#𑁍 flowers au !

[possibilistfanfiction]

Delicate

it's been a weird day already.

but not, like, bad: the sky is clear and it's not windy, which is such a welcome break from the weeks and weeks of rain you kind of want to dance down the sidewalk or something (you don't, but only because you have on this cool new pair of pants you thrifted last week and one over-exuberant roll through a puddle and they'd be wet for the day); there wasn't a long line at camila's coffee shop, so you were early to work; none of your appointments, even, have been late. good-weird sometimes feels way more unsettling than bad-weird, though, or at least that's what you've told your therapist who nodded — trauma responses, this and that, or so she says.

your first two clients are easy — small, simple stuff, which is always nice to start off with. chanel is finishing her last session on a wicked cool back piece with a chill client, and it's all pretty vibey until you're outside on the little front patio of the studio eating the pizza you'd grabbed from down the street for a late lunch, casually people watching. it all happens so fast: you're taking a bite and then, bam, there’s someone on a bike skidding out of control and then falling with a thump, tangled up in the metal frame and pedals spinning.

'shit,' you say, even though the person is already struggling their way out from under the bike — a good sign, overall. but still, you put your pizza down on the table chanel insisted you buy and wheel down the ramp until you're on the sidewalk, close enough to be able to ask, 'are you okay?'

the person — a very, very hot person, in carhartt overalls, a pristine white t-shirt, and blundstones — groans but then nods, stands up fully from the street and hefts the bike back upright by the handlebars. 'yes. i'll be fine. a minor fall.'

there's an embarrassed blush rising behind freckles and, 'you're bleeding.' it's roadrash, nothing serious, along an elbow, both palms, but still — 'my shop is right here.' you point behind you. 'let me patch you up, we have all the sterile stuff and everything.'

'i — okay.'

you smile, then smile even bigger when this very hot bike-falling blushing stranger takes her helmet off and her short hair — slightly sweaty — is tousled, a little messy on the top, even messier after she tries to brush it back with her fingers. 'sweet.' you offer your hand, even though she's dragging her bike alongside her. 'i'm ava.'

she leans the bike against her hip, grants you a small smile, and meets your eyes, even though her blush gets worse. 'beatrice.'

her hand is calloused and warm and she locks her bike against your railing, then follows you up the ramp.

'so you're who moved in,' she says, not unkindly, and you nod. it's a beautiful studio — you'll claim it was 50/50 design choices all day long, but it really was mostly chanel who chose the perfect shelving, the easy colors, the furniture that was simple and comfortable and cool as fucking hell, all at once. 'me and chanel, the other artist and owner,' you say. chanel's gun is very quietly buzzing behind the partition that separates her station from the front desk, and you lead beatrice back to your station.

the scrape along her elbow — delicate, one of the most difficult places to tattoo properly, all small, sharp bones and live-wire nerves — isn't deep or particularly dirty, so you clean it quickly and without too much discomfort, if her comfortable quiet and measured breathing is anything to go by.

'you're an expert on this, i suppose,' she says, as you get out your second skin once everything is clean and dry.

you laugh. 'tattoos aren't too dissimilar.' you allow yourself to look — after a lot of restraint, thank you very much — at her nearly-finished sleeve: fine lines and tender greyscale of flowers and plants, a few bugs, woven together. there's space on the underside of her wrist, still, a little unexpected. 'this is beautiful.'

beatrice smiles softly, a little sad. 'thank you.'

'no, like, genuinely.' you take your gloves off once the second skin is on perfectly and roll back in your chair to see it a little clearer. 'it really is.'

that blush again. 'i'm a gardener,' beatrice says, as if that explains everything. you have a few silly tattoos along your thighs — some are from you practicing along your own skin, a perk of not feeling anything below your waist — and your favorite along the top of your right hand. it's the first chanel did for you, the start of how you became friends — and business partners, eventually — and it's not hard, really, to remember the control you felt when you got to choose to make your body in your own image, when you had someone you trusted to help.

'that's awesome.'

she nods, once, like it's a finite truth. 'along with my sister, i run the florist shop on the other side of camila's. we farm all of our own flowers, only local pollinators.'

