklets, but in video form.

see, last but not least, my biggest beef with proven winners is the weird way they handle their company. 

you get inspected by the plant police.

im not kidding. for those not very familiar with plant reproduction, you can grow vegetative clones of plants through a process called taking cuttings, where you cut off a part of the plant and put it in a new pot under the right conditions, and it develops a root system and becomes a genetic clone to the parent. obviously, anyone can do this with a lot of the proven winners plants, especially because PW plants, as i’ve noticed, tend to be bred to be more vigorous. 

proven winners wants to ensure that there’s no Illegal Plant Downloads taking place, so they literally like....send people out to these small retailers and ask to see their stock to make sure that all the plants are going in the Patented Proven Winners White Pots(tm) with the Patented Proven Winners Information Tags(tm). you MUST plant proven winners stuff in the pots they send you, with the instructions they send you, and they will check you for this. the first time my internship mentor ordered from them, they accidentally planted the plugs in generic brown pots instead of the white ones, and the weird proven winners police rolled in unannounced for an inspection and told them that the next time it happened they wouldn’t sell to them anymore. what they’re worried about happening is that the growers will order a small amount and then just make a bunch of cuttings without paying them, and it’s just......weird. like i get why they do it but that’s always struck me as really, really shady lmao

[the-crows-typist]

Hi Lemilia! Could I ask for a platonic ficlet with Rook and Trey + the word “frustration”? The science club needs more love, their dynamic is so good~ Thank you!

The Possibilities Are Endless

“Augh!”

“Trey, are you alright?” The smoke from the cauldron was nauseating and stung the throat and eyes. Rook quickly kills the fire with water magic and places the lid on to the still boiling pot of messed up brew.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked, taking his classmate’s stirring stick from him while Trey took his glasses off. “No, I’m not. It’s just—stings a bit, hang on.” Rook knew that tone of voice, the way his shoulders squared, and how Trey’s teeth were bared and grit. He was a patient man, yes he was, but even he was not immune to the feeling of frustration. Even he got angry at the tiniest of things and the smallest of failures.

As beautiful as one’s expressive face is, it was still quite disheartening to see one of the most patient third years look so angry, so defeated. “Professor Crewel did say that this brew was not easy to get right off the bat,” He patted his companion’s back. “Why don’t we try again? Maybe things will be different this time.”

Trey looked up at Rook who smiled down at him. Without his glasses, Trey looked more serious, more mature. He looked like someone who could kill a man with a single stare but all that changed when he slipped his protective goggles back on and now he was kind and hardworking vice dorm leader of Heartslabyul.

“How do you do it?”

“What do you mean?” The hunter’s expression was confused, curious even. Even behind those purple goggles of his, Trey could see that he was genuine, he was honest…Maybe too honest. Rook always does things with the best interest of others in mind and there was no doubt that his actions were as genuine as they come and yet, there was this dense cloudiness not even Trey himself could see past and while people had their secrets, had their own skeletons in the closet, Rook’s secrecy was one so heavily guarded yet so obviously in plain sight.

He was an open book yet you couldn’t read the contents of it even if you tried.

Just how could someone so secretive be so open to the world and the people around him?

“…How do you not get angry?”

Rook’s smile was always so cryptic, always so foreshadowing.

Trey didn’t know when he started getting more observant to the things around him, he hypothesized that it was because he was around Rook more often or he was slowly getting used to having to deal with his two juniors and their friends causing trouble wherever they went that he had developed a sort of sixth sense.

“Clover, deliver the powder fertilizer to the plants at the back, they haven’t been taken care of as of late.” Crewel said, handing him a bucket full of white powder. “After that, you can close up the botanical garden for the day. The keys are by the desk and don’t forget to roll up the hose before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll be on my way then.”

Carrying the bucket towards the back garden, Trey began to see and appreciate the little flowers that grew and spread through the trees. He always liked walking through this part of the garden since a lot of flowers grew around the path.

“Hm?”

An orange lily bloomed not too far from his foot and beyond were scattered clumps that stood out with its bright orange hue against soft pastels of grass and other blossoms. A sudden pang of worry washed over Trey and he hesitated to continue his walk but knowing well that Crewel would be upset, he pushed forward. The lilies grew in number until he reaches the foot of the garden now littered with orange blossoms. For some reason, the garden felt off despite being empty.

Breathing in deep, Trey moved to scatter the powder fertilizer onto the plants and over the petunias growing awkwardly against the white painted fence. Kneeling down, Trey took a closer look at the blossoms, his gloved fingers smooth against the wood until he felt a small pit under his finger. Blinking, he carefully pushed the stems and leaves aside; the wood looked damaged as if someone purposefully thrust something into it. Trey’s brow furrowed in worry and pulled his hand away to see the many identical marks made on the wood.

“What is this?”

The school’s cafeteria during the end of the week was louder than usual, clubs were raring to do their activities and the teachers could get a break after a long weeks’ worth of work. Even in the noise, Trey couldn’t hear it for he deep in thought. To his knowledge, no one had planted any orange Lilies and Petunia in that area of the garden. In fact, he had no prior knowledge of anyone possessing seeds for those plants.

Could it have been a project by one of the younger years? No, there would be an indication of it; plus Crewel would tell him or at least say something about it in passing.

Another club? That would be a no as well. Jade didn’t seem very interested in flowers nor did any club, to his knowledge, need the botanical gardens except the science club.

“Trey, what’s the matter? You haven’t touched your lunch at all.”

Riddle’s eyes bore down on him and he knew better than to hide anything from the red headed dorm leader. “I’m just confused, is all.” He said, poking at his now cold steak. “Yesterday I was told to find a garden to put some fertilizer in but on my way there I saw some Orange Lily and Petunia flowers, I don’t know why but it made me uneasy.”

A hum and Riddle looked down at his half-eaten food. “Lily and Petunia, huh?’ Another hum and Riddle tapped the tip of his plate his pointer finger. “This might be a stretch but do you know the concept of flower language?”

“Flower language?”

“Yes, if I remember my sources correctly, certain flowers held meaning and messages when put into a bouquet. Because of its subtlety, it was a perfect way for people to send secret messages or feelings around. It’s a romantic way of communicating but often extremely vague if the receiver had no prior knowledge.”

Trey took a bite out of his steak with a nod. Flower language, huh? He’s heard of it before but he wasn’t a big expert. “Do you know anyone who happens to have a list?” He felt a slight disappointment when Riddle shook his head. “Not that I know of, no. The book that I saw it in only listed a few examples but I didn’t see Orange Lily or Petunia in them.”

“That’s unfortunate, but thanks for your help Riddle.”

When he came back to the garden the next day, the number of flowers had grown and soon did the marks on the white fence. Trey passed his fingers over the pits and noticed that they were deeper, messier as if someone had been doing it without thought. The feeling of unease continued to double the longer her stayed there but her urged himself to stay and spray the powder over growing Lavender flowers.

Somehow, seeing the light purple petals beginning to form brought him an ounce of comfort and it was what kept him from running away from the area with his tail between his legs. After finishing his task, he exited the garden to meet up with his professor.

“How are the neglected plants coming along, Trey?” Crewel asked, sitting on a chair while Rook watered the fruit bearing plants next to him. “Petals are beginning to form slowly and surely but…” He hesitated to speak for a moment and sighed. “…I did notice a few blossoms growing alongside it but it didn’t seem to impede on its growth.”

“What do you mean? Was someone using the plot before us?”

Rook moved to the further side of the garden to water what was to be a lemon tree before Trey spoke again. “I’m not quite sure, sir. They were already there when you told me to put fertilizer over the plants.” Crewel brought his crop to his lips in thought, brows creasing as he mulled over the possibilities. “And what flowers did you see growing around the area.”

“Mostly Petunias and Lilies, the orange colored one.”

“Hm. Someone must have been angry.”

“Sir?” Trey’s voice came out confused and Crewel only shook his head. “It’s just flower language, down boy. It’s not a well-known practice nowadays but before, flowers held meaning. If a mage grew a red rose from the ground then they were in love, it’s as simple as that.” A knowing smile crept onto his lips, thinking of a certain someone he had in mind; one he had spent enough time with to know that a single rose was all he needed to show his feelings.

“But those flowers of yours, Orange Lily and Petunia…Those flowers are of the few that have negative meanings.” Rook pulls at the hose and the roller squeaks as he moved further and further away from him. “While not inherently threatening or mean spirited, those two flowers could mean many things from anger, annoyance, maybe even frustration.”

He dare not mention the stab-like pits he saw on the fence behind it.

“If it isn’t impeding on the growth of the neglected plants like you say then it is only right to let the blossoms stay as they are. As odd as it may be, different people have different ways of venting out their frustrations. As long it’s not harming other people then there is no need to worry.”

The roller squeaks again, Rook moving to water the last plants inside the section of the garden.

