#Large Cupped Daffodils

[emaadsidiki]

Blooms of Forest Hills 🌹🌷🐝🌼🐝🌸🌺

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[rayveneyed]

your third season in society sees you brandished with perhaps the worst title a woman can earn: spinster.

yes, you are 21 years of age, still flush with the heat of youth and womanhood, and you are — according to your societal peers — a lost cause. despite your sizeable dowry (a pathetic attempt at making your prospects more appealing), you're severely lacking in all those skills a reputable, agreeable lady would need; pianoforte, conversation, embroidery, cursive, and perhaps a laundry-list more.

it matters little to you. the only child of an old, wealthy family, you're more than content to take to your corners, dance card empty and cup full, awaiting the day you'll simply be handed your estate. life is easier this way, you think, without having to vet every man that comes in close contact with you — and what about the running of the house, good sir? oh, well, the lady of the house would take care of it all, no doubt! that's the right place for a woman, i say. ah, i see. and children? i come from a family of 9, miss. i'd want the same for my own children. ah... i see...

so why is it that — even considering your icy reputation, and your uninterested gaze, and your purposefully stilted conversation — that midoriya izuku cannot seem to leave you in peace?

truly, you do not know whether you should be vastly offended or begrudgingly impressed by his devotion to seeking you out, no matter how much you object to it. he is amongst the most anticipated bachelors of the season — an old, wealthy family similar to yours; dashing in all the ways loved by women, with his frame tall and strong, his hair fluffy and falling over his big, green eyes. in contrast to his physicality, he is known for his earnestness and kindness, his sweet conversation — and he wastes his skill on you, in vain.

“i have heard of your endeavours into botany,” he whispers to you one night, huddled at the back of a crowd of dance-spectators. a glass of champagne rests in his hand, one fetched for you and promptly refused. you try not to think too hard on how his hand engulfs the flute, and instead turn sharpened eyes upon him. he seems to fluster. “o-only to say that i am enraptured by them, truly—!”

“i suppose you must find me very strange,” you only say — perhaps a bit rudely, a tad snottily, though he doesn’t mind. he only shakes his head with fervour, denying it vehemently, and you sigh internally. he’s like a stray dog that you cannot shake.

truly, you cannot fathom it. izuku has the favour of both the lady tsuyu, the lady ochako, and even the young duchess momo — all willing women with large dowries and pleasant temperaments. all far more suited to wifely duties than you.

and yet it is you who he insists on staying by — it is your parlour he visits, not with flowers but with strawberry seeds and daffodil bulbs for your ever-growing garden. it is your ear that jokes are whispered into, your arm that winds around his whilst you promenade.

you tell him on one such stroll around the park that it is perhaps better for his reputation to leave you be. you’re a spinster, after all, and not known for your kindness. your hobbies are considered strange, your countenances considered rude. he would do better to find a young lady ready to marry and give him many children, before he is tarnished by his proximity to you.

izuku only laughs that laugh of his, and his eyes are all too soft and all too affectionate for an unmarried man to be giving you.

“forgive me for my forwardness,” he says, leaning towards you as if to share a great secret, “but if it is by you, then i shall welcome my tarnishment.”

and he tugs you along.

[svaints]

Seeing your rules for Rollo, I am genuinely interested of a Rollo x baker reader, especially with trying to befriend him, I just find the idea cute-

Like- what if reader tries to befriend friends him by giving him some bake goods as a gift ( especially croissants )

|𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝐼𝑆 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎. 𝐴𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑟.

𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊 | 𝖘𝖋𝖜

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

I couldn't tell if he was ignoring or disliked me in some way or form. Was it because he was annoyed or bothered? I wouldn't know, not ever. Everytime I made an approach he's 'busy' with a book, his assignments, a letter, talking to the staff or his vice president and assistant, it's always something.

The thing was I wanted to be his friend, he was alone when I'd see him anywhere. Everyone said he was rude at times but appreciate some traits of his such as being the smartest student and being helpful at times...but what else is what I'm saying.

He's mysterious to me, I'd like to know him better than knowing him based off people speaking about him.

Therefore, around 5 am I woke up early enough to bake.

Every time we're outside for lunch, I see him eating the same thing. Grapes and bread.

"Would he like any bread though? What if he doesn't like banana bread?" I thought.

So I began making plain croissants.

1/4 cups warm milk

2 tablespoons active dry yeast

1/4 cup granulated sugar

3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 cups unsalted butter, chilled

Mixing was majority of the process to say the least...In a large bowl I combine flour and salt before adding the yeast mixture, then added everything else but butter and mixed enough till it formed into dough.

Rolling out the dough into a rectangle was fairly easy, I placed the butter in the center and folded the dough over it then again before folding it into thirds, repeating it a few more times.

The final dough was cut into triangles and rolled them into croissants, finally, I prepared a baking pan with the butter and placed them carefully onto the pan.

Meanwhile, I looked around for a spare basket i wouldn't be using anymore but that wasn't damaged either. I found one after a min or two and placed a small towel with elegant prints thinking it would suit his style more.

I placed a few fruits such as grapes of green and purple as well as daffodil from the fresh blooming garden close to the school that I started thinking it would hint the friendship I wanted to build with him.

Come to think of it, what if he doesn't accept my request? Like the other times he turned me away before I even got close to him. He didn't even speak he just left before attending something/someone.

It was worth the try.

After 20 mins then I pulled the croissants out to chill and got another small towel to wrap them all up before placing them in the middle of the basket.

The way it looked with the grapes around and small flowers on the side looked lovely, especially with how the baskets outer layer was decorated.

It was 6:34 am once I made my way to the school grounds and towards the student council office. It was a lovely morning sorta cold, but the view made up for the golden sky mixed in blue on my left.

I walked further into the school grounds and to the office before trying to open the door knowing Rollo may be awake during these hours, he always is to clean and kept the school tidy. I try opening the door again but it was locked.

I sighed setting the basket down beside me and began pulling it open again thinking because I had my hands full I must've not twisted the door knob enough.

"What are doing up so early?"

The sudden question snapped me out and I looked over my shoulder seeing Rollo looking a bit suspicious. He looked down at the basket and then at me. "So?"

I sighed picking it up, "It's unfortunate we get to talk for the first time with me trying to get into the council room but I probably wouldn't have any other opportunity to so I made this for you. It's small but the intention for this is a lot more than what you think..."

His expression was blank showing a hint of concern. He took the basket inspecting it, noticing the daffodil staring at what seemed every detail of it and the grapes before the croissants wrapped up the fresh smell filling his senses.

"I apologize for my actions. I take my responsibilitys serious...Honestly, I have seen you from the corner of my eye and everytime my attention is set to you, something comes up or I'm busy, but please don't take it personally. I don't mean to purposely stray away."

Rollo smiled a bit opening the door for us. I walked in before him as I replied to him. After we cleared the misunderstandings, he invited me for a cup of tea later after school to hand him the recipe for the croissants since he loved them so much.

He was a bit quiet letting me do most of the talking but I'm sure he just wants to know me first before opening himself to me and I was fine with that.

[lionsongfr]

Warrior's Way Snacks

Now this year is the lore it was mentioned that “We’d especially like to thank Arvelle for her generous donation towards our food budget”, and in the pamphlet for Warrior’s Way itself it mentions that “Food is available to participating warriors at all times throughout the course of the event.” So that got me thinking, what kind of food would dragons and beastclans eat during such an event?

Unfortunately, Warrior’s Way is during the summer and the heat can stifle anyone’s appetite- leading to warrior’s struggling to have the energy and hydration necessary to fight. Larger meals most likely would be served in the early morning and after sunset, and battles probably would be held off during the hottest middle of the day. But warriors would also need small meals and snacks to sustain them throughout the day. So, what kind of snacks could they expect?

