#but i need other colours so also daffodils and spring crocus

[kittykatkazui]

[sparring-hyena]

our love will blossom.

welcome to another instalment of me getting poetic and romantic about random things. this time: flowers!

OR, the one where i tell you a love story through flowers.

-

Petunia.

there’s duality to the Petunia.

first, it can mean anger and resentment. which is befitting because that’s how Poppy and AJ started.

there’d been icy glares and sharp words thrown at each other when they met for the very first time on the quad. they’d fought and fought to win each and every confrontation. and once it was over, it was still unclear who had won. had there even been a winner? does it matter?

...

probably not.

when Zoey pulled her away on that first day, AJ saw Petunias lining the front of a garden bed. she’d scoffed. figures.

but then there’s also the feelings of desire and hope that the Petunia represent. those feelings hide beneath the anger and resentment—a way to shield, to protect. and this works for them, too.

because as the year carried on, and they fell into their casual arrangement—AJ had called them fuck buddies, Poppy rolled her eyes as she tried to suppress a smile—hope for more nibbled at AJ’s heart. she always pushed it away though. masked it with witty remarks.

and then as AJ’s first year at Belvoire came to a close, they stood in a fountain and shouted and cussed and kissed so hard, desperate to prove that whatever they were meant nothing at all. and then they’d just laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

that was when AJ saw the Petunias in a garden bed nearby. she smiled. figures. and then she felt the desire and hope for more consume her whole.

Gardenia.

there are a few meanings associated with the Gardenia. but the fact that one of those meanings is secret love? well, it’s as though it bloomed just for them.

it was over the summer break between their junior and senior years that their relationship changed. they started to text. not about anything real. mostly playful little jabs that lacked any real malice.

AJ had been sitting in her parents’ kitchen when her phone buzzed with another text from Poppy. then when she looked up, she saw some Gardenias in a vase on the counter. an easy smile settled across her face and she thought maybe.

and then when a new semester started up in late August, they fell into something new. something quiet and just for them. they’d meet off campus for dates. someplace where the prying eyes of Belvoire students would never see them.

one time it was some hole-in-the-wall bar with sticky floors, too cheap beer, and bowls of stale pretzels. but they’d laughed and talked all night, so they hadn’t cared one bit. there had also been movie dates, coffee dates, and spend-all-night-in-bed-sharing-kisses-and-laughs-and-falling-very-much-in-love dates.

when AJ snuck over to see Poppy late one night, she saw Gardenia’s in the garden bed out front the Zeta house. she stopped and stared. wondered how in the hell she’d never noticed them before. she smiled and thought definitely.

Crocus.

it’s a winter blooming flower. giving colour and live to a long dreary landscape. so, it represents hope. hope that the cold will eventually end.

it was at the end of December when they started to unravel. when all the secrets and sneaking around finally began to be too much. they took some space. some time apart. time which was only supposed to last a few weeks but very quickly became two months.

they crossed paths again on the front lawn of some frat house. a party raged on inside, but everything else fell away when they locked eyes. something simmered between them. almost warm enough to melt the snow around them.

and then in a moment, it snapped.

they’d shouted and cussed, thrown razor-edged words that were soft and sincere at the centre. they’d probably drawn a crowd through it all, but who the fuck cared? and then they stopped. they stopped and stared, and AJ glanced to her right and saw a Crocus peeking through the snow across the road. she felt herself smile for the first time in months.

“i miss you,” she said.

“i miss you, too.” Poppy reached forward to take AJ’s hand in her own and squeezed. they shared a smile meant only for the two of them. and there had definitely been people watching, but again, who the fuck cared?

Daffodil.

the Daffodil. it’s a Spring flower—one of the first to bloom in the season. so, it symbolises rebirth and new beginnings.

they’d finally talked. finally said everything that needed to be said. and then in the quiet moments the followed, AJ had asked a question:

“what are we then?”

Poppy had shrugged, sheepish. she stepped closer to AJ, draped her arms over her shoulders. “i’m all in.”

AJ smiled. “me too. i guess that makes you my girlfriend then.”

“i guess it does.”

they’d kissed and AJ felt something calm and warm settle in her heart. and when she’d woken up early the next morning, AJ ducked out to the nearest florist, and returned with a bouquet. a bouquet of Daffodils.

