೯⠀⁺ ⠀ Vicky’s writing thread - swc November 25’⠀キ

Daily’s:
1. 1k intro ˘ link ˘ word count
2. flower daily ˘ link ˘ word count

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Weeklies:
1. weekly ˘ link ˘ word count
2. weekly ˘ link ˘ word count
3. weekly ˘ link ˘ word count
4. weekly ˘ link ˘ word count

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Other:
. activity ˘ link ˘ word count

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Links:
⿻ Word Count Thread: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/814219/?page=1#post-8772984

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Nov 2 Flower Daily!!
Flowers used: Oleander, daisy, hellebore

That day marked three months of searching. I didn’t know why I wanted to find it quite so badly, but I did. All I knew was I could not rest until the truth was uncovered.
I should have heeded the flowers’ warning. Should have stopped to wonder if what I was doing was right. I didn’t.
The first arrived, neatly wrapped in pink paper, on November 1st. Oleander. A warning of sorts. I knew the language of flowers well, but I couldn’t be sure the sender did. For all I knew, this could be a confession of love.
I dropped it in a vase. It didn’t cross my mind for weeks. I was too occupied with looking. It could be anywhere. I couldn’t let anything distract me.
The next came to my doorstep on the 14th. A daisy, full of sweet, childlike innocence. I sat with it for a moment, wondering how it had gotten there, before the memory came for me in a flash.
The oleander. Beware, innocence. Beware innocence? Why would I want to hide from something innocent? Wasn’t that the point of innocence? To not do anything wrong?
I shook my head. These messages made no sense.
I wondered for a moment if they could be unrelated, a daisy delivered to the wrong doorstep, an oleander blown from someone’s window box.
Unlikely. They were both wrapped in the same bright pink paper, both in the exact same spot. Too direct, too specific to be a coincidence.
I put it in the vase with the other one. I couldn’t let this keep me from the most important search of my life.
If it was only those two, I could have ignored it and got on with my mission. Forgot all about them.
I would have, if not for the third one. On November 28th, a hellebore sat on my front porch.
I picked it up and turned it around in my hand. Was there a tag with a name hidden somewhere? A possible clue to where it came from?
Nothing.
I told myself that maybe, if I could decipher the message, it could lead me to the sender.
Beware, innocence, madness. Madness beware innocence? Beware innocent madness? Innocence beware madness?
The last one was the most likely. Innocence beware madness. Whoever it was was telling me to be careful not to stray to the path of insanity. Be careful. Stop looking.
In a fit of rage and fear, I threw them, one by one.
First the hellebore. Goodbye, madness.
Then the oleander. Goodbye, warnings.
Finally, the daisy. Goodbye, innocence.
I kept looking. The thirst for knowledge and truth kept me going through the toughest of times.
I forgot to eat for weeks on end.
Hadn’t slept in months.
All I did was search, day and night.
Danger or no danger. Madness or no madness. Hunger or no hunger.
I kept looking.
I stopped at nothing. I didn’t care if I hurt anyone in the process. Strangers, loved ones, myself, all meant nothing.
I had to keep going.
Goodbye, innocence.

flower daily- daily 2

It was 3 am, past midnight, and adult or not, no one should be awake. But what can be done with Marigold Westward? When she was young and innocent, she said, people used to call her Marigold Wayward. Coming back to our narration, we see Marigold twisting her hair up into a bun, as she got the white paint ready. It was lead-based, but oh well, it would do the trick- which was to cover her trademark tattoos. For some context, she was thirty, and had two vivacious, beautiful daughters, Star and Dolphin. Correction. Star was the vivacious one. Dolphin was just the onlooker. People looked at Star as she sashayed into the room. Coming back to Marigold. She was known as the Illustrated Mum. She had tattoos all over herself. A star to commemorate her daughter Star, a cute dolphin to mark the arrival of her timid child, Dolphin. A large, winding serpent.

And a heart with a name across it. Micky.

The heart of ink was placed exactly where Marigold’s real, red, beating heart should have been. Yes, it should have been there, for the aforesaid Micky had stolen Marigold’s heart. For once and for all. Just after a week. What a wild week it must have been, for Micky was as flighty as a weathercock. And Star was his child.

Dolphin’s father was just a passing fancy to Marigold. She pined incessantly for Micky. Our love was that of a spark, as bright as a star. She couldn’t get over him. But he easily got over her. The tattoos, it is believed, were the main reason he got over her so quickly. Oh, that. And her name. Marigold meant grief, and he couldn’t be connected to someone related to grief.

If only he knew that her grief was inspired by him. When he left her, she lost everything. She was tempted to brew him a little drink laced with white foxglove. But the roses in her didn’t agree. No way. She couldn’t poison her former partner. Or could she? I mean, she did have the ability.
Your first question- if she was so powerful, why did she retreat to the secluded town of Weather Staff and become a bartender? She’d be a respected figure in society! The truth is, you know, Marigold is NOT a Mary Sue. She’s potent, yeah, but she’s pretty cowardly. She was ridiculed as a child for very obvious reasons, and she ran from them. And she continued to run. If you were in her place, lonely and dreary, you’d like some company, I suppose (or not, not everyone thinks like her). A partner to bring some life. For pragmatic people, a companion. But for all kinds of people, a good thing. That is, if he was a decent person. Which I am sorry to say, Micky was not. At all.

Fast forward a week later, Marigold’s sitting at Micky’s grave. Michael Yarrow, died of poison, assumably foxglove.

And the woman smiled deviously.

Flower Daily - November 2nd
1028 words

Amaranth - Immortality
Meadowsweet - Uselessness
Rose - Love
Daisy - Innocence
Peony - Respect
Iris - Trust

This piece is based on one of my favourite books (Girl, Goddess, Queen by Bea Fitzgerald) which you should go and read right now! This excerpt follows the main character - Kore - who has just escaped from her mother’s expectations to marry some high-up god into the Underworld where Hades has been forced to take her in by some ancient magic (basically if someone came into your home, they could stay as long as they wanted).

My legs dangled over the riverbank, my feet lingering over the edge of the gleaming surface of the River Styx. Hades came to sit down next to me, his dark eyes following the swirling currents within the water. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his gaze distant.
For a while, we just sat like that, silence enveloping us. I welcomed it. It was the closest thing I’d had to peace for a while. The longest I’d ever sat next to him without it turning into a massive argument.

Suddenly, Hades sucked in a breath and turned to me, his eyes more serious than ever.
“Marry me.”
I didn’t even have time to process his words. I gaped at him in indignation and fury.
“What?” I asked him bitterly, my words dripping poison. “Marry you?”
He sighed. “Kore, it would be a marriage of convenience. I don’t want to use you, pretend you’re a possession. But you would be free of your mother’s clutches! No god would dare come close to you again if you were under my protection. You wouldn’t have to see them again, or if you did then you would be by my side, one of the most powerful goddesses ever seen!”


I shook my head in despair. “I came down here to escape getting married, to live a life of peace and solitude! Not to marry an insufferable god who can’t ever understand how I feel, because you’re respected and you’re a man. You have your own individuality, you have your own palace - Gods, you have a whole realm! You can never understand what it’s like to be looked at as a possession, something to show off to others, what it’s like to have your own father view you like that! I never want to be married - I just want my own life, with no one else interfering! So you can go back to your pondering and stop trying to make me feel like a possession!”
Tears were streaming down my face, my fists clenched by my side, my chest heaving from my long speech.
He opened his mouth to talk, then shut it again. At least he had a little sense left in his stupid mind.
We glared at each other for what could have been centuries (but was probably only seconds), and I tried to muster what I thought was a withering look before giving up.
“Kore, I didn’t mean it like that… It was only for your good.” He told me sincerely.

