#bloomplanted

[walkingshcdow-a]

@bloomplanted | continued

         ❛ is that so? ❜ angular jaw, sharp features and dark eyes were unfamiliar to pensive emeralds taking in the figure. he was never an agreeable child. oddest one of the older children running about piffling acting their age and getting into mischief while he was a foreign creature seemingly unfamiliar to the rituals of childhood. lean and lithe the figure had an unexpected amount of energy and strength for a frame that made one wonder how he didn’t manage to snap with the blowing of the breeze. it was the confidence or pride she could only assume was the fuel to his being. the funns were rather famous in their own way. the longest family to live in piffling if she remembered right. they had held the monopoly on the funeral business until the last year or so.

dirty finger nails were displayed across her sleeve as arms folded over chest and feet shifted her weight as grassy green eyes narrowed at the crime scene before her. the corpse of the spider was encircled with daffodil petals bearing the bruises and marks of a severe thrashing. the culprit- the murderer of both the spider and flowers now stood before her asking for gratitude.

❛ for which part, rudyard? killing a spider that was helping the flowers or for killing the spider with the very flowers it was helping? ❜ the soft thrumming of her fingers against the worn plaid shirtsleeve was the sole comforting aspect that kept her from doing anything else. a week back in piffling and she was ever so reminded of the lost freedom upon returning.

So perhaps if you didn’t speak to animals - or, at least - if they didn’t speak back, it looked as if Rudyard had committed a senseless murder with an unlikely weapon. It wouldn’t be the first time he stood accused. But, puffing up proudly, he would gladly claim this death as his doing. Cassandra couldn’t understand, could she? No one really did. Rudyard didn’t really care to be understood. 

“If you had heard him say just what he wanted to do to Madeline, I think you’d find that I was perfectly justified.”

The spider had wanted to take her out on a date and everyone knew what spiders did to their partners when they were through. Rudyard wasn’t about to put Madeline in danger of becoming a spider’s date, dinner, and dessert. 

“The world is a better place with one less depraved cretin in it,” he said, handing back the flowers. “Here you go, Miss Bloom. Your daffodils.” 

He was just brazen enough to look her in the eyes without apology for the bruised petals. 

[eternlle]

♡♡♡      𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥  :    @bloomplanted​​

                       ❛  shhh  ---  don’t make a sound, we don’t want to scare it !  ❜

[kentwood524designs]

Day 34/100 - of #flowers #100daysofflowersbyk524d #100daysofpattern #flora #flower #floral #florist #blooms #bloom #bloomingflowers #bloomplants #bloomingplants #red #redflowers #green #greenleaf #redandgreen #gardenflowers #gardendesign #livecolorfully #colorful #colorfulleaves #colorfulplants #iloveflowers #ilovetexture #ihavethisthingwithflowers

[walkingshcdow-a]

♬ + henry edgeware in university

I will take any opportunity to love Henry Edgeware

[walkingshcdow-a]

Ship-Shape! | Accepting!

@personnages​ & @bloomplanted​ asked:

