#abloom

[fluffypuppy56]

My parents got me some cool looking markers so I drew these :3

I like these markers a lot! :D

They're one of those markers where you have to push down on the tip to get the ink

I always wanted those kinds of markers

I always found it satisfying :3

[crossstitchpatterns]

[hotelbooking]

Abloom Bush Lodge and Spa Retreat Nestled in the serene surroundings of Cullinan, South Africa, Abloom Bush Lodge and Spa Retreat offers a truly enchanting getaway for those seeking relaxation and rejuvenation. With its idyllic location, this charming lodge is situated just 21 kilometers away from the bustling city center, providing a peaceful retreat amidst nature's beauty. Originally built in 2008, Abloom Bush Lodge and Spa Retreat underwent a renovation in 2014, ensuring that guests are treated to modern comforts and amenities. The lodge features four spacious and elegantly designed rooms, each exuding a warm and inviting ambiance. Whether you choose a cozy suite or a luxurious chalet, every accommodation option promises a comfortable and memorable stay. Upon arrival, guests are welcomed by a friendly and attentive staff, ready to assist with any requests or inquiries. The check-in time begins at 2:00 PM, allowing ample time for guests to settle in and start their relaxing escape....

[sakkiichi]

HERE COMES THE SUN.

They comfort you while you’re having a difficult time.

ft. Childe, Lyney, Albedo, Shikanoin Heizou x gn! reader.

cw/genre: hurt/comfort.

for my dear @https-furina I know you’ve been going through trying times lately, so I hope this can comfort you a little <3 I also struggled a lot with Heizou’s part, so I apologize if it’s no good at all…

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Linen sheets feel like ropes on raw skin against the morning chill.

Its warm cream color, ashen, nothing like the mirror sunrises you were used to witnessing right after you opened your eyes.

What’s the point in opening them anymore? You wonder.

You bury your face against the pillows. In any other occasion, you would have been grateful for the coolness of its silk.

Now it’s just an iceberg. Like a missing shard of your shallow beating heart.

“Someone’s sleepy today.” A familiarly perky voice greets, the mattress dipping slightly with new weight.

You rolling in the other direction is all the greeting that meets him.

“Hey, love! It’s time to wake up!” Childe chuckles, his hand gently shaking your body.

Yet something already tells him this is not right; you usually would have already shoved him away by now.

But today you’re just… unresponsive…

The dull oceans of his stare rise in dangerous waves at your state.

Hesitant, he calls your name, his tone more like a question.

And this time, he does get an answer.

Familiar arms he adores wrapped around him loop around his middle, your face burying against his chest.

You’re warm, yet you feel so… faraway… as if the pain of past memories was seeping out your light.

Ajax is no stranger to the despair palpable in your strong grip around him, he’s endured it himself, through years robbed of him by an abyss that turned him into a master of all weapons.

So because he’s known the cold of endless nights where all he had was a tattered red scarf to remember the warmth of a distant home, he now holds you.

And for someone whose hands were tainted in the filth and bloodshed of a lifetime of slaughter, Ajax is undeniably gentle.

His fingertips ghost over your skin, easing the burning anguish of bed covers that felt too rough, too suffocating, too wrong.

When your lover’s hands get lost in your hair, combing it, you swear sun rays filter through the deep sea you’re falling through.

And then, suddenly, the choice to swim upwards presents before you, scarred sun-kissed hands extended towards you.

You take them.

When you open your eyes, russet sunsets and constellations over your beloved’s skin greet you.

His lips find yours, a bit chapped but gentle; not his usual playfulness, but soothing aquamarine waves.

You swear Childe’s kiss tastes salty. And that’s when you realize the dry tear-tracks down your cheeks.

He made them dry, sunlight evaporating puddles after grey days.

You break the surface, the waters now turquoise beneath Ajax’s light.

He won’t let you sink again.

✧ LYNEY

A whole audience’s cheers fill the Opera Epiclese. Lights shine upon every smiling face, every vigourous clap of hands after the magician’s grand finale echoing through the theater.

However, the illusionist’s gaze of amethyst is focused on the sole grim expression amongst millions of joyous others.

Yours.