“they for me?” Poppy had asked with that all too knowing smile. she slipped out of her bed and slowly stepped closer to AJ.

“mhmm.”

“interesting choice.”

“how so?”

“most people go with Roses or Tulips.”

“so i’ve heard.”

“but you picked Daffodils. why?”

“i thought they were a better choice.”

“why’s that?”

“you’ll see.” AJ dipped her head to kiss Poppy. and when they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads together, and AJ said, “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

 On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

 By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

 On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

 On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

--

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

[amandaearl]

How I Get Thru Ottawa Winters

1. Expect a 6-month experience.

It is not uncommon for Ottawa to have snow and cold between November and April. This way my hopes are not dashed when the weather gets colder again after the January thaw.

 2. Dress according to the weather. Pay no attention to the calendar.

Spring fever is a term that I use to describe the hope I feel when the number of daylight hours increases. It’s wonderful, but no matter how great the temptation is to start wearing fewer clothes as spring fever hits, I resist. I look at the actual temperature and dress accordingly. I try to take glory in the bundling. I wear a lot of red in winter because red makes me feel happy, intense and fiery.

 3. Notice what makes winter beautiful.

 The other day when we had the big storm with the massive snowflakes, I was at home and cozy. It was so quiet. I felt safe and comfortable. It was windy otherwise I would have gone out and bundled up, enjoying the silence and the feeling of being wrapped up and alone in the quiet.

 The angle of the light changes from the harsh white of early winter to the soft yellow of the oncoming spring. I live on the 19th floor with a southern exposure so the change in colour, intensity and angle of the sun really affects me. On January mornings, I have to close the curtains to avoid having the sun in my eyes.

 I love the way frost paints flowers on the windows and ice hangs from trees and rooftops like jewels in the sun.

 4. Do not compare Ottawa winters to winters elsewhere. I love the photos of flowers I see on BC folks’ social media accounts, but it is easy to be envious, to experience a bitter disappointment that our magnolias will not start to bloom until May and if we’re lucky we might have a paltry crocus or daffodil in April. This just makes those croci and daffis ever sweeter to me when they come. Our blooms are defiant af. Be like the blooms. Be a feisty tulip.

 5. Give money to the folks on the street. At this time of year, I give extra. I chat with homeless people and I bring whatever toonies and loonies (sometimes $5) as I can with me, putting the money in a change purse in my winter coat so I can easily give. I also usually donate to Cornerstone Housing for Women, a charity that provides emergency housing to women in need in the downtown core. There’s also the Ottawa Foodbank or other charities for donations of money and items that help. I have found that the more I give to others, the better I feel, the less lonely and blue I feel.

 6. Get Moving

 This year I joined a fitness program at Carleton University for 55+ folk (Senior Ravens), and it’s made a great difference. I am outside at least three times a week, whereas in the past I had a tendency to cocoon too much, which not only makes my body sore, but also makes me blue.

 One of the classes is aquafit. It is great fun to dance around in the pool with fellow aquafit participants to the music.

 I am writing a manuscript with the working title of “Motion and Light” about the Senior Raven experience.

 7. Get Social

 This one is harder for me. My instinct in winter is hibernation and isolation. The gym has helped. Three days a week I interact with fellow fitness participants. After my Monday class I hang out with a few of the regulars. We have coffee and chat. It’s lovely.

 I am not a night person at all and these days I am exhausted in the evenings. I used to attend a lot of literary events but it’s harder for me to do so these days because of this exhaustion. Literary events have always been my go to for society. I still seek out my literary pals but more on social media these days.

 8. Make Plans for Spring

 I have verified that Carleton’s Senior Ravens program will continue in the spring, and I plan to continue taking the fitness classes.

 Once the spring arrives, I plan to walk from Carleton to the Fletcher Wildlife Garden, a 20-minute walk from Carleton U.

 I imagine myself walking outside with headphones and a fanny pack. I have even purchased the fanny pack. It is peony petal pink. (not the fuchsia, but a pale shade).

 9. Glory in the Cocoonery

 I bake cookies, read good books, watch films, take long naps buried under the covers (or outside of them during a hot flash). I make playlists of music to help me through. Songs like Could Be So Happy by the Heartless Bastards bring me great joy (“gonna keep on going, I don’t want to stand still. … oh I’m longing to be…out in the sweet unknown”) The xmas holidaze often result in a slow down and a quieting. I take advantage of the slowness to reflect, to write, to create and to rest.