who is more likely to hurt the other?: I think Antigone has the Funn Mean Streak and could very easily hurt Henry emotionally in ways that he couldn’t even begin to fathom until it happens. There are immediate apologies and immediate, halting forgiveness, but... oof.  who is emotionally stronger?: I mean, Edgeware has the wherewithal to provide medical care to all of Piffling Vale on his own and he’s not completely broken down (close, though) but on the other hand, Antigone has lived a life filled with rejection and Rudyard, so.... who is physically stronger?: Henry, but he’s so tired, it’d be easy to assume it’s Antigone... and to be fair, Antigone is pretty physically strong. who is more likely to break a bone?: Antigone but I can’t get over the hilarity/horror of Edgeware breaking a bone and talking Antigone through the surgery to fix it. Wtf. Go to bed, Deanna.   who knows best what to say to upset the other?: Henry, but he very rarely says it. He doesn’t want to upset Antigone but he knows exactly what will make her crumble like a house of cards.  who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?: Antigone apologizes pretty quickly in canon when she argues with anyone but Rudyard. That said, she’s gotten more stubborn and I think Henry has to apologize first about half the time, too. who treats who’s wounds more often?: HENRY IS THE ONLY DOCTOR IN PIFFLING VALE. HE TREATS EVERYONE’S WOUNDS, INCLUDING HIS GIRLFRIEND’S.  who is in constant need of comfort?: Both. Let them be soft. Pls. I beg.  who gets more jealous?: Antigone. There’s a scene in my fic where Mayor Desmond accidentally promises women that Henry can impregnate them and hell hath no fury like Antigone telling a queue of women that her boyfriend isn’t about to knock anyone up as long as she’s still breathing. I think this sparks something in her later, especially as people notice that, when rested, Henry is handsome and smart and successful... quite the catch. He’s always ready to assure her that she is the one he’s waited twenty years for and if it’s a day that he’s well-rested, he’s happy to assure her just how much he wants her without words...  who’s most likely to walk out on the other?: Neither. Not long term. Antigone might storm out during an argument because it’s the dramatic thing to do and then be Shocked Pikachu when Henry doesn’t follow her like in books. She storms back in and demands to know why he didn’t follow. “I thought you might want a moment to compose yourself.” More fighting ensues and no one actually ends up leaving. They either make up or have angry sex and make up later.   who will propose?: Henry. He wants to give Antigone a cinema-worthy proposal but it ends up being quieter and more personal. And it’s what she’s wanted. who has the most difficult parents?: Antigone. But they’re dead. Thank god. Although now I want a world where Henry returns to Piffling earlier and proposes or proposes before he leaves and has to deal with Antigone’s parents who don’t want her to leave Piffling with “that Edgeware boy”. who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?: Henry, especially in early days. He loves how flustered it makes Antigone and how receptive to his touch she is. who comes up for the other all the time?: I feel like people bring up Henry to Antigone more and like... “forget” or legit forget that Henry is dating Antigone so they try to set them up or they are like “that poor man needs a wife” and she’s like “... we’ve been dating for two years.” who hogs the blankets?: Henry. Antigone fights him for them or climbs on him in her sleep.   who gets more sad?: Antigone, for sure. Like they’re both kinda nihilistic, but Antigone gets dark.  who is better at cheering the other up?: Does it count if Henry is able to prescribe antidepressants for Antigone or....? who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?: She doesn’t slap him but Antigone gives Henry A LOOK and he knows it means his joke was particularly silly and/or bad and he lives for it.  who is more streetwise?: Henry. He lived in London for a while.  who is more wise?: Hmm. I think I might argue Antigone is but I can’t pinpoint why except that I know it’s true. who’s the shyest?: Antigone for sure!  who boasts about the other more?: Henry brags about Antigone whenever he gets the opportunity. He’s in awe of her and he wants the village to know he’s spoken for and that she is the most special person on the island.  who sits on who’s lap?: Henry pulls Antigone into his lap for quiet cuddles and for other, less chaste reasons. I’m loving the image of him pulling her into his lap at like, the village Christmas party at the vicarage and kissing her deeply and touching her and she’s still a little insecure and she’s like, “Other people could see!” and he just murmurs against her neck, “That’s the idea. It’s #151 on you list of fantasies-” and she’s like “How much of the punch have you had? Are you drunk? Am I dreaming? This isn’t real!” and.... nope, it’s real and he’s not drunk. He’s just trying to cater to one of her fantasies and she’s realizing that when she wrote down “have sex in public” she did not mean in the vicarage, in front of the whole village, including her brother and Georgie. They renegotiate #151 but she agrees to stay on his lap in the corner until they can quietly sneak back home.   

[walkingshcdow-a]

💋 or 👪 for rudyard (via mousepublsh)

Are your ears burning? | Accepting!

💋 for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse.

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, voice stern, “Madeline is the best of anyone on Piffling Vale. If you do anything - anything at all - to hurt her or even upset her, you will have to answer directly to me and I will show no mercy. Have her home by ten o’clock and keep your paws to yourself.”

👪 for what my muse would say to your muse’s child about them. 