I wanted to believe him so badly. Maybe I even wanted to marry him. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself fall back into that way of life - when men just looked at me like a pretty thing to use. Not a person. Just an object. I could feel myself plummeting further and further down, my mind drowning in icy depths of despair, until I couldn’t bear it any longer.
“I can’t marry you!” I cried at him. “I’m sorry… I just can’t.”


A knot formed in my throat. I swallowed it down and turned my back on him. I could feel myself running, running from him, running from my mother, running from everything. I had nowhere to go. I would have to go back to him. Beg him to take me in again. But I kept running, through the Fields of Asphodel, a few spindly trees reaching their branches up towards an invisible sky, their roots keeping them trapped amongst the souls who wandered aimlessly for eternity, whilst their individuality was slowly eaten away from them. That wasn’t going to be me. Ever.

I reached the summit of a hill, where jagged rocks shot up from the ground beneath me, a few scraggly bushes sat forlornly, their leaves drooping towards the dark, peaty earth. It was all so grey. Everything. The only spot of colour was the bubbling amber lava of the Phlegethon. I lifted my hands.
I screamed. Raw and full of pain, it tore from my throat, ringing through the endless realms of the Underworld. I raised my hands above my head, glowing with power. The naive, vain goddess of flowers no more.
The crimson petals of amaranth sprouted from the ground, meaning immortality. Something that I could never escape from. The white blooms of meadowsweet followed it, their ghostly tendrils brushing the sheer cliffs that loomed over me. Uselessness, representing my mother, my father, Hades.
Soft pink and yellow roses, cheerful daisies, lilac peonies brimmed within the clearing below and around me, cascading from cracks in the cliffs, creating a vibrant carpet beneath my feet. The symbolised love, innocence and respect. Three things I yearned for, but would never have. My own father had ‘gifted’ me my name - Kore - which meant ‘naive.’ He had laughed at me - the goddess of flowers, telling me I'll never get anywhere. That the gods would enjoy playing with something as pretty and useless as me.

And finally, irises blossomed around me, standing tall and proud over the sea of scarlets and ambers, purples and blues. Their violet fronds overflowed from the clearing. Trust. What I wistfully longed for the most. I wanted to have the luxury and freedom to trust that my mother and father would love me unconditionally, to trust the other gods and goddesses as true friends and companions.

I lay back in the beautiful flowers surrounding me. They cushioned my head, and with a flick of my hand, they fashioned a wreath around my head. But the beauty was bittersweet. It symbolised everything I would never have. And there was nothing I could do about that.

Daily number two!
Flowers used: Rose, hellebore, buttercup, hyacinth, fern
I look out into the distance
Sighing at the beauty
Of the sprawling labyrinth beneath me.
Entangled with thorns
And flowers.
Not roses
As some might expect from thorny hedges
But all sorts of different petals.
Different colors
Different shapes
Different scents
And different leaves.
Without thinking
I drag myself from my window
Floating down
The winding steps
Like some sort of
Hellebore ghost.
I’m covered in hellebores
From head to toe
They are perched on my dress
Behind my ear
Braided in my hair.
Everyone here wears hellebores
Its tradition
I guess
Or maybe something more.
As my raw toes
Reach the lip of the door
I hesitate for a moment
But then open it.
The tangled maze before me
Would be terrifying to most
But I just shrug it off
Having been here
Dozens
Hundreds
Thousands
Millions
Of times before.
I don’t blink
As I step into
All of the twists and turns
I’ve blinked too many times before
I always missed something
So my eyes are alert
As my bare feet
Tread the scratchy grass
Running my fingernails
Bloody and short
Across the walls
My hand catches something soft
And delicate
A buttercup
Yellow petals
Bright and cheerful
But dark in my eyes
I rip it from the leaves
Crush it underneath my heel
And continue on my way
Skipping
Laughing
Giggling
It would seem a happy scene
To anyone who didn’t look close enough
To see the bitter truths
Underneath.
I lie in the grass
Limbs strawn about
Sunset colored dress
Fanning out beside me
Hellebores that should be crushed
Blooming bright as ever
Staring me in the face
Taunting me.
I stand up.
Brushing myself off
I walk forward
Eyes tightly shut
But somehow still seeing everything
Seeing the hyacinths
Seeing the meaning behind them
And ignoring them.
Seeing their purple petals haunt me
Even though
They stay long behind me.
Another giggle
Escapes my lips
And then another
And another
Until I’m back on the ground
My chest heaving
Feeling a bit free
Even though I’m trapped
In this labyrinth
Not only these hedges
These grasses
These walls
But also my mind
A confusing
Terrifying place
But right now
Its convinced itself
That its free
Happy
Joyous
But it doesn’t last long.
After all
That happiness isn’t real
So it doesn’t stay.
It never does
But I let my hopes climb higher
Each time.
As soon as I spotted
The bright green fern
Sprouting from a corner
The happiness faded
And I let out
A huge
Dark
Bitter
Laugh
Hysterical, even.
A fern?
A fern?
Lies.
Lies.
There were no ferns
Between me and this labyrinth.
There were no ferns
Between me and anyone
There were no roses
In this labyrinth
Because this was anything but love.
No one had ever loved me.
So a fern was a last resort.
A fern was a desperate plea.
Trying to convince me
That it was all for my own good.
But it wasn’t.
I knew it wasn’t.
So I lied down in the grass
One last time
Closed my eyes
And finally saw nothing but darkness.
Finally escaped.

Halloween Event ★ Movie Review
193/150 words

Here's my spooky movie review for Scream! May contain minor spoilers.

An iconic Halloween movie, Scream was a super fun watch, though Ghostface's cloak flapping around when he ran sort of ruined the scariness. I feel like they could have dramatized things a little more when it came to Ghostface, and made the fight scenes a little more interesting, but I think that they did quite well, considering that they didn't use computer generate effects for him, I assume…

The reveal was really good, but some of it didn't make much sense, so I feel like they could have added a little more to the character to make it actually valid. Everyone there either had 1 life or 100, and I liked to watch the way the reporter's character developed- especially because Courtney Cox is one of my favourite actresses.

The characters were super lovable, and I really like how they were done! Everyone had their own special thing, and there was a good sense of comedy filtered throughout the movie. In my opinion, the plot twist could have been a little more dramatic, but Scream did super well with creating suspense!

a single red carnation
daily 1! 500 words and 600 points for fairy tales

flower daily so of course i had to do something with hadestown hehehe,,,
(life goals is to see morgan and jack as eurydice and orpheus)

You know, not every love story ends in happiness. If you’ve lived on the world for long enough, you’ll learn eventually that not everything is like the fairy tales they tell you. And this one…well, this one is no different. You might even call it a tragedy. But maybe, just maybe…

it will turn out this time.


*

Our tale begins with a girl picking flowers in a field. It doesn’t seem like much, does it? An ambrosia flower tucked in her hair, a green dress, waiting for something she had never known. And far away now, but still ever closer, a boy all dressed in black with a rose on his lapel rose in a chariot. A girl from the heavens, and a boy from hell. And thus begins the tale, of Hades and Persephone.

The boy had never known love, not really. Cast away, he was, seen as only the darkness of the underground. So how, how could a girl of the sky and grasses love him the way he loved her when she had always known love?

The boy all dressed in black held out a hand to her. “Come home with me?”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Hades. I haven’t got much, but I have a heart to give.” He took the rose from his lapel and held it out to her. “Come home with me?” She took it and tucked it too in her hair, right next to the ambrosia. Her head tilted. “I suppose I could come with you. I’ve got a lot, but what I haven’t got is a heart for my own.” And so he took her, riding high in his chariot, into the underworld, and they said their vows and put on the rings.