The day came to an end and Crewel left the two to clean up. “I’m meeting with a former colleague of mine so I need to look my best. I’ll leave to you the cleaning up?” Trey nods his head and the two part ways but not without the boy smelling what seems to be a type of perfume, it smelled nice…Was the professor seeing someone?

“Rook?” Trey yelled out to the empty room yet no one answered back. “Darn, did I get deserted to clean this on my own?” He wondered to himself as he gathered the gardening tools and rolled up the hose. Taking the bucket full of powder fertilizer, Trey made his way to the same garden he was assigned to.

The same unsettling feeling overcame him as he walked the quiet path but with the words of Crewel echoing in his head, the feeling ebbed away quickly. The flowers growing in and around the area were products of someone’s negativity, his frustrations and while Trey understood it, he didn’t have an answer to who exactly was producing this.

But the answer would soon come to him when an odd sound came from the garden before him. A grunt followed by two items hitting each other hard. Trey walked slowly towards the source and seeing Rook over standing over the fence with sharper the usual arrow in hand. His shoulders were heaving before plunging his weapon into the wooden fence hard.

Somehow, all the things Trey had been pondering were coming together.

“So this is your way of getting angry.” Trey commented and Rook turning his head slowly towards him. He smiled at his fellow batch mate. “Hey, no need to give me that look. I won’t tell anyone what you did here…In fact, I find the theme of flowers to be very fitting…You know. Your flowery language and all.” Rook stared at him for a long while until he snorted, bringing his hand to his lips to stop his laugh from coming out too loud.

“Great seven above that was a terrible pun!” Rook said between laughs and Trey could only let out a small laugh himself. “I try my best.”

Sniffling, Rook looked back at the marks he’d made then to his arrow. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t quite like it when I’m angry...I have been told that I become terrifying and almost beast like.” Trey comes closer and pats his back. “I’ve been trying to find better ways to control it better but…This is the best I can do now.”

A petunia began to grow form within the pits on the fence and despite the negative message, Trey found it beautiful. “Did you make these flowers?”

“I suppose. Even I am confused as to why these grew here.” The hunter picked a petunia from the fence and brought it to his nose. “But then again, the arrangement is quite beautiful don’t you think?” Trey pat his back again. “I’m no expert on flowers but it goes real well with the Lavender we’re trying to grow.”

“I’m sure we can find another way for you to vent out your frustrations but in the meantime, you can clean up.” Rook was given the bucket and Trey gave him a big smile before running off. “Trey, come back here!” He said between laughs as he clearly let his batch mate run ahead of him. “You still have to help me too!”

In the middle of the plot, a Lavender flower bloomed against the petunias its rich purple color accented by the bright orange and pink.

[anipgarden]

I started a bunch of seeds today, reusing the trays from the wave petunias my mom bought. We’ve got

6 watermelons

6 okra

6 sweet banana peppers

6 cucumbers

I think 3 zucchini (black beauty)

And 3 yellow crookneck summer squash

And six habanero peppers

I’m hoping they grow! Some are plants that I started seeds in-ground for in Feb/March but they either didnt sprout or they died, and some are ones I forgot to start then/didnt have seeds for till now. If we have extras I’m either gonna give them to my neighbor E (these are backup zucchinis for if the ones I dug up earlier don’t keep growing, and she seems interested in gardening if she can get plants for it) or I’ll find space in the backyard and we will simply have to figure out what to do with all that extra produce 🤔 perhaps give it away to neighbors or family friends...

Alternatively there’s Facebook marketplace for them, or I can convince mom to offer them in the neighborhood group chat (like she was going to last year before convincing me we had the space for 8 extra watermelon plants in the backyard. We did but weeding was tooough.)

Also I have 10 Meyer lemon seedlings (I know the chances of them being Meyer lemons is slim but I grew them from seed so I’m seeing this through as far as I can), a mango seedling thats juuust about ready to pop up from its soil, narrowleaf milkweed that hasnt sprouted yet, and tropical milkweed that hasn’t sprouted yet.

Truly the era of the garden is nigh.

[kai-n-ali]

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter One

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his. 

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 5K

Chapter Two ❀ Chapter Three

                               Chapter 1: Citron (Ill-natured Beauty)

   The bell let out a series of chimes as the door creaked on its hinges, and in a small florist shop tucked between a gelateria and an abandoned butchery, Eleanor Blum officially met the devil of Small Heath.

   She wasn’t impressed.

   Flora’s, the little florist and botanical shop, had become a haven for the twenty-three-year-old in the time that she’d lived above Cora Evans’ storefront: only a few short weeks. Flora’s, partially named after Cora’s granddaughter, Florence, was a bright spot of color among the grit and grimness of Birmingham, with flower boxes brimming with asters and foxgloves, strawflowers and marigolds. Along the south-facing wall, honeysuckle crawled up the scratched brick, and the thick, sweet scent of the flowers almost washed out the stench of shit wafting up from the nearby horse stables or the sour-milk scent from gone-off gelato dumped in the dumpster, left to fester in the summer heat.

    Inside, the shop was cluttered, bouquets dotting the window display and trailing back in colorful bunches all throughout the front of the store, some put in ornate vases, others in ribbon-adorned mason jars, and a few placed into half-rusted buckets. Petals and leaves dotted the floor, and the room reeked of lavender and fresh-cut stems, grassy and clean. In the back of the store where the rare plants were, packets of seeds labelled in Cora’s handwriting, and now in Eleanor’s own scrawl, lined their worktable in rows.

    When he first came in, she didn’t bother looking up from her spot bent over one of the tables, hands streaked in dirt from potting snapdragon cuttings—they were very fashionable right now for front gardens, apparently—and the charcoal from her pencils. She’d plucked a honeysuckle bloom off its stem earlier in the morning and was practicing the loose lines of it on paper with strokes of a pencil. 

    The bell chimed, and Eleanor heard none of it, not until a voice cleared its throat a few paces in front of her. Eleanor jolted up, pushed a few curls out of her eyes.

    The man in front of her was beautiful in the way most wild things were when trapped behind glass. The way vines were beautiful when they were confined to the cracks of cobblestone, peeking out in glimpses of brilliant green. With cheekbones that looked like they’d split the pads of her fingers if she reached out to touch, that looked like they were meant for dinner parties as much as they were for being flecked in blood, Eleanor felt herself stiffen. She knew this man. Sort of.

    That newsboy cap was just ridiculous.

    Thomas Shelby, the husband of Grace Shelby, stood in her new place of employment. The last time she’d seen him, Eleanor had been at a gala in a new dress, gems dripping from her throat and beading trickling off her hem while she grilled his wife on her new orphanage and its living conditions for the second time.

    He was a ghost. Some half-wilted thing.

    Eleanor tilted her head, taking in the stiff lines of him, the strained civility held in the pale blue of eyes, and thought: how disappointing.

    She hadn’t taken Shelby for the kind of man to wilt.

    Meanwhile, it seemed Mr. Shelby was studying her as well. The startling blue of his eyes trained on her, cut across by the thicket of his lashes. He swept up and down her form, and she avoided fidgeting just barely. It seemed he recognized her, perhaps from the charity gala for the Shelby Foundation that went so wrong. Eleanor herself had only seen glimpses of him at said event, dressed in a black tux, the cut of his jaw severe and the stretch of his coat across his shoulders making her mouth go dry. She’d seen him as a dark shadow lingering behind his wife, his hand curling around her pale shoulder or tucking a loose, golden curl behind her ear before he was up and off again.

    Though, she realized she’d lied before. The last time she’d seen Thomas Shelby, it’d been a black-and-white photo shot from quite a distance, his back ramrod straight as he stood over the coffin of his dead wife. Surrounded by chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. His family stone-faced beside hordes of men in full military garb.

    The thought of Mrs. Shelby made her wince, and if anything, that made him stare harder. Something in his eyes questioned, how do I know you? Eleanor wasn’t obliged to answer.

    She locked her jaw and crossed her arms over the dirt-streaked cotton of her blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, “or did you come just to ogle?”

    Somewhere from close behind, Eleanor heard a small squeak. She turned to face the noise. Florence, or Flora, sat on one of their many wooden benches, nearly toppling over a vase of petunias with every swing of her feet. Her eyes were very wide. “Ella,” she said, high-pitched, in a more-than-loud whisper. “Ella, that’s Mr. Shelby.”

    Flora was a girl of thirteen, with straight, dark hair cut right below her ears, and a smile that grew more lopsided the harder she grinned. When the chores were through and if the shop wasn’t busy, Eleanor would sit down and entertain her with little doodles, half-formed sketches.

    Right now, however, she was white as a freshly bleached sheet, her gangly legs jiggling with nerves. She hadn’t grown into them yet, but Eleanor found them endearing—almost coltish. Her eyes darted for her grandmother, but Cora was long gone on an errand.

    Mr. Shelby seemed unaffected, clearing his throat again with a cough. One hand rested on his pocket-watch, as though already eager to check the time. “Ella, eh?” She’d never heard him speak before, and the coarseness of his voice made her stomach flip-flop alongside the annoyance burning away at her. “Well, Ella—”

    “Eleanor.”