Your hands move, clapping together, as if automated; your eyes stare at everything, seeing nothing; your mouth is a taut line, your lips devoid of their usual vibrant tint.

Lyney doesn’t like that being his last memory before the curtain closes.

When you step out of the Opera House, an infinity of starfields is abloom across the crepuscular skies.

What a mockery; a cruel jinx on display, for you to see the unfulfilled sparks dimming inside your heart.

A sigh escapes your dry lips, a small cloud forming when it meets the late night chill.

“You’ll catch a cold there, mon coeur,” Someone you know, tricks and all, utters behind you.

Welcome warmth tinted in lavender envelops you the instant your eyes meet the magician’s starry ones.

A small smile tugs at your lips, the curse of melancholy still clinging to you through it.

“Lyney…” You start. The twilit breeze picks up around you, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself for some semblance of a warmth you haven’t felt in days.

“That won’t do, ma chérie.” Your lover chuckles.

Then, with a wave of his hand, a piece of the night sky itself seems to become tangible in his grasp.

“Here,” he offers, draping it over your shoulders.

Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a shawl; the cloth feels delicate to the touch, quite fine too, and yet, you feel the warmth of a thousand suns. If you had to describe its color you would come up empty. Silver glitter seems to be embedded in the fabric, but at the same time, it looks like multiple tiny lights had been stitched to the material. You suppose you’d call the hue, dark; a myriad of indigoes merge into violets, threaded together with navies and cobalts. And yet, when you move it, the colors seem to shift, almost like the clouds drifting across this midnight.

“I take it you liked it.” Lyney smiles, softer than his usual cheshire-like grins, when he observes your wonderstruck features.

“Very…” You muse, awestruck at the magical silk.

“It’s a châle de ciel,” your beloved explains, “It will change depending on the state of the sky at each time of day.” He pauses, eyes, the color of lumidouce bells and rainbow rose petals merged, glinting as he admires how the garment fits you. “But I can guarantee,” your illusionist steps closer to you, plucking something out of your hair. “That it will always keep you comfortable… warm or cool, whatever you need.” He finishes, handing you a pluie lotus.

You take a few seconds to appreciate the second gift of the night. The flower’s petals are the same color as Lyney’s eyes, yet not as vivacious.

“Shall we go, mon amour?” Your boyfriend inquires, already offering your arm to him.

Together, you leave the opera house behind.

You hope for light blues on your new cape tomorrow morning. And somehow, you know that’s what you’ll find.

You squeeze Lyney’s arm gently. The sun will rise soon.

✧ ALBEDO

When he sets foot on his camp in Dragonspine, Albedo finds the heater already on.

Strange.

The sun hasn’t even quite awoken yet, the snowy peaks outlined against skies still clinging to dreamless cloudy nights; shards of ice, embedded in the softness of dawn clouds. An accurate representation of the region of freedom’s snowy mountains: menacingly beautiful, brimming with lethal charm, for one step in the wrong direction, and the cold might as well consume you for good.

At this hour, no one was ever already working at his lab, making of these moments calm sunrise-tinted memories in the alchemist’s mind, before the day’s hustle and bustle began.

However, today, the running heater is not the only out of the ordinary salutation to greet the chalk prince.

The acute sounds of clicking vials, books being rearranged and crunching snow are confirmation enough that he is, indeed, not alone.

With silent steps, Albedo advances, keeping one hand hovering over his trusty sword. Then, he finally lays eyes upon the cause for the commotion, and despite the lack of danger, the sight doesn’t calm him any better.

“My dearest?” He calls. The instant your gaze meets his, your condition scares him more than any bandits ransacking his research material. Your hair is messy, falling on your face; dark circles are etched beneath your lower lashline, darkness clinging to you like remnants of turbulent nights; and you’re shivering, whether from the cold or because you’re distempered he can’t quite discern, although it’s most likely due to both.

“Hello, ‘Bedo…” You mutter, the flesh of your lips bitten, flecks of Dragonspine’s freeze coating them, the cold lacing with your bones, chilling you to the core. Your eyes widen when you notice your lover’s teal gaze scrutinizing you. You quickly busy yourself with classifying some potions, by color and texture, whatever takes the longest for him not to worry about your less than ideal condition.