“Your mum was the best friend I’ve ever had, you know,” Rudyard says softly, stroking the small mouse’s head with the tip of his index finger. “Most will remember her as a best-selling author, but I’ll always remember her as the kindest, wisest person I have ever known.”

Even if she was a mouse. It went without saying. Much of what Rudyard wanted to say was too hard to say. Fresh loss cut into his chest. He took a steadying breath through his mounting tears and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“You know, you remind me of her when she was young... Curious, daring, better than any of the people in this village. We didn’t deserve her.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

“I think that snake was poisonous.” @henry

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. In the middle of Henry’s daily, seven minute contemplation of the futility of running two hospitals, Cassandra Bloom rushed in, blathering about snakes and when she finally calmed down enough to speak - and Henry was sure she wasn’t having an fit of some kind - she said the snake was poisonous. Henry sighed beleagueredly as he ushered her into the nearest empty examination room. 

“You aren’t supposed to bite the snake back,” he groused, having dealt with this problem before in Piffling Vale. “How much did you ingest? I’m going to have to induce you to vomit it back up before I give you the anti-toxin...”

[walkingshcdow-a]

🔪 rudyard!

Are your ears burning? | Accepting!

🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours.

“As we mourn the passing of Miss Cassandra Bloom, we must remember that her body now nourishes the plants she loved so much in life. What more fitting rest could we give to Miss Bloom than to plant her among her garden? When a life is cut short so young, we must ask ourselves what small legacy was left in their wake.”

What legacy would he leave when he, too, passed? Cassandra was so young - five years younger than Rudyard himself - and he could easily see how she had left the world a more beautiful place: perhaps quite literally. But Rudyard? There would not be mourners one day when he followed suit, only those coming to celebrate his demise. That in mind, what did he say of a girl that everyone thought of as odd, but charming? He drew a shuddering breath, a steadying breath. He could feel the audience slipping. If Reverend Wavering wasn’t at an ecclesiastical conference, they’d at least be entertained. Instead, her parents and the rest of Piffling Vale had to put up with Rudyard’s eulogy. Rudyard’s eulogies usually devolved into Funn-typical nihilism. Cassandra deserved better. She’d usually been kind to Rudyard and had always been kind to Antigone. She deserved better than for Rudyard to spiral into questioning the futility of existence. He cleared his throat.

“Cassandra’s bold botanical statements will stand as testaments to her life long after her memory has faded - though those here who remember her will remember her as an intrepid, kind, if reckless and stubborn girl and though she will continue to nourish our community in death, she will be missed by those who knew her in life.”

Petunia Bloom didn’t demand a refund but if Sid Marlowe and Leo Bloom hadn’t restrained her, she might have clawed Rudyard’s eyeballs out. Reckless. He’d called her reckless. And stubborn.

And perhaps that was not the best thing to call someone who had died in a reckless and stubborn way - trekking alone into the small, but incredibly dense woods and trying to catalogue the unknown plant species there and inhaling or ingesting - Doctor Edgeware hadn’t been conclusive in his autopsy - too many botanical toxins. 

Quietly, later, though, Cassandra’s father said it had been a nice eulogy and not to mind Petunia too much. Grief was a funny business and no parent ought to bury their child. Even Rudyard knew that much. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

❝ You make a fool of death with your beauty and, for a moment, I forget to worry ❞ @antigone (via medicusmatt)

“Death is no one’s fool, least of all mine,” Antigone said seriously, somberly. She was about to say something else when another part of her brain caught up. Was that... Flirting? She ran a hand through her lank, dark hair and looked over at Dr. Buchanan. Damn! He might have been flirting with her and she hadn’t responded at all appropriately. She muttered to herself, words likely incoherent, but a few “damns” were certainly intelligible. Then, drawing a deep breath she said, “Do you want to try that again? I promise I won’t say odd things this time.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

❝ What I’ve seen so far, the good ones always seem to break. ❞ @henry (via medicusmatt)

“If you’re going to be cryptic, can you do it after my fifth coffee?” Henry asked, stirring a small amount of cream into his coffee mug, which already contained coffee and half a can of cola. “I don’t process philosophical nonsense before 10 AM if I can help it.” 