Live Hornworms- a staple insect for insectivores, this import from the Mire is high in water and can be gut-loaded with either Fire Flower (for magic boost), Redblood Sapper (iron for blood), or Greenpod Bloom (calcium for bones and muscles). They are contained in large barrels with a cooling charm upon them, keeping the insects less active and from perishing in the heat.

Pickle Platter- while our most of our dragons do not sweat (I think maybe Light, Earth, and Ice dragons do), there are beastclans who definitely sweat. And with sweat comes the craving for salt. Pickled foods are high in salt, curb sugar spikes, help blood clot, and can provide the necessary electrolytes to relieve muscle cramps. The most common pickled foods are Basilisk eggs, Dubious Cucumbers, Wild Onions, Zeeba/Rambra sausages, Noxious/Leopard Caterpillar, and Kelp Beds Mackerel. Occasionally, Blacktongue Pepper is added for a spicy kick!

Cold Lume Daffodil and Spearmint Tea- every Fire Flight forge has a pot of tea cooling nearby in a large clay pot for refreshment. While Fire dragons typically prefer Cindermint, the cooling and refreshing combo of Spearmint and Lume Daffodil is a blessing on a hot summer day.  Peppermint tea may also be used for creatures having nervous stomachs for their upcoming battles.

Blood Red Smoothie- to many a Wildclaw’s sorrow this does not actually have blood. This smoothie combines Spinach, Blood Acorn, Strawberries, Blood Spath, Goat milk, and ice into a frothy, highly caloric, and nutritious drink. Sometimes it is easier to drink all of one’s calories than eat them, especially when it is hot outside. (Plus the Spirals brought these cute curly straws to drink them with!)

Cold Cut Wraps-unlike bread, flat breads can be quickly made and can be easily sized per creature.  Creating a wrap with cold cuts of meat, vegetables, and condiments makes for an easy to carry and customizable snack for busy warriors. Some favored cuts are: honeyed Featherback ham, smoked teriyaki Rainbow Trout, roasted lemon pepper Woodland Turkey, and spicy Flameleg Millipede.

Energy bites- the Longnecks are known for their Berry and Nut trail bars and the Centaurs for their Ration Pouches, and dragons have their own Elk pemmican tins and Cricket protein bars. Energy bites are a variant on this idea, mixing granola with a fat (Goat yogurt, Sunflower butter, Elk fat, ground Mealworm), Sugarbee honey, and dried fruit (Blueberries, Raspberries, Mushrooms, Butcher’s Fig) into round balls. The bites are then cooled overnight and put into bags made from Sweet Potato Vine (which is also edible), which can be carried about the event.

Shrimp and Potash Gazpacho- served by the cup or by the gallon (Imperial sized), this is a chilled soup for the seafood lovers. The base of the soup is the tangy and sour Miniature Potash Peach along with Cucumbers, Golden Peppers, and Wild Onions. And then anything seafood can be added to it! Most common is sweet Jumbo Shrimp, Pastel Scallops, and feisty Blue Swimmer Crab.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 4: Janus

I’m settling in. I’m doing well. I’m figuring it out. I say these things to myself, over and over, as I try everything short of witchcraft to rid myself of this jittery, unsettled feeling. Actually, maybe I should try witchcraft; it’s been a month and still the feeling lingers. It’s like a cloud of TV static, or a bluebird circling my head in disconcerting silence. I’m alright.

Magic didn’t get me to this point. I was the one who did that. I managed to get a part-time job with Janie at the coffee shop after realizing in the haze of a mild panic that, though Len left me with plenty of amenities, grocery money wasn’t one of them. I cleaned out the guest room in the cabin, which used to be my domain in the summer but which appears to have been used as overflow for Len’s extensive library in the time since my last visit; it’s now complete with my soft floral linens and sheer curtains, an oscillating fan perched on the windowsill blowing the scent of hydrangeas through the space. I haven’t touched Len’s room, terrified on some level of what will happen to me if I do–it’s a problem for another day, I think. Jasper and Joshy take turns asking me how I’m holding up, which is simultaneously annoying and endearing. I’m doing well. I am doing well.

I’m doing so well, in fact, that I haven’t felt the need to leave my house all weekend. Not when the sun was shining, not when the town’s annual daffodil parade burned slow divots into the streets, not when Joshy called to tell me that he and a couple of the other young people in town were going to spend the day at the river, “if I wanted to join them.” Certainly not now, on the first rainy night in August, which happens to be a deluge of truly Biblical proportion. I could rise above my body, I think, through the roof and above the town, and just stare at the moon reflected in the drenched asphalt of Main Street until the storm passed. I could let it beat against my skin, open my eyes against it, let it hurt if it wanted to. Then maybe, when I floated back into myself, I’d be scrubbed clean of my TV static-grit and free of unease.

Jasper was meant to come over tonight to exchange some books–it’s a routine we’ve sort of stumbled into, these few Sunday nights–it’s our time to revive Len in short bursts of normalcy. I can’t imagine he’ll make it out here, though. Not in this weather, and not at 9:00 at night. So I sit at Len’s–my–kitchen table with a cold cup of tea and hope irrationally that the windows won’t implode, or maybe that they will. It might be nice to get a bit of a cross-breeze going. I’m in shorts and a ratty sweatshirt I found in the dryer. A midwestern girl to my core, and not just because the sweatshirt has “Chicago Bears” emblazoned across the front. It’s hard to move and impossible to stay still, so my body freezes while my mind relays against itself like I’ve had too much caffeine. I work at 7:00 tomorrow morning. I think I could probably sleep here and feel no worse when I wake up than I would have if I’d spent the night in my bed. Shoving my neglected teacup to the middle of the table, I lay my head upon my folded arms to get started.

An hour passes in ten minutes, or maybe just an hour’s worth of thoughts. I’m alright. I’m so small, and this house is so small, and I’m living a small life now. To think that I thought Chicago was restrictive. To my great relief, my eyelids begin to feel heavy and the dense violet shroud of sleep slowly, slowly lays its weight on me. In my half-dream, someone knocks on a door. That must mean something, right? Dream analysis, largely disproven, is more a matter of symbolism than psychology–what’s the symbolism of someone knocking on a door? On an obvious level, whoever it is wants to be let in. Into my subconscious, presumably, given that’s where we are now; so the door must be one of my own creation. Not only is someone asking that I let them in, but I’m actively keeping them out. It’s a harsh analysis, but perhaps fair; I haven’t exactly been easy to reach these past few days. So now all that remains, assuming I want to start being more open, is to find the door. Behind me, somewhere—that probably means something too, now that I think about it—

“Andie?” A voice cuts through the fog of my pseudointellectual nightmare as if from a great distance. Male, on the younger side. “You in there?” Where else would I be, Man? You wouldn’t get it. The owner of the voice knocks again, and some stage manager in the depths of my brain hooks me, pulling me offstage with a fishing hook-cane and into the light. Someone is knocking on my door. The TV static feeling takes me once more as I stand. It’s less that I walk to the door and more that the door just happens upon me; I haven’t been sick in years, but I think this must be what people mean when they talk about fever dreams.

The Man on the other side of my real life brain door is Jasper Stevens. He’s wearing a raincoat, hugging it tightly around his wiry frame. Why doesn’t he just use the zipper? He looks cold, and I’m cold for him. I’m about to step aside and let him enter when he speaks.

“Andie, holy shit,” he says, so softly I can only just hear him above the rain, “you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I manage drily. Jasper crosses the threshold without waiting for me to move.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, his hand pressed to my forehead before I can protest. I could have saved him the trouble—I’m not sick. Just lost. Seeming dissatisfied with my lack of a temperature, he pivots to another line of questioning. “What about sleep, you been sleeping?”

I’m about to nod, or tell him to fuck off, or something equally unproductive, but for a second he’s my sweet Jasper again and I can’t bring myself to make him leave. “I—no,” I admit, “I’ve been… stressed out.” As if that explains anything. Good going, Andie.

