#Florist Sheep

[fogaminghub]

🌟✨ It’s time for the Wish of Lanterns Quest in Infinity Nikki! 🌸 Help Yun repair the Flower Lantern during the New Bloom Festival and snag some great rewards! 

Here's how to complete the quest: 

1. Finish “Lost Cargo” World Quest.

2. Meet Yun at the White Jade ship in Florawish.

3. Gather Florascent Wool from Florist Sheep around Miraland.

4. Give Yun the wool and claim your rewards!

🎁 Rewards:

- Thread of Purity x150

- Shining Particles x30

- Diamond x30

This quest runs until February 25, 2025. Don’t miss out! 💖

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I can’t go home. There are only a few places open this late and I am walking. I leave a trail of footprints in the powdery snow. The music hall in the middle of town is playing a local band no one has heard of and a single popup store sits outside. I go to the window. The clerk is on her phone in the small cramped cart. Her screen goes dark and she looks up. Her hair is deep brown and tied back so neat and boxy you’d think it was a nun’s habit.

“Hot chocolate,” I say.

The clerk is nonplussed. She takes my money. Her habit-like-hair is stiff and doesn’t shift as she nods and counts my ones. She moves from one end of the little cart to the other with a Styrofoam cup. 

She carries the sugar-thick hot chocolate in one hand and it lets out a thick steam. I am sure she made it too hot. She stops. Her gaze draws up and over my shoulder. Her pupils expand and shoulders rise almost to her ears.

She glances at my face and then away again. Her lips are thin and uncolored. She mouths the words like an unskilled ventriloquist, “do you need me to call someone?”

I shake my head and take the cup and the texture is squeaky and flakes off in my grip. I walk. My footprints mark the powder-white snow and my city only has a few places open at this time of night. My legs are numb with cold and my eyes ache from lack of sleep. I am grateful for the street lights which are all a pale blue color that is supposed to help the birds. I am a bird person, I think, if I was going to be anything.

Cars pass and I am grateful for those too. I reach the street of little cramped stores, one after the next. A fabric store. A second-hand book store. Florists and boutique shoe shops. All too charming to be supportive. The Walmart is just outside our small town limits and I can’t go home.

Across the street, the pub has lowlights on and voices rumble like a thunderstorm from within. I don’t think the rest of the town likes the pub. The bar has one long window made up of colored glass in muted reds and blues and yellows. It reminds me of church windows and leaves the impression of making up for it. Making up for being what it is.

I square my shoulders and push my way in. The air is warm and floor a good type of dark wood. The tables are full enough to be considered a party–or, what I imagine a party to be like. I hadn’t noticed the dusting of snow on my hoodie, and shook it off like dandruff.

The man behind the counter gives me a cursory look. He is a big man with a large mouth and wears frowns like he’s making up for something too. “Mark isn’t here,” he says in a further cursory manner. I shake my head and make my way to the counter. I hadn’t finished my hot chocolate and clutch the Styrofoam cup in both hands.

“Warm up?” I ask but Steven Plyer, the barkeep, is looking over my shoulder. He mouths to himself silently like he’s working out a math problem under his breath.

Two men, big and strapping, move away from the bar’s church-like window. They take seats at the end of the bar and Steven Plyer, the barkeep, leans over the counter. His pupils are ink-dipped coins. I fiddle with the ends of my sleeves. He looks over my shoulder just as I push my hot chocolate closer over the counter.

“There’s a whole world out there,” he says.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“You don’t have to go.”

I shake my head and Steven Plyer takes my hot chocolate and disappears behind the swinging doors to the back. The rest of the men have moved away from the window and sit on either side of me. They murmur in voices too low to hear.

The oldest of them, a man that smells like leather, stands. His voice has a vibrating quality, unsmooth, dragging out the “a’s” like a regal sheep. “Do your parents know?”

Steven Plyer returns with my hot chocolate steaming and passes it to me with both hands. I get up because the old man needs my seat, I think. The first two men huddle by the front door, coats on and heads bent together like prayer, and I leave without them. The snow is no longer powder but inch-thick fluff. I kick up the fluff with each step and the silver hangs about me like fairy lights, I imagine. I take a sip of hot chocolate and it is too hot and too sweet and you can be grateful for that too.

The sidewalk ends and I walk alongside the side of the road just on the edge of the white line. I think I can see the lights of the Walmart beyond the lights of the city. Trees gather on either side and I miss the blue glow of the street lights and the concerned gaze of the clerk in her tiny cart. I wish she had come with me. I wish Steven Plyer had called me by name.

A solitary car passes and its stark white headlights blare against the night, more violent than kind, and I have to shield my eyes. The car is red and large and pulls to stop on the other side of the road. The window rolls down and a curly-haired woman sticks her head out. Her face is small and elfish and mouth pinches together at the corners. She wears a tight shirt buttoned up all the way to her throat like it might hold her in.

The head beams glow perpendicular to me and I regard the woman as she regards me. She is slow to speak. Slower than the men at the bar had been.

“Get in,” she says, buttoned-up to the throat and with eyes more tired than sad.

“No,” I say and take a sip from the hot chocolate. It’s cold.

Her windshields wipe away the snow and she looks over her dashboard. Her voice is breathy in the way of a Hollywood actress from a bygone era. “I’m worried.”

I nod. They all are. “That can be enough.”

Her mouth zips together into an angry line. She sticks her head out the window, close to a snarl, looking past me, and honks her horn in one long blast. I shy away from the noise and the too-brightness of her head beams. She drives with her head out the window, honking her horn over and over again as loud as she can.