    There was a slight furrow to his brow now. It really was painfully fucking charming. He just sort of looked at her, head cocked, considering. Eleanor let out a gust of a sigh.

    “It’s Eleanor. My name. Not Ella.” Not to you, she thought. There was a pause, and she heard more than saw Flora place her head into the palms of her hands.

    “Tommy Shelby,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, and offered her his hand. Eleanor looked at that hand, the deceptive slimness of his fingers and the narrow taper of his wrist. His callouses were faded, softened with time.

    There was dirt under her nails and specks of dried mud up to her wrists, but she shook Mr. Thomas Shelby’s hand like she was wearing silk gloves. All lowered lashes and a coquettish flick of her wrist bone. The high-society ladies back home would surely applaud her if they saw.

    Then she ruined it.

    “What kind of grown-ass man still goes by the name Tommy?” she blurted before she could stop herself, her hand still in his. His hand had looked almost delicate before, but it engulfed her own. The shocked jerk of it against hers sent a vibration up her arm, and she suppressed a smirk. His eyes narrowed in on her face, a sudden intensity there he hadn’t possessed before. Like he wanted to peel back her skin and look beneath. Off-to-the-side, Flora let out a distressed little sound, akin to a mourner at a funeral. Viewing the body one last time before it lowered into the earth with the worms.

    The next sound past his lips was a huff that could’ve been taken for a laugh. If he were any other man. “One without a stick up the ass, I bet.” He tossed a glance Flora’s way, quirked up his mouth. He really had a lovely mouth. “Miss Eleanor.”

    And Eleanor couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hm. Agree to disagree, Mr. Shelby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned over the countertop until her curls swung into her face. They were close enough now she could almost feel his breath ghosting the top of her head. “So, what’re you here for, then? Haven’t got all day.” Now, she sweetened her smile so the next bit wouldn’t bite, only sting. “Not even for the likes of you.”

    “Y’ know,” and his voice was a slow drawl that made her spine tingle and her hair stand on end, the way his lips formed around the words with the barest hint of threat, of teeth, “people rarely speak to me this way, Miss Eleanor.”

    “Not to your face, I’m sure.” She paused. “Mr. Shelby.”

    Was it just her, or was he almost smiling? “Fair enough. Just a bouquet for me.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “Of your choosing.”

    “Right away,” she said, but something nagged at her. Taking a glance at his clothing—well-pressed and well-tailored, with a dark coat that had to be far too hot for the late July humidity and slacks with a crease down each leg—and thought he looked like a man heading to a funeral. Or a gravestone. Eleanor swallowed. Thought back to that black-and-white photo from near a year ago. Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas.

    Despite herself, she wondered if those had been Mrs. Shelby’s favorite flowers. They weren’t the flowers of funerals. Of mourning.

    Eleanor cast her gaze around the shop, but there was no arrangement that caught her interest, that fit the bill. She worried at her bottom lip. “Gimme a moment,” she muttered, almost to herself, and stepped out from behind the table. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck.

    Off-to-the side, pressed against the wall, were paint buckets filled with loose flowers, rows upon rows of color and texture, bunched together and stems kept in nutrient-enriched water. Among them, she found what she was looking for: chrysanthemums, white and ruffled with their pale green centers; hydrangeas, their purple petals in clusters. She also went for baby’s breath, as sparse and dainty as it was. A good filler for a bouquet, with the bonus of a powerful meaning. Everlasting love. Not that Thomas would know that.

    From a pail on one of the many counter spaces, she hunted for a ribbon. All knotted up in a ball, it took her a moment before she found the perfect one and managed to untangle it from the rest. Silky, sage green embroidered with indistinguishable little white buds. Perhaps a touch too long. Plucking and tweaking until it formed into a proper flower arrangement, if not a bit of a rustic one, she made a simple bow around the bundle before turning back to her customer. Taking quick steps to get back behind the main counter. “All done,” Eleanor said. She couldn’t look at him. With the heft of one shoulder, an almost-shrug, she offered the bouquet forward, level with his chest. She traced the pattern of his vest with her eyes, the stitching.

    The bouquet was smaller than a lot of the ones on display, less elaborate.

    But it felt right.

    Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she rifled for the few spare coins she kept there for emergencies with her spare hand. He’d yet to take the bouquet. She slapped them onto the space in front of him with a clink. Just enough. Flora was strangely silent. “And already paid for.”

    Thomas’ eyes felt hot on her face. Almost a brand.

    He didn’t say a thank you, just gave a hum under his breath, and when he reached out to grab the flowers, his fingers grazed her own. She wondered what he thought of the scar tissue stretched across her knuckles, her fingers, if he could feel it against his skin, bumpy and rigid. This touch felt different than when he’d shook her hand, and it sent pinpricks of sensation up her forearm. When he let go, she shook out her hand away from view, trying to force the odd tingling away. It lingered.

    “Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

    “Eleanor.” And when he left, it was with a chime of the shop’s bell.

    For a moment, the whole shop was suspended in a hush, as if the world itself had paused, reverberating with that single chime. But then Florence was up in a flurry of movement, flinging herself into Eleanor’s space with a string of expletives that didn’t belong in the mouth of a grown man, not to mention a fourteen-year-old girl. Eleanor laughed despite herself. Threw back her head with the force of it.

    “Language,” she chided.

    “D’ you ‘ave a death wish?”

    Florence’s round eyes were roving over Eleanor’s face, her hands on her hips. She looked very serious—or would’ve, if not for the spot of dirt on the side of her nose.

    Eleanor smiled. “Not recently, no.”

    The younger girl didn’t seem to find that very funny, and a scowl twisted her features. “That’s Tommy Shelby you just ran your mouth off to, Ella,” she stated, jabbed a finger at her chest. Adorable, Eleanor thought. “Tommy. Shelby.” The stress on these two words was punctuated with another two jabs.

    “I know his name.” I’ve met his wife.

    “You don’t get it,” she said, and there was a franticness to her voice, her posture. Her hands twitched and fidgeted. “’E’s the leader of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders. People say ‘e’s worse than the devil ‘imself."

    “Language.” But Eleanor’s head was already tilted in curiosity. Worse than the devil? “Peaky Blinders, huh?" She snorted. “Cute.”

    “Not cute, Ella, not cute. Dangerous. Deadly. They’re the biggest gang in Birmingham. Turned businessmen. They own us.” She puffed a stray hair out of her eyes. “You get a glance at his cap?” At Eleanor’s nod, she continued. “They sew razors into the brim. You fuck with ‘em, they cut out your eyes.”

    Huh. “Is that very effective?” she asked, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “I mean, that’s a bit of an awkward angle, isn’t it?” Flora groaned, flopping onto a stool besides her, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her forehead in her hands. Eleanor rubbed her back. She seemed to do this quite a lot when Eleanor was around.

   Her next words came out muffled by her palms. “The Blinders ain’t no joke, Ella. They set fire to The Marquis for messin’ with one of theirs. Their enemies get found in The Cut without their faces.” Her voice became very quiet, near trembling. Almost tearful. “You shoulda never spoken to Mr. Shelby like that.”

   Despite her best efforts, Eleanor felt a shiver run through her. Only she could be stupid enough to meet a devil and reach out to shake his hand. With a smile, no less. Well, it was too late now. She leaned until her shoulder pressed into Flora’s own. “Hey,” she soothed. “Look at me, huh?” Eleanor tapped at the girl’s cheek with a nail until she peered up at her, eyes a bit puffy. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon. Not with the warm welcome I gave him.” And she smiled until Florence couldn’t help but smile back.

    The second time Eleanor saw the devil of Small Heath, it was a week later. At Flora’s. And it would be the same as the first.

    That damn bell chimed.

    It was with relief that Eleanor noted Florence was out of the shop when a Mr. Thomas Shelby arrived for the second time, having been sent off by Cora to the gelateria with just enough money for scoop of her favorite, strawberry swirl. This time around, it was just her and Cora in the near silence of the shop, the record player in the back a mere whisper of jazz. Instead of being up to her elbows in damp soil, she had a paintbrush in her mouth and another clutched between her fingers and thumb, making a new display sign with some thick paper and her tin of watercolors. A sketch of Flora, blowing petals out of the palm of her hand. It was as she was halfway through mixing a color for the shadows of her face that the front door opened. At her side, using twine to bind their loose flowers for the paint buckets, Cora gave a sharp intake of breath.

    “Mr. Shelby,” the older woman greeted, hurrying to stand. A strong-featured woman of near fifty, Cora Evans wasn’t one to show fear, or much emotion at all beyond a muted amusement at her surroundings. This sort of “why the hell not?” air of being that she'd clearly perfected over her years. Yet, while her own blue eyes were unwavering on Thomas’ own, Eleanor detected the tense line of her broad shoulders, hiked nearly up to her ears and tickling the grey-brown of her hair. Thomas inclined his head at her boss, and if he looked her way, Eleanor didn’t see it, because she had already turned back to her work, watering down a vermilion for the high spots of color on Flora’s youthful cheeks.