However, perhaps you underestimated his attention to detail; for he has a skilled artist, after all.

“My love, are you feeling alright?” He questions, gloved hands gently taking the crystal vial-filled wooden box you were carrying off your trembling hold.

And in that instant, you don’t know if it’s the warmth of your prince’s hands on yours; or the comfort of his voice, like honey on bitter tea, but you find yourself taking a deep breath, the fresh air of a midwinter’s sunrise filling your lungs.

And then you talk. You spill every worry and bad dream, your shadows opening up to the gilded starlight of him.

And through it all, the alchemist’s hands warm yours, fingers interlocked, very much in the way your souls are undeniably so too.

Because no matter how daunting the river seemed when you faced it alone, when you were with Albedo, its typhoons calmed down, stone bridges and his outstretched hand painting safety and comfort in hues of gold before your eyes.

While the kreideprinz grounds you, the sun reaches its peak, a canvas of aureate and cornflower blue grazing the mountaintops.

You would be okay.

✧ SHIKANOIN HEIZOU

Emerald eyes read through you as if you were made of clear glass.

The way you worry your lower lip between your teeth; your fingers almost going white at the knuckles as you clutch a pencil, its wood creaking in your grip; and the general absentminded state you’re in, papers scattered over your desk, several case files stacked in disarray.

Something is clearly weighting on your mind.

“I think a break’s in order, wouldn't you agree, sweetheart?” Heizou suggests, standing up, those striking eyes of his fixed on you.

The detective’s voice is enough to stop the quickening clock ticking in your mind, regrets and dark spirals momentarily coming to a halt.

When you rise your furrowed brow, shades of maroon and viridian flood your sight, vivid as summer and warming your up just as much.

Nodding, you stand up too, limbs feeling heavy despite the comfort of your lover beside you.

The brown shades of your office turn into blue skies and soft pink sakuras not long after, the scented tree branches swaying above you, like fragments of dreams someone had given up on, waiting to be picked up by another soul who dared to imagine.

Your back rests against your lover’s lean but strong torso, the sweet smelling breeze combing through your hair, as Heizou’s chin rests on your shoulder.

“So will you tell me what’s wrong, darling?” Are the words of his that break the birdsong-filled calm.

A pang settles on your chest, you didn’t want to take away that cheeky grin that most of the time decorated his quick-witted lips.

“I…” You hesitate. “Well, it’s- it’s complicated, Heizou…” Your lids flutter closed, a shaky breath raking through you, as you turn around in his embrace, your hands bracing on his shoulders. “I don’t want to bring the mood down, you know…”

The detective places a thumb on your lower lip, smoothing over the bite marks you left there earlier.

“You never, ever, bring the mood down, dear. Never.” He leans in, brushing a soft kiss over your forehead. “My intuition told me right away there was something up.” He takes a stray cherry blossom petal from your hair. “So, why don’t we take the rest of the day off, love?” Your partner proposes, as he takes your chin in between his fingers, mischief flashing in his features.

And perhaps your lover’s smile was more infectious than you had ever given it credit for; and maybe the way he flashes his green eyes at you has your heart trembling in ways that have nothing to do with the fear and guilt you’ve been festering, but you find yourself retorting back, with a grin of your own:

“Don’t you have cases to solve, detective Shikanoin?”

This time, he takes a full sakura flower, delicately placing it behind your ear.

“I have something more important to solve right here…” He smirks, cheekily, as he admires your now flustered expression.

When you lean the side of your head against his chest, he cradles it with one of his hands, the other playing with the ends of your hair.

It would be unfair, if gloom were to take your soul captive when spring seems to linger through Inazuma’s breeze.

With a last look at you, the detective’s maroon lashes flutter closed too. He hopes, at least for today, he managed to protect precious you from the crimes of cruel sorrow.

He leans his head on top of yours.

The case is solved.

[nemfrog]

Magnolias abloom. 1894. Cover detail.

Internet Archive

[ventique18]

"Perhaps I'll come up with a suitable solution", and not "OK, I'll help you go home". Malleus really, really doesn't want you to go home. He could take a look at the mirror right this instant and get you home in time for breakfast, but he chooses not to and instead started to think of how you could see your family while still being connected to Twisted Wonderland.