They had their differences, of course, but the girl loved him all the same. Yet still, something was missing. She longed for the sky, for the sun and moon, for the trees and flowers. And up above, not one thing would grow. The people starved and cried out to her, where had she gone? The boy did not want to say goodbye, but for half of each year, they agreed, she would live up above. But for those six months, Hades grew weary; he grew jealous, he grew afraid that she would not return every time he saw her smiling in the sun. Why, after all, would she come back to the darkness when the light was so close? Only her love would keep her, and love was a futile, fragile thing, and Hades knew now that not every story is like the fairy tales. The music that had once filled the halls and valleys of the underworld faded, bit by bit, note by note, until the melody was forgotten by all. By all, that is, but one. And somewhere, in between the train tracks, a single red carnation grew tall. Until one day, a young boy picked it up.

“Come home with me?”

☽ steph's writing thread ☾

goal: 15,000 words
progress: 7,639 words
% complete: 50.9%

» main cabin dailies

• 11/6. 271 words.

My mother used to bake pumpkin pie. She would bake it every fall, when the first tree lost all of its leaves. I think of her a lot — more than I did when she was alive, certainly. And I think of her pumpkin pies. Rich, creamy, melting on the tongue. The taste and texture was perfect every time. I don't know when she perfected the recipe. I never thought to ask.

I bake pumpkin pies, now. When the first tree loses all of its leaves, yes, but also when I'm happy. When I'm sad. When I'm frustrated. I find solace in it. My pies are nowhere near my mother's level. They are sometimes under-baked, other times over-baked. The crust is burnt. It doesn't rise. The pumpkin isn't properly treated, and there are chunks left in it that turn the pie chewy. Whenever I make an especially bad pie, I think of my mother. I wish she had taught me.

The truth is more complicated than that. She did teach me — well, she tried. I didn't listen. It was fall, of course, and my friends were outside. They shouted my name and waved kites over their heads and bounced basketballs against the sidewalk. My mother didn't say anything. She let me choose: her or them? I was too young to understand the look in her eyes. She wanted me to stay. I didn't.

It's futile to wish I'd stayed. That is the past, and my god-awful pumpkin pies are the present. I cry over each and every one I make. It's part of the process. I wonder if my mother cried, too.



• 11/4. 413 words.

Talking to someone, she lives in the States
She could be anyone, and we've been staying up 'til late
— from : ) by The Japanese House

xo.leander
hey girl

colette.dunoyer
I told you to get out of my DMs

xo.leander
ok but u were joking riiight
riiiiiiiiiight
?

colette.dunoyer
No.

xo.leander
ohhhh
i thought u were flirting
whoopsies!

colette.dunoyer
You text like a gay man but you have the profile picture of a het dude

xo.leander
hey now



colette.dunoyer
Did you know that there's a fine line between a denominator and a numerator?

xo.leander
oh god who did u steal this from

colette.dunoyer
Only a fraction of people will find this funny
And less than half will get it

xo.leander
dear god

colette.dunoyer
My dad made me suffer through that one, so you have to too

xo.leander
how kind
how generous
how thoughtful

colette.dunoyer
You're welcome

xo.leander
be grateful we are separated by a screen

colette.dunoyer
Hey now



colette.dunoyer
My bones are almost clean
Wait
Did I not tell you about the bones?

xo.leander
do i want to know what that means
hmm
actually
i think no
i do not want to be implicated
although i am DREADFULLY curious

colette.dunoyer
You are a total dolt, Leander Nikolaou

xo.leander
what
how do u know my last name
????
colette
COLETTE
COLETTE HOW DO YOU KNOW MY LAST NAME
ANSWER ME
ANSWER MEEEEEEEEE



xo.leander
ok wait this ones pretty good
i think you'll like it

colette.dunoyer
By which you mean it's the worst joke you've ever heard?

xo.leander
duh
ok
what did the lettuce say to the celery at dinner

colette.dunoyer
I don't know
What DID the lettuce say to the celery at dinner?

xo.leander
lettuce romaine friends
:p

colette.dunoyer
Ugh
I just shuddered
Get that off my screen

xo.leander
we're going to remain friends
right colette?

colette.dunoyer
Sure

xo.leander
or should I say
ROMAINE friends

colette.dunoyer
Never mind

xo.leander
colette
hey now



• 11/3. 413 words.

He's standing so close to me, our shoulders touch. I swear I can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of my shirt. Every part of me itches to take a step toward him — that is, every part of me except for the soles of my feet. They appear to be stuck, gorilla glued to the nice tile floors of the aquarium.

He taps on the glass of the tank. I'm fairly certain he's not supposed to do that, but it can't hurt. I heard somewhere that jellyfish don't have brains. Surely tapping won't do anything to them.

“Did you know that sea jellies are probably the oldest animal group on Earth?” he asks. I don't say anything. I think he's talking to me, but it'd be embarrassing if he wasn't. I try to subtly look around. The hall is empty apart from a trio of girls taking aesthetic pictures on the opposite end. When I look back at him, he's looking at me.

He was definitely talking to me. Whoops.

“Really?” I ask. Do I sound too chipper? I think I do. I'm immediately embarrassed. “But…amoeba?” God, I sound so lame.

“Well, animals with organs,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck. His elbow bumps into my shoulder. “Oh, sorry.”

I wave my hand. “You're fine.” But my heart thrums a thousand beats a minute in my chest. I hope it's not obvious. I fidget with the collar of my uniform, smoothing out its wrinkles. I'm so casual. So cool. He hasn't noticed anything.

“How d'you know that?” I ask him.

He points. There's a tiny placard by the tank. I'd completely overlooked it — too busy freaking out over my proximity to my crush.

“Oh. I'm — I'm not wearing my contacts,” I say.

“You wear contacts?”

“Yeah,” I lie. Nope. No, I do not. My eyesight is perfect, miraculously. No one in my family wears glasses. But he doesn't know that, and he probably never will because this is a crush and crushes never go anywhere. That's, like, kind of the entire point. To pine hopelessly over the unachievable. Just speaking to him right now is changing my entire world.

“Huuuh,” he says. He's totally uninterested. His eyes skate away from me, back to the jellyfish. I want to be a jellyfish so badly right now. It sounds so stupid, but I'd do anything to have his attention. Except talk to him, apparently. I'm such an idiot.



• 11/2. 1,612 words.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. I close my locker as I turn around, already rolling my eyes. Maverick grins at me — sigh. He's too easy. He waves a sunflower in front of my face. I bat it away.

“Maaav,” I whine, “you know I'm allergic to flowers!” I'm not allergic to flowers. Total lie. It means guys have to be more thoughtful, though. If a guy wants me, he's going to have to put some effort in.

“No, you're not,” Maverick says. He brushes my hair behind my ear. Well, tries to. I dodge his hand and duck under his arm. I'm just barely short enough to manage it. He's expecting it; he spins and grabs my wrist before I can get away. Darn it! I'm getting predictable. Ugh.

Maverick looks at me with his big brown eyes. I can't help it — I stop. His eyes are too cute. Still, I scrunch my face up (cutely) and cross my arms over my chest.

“What?” I ask.

He bows and presents the sunflower again with a flourish. People are staring. “A sunflower, because you are my sun,” he demurs. Maverick bats his eyes at me. “They mean adoration,” he adds, “because I adore you.”

Yeah, I could've figured that one out, dummy. I sigh.

"I already told you,“ I say, ”I'm allergic to flowers.“

”C'mon, Ava, I know you like the back of my hand.“ Maverick rights himself and drapes an arm over my shoulder. I shrug it off. He puts it back and leans his weight on me.