 10. Remember that winter ends.

 Sending love and solidarity to those for whom winter is hard on the body and the psyche. I know it feels like fucking forever, but winter will end…eventually.

[scriptflorist]

Name: Braynan Garcia

Nickname: Bray

Birthday: Jan 12 2013 (he’s a teenager in my story)

Birthplace: Miami

Dwelling place: Miami

How do they live: Braynan was very much an anti-social loner and used to stay at his “homes” because he has rich parents who own a chain of luxury hotels and a beachfront mansion home. He causes a lot of fuss making every hotel his “home” by demanding unbooked rooms for himself. He gets his room, services, meals “free” when in reality everything goes through his parents to handle so they always know exactly where he’s been and what he does. His lifestyle literally blows up when a bomb goes off in his room, intended for the next customer, Alissa Keets, a famous writer, who is very grateful but horrified for her life being saved that way. She gets in touch with Braynan, pays for all his medical bills, even though his parents are richer. Braynan no longer stays at his parents’ hotels because he is now in a wheelchair and stays in his parents’ home. Jazan has his brother Galan help with work so he can often stay home to take care of and repair his relationship with his son. Cala starts visiting often as well, shocked at almost losing her only biological son and realizes she actually cares. Lustor comes over when possible as well. Basically the entire story is balance between work and family and biological family vs adopted family and they realize all family is important, so in the end, they all live as one big happy family. Oh, and Alissa and Cala start dating in the end as well (they’re about the same age).

Appearance: Braynan always wears expensive name brand clothes. His hair is neat and gelled up and wears a couple expensive bracelets.

What’s in their bag/pockets: Cash, credit card, phone. He actually brings a huge suitcase with his clothes and belongings every time he used to stay at his parents’ hotels.

Species: Human

Name of parents: Jazan and Lustor (Biological parents are Jazan and Cala, Cala is the surrogate mother and friends with Jazan.)

Others next of kin: Galan (Uncle)

Not-in-blood-but-in-bond-family: Alissa Keets

Family history: Braynan’s family is multicultural, immigrants (including illegal before becoming a citizen) to America from various countries around the world.

Favourite colour: Black, Grey.

Favourite book: Silenced (a story about a country devastated after war, and the nameless victims) ([My character, Alissa’s book]

Favourite genre: Action, fantasy, drama

Favourite food: Exotic foods and fine dining

Personality: Originally a messed up teenager whose parents rarely see him and he thinks everything his parents’ own is his. He was loud-mouthed, demanding, cold-hearted, rude, spontaneous and very anti-social. He becomes more friendly, warm, kind, loving, as well as feels ashamed and sorry for his previous bad behavior. He’s neat though, so he’s never trashed the hotel rooms he’s been nor damages stuff. He doesn’t smoke or take drugs but sometimes drinks but is sensible enough to never get drunk. Oh, but he does swear, but not too much.

Misc: Note that my story takes place in the future. First of all, my character is a teenager yet I mentioned him drinking. The drinking age becomes 16 in the future, so he’s legal. Secondly, I never mentioned my character going to school. School is online so he can physically be anywhere he wants and has no classmates to talk to. I’m barely writing about his school life, but he is a good student. Thirdly, the parents are actually two men, thus the need for a surrogate. I probably used male pronouns for them but in case it slipped through because if you search ‘Jazan’ it will show up as a female name. 

___

Hey Tak,

No problem, I've added it to the rest of your submission! Just in case it hasn't been apparent with the previous character submissions, I base the flowers I pick on the information given in each section that you filled out. In your case, this means it may have gone a little off topic occasionally with the overall headline of the section.