Love that's only just started sprouting, brotherhood that's only started budding, even a familial bond that stayed abloom for centuries. Everything, everything around him eventually wilts, with some only a bit faster than others. Lonely even before he was born, lonely until he's the only one left waiting to die in the world. For an entity as powerful as he is, he is still so, so powerless under the curse of time.

[trippingthemoonlightfantastic]

Rainbows Abloom

Watercolor on Black Cotton Paper

2023, 44"x 30"

Peonies, Poppies, Blue Flax, Forget Me Nots, Buttercups, and Purple Violets

[shesimsplayer]

Marie`s wardrobe&bathroom

you're doing incredible work! @felixandresims @bostyny @bbygyal123 @momo-cc @plushpixelssims @lilaccreative @sentate thanks a lot♡

📍Abloom Penthouse by @honeybellabuilds

[fluffypuppy56]

Incredibox Abloom is THE most HAPPIEST sounding mod of ALL TIME!!!!!!

I NEED to draw some fanart of the mod later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dude Infinitychubs makes the most ✨PERFECT✨ joke mods and the most ✨PERFECT✨ serious mods

He is THE best Incredibox mod maker in ALL of existence

[sosuperawesome]

Mushroom Teapot Earrings // Abloom Jewelry

[dreamsoffaerie]

characters like me: stevie bell (truly devious by maureen johnson)

the wonderful thing about reality is that it is highly flexible. one minute, all is doom; the next, everything is abloom with possibility.

[cozycottagelife]

The porch is abloom 🪴

📸: schuylersamperton

[accordingtolauren]

"DECOMPOSER"

I press my ear against the dirt of the lush Earth

desperate to listen, anxious to hear another life form beneath the surface

insects dwelling amongst the grime, a hidden universe or your beckoning call

ushering me from out of the frame, ornate and baroque

and into the soil, to fester within the dirt and the loam

to retreat back into the ground and burrow myself into the depths of the world's soul

so I may see you once more, banished six feet underground

How am I to live amongst life, when the one I love is beneath my feet?

I need to listen more, I tell myself as I overfill my coffee cup with a solemn stare

So, I now find myself lost amongst meadows abloomed by buttercups, primroses and daisies

a scenery of a lithe body bathed in silken, pastel pinks

and soaked in northern light

nestled amongst the dirt and the blossoms with my faced pressed into the grass

clawing through the sod with bloodied nails in an effort to escape the golden hues, the elaborate imagery

Could I find a purpose within the ground? Could this bring me closer to you amongst the roots, the rocks?

I shall morph into a decomposer, create nutrients from what has passed on and put it back into the air that wafts into busy skylines

seas that inhabit roaring tides, serene depictions of summer

and green lands stretching across the country-sides

Maybe this way I could be half of what you were

somebody with a meaning so grand, invaluable in the greater scheme of it all

for that was what you were to me, my own detritivore

feasting upon my decaying limbs, my rotting attitude

producing a love as vital to my organs as the oxygen I breathed

-lauren a.p

[abloomrealty]

[reveneos]

prologue

the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

rhaenyra x alicent au. loosely inspired by the portrait of dorian gray and my disappointment over the upcoming netflix adaptation of it. this is very wordy and i hardly proofread, so accept my apologies.

as this is a sideblog and i can't follow people back, leave a note if you'd like to be tagged in the continuation (i have it in me to write more i promise i promise).

the walls of the academy of saint catherine were ancient, worn by the hands of time, with dark wood paneling and the flickering glow of gas lamps casting shadows that danced upon them. the scent of turpentine and linseed oil permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old books and parchment. a marble staircase spiraled upwards in the center of the atrium, its bannisters polished smooth by generations of aspiring artists who had walked these halls before.

rhaenyra targaryen stood by one of the tall, arched windows, her silver hair catching the pale light of the overcast afternoon. she was like a living painting, a study in contrasts. her skin, porcelain and flawless, seemed almost too perfect, a stark juxtaposition to the fiery determination in her violet eyes. she held a sketchbook loosely in her hands, though her attention was elsewhere, her gaze fixed on the fog-laden streets outside.