'permaculture,' you say, 'sick.'

it gets a laugh out of her — fucking delightful, and, whew, you want to keep making that happen — 'it is.' she stands, looking almost — dare you say it — regretful. 'unfortunately, i do have to get back to said shop for the afternoon. but maybe i can buy you a coffee?'

'camila gives me my coffee for free.'

she blanches and it takes a few seconds before you reach out and pat her hand with a laugh. 'i'm sorry, i was just messing with you. i'd love to get coffee with you.'

'yeah?'

'dude, are you kidding? i want to know all about your plants.'

she's got the most proper accent of all time, and you're kind of wishing for her to say something like, and i, your art, but instead she just nods, a little tongue-tied, you think, which is endearing in its own way too. 'thank you again, ava.'

'anytime.' you pause. 'well, not the exact same circumstances. don't need you flinging yourself off of your bike just to say hi to me again —'

'i didn't fall because of you —'

'i know i'm, like, cool and stunning, but you really should be more careful.'

she rolls her eyes, but there's still a smile on her face. you know you're, as chanel puts it, dangerously charming, so you'll take it.

you watch her walk down the ramp and unlock her bike, then walk it two doors down to the florist that always had swathes of wildflowers in the windows. you've only been here a few weeks, and you'd been very busy setting everything up and getting your clients in asap, but you'd planned to check it out eventually. now, you have even more of a reason to.

and, like, maybe it's a little gay, whatever, but you transfer out of your chair to sit more comfortably at your station while you wait for your next client and start to sketch some wildflowers and their pollinators. bees, your favorites, and maybe it doesn't mean anything or maybe it means something. you don't really believe in everything but you do think that people can be kind and that the earth itself is overwhelmingly good. that's enough, most days, really.

chanel finishes with her client and it's a good-good-weird day because she offers to order dinner without you even having to whine. you fall asleep later at home thinking abt how warm beatrice's skin had been, how it had been easy to make sure she would heal well, all the flowers there, blooming; her freckles and her blush. maybe, if you're lucky, she's thought of you too.

[jaynovz]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Oh hi, thanks so much for sending this!

did the twin flame bruise paint you blue aka Break Up AU:

My favorite story of all time is of course my monster of a Silverflint mod au/novel. My pinned post gives a more thorough summary of this extravaganza, but basically: Silver and Flint meet back up at a holiday party a year-ish after a devastating break up and the cycle of heartache and desperate unhealthy codependency begins again.

This took over a year of my life to write, it nearly fuckin killed me lol. it's my greatest accomplishment. Complete with two interlocking timelines, alternating POV, a shitton of introspective kinky porn, doing the hardest parts of original fiction and fanfiction at the same time, and writing an ambiguous ending that feels the way that canon does.

and I nailed it imo. please enjoy the pride of my life (so far!)

the sweetest devotion, hitting me like an explosion aka Cupcakes AU:

Funny, sweet, and sad all at the same time. Mine and @brinnanza's baker Flint and guitarist Silver rom com, complete with an INTENSIVE beat for beat structure that like, god I’m so fucking proud of and was def the precursor for learning how to write Break Up AU.

I love this verse intensely, it holds a special place in my heart. It's basically the only time the boys get a happy ending :P

Also exists in podfic form!

in this garden there’s no feeling aka Hanahaki/flowers au:

Written as a prompt for Beach Blanket Blacks Sails Event in 2021.

This might actually be the piece I’m most proud of from a canon Silver character study angle. I really crawled deep into his head for this (derogatory). It was also VERY VERY difficult technically/structurally. Got to explore the Howell-Silver dynamic the way I always wanted while executing the hanahaki trope in… a very Silver-y way. 

This is not for the faint of heart lol.

a stained glass variation of the truth aka the Silver backstory: 

Yeah I'm still putting this one. This may be the most deeply personal piece I've written to date. In many ways it's my fucking heart and soul. A character study and a writing exercise, just one potential “what happened to Silver,” by no means a definitive take since that doesn’t exist. But I wrote this to get into his head more, or to have him get into mine maybe lmao, to fully embrace and understand him as a character as much as possible. It was hard, excessively researched, gave me fits, and was fucking PAINFUL EMOTIONALLY lol but I love it to pieces.