Birthplace: Miami

Miami is located in Florida, which has two state flowers! Orange blossom and tickseed. Tickseed, better known as Coreopsis perhaps, is stated to be a wildflower, so I guess the orange trees are domesticated.

orange blossom – your purity equals your loveliness, chastity, innocence, eternal love, marriage, fruitfulness

coreopsis – always cheerful

coreopsis (arkansa) – love at first sight

Based on how they live

acacia – friendship, platonic love, secret love

agave – security

agrimony – thankfulness, gratitude

ash mountain – prudence, with me you are safe

aspen – lamentation, fear, groan, excessive sensibility

balm of gilead – healing, cure, relief, I am cured, time

basil (sweet) – good wishes

bee ophrys – error

bee orchis – error, industry

bell flower – gratitude, indiscretion, acknowledgement

bell flower (white, small) – gratitude

broom-rape – union

calycanthus – benevolence

cardamine – paternal error

chestnut – justice, do me justice

cinquefoil – maternal affection, beloved daughter/child

citronella – homosexual love

coltsfoot (sweet-scented) – maternal care, justice, justice shall be done, we will do you justice

cowslip – healing, youth, pensiveness, winning grace, rusticity, early joys, native grace

daffodil – sunshine, respect, regard, unrequited love, new beginnings, self-love, chivalry, deceitful hopes

flax – I feel your kindness, benefactor, domestic industry, domestic symbol, fate, I am sensible of your kindness

fly orchis – error

freesia – lasting friendship, innocence, trust

geranium – true friend, stupidity, folly, envy, gentility

geranium (oak-leaved) – true friendship, friendship, lady deign to smile

glycine – your friendship is pleasing and agreeable to me

goat's rue – reason

heath – solitude

heather (lavender) – solitude, admiration

ivy – friendship, matrimony, I have found one true heart, constancy, fidelity, marriage, wedded love, affection

lichen – solitude, confidence, dejection

moss – maternal love, recluse, charity

narcissus – selfishness, self-love, egotism, formality, stay as sweet as you are

palm – victory

pussy willow – motherhood

sundew (round-leaved) – surprise

sunflower (dwarf) – your devout adorer, adoration

sunflower (tall) – pride, haughtiness, false riches, lofty and pure thoughts, smile on me still

verbena (pink) – family union

virginia creeper – I cling to you both in sunshine and in shade

wood sorrel – maternal tenderness, joy

For info about violets and lesbians go here.

Based on appearance (also fits the contents of his bag & pockets)

chrysanthemum – wealth, abundance, cheerfulness, you're a wonderful friend, loveliness

corn – riches

grape vine – abundance, intoxication

lily (tiger) – wealth, pride, prosperity

poppy (yellow) – wealth, success

Favourite colour: Black

black bryony – support, be my support

blackberry – envy

ebony – blackness

laburnum – blackness, pensive beauty, forsaken

mulberry (black) – I shall not survive you, devotedness

poplar (black) – courage

Favourite book: Silenced (a story about a country devastated after war, and the nameless victims) ([My character, Alissa’s book]

achillea millefolia – war

aloe – grief, bitterness, religious superstition

aloes (parrot bill) – grief

cypress – despair, mourning, death, disappointed hopes

dragonwort – horror

greek valerian – rupture

handflower tree – warning

harebell – grief, submission, humility

hop – injustice

indian cress – warlike trophy, resignation

marigold – grief, cruelty, inquietude, contempt, chagrin, pain, pretty love, sacred affection, caress, sorrow, trouble

milfoil – war

monkshood – beware, danger is near, chivalry, knight-errantry, a deadly foe I near

nasturtium – a warlike trophy, patriotism, resignation, conquest, victory in battle

oleander – beware(!), caution

rhododendron – danger, beware, I am dangerous

rudbeckia – justice

tussilage (sweet-scented) – justice shall be done you, you shall have justice

yarrow – war, to cure, a cure for the heartache, cure for a broken heart, cure for heartache

Based on personality

agnus castus – coldness, indifference

bladder nut tree – frivolous amusement, frivolity, amusement

blue bell – kindness, constancy, sorrowful regret, humility, gratitude

borage – rudeness, bluntness

broom – neatness, humility, ardour,

bur – rudeness, you weary me

cactus – warmth, maternal love, ardent love, endurance, my heart burns with love

chaste tree – coldness

clotness – rudeness, pertinacity

copihue – there is no unalloyed good

crocus (spring) – youthful gladness

darnel – vice

dodder – meanness, baseness

feverfew – warmth

fig marigold – coldness, idleness

geranium (night smelling) – melancholy spirit

geranium (scarlet) – thou art changed, folly, stupidity, comforting, consolation, melancholy

hortensia – you are cold, carelessness

hydrangea – you are cold, (a) boaster, heartlessness, dispassion, thank you for understanding, frigidity

hyssop – cleanliness

ladies' bedstraw – rudeness

lettuce – cold-hearted, cold-heartedness, coldness

marsh mallow – kindness, beneficence

peppermint – warmth of feeling, cordiality

pimpernel – change, assignation, the weather-glass

pink (indian double) – always lovely

saffron – beware of excess, abuse, do not deceive yourself

rose (striped) – warmth of heart

rye grass – changeable disposition

spearmint – warmth of sentiment, warm sentiment

spotted arum – warmth

xanthium – rudeness, pertinacity

- Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

[lovehartman]