behind her, the cavernous room was filled with the quiet hum of students absorbed in their work. easels were spread out, each supporting canvases at various stages of completion, and the soft scratching of charcoal on paper provided a gentle background to the ticking of the grand clock above.

in one corner of the room, bent over a canvas, was alicent hightower. her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple braid, strands escaping to frame a face that was earnest and delicate, her green eyes bright with concentration.

alicent's hands moved with the certainty of someone who saw the world in layers of light, shadow, and color. someone who knew how to translate the ephemeral into something tangible. yet today, her hands trembled slightly as she worked, her brush hovering over the canvas as if hesitant to complete the stroke.

she was painting rhaenyra.

alicent had asked rhaenyra to sit for her portrait weeks ago, though in truth, she had wanted to capture her since the moment they met. rhaenyra, with her effortless grace, had become her muse. but the emotions that stirred within her were confusing, a mixture of admiration and envy, affection and fear. alicent feared what would happen if she finished the portrait, feared what it would reveal—about rhaenyra, about herself.

rhaenyra turned from the window and crossed the room with a fluidity that caught the attention of more than one student. she moved with a quiet power, a confidence that commanded respect, and yet there was a softness to her that made her impossible to resent.

she approached alicent's easel and looked at the painting in progress. the likeness was uncanny, but there was something else there, too—something in the eyes that alicent had captured, something that spoke of a deeper truth, a hidden vulnerability. rhaenyra smiled, a small, knowing smile, and alicent's heart skipped a beat.

"it’s beautiful, alicent," rhaenyra said softly, her voice like velvet, wrapping around the words.

alicent looked up at her, her cheeks abloom. "thank you, but it’s not finished. i’m not sure it ever will be."

rhaenyra reached out, her fingers lightly touching the edge of the canvas, as if she could feel the emotion infused within the paint. "art is never truly finished, isn't it? it lives, breathes— changes. like us."

alicent swallowed, trying to find the right words, but all she could think about was how close rhaenyra was, how intoxicating her presence was. she had painted rhaenyra’s eyes numerous times, but seeing them now, with but a sigh's distance between them, was like seeing them for the first time.

"why did you choose me?" rhaenyra asked, her voice a mere whisper, yet heavy with meaning.

alicent's eyes flickered with uncertainty, her hands tightening around the paintbrush. "because you are… different. you’re not like the others." the words felt like an oversimplification, though that was all she could muster in the moment.

rhaenyra tilted her head, studying alicent with a gaze that was both curious and intense. "different, how?"

alicent felt a shiver run down her spine. how could she explain the way rhaenyra seemed to exist on another plane? how could she explain the way her heart ached with both admiration and desire? she couldn’t. the words wouldn’t come.

"you have a light," alicent finally managed, her voice trembling slightly. "a light that shines so brightly, it’s almost blinding. and yet… there’s a darkness there too, hidden beneath the surface."

rhaenyra’s expression softened, a flicker passing through her eyes—regret, perhaps, or sadness. "we all have our darkness, alicent. but it’s the light that defines us, don’t you think?"

alicent didn’t know how to respond, so she simply nodded, her throat felt tight, like it would cease up the further she was questioned. rhaenyra turned her gaze back to the painting, her expression unreadable.

"finish it," rhaenyra said suddenly, her voice firm.

alicent blinked in surprise. "but… i’m not ready. it’s not ready."

rhaenyra’s lips curled into a faint smile. "you'll never be done, if that's the case. you'll be waiting and waiting and waiting— why not be reckless and let whatever it is that led you to this point sweep you away further?"

before alicent could respond, rhaenyra turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit room. alicent watched her go, her heart heavy, the weight of the unfinished portrait pressing down on her. she knew what rhaenyra was asking of her, what it meant to finish the painting.

but as she lifted her brush once more, alicent realized that the true masterpiece was not the portrait itself, but the emotions it stirred within her—the passion, the longing, the fear. and perhaps, in capturing rhaenyra’s likeness, she could capture a piece of herself as well, a truth she had been too afraid to face.

the brush touched the canvas, and with each stroke, alicent felt a part of her soul unravel, intertwining with the image before her. the darkened room seemed to close in around her, the shadows growing longer, deeper. but she did not stop.

she could not stop.