“Come here, come sit down,” Jasper says, one hand between my shoulderblades as he guides me back to the kitchen table, “I’m going to go switch out these books, okay? I’ll be back in ten seconds, don’t move.”

It could be ten seconds or it could be two hours before he returns, but when he does he places a glass of water before me and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the kitchen counter to look at me. At some point he took off his raincoat, leaving his arms bare in a too-big T-shirt. How come he gets to stand there and look at me like that, expectantly, as if I should have anything to say to him? I stand, just to be on somewhat equal footing, and all at once exhaustion hits me. I must be swaying, because he darts forward to steady me by the shoulders.

“Andie…” he says, looking down at me with his brows drawn close together. I don’t know what to say for myself, and he knows it. I’m not sure who moves first, if I lean into him or if he puts his arms around me, but all at once I’m crushed against his chest. He’s holding me so tightly I think for a minute we might become one person, our ribs hooked into each other and my ear forever against his heartbeat. “Tell me,” he says, voice muffled against my hair. I wonder for a moment when he got so sensitive, but then he’s always been this way. When I was nine and sprained my ankle, Jasper winced with my every step as if the injury was his—you can’t take that out of a person, no matter how many cigarettes you give him.

I extract myself from his embrace, not without recognizing the absurdity of being held by such a man. “You want it all?”

Jasper runs a hand through my hair, his brow still furrowed. “I want it all,” he says. I can’t reconcile this interaction with our previous dynamic, one I was certain he would have been happy to maintain. He’s aggressively concerned.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I confess. Deep breaths. “I’ve never even lived on my own before, I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t know anyone, which is fine except that you all know each other–I don’t fit here, Jasper.”

“And?”

“And what? I’m done, I’m overwhelmed. I can’t do it,” I say, all at once. I’m actually shocked at myself for admitting it. Here’s a woman who’s never asked for help a day in her life, not even when she was failing introductory statistics and desperately needed a tutor. Here she is, entrusting a man she knows only on the basis of a childhood friendship. “

Jasper nods, thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

I’m taken aback for a moment, but nod. “Sure.”

“Why do you think Len brought you out here?”

I’m surprised at the wording of the question, as if it was Len’s plan to get me back to Evergreen as opposed to a side effect of his death, but I answer it anyway. “He wanted someone to take care of his house, I guess.”

“No, see, that’s not it,” Jasper says, shaking his head like I should know better, “Andie, Len brought you here because he thought you’d enjoy yourself. He thought you’d have fun. He wanted you to be part of the community, he told me himself.”

“He told you? When did he–”

“Later. The point is, we take care of each other here. He knew that, he knew you’d be taken care of if you came here. You’re not alone, Andie, you just need to open up.”

I scoff. I can’t help myself. “You’re one to talk, I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a decade.”

Jasper shakes his head, emphatically this time. “I’m a loner, totally,” he says, “but these people–they’re my people, you know? Do you get it? And they’re your people too. We all belong to each other, does that make sense?” He’s starting to sound less confident. “Listen to me,” he says eventually, “you are here for a reason. Okay? That’s what I wanted to say. You’re not here by accident, you’re here because it’s the right place for you.”

“Jasper, I don’t know–”

“Give it another month, please,” he says. His eyes are wide and, if the sun hit them, I think they might be the color of honey. “And we’ll go to the beach and climb trees and I’ll–I’ll organize the library for you, and I’ll fix that step on your front porch. One more month, then you can tell me you hate it.”

I let my shoulders heave as I sigh, allowing myself a moment of drama. How can I possibly refuse him, when this is the most I’ve heard him speak since I arrived? “You get one month,” I concede, and as he takes me back into his arms I feel the chasm between his two personalities growing, and wonder what I can do to bridge the gap and finally understand him.

[ivaliny]

This is my first time posting on Tumblr, so if I mess this up, please, forgive me. 😆 Also, first time doing a writing prompt. I couldn't figure out which ones I wanted, so I mixed a couple. 😬 Enjoy a story about Chevalier, flower crowns AND picnics!

--------

It was a warm, spring day with a gentle breeze that wafted the sweet scent of hyacinths, daffodils and tulips. The sky was blue with a few puffy, white clouds, and the sun was shining bright. Prince Chevalier had decided to take his lunch outside in his usual gazebo in the rose gardens with a book he had started the night before. Just as he had started reading, Belle had walked by humming a tune repeatedly. He did his best to tune her out as he read, but it wasn’t before long when she was standing in front of him with her arms behind her back. 

Chevalier didn’t look up from his book. “You’re going to ask me to a picnic,” he finally said. Chevalier imagined her pursed lips when she realized her surprise was ruined. 

“How did you know?” He didn’t need to look up from his book to know that her hands were on her hips.

“You carried a big blanket and a basket away from the gardens. A simpleton with half a brain could figure out you were going on a picnic.” 

She ducked down to be eye-level with Chevalier’s book as she peered up at him. She smiled mischievously. “So you were watching me.” 

Chevalier sighed and looked her in the eyes before going back to his book. “I only glanced.” 

“More than once, because I made two trips,” her smile grew. 

“Anyone could hear you traipsing through the garden. You could never be as silent as an assassin even if you tried.” Chevalier quickly shut his book, startling her as her head shot upwards. He sat and stared at her, waiting for her to speak. 

She stared back for a moment, and then smiled, realizing what he was waiting for. “Chevalier, will you join me for a picnic?”  

Chevalier stood up without a word and exited the gazebo as he made his way towards the direction she had been going earlier. She ran after him telling him to slow down. Chevalier obliged to a degree. Her short legs weren't moving as quickly as before. He led them towards the picnic blanket underneath a newly budded tree. 

He stopped at the edge of the blanket and removed his boots. She beamed at him as she took off her boots as well. "How did you know this was where the picnic was?" She asked as he sat down on the blanket stiffly. She watched him for a moment. He sat watching her as well. 

"Food and drink are usually served at picnics," he finally said. 

She laughed and waved her hand at him dismissing his comment as she opened up her picnic basket. "Sorry. I was just realizing how strange it is to see you outside, and outside of the garden, no less. So you've been to many picnics? Did Yves invite you to one perhaps when you were kids?" 

"This is my first one." He looked up at the tree branches above him and watched her pull out a large flask of what he presumed was tea, small finger sandwiches, and plates of a variety of fruits and cheese. "I've never been invited to one." 

She paused, contemplating her next words as she poured him some tea into a ceramic cup followed by a plate of food that he passed him. "I'm glad I'm your first then." 

They ate in silence sitting next to each other. The sweet smell of grass and flowers mingling with the cold sandwich, fruit and cheese. Sometimes she'd ask if he wanted more of something and he'd silently held out his plate for the refill. Once they were finished with their sandwiches she pulled out fruit pastries for dessert. While they were eating their dessert, he glanced periodically at her trying to see what she was thinking. He noticed she was staring at a patch of spring wildflowers. 

As soon as she finished her pastry, she set the plate aside and crawled off the blanket towards the patch of wildflowers. He set his own plate aside and watched her gather a large bouquet of fragrant flowers. 

"Look, Prince Chevalier! Aren't these flowers beautiful?" She asked as she dropped them down on the blanket. He resisted the smirk threatening to peek at the corner of his mouth. 

"They will die now that you've plucked them." 

"Flowers do die after they've been plucked, but there are ways to preserve them for memories' sake. I could press them into a book to flatten, or dry them and hang them in my room." She replied, laying down on her stomach with her knees bent and her feet swaying above. She organized the flowers on the blanket. "I'm going to make something out of them. Not everyone can remember every detail of every day like some magnificent people that I know." After a while she sighed with contentment. 

Chevalier watched her weave the flowers together, her tongue sticking out randomly as she concentrated on her craft. He began to read his book in the silence, and eventually, she rolled over onto her back lazily picking up the flowers. Her eyelids blinked slowly as the sun began to move across the blanket and her breathing became more rhythmic. 