”Get off, you jerk,“ I say. I shove him in the shoulders, but he barely staggers. Stupid boy.

”Ava," Maverick says. He gets down on one knee. People are definitely staring. I like attention, but not this much. Ugh. What a mess.

“Get up!” I hiss through a smile.

Maverick ignores me. If anything, he smiles even brighter. It's overpowering. Maybe he's the sun — I swear, he lights up the hallway.

That's such an embarrassing thing to think.

“From the moment I saw you, I was spellbound,” Maverick says. A girl nearby coos. No, gosh darn it, do not coo! This is not something to “aww” over! He's using me! Manipulating me! Manipulating you! Don't be fooled! I can't say anything, though. They don't know. Besides, it's not like I'm not doing the exact same thing as him. It's just…I'm a girl. So it's fine when I do it.

“You're so beautiful,” Maverick continues, “but more than that, you are kind. You are funny. You are the sweetest girl I know. So, Ava, will you make me the happiest man alive and be my girlfriend?” He offers the sunflower again.

Ughhhh. I can see the evil smugness in Maverick's eyes. He knows he has me trapped. I try to explode him with my eyes, smiling sweetly all the while. I pluck the flower from his hand and tuck the stem behind my ear. The petals are so big, they block my view a little.

“Sure,” I purr. "I'd be honored."

I think, I'm going to make you eat your words, Maverick Lee. Mark my words.



He takes me to the park for a date. Who does that? Especially since I'm supposed to be allergic to flowers. Grass is a flower. Everyone knows that. Ugh, this guy is so dumb. I need to figure out a way to get rid of him, stat.

Instead, I smile prettily and fawn over Maverick. "This is sooo thoughtful,“ I say. ”So perfect. You know me so well, Mav.“ I blow him a kiss. He pretends to jump and catch it, then clutches it to his chest. He closes his eyes blissfully and swoons. I scowl. The moment his eyes twitch open, my smile is back on.

”I'm glad you like it,“ Maverick says. ”C'mere.“ He wiggles his fingers at me. ”I wanna show you my favorite place here.“ I grin, take his hand, and let him tug me along.

You idiot, I think. I practically grew up in this park. My babysitter took me here every day after school. I used to run the playground like the Navy on the weekends: first, we had to play tag; then, freeze tag; then, hide and seek; then, hide and seek tag. I know every inch of this park. There's nowhere Maverick can show me that I don't know.

He starts to lead me into the trees.

I giggle nervously. ”Um, this isn't the park,“ I say.

”Sure it is,“ Maverick says. He looks back at me. ”You've never been back here? My brother used to take me all the time.“

”With all this poison ivy?“ I ask.

”What poison ivy?“

I point at a plant less than a foot off the path. It's not much of a path, truth be told. It's mostly dirt and leaves flattened by other walkers, but it's faint. Maverick must know it pretty well. That, or he's planning to lead me away from civilization to kill me. It's always the pretty ones.

He steps closer to me and peers over my shoulder, following my finger. He shakes his head. His hair tickles my neck. ”Nuh-uh,“ Maverick says, ”that's Virginia creeper. Poison ivy has three leaves, not five.“ He pulls me away from it.

”How d'you know this stuff?“ I ask, sticking close.

He shrugs. ”Had to.“ He shoots me a grin. ”Mostly through trial and error, though. I got sprayed by a skunk once.“

”You're so dumb,“ I tell him.

”Uh, rude.“

”It's the truth,“ I say. It's maybe the first true thing I've said to him.

Maverick opens his mouth to say something, then stops. He's looking past my shoulder. I start to turn around, but he grabs my shoulders.

”Stay still,“ he says and slides past me. I fight not to follow him.

”Why?" I ask. Nervousness floods my voice. Is there a snake? A bear? Oh, God, or a panther? Is he going to leave me to get eaten? Then he could blame my death on natural causes — well, natural-ish.

“Wait just a sec,” Maverick says. I don't want to wait a sec. I want to know what he's looking at. But I'm stubborn. I cross my arms and wait for him to come back. “Okay, close your eyes,” he says.

“If it's an animal, I'm leaving,” I say.

“It's not an animal. Have some faith in me,” Maverick chides. I have absolutely zero faith in him. He steps around me. “Okay, open your eyes.”

I do. A large part of me expects a snake or a spider or a roach — something alive, that's for sure. And it is alive. Well, not any more, I guess. Maverick holds the biggest dandelion I've seen in my life. It's perfectly fluffy and whole.

“Woah,” I say. My breath rustles the fuzz.

“Dandelions represent faithfulness,” Maverick tells me.

"Why? ‘Cause they’re faithful in growing all over your yard?“ I ask.

Maverick grins and shrugs. ”Dunno. I didn't decide what they meant. That was probably some Victorian lady a gazillion years ago.“ He looks at the dandelion. ”Maybe a cute guy gave her one, and she felt quite moved.“ He looks expectantly at me.

I roll my eyes. Then, I shake my hair out of my face, lean forward, and blow. The dandelion seeds scatter everywhere. Some of them get caught on Maverick — in his shirt, in his hair, even one in his eyelash. He picks it off, then gently blows it off his finger.

”What did you wish for?“ I ask.

”You first," he says.

I roll my eyes again.



I drop the gift bag on his desk with little fanfare. Maverick blinks up at me from his phone. My cheeks feel hot. Gah, I can't believe I'm blushing around him. Not because of him — that would be stupid — but because this is humiliating. Maverick gets to class early, so I thought no one else would be here, but there are. All eyes are on us. On me. They probably think I love him. Ew.

“What's this?” Maverick asks.

“Gift,” I say. I cross my arms. “Open it.” I try my best to smile, but it feels forced. Maybe I should've waited until later to give it to him. I'm not on my A game today. It's too late, though.

Maverick perks up and pulls the bag toward him. He peers at the tissue paper sticking out of it, then glances at me. “Very fancy,” he says.

“Nothing but the best for my boyfriend,” I say sweetly.

“Aww.” He turns back to the bag. He's careful, almost tentative, as he takes the tissue paper out. I hate that I like it. So many people rip their gifts apart and don't care about the effort that went into packaging it. Not Maverick, though. I kind of wish he had. Things would be easier, then.

Maverick clears the last of the tissue paper, then lets out a small, “Huh?” My heart clenches. He gently reaches in and removes a small, potted fern. He tilts his head and rotates it. He looks at me. “Did you paint this?” he asks.

I totally did. “Nah, it just came like that,” I say. I bite the inside of my cheek. I have something else to say, but…should I? I mean, I've already come this far…

I blurt: “Do you know what ferns mean?”

“Nope,” Maverick says, a little too gleefully. He's such a jerk. He definitely knows what they mean, he just wants to see me admit it.

“They mean love,” I say. I hesitate. “Concealed love. Specifically.”

“Aww, Ava,” Maverick coos.

I roll my eyes. Boys ruin everything.



» main cabin weeklies

• weekly i – 1,296 words
• weekly ii – xxx words
• weekly iii – xxx words
• weekly iv – xxx words



» critiques & word wars

• word war with z3phy_th3_cr4zy – 337 words



» in-cabin activities

• 11/3. 783 words. prompt: design your own monster! describe its appearance, abilities, and habits. then, write a story where someone has to deal with your creation.

The aeternae aren't monsters, per se. They were described in Alexander the Great's travels, and they wounded and killed several of his men with the “bony, saw-toothed protuberances sprouting from their heads.” It's likely that these creatures were antelopes or otherwise similar beasts. For the purposes of this prompt, however, I'll turn them into monsters.