[eternlle]

                              disney lyric sentence starters  ( accepting! )       @bloomplanted​  asked :    ❝ if there’s a price for a rotten judgement, i guess i’ve already won that. ❞

❛  well...  no one would call you a genius. ❜            she’s fighting a war not to grin, and losing terribly.     cassandra’s predicament is pitiful.    almost waist - deep in murky water, her pants ruined and shoes soaked...   just because it  ‘didn’t look that deep’  a few seconds ago.      it’s a frigid day, fresh after an autumn rainstorm, and this will make the walk back considerably unpleasant.        evelyn takes one step back, then another, casting her friend an apologetic look.            ❛   i would do anything for you, cherie, but these are actually my favorite boots.  ❜

[eternlle]

                                   wonder woman prompts  ( no longer accepting )              @bloomplanted  asked :       ‘ a deal is a promise, and a promise is unbreakable. ’

❛  but i didn’t pr ---  ugh!  ❜       her protests cut off in a frustrated growl, like an animal finding itself trapped in the cage of its own words.   a thousand arguments would fail to sway cassandra on this point   ;   evelyn has taken enough interest in the fae to understand how binding deals are, even ones made amongst mortals.   cassandra surely knows the same.    serves her right for swearing something she couldn’t guarantee in the first place.

evelyn slumps forward, hunching in on herself like a pouting child, utterly defeated.          ❛  fine.  i’ll do whatever you want.  ❜          crossing her arms feels too petulant, so she spreads them instead, like cassandra doesn’t have the upper hand in taunting her here.          ❛  what, are you going to force me to cut off my hair and sell it?   or do the macarena, or bleat like a sheep for a whole day?   your wish is my command, so you may as well go all for it.  ❜

[walkingshcdow-a]

@bloomplanted

Perhaps, it was the most unexpected place or maybe if anyone knew them it was the most expected one. The campus grounds were dark and held the occasional giggling laughter or raucous drunken conversations as people left from a party at three AM. Booze, laughter, dancing and copious amounts of various things fueled that party before it eventually had to end in one of several ways. This was theirs.

They stumbled along the side of the library, appearing in the orange glow of the lampposts before falling into the darkness of the in-between then reappearing again under the next light. Somehow in the transition below each lamppost she found herself leaning more and more against him laughing and stumbling. At one point neither were sure who was supporting who upright, but they somehow managed.

Somehow she found herself, arm hooked with Henry’s, slowly walking backwards in front of him at some point in the darkness before her drunken attempt at walking had her tripping.

A scream pierced through the air as the two fell over onto the lawn of dewy grass and she felt herself pulled even closer to him as the world spun and giggling laughter followed.

She couldn’t remember either how long they had rolled or how long Henry had spent hovered over her with one arm bracing himself up. All she could really remember was how the North Star and Cassiopeia seemed to fall around him almost glowing brighter before she tasted his breath and felt the weight of his mouth against hers. Her hand reached up to pull him closer, fingers raking through his hair as she craved the warmth of his frame against her in sharp contrast to the wet dew now clinging to her back and hair seemingly crowning her in stars of her own.

Her mother had once teased her that she had a crush on Henry the last time he came to visit on a holiday. She was younger and filled with confusing emotions and hormones and promptly told her that she had felt nothing for the young man who came back taller than before. Smarter than before. He had a different confidence about him that made him so remarkably different than all the boys on the island. He looked so much happier. Her father had come to her rescue admonishing Petunia Bloom to leave her be, but somehow the weight her father’s hand and the kiss on her forehead made her realize that he thought the same too.

She told herself it was just a silly crush because they had spent time together as kids and now that puberty hit then that was all there was too it. Nothing real and she put it out of her mind. She didn’t crave him- she craved something new and exciting. So she came to London. New and exciting...she tried to ignore the fact that somewhere in that city Henry was there. Tried to ignore that silly little rush when he pulled her off the bar that first night and into his arms as he tried to get her home safely. Fought against the burning feeling in her chest when she’d wake up asleep against him on a bus ride back to her place in the later months or how she’d find his jacket draped around her. No one would ever deny that Cassandra Bloom could fight til the last breath in her body, but somehow this was the war she couldn’t fight against.