I walk and there are no more cars. The snow settles over my shoulders and I don’t bother to dust off my hood or warm my hands. I leave the white line and walk in the middle of the road. The lights of the Walmart warm the night just outside of town and I can make out the outline of parked cars in the distance. They’re aren’t that many places open this late at night. 

I slow to a stop and sway a bit, like I'm drunk, I think, if this is what that's like. A second pair of footprints mark the snow in front of me. When had that happened? I tilt my head all the way back. The clouds are bright like daylight and snow growing heavy. I think it will all be glittering when the morning comes.

FIN

My book! 🐈 Newsletter

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem! Florist!Reader

Chapter Five: Calla Lilies - Beauty

Summary: A sleepless night manages to bring you and Andrew together in a way neither of you would have expected.

Word Count: 3080

Author's Note: hi my darlings! hope you're all doing well. writing this fic has been so much fun so far, and this chapter was no exception, so i hope you enjoy this chapter of late-night shenanigans.

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @wub-wub-wub-wub-wub @padfootblackswh0r3

as always, fic below the cut <3

It was two in the morning and you were wide awake.

You were up against your will. There was an attempt to go to sleep, but it was a solid hour of tossing and turning that soon became futile. No matter how hard you tried you were wide awake. You wanted to go to sleep, your day being so long and exhausting you couldn’t wait until your head hit your pillow. When you tried, however, you were the most energized you had been all day. How ironic.

You had no idea what could be causing this sudden bout of insomnia. Actually, that was a lie. You had a few theories. Having coffee in the afternoon, as you did today, sometimes caused you to stay up late. There was a sort of tension your energy, though it wasn’t something that caffeine could replicate. After that, the excitement of finding your favorite movie on streaming, making yourself some popcorn and watching it in its entirety, helped you to make it to midnight.

Now there was only one thing keeping you from falling asleep.

The adrenaline from sending a stupid text. To Andrew, of all people.

It had been a month since you first met, and only three weeks since you visited his tattoo parlor, and since then you both kept your promises. You met up during lunches a few times each week, when you both were free.

It wasn't until today, however, when you realized Andrew didn't even have your number. He gave you his on the first day he met you, but that was strictly professional. Today he finally crossed over into your personal bubble. You added him to your contacts, typing in the name Andrew, but backing up upon hearing his suggestion. “You can put in Andy, if you'd like,” he had said as he peered over your shoulder. You listened to him, and now, both in your phone and your mind, he was Andy.

The rest of your day was exhausting, mentally and physically. It was one of your busiest days in a while, which in theory was fantastic, but in practice leaned more towards stressful. Not to mention one coworker was sick and the other had a family emergency, meaning everything that happened today was solely in your hands. So much running around and so many orders that most of your day was a blur of petals. There wasn't even enough time for you to use flower language., picking flowers based on aesthetic appeal and not meaning. It pained you to do it every time.

Fast forward past eating a Chinese take-out dinner and watching a comfort romcom to now. You were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, so hopeless you were considering even counting sheep. You were recounting the events of the day in your head. Anything to get you to sleep faster. When you arrived to Andrew— Andy — giving you his number, you paused, and in a moment on spontaneity that could have been only caused by sleep deprivation, you reached for your phone off the nightstand and unlocked it.

You opened the page for his contact, and in your tired and frankly emotionally unstable state, you thought it would be a good idea to text him. After midnight. For the first time.

It wasn't anything salacious, just a simple “hi”. Not even capitalized, which was your try at being casual. There weren't any ulterior motives, either; an attempt at starting a conversation was all that it was. Still, you regretted that text the moment it was sent.

Cursing yourself, you went to delete your message, only to find he had already seen it.

Shit. No backing down now.

You went to type an excuse, that it was meant for someone else and you were sorry to text him so late and you promised you weren't under the influence.

Until you saw three dots pop up on his side. He was texting back.

Shit. Again.

There was no way he was of sound body and mind and texting you so late. What if he was drunk (or even worse, completely sober) and thought you wanted a hookup? Would you be completely opposed to that? Of course you would be. You had morals and standards and he had hands you couldn't stop staring at and tattoos that caused your mind to wander—

Your phone buzzed, jolting you out of your thinking. He sent his text: Hey. It was followed by Is everything alright?, a valid question considering the circumstances, but a small pang of guilt ran through you at the idea of worrying him. You took a moment to think before typing out your reply.

everything is fine! i can't sleep, that's all.

just thought i’d say hello.

Hoping your explanation would suffice, you watched your screen as, almost immediately, he typed back.

Do you usually text at odd hours of the night?

You shook your head as if he could see you and typed again.

nope. you're just special.

extra perks for being such a loyal patron.

An almost immediate reply came from his end.

Right, I’m your favorite customer. I almost forgot my title.

Suddenly you were much more open to the idea of staying up. What was another hour without sleep? If anything, you could take tomorrow— today, really — off and spend the day napping and over-analyzing every text. All you’d have to do is pop in to the shop and make sure the sign said you were closed. A foolproof plan.

As you wrapped up planning your next sleep-deprived twelve hours, your phone buzzed again.

Might as well attempt to have a normal conversation, right?

How was your day?

He always was so considerate. You chose your words carefully in your reply, sugarcoating the type of day you had.

my day was crazy to say the least.

to the point that it might be why i’m losing sleep

You didn’t want to be a burden, so you kept it short and sweet. It always gave you such a guilt to lament to others if you had a bad day or an overall unpleasant experience. According to his reply, Andy hadn’t thought of it like that at all.

Would you want to call instead? To talk about it?

His question stopped you for a moment, and you debated on some pros and cons before typing out your response.

sure.

but no video calling. i look a mess.