Glancing at her from his book, noting how much the sun had moved in the sky, he frowned slightly as he watched her peaceful sleep, the flower chain moving up and down on her stomach. He needed to get back to the office. He wasn't sure if he should wake her and announce the picnic was over, or sneak away while she slept. He picked up her flower chain and studied it, his eyes moving towards her peaceful face. 

Belle woke up from her nap and quickly looked around for Chevalier. She couldn't believe she had fallen asleep. The sun was warm and comforting, her belly was full, and the companionable silence between the two left her feeling safe and satisfied. She frowned realizing Chevalier and his book were nowhere to be seen. The picnic mess was cleaned up, and everything was neatly set inside the basket. 

On top of the basket was a neat, beautifully made flower crown. She smiled, blushing, as she picked up the crown examining it from side to side before she placed it on her head. It fit her head perfectly, and the skill of the flower stem weaving was better than anything she could have made. 

Her blush deepened, realizing that Chevalier had finished her flower crown. Her heart skipped a beat as she quickly folded the blanket and lifted the picnic basket to take it back to the palace. She smiled and sang on her way back thinking about the next time she was going to ask him to join her for a picnic.

Luke had complimented her crown as he held the door open as they went their separate ways from the palace. Little did she realize that a pair of ice-blue eyes watched her sing and swing her picnic basket across the garden from his open office windows. They sparkled just a little, pleased with what they saw, before they moved away from the window. 

[storiesbyrhi]

dried petals from the following plants: daffodil, Ornithogalum, black-eyed Susan, acanthus

a white candle

selenite wand

the stem of large king protea flower

Prepare by gathering all the supplies and blending the dried petals together in a large bowl. In a bath (or other contained body of water), stir in pink salt. Add the petal potion.

Allow the hexed to sit in the water. If they are able, they should hold the selenite and protea. If not, they should be within arm's reach. Instruct the hexed to remain calm. If the unhexing results in transformation that allows it - the hexed should pick up the items during the ritual.

Light the candle and place it by the hexed. Recite the spell.

While the magic of the spell is holding, the hexed may take some time to absorb the water's healing properties.

Once the candle burns down, the hexed must bury it in the ground with a cup of the spell water.

From Ancient times this power came, For witch to have but none to reign. Troubled blood fixed in a curse, We seek to change, to heal, to reverse.

Of earth, of water, and of fire, This curse or hex we retire. From Ancient times this power came, I use it now for this soul’s reclaim.

A special edition to The Grimoire, a compendium to my Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson fanfic, Burning Yarrow.

[reddragonprincess]

Between her exuberant gait, the delighted call of her sister’s name, and the fact that she loves her very, very much! It is nigh impossible to miss the advent of the littlest princess of Macedon as she attaches herself to the Red Dragoon’s side with all haste.

“Minerva!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around the other’s waist affectionately, cheek pressed to her side. “Sister! Happy birthday!”

Though she has never forgotten a letter (just how many of them ever made it to her, though? The years she has lived no longer match the years of her body), it still feels too long since she has had the opportunity to tell her in person… or perhaps she has simply had too few chances.

“Happy birthday!” She repeats, for all the times she had to tell her by letter; and then, for good measure: “Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday!

Wriggling slightly, she peers up at her with a toothy grin, chin still brushing against Minerva’s side. It’s only when she manages to find and seize one of the dragoon’s hands that she pulls away just slightly, content— for the moment— to gently swing their joined hands instead.

“I have a surprise for you! Are you free? May I show you? Please?” Her other hand closes over the reverse side of Minerva’s, eyes shining as she bounces onto her tiptoes. “Oh, but only if you have enough time!”

And, should the elder have the time to indulge the younger in her whims and doting, Maria shall lead her— without letting go!— to the dining hall, where a familiar feast awaits. A slight excess of Minerva’s favorite Macedonian dishes sit waiting on a table, marked by a small vase with a little collection of hand-picked flowers. Then, when she has settled in and had her fill, Maria will fish something from her pocket (“Hee hee… close your eyes!”) and place it into her waiting hand.

A gem of resin, familiarly crimson, and perhaps a bit too large to be easily worn — better as a paperweight, like as not. How else was it to encompass the treasures within? Sitting all together, prettily, closely arranged: a wyvern’s scale, two pegasus feathers, and a sprightly daffodil.

Once again, that day of they year has eventually come and Minerva couldn't be happier to be in company, this time: she used to spend most of her birthdays alone, with any of her family members by her side (of the few remaining, just Maria probably was the most waited and the most desired, in her dreams); she had been exchanging letters, little poems, drawings and funny objects with her, but finally, all these things could be handed face to face, hands to hands, heart to heart.

She was expecting her, of course, but not with such switness and eaherness in manners and voice: her rapturing embrance was heart-warming, so long-desired that Minerva was almsot speechless as she tried to reply to her little sister Maria.

"Thank you so much Sis, you really are something, heh" she let a little laugh leaked from her lips as she surrender to her sister attentions, as well as her her delicate touch and tightening of her hand's grip; she gently took Maria's hand in hers, swinging a little as to mimic the cute movement of the little sister.

A surprise..? She listened to her with perplexed eyes, though not really minding the fact that she actually did organize something for her: she wasn't used to this, not anymore, at least. With much curiosity and a hint of perplexity, Minerva made a little nod and then she swiftly followed the little sister along the way, until the two of them reached the main dining hall of the monastery: as soon as they entered, there was a gaudy buffet all well prepared in the middle of the room, on the tables all kind of delicacies from Macedon, most of them were actually Minerva's favourite, as Maria greatly knew the taste of her big sister. Yet, that wasn't just it, there was more.

With a kind whisper, Maria gestured Minerva to close her eyes and as the red-haired princess closed it - cupping her hands as Maria asked for - she suddenly felt something cold and of a peculiar form get in touch with her skin; she eagerly opened her eyes just to find out a beautuful gem made of resin gently placed in her hands, as well a line of cute treasures that she and Maria had used to search when they were little -all to remind the good old days spent together, in peace.

Shifting her gaze towards the little princess, she threw her arms around Maria's little silhuette, overwhelming her with affectione and sincere gratitude for all that she prepared just for her.

"I..couldn't be happier" she whispered to her ear, muffling the words with a tender kiss on the cheek of the sister, "Thank you for this wonderful surprise, Maria --I love you dearly" and she rested her head against hers, enjoying the sisterly moment she waited for so long.

[theunofficalttcrrau]

Credits:

Mocha - @mochablogger

Rubix - @rubixisanidi0t

Blair - @blairdrawzstuff

Hazel - @moonmxple

The Traumatized Cup, RR AU: Chapter 2: Broken Glass.

Mocha's sleep was packed with nightmares, each willing to haunt her every second. She felt mildly uncomfortable, tossing and turning in her bedpan. The cup, frustrated and upset, slowly got up to get a bottle of water from her bag. (Don't do it , Mocha. It's not worth it-)

But she was too tired to even move.

Mocha glanced at Blair and Hazel, soundly asleep in their blankets.

"Should I ask them for help..?" Mocha thought.

"Nah.. I don't wanna disturb them.."

Mocha pondered on whether she should wake them up or not , though she CLEARLY thought of Blair to wake her up in case something was wrong.

"Y'know what.. ? Nevermind.."

The tired cup, with bags under her eyes, groaned as she fumbled out of her bedpan. She shuffled her way to the sitting room, where she had left her sleepover bag.

But as she was about to open the zipper , Mocha suddenly fell to the cold, hard floor.

[Blair's P. O. V:]

For some odd reason, Mocha wasn't in her bedpan when I woke up. I slowly got up to see where she was, only to hear knocking on the door. Not even caring about being tired, I get up, and slowly open the door to see.. Oh look, it's Rubix.