The descriptor aeternae stems from the Latin words “aeternus” or “aeterna,” meaning eternal, everlasting, imperishable. This is pretty one-to-one. The aeternae are immortal beasts, although they're not born that way. They have large, twisting antlers covered in thorn-like ridges. These antlers arc around their heads, obscuring their sight. The aeternae are horse-sized, and their fur is as pale as bone. A glow seems to pour from their bodies like steam.

The aeternae, as aforementioned, are not truly eternal. They steal the lifespans from other creatures by impaling them with their antlers. This stolen life is what makes them glow — the life force leaks from them. The aeternae are always hungry and always hunting. Historically, they've lived in grasslands and sometimes woodlands, but as urbanization occurs, some have been spotted in cities, trying to blend in among zoo animals.



Danika doesn't like the Wicked Woods. It has a stupid name, for one. For two, it lives up to its name — the woods are heavily shadowed, nearly impossible to see in, and are rampant with festering creatures that no one knows anything about. When she comes across such a beast, she holds her breath and doesn't look too closely. The less she knows, the better.

She wouldn't be in this situation if not for Roan. Curse her for falling in love with a self-sacrificing fool. The second she looked away, he got himself killed. A wiser woman would leave him to his fate. Maybe that's why they work so well together — she's a fool, too. A bigger one, even.

Danika surveys the woods from the edge of the cliff. It sprawls for leagues, as far as the eye can see — farther. She fights the sinking of her heart. Somewhere in here is the door to the Below, and she will find it, even if it takes her a thousand years. She owes it to Roan.

She wonders how he's doing. He's reunited with his family, now. Will he begrudge her if she separates them once more?

Danika shakes her head and clears her mind. She gets out her climbing equipment, makes sure her knots are strong, and repels down the cliff. It doesn't take her long. Restlessness gives her speed, and within minutes, her feet skim the canopy. She lowers herself further. The ground feels good against her soles. Danika undoes her knots, then sets off into the trees.

She doesn't get far before she spies a beast. She notices its height first: it's monstrously tall, horse-sized, looming over her. Spikes shoot out of its head — no, antlers. It's a freakishly large deer, with bone-white fur. She can't see its eyes behind its winding antlers, but she can tell it's looking right at her.

Danika doesn't think to run until it opens its mouth, revealing yellowed teeth as long as her fingers. She takes a half-step away, and her back hits the cliff. She's trapped.

Well, that's okay. Danika unsheathes her sword, holding it aloft in front of her. She's more used to fighting people, but an animal's not that different. Besides, maybe this thing is friendly…?

The white deer lets out an ear-piercing shriek. Danika winces. Okay, or maybe not. Fine. Fight it is.

She launches herself at the deer. Its head swerves toward her, and she flings herself aside. Its antlers whistle through the air, barely missing her. She rolls to her feet. By the time she does, the deer has reoriented itself. Upon closer inspection, the antlers aren't white like the beast. Instead, they're a faded red-brown, the color of dried blood. A chill runs up Danika's spine. Wicked Woods indeed.

Before she can study the deer further, it charges. Danika slides out of its way. Her brain finally starts to kick in. Think, think — how do I get close enough to kill it? She dodges another toss of the deer's head; then, it rears back on its hind legs. Danika gasps. Cloven hooves slice toward her. Instead of running, she throws herself forward. She lands in a tumble beneath the deer. She thrusts her sword upward, piercing, and yanks it through the beast. Something warm splatters across her face. The deer staggers. Move, move, move, she thinks, and she scrambles out from beneath its body. Crab-walking backward, she sees the deer stumbling, swinging its head, and it begins to shriek.

And then it begins to glow.



• 11/2. 255 words. prompt: write a review for a spooky movie (or tv show) you've watched.

I promised my roommate that I would watch a horror movie with her during October. We watched Scream (1996). It's considered a classic horror movie, making fun of horror stereotypes while also playing into them. This review will contain minor spoilers for the movie.

Our heroine is Sidney Prescott. But before we meet Sidney, we meet Casey. She's the stereotypical dumb blonde, although she does get a few good hits in. Her segment goes on for several minutes — I genuinely thought she was the protagonist, and I was curious how she'd make it out.

Sidney is an excellent protagonist. She's a high school student. She's smart enough that I never felt disappointed by her actions, but she's also realistic. When she made a mistake, it felt genuine — yeah, I also would've gone up the stairs in my panic, despite saying that was a stupid cliché a scene earlier. The script does a good job at capturing fear, paranoia, and practicality. I would watch all seven — yes, seven — of these movies, just to see Sidney continue kicking butt.

The human nature of the serial killer, Ghostface, was the most surprising part of Scream. So often, the antagonists in horror media feel supernatural. They're faster, smarter, stronger than any human should be. They're more durable than us. They're impossible to beat — or so it seems. Their complete superiority is what makes them so scary, but also what enthralls us, I think. We want to see a human — someone just like us — win. And win the human does.



• 11/1. 382 words. prompt: an old grandfather clock in the foyer has been silent for years. on halloween night, it begins to run backward, and with each chime, a strange event occurs.

There's an abandoned, allegedly haunted house two blocks from where Dallas lives. It's three stories of worn red brick and falling-off shingles, and nearly every inch is covered in vines and weeds. Every window is broken. The yard's plants grow tall and thick — so tall and so thick, a trespasser would have trouble seeing the person ahead of them. The closer someone gets to the house, the more broken glass they find. It chimes underfoot and cuts at even the thickest soles.

Despite its ominous nature, the abandoned house is a rite of passage for everyone in Dallas's hometown. At some point or another, everyone has been inside the house. Most go as a group. It is, somehow, scarier that way. People swear up and down that it doesn't creak if you go alone. If you're with someone else, though, things change. Dallas has just the person in mind.

He lingers on the front steps of the school after the bell rings. It's Halloween, and students in costume pour out. He spies several inflatable dinosaurs, a few Disney princesses, and many, many completely unrecognizable costumes. Dallas himself is dressed as a cowboy. He wears his little sister's pink, too-small cowboy boots.

Then, he spies his target.

Theodore has a bored look on his face. His face is permanently stuck that way, Dallas thinks. At least it's a nice face — poised, refined, breath-taking. Theodore is wearing a bright pink wig.

Dallas cups his hands around his mouth and hollers: “Theo! Theeeooo!” Theodore glances his way. Dallas waves his hands in big circles, grinning unabashedly. He knows this will annoy Theodore — that's why he does it.

“What do you want?” Theodore asks when he gets close. He keeps enough room for Jesus. More than enough, really. There's enough space for five Jesuses. That's about four Jesuses too many. Dallas closes that gap, his hands in his pockets.

“Come with me to the house this afternoon,” Dallas says.

“You'll have to be more specific.”

"The house, Theo,“ Dallas says. ”What other houses would I invite you to?“

Theodore scowls at him. ”There are thousands of houses in town. You'll have to be more specific,“ he says through gritted teeth.

”Your deductive skills could use some work,“ Dallas says.

”Your communication skills could use some work."

Gothic Halloween prompt #2 166 words

This is a review about the movie Coraline! Please be warned it may contain some spoilers. I haven’t watched the movie in years, so I am going off of what I remember.

I really enjoyed the graphics and concept of the movie. I’ve never seen such a unique style of animation and it was very enjoyable to watch!

The plot was very interesting and I quite enjoyed Coraline discovering the tunnel and being offered button eyes as well. I would prefer not to get button eyes myself, to be honest.

As for characters, I really enjoyed the mother’s character and also Coraline. Like I said, I haven’t watched the movie in many years and I only watched it once. So I don’t remember any of the other characters.