    If she didn’t look at him, maybe she wouldn’t be compelled by whatever urge had struck her before—a sudden desire to pick at and tease, to wrestle up a smile on that pretty mouth.

    Eleanor shook her head, a minuscule gesture, and huffed a curl out of her eyes. Get it together.

    “’Ow may I ‘elp you, sir?” And Cora’s voice was polite, restrained, the normal warmth in her Brummie accent stripped into something foreign to Eleanor. “On the ‘ouse, of course.” At that, she felt her lips pinch despite herself.

    While Cora hadn’t been upset when her granddaughter had finally told her the story of Eleanor back-talking to a Peaky Blinder, she had gone a bit pale, setting down the pot in her hands with a heavy clunk on their scraped-up work table. Staring at Eleanor with new eyes. “Pretty fuckin’ stupid of you, love,” she’d said. “They’ve set fire to businesses for less.” And she’d shaken her head. “Messin’ with that Blinder Devil—thought you had some wits about you.” In the end, though, Cora shooed her off when she hastened to spill out apologies, holding out a hand to pat her on her shoulder.

    “That Thomas Shelby is more sensible than most of ‘em put together. Not like his mad dog brother. It’ll work out for the best, I bet.”

    But now he was back yet again, in a suit lighter than the one before, a pale grey waistcoat with no jacket in sight. His tie was missing, she could tell even from where she hunched over her work, the top button of his dress-shirt undone at the throat. Still looking unbearably hot for the weather. Even the thin material of her house dress clung to her skin with the sweat of being trapped in the shop all day. She didn’t know how he bore it.

    “No need,” he said in that already familiar rasp, and she ducked her head further down instead of looking up and catching a glimpse of his face like she wanted. “Found myself in need of another bouquet.” And she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Eleanor. If you would.”

    The empty space to the upper right of her drawing distracted her. Should she fill it with roses? Lilies? There was a pause that could be felt hanging in the shop, like a physical touch against her skin, but she kept her gaze to that expanse of untouched white.

    “Eleanor,” Cora said, touching gentle fingers to the bared skin of her upper arm. She very rarely wore short sleeves, but with the heat, it felt unavoidable. The circular burns that peppered her arms like kisses—they weren’t even that noticeable, not anymore. Still.

    (On another August day, one from over a decade ago, she recalled the press and hiss of the cigarette when it hit her skin, and the way the mud never dried in that miserable backyard back in New York. Before her uncle came and packed her off to London. The backs of her knees were slippery with it as she squirmed and kicked. But the older girl kept a firm grip on her, and Eleanor stayed in place, sinking into the mud and dead, yellow grass. The cigarette was pulled back, still fizzling, and with the click of a lighter, was relit again. And again.)

    Eleanor blinked. Blinked again and rubbed a hand over her eyes, eyes that felt much more tired than before. She pulled the paintbrush from her mouth, set it on the countertop. “Of course, I can make you another bouquet, Mr. Shelby. Anything in mind?”

    She couldn’t see him, no, but she knew his eyes were smirking at her. Her fingers twitched on her remaining paintbrush. Smug bastard. “Oh, just something to brighten up me office, I think.” And Eleanor clenched her jaw, because that sounded like such shit to her. Why’re you here again, Thomas? She nodded nonetheless, kept her eyes down. You make it very hard to behave. She set down the brush with a clatter.

    “I can do that.”

    She searched for the most spiteful fucking flowers she could think of. Valerian, an herb frequently used for insomnia, green stems bloomed with clusters of white flowers. Readiness. I could take you, Mr. Shelby. Borage, or starflower, brilliant blue with hints of blush from the blooms with their white spines. Rudeness. Bluntness. And buttercups, their delicate yellow blossoms. A personal favorite and a good splash of color against all the blues and whites. Childishness. And, finally, Love-in-a-mist, or Nigella damascena, with their needle-point leaves and rich indigo petals ending in jagged points. A confession more than anything else, not that he’d know it. You puzzle me.

    In her youth, she’d gobbled up all the books on plants and herbs that she could find in her botanically obsessed uncle’s extensive library, and that included tomes on the language of flowers. The knowledge had stuck. And now more than ever, she found herself grateful.

    Eleanor plucked all the respective flowers out of their different buckets, organized by color, and set to work gathering the right amounts of each. She took a canary yellow ribbon from the ribbon pail with a flourish, flicking it in the air to get the kinks out. Grabbing a random empty vase that had once housed a beautiful but boring bouquet of a dozen roses—bought by a very frantic man in worker’s clothes and sturdy boots an hour prior, who looked like he was running quite late—she set the mass of flowers inside and set to arranging them.

    Flora, who hid a chuckle with a cough at the sight of her flowers of choice, left with a quick word to the backroom and a warning glance that burned into the back of Eleanor’s head. She tried not to fidget.

    She was wrapping the ribbon around the hunk of stems when a throat cleared from right by her side. Fuck. Eleanor started, spasming fingers losing the ability to form a bow. Fuck.

    “What’s a rich socialite like yourself doing in a flower shop in Birmingham, eh?”

    But, God, she couldn’t help but spin to face the man now. Thomas stood with his hip propped up against the table she was using, head tilted and pieces of the unshaved part of his hair near falling into his eyes. Seemed he recognized her now. He looked curious. Hungry. Up close as he was, their shoulders near brushing, she saw the hint of freckles beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. It seemed even devils tanned in the sun.

    Everything about him was all graceful command, words spoken in a way that showed he expected to be answered, obeyed.

    It reminded her of his wife.

    The first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Grace Shelby, it had been at a luncheon held at The Midland Hotel, for the sake of convincing the richest of London society to donate to her cause—the Shelby Foundation, whose first action was building an orphanage in Birmingham. When her uncle, Samuel Connolly, had told her the news, alongside the fact that he’d been invited to attend a luncheon on the subject, she’d begged to be brought along.

    “If anyone would have a stake in this,” she’d said at their breakfast table, pointing at his chest with a grapefruit spoon, “it’s me, don’t you think? Let me see how genuine this is.” Sam had set his hazel eyes on hers, lips pursed, but he hadn’t disagreed.

    “You’ll have to dress up,” he’d warned, and she’d stuck out her tongue at him, taking a stab at a section of fruit.

    Eleanor remembered the way the beading of her dress weighted her down that afternoon, and how all she wanted was to be back home in a pair of trousers, lounging with a book in her lap and Fennel, Sam’s Spinone Italiano, laying on the tops of her bare feet. Keeping her warm. But the rich had an ability to do any good works as half-assed as possible, and with all of her blunt Brooklynite manners from childhood, she had sworn to dig out the truth from this Mrs. Grace Shelby even if it meant pulling out the plyers and using some old-fashioned elbow grease.

    That hadn’t been necessary.

    The waitress that escorted them both to the hotel’s largest dining room was a near-silent woman, who meekly commented on the pale jade color of Eleanor’s dress before showing them to a room with a table longer than she’d ever seen. A rich, dark-colored wood leaning near black. The napkins were a fashionable rose, the plates rimmed in gold and dotted in florals along the edges. All the candles smelled of faint vanilla and sandalwood.

    Even for Eleanor, who had spent her teen years and beyond in Sam’s by-no-means-minuscule manor and had attended many a party due to his notoriety, it was extravagant beyond measure.

    At the head of the table, not yet seated and chatting with a plastic but pretty smile on her painted lips, was a woman with honeyed hair and aristocratic, well-bred features. She radiated old wealth in a way Eleanor never could, brought into the fold far-too-late.

    (“Oh my, it’s the little orphan bastard.” One of the wives of some business mogul whispered to her friends behind a glove. They all tittered away at her remark, and Eleanor, all awkward limbs and pale pink scars at fifteen years old, sunk back into the shadows of the sitting room. Uncomfortable in her new dress. Uncomfortable in her new life. “How quaint. It seems he really did pick up a new stray, after all.”)

    Most of the night was a blur, filled with soft, exaggerated laughter and mutual back-patting. In the dining room, the lighting was dim, almost sensual despite it being only two in the afternoon. Flattering everything into a near dream-like state. At the front of the table, Mrs. Shelby had glowed. Almost an hour prior, her hand had been soft and unblemished in Eleanor’s own. Even her handshakes felt soft as silk. But when Eleanor had cornered her later in the evening over a round of drinks, her own whiskey-sour in a fine crystal glass that felt like a paperweight in her hand, she had revealed pure steel beneath the refined veneer. Eleanor could barely recall her barrage of questions now, from over a year ago.