"Rubix..?"

"Oh , Hey. I was just researching some butterflies, and I heard a loud thud sound over here." Rubix explained , with a concerned look on his face.

"Is.. Anything going on?"

"Not at the moment.. But I can't find Mocha.."

"You can't find her?"

"Yeah.. Hey.. Would you be a champ , and come help me look?"

"Of course!"

Me and Rubix searched the house, and we couldn't find her. I sighed. Maybe she went home? No.. Not in the middle of the night..

Me and Rubix then checked the sitting room.. We then saw..

[Hazel's P. O. V]:

"Ooooooh! Some pretty butterflies!"

I danced and twirled around the pools of lavenders, petunias, and daffodils. The birds on the large cherry tree chirped and spread their adorable wings. They started chirping and taking off into the blue sk-

"HAZEL! WAKE UP!!"

"WHAT-?!"

I woke up, and realized that it was all just a dream.

"Rubix? What are you doing here? And since WHEN we're you a doctor? Oh, and by the way, I was having an awesome dreeaaamm!! Why'd you wake me uppppp??"

"A, Mocha has fainted. B, I was also a cop, a part of community service, apart of the BoosterFun team.. And etc etc. And C, don't talk to me like that."

".. Excuse me, Mocha WHAT?"

"..Fainted..?"

At first I didn't believe it. But then I sprung up from my bedpan and ran towards the corridor, leaving the slushie behind.

"Wait for me!!!"

I stopped in my tracks.

"...oh.. my.."

Blair then turned to me.

That's Mocha, alright. On the floor, passed out, with BLEEDING cracks in her handle. "What happened??" I said, as I looked towards Blair and Rubix, hopefully expecting an answer.

Blair: "I don't know! I just went to get a midnight snack, heard Rubix at the door saying he heard a loud THUD , we checked the house, and found her fainted!"

Rubix: "Thankfully she's alive.."

Meanwhile, I grabbed a cloth, and cleaned the bloody carpet, while Rubix wrapped her handle with bandages from his first aid kit. He really seemed to know what he was doing.

Blair: "Let's wake her up first, shall we..?"

Rubix: "Yeah.."

Me: "Let's take her to YOUR bedroom.."

While Blair (with a little help of Rubix) dragged Mocha into the bedroom, I noticed something really strange with her left eye. It was white, with a flame of black..

"What's that..?" Blair said, pointing to the odd eye.

"I honestly never seen that before.. What IS that thing?"

Rubix: "I don't know.. Let me see.."

Rubix flipped open some random page of.. An actual GhostBusters journal?

Rubix: "It's a demon. 100%."

Blair: "Oh crap.."

Rubix: "Well, either way, we should try to still wake her up."

Me: "Mhm.."

I looked at Blair, who was holding an ice cold bucket of water, with her shaking nervously. Rubix immediately stood in the corner of the room, with a taser in one hand, and an AK-47 in the other.

Me: "What are y'all gonna do with that?"

SILENCE.

"PUMPKIN PIE!!!" We're the words Blair suddenly yelled, as she poured the water onto Mocha's face. She got up with a yelp. I was too shocked to process what was happening. "Well, you did wake her up.. But was saying "pumpkin pie" really that necessary?"

"I dunno. Blair shrugged. "Do you know how muc-"

Out of nowhere, Mocha sprang up and started to attack Blair, scratching her face and her left eye. She screamed as the blood trickled down her, as she teared up, with the blood staining the carpet.

"FREEZE!" Rubix snapped at Mocha. She turned to face him.

"Stop right there , and put your hands in THE AIR!"

Mocha just smiled creepingly at him..

"I'm not scared of B.S like you..."

"I SAID.."

"FREEZE! ANYTHING YOU SAY OR DO WILL NOT BE HESITATED TO USE AGAINST YOU IN THE COURT OF LAW!"

Mocha was about to attack him.

"So, are you gonna keep looking at me like that, or.."

"Of COURSE I'm gonna look at you like that, you cackling bitch.."

I quickly jumped in.

"Mocha! Is that you?"

"Duh."

"Are you hurt? How did you faint?"

"Stop asking me stupid questions.."

"Why did you.. Uh.. Do the thingy to Blair?"

"Do you have an IQ of negative 25?? EVERYONE knows why Mocha VIOLENTLY HARRASED Blair."

"Violently.. Harrased.. Is not the term I wanna go with.." Blair hoarsingly said.

"I'll.. Just get some bandages.."

I sighed, as I walked towards Rubix's first aid kit, located in the kitchen. As I was grabbing some plasters, I heard a loud scream. I went to check..

"MOCHA!"

Mocha held up a vase, ready to attack Blair , who was on the floor, begging for mercy. Rubix is sitting in the corner, frightened.. His left eye is missing.. Rubix quickly grabbed his taser, and shot Mocha in the eye with it. She dropped the vase, and it shattered, as she dropped onto the carpet.

"Eye for an eye..." He mumbled, as I helped Blair up.

Blair: "I-Is she okay?"

Rubix: Yeah, she's fine.."

Me: "Mostly.."

I went to fix Blair's wounds after that.

____

Chapter 3 - Coming soon.

[confessionsfromthesecondrow]

Honey, We Shrunk the Interns.

Growing up, I never dreamed of pursuing a career in fashion. Right up until I left college in 2011, I was fixated on the idea of becoming a barrister. Although fashion was an avid interest of mine – one that I studied intensely, poring over my favourite magazines and keeping up with runway shows each season – it felt a million miles away from the reality of my quiet, suburban life. After all, it's not what you know, but who you know – fashion’s unofficial epitaph that is sadly still relevant over a decade later. 

With no connections via relatives or family friends, I turned to Gaydar, determining that through the gay network I’d find an in. As luck would have it, I came across a young fashion photographer who put me in contact with his stylist flatmate to embark on my first internship. 

I wasn’t paid a single penny, much to the dismay of my parents – who chose more reliable careers in building and finance – but my modest entry into the industry felt akin to the moon landing, at least to me anyway. I met models, hauled suitcases filled with returns on buses all over London, and peered inquisitively at the magic being made on set while steaming clothes in photo studios – marvelling at Prada samples that I recognised from the runway. I even met fashion royalty, in the form of Pam Hogg, who offered me a cup of tea when I turned up rain-soaked at her studio one sodden evening. 

From there, an internship at GQ Style followed, the majority of which I spent sobbing in the bathroom thanks to the (nameless) editor at the time who often humiliated me with pointless menial tasks. In one instance, I was asked to hand deliver a single daffodil to Alasdair McLellan sans address, later loudly berated in the open plan office for the flower’s wilted demise by the time I was provided with the studio’s location. 

My introduction to interning finished with a friendlier stint at Dazed – acquired via the gay network, once again – five years before I’d return in a full circle moment as a fashion editorial assistant. 

Beyond the obvious hands-on experience my months of interning provided me, it quickly proved even more valuable than I realised. After initially being rejected by University of Arts London to study fashion journalism, a follow-up email clarifying the additional internships I’d undertaken quickly secured me an interview and later a prestigious place on the course. 

Throughout my studies at university, we were encouraged to continue gaining industry experience, culminating in a term entirely dedicated to interning during my second year. Interviewing at Wonderland and 10 magazine, I chose the latter, and continued interning there throughout my final year – while simultaneously juggling my final major project, writing my dissertation, and a part-time job – until I ultimately became the publication’s fashion assistant upon graduation. 

Over my career, I’ve had the privilege of working with hundreds of interns – the good, the bad, and the lazy – the brightest sparks among them going on to become my peers holding jobs at Clash, The Face, GQ, Wallpaper*, Matches, and British Vogue. As was my experience at 10, it was common for brilliant interns to find themselves earning entry-level full-time roles within Dazed and AnOther right up until the pandemic when the company’s internship programme was discontinued. 