I can’t remember much of it, so I don’t remember what I didn’t like about it but it was a bit of a creepy movie.

And that is my review for Coraline! Overall, I’d rate it 4 stars.

Daily 2

Bust out the blossoms—it’s time for a daily that’s in full bloom: the flower daily! Will your characters confess their love with ferns? Send ominous threats with oleander? Accidentally spark war with a poorly-arranged bouquet? Write 500 words of a piece that weaves in the meanings of at least 3 different flowers. This will earn you 500 points, with an extra 100 points for sharing proof.

When I met her, for the first time
Sitting under a magnolia tree, in her oh so lacey dress, bonnet obscuring most of her face, birds singing, surrounded by vetch and elder blossoms
Carefully making things out of the grasses and plants and flowers that she sat in
Me asking if I could sit and play with her
Her soft, hesitant yes
The buttercups and daisies we played in when we were young
Making crowns out of the many gorgeous flowers that bloomed in and around our neighborhood, and the forests, meadows, and fields that surrounded our small town
Running through the fields, meadows, and forests.
Getting dirty, and laughing so very happily
The hurt baby bird, under the magnolia tree, that she insisted we take of
The bird flying away, grown and happily.
The gillyflowers, sunflowers, and orchids I left for her, on her doorstep, with the note for her, when we were older
Sitting in the daisies and ferns, with her
Talking and laughing, her laugh as sweet and warm as a fresh apple pie
The kingcups that surrounded him
His words, hurting like bee stings, only worse
For bees would never say such this
The xanthium, ice plant, tansy, oleander, and trefoil I left on his doorstep, the next morning
A warning. To leave us be. Or else.
The dahlias, dandelions and sweet peas I gave her, before she boarded her train to leave
“Goodbye” I said, handing her the bouquet, her hugging it to her chest as she handed me a bouquet of ox eyes and orchids
Her quiet, sweet, kind voice, telling me it wouldn’t be long, and she kissed me on the cheek before she left
The dried forget me nots and the zinnias I sent her in mail, pressed to perfection
Walking through our wood sorrel covered walk way up to my house, spotting the letter from her, sticking out of the mail box
The honeysuckles, I received in the mail from her
The pansies, I sent her back.
The everlasting, she sent back to me.
The elder blossom, I sent to her.
The wood sorrel that she sent back to me, when she said she was coming home.
The fuschias that grew near her house as I paced the path up to her door, waiting for her to come home.
The snowdrops that grew over the path, crushed by the feet of the messenger
The marigolds that grew in tangles around the path by her house as I heard the news.
The japanese kerria and asphodel I threw at the carriage driver, when I saw him, yelling and crying and screaming at him, the tangles of marigolds in the corners
The snowdrops that I walked over on the way there.
The wallflowers and everlasting peas I wore as I listened to the speeches.
The lucerne that bloomed and wood sorrel that blanketed the ground as I saw her, running toward her, crying and hugging her tightly
Her crying and hugging me back

500 words

i'm sorry i hated you || 561 words || Daily No. 2

the first time we met i
looked into eyes bright like the sun
hair curled just so
silk made of the tears of the dying and i
knew i hated you, standing so beautiful on a
dais of lies.
(for surely you had known the price paid
for the perfection on display
throttling the downtrodden)

you smiled at me
slow curling-up of lips like new leaves in spring
brushed a flower from your hair with uncalloused fingertips
held it out, resting on a palm that had never known cruelty,
pale and delicate as the apple blossom it cradled and i
knew you were just like them
offering mockeries without a word
(so i'm not sure why
when i struck it from your hand
betrayal brimmed and overflowed
down tender cheeks)

moths are funny things in that no matter how often they are singed
they keep coming back to the flame
dancing around their death
oblivious to their destruction
a single spark lighting them up
before they crumple, lifeless ashes
(those who say the flame is worth it
are foolish
they can't see
how futile it is for night
to strain out of the dark
they say true love makes it beautiful but i
cannot see why when
the cinders left behind are so ugly)

the second time i saw you
you were cradled by music
ivory keys singing under those fingers
and you turned and saw me,
carnation flushing your face,
hope tumbling from your lips
(couldn't you see, then?
how hollow my smile was
how hollow my eyes were
how hollow my heart is
you tried to pour yourself into me
but you can't fill something full of cracks)

you had everything in front of you
path lined with gold and pearls
why, then, did you wander off the road
hands outstretched, straining for the one thing
you could not have?
it
figures, that you
would.
you are blind to the
sweat
tears
blood
staining your perfect life
(how naive, little moth,
to believe the world will shower you with
rose petals and sunflowers
that you can flirt with the candle
and not be consumed)

the day you told me you loved me i
pressed lying lips to yours
wove tansy into your hair
pretended that your fingers on my skin
did not make me want to steal the breath
from your lungs
rip away the life that
ripped so many
(and if someone had told me you were
as innocent as you appeared i
would have laughed
for how could someone
like you
not see the misery all around?)

and when my steel met your tender skin
you did not say a word of reproach
eyes wide
lips parted
i threw my accusations in your face
fury throwing, stabbing, bleeding
and you said
you said
you said
“i didn't know”
and the daisies on your dress
were stained crimson
with regret
(and i believed you
i believed you
i believed you
too late)

today i laid asphodel
on new-heaped dirt
the first shoots of grass beginning to peep
through
and I thrust my blade into the earth
to be your headstone
(i will never wield it again)
and i walked away
(i will never stop walking)
and i blew out the candle
(but you were already ashes)
the unsaid apologies still in my mouth
(i'm sorry i hated you)

Daily: “Bust out the blossoms—it’s time for a daily that’s in full bloom: the flower daily! Will your characters confess their love with ferns? Send ominous threats with oleander? Accidentally spark war with a poorly-arranged bouquet? Write 500 words of a piece that weaves in the meanings of at least 3 different flowers. This will earn you 500 points, with an extra 100 points for sharing proof.”

Words: 850

Flowers Used: Clover (Industry), Buttercup (Childishness), Dandelion (Faithfulness)

The whistle of the factory blew sharply behind her as she walked down the street in the crowd of other girls who’d also just finished their work at the mill. Mae runs a hand through her somewhat tangled hair, pulling it out of the bun she kept it in during work, lest it end up tangled in a machine like Elsie’s had a few weeks ago. Her hands ache from spinning thread all day, and she can’t seem to shake the smell of oil that seems to cling to her each day, even when she tries her hardest to leave the factory behind her. She could feel her pay envelope twisting in her pocket as she walked, but she didn’t dare open it to look. She wasn’t sure she could bear to see how much they’d taken from her today, not when already her wages barely covered what they needed for room and board.

Mae takes home the same route every day; it was a part of her routine, and she liked routine. As she walks, she passes a park a few blocks from the mill, somewhere she used to play with her friends before everything had gotten so hard. Before Papa had died, forcing her to take a job at the mill to keep her, Mama, and her siblings out of the street. She stops and stares at the park, noticing a patch of clover growing out from a crack in the sidewalk near the grassy expanse. She walks forward and kneels, running her hands through the damp grass, and for a moment she’s taken back to when times were easier.

Suddenly, she was small again, just a little thing without a care in the world. She tore through the park, darting around trees and through leaves with her father running close behind her. It had just rained, leaving the smell of damp dirt everywhere; it was one of her favorite smells, it made everything seem fresh and clean. She chased after some bumblebees with a laugh and followed them to a path of bright yellow buttercups. She grinned, kneeled beside them, and began to pick them one by one until she could barely hold them all in one hand. She heard her father’s voice from behind her as he called out
“Don't pick them all now, Mae! Make sure you leave some for the sun to shine on!”
She only laughed and weaved her collection of buttercups into a flower crown, placing it on her head and running back to her father as he scooped her into the air and twirled her around. She felt like a princess, like nothing bad could ever happen to her.