Somehow she found more and more excuses to be around him and told herself that he probably wouldn’t feel the same. He had a girlfriend and yet...eventually the girlfriend was gone and the two were left more free. A hazy part of her mind told her that this might be a drunken stroke of impulse and to enjoy this because come morning it would be gone and done. “Henry.”

It only took a moment to flip them over so she straddled his waist and his back met the earth. It was only a moment later as the world still swayed from the movement that she let her weight fall against his chest, one hand dragging his to rest on her waist while she kissed him deeper as the stars above watched in all their shinning glory.

Henry didn’t go to parties much.

He wasn’t the type of stick-in-the-mud who begrudged others fun, but Henry usually had other things to do besides party. There were books to read, exams to study for, a life to prepare for. Eyes to the future, Henry seldom lived in the moment. 

Cass made him want to. Cass made him try.

They wheeled through the streets, drunk and laughing, chatting about things Henry wouldn’t remember in the morning. He would remember that she was warm against the evening chill, that he excused holding her to him as sharing heat, when, really, it was because he wanted her there. Cass was a bit of home, a bit of paradise regained. 

Henry wanted to live in the moment - this moment - forever.

Before he could tell Cass as much, before he could do much of anything about that realization, a scream - Cass’ - pierced his thoughts. Down she tumbled, to the grass, taking him with her. In the morning there would be a bruise. Now, there was only laughter. Dizzy, staring into the green pools of her eyes, Henry thought he might offer first aid. Then he thought about how lovely she looked, gazing up at him and a sort of fuzzy warmth crackled through him. Desire, perhaps, though not as he was used to feeling it. Had Henry ever wanted to kiss someone so badly? 

He gave in to desire. He kissed Cass against the damp grass. She was soft and fierce, as if she’d wanted to kiss him too. How long had she wanted to? All night? All day? For a week, for a month, for a year? Henry pretended not to notice Cassandra’s crush on him when they were children. He’d been a few years older than her - significantly, when he was eighteen and she was thirteen - and he wanted to spare her the heartbreak and disappointment that, then, he’d only seen her as a child. Years had passed since then. Now, as he studied medicine, she was a college student and time had changed them both. She’d grown into herself, become more assured; he’d outgrown Piffling. They both had, hadn’t they? They were fit for this place, for London, maybe even for each other. It was easy to think so, kissing Cass now. How easy it was to look at her now and think: There you are, and wonder how he’d been so foolish as to assume they would be children forever. 

He was a fool again, assuming that this was how he’d always feel about her: drunk off more than alcohol and passionate, at home in her arms more than anywhere else in the world.

The kiss broke much too soon. Henry’s eyes, which had slipped shut as his mouth moved against Cass’, flew open at the sound of his name. He could listen to Cass say it all night long. 

In an instant, he was under her, back flat against the wet grass. From this new vantage point, he admired the way the city glowed off of Cassandra’s skin - a combination of moonlight and lamplight - and glinted off her dark, wild hair. He only could admire her for a moment before she kissed him again, more deeply than before. Henry arched into the kiss. His hand knotted in her hair as the kiss deepened. Cassandra’s weight on his hips made him groan against her mouth eagerly. If they weren’t drunk, he’d ask her back to his place, but he didn’t want either of them to have regrets in the morning.

And if neither of them regretted this come morning, maybe he would ask her back to his place some other night..

Henry didn’t go to parties much, but he was so glad he’d gone to this one. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

“i have love in me, the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage, the likes of which you would not believe.” @henry

“I’d believe it,” Henry murmured fervently. “The human soul contains multitudes and you have more soul than most.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

"i don't think my legs work again yet." @henry

“You’re dehydrated,” said Henry, swapping Cass’ bag of fluid. 