The very large pro of getting to hear his voice outweighed the various other cons, which you now had trouble remembering.

I doubt that. I can’t imagine you not looking great.

He had to be doing this on purpose, specifically sending messages that could be considered flirting, all with the purpose of making your heart flutter. You had to acknowledge how juvenile the whole experience was. Getting flustered over a text was something you would've done as a teenager, and never would have imagined you'd be doing at your grown age.

But I’ll spare you the video call to save you from my disheveled state.

You breathed out a laugh, and positioned yourself so that you were sitting up.

You pressed the button to call him and waited with bated breath. One ring. Then another. Then another. Until he picked up.

“Hey,” he said, and you could even hear him smiling through the phone.

“Hi.”

As usual, Andrew was overthinking.

Sending him a text so late had to be a mistake. It was meant for another friend or a confidant, surely; someone you would be comfortable with knowing that you were up so late. Not him, who you'd only known for a month and yes, had gotten closer to, but not this close.

He took the opportunity he was given to get to know you better, to feel like friends instead of awkward acquaintances. He found himself smiling down at his screen, sometimes even laughing at what you were saying. But it wasn’t without its challenges.

Texting was much too confusing of a method of conversation for him, especially conversation with you. Where did banter cross the line into flirting? If such a line did exist, it felt like you both were playing jump rope with it. And why is it so hard to tell someone’s tone over text? How was he supposed to know if you truly meant what you said?

If he meant what he said?

Of course he did. Every image of you in his mind was gorgeous. He wouldn’t— he couldn’t — lie about that.

Negotiating out of a video call was a smart decision on both of your parts, considering neither of you looked your best. He certainly didn't, in an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt so worn-out he couldn't tell you what band logo was on it if he tried. He couldn’t help but visualize you on the other end, hair probably messy and undone, wearing only an over-sized shirt and shorts, leaving your legs and your thighs exposed—

Even though he was expecting it, the sound of his ringtone caused him to jump.

For most of his contacts, a call past midnight would be sent to voicemail and called back after ten minutes and a message saying he was “asleep” and had “just woken up from the sound of his ringtone” and various other lies he used to convince others he had a normal sleep schedule. You were an exception to this, along with seemingly every other rule Andrew had in his life.

So for your call, he accepted it, but not before letting it ring a few times at the risk of seeming too desperate.

Who had you turned him into?

There was no point in resisting the smile on his face when he finally indulged himself and answered.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

He wished there wasn’t any awkwardness between you, that there weren’t any lulls in your conversations. But life is not a romantic comedy, and he was too… tense when it came to you. It wasn’t until an uncomfortable amount of time passed that he spoke again, leaning towards his phone.

“So, how are you?”

“That's a loaded question . Why don't you start?”

“Oh, I’m grand, thank you very much.”

He couldn’t sit still, even if he tried. The (very unnecessary) nerves he was feeling wouldn’t let him. In fact, they dragged him out of his bed and to his kitchen. They took out his kettle, put some water to boil, and grabbed some teabags. His mouth helped to keep the conversation going as he rambled about his day. Your conversation went on normally, only interrupted when his kettle whistled.

“What's that I hear on the other end?”

“Oh, I’m making myself some tea. Always helps me get to sleep.”

“Wow, trying to get rid of me already, Andy?”

He raised his eyebrows, momentarily forgetting he had given you permission to call him by the nickname.

“More like trying to prevent how much I’ll hate myself in the morning if I don't go to sleep soon.”

He could hear you hum in agreement, and waited a second before speaking again.

“Anyways, tell me about this hellish day of yours.”

He could hear you exhale into the phone and prepared himself to listen intently to what would be a long rant.

“Well, first of all, work was busy. It was a Saturday, and that is usually the day when we’re at our busiest, but today was almost…abnormal. I won’t lie, it was overwhelming. In the grand scheme of things, though, it's good. We need more days like today. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?”

He was afraid of the answer, but he asked it anyway. Your voice lowered, like someone else could hear your conversation.

“You're the only person outside of my job I’m telling this to, so please don't spread this, but if we don't start making more sales, we might foreclose. I just found out today.”

His heart sank. It took a moment for him to sputter out a reply, initially too shocked to speak.

“You're kidding! Is there something you could do?”

“Well, I looked into it, and my options are limited. I’m not selling the property, and I’m sure as hell not giving up the deed. I’d have to negotiate something else but even then, we might not have the money to keep going.”

“That’s… horrible.”

Another silence, one that resembled a mourning period. He let you wait it out, knowing it was hard for you to even think about losing the shop.

“So, yeah. That caused a few gray hairs this morning. And then, as the cherry on top of this shitfest sundae of a day, my mom called. Usually not a problem, except she asked me the one question I dread the most.”

“And what is that?”

“‘When are you going to find a nice man and settle down? You can't do this flower thing forever.’ Like it's not my job! My job that I absolutely love, and she knows it.”

“I can only imagine how invalidated that makes you feel.”

“Thank you for recognizing that. It's extremely invalidating. As for the settling down bit, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I’d need a man to be interested in me first.”

He had no idea what came over him when he started his sentence, but the words left his mouth quicker than he could think.

“I mean, if you really wanted to, I-”

All that momentary courage just to be cut off by a comment you made, likely intended as a joke, but one that still caused him to come to a stop.

“You have a friend I could try?”

He retracted away from the phone at your words, just slightly. He knew you weren't serious but just the thought of it made him nauseous.

It stayed silent for a beat. He waited for you to say something, anything, because he was not initiating that conversation. You spoke after a painstaking few seconds.

“I’m kidding.”

The silence between you hung in the air and twisted into awkwardness.