When she opened her eyes, Mae could almost hear her father’s laughter again, almost feel the warmth of the sun from that day on her face. But it only took another moment for reality to set back in. She wasn’t a child anymore, and her father…. Her father wasn’t here to make her feel like a princess anymore.

She looked down at her hands, still pressed into the grass. These same hands that used to weave buttercup crowns were now covered in grime and small scars, only used to mend fabric for strangers.
She slowly rose from where she sat and wiped her hands on her skirt as she gazed back at the clover that had made her stop in the first place. It was stronger than the plants she’d adored as a child. It didn’t need much tending or praise; it just grew. It was patient, quiet, and useful. A working plant, just like her, she supposed.

As Mae turned to walk away and continue on her way back home, her eye caught something on the other side of the sidewalk; a single dandelion, swaying slightly in the wind but standing strong nonetheless. She smiled, and crossed to it, bending down and picking it up. She held it up to her face, watching the fading rays of the sun catching on it as she did. She remembered wishing on these as a child, though then she wished for silly things; castles, music boxes, and never having the grow up. Now, though, she turned it in her hands and decided it couldn’t hurt to make a wish. She blew softly, watching the petals float through the air as a different kind of wish hit the air; for her mother’s cough to ease, for the rent to hold steady, for her own hands to stay strong through another week.

By the time she reached the road again, the light had gone soft and pink. The factory’s hum was a faint heartbeat in the distance. She tucked the empty stem behind her ear and kept walking.

Behind her, the meadow held what felt like all of her mixed into one. Buttercups, clover, and dandelions would all shine together in the dimming light. For the first time in months, Mae let herself smile. The world might ask everything of her, but the field was still there, faithful and alive.

And somehow, that felt like enough.

open folder? 「yes」 no
⋘ … ⋙

██ 20%……joining session NOV25…..
███ 40%……acquiring mangoes…..
████ 60%……visiting enemy cabins…..
█████ 80%……threatening to war action…..
██████ 100%……loading complete!…..

DAILY #2: FLOWER DAILY

'things left unsaid'

words: 564

PLOT: after a friend dies, mc wishes she had more time to say goodbye. she receives a bouquet from them that they sent before their death to reassure her.
flowers used: forget-me-not, periwinkle, zinnia, amaranth, dahlia, everlasting pea

It had been much too long since I'd broken down with grief. A whole few weeks, in fact. I suppose it had to happen eventually. But…would it have been so hard to wait just a few minutes?

The purple amaranth flowers I'd just bought from the store, wilted with petals everywhere. The glass vase they'd been housed in, shattered on the ground next to them. And me, slumped on the couch, tears forming rivers on my face.

I should have been over everything by now. It had been…what, six months? Eight? And we weren't even all that close…oh, what was I saying? Yes, we were. I'd told her everything, my biggest secrets and my deepest fears. She was the one who had been there when I had my first crush, got my driver's license, left for college. I'd thought we would share our whole lives together. And now, because of one stupid driver, only I was left.

Her name was…no, I couldn't bring myself to say it. That would finalize it all, say to me that everything really was over. And that I'd really never see her again. But wouldn't that be good for me? Shouldn't I already have moved on from all of this? Would she really have wanted me to sob in my room every other week, wishing for another day with her? No, she wouldn't. She had always been no-nonsense, much more than me. When she broke up with Alex, all she did was get off social media for a few days, and then she was back to normal, the regular…girl she'd always been. Not like me. When I had my breakup, it took me a month to recover. I totally left my social media. Even my mom was worried for me. “Do you want to talk to someone?” she'd keep saying. And I'd refuse, because I knew I should have been OVER IT. I'd always been much too emotional, way too stuck in my feelings. I'd stare at the phone screen in envy watching her smile in photos taken the day after a breakup, knowing I couldn't even take photos for a week or two after my own. I knew I'd never measure up to HER.

A knock at my door. My feet stumbled across the room, my hand turned the doorknob. The mailman. Why did he have a bouquet?
“For you,” he said. “A friend told me to give it to your address?”

I took the bouquet. There was no note attached, just a booklet- Victorian Flower Language. Did…the flowers mean something? Why would anyone have…?

Everlasting pea plants; those meant remembrance.
Zinnias; those symbolized thoughts of absent friends.
Dahlias; “yours till the end”.
And periwinkles; memories and friendship.

Tucked below all the flowers was one singular forget-me-not; its meaning was obvious.

The date on the booklet read May 3, 2025. Just a week before…
She must have sent these before she died. But how could she have known what was going to happen?

I turned back to the mailman. He seemed to be…waiting for me to say something.
“Do you know…the person's name that told you to give these to me?”

He thought for a moment. “It was a long time ago…just about six months, if I'm not wrong. I believe her name was…”
And the name he spoke created a new ocean of tears down my cheeks.

flower daily | 520 words

@livelaughlibby
guys my friend just gave me a bouquet of flowers that she handpicked and it looks nice and everything but am i the only freaking out about what the flowers mean???? anyone else out there also with the victorian flower knowledge to back me up or am i just reading way too much into this
✉ 39 ⇄ 52 ♡ 429
11:29pm | 02/11/2025

↳ replied to @livelaughlibby
@integral_regulus Girl we don’t all live in the 18th century
✉ 2 ⇄ 7 ♡ 122

↳ replied to @integral_regulus
@dramaturgy 19th century actually get it right smhhh
✉ 0 ⇄ 3 ♡ 95

↳ replied to @livelaughlibby
@user2048404852 u sure that’s not. like. ur girlfriend?? u should ask her if she knows about victorian flower language but like u should just get together anyway LOLLL
✉ 6 ⇄ 33 ♡ 96

The bouquet sits on Libby’s desk, flower heads packed tightly and rippling outwards from the centre of the paper wrappings. The large yellow crests of sunflowers are surrounded by smaller tufts of gillyflower, the ruffled pink edges contrasting with the tightly coiled ferns that line the edge of the bouquet. It’s an eccentric pick of flowers, certainly not something you would find at a supermarket, but they somehow form a vibrant clump of colour that brightens the room around it.

The meanings behind the flowers seem to be ingrained deep in Libby’s mind as well, the remnants of many a weekend spent with her grandfather, who had been a florist himself.

“Sunflowers,” he had said, twirling one between his fingers as he cut down the stem, “symbolise adoration.” He stuck the yellow bloom into a jar, and a younger version of Libby passed him another flower.

Another time, slightly earlier, and her grandfather was out on a walk with her, in the nearby fields, where they had come across a shadowed patch of ferns.

“Did you know that ferns are some of the oldest lifeforms on earth?” he had asked, and Libby had shook her head, no. It had been difficult to imagine those ferns, dark with serrated edges, growing on earth before most other things existed. “They symbolise concealed love.”

And one final memory, even fainter, of her grandfather crouched over a planter of gillyflower in the back garden. Libby remembers how her parents had planted it together, and how they symbolised affection.

She wonders if other people put as much stock into the meanings behind flowers as she did. After all, most people only made or bought bouquets because they looked good, right? Did people even remember the language of flowers, centuries after the Victorian era?