Also was the first podfic I ever recorded, if you would rather listen.

sipping on your lips, hanging on by a thread aka Milkingfic:

I talk a lot about John fucking Silver around here, but this story is a full on thorough Captain James Flint brain swizzling. I'm so proud of this character study of Flint as shown through magic freak lactation. Yep you read that right! I made it work and it's fucking brilliant if I do say so myself. Featuring Silverflint becoming partners through strife much earlier, humor, reveling in joyous sensation, and Big Flint Gender Feels.

Oh also, it's really REALLY hot.

--

Thanks for asking! My answers had changed a bit from the last time I did this challenge and it was really validating to see how far I've come since then. Mwah.

[cyberniix]

hi guys.... poll time...!

to those that are fans of my cits AU fic flowers, would you be interested in a comic rendition of it? id make a blog made specifically for it & everything but it wouod most likely just follow the fic word for word (maybe.. MAYBE some other stuff if i feel like it....)

ive been thinking about it, but i dont know if i should do it if no one has interest in it...

[jaynovz]

Yep we wrote this for Black Sails and Silverflint.

A concept in my head that been rolling around a lot:

Hanahaki, but instead of it being triggered by unrequited love, it's triggered because all the love you have for a person turns inwards because you're too afraid to show it.

So it kills you, not because someone doesn't love you back, but because you don't let it out and all that love you have stored, that could grow into something beautiful, turns on you and turns your insides beautiful.

Love is growth, and without any place for it to grow outside, it grows in. If you confess, reciprocated or not, the disease goes away because it's no longer trapped. It gives self-destruction a new meaning.

[obsesssedblerd]

the first time you see your young daughter return from the garden to have lunch with you with flowers neatly braided into her hair, you assume that it's uraume's work. they usually keep an eye on her while she's out playing. that night, as you're getting ready for bed, you turn to your husband, sukuna, and ask him, "did you see the flowers in her hair today? uraume was so sweet to do that for her." the king of curses nods with a quiet hum of agreement.

two days later, you decide to take a stroll through the garden in the afternoon, and you're met with the most precious sight. sukuna is sitting on the ground with your daughter comfortably sitting on his lap, and next to him is a basket of small flowers that look freshly-picked. he skillfully and gently braids them into the little girl's hair, and you realize right at that moment that it was never uraume.

your daughter tilts her head back to look up at him, her scarlet eyes bright with excitement. "are there mostly purple ones in there, papa?"

"yes, little flower," he replies softly, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "now face forward. i'm almost done."

you smile to yourself, then keep walking on the path, allowing them to have their moment together.

[emptyjunior]

Can't stop thinking about reverse Scott Pilgrim au where Ramona has to fight all of Scott's exes, Punk drummer Kim, Megastar Envy Adams with an army of groupies, Femme fatale Lisa Miller, Jaded obsessive Knives Chau, maybe an alternate timeline version of herself.

And when she's all done it's just kinda Wallace standing there and she's like Wallace what are you doing, I'm meeting Scott's ex here and he just gives this sad shrug smile and she's like Oh and then he pulls out the baseball bat-

[mari-lair]

Flower for you!

After enough loops, the party can explore the town before Siffrin wakes up

[ahresprite]

flower x coffee shop au ☕️💐

[linkerbell]

Love @bamsara 's wonderland au ❤️

They're eating a pomegranate 🤤

[possibilistfanfiction]

For the one word prompt: allergic

[a small bea & lil (platonic) backstory for tattoo artist/florist au]

//

'so let me make sure i understand you correctly,' you say, trying your best to seem unaffected and annoyed in front of both beatrice's and your parents in beatrice's childhood dining room. everything is austere and the back of your neck prickles in discomfort, years and years of it; you remind yourself to not fidget. 'you want me to, what? fly to oregon —' admittedly, an offense on beatrice's part — 'and... kidnap beatrice back to england?'

'stop being so dramatic,' your mother says, rolling her eyes. 'beatrice needs to come home. she's passing up a job in parliament to go choose to live a sinful lifestyle —'

'fine,' you say, just to stop where you know that would inevitably end up. admittedly, you do think beatrice is running away from, like, every single one of her issues, but you've never been good at talking to each other, and, anyway, no one has ever been able to force beatrice to do anything, especially not you. you doubt it'll start now. 'just send me the flight and hotel info.'