“Not funny?”

“Not funny,” he replied, shaking his head solemnly. “For the purpose of setting boundaries… I’d prefer if you didn’t make jokes like that.”

Your voice was dripping with guilt when you spoke again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Truly. The boundary is set, and I promise we'll return to my regular scheduled programming of being hilarious and never shutting up.”

“I accept your apology. And don’t say that kind of stuff. I like your excessive bouts of talking.”

“Even if it’s about my flowers?”

A small chuckle on your end let him know the conversation had become lighter again, and he laughed as well.

“Especially if it’s about your flowers.”

“Speaking of, how’s my beautiful bouquet doing? Is she working her magic?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got tons of compliments.”

“Let me know if it needs a touch-up. The calla lilies typically only last two weeks, and I just got a new shipment, so if anything starts to wilt inexplicably, just tell me and I’ll be there."

“Calla lilies. Those mean beauty, right?”

He heard you let out some noise of confusion, and was afraid he had said something wrong, coming off as a weirdo for suddenly knowing about your interest or not getting his facts correct. He hadn’t even noticed his breath was suspended in throat until he exhaled, set free from the sound of your voice on the other end.

“…Yeah, they do. Not to sound rude, but… how do you know that?”

“A few weeks ago, I couldn’t sleep, so I found a website with an entire list of flora and their meanings and I was actually… really interested. It still put me to sleep, but I learned a few things along the way.”

“Andy, that’s amazing! I’m so excited, I finally have someone to talk about this with. Maybe you could even help me pick out some flowers for a bouquet.”

“I’ll leave that to you, I think.”

“Considering I get paid for it, that's a good idea.”

You keep conversing for a while, topics ranging widely, though slowly Andrew could tell you were starting to feel the effects of the night. He heard you let out a yawn, followed by you pardoning yourself. Over time, your words slowly dissolved into mumbles and deep breaths, and after waiting a moment…

Silence. He put two and two together.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You couldn’t hear him, but he said it anyway.

There seemed to be a common sentiment among your friends that nothing good happens after two a.m. It was an idea stolen from a sitcom years ago and only proven true ever since, from long-term relationships breaking up to retching onto and completely ruining heels worth hundreds of dollars.

You bent that rule slightly. Good things can happen after two a.m., but you have to suffer the consequences, a headache only made worse by your refusal to rest being one of them. A secondary consequence being the burden of not physically seeing each other today. Overall, the remainder of your necessary day of rest was refreshing, if not filled with multiple power naps and your conversations with Andrew not leaving your head.

Andy didn't get this easy way out. He had an appointment made months beforehand, and it would be horrible of him to cancel on such short notice. He got some sleep after he hung up. Three hours to be exact. Nothing that couldn’t be balanced out by a black coffee and deluding himself into feeling awake. He’d done it so often it was almost like clockwork, training himself to run on very little sleep. Unfortunately, his one appointment of the day took almost five hours to complete, and he did feel his eyelids droop more than once. Thank goodness his work wasn’t affected.

Your conversation also carried on into the day, him texting in between breaks, not wanting to spend a moment where you two weren't communicating. He could put his past grievances with texting as a medium aside.

There was only one thing you said throughout the day that stopped him in his tracks.

i forgot to ask last night, but why were you up so late?

He took a few minutes to reply, contemplated how to tell you the truth, but not in it’s entirety

I was thinking.

He left out what he was thinking about, what caused his sleepless night.

You.

[lover-lyn]

I love chuuya so much he's perfect I'm very way

Also I'd like to mention that this is semi inspired by @milky-aeons wedding work, I fell in love with their writing and it's so good I just had to take the idea for it, hope they don't mind <3 (I really hope my writting lives up to theirs)

Line Without A Hook

It's a curse

And it's growing

You're a pond and I'm an ocean

Oh, all my emotions

Feel like explosions when you are around

And I've found a way to kill the sounds, oh

Oh, baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you

I need you here to stay

Ricky montgomery ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

At fifteen years old, Chuuya was too busy trying to lead the Sheep to worry about such silly things

At sixteen years old, Chuuya had seen some light. Until it was snuffed out.

At eighteen years old, Chuuya had pushed all thought of it to the back of his mind, as he was drowning in taking over most responsibilities Dazai had abandoned once he left

At twenty years old, Chuuya had given up on all hope of it.

He'd be a fool to keep on believing in such things.

He wasn't human. What could ever make him deserving of such a thing?

And at twenty two years old, Chuuya was making preparations for a wedding.

He couldn't even dig up the slightest memory of how he had gotten here, all that he knew was that he must get everything done in time, and properly.

How silly he must have looked. A mafia executive running around town, from jewelers to florists and tailors

He was hell bent on organising the most lavish ceremony to have ever been

Originally, he had only wished to peacefully elope. Quietly and without any troubles of unexpected factors

Until Mori caught wind of it. And all of a sudden the entirety of the Port Mafia knew of his engagement, and he had a wedding to plan. With a deadline of one month.

At least the boss had been kind enough to both fund and lend a helping hand in organisation

Yet what he was most grateful for was the church location he had managed to aquire for them, completely upsurging the two year wait list

Just yesterday, he had sat the both of you down and spent what must have been one of the longest meetings he had ever attended going over the details of the wedding, wich arguably made his current job much easier

Despite his first wishes of not having a wedding at all, he was now determined to see this through void of any mistakes or hiccups

If he was going to have a wedding, it would be the singular most show stopping and luxurious of weddings.

He had a perfect spouse, so naturally he had to give them a prefect event

Maybe, he would be good enough to be a fitting groom

Although he may not be human enough to deserve love, he's never- not for a second doubted that his love is as human as can be.