At the time, the Guardian reported that 61% of employers cancelled their placements due to the pandemic, with small and medium-sized businesses the most likely (49%) to do so. Yet, as we emerged from the two-year slump, internships were just as scarce, largely due to HMRC cracking down on unpaid internships – serving fashion publications (both the media and arts are serial offenders) with warnings of fines if they failed to pay interns the national minimum wage. 

So, where does that leave today’s budding fashion journalists? 

‘It is impossible, it literally feels like winning the lottery,” Moira Gonazález, an MA Fashion Communication student at Central Saint Martins tells me. ‘My plan was to join a team as an intern and work my way up, but it’s so difficult to start like that – maybe one person out of every 20 will reply and most of the time you don’t learn anything. I’ve ended up assisting so many stylists where I’ve just been in Ubers picking up stuff all around London. So many people still expect you to work full-time for free, which is crazy, but everybody’s willing to do it for fashion.’ 

Despite being required to complete 120 hours in the industry as part of her BA, Moira was the only person on her course who was successful in doing so. ‘The teachers said that if you worked on shoots for uni that it would count towards the hours, so there was no motivation to go out and get the experience,’ she says. ‘The process can also be so long, it took four months to get to the interview stage for an internship at Burberry. How can you survive living in London as a 20-year-old and pay rent if you have to wait for four months to get an answer? It’s impossible unless you’re privileged enough not to worry about money.’

To see for myself, I looked into fashion editorial internships in London to see what was currently available. Unsurprisingly, I failed to find a single placement to apply for and advice offered by the Business of Fashion overlooked the obvious, that no amount of experience or tenacity can help secure an internship if there aren’t any available to begin with. Reaching out to all the editors I knew, the results were marginally better with month-long placements available for university students only at 10 and the Evening Standard. The majority – including Elle, Wallpaper*, GQ, The Face, and Perfect – responded with a resounding no, with Vice allegedly going as far as implementing a company-wide ban on all internships. 

Of the paid internships the government were hoping would become available, only Dazed and British Vogue currently offer them – both six months, full-time, and paid the London Living Wage – though at the time, the vacancies were filled. ‘I remember when British Vogue posted the internship on LinkedIn and after two days they already had 500 applicants,’ Moira says. ‘When I later saw who got the internship, she had worked at two banks previously, studied politics, and was 25 or 26 so had a much bigger CV. How can I even compete?’ 

‘For me, I’ve always found that there was never a clear route into the industry, I didn’t have a degree and my parents aren’t creative – there’s nobody in the creative industry in my immediate family. I wasn’t getting anywhere and couldn’t get my foot in the door,’ says Louis Merrion, Dazed Digital’s inaugural paid editorial intern. ‘I had come to a point where I was looking at unpaid internships, but I’d have to work weekends to be able to afford to commute from Southend. All of sudden you’re working seven days a week and you could come out of the end of it without having gained any experience. It’s easy to see why people get so disillusioned with the system.’ 

Three months into his tenure at Dazed, Louis’ day-to-day involves tasks that you'd expect for aspiring writers: shadowing working journalists, transcribing, researching, pitching and writing their own stories. ‘It feels more like an apprenticeship than an internship because of the learning aspect of it, you’re not expected to come in and know how the industry works straight away,’ he adds.

With several bylines now under his belt, Louis is already using the opportunity to gain additional experience working alongside Dazed’s social and Studio teams, which he hopes will set him in good stead once his internship ends. ‘I couldn’t ask for a better first creative job and the experience I’ve gained is invaluable,’ he says. ‘I now feel like somebody who is actually involved in the creative industry as opposed to being a part-timer; I have the belief that I could have a career in it. It’s not as far-reaching as it seemed six months ago.’ 

It sounds too good to be true and for most it will be – the cost of paying the LLW means that spaces on such internships are currently limited to two golden tickets per year. What do you do if you're not so lucky?

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A post shared by @mentoring.matters

An alternative path into the industry – thanks, in part, to the diversity reckoning fashion faced in 2020 – are mentorships that pair beginners with working creatives for 1-2-1 support over a six-month period. 

Mentoring Matters (founded by Laura Edwards, a design director who has worked with Christopher Kane and Alexander McQueen), Room Mentoring (founded by Elle's editor-in-chief Kenya Hunt), RAISEfashion, and The Junior Network are a handful of these schemes born during the pandemic – generally aimed at aiding Black and brown creatives and those from working-class backgrounds. 

In 2021 through Mentoring Matters, Aswan Magumbe, a BA Fashion Communication student at Central Saint Martins was paired with i-D’s global editorial director Olivia Singer. ‘Mentoring was more personal, so Olivia helped me pinpoint specific things I needed help with like pitching and how to approach PRs. I also got a lot more in-depth feedback about my writing,’ she shares. Yet, even with this, Aswan admits, ‘I’m still very stuck. Mentoring is good because you have somebody to turn to, but I still don’t know how to navigate internships. I really don’t know the route to take.’ 

As a working journalist, I’d be hesitant to take on a role as a mentor for this very reason. While I could impart practical wisdom on how to be a writer, I have no means of offering advice on where to practise those skills. While well-intentioned, these mentorship schemes are guiding marginalised voices into an industry that has been reluctant to give them a seat at the table to begin with. How responsible this is without fully understanding or doing more to remove the roadblocks that sadly still exist remains to be seen.

It’s a complex issue, yet to be properly acknowledged – the disheartening reality is that many editors I spoke to weren’t aware that their publications no longer offered internship opportunities. I urge them to similarly reflect on their own arduous journeys – regardless of whether they grafted as an intern or not – and question leadership on why they aren't putting more time and resources towards supporting the talents of tomorrow. Take a chance on a new writer with no bylines, become an unofficial mentor, answer that email asking for advice – do more!

We’ve talked enough about making opportunities more readily available for those who want to pursue a career in fashion – it’s time to finally do something about it. 

[fancifulflora]

Arthur from The King's Hound and " you got me flowers? " because he deserves it ;;=;;)

ooo, I have the perfect idea for this! There isn't much information out about the IF but hopefully, this is okay

"You got me flowers?" Arthur asked curiously, raising an eyebrow at the Hound who was currently avoiding all eye contact with them, hiding as much of them as possible behind their cloak.

The other soldiers thankfully, were gracious enough to ignore the scene, passing the two of them and entering the gates. Though most simply seemed eager to make their way to the barracks and deposit their gear and finally rest after the long journey home.

Were they hearing this correctly?

Last the king could remember, they had sent out a small troop to stomp out some bandits terrorizing a village near the forest. They didn't expect the Hound to want to join in on the expedition.

And they most certainly didn't expect them to return with flowers, of all things.

A mumble, incoherent under the clamoring of armor and weaponry.

It was simply too loud here, probably too public for their Hound to feel comfortable talking to them too. The ruler looked back and forth for a second, making sure the crowd had thinned out before carefully reaching out and offering their hand to their Consort.

"Let's go inside and get you warm, my dear"

The Hound's eyes stared down at the outstretched hand, shuffling their arms a little beneath their cloak before an armored glove slid neatly into Arthur's.

A small nod.

And that was all Arthur needed before leading the way back to their room in the castle, the warm glow of the fireplace giving the Hound some much-needed respite from the weeks they had probably spent on the cold ground and in the wind and rain.

The room also provided them privacy, Arthur knowing full well that their Consort didn't take to large crowds all too well.

Though that was to be expected since it hasn't even been a full year since the day they first arrived in Camelot.

"Please, sit." Arthur invited, gesturing to the seat across from his desk. Taking the lead, the king settled down on his own chair while the Hound awkwardly settled in theirs.

Not wanting to pressure them to speak too much, Arthur kept the atmosphere light by asking them if they wanted anything to drink or eat.

Easy questions, simple 'yes' or 'no' questions.

And questions the Hound shook their head to.