Libby’s gaze flicks back, away from the bouquet and to her phone screen. The general consensus on the internet is conflicted, but she decides it was a nice experiment to ask anyway. Besides, she’s not too bothered about any hidden meanings that might be in her bouquet—at least it’s not anything negative, far from it in fact; and she can just ask her friend the next time she sees her, and maybe bring up the Victorian language of flowers.

flower daily!-N25 fanfics
(this first one takes place when Mizuki was in middle school btw)

Mizuki felt like a flower sometimes, yet she didn’t really like them.
She walked by a flower shop, and saw some flowers in the window, specifically impatiens.
They felt familiar.
They reminded her of how, even though she felt like a girl, she would always seem like a boy to everybody else.
“Oh, those are Impatiens,” the shopowner said.
“They bloom best in the shade.”
Sounds like me.
She bought them before she could regret it.
She put the pot on her desk, and sometimes she would stare at it for a long time.
They are fragile, but still alive.
Very pink too, like the style I like to wear.
“Hey, are you supposed to survive in the dark?” she muttered, touching the flower.
It didn’t seem to mind. It just existed, like everything else.
Maybe that’s what drew her to it.
Late at night, she found herself sharing her secrets with the flowers.
“Do you think others care about how I dress?”
The flower didn’t seem to mind, so everyone else probably didn’t either.
Then she found that the flower was growing taller, moving closer towards the sun. It was beautiful, and didn’t seem to care what others thought of it. That’s the kind of person she wants to be.
“Maybe I can learn from you.” she said quietly.
——————————————————-
(This takes place after ena5- first person
Ena and I are sitting around next to the school, when I notice that the cherry blossoms are still in bloom.
They were in bloom that time too… when Ena found me…
“Hey, Mizuki,” Ena says.
“What?”
“You have a petal in your hair.” Ena giggles softly.
“Ena…”
“Do you think it's okay for me to be myself?”
“Of course. I accept you, no matter what.”
I start crying a little bit, my tears slowly spilling out of my body.
“Thank you, Ena.”
After that day, the cherry blossoms stopped blooming, but we still visit them every spring.
——————————————————————————————————————-
Mafuyu story from her POV
I am hanging out in the Sekai by myself. I can't stand to be at home right now. I'm not mad at her… it's something else. Something even I don't understand.
Then, I notice that there are flowers blooming. At first I think it's a projection of some sort,
How can they survive here? I don't think any type of flower could bloom in this sort of place…
I look closer and see that they are anemones. Real flowers, the petals trembling, as if scared.
Purple and mysterious, just like me.
Anemones mean protection… so are they to help protect me? From what? My mom? I don't even think of her as my mother…
I picked the flower. I decided that it's time to talk to her. No more running away. And I figured if that I might as well have something to protect me.
“Sigh…”
“Here we go…”
Later, after I talked to my mom.
When we talked, she seemed much happier, and accepting for some reason. I wonder why…
Maybe because I finally said what I needed to.
Or maybe…it's the flower's power.
—————————————

Daily #2
Marigold - the connection of life and death
Orchids - strength
Moonflower - new beginnings

As she trudged out onto the streets, each step heavier than the last, she could feel the reality dawning on her. It wouldn’t be long before she’d disappear, fading away from the world as if she was never there in the first place. She figured that she could make a trip to her neighbor’s house, just to say her last goodbyes before her soul finally made its departure to the afterlife. But each step felt even more painful, even more grueling as she tried her best to keep herself together. She wasn’t young anymore, she couldn’t walk like she used to. Feeling desperate to keep going, she fought the urge to stop walking, and she took faster steps down the street. Suddenly, there was something in her, some sort of drive, that just pushed her to go faster. That push of adrenaline made her walk with no struggle, something that she wasn’t able to do for years. It was surprising for her at first, but she only smiled as she kept walking, pushing through like there was no tomorrow. Before she knew it, she was in front of her neighbor’s house, the only person she had left in her life. She was panting from exhaustion, having to stop in front of the porch to take a breather before finally stepping up to the entrance to ring the doorbell. She pressed the button once, no answer. After a minute or two, she decided to press it again. No answer. She wondered if her neighbor was out to do something, but at this time of day, they would usually be inside the house already. But when she was about to ring the doorbell for a third time, she noticed how different her hand looked. It looked slender and young, devoid of any sort of wrinkles or aging. Was she dreaming? She hadn’t seen her hand look this young in a while. That’s when she noticed how easier it was to do anything, how she barely needed any effort to walk up to the entrance, how she was able to walk down the street without struggling, or how her posture seemed to be straighter. She heard a creak from the door, slowly opening as her neighbor went outside to walk their dog. But they didn’t seem to pay any mind to her, just simply passing her as if she was thin air. She stared back at them as they made their way down the sidewalk of the street, wondering if she should go after them and desperately yell that she was right here with them. But she realized that she no longer needed to care about living, even if it did feel upsetting to have to let go of her past. However, she noticed just how much lighter she felt in her younger body, the body that she had always missed for years. That’s when she noticed that she was slowly levitating off the ground, a gleam of light pulling her up into the sky. Was this her eternal end? Or her new beginning in the afterlife?

daily #2
Bust out the blossoms—it’s time for a daily that’s in full bloom: the flower daily! Will your characters confess their love with ferns? Send ominous threats with oleander? Accidentally spark war with a poorly-arranged bouquet? Write 500 words of a piece that weaves in the meanings of at least 3 different flowers. This will earn you 500 points, with an extra 100 points for sharing proof

Fern (concealed love), meadowsweet (uselessness), sunflower (adoration)

Words: 597
Points: 600

Plot:
Florence is a sapphic woman living in early 1900s France to a very wealthy family
In the library she sees a woman that Florence adores her and notices is very beautiful like a sunflower, but she chooses to conceal her love, because she feels she does not deserve her.
When she goes outside there are ferns around town, that remind her of a poem she read years ago as a student, about concealed love
Then Florence gets a newspaper a few days later in the town square and finds out that the woman died. She feels useless and a young girl sees her crying and hands her a meadowsweet

_______
She was peeking from behind the bookshelves, like a sunflower in the farms I remember from a visit to the country.. Her hair was a light blonde and her eyes were daring and her lips were dainty but plump.
She looked at me, and those beautiful lips curved into a sly grin. I only got one quick look at her, before my friend Robin grabbed my arm and pulled me to the Romance section.
“Strange woman that was, wasn’t it?” she said, not quite out of earshot.
“I suppose.” I said, my words faltering at the end.
“It’s not possible, you…”
“What?”
“Nevermind,” Robin had said. She adjusted her headband and grabbed my arm to go back to the section we were just visiting.
To my surprise, the woman had gone, like she was never even there to begin with.
____
I got home to my apartment a few hours after Robin and I’s venture to the bookstore and running some errands.
It’s the first time today I really got time to think about her.
The woman I saw at the book shop.
I walked past the ferns in front of my apartment, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with a memory.
When I was a child, my mother taught me a lot about flowers and other plants. One day I was looking through her notebook about the symbolism of different plants and I had come across a poem.

The Fern
It takes up all my thoughts,
But he won’t never know
Its branches are well-trimmed
But I’ll never tell it so
- Author Unknown

“Oh,” I thought to myself when this memory drifted into my brain, surprised at how similar it was to my situation. Except for one crucial difference.
That poem was about unrequited love.
But clearly, I wanted something with this woman like I had with Robin, nothing more than that.
Not love.
Right?

I walked through the apartment and flop down onto my mattress. Jeez, this apartment is so small. It wouldn’t fit more than one person. Well I guess that’s okay, it’s not like I want anyone else in here.

______

In the morning, I stepped out onto the cobblestone-paved streets of the town square with a bright smile. I’m not thinking about anyone anymore! This should be an interesting day!
As I bought my bread, a little boy tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a newspaper. I laughed merrily and pushed a penny into his hand. Then I took my bread, and searched for a cafe to read it in and eat my bread.

I quickly found one and sat