It far surpassed the love he could have ever held for anyone or anything else.

And only when he loved did he feel human. fortunately for him, he had love to spare when it came to his spouse.

Did I cook or am I cooked

[dudoserswag]

your art is so cool I wish I was able to commission :(

anyways do you have any ocs? I wanna draw themmmm

gonna try my best to support as best as I can :]

Oh ty for askin that question i really like talking abt oc's!

I'mma tell abt 2 of theirs lore! Idkk!!

1) this red boy doesn't have name rn, but he is 14! He's living in the small village on the hill! He tending sheeps and helps his grandfather with household, he honor the memory of his family and proud of it! He is God believe and every Sunday he goes to the church and pray.. He missunderstond people but he kind a lot!

2) his name is Kris Wood, he works as a florist in small shop! It's also a family business! He is shy and not much talkative and enjoy silence! Whole family like camping and be the one w the nature!

And other pictures are my robot oc! And other oc sketch too!

And nepeta from homestuck!

[candiedspit]

In the afternoons, I taste blue.

A deep itch in my mouth as the hills roll back their beautiful white eyes, the lashes of hay are vibrant and young. A young girl in the bay hales and grabs ropes of straw, full of dreams. Another swig of ale. The soft breaststroke of sunlight against the canvas as my hand goes numb, the dumbest horse on the racetrack, the palest of moons. I await sunset that atomic soundless bloodbath, a weightless aria of reds and the high tone of orange mingled in the stomach of the big mother; the vast spectrum of colors awash in heat. I reach for the beer again. I dazzle the stripes.

A portrait of the scene, the afternoon plastered there like a photograph of which does not exist yet.

I can’t explain it. There are no words. But sometimes, I can see beyond the plains, beyond the fragrant sweeping hills, beyond the mumbling skyline into a world built around a tweaking electric pulse, the shimmering and crackling blues of the future. So many colors there. Here, a sleepy cabin lost in the tendrils of deep yellow and the sirens of green.

At times like these, I think about Sien; her deep brood, the fragility of her movements, even the fabric of her dress weighing her down as did everything. She was an angel lost to the elements, her head burning like a candle. We had that fire in common. When I would paint, she would sit across from me knitting and hunched into her own personal void. I favored her company over the brutalist scoundrels at the bars, slinging paint like axes, hoping to make pictures but never getting the angle quite right. The ghettos of black and the righteousness of lilac. The dark roast of red. How red can speed.

Once, a thunderstorm passed through. The rain fell like commandments. I wrangled my things and tried to capture the fits of grayed, violent clouds that seemed to grow enormously into massive, angered knots. The grumbling of thunder following attacks of white striking the ground.

I always wondered what would happen if you got struck by the bolt. If perhaps for a moment, as the light punctures your naked flesh, made an artifact of you, you might realize the smallness of your gifts, the rudeness of your light, the littleness of your love.

You loved her and it was not enough; the river held her in ways you could not and perhaps, you realize, God would not take you. Perhaps you could be an angel, pristine and kind and unmoving and modest and still, the light would not take you. Christ would not save you. And you were to be left on Earth, to witness the buds and knolls and dark bunches of dirt. You were the witness and the lifts of mood and descents were all for the goodness of your witnessing, necessary even. To see the arches in the grass, the folds in the skies, the gorgeous kneeling of the clouds.

And perhaps it was you all along. You, the servant of the marigolds. You, the alcoholic florist, the smeared man, the scream in the street, the tender criminal. You, the man soaked in his clothes, living on granules of tobacco and green ale and infrequent toasts. When the incoherent passages of blistering madness come over you and when, at long last, the world makes some sense and when the strangers conform to pretty blurs and the pictures come as fists come in fluorescent and exact, absolute clarity and when the words rain out of your livid mouth and when you are standing in a field reciting verses and feeling the great vibrations of songs in the ground and all around you and when you are alone and the walls begin to shrink and wobble like drunken sailors and when the fine and perfect colors combat your vision, rapture your pupils and replace your void, when the love grows larger than what you are capable of holding—you must turn to the brush, you must keep the details, you must be witness to what it is you are seeing! — Time passes like grazing sheep; the days are long and the nights are cold.

You hum along to the persistent conversations. You drink ale. You smoke pipes. You meander to the bars when the grouch of loneliness hangs on your back like a spider monkey; you mother the loneliness. Sometimes, you cannot understand what it is you are doing on Earth. You grind your fingernails down. You swallow the pulp. You beckon the sunrise like a maestro and the process is laborious and difficult. But the colors keep you awake.

Theo worries, lingers in the doorways and lays in your bed, touches your cold sweat, calls your childhood names. He knows the storms you stand in. But he also sees the colors, too. Sometimes, a mere glance. Other times, he is swarmed by the metallic and operatic blues and the sullen orange.

It is winter when you lose your ear; all the snow outside erases the buildings and hides the architecture. The wind is brittle. And you are lost in a white current. The hospital calms you. A few days afterward, you know not to fiddle with the bandage. Sometimes, you do not understand a thing. — A motherhood of daisies. — The gun is a horrid black. The boys are young, still pink and bird-like but brimming with a meanness. A hard shove. A toss of limbs. And I am on the ground where I remain when the shot brims out, as my body braces for the impact. I merge into the strange light as the blood urges from my side.

I saw the braids of stars, once. A collection of pinpricks. The same light I see when I see the future. I taste iron. The skies are tackled with a disease of huge blues. The grass is quiet.

I merge into the blood, the red like a stream of poppies.