They’d hardly spoken since Cass arrived to the island - by design, of course. Henry pretended to be impervious to village gossip, but for a change, he was at the heart of the current hot topic. His ex-girlfriend was back home and people were taking sides. 

He’s such a catch, some people said, She’s a fool for leaving Henry Edgeware. He’s Piffling’s second most successful bachelor, you know...

She must’ve had a good reason, said others. He’s gotten a bit odd since his mum died. You know, I thought he’d married some woman named Esther from off-island, but when I asked for a picture, he showed me a macaw...

The story of their breakup had also gotten inflated beyond proportion. Henry remembered telling people in simplest terms that it was over, had ended amicably, and that their doctor’s love life was none of their business, especially during a prostate exam. But, last he’d heard, according to the people of Piffling, Cass had left him at the altar four years ago. According to his neighbors, it had been a dramatic moment: Cassandra, wild thing that she was, tearing down the church steps in a wedding gown; Henry, quiet man that he was, sitting on the altar steps with his head in his hands, about to go as mental as the village now thought him.

That wasn’t how it had happened at all.

It had been a quiet thing, a slow thing, over coffees and the sound of city traffic below their apartment, as each contemplated their way in life. Cassandra, wild thing that she was, wanted to see the world. Henry, quiet man that he was, wanted to make a life somewhere he could put down roots. He’d still been in love with her when he let her go. That was why he let her go: he loved her too much to keep her from her dreams. He liked to think that was how she felt in some way about him. 

It wasn’t bloody fair to either of them that they both ended back up on Piffling. They’d both wanted more. They’d both deserved more. Cass did, anyway. Maybe this was Henry’s penance for leaving his widowed mother behind with just a parrot for company in her last years. 

“Because you’ve been out of the country, I can’t rule out cholera,” he said, “until your tests come back. But based on all of your other symptoms, I’d diagnose you with ‘severe hangover’.” 

Other symptoms included the smell of alcohol on her breath. 

Why were you drinking like that? he wanted to ask, as if he doesn’t forgo water for alcohol and caffeine more than he should these days. We aren’t young anymore. Your liver, Cass, good God. Is this how you’ve been since I last saw you or is it just this place? It does that to me, too. God. This place. 

This place is a heaven and hell now that you’re back. I wish this was a better reunion.

I wish I had been brave enough to go with you all those years ago.

[walkingshcdow-a]

"i thought you left." @ antigone

“That’s a new one,” Antigone says softly. “Most people assume I’ve died or- well, no, just that I’ve died.”

How she wishes she had left! She dreams of a world beyond the horizon of Piffling Vale. Cafes in France, mostly, but also Mexican pyramids and the romance of the Mediterranean coastline and windswept moors in Scotland and all those very beautiful places romance novels are set. She imagines making her way in those places, venturing into the cruel, wide world. What would her life be elsewhere? Would she finally be noticed and appreciated? Would her scented embalming fluids revolutionize the field of mortuary science? Would she pen a novel that made readers quiver in places that made them blush? Would she be accepted and loved? 

Or would she be as odd there as she was here on Piffling?

Cassandra had always been odd, too, but in a bright way. Antigone was made of darkness. Cassandra was - no, Cassandra is bright and brilliant. Of course she left the island. Of course she had grand adventures. Antigone wishes she’d had some, too, by now. Thirty-five and she still has never left Piffling Vale. She tried once, trekking to the bus stop with no bus, destination nowhere. But, oh, how she wishes she had left! She fantasizes about the places Cassandra must’ve been - the Amazon, Southeast Asia, Sub-Saharan Africa. Hell, she fantasizes even about Brighton and Jersey and anywhere but Piffling Vale. She is not as brave as Cassandra. She wants to be. How does one leave everything behind? Does Cassandra feel guilty ever? Antigone imagines she would worry about Rudyard after an hour or two. Being a twin means never knowing peace. Cassandra is an only child. But she has parents. Is that why she’s come back? Guilt? Or is the cruel, wide world really so cruel as to make Piffling Vale the better option? Antigone wants to ask.

She twirls the ends of her hair around her fingers. 

“But you left,” she says. “What’s it like, the world?”