    “What of the orphans with surviving family? Will they be entitled to visitation? And the staff—what of them? Would they be receiving proper background checks prior to their employment?” It had gone on-and-on, and Grace Shelby had answered with assurance blanketing her tone, and a blade tucked beneath her tongue, ready to wield. Her eyes steady. Demanding trust. Eleanor had, though begrudgingly, given it. And promised to have more questions the next time they met. Mrs. Shelby had seemed, almost, like she was looking forward to it.

    But, well, the second and last time she’d seen Grace Shelby. Well.

    In the present, Eleanor zeroed back in on Thomas. He was studying her.

    She knew the red of her lipstick must be smudged. That there was surely charcoal streaked on her face from using her pencils earlier in the day. That the nape of her neck was sticky with sweat, soaking the curls there.

    Still, Eleanor arched her brow at who, apparently, was the most fearsome man in Birmingham. “I used the wrong fork,” she drawled. “Perilous mistake.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.”

    They locked eyes, and Eleanor wasn’t going to be the one to blink first. Without looking, she knotted the bow and pulled tight. “All done,” she said. She rambled off a price, perhaps one a little higher than necessary. She couldn’t help herself.

    He blinked at her before reaching into his pocket for the money, and Eleanor let out a gust of air when his eyes left her. How were they so blue? Reaching under the table for some tissue paper to wrap the bouquet in, she offered it forward, gripping it by the bottom of the stems. His own fingers grasped it above her own and tugged it out of her hand. He was oddly gentle about it. “Have a nice day, Thomas,” she told him, a clear dismissal, and he quirked a brow at her in a barely-there question. Whether it was because of the curt tone or the usage of his first name—it had just slipped out, she didn’t know why—she wasn’t sure.

    Either way, he left. And Eleanor slumped, boneless, against the countertop. What the honest fuck.

    Now, she knew better than to believe this would be the last time they saw each other.

    And true enough, they met yet again. This time at no fault of their own.

[cipherninethousand]

He lives!

This is Bob. Bob is a dianthus, which is a plant that I'm fond of for its jagged pink and white flowers. But here's the thing. Dianthus is an annual. Therefore, Bob is an annual, right? I just keep planting a new ‘Bob’ every spring.

No. Bob goes into hibernation in the winter. You see, I got Bob in 2017 - not long after I had adopted my last dog.  I remember planting it with a petunia on a sunny day and scolding Bo for trying to dig him up.  We went through the growing season, and the plants in this pot died.  I moved.  Never bothered to take the soil out of the pot, and hadn’t gotten around to planting anything new in it.

Imagine my surprise when I see a brand new dianthus sprout next spring, despite the bitter, bitter cold winter that we’d had.  Somehow, the dead growth on top had shielded Bob from the worst of the weather in Iowa.  Cool! I leave him alone and water him with the other plants, and in the fall, he dies again. It’s just a one off, I thought.  Nope!  For the last four springs, Bob has come back again. And again. And again.  I do nothing to him.  He has survived not one but THREE winters where we got negative temperatures in the double digits.  Generally, he only has a few scraggly flowers until last year, when he produced some beautiful blooms.

It’s not a seeded plant either. I checked. Bob’s root system is quite deep.  He needs to be transplanted before he gets root bound, but I’m afraid I’ll kill him if I move him.

Any thoughts?

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Talk Over Tea” || YEAR 3 – Ch.27 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

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Day posted: 10/13/2020

Word count: 3, 283

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

Sorry about the late upload, my internet is practically nonexistent right now DX 

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“WHAT happened?”

Ron grinned at Heather as she sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. “I’ll tell it again. Gladly.” He stood up again and everyone around him leaned closer to hear his version of events one more time. “I was sleeping in bed when a weird noise woke me up. I sat up and then – SLICE – Sirius Black had split my curtains in two with a MASSIVE knife. There he was screaming over me yelling AAAAAAAAARGH – ” Ron towered over them like a scary bear with his claws out, “and seeing as I was awake and screaming too, he ran off.”

Everyone gasped and started whispering about how brave Ron was. Harry was looking uncomfortable, sitting beside Ron as he told the story over again to anyone who asked. Heather folded her arms. It was true what people were saying, about Sirus Black having broken in, gotten into the boy’s dormitories – INCHES from Harry – and had escaped again. But it didn’t make any sense.

“Ron! Tell it again for Sean!” A Hufflepuff came running down with his friend right behind him.

“Gladly.” Ron set down his fork over his cold eggs and stood up once more.

Heather rolled her eyes and pulled Harry up with her. They both walked down to where Hermione sat hardly touching her breakfast as she read, eyes darting left to right frantically.

“Hermione, what do you think of what happened last night?” Heather sat down in front of her. Harry drummed his fingers on the table and Heather pulled the book down to get her attention. “Hermione?”

She sighed. “What IS it? I’m studying! I have to read this by Monday and I have two hundred pages to read today!”

“Did you hear about what happened? To Ron?”

Hermione looked at Heather and glared towards Ron. “I heard. I’m glad he’s not hurt.”

“Same,” said Harry.

Heather nodded. “But it doesn’t make sense… Does it.”

“What doesn’t make sense? Sirius Black is a crazed maniac on the loose again. Everything he does is dangerous and insane, isn’t it?” Harry pulled a bowl closer and started scooping in some cinnamon porridge from a center pot. “Only I don’t see how he keeps getting past the dementors… Fudge was right about him being more dangerous than everyone thought and wrong about him seeming sane.”

“But that’s not what I’m getting at.” She pulled Hermione’s book back down to get her attention again. “He didn’t hurt anyone… And… Especially not you, Harry.”

They were all quiet as they thought over Heather’s words.

“Look,” Hermione pulled her book out of Heather’s hands. “I don’t know what Sirius Black was thinking, or why he didn’t just kill Ron and then Harry or whatever it is that mad man wants to do… That’s the business of Professor Dumbledore, the Ministry, and the dementors. That’s why Ron talked to them this morning and why they’re doubling down forces around here. What IS my business is finishing up this book and the essay that goes along with it so that I don’t have to drop this class.” Hermione propped her ‘Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles’ text book back up and flipped the page.

They sat in silence for the remainder of breakfast and ended up leaving Hermione and her unfinished porridge and dragged Ron off with them. They decided they were all still too shaken up about what had happened to Ron to do any homework and started walking around the castle where extra security was being put in.

They followed Mr. Filch around at a distance as he boarded up every crack in the stone walls, every mouse hole – to Mrs. Norris’ dismay – and almost every secret passage that the map showed; all but the one-eyed witch passage into Honeydukes. After being told off for snooping, they followed Professor Flitwick as he taught several of the large doors around the school to recognize a giant picture of Sirius Black.

Professor Flitwick liked the company and let them watch how he charmed two small but large-armed stone troll statues to guard the portrait of the fat lady. She had accepted guarding Gryffindor tower again after Sir Codegan had failed so horribly, demanding extra security measures be taken around her painting.

They sat in the corner of the courtyard looking over Harry’s firebolt, shining it with a clean rag, while Heather drew beside them on the ground. She was trying to get the right color of a small bird pecking at the grass growing between the stones when Harry spoke up, scaring it away.

“D’you think they really don’t know about the one-eyed witch statue? D’you reckon we should tell someone about it?”

Ron leaned in closer to the broom handle and breathed onto it, wiping away a smudge with the rag. “Nah. We’d’ve heard if Honeydukes had been broken into. Besides, no one but us knows about it. He doesn’t have the map.”

Heather was glad Harry was nodding, though she knew she should be the voice of reason right now. Of course they should tell Professor Dumbledore that the secret passage exists… but she’d just gotten to a very interesting part in the banned potions book and wanted to go into the apothecary in Hogsmeade to buy some ingredients for it. That and she wondered if the plant shop there had certain seeds she could grow in that charmed pot Hermione had got her. If the passage was sealed, then she wouldn’t be able to go into Hogsmeade until possibly next year… or whenever they finally caught Sirius Black.

A group of second year girls spotted Ron from across the courtyard and came running up to him, begging to hear the story from his lips. Ron blushed and began retelling it.

“Well… I was asleep and I heard a weird noise – a giant TEAR like a SLICE, and so I woke up realizing it wasn’t in my dream! I looked up and saw him… Sirius Black standing over me with his dirty long hair and a knife as long as my arm! He yelled – about to plunge the knife into my body – when I yelled and he SCAMPERED. Ran right out and escaped.”

The group of girls squealed and huddled together like a pack of scared sheep. They made their way back into the castle corridor, pleased to have heard it and waved goodbye at Ron with giggles.

“You know you tell it different every time?” Heather rolled her eyes and kept mixing more white into her dark blue water color.

“Well I don’t like remembering last night. I’m still scared about it. I almost died!” Ron let Harry take back his broom and crossed his arms. “Why though? Why’d he run off?”

“I’ve been thinking about that… About what you said, Heather.” Harry sat down next to her, followed by Ron. “Why did he run when he saw Ron and not just slice him up and then me and the others? Well I had my curtains pulled closed because of the moonlight that night, and so had Ron. So he had a half chance of getting it right and guessed. He saw it wasn’t me right away, got mad, and then Ron yelled. He must have gotten scared that Ron screamed and he knew people would be waking up, so he ran. I mean, it’d be harder to escape out the castle after everyone had been woken up – and running into the teachers and all that.”