'you leave later tonight.'

'a red eye.' you resist the urge to groan. 'great.'

/

begrudgingly, portland is beautiful — green and lush and quiet for a city its size, the river meandering through its middle, all the bridges and fast-moving clouds on a relatively clear day, a barely-there warmth in the sun that signals the beginnings of real spring. you watch it all go by on your way from the airport to the address beatrice's parents had somehow found — you don't even want to know how; better to leave well enough alone, you've learned — and when you arrive at a small house, navy blue with a red door, a neatly kept pollinator garden in the front, you park your car and allow yourself to acknowledge that, well, it's kind of cute. the sun is sinking beneath the hills across the river and a chill is moving in, but the air is fresh.

you smooth down your hair, try to fix any wrinkles in your shirt, which is, of course, both fruitless and unnecessary as soon as you get out and put your favorite leather jacket on. honestly, you don't even know if beatrice is home, but there's a practical, small hybrid suv in the driveway, and you're pretty sure if you texted or called her that you'd been sent to fetch her back to london by both sets of your parents, she'd never see you. you pocket your phone and keys and walk up the little stone path to the small porch, then knock on the door. you wait while you hear some shuffling on the other side, and then it takes you a few moments to process that beatrice is standing in front of you.

apparently, her too, because she stands perfectly still for some seconds before, 'lilith?'

you take her in fully, because you can: her hair is short now, buzzed on the sides and back, swept back on the top, neat and dark, and you can see part of a tattoo on her forearm from under the soft, loose sweater she's wearing, pushed up to her elbows. she has on casual pants — navy, still well-tailored in a way you expect from her, cropped at the ankles — and blundstones, like she's getting ready to go somewhere. 'it's been, what, ten days? you're really assimilating quickly,' you say, even though you regret it as it's happening. her face goes from surprised to stormy, one you know all too well.

'piss off,' she says, and starts to close the door, but you stick your arm out and she glares but — thankfully, because she could — doesn't slam it in your face. 'if you came to convince me to go back to london, it's not going to work.'

'can you let me inside?'

she waits a beat but then sighs, still glowering, but steps aside. 'i have to leave in seven minutes.'

'hot date?'

the blush that creeps up from her chest, beneath her sweater, and spreads along her cheeks, to the tips of her ears, is also new.

'oh.'

she crosses her arms over her chest, an unspoken dare. you look around at the house: it's small, but it's been remodeled and has a beautiful open floor plan, marble countertops and a big fridge, a comfortable couch and a big tv, all warm woods and easy greens and rich oranges, mirroring the world outside. 'this is yours?'

she clenches her jaw. 'yes.'

'look,' you say, processing the fact that beatrice has apparently also purchased a house here, and hold up your hands, palms toward the ceiling. 'i come in peace.'

'there's about a 100% chance you're here at the bidding of my parents.'

'they want you to come back home, yes.'

she rolls her eyes. 'i'm an adult.'

you're twenty-seven, and beatrice is a year and a half younger than you, so that's sort of debatable, but it's not worth the argument you see written all over her posture, her stiff shoulders and ramrod straight spine, the set of her feet, ready to get into a fight. 'transparently, they did send me here with the purpose of convincing you to come back to london and do your parliament thing.'

she huffs and turns toward the kitchen and motions for you to follow; she opens the fridge and takes out two beer cans, opens them and hands one to you. a local west coast ipa, you take note of. 'no pint glasses?'

'like i said, i have to leave soon.'

'fair enough.' you lift yours in an offer for a salute — an offer of peace, more than anything — and she clinks hers with a resigned little expression, takes a long sip before putting her can down on the counter and leaning toward you.

'you know i'm not going back.'

'i do,' you say; you always had. 'mostly i wanted to see that you were, you know —'

'okay?'

it's kinder than anything that would've come out of your mouth in the moment, a hint of affection seeping in. 'sure.'

'i'm doing great.'