[whencyclopedia]

Naxos

Naxos, with an area of 430 km², is the largest island in the Cyclades archipelago. The island enjoyed its most prosperous periods in the early Bronze Age and again in the Archaic and Classical periods.

Naxos in Mythology

In certain versions of Greek mythology, no less a figure than Zeus himself was brought up on the island and he was worshipped there as Zeus Melosios, patron of sheep. Apollo was also associated with the island and associated locally with goats, shepherds and florists. Ares, the god of war and general trouble-maker amongst the Olympian gods, sought shelter in the bowels of the island - described as siderobrotin petran - the place of iron-eating rock (meaning emery, the island's famous export material used to fine-polish the marble so often used in Greek sculpture).

The god most closely linked with the island was, however, Dionysos. In Greek myth he was believed to have been born on the island and it was also here that the god of wine married Ariadne following her rejection by Theseus. The life, death and rebirth of Ariadne were worshipped in a major nature festival on the island.

Continue reading...

[swallowedbyfandom]

Her chambers soon begin to look like a florist shop. Colin has been a busy bee, she will give him that. He has sent her beautiful elaborate bouquets everyday this week with sweet little cards attached. In the week since that awful dinner at Bridgerton house Colin has managed to purchased a home in Bloomsbury. He has also interviewed and hired several servants to fill household positions. There have been trips to the lawyers and other legal affairs that has the Ton holding their breath. It is clear to all he is preparing to take a wife.

Her mother observes the situation with a shark's predatory anticipation. It is almost makes Penelope sad that her mother cannot see what he does not do. He has not gone to see a doctor yet nor has he had one come to call. She is serious about that, she had once overheard a midwife tell her mama that certain illness can led to infertility. While at the time she did not understand, what they were speaking on she does now. Her Papa's whoring likely left her mama unable to carry a child again. Colin has not come to call and he still has not come to her mama to formally declare his intentions to court her.

Frankly she has stated clearly what her expectations are for a suitor. That he is still falling short of her expectations is his own doing. He had eight weeks to work with. He just burned nine days of that with half measures. Flowers are a nice gesture but they are an empty gesture when she has a home filled with gentlemen callers daily. When they take time from their day to hand deliver her flowers and sweets. When they line up and wait to spend time with her. He is stalling, and falling woefully behind.

She is standing with Agatha who has used her dragon's glare to give her succor during the last three balls. The pickings of available bachelors worth spending time with tonight is minuscule. They are in the middle of giggling like schoolgirls over Lord Duncan trying to hide behind a curtain, when she spots Francesca looking uncomfortable with Lord Samadani. She lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Please pardon me. I must rescue Fran from the Queen's import. Please let her Majesty know they are incompatible. He wants an army of children and Francesca does not want more than two." Agatha lets out a snort, with a knowing smirk.

She makes her way over to Fran who is politely trying to give the Marquis a not so subtle hint. She flashes Fran a reassuring smile and smoothly cuts into Lord Samadani's ramble.

"Please pardon my interruption, my Lord. Francesca, Lady Danbury has been trying to get your attention. I believe she has a message from your mama to pass along."

Francesca gives her a relieved smile, before turning to excuse herself from Lord Samadani. Penelope opens mouth to excuse herself also, when she spots Fife making his way over to her.

She grabs Lord Samadani's arm and turns her wide panic filled eyes on him. She speaks rapidly.

"You must sign my card and take me to dance immediately."

To his credit he reaches for her dance card as he speaks.

"Why am I breaking the rules of etiquette to dance with a Lady I have not yet been introduced to?"

"You are a gentleman are you not? I am a Lady in distress. What better reason is there?"

They take their positions on the dance floor.

"Are you really in distress?" He asks her.

She places her hand on his shoulder and relaxes her frame while responding.

"I assure you my Lord, any Lady with sense would be distressed by Lord Fife. I am sure that if I am forced to dance with him once more tonight I shall stab him with a dessert fork."

He releases a deep rich laughter that draws attention to them. He smirks at her.

"May I have the name of the violent lady I am to dance with?"

Giggles escape her as she demurs.

"Penelope Featherington, my Lord. However I dispute the claim that I am violent. I prefer the term vigilant." She frowns as she continues speaking. "Lord Fife is swine. He enjoys making comments that are improper. While I may not understand the actual innuendos, I understand his leering looks enough to be uncomfortable."

The Marquis looks decidedly less amused by that. His frame carries a tension now it did not before. She distracts him with questions about his country. He is surprisingly charming and intelligent. He escorts to her to Albion after their set is complete and once he sees Lord Fife approaching again, this time trailed by Colin he signs her card for a second dance. Thankfully it is her last spot available on her dance card. She gives him a curtsy while graciously thanking him for his aid. Now she has a viable reason to deny Fife and Colin both a dance.

Colin is lucky she is not holding a drink in her hand when he asked why she did not keep a dance available for him. She for certain would have thrown it into his face at that moment. The hubris of that question fills her with rage. They have been at this ball for hours if he wanted to dance with her he should have asked when she arrived. She has danced six sets tonight with a variety of different gentlemen. She has danced an additional four sets that were second dances. Lord Samadani will be the fifth Gentleman she has a second dance with that night. That Colin thought he would swoop in the last hour of the ball and finally grace her with his presence. He must believe her desperate or still a silly girl waiting for crumbs of his attention.

The carriage ride back is entirely too long in Penelope's opinion. Her mother has spent the ride blatantly evaluating Penelope. She allows her mother to look her fill without comment until she figures out which question she wants to ask. Finally Portia seems to make up her mind.

"Have you finally given up on Mr. Bridgerton?"

She rolls her eyes. God, her mama is so short sighted.