David Domoney’s Top Ten Spring Flowering Plants for Pollinating Insects

Spring flowers bring fantastic fragrance, lots of colour and of course every garden’s friends: the pollinating insects.

Having bees and other pollinators visit our gardens is very beneficial, they help our plants flourish, be it for fruit, vegetable or just ornamental varieties.

A bee’s lifecycle runs from March to September, and it’s important they regularly gather nectar to help them survive. With thoughtful planting, you will be able to encourage bees into the garden.

Here are ten plants that pollinating insects love! 

1.     Crocus

To me, crocus signifies the start of spring! It’s one of the earliest flowers to bloom and looks beautiful against the grey ends of winter. Bumblebees loves crocus, and in early spring, you can often see bumblebee queens collecting nectar from the flowers after a long hibernation.

Crocuses thrive in moderate to cold conditions, so they are great for growing in the UK.

 2.     Hawthorn

Hawthorn produces beautiful fragrant flowers that pollinators absolutely love. The plant, also known as the May-tree blooms in May and also produces lovely berries that attract birds. Hawthorns can reach a height of 15m so I think they look great in small gardens as a feature, or as a hedge.

 3.     Primula

I like primulas, it’s a great flower that comes in tonnes of different colours and provides bees with a much-needed feast during the spring. I think primula looks great grown in pots and containers placed around the patio, or in window boxes to brighten up the front garden.

 4.     Lavender

Lavender is so beautifully fragrant and it looks great when planted on mass. Lavender will usually flower from late spring and into the summer, and will always be buzzing with bees! The plant also attracts butterflies, which are welcome visitors to the garden.

To plant lavender effectively, you want to choose a spot that gets the most sun and plant in well-drained soil. Lavender also grows particularly well in containers, perfect around a bright patio!

5.     Forget-me-not

Forget-me-nots flower between April and June and produce a really good source of nectar for pollinating insects.

Forget-me-not doesn’t require too much care, and grows well in most soils. The lovely blue colour looks great dotted around borders in the garden, but I like to sow the seeds along with tulip bulbs; another flower that’s great for bees.

6.     Snowdrop

Snowdrops are really hardy plants, and often push their way through frozen soil in early spring due to the hardened tip. Because they flower so early in the spring, they are perfect for bees that have just come out of hibernation to gather the year’s first source of nectar.

Snowdrops look great planted on mass, carpeting the ground underneath trees or in borders. 

7.     Geranium

Geraniums come in so many different colours, and bees love them! Some strands of geraniums, such as geranium Rozanne, have long blooming periods, so they can provide bees with pollen for most of the season.

Geraniums are relatively easy to grow and look great covering the ground in the front of a border

8.     Wallflower

The wallflower is a wonderfully fragrant spring-flowering plant. It flowers in March and April and comes in a variety of different colours, attracting all varieties of pollinators including honey bees and bumble bees.

Wallflowers look great planted with tulips or daffodils in flower beds.

9.     Hyacinth

Grape hyacinth looks great in gardens and bees love the pollen provided by the bell-shaped flowers. The flowers are clustered tightly together, so pollinators won’t have to travel too much distance between the nectar!

Hyacinths grow well in sunny spots, or half-shady positions and don’t require the most fertile soil to flourish. Plant around sun-lit patios for a great effect.

10.  Narcissus

Synonymous with spring, the narcissus, or daffodil, is a great flower for bees. While the wild flowers provide a much richer and nutritious nectar for pollinators, all daffodils will be able to provide something.  

Try to choose a species that is considered ‘wild’ or as wild as possible. The bulbs are best planted under trees or in grass so they can naturalise.

Pollinating insects are declining in numbers due to pesticides and loss of habitats, it’s up to us garden-lovers to help them out!