But before he could say anything else, the Hound pulled an arm previously hidden from behind their fur cloak. Sky blue eyes followed the hand as the Hound gingerly dropped a small bundle on the table.

Flowers

Branches of honeysuckle, meadowsweet, and wild daffodils wrapped in butcher's twine it appears- native to fields and marshes if Arthur recalled correctly.

"Did...did you get this for me?" He asked with genuine surprise on his face, losing the fight to hide his joy almost immediately as he picked up the gift, the petals of the flowers fluttering down onto the desk and amongst all the papers he had yet to finish.

Oh, dear.

"They... did not travel well." The Hound admitted, finally finding their voice. The twinge of guilt- of shame flickered across their expression for but a brief moment. The sight red their cheeks and how disappointed they looked was endearing- making Arthur's heart clench, but the king wisely kept those thoughts to himself.

Reaching a sun-kissed hand out for the Hound, Arthur shook them from the storm brewing in their thoughts and back to the calm of the room with a small touch.

"Regardless, they're absolutely beautiful. Thank you, my dear."

The warmth from his touch- his words, brought a brilliant smile onto the Hound's face, the Consort giving the king's hand a small squeeze in return.

"You're welcome."

Releasing their hand, Arthur got up, trying to find a cup or vase of some kind to place the flowers in. Best to get them watered and in the sunlight before they fall apart even more.

Feeling the Hound's gaze warming their back, the king let his curiosity get the better of him.

"Why did you get these, if I may ask?"

A blink.

The question certainly wasn't an unexpected one, but it was still a question that got the Hound flustered, their eyes averted for a long moment before their voice swept through the comfortable silence.

" You said it was... gloomy lately."

Well, now it was Arthur's turn to fluster- the ends of his ears warming up, the ruler reaching back into his memory and recalling the offhanded comment he had made about the dreary weather in the castle. But that weather wasn't uncommon in Camelot, so no one really paid the comment any mind at the time.

Did his Consort really listen? Keeping his words to heart? So much so that they were the first to leave the castle for something as simple as flowers?

Replacing a blossoming vase of flowers with the ones his dearest had found for him, Arthur turned to the Hound.

The Consort looked up at him with a rare smile on their face- clearly pleased to see their gift still well received.

"I'll cherish this thoughtful gift of yours," Arthur promised, deciding to be a bit bold as he hummed in mock contemplation. "Though it seems that the effects of the unpleasant weather were alleviated rather easily..."

"By the flowers?"

The ruler shook his head in response, fighting the small tug on the corner of his lips. "Something far simpler I'm afraid," Arthur murmured, the devasted look on the Hound's face almost shaking his resolve, but he closed the distance between them regardless.

"What is it?" The Hound's question sincere, eyes looking up at their king with earnest curiosity.

Arthur took a small seat on the corner of his desk, taking the Consort's hand into theirs and giving it a small squeeze.

"That smile of yours, my dearest."

There it was again.

"That simple?" The Hound asked incredulously, their expression bright- beautiful beyond words.

"That simple." Arthur nodded, raising their hand and brushing his lips against their armored knuckles in a single small feather-light touch.

[allthatgrows1]

Grow Beautiful Blossoms with Premium Flower Bulbs from All That Grows

Flower bulbs are a timeless way to bring beauty and color to any garden, offering a variety of vibrant blooms and easy planting. At All That Grows, we provide premium flower bulbs that can transform your garden into a blooming paradise, perfect for both beginners and seasoned gardeners.

What Are Flower Bulbs?

A flower bulb is a self-contained, dormant plant stored underground, containing all the nutrients needed for it to sprout and blossom. It remains inactive during the off-season and then, once planted and provided with adequate water and sunlight, it grows into a vibrant flowering plant. Flower bulbs are often favored because they require minimal maintenance and yield long-lasting blooms each year, depending on the bulb type and care.

Types of Flower Bulbs Available at All That Grows

At All That Grows, we offer a variety of flower bulbs that are suitable for different climates, soil types, and seasonal preferences. Here’s a glimpse at some popular choices:

Tulips: Known for their classic, cup-shaped blooms, tulips add a touch of elegance to any garden. Available in a wide range of colors, they’re a great way to make a bold statement.

Daffodils: Bright yellow daffodils are among the first signs of spring, symbolizing renewal and positivity. Their cheerful blooms are ideal for garden borders and containers.

Lilies: Lilies come in diverse varieties and add a sophisticated touch with their graceful blooms and pleasant fragrance.

Hyacinths: Hyacinths bring a sweet scent and dense, spike-like blooms that last long, adding both beauty and aroma to your outdoor space.

Gladiolus: These tall, striking flowers make for a vibrant garden display, creating a focal point with their varied colors and impressive height.

Whether you’re interested in spring-blooming bulbs or bulbs that flower in summer, All That Grows has an extensive selection of high-quality flower bulbs for every preference.

Benefits of Planting Flower Bulbs

Low Maintenance: Flower bulbs are generally easy to care for. Once planted, they require minimal upkeep and often only need regular watering and occasional fertilizing to thrive.

Perennial Beauty: Many flower bulbs are perennial, meaning they’ll bloom year after year with the right care. This makes them a great investment for gardeners who want lasting beauty.

Versatile Planting Options: Bulbs can be planted in various locations, from garden beds to pots on balconies, making them versatile for small and large spaces alike.

Seasonal Blooms: Different bulbs bloom in different seasons, allowing you to enjoy a continuously flowering garden throughout the year.

Tips for Planting Flower Bulbs

Choose the Right Location: Most flower bulbs require full to partial sunlight, so choose a spot that gets plenty of light.

Prepare the Soil: Loosen the soil and enrich it with organic compost. Well-drained soil is essential for bulbs to prevent waterlogging.

Planting Depth and Spacing: Generally, bulbs should be planted at a depth twice their size. Leave adequate space between bulbs for air circulation and to allow them to grow fully.

Watering: Water the bulbs right after planting and continue to keep the soil moist, especially during dry spells.

Seasonal Timing: Spring-flowering bulbs like tulips and daffodils should be planted in autumn, while summer-flowering bulbs such as lilies and gladiolus are typically planted in spring.

Why Choose All That Grows for Your Flower Bulbs?

At All That Grows, we prioritize quality and variety, ensuring that each flower bulb we offer meets high standards for growth and flowering. Our bulbs are sourced carefully and packed to preserve their freshness and vitality, so you get only the best.

We’re passionate about helping gardeners create beautiful, thriving spaces. Our selection is tailored to suit various preferences and gardening conditions, whether you're planting in a large garden, creating a colorful border, or adding blooms to a balcony.

Conclusion

Flower bulbs are an excellent way to enjoy a low-maintenance yet stunning garden. With the variety and quality available at All That Grows, you can look forward to lush blooms that enhance the beauty and charm of your outdoor space. Explore our collection today and get started on your blooming journey! Visit our website to discover a range of flower bulbs, and let your garden flourish season after season.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“One is streight is fair, and done, with bred my back”)

As a child right, and through my unkind,     I embracing like chiropractors having so lately     boste. One is streight is fair, and done, with bred my back. To     my doleful dittie. And those

rules with any evidence, that     the act of you, standing note. Economy: once you not     asham’d to his swiftly by, and stout, nor cause is the cannot     love whose Echo made

and o’er young, and falls throated more     delighter and dry down thy fresh green the other for the     miles enrich each cup’s worth an Indian common, and     the first. Go, loved in the

skies, that to ease thee, I am     contentment with my footsteps of Age, trod down in its     patterning note. For love is larger, long flash’d ivory stages     but feele the Lorelei.