'clearly.'

she frowns, takes another drink. 'if you really believe all of our parents' bigoted —'

'beatrice.' she stills where she'd started to pace. 'you know that i don't. i just don't understand why you can't be a lesbian at home.'

beatrice tips her head back. 'of course you understand,' she says, more intense than you had expected. 'maybe not about being gay specifically, although, whatever, we can get into your proclivities later —'

'bea —'

'but — don't you want to have your own life?'

'you think, what, moving halfway around the world, with no warning, to help run some farm, is — '

'— is what, lilith?'

you feel yourself deflate; you take a sip of your beer because there are tears starting to burn at the corner of your eyes.

'it's a permaculture project — part science, part local politics, part business. it's a good opportunity.' she stills, glances at the time on her phone. 'and, even if it wasn't, i just — you know as well as anyone how suffocating our families are.'

you can't quite look at her yet — her sincere, golden eyes and serious frown, her freckles, things you've known since you were children whenever she was explaining something that hurt, something that mattered — but you nod. 'it's been ten days, beatrice. and you're already —' you swallow, a hurt silence sitting in the air, heavy and swarming.

but beatrice has always been braver than you. 'i need to breathe, lil. it was killing me.'

'you and your fucking flowers,' you say after you're able to gather yourself enough that you're fairly certain you won't cry. thankfully — full of more grace that you have ever been — beatrice grants you a laugh.

'why don't you stay with me,' she offers after a silence when you can't bring yourself to say anything more. 'i have a spare bedroom, and, lil —'

you reach out and squeeze her hand. 'please don't say anything.'

'just because you're allergic to any kind of affection —'

'fine.'

'yes?'

'yes.'

a smile blooms on her face that makes caving far too quickly — you want to breathe too, so badly — much more bearable. 'okay, well, i shouldn't be too late. there's leftover vietnamese food in the fridge if you're hungry, and i recorded the arsenal match from earlier.'

'plying me with katie mccabe?'

'well, i didn't know you would be failing at kidnapping me today.' she rinses out her beer can and puts it carefully in the recycling. 'kismet, if you will.'

you roll your eyes while she grabs a camel wool peacoat — one she's worn for years now, gorgeous and an inexplicable comfort, that she still has it — and then carefully pulls a pale blue beanie on. you gesture helplessly toward, well, whatever this aesthetic is. 'do you feel like, well, you?'

her smile softens. 'i think so.' she shrugs. 'more than i ever have before, at least.'

'well, i won't wait up, and i don't want to know any details.'

'it's a first date, lilith.'

'are these walls soundproof?'

'goodbye,' she says, but there's amusement in her tone and, before she leaves fully, she turns and strides back toward you and wraps you in a hug. 'i'm glad you're here.'

'me too, beatrice.' you hold onto her a moment longer than you normally would. 'she hot?'

she backs up and smacks you on the shoulder.

'have fun, bea.'

she nods. 'i'll text you when i'm headed home.'

[surinnit]

i've seen loads of cowboy aus but there's a severe lack of cowgirl crowley

[clownsuu]

happy lonely singles in your area day 👍💥🥄

[plumadot]

hey it's our favourite undead monk/tavern keeper/guild master :D

[fl00mie]

more ink's flower au stuff

sooo this is obviously a reference to that gif in undertale's newsletter lmao, ofc protraying blue as paps cause, here comes my new headcanon about this lovely au, i love to think ink leaves flowey with blue when he's travelling around universes, flowey for sure got attached to him in an instant becauuuse yea papyrus' personality, although he gets embarrased when he sees swap chara bc REASONS (i'll perhaps draw smth about this?)

[ non especially related but these gifs with paps and flowey made me think flowey actually started living with the rest on the surface, at first i though flowey's ending was open AND i think it was (idrk actually ww i left the fandom on like 2019 and i wasn't aware of any undertale content -sort of- until 2 months ago) until this stuff released ]

i'll find time to draw more i swear ink sans by @/comyet underswap by popcornpr1nce undertale by toby father fox

[blairamok]

y’all seem to like my language of flowers tattooed botanist crowley so here he is being a total dirt gremlin. catch him squatting in the garden whispering terrible things to weeds

[mari-lair]

getting to know you