They agreed with Harry on his take on what happened.

“Except… Ron didn’t you say Sirius Black screamed first?” She remembered a version of his story where he said Sirius Black had yelled angrily.

“I don’t remember much of how it all happened. I just try to tell it how I remember telling it to Professor Dumbledore.” Ron went a bit red but shook his head and went back to shining Harry’s broom with the servicing kit.

In the distance they saw Neville walking behind Professor McGonagall on their way to his detention. Apparently it had been Neville who had lost a slip of all of the secret passwords for the week, the very slip that Black used to get in. Whatever detention he’d been given was nothing to the one his grandmother was going to give him. The next morning he’d received a Howler and had seized it and ran with it out of the great hall at once.

It exploded out there and his grandmother’s voice could still be heard clear as crystal telling him about how he’d horribly dishonored his family and brought shame to them all. The Slytherin table was howling with laughter and Heather rolled her eyes at Draco who gave his best impression of Neville sprinting down the great hall with a howler cupped in his hands.

“Harry, you’ve got a letter too,” Ron pointed out.

Heather had just noticed Hedwig sitting patiently in front of them. “Oh, thank you Hedwig. Take my bacon.” Hedwig traded the letter for the bacon and flew back out the tall windows. “‘Dear Harry and Ron. How’s ‘bout seeing me this afternoon for tea ‘round six? Meet me by the castle doors. Wait for me inside the entrance hall. Inside by the doors. Not outside by the doors. Inside. Hagrid. Oh and Heather, come along too if you’d like. Cheers, Hagrid.’” She folded the letter back up. “What a strange invitation…”

Ron shrugged. “He wants to hear about Black from us. You weren’t there, Heather, which is why you were an afterthought. Don’t take it personally.”

The attention was getting to Ron’s head. Harry, however, took the note and pinched his lips closed, probably also noticing Hermione wasn’t invited. They both knew from previous Dursley experience – more precisely among Petunia and her group of wifely friends – what that meant.

Heather had finished her essays early and decided to meet Ron and Harry by the main stairs of the ground floor corridor and together they walked down to the entrance hall. Hagrid was already waiting for them.

“Hagrid! Want me to start telling the story? How Black almost attacked us but my scream drove him off?” Ron took the lead as they left the castle.

“I’ve ‘ready heard ‘bout that.” Hagrid didn’t look down at Ron and kept his eyes on his hut in the distance.

Ron fell behind and walked with Harry, crossing his arms. Harry looked at Heather and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

The air was cold but the grass was greener than it had been a month ago and the small buds that had been closed all winter long were now opening up wide. The lawn was looking shiny and glittery with dew drops and the flowers speckled the green with color. She remembered Professor Sprout saying how she didn’t care that the flowers were weeds, some weeds were pretty, even if Mr. Filch didn’t think so. Heather felt she was right. Flowers were flowers even if some called them weeds, and all flowers were pretty.

They entered Hagrid’s cabin and saw Buckbeak sleeping by the fire with a large plate of dead ferrets by his head. Fang was curled under one of the wings while the other was pulled tight around Buckbeak’s body for warmth. On Hagrid’s dresser door hung a large patchy, fur suit with a long orange and yellow tie draped over the shoulder.

Harry ran his hands down the matted fur and turned to Hagrid. “What’re these for?”

“Fer Buckbeak’s case. M’wearin’ that this Friday, tryin’ to look nice and what not. We’ll be goin’ down ter London on the Knight Bus together.” Hagrid motioned for Buckbeak.

Heather bit her lip. She’d completely forgotten they all promised to help Hagrid with his case. With Quidditch and the broom and the cat and matches and school, she hadn’t even thought of Buckbeak once. Harry pressed a hand to his mouth and Ron looked uneasy; they too had forgotten.

Hagrid offered them lumps of what looked like bread with berries baked inside and Heather accepted with the condition of warm tea to dunk it in. She knew it’d be hard as stone otherwise. They sat at the table and Heather dunked her berry bread in the tea when the moment had finally come

“Ron, Harry. Got somethin’ ter discuss with you two.” Hagrid looked at them both very seriously, which was uncharacteristic of him. He never looked too serious about anything, always preferring a lighthearted environment.

“Us two? But not with Heather?” Harry frowned.

“No. Not with Heather. YOU two. And yer behaviors these last several months.”

Heather crossed her arms and tried not to smile, covering her mouth with the tea cup instead as she sipped.

“About what?” Ron frowned as well.

“About Hermione and the way you two’ve been holdin’ grudges with her and even Heather.” Hagrid sighed. “Firs’ of all, Harry. She’s yer sister and when she fell of her broom yeh should’ve been there.”

She knew instantly that Hermione had been coming down to see Hagrid. Though she was even more confused now why Hermione had been telling her she didn’t have time to hang out. They could have both been coming down to see Hagrid and complaining about Ron and Harry together… Though maybe she came down during Heather’s practices? But she always said she was working on essays and studying arithmancy charts in the library during those times. Heather frowned into her tea. Hermione’s times weren’t adding up and haven’t been all year.

“And in case yeh also haven’t noticed. She’s been in a righ’ state ‘bout you two and a lot more. Comin’ down ter visit me fer a while now, talkin’ ‘bout feeling lonely. Firs’ you two weren’t talkin’ to both Hermione and Heather ‘bout the broom, an’ now yer not talkin’ to her because her cat – ”

“The one that ATE Scabbers!” Ron interrupted. “She won’t even apologize!”

“Well… And she’s been cryin’, yeh know. Things are seemin’ rough fer her at the moment. I think she’s bitten off more’n she can chew, all the work she’s doin’ – still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case even! She found some really good stuff fer Buckbeak… Could even stand a chance now I reckon…”

Harry looked at all the files and open books with marks and closed ones with little scraps sticking out in them. “We should’ve helped with that – Sorry, Hagrid – I – ”

“Oh, I’m not blamin’ yeh fer that. Merlin knows how busy yeh all are too, with Quidditch an’ school an’ classes. An’ Harry, you with far more than you should be dealin’ with.” Hagrid shook his head. “No, I ain’t blamin’ you fer that… Jus’ thought yeh two’d value yer friendship with Hermione more than brooms and rats… Jus’ not talkin’ to her is – ”

“Well she won’t apologize!” Ron insisted. “My pet is dead because she was careless and kept the door WIDE open for her cat to come in and eat him up – even though I TOLD her to be careful! If she just apologized and admitted her cat murdered Scabbers, then I’d talk to her again.”

“Well… some people can be downrigh’ foolish ‘bout their pets…” Hagrid tried to reason with Ron a bit more but it made no difference.

They spent the rest of their time with Hagrid talking about Buckbeak’s case. Hermione had done real thorough research and they agreed with Hagrid that Buckbeak did have a chance. At nine he walked them back to the castle and they waved goodbye to him.

“So are you going to talk to Hermione again then?”

Ron curled his fingers into a tight fist. “Maybe.”

“We should, I think.” Harry started up the stairs.

“Oh alright,” Ron gave up. He climbed the stairs higher and turned. “But on a trial bases.” He turned back and kept climbing out of sight.

Harry came back down and stood next to Heather. She hadn’t noticed until now that he was slightly taller than her. She looked at the top of his head and wondered how much was just hair. She didn’t want to be shorter, so maybe she should start stretching out her back with her exercises, or even just willing her body to grow more overnight. Anything.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t talking to you.” Harry crossed his arms. “Will you tell me next time you decide to tell on me?”

Heather smiled. “Yes. I’ll give you at least an hour’s warning so you can hide either yourself or whatever thing I’m having a teacher confiscate.”

Harry smiled and stuck out his hand. “Deal. But same goes for me…”

She took it and shook. “Fair.”

He looked into her eyes and hesitated for a second. “And no secrets?”

She looked around, confused by the question and why he was asking her that and quickly looked back into his eyes. She wanted to lie, open her mouth and say ‘deal’, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to tell him about going over to Draco’s house, and what she recently realized was the start of a friendship with him, so she just squeezed his hand tighter and shook it again, keeping her lips closed.

“Alright.” Harry let go and climbed the stairs. “Night!”

“Night,” she called after him.

She looked down at her hand and frowned. It wasn’t just Draco though… Was it? She had known about the map before him… She had broken into the library and not told him… She was keeping Professor Lupin being a werewolf to herself… She had Ministry banned books under her mattress and he knew nothing about that…

She started walking towards the dungeon stairs at the end of the corridor, keeping her eyes on her hand. What was the difference between a secret and just something personal? She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned a few corners to reach the entrance to the common room. She whispered the password and entered.

Her attention was drawn towards the group of students standing around the bulletin board. She walked over to Draco and sat next to him.