"Contrary to what you like to believe I had never really set my sights on Mr. Bridgerton."

Her mother scoffs in response.

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, before she continues speaking.

"You don't have to believe me. Your opinion in the grand scheme of things matters very little. I have always adored the Bridgertons as a whole. It is also true I have always held tender feelings for Colin. However I never expected anything to come from it. I was aware that our close childhood bond would always have him viewing me as a little girl. I did not try to entice him. I never felt the potential fallout with his family to be worth the risk."

"If I were as blinded by love as you believe, I would have accepted his proposal. I did not because I am no longer certain he would be an ideal husband for me. He has allowed peer pressure to dictate a change in his values and behavior. What use would I have for a fickle husband?"

"If he wants to be my husband he will prove it. He will swallow his pride, eat his words and court me publicly. He doesn't get a pass because we were childhood playmates. We are not children any longer. I will not marry unless I am sure my husband will not leave me and our children in dire straits the way papa did to us. I am more practical than you believe."

"I do not need to be in love to marry well. I am looking for a stable partner I can grow to love. I am looking for a man who will think disappointing me is a fate worse than death. Who will choose me and our children before anything else. I would rather be a spinster than settle for less than that."

Her mother's lips are white with how hard they are pursed together.

"Colin Bridgerton looks down on our family, mama. He thinks he would be doing me a favor by marrying me, and saving me the shame of the Featherington name. Our family may be a scandalous mess, but we are survivors. While I am not proud to be a Featherington, I am proud to be Penelope Featherington. If I allow him the upper hand of being my white knight now, he will have it forever."

Her mama looks so pensive. Penelope allows herself to lean forward and drop a kiss on her forehead.

"I have been caring for myself for years now, mama. Put your efforts on my sisters they need you, I do not."

Her mama seems to startle at that. " I have tried my best with all of you girls. You know that right?"

Penelope exhales heavily she is too tired and short tempered for this conversation.

"No you did not. You tried and failed with my sisters. Phil and Pru are helpless and without a single drop of cunning. You married them to idiots. Albion and Philippa I can understand. They are in love and happy but neither of them is particularly bright. They are one shady steward away from poverty. Albion needs someone to teach him how to run an estate. Hopefully his parents will do so."

"Pru and Harry are doomed. Harry is sweet and simple, Pru will take advantage of him. While the Dankworth fortune is sizable, it is not so sizable that it can withstand Prudence's spending and inheriting the debt remaining on the Featherington estate."

"That your daughter's are completing to inherit that debt, should tell you everything you need to know. Yes a son will secure the title of Baron but it will also inherit the mess Papa and Jack made. If either of my sister's had sense they would pray for a daughter. If you had sense you would remarry and wash your hands of papa's mess. That is why I have finally entered the marriage mart. I am looking to wash my hands of our family."

"You have never tried to help me succeed, mama. Everything I am, I am in spite of you. Perhaps you were trying to make me strong? I doubt it though you are not a long term planner. You love me. I know this but you do not like me. That is fine. I feel the same way. We do not have to play pretend with each other, mama. We are adults."

Her mother remains quiet after that. She knows she has broken something irreparable between her mother and her. However they have been broken for years. Why should she be the only person to carry that burden?

She has carried the Featheringtons far enough. She has kept them off the streets. The more she thinks on it the more she realizes that the money she has set aside for her mother is unearned. Why would she leave almost half her earnings for her mother to spend on tacky gowns? Let her mother count on her son in laws or let her remarry.

She has worked hard to secure her future. Why the hell would she leave behind half her fortune? No. She isn't leaving anything behind. She has already done more for them, than they ever did for her.

[huarourou]

New main OC I think:3 !

OC: Huarou ♡

Really proud of this one character design though, and she's supposed to be Arknights OC from Yan.

A pink cloud sheep, a Florist, and Ling's drinking buddy. If she's in the game she would be a supporter or chain caster with flowers skill effect lawl. Will make her full sheet soon!

[butterfrogmantis]

Farmer Cotter was born on a modest farm in New England, USA, to Florist and Hayseed Cotter after some years of infertility. As such, he grew up an only child, and was doted on and adored by his parents, although still expected to take part in the chores around the farm, and was taught the value of hard work from an early age. Farmer, for all intents and purposes, had a pretty solid life planned out ahead of him - grow up in small town, marry in small town, live in small town, inherit farm, work, pass on farm, etc. Easy right!

Farmer had a slightly strange emo phase as a teen. Was it really possible to be an emo and a Farmer? Well yes but it made dates hard - that is if he wasn't giving them earthworms as a token of affection. Farmer realised pretty early on he liked both men and women and luckily his parents were fine with that. He was raised vaguely Christian but no real pressure on him, and by the time he hit his teens was agnostic at best.

Some years later and the Cotters run into issues - big agriculture companies buying up land in the area and forcing small farms out - Hayseed and Florist have enough money to retire somewhere with some chickens and goats to homestead themselves but it leaves Farmer without the job security he always had before. So … Farmer goes looking for work! He travels around a bit in between helping with the farm, trying to find places that aren't massive agriculture corps or dying farms themselves (gotta stick to them family values right?) He's close to giving up when he meets a curious Texan cowboy, quite by chance - Wooly Sherman was the name, he recently moved to Europe to assist a Mr.Smurf in setting up a new village there, and was back temporarily to sort some documents out. New village in europe huh? Tell me more, Farmer says, and Wooly does. He owns a moderate farm at the moment, but as he's one man he wouldn't mind if someone with some more varied farming expertise were to come and take some of the land off him and raise more livestock so he could focus solely on his sheep. Sounds like a good deal to Farmer, he knows a guy for the job. Wooly and Farmer shake hands on it, and Farmer goes to break the news to his parents about moving abroad.