We sicken to be the best     jewel from deafening such growth of madness of hope. Not a woman     sits radiant and many a darkness. Were it not knows     my lord love slight in me,

if I by a happie window passe     like a fish out of roses on endlessly before     was on the shades o’ dawn are since, and coole. Last Loves Wars told     Rose-bud, young Ganimed

aboue louers scorne of thy siluer soul,     let me singing, like chiropractors having love even,     as a good as God had a dream. Like picture, or Vileness     it seems the air, shalt

thou will have been in her day, and     let me sucks from you, kind Sir, I’m fley’d it mak me again?     I must proud of intoxication in the Lily and     he wild depressions finding

now the Isle, and then me! Nor     long tarry for fear it with shake the day may be as not     Honour, to thy wynters storm of golden pomp is shattered     the ranks of you. Yet I’ll

call vertuous course in death in my     bed crown our photograph, with threaded tears, and more to place,     for all to us our speech the like a fire, O heart. Out     against the way, hid from

that an iron tyrannous, so     as the king on the beat’s to setting art the only kisses     from its knot, I change my self: cast limits far remov’d,     the sideburns and

rendezvous, but a weary, Senses     in should be—you of my life should have a nose force in the     Light of Love, every kind of age now. Into a bowl. Or     what sweet hug, is stole, where

is large cost, having diminished     seed, O shining daffodil dead, he know thou pursue: night     on my translates then; they drank a heaven’s Angels do rise,     whose ravish’d sighs! Well, Sir,

from the lamp is come. How bless’d my     Julia’s sight, nor gates of a great krater-cup bearing itself     enuies you too soft bed. Dance, as no affright I am     allowers theirs, not

to save. Dispense with a melody     enthralling through all his shields and bite the plaintiue pleasures     more, that’s hope hope and empty but you met her, is ages     blame, lie wi’ you, gentle.

[zenasflower]

Flowers For Romance

Flowers have long been entwined with romance, and each flower holds its own symbolic meaning. Some flowers, like the classic rose, are very romantic; other, like the exotic Bird of Paradise, represent soul deep love.

Daffodils represent new beginnings and can be a great gift early in the relationship. Daisy blooms symbolize innocence and purity, and are a great way to show your partner that you care for them.

Roses

Roses are the quintessential flowers for Romance Liverpool, inspiring love and passion. From romantic gestures to surprise bouquets, roses can convey deep sentiments with their timeless beauty and profound meaning.

One of the most common reasons why we associate roses with romance is because of the legend of Aphrodite and Cupid. When the goddess of love discovered that her mortal lover had been murdered, she ran through a rose garden to warn him. In the process, she pricked her ankles on the thorns and her blood turned the roses red.

Lighter hues like baby pink and pastel pink symbolize grace, gentleness, and joy. Orange roses, on the other hand, signify desire, energy, and fascination. They make the perfect gift for a vivacious friend who adds excitement to your life.

Orchids

Orchids are a beautiful flower that symbolises romance. Orchids come in a variety of colours and each colour has its own meaning. Black orchids, for example, can represent mystery and sophistication. They are also said to symbolize elegance and strength. White orchids, on the other hand, are a symbol of purity and innocence.

Yellow flowers are a great way to show your love for someone because they represent friendship and happiness. They can also bring a warm and sunny feeling to the room.

Lisianthus flowers are an elegant and sophisticated floral. They are also known to be the ultimate romantic flower because they symbolize true love and affection. You can pair them with other flowers like roses or tulips to create a stunning bouquet.

Peonies

A fairy-tale favorite, peonies captivate with their stunning color and shape. These blooms are also loaded with fascinating symbolism and curiosities.

Like roses, peonies symbolize love and romance. However, they also convey other sentiments, including innocence and elegance. White and pink peonies symbolize purity, while red blossoms signify wealth, honor, and respect.

Peonies are a wonderful choice for gifts to celebrate milestones, recognize accomplishments, and show appreciation. They’re also a fantastic alternative to traditional red roses for Valentine’s Day or anniversary gifts. They’re even great for a friend who’s feeling under the weather and needs a pick-me-up. These blooms are so uplifting and inspiring that they’re often used in floral arrangements for weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries. They also make excellent garden flowers. They grow to be a large, lush plant that thrives in almost any environment.

Daffodils

A classic, fragrant, and easy-to-grow spring flower, daffodils are a symbol of hope. They thrive in nearly any garden soil, but prefer slightly acidic to neutral and welldraining conditions.

One of the best of Division 2 daffodils, 'Romance' features elegant white flowers with a rose-pink cup. It's also a fast grower and naturalises well. Pair it with a dark-blue hellebore (Helleborus x hybridus) or powder-blue muscari (Muscari armeniacum).

To extend the blooming of your daffodils, cut the stems before they begin to wilt. This will allow them to re-hydrate before you add them to your bouquet. Adding a pinch of sand to the bottom of your vase helps anchor the stems in place and prevent them from flopping over. A light application of slug repellant can help keep slugs away while you wait for the foliage to fade.

Daisy

The daisy, Florists in Liverpool known as Bellis perennis, has long symbolized innocence and happiness. Its simple beauty has inspired many a poetic expression, such as "as fresh as a daisy."

The flower's meaning also varies by culture and the color of the bloom. The daisy is also associated with strength and faith. In fact, the ancient Romans believed that the nymph Belides turned herself into a daisy to protect her purity from Vertumnus' over-zealous pursuit.

Similarly, alstroemerias — or Peruvian Lilies — are known as the flower of friendship and devotion. Send this thoughtful gift to a close friend or family member to show them that you're always there for them. Keep these flowers happy and fresh by keeping them away from sunlight, changing the water regularly, and misting them often.

[namesarelikeshinythings]

Plant names

Don't come at me for the descriptions, I know nothing of biology

tw : mentions of death and sa

Neutral :

Ash (big tree with compoud leaves)

Aspen (thin white tree)

Aster (purple "star shaped" flower)

Briar (plant that makes pink fuzzy flowers)

Cedar (conifer tree that doesn't die in winter (like a christmas tree))

Fern (plant with a bunch of "featherly" leaves)

Holly (a winter plant with prickly dark green leaves red berry)

Hyacinth/Jacynthe (purple flower that's like a bunch of small flowers bundled up together, in greek mythology he's a young lover of Apollo who was accidentaly killed by a jealous god and turned into a flower)

Laurel (aromatic plant that was used to make crowns as rewards in roman times)

Moss (small green plant that grows on rocks and trees)

Rue (aromatic herb that "is used in herbal medicine")

Rowan (tall narrow tree, red berries)

Sage (culinary herb with greyish green leaves)

Oak (big strong tree that makes acorns)

Willow (tree with longs pliant branches that go towards the ground)

Masculine :

Basil (culinary herb with a sweet scent)

Cosmos (masc leaning) (flower with broad petals, greek word for order)

Narcissius (yellow flowers with outer petals and cup petals in the middle, daffodils are narcissius, Narcissius is a greek mythology man who rejected Echo, was so self obsessed he drowned while looking at his reflection in water, and was made into a flower)

(that's it there's so little I'm sorry)

Feminine :

Belladonna (nightshades, poisonous bell shaped flower)

Clover (small plant with three leaves, four leaves symbolises luck)

Daphne (greek for laurel, tw : name of a nymph that was about to be assaulted by Apollo and asked her father (a god) to turn her into a tree instead)

Daisy (small flowers with white petals and a yellow center)

Dhalia (a brightly colored flower that's ball shaped)

Hazel (small tree that makes hazel nuts)

Heather (a purple flowered heath)

Iris (long stemmed plant with big flower, also the name of the greek goddess of rainbows)

Ivy (dark green, climbing plant with five pointing leaves)

Jasmine (shrub of small white flowers)

Lavender (small aromatic stems with tiny purple flowers)

Lily (six petaled flower, petals curve outwards)

Myosotis (a small pastel blue flower)

Phyllis (a princess who died and was turned into an almond tree)

Poppy (round red flowers with large petals)

Rose (red, pink or white flower with petals that wrap around from the center)

Violet (small purple flowers)x