“Professor Snape’s just been in to pin up the next Hogsmeade trip.” He motioned behind him to the crowd without looking up from his book. “I’ll probably be going, most likely. That Sirius Black business might have made McGonagall forget about our detentions and I doubt Professor Snape will remind her. Especially since the Quidditch Cup is on the line.”

“Don’t remind me,” Heather groaned. “What’re you going to do about Harry? Has Marcus talked to you at all about it?” Draco was no match for Harry, even before the firebolt. Heather had worked hard to get him up to Harry’s flying level and the Nimbus two-thousand-and-one is a lot faster, making his jitters on it visible again. Of course she couldn’t mention any of that.

“No. He’s still upset about getting knocked back by Harry… What spell did he use anyways?”

Heather shrugged.

“Well you can tell Potter that I’ll hit him back with it harder.” Draco stood and placed the book back on the shelf next to the fireplace. “Maybe I’ll have Father send some books over.” He looked at her and smiled.

She rolled her eyes and headed into the girl’s dormitories for bed. She laid down and thought about Hogsmeade and about the books tucked under her mattress, about the potion and the recipe she had in mind. If by some miracle Harry decided not to go… then she wouldn’t either, and so it was up to ‘the Universe and Fate’ – as Professor Trelawney liked to say – if they stayed or went this weekend.

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[plantanarchy]

garden update while I am letting the hose run on the new redbud:

swallowtails everywhere of all flavors. I dont remember any of their names but I like the subtly blue ones best. they're strangely fond of wave petunias which I never would have guessed

the tithonia my mom grew from seed have come into bloom and more are up from last years plants. there's a soft quality to them, literally. the flowers feel like velvet

it rained finally yesterday or the day before but is dry already. the grass is too browned out and dead to recover.

we are dealing with a new pest this year, probably due to the drought stress. Azalea lacebugs mostly affect azaleas but also.... asteraceae. The asters and goldenrod particularly affected. Every other weed completely crippled and of course passing it to rudbeckia, echinacea, dahlia, sunflowers, probably also the tithonia soon and my poor zinnias, which have already been dealing with some sort of beetle larvae destroying most blooms

already turned my front planter over for fall, adding a black pearl ornamental pepper i grew from saved seeds in replace of my afflicted dahlia. its not the best to look at honestly.

The tomatoes and peppers are producing like crazy... I grew two cherries from an assortment and my mom grew a German stripe, plus my habaneros and ghost peppers are starting to put out peppers and I am regretting the sheer amount of them. Over half of the garden is sweet peppers, mini bells and an edible sweet ornamental variety called pretty n sweet but still, there's four habaneros and two ghosts and I've been told I can't cook down my hot sauce in the kitchen or risk tearing this family apart via hot pepper vapors. I'll have to buy a hot plate and cook them in the driveway.

My begonias have thrived this year outdoors on the wall. Most of my canes are in bloom and throwing out growth from nodes i didnt even know existed. The remaining rexes and rhizos, the few that I didn't have to toss this winter due to a mystery blight, have not done as much thriving but theyre not dead at least. The tuberoous bastards have bloomed all spring and summer with a kind of enthusiastic brilliance i cant even quite acknowledge without getting all overwhelmed looking at them. My picotee that I overwintered though has been reluctant to bloom in a timely fashion. Probably because I didn't repot and divide the tuber. My Facebook begonia nerd groups would be deeply deeply ashamed. Little old British begonia man who always posts his little glass greenhouse full of carefully poised and pinched begonis, paper plates behind the blooms, would frown in disapproval.

I've been waiting on an impulse birthday plant shipment from glasshouse works since May. They're delayed by covid but I've had no word and its past expected delivery so I guess I have to contact them. I've forgotten what I ordered

My new heurnia is looking to bloom and many of my cacti have new growth and my gasteria blooming at the same time were cross pollinated I think because there are seed pods and my ledebouria and euphorbia leuconeura are in bloom and my night blooming cereus has taken advantage of the rose of Sharon next door and grown right on into it

I'm overwatering the redbud right now and still have to water the rest of the flower beds. I'm sure there's more to say but that's all I've got.

Theres many many bees of all flavors and swallowtail and other smaller butterflies but no monarchs. Not a one, except the female I saw last month laying eggs.

[sidhewrites]

April Showers, Part Two

Part one.

Before them, all of Fellering spilled down the mountainside like a waterfall of life. Power lines swooped over the terraces. The road swerved slowly down the mountain, curving back on itself over and over again until it reached the foothills, then heading straight through the forest and far off into the distant port city. Every rooftop was topped with brightly-colored shingles, every garden teeming with life. Puddles collected on the sidewalks, and raindrops peppered the trees. There were stairs and ramps everywhere, even ladders going from one step-like level to the next.

Cass walked slowly, avoiding any puddles on slopes or particularly muddy areas, with Mops always at his side, loyally resisting the urge to sniff at flowers growing between the cracks in the pavement. 

Lise rested her chin on his shoulder, once again bemoaning the fact that she’d stowed her radio in the backpack instead of a pocket. “I’m going to break that habit sooner or later. I will.” 

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“When?” His grin was audible.

Lise paused, frowning, and buried her face in his shoulder. “Eventually.”

Cass laughed, and they continued on down the mountain road for a few minutes in silence. Eventually, Lise spoke up again, asking about Cass’s dream. Cass would answer, then talk about the letter he got from his father, who’d docked most recently off the coast of Spain.  

“Oh, that sounds amazing. Did he send any pictures?”

“None that he took. But I have a few postcards. I’ll show you at lunch.”

Lise nodded, and grinned, imagining the amazing life Cass’s father must live. He was a nature photographer, going around the world in his boat and waiting for just the right moment to capture birds or fish or whales or goodness knows what else. Neither of them had any real eye for photography, and Lise wouldn’t last a minute on a boat, but it was a romantic life to imagine for themselves nonetheless. They spent the rest of the walk discussing the boats they’d have, what they’d photograph, and where they’d go.

“Antarctica,” Lise said, thinking about penguins and not how the cold weather made it nearly impossible for her to walk.

“New York City,” Cass said, thinking about the massive architecture, and not how crowded, loud places overloaded his senses.

Townsfolk waved hello as they passed, asking how they were doing, and about Great-Aunt Marya’s health. They all knew each other by name, as much a family as they were neighbors. Halfway down the road, Jerzy stopped them from his vegetable garden, waving the pair over with a trowel in one hand and a watering can in the other. His sunhat had flowers stuck in between the woven straw, as bright as the rest of him. 

“Take a look at this,” he said, gesturing behind him. Blue flowers sprouted all along the trellis leaning against his brightly painted house, almost glowing in the soft sunlight. “Biggest blooms I’ve had in years. I bet I’ll win something big this year.”

Cass shifted his weight, allowing Lise to step down and lean on Jerzy’s fence. She ooh’ed appreciatively. “Those are your petunias, right?”

“Morning glories, but close enough. The petunias are over there.” He gestured to a leafy bush sprouting purple blooms instead. “Here.” He stepped away to pull a few of the petunias and held them out over the fence. “For good luck today.”

Lise took them and handed two to Cass before fixing the last flower behind her ear. “What will we need luck for?”

Jerzy shrugged. “You can never have too much good luck, right?”

“Thank you, Jerzy,” Cass said, sticking the flower in his own hat, and one in Mops’ fur. “They’re beautiful.”

Jerzy thanked him right back, and waved them off as Cass lifted Lise back onto his back. They continued on down the road once more, this time talking about their gardens and what they’re planting for the summer, as if they hadn’t helped each other sow the seeds already.

“Squash,” Cass said without hesitating. “I want big squash to make into pies and things in autumn.”

“An apple tree. Just one. We cleared out the space just outside the front gate and planted the seed not too long ago.”

The further down they went, the more shops popped up. A book store, a bakery, and a general mechanic’s. The school sat beyond, at the very bottom of the hill with a wide field. A few children played outside already under their teacher’s supervision, though they wouldn’t be called in for a little while yet.

The road leveled out about two thirds of the way down the mountain, easy to traverse despite the puddles still sitting here and there. Cass let Lise down off his back, and they walked side-by-side, arms linked as they chatted. Lise occasionally stopped to tap her cane into puddles, sending up small splashes of water and scattering droplets as they went.

Finally, they reached the general store, already open, the striped awnings unfurled and soft music drifting out through the open door and mingling with the planters.

Hattie knelt before a chalkboard sign outside advertising the current deal -- lightbulbs, two for one -- and drawing little designs around the lettering. They looked just like Cass, broad-shouldered with freckles and bright red hair pulled back and out of the way, though they were a few years older and wore colorful makeup, the likes of which he would never touch. Their glasses hung on a beaded chain around their neck, reflecting the light beautifully onto their freckled face.

Cass leaned over their shoulder and asked loudly, “Hey, can I buy a car here?”