Farmer's pretty settled into his new role in the village. It's small at the moment but steadily growing - Mr.Smurf is trying to recruit more talent so as not to outsource all the locals to the city over yonder if they need clothes and stuff. No worries he had a letter from two interested people with spinning and weaving expertise, who also happened to have a cousin in the fashion business. They'd be here soon.

And then one day three men from New York show up - a brunette, a red head, and the prettiest man Farmer's ever seen - time to go and introduce himself and welcome him, er he means all three of them, to the village.

Farmer, Wooly and Tailor (c) The Smurfs

Spinner and Weaver adapted by me

Florist and Hayseed are mine

[fogaminghub]

🌟 Ready to explore the Heartcraft Kingdom? 🌼  

Check out our guide on the Stop! Florist Sheep Quest in Infinity Nikki! From finding clues to grooming Randall, we've broken down every step of the journey! Don't miss out on the exclusive rewards! 🐑✨

[pinkwavybubbles]

The shyest dragon around, Sylvie!

Sylvie is a nature dragon who can grow flowers with ease. Her family runs a florist shop called Baby Dragon’s Breathe and she helps out with orders and customers. Despite that however she’s extremely shy and can get nervous easily.

She’s my sweet lil baby and I love her to bits.

Oh! And she loves curry dishes, chicken curry being her most favourite.

also also the sheep character is my bestie’s Sona!!

[ghosts-of-past-comrades]

You guys *hugs them cause I can hug the dead* I know it's not much, but I hope you both find peace in this afterlife. May your souls florist in the depths of the underworld *Hands them a plushies of them but alive* Here, the fabric is made from wool from sheep's who've passed on.

aww, that's so nice of you! the plushies are great, and elpenor really needed a hug

thank you :)

[windienine]

(soulsov) rough sketch investigations into fursona possibilities for the clown lady & the florist (merino sheep[?] & belgian sheepdog)

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Fic Rec Friday: Good Omens

I haven't done one of these in a while so I figured it was time for another fic rec list! I love lists! Anyway, in no particular order:

The Rose and the Serpent by Atalan - Beauty and the Beast AU (not the Disney version), very sweet, Robin McKinley vibes with lovely writing.

Flowers for Anthony by Atalan - Same author as above but very angsty. Interesting premise (suddenly human Crowley, so kind of immortal/reincarnated lover AU) excellent writing, again. The whole Pray For Us, Icarus series is to die for and eventually has a happy ending.

it's a new craze by attheborder - Crowley and Aziraphale start an advice podfic together. It's too cute and very funny. The author has also written a lovely story about Crowley becoming an uber driver after the Nopocalypse. They're very good at Outsider PoV in both.

Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture - Feelings reveal via Bodyswap, with Casanova Aziraphale and seethingly jealous Crowley wrapped up in superb turn of phrase.

You, Soft and Only by thehoyden - Ineffable husbands fake (and then real!) relationship through the ages.

The Uninvited Guest by entanglednow - love this author and this fic deserves more love. Human AU featuring Crowley sleepwalking into Insomniac Aziraphale's apartment on the regular and a sweet developing romance.

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites - no GO fic rec list would be complete without a Warlock era Crowley and Aziraphale fic. Interesting commentary on gender roles, parenting and sexual harassment too.

The Slow Show by mia_ugly - Actors AU featuring falling in love on set, veeeery slow burn friends to lovers and secret relationship tropes. Also has industry darling/black sheep making a come back, which is a trope I enjoy. Well written with a lot of discussion of Hollywood and internalised homophobia.

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian - 5+1 Retirement fic with on point characterisation and mutual pining. And an Anathema/Newt wedding.

A Nanny? In MY Summoning Circle? by pukner - Combines Crowley being demon- summoned and unexpectedly reconnecting with grown-up Warlock. Plus Vengeful Aziraphale. Cute and funny.

Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile - Angel courtship and Crowley being dense. "FIX IT, YOU VILLAIN, shrieks Crowley's heart" lives in my head rent free.

stand on the brink of the warm white day by appomattox - Outsider PoV social media fic featuring Cryptid!Aziraphale, David Tennant and the Internet speculating about their relationship status.

Cry for Absolution by forthegreatergood - Crowley thinks his touch hurts Aziraphale. Lovely mutual pining and angst with a terrific payoff.

Running in the Shadows (Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies) by soft_october - Regency Romance/kind of Persuasion AU. Nice Regency tone and language.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm - Crowley goes to therapy. Sad and insightful but ultimately hopeful character study.

Remembrance of Things Past by Fyre - Amnesia fic! By one of my favorite fanfic authors.

The Affair by kinklock - Another nanny/gardener fic featuring the Dowlings and staff gossiping about the Ineffable idiots and their top-secret Antichrist mission meetings.

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW - Another human AU, this time they run a neighbouring florists/bookshop and are also old uni friends (exes?), though only Crowley seems to remember... Pining and Second Chance Romance, both excellent tropes and very well written.

Too Wise to Woo Peaceably by Ventriloki (Feral_but_Fluffy) - The obligatory Good Omens Season 2 Ineffable Divorce fic also featuring Muriel being adorable.

[dejanay]

SHOCKTOBER SPECIAL Poster 1

Poster Cast

Kami Yabusame,Ultimate Florist(Lurantis)

Zoro Blackrose,Ultimate Illusionist(Zoroark)

Maria Fernsby,Ultimate Sheep Herder(Mareep)

Satori Busujima(My OC),Ultimate Soccer Player(Scorbunny)