Hattie jumped. The chalk went flying, and they flinched back with a yelp, nearly headbutting Cass by accident. He recoiled, more out of fear than anything, while Hattie put a hand over their chest to steady their breathing. “Don’t do that!”

Cass nodded, mumbling an apology and burying one of his hands in Mops’ fur. “We just came to see you, is all.”

“Oh, well.” They blew a raspberry, and smiled. “That’s okay then, I guess. I like the flowers.”

“Thanks. How are you doing?” Lise asked. “How are the kittens?”

Their smile grew into a lovesick grin. “One of them tried to climb onto the bookshelf last night. They’re so adventurous, I could cry.”

“Oh, speaking of that…” Lise pulled the shirt from her backpack and handed it over. “Great Aunt Marya says to stop letting them climb on you.”

Hattie pulled a pout. “But…”

“I’m just passing along the message.”

“And we need blueberries,” Cass said. “Any chance you have some here?”

Hatte hummed, looking back to the shop as they thought. “Aren’t there a few bushes down by the creek?”

“No, that’s blackberries. They’re not in season for another few months.”

“Oh, huh.” Hattie frowned. “Let me check what we have. I think Ursula was going to bring some by this week.”

Lise and Cass followed them in, waiting by the door as they put on their glasses and went through the inventory list. Ultimately, Hattie shook their head. “Sorry, none yet. Ursula’s stopping by the group today, right? You should ask her then.”

Cass leaned over the counter to grin. “Is that all we should ask her about?”

Hattie met his gaze for a minute, not understanding until he winked. They flushed a bright red and turned away to hide their face. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“I will until you ask her on a date.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? You like her. I think she likes you. Just write her a letter if you’re too shy to talk to her. Put a flower in it, and everything.”

Hattie shook their head. 

Lise wrapped her arm around Cass’s again, this time a silent sign to stop pushing the subject. 

He nodded in understanding, and held a hand. “Sorry. I just don’t know why it’s taking so long for you to ask her.”

Hattie shook their head again, and turned back around to squeeze Cass’s hand. “It’s hard to risk being told no from someone you like.”

“You must hate me then. I tell you no all the time, and you seem just fine.”

“You’re my brother. I’m legally obligated to hate you.” Hattie’s grin matched Cass’s perfectly, before they relaxed and put the inventory charts away. “Oh -- but if she does have blueberries, can you bring some home tonight? I want some, too.”

“Definitely. I’ll see you tonight?”

“You all ways see me at night.” They waved as the pair left, Mops trodding behind them. Hattie groaned, only then realizing that the dog was tracking mud, and that they’d have to clean the floors all over again.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Balcony Garden 2023

The spring planting has begun!

This year I decided to get a little less ambitious about the vegetables. Feels a bit weird given the food shortages and everything, but it was a hassle for too little reward on my balcony. I still have my strawberries, and those of my herbs that survived from last year, but last year I got like one cucumber and two helpings each of peas and spinach and while the lettuce was very successful, it was also the world’s biggest aphid magnet and just no. So instead, I’m doing something a little different and livening up the balcony with flowers as well as herbs. So! Here’s what I will have on my balcony garden if everything goes according to plan this year:

Parsley (left over from last year)

Sage (left over from last year)

Rosemary (left over from last year)

Thyme (left over from last year and THIS IS WHY I CALL IT THE SCARBOROUGH FAIR ASSORTMENT)

Oregano (left over from last year)

Mint (left over from last year)

Strawberries (left over from last year)

Coriander (or cilantro, for those who differentiate plant from seed)

Dill (some from the rescue dill but I planted some more just in case)

Lemon balm

Lavender

Basil

Tomatoes (this year I will cut them before they get taller than I am; that should get me more actual fruit out of it)

Cayenne pepper

Petunias

Zinnias

Asters

Daisies

Black-Eyed Susans

Marigolds

Hollyhocks

Poppies

Forget-Me-Nots

Those last three are getting planted tomorrow. I could have done them tonight but nope, I will be sensible and kind to myself and not do that.

Besides, I have something else to be doing with my evening, which I just realised I should probably do. I have plans in the region of chicken adobo and I should start the marinade a-marinading. It’s going to be a chicken-rich sort of month; as well as the adobo, I’m trying chicken chasseur for the first time, and I’ll be doing some risotto, and the chicken broccoli pasta bake that serves me so well generally. I also have plans to do lamb dopiaza and aloo gobi again, and I’m thinking French onion soup, and cottage pie. Also pinasugbo (at least once I get back down to Peckham because there’s a very strong Filipino presence in the area, which means half the markets on the high street have saba bananas).

So here’s to spring. Yeah, there’s an awful lot out there that’s going significantly to shit, but I will make tasty things and grow useful and pretty things and I will make the best of it. Well, first I will make marinade.

[joi-in-the-tardis]

24, 38, 43

24; All plants are great but do you have a favorite?

This could... get long.  I have a special love for climbing vine-y things that grow out of control.  One year I had a giant “natural selection” pot on my balcony, in which I threw a bunch of seeds to see who would win.  The morning glories won and took over the whole front of my balcony.  Similarly, I got Mexican Gherkin Cucumber seeds thinking they were going to be cute.  They were crazy climbers and I was always a liiiittle bit afraid they were going to eat me instead of the other way around.  I love the wildness of vines.  I think if I had a yard, it would probably be crawling with them.

Honorable mention to: lavender and rosemary for their smell, petunias for their variety of color, succulents because you can forget they are plants for long stretches, and snapdragons because they make me think of my grandmother.

38: When was the last time you blew bubbles?

A couple weeks ago I shot a soap bubble out of my dish soap directly in to my eyeball.  Does that count? lol  I don’t actually remember the last time I blew bubbles.  I should fix that.

43: First video game you ever played?

Hmm, that’s hard to say.  The first ones I remember are Pitfall for Atari and the original NES Mario/Duckhunt

Send me some calm asks?

[atomicsuperhero]

Top tip for a full flower garden in Alberta

Gardening in Central and Northern Alberta can be challenging. We have a relatively short growing season and cold winters that seem to last forever. Here in Lacombe, we're in Zone 3A, which is pretty cold. But that doesn't mean you can't have a garden bursting with beautiful flowers.

I have one top tip that will guarantee you'll have a garden overflowing with flowers every year.

Top Tip

In January every year, get really excited about gardening, find your favourite seed catalogue, and order as many seeds as you can afford for your garden.

Include some vegetables so you don't feel too guilty about the purchase, but make sure you pick plenty of flowers. When they arrive, buy the biggest bag of starter soil that you can find, then PLANT EVERYTHING and place your trays under lights. Within a few weeks you'll realize you have enough seedlings to fill every flower bed in your yard and the neighbours yards for several blocks, and then some!

When you transplant the seedlings into bigger pots don't thin them out, save every last one. DON'T COUNT THEM. At this point, you might need to invest in more grow lights, tables, and at least 1 giant bag of potting soil.

By April you should be totally overwhelmed and have no idea what you're going to do with all of your plant babies. You may want to start investing in more pots or figuring out what areas of your yard you could dig up to create new flower beds. Or start gifting them to friends.

Be creative when looking for things to plant in. For example, you could use your kitchen pots, large pots will hold several plants! You can just cook on the BBQ until winter, right? Got old hiking boots and or old shoes no one seems to be wearing? Plant in them! Scavenge the garage sales and thrift stores in your area for any type of container that could hold some dirt and a plant.

When it comes time to start planting outside your garden will be bursting with flowers, and your eclectic collection will be the talk of the town.

Ok, all jokes aside (I was joking up there... sort of? Why do I have 250 petunias, 40 dracaenas, and 130 pansies...) starting your own flowers from seed is pretty easy, and considerably cheaper than buying bedding plants from your local greenhouse.

Don't get me wrong, shopping for bedding plants is basically my most favourite activity in the world. But seriously, if you're looking to garden on a budget, this is probably the cheapest way to do it.

If you're lucky, $5 will get you 1, maybe 2, bedding plants from your local garden centre. $5 from a seed company can get about 250 Zinnia seeds. Because haven't you always wanted 250 Zinnias?

Potting soil is also relatively cheap, last night I bought 50 litres of potting soil for $8 from Peavey Mart.

And, as mentioned above, you really can be creative about what you use for potting your plants. You don't need to go spend a bunch of money on pots from the gardening centre. You can pick up all sorts of containers, baking dishes, pots, cups, etc from thrift stores or garage sales.

Another great feature of seed catalogues is that many of them will indicate your growing zone on your address label when they mail the catalogue to you.

So if you want to start gardening, but you're on a tight budget, give it a try next year. Just make sure you order your seeds fairly early as they do take a while to grow. I started my pansies on February 3rd, they're definitely growing, but they're not nearly as big as some of the ones I've seen in stores already. Most seed packets and catalogue descriptions will tell you how long plants take to sprout. If you do some googling you can find good guidelines for when to start different types of seeds so that they're at safe maturity to plant outside when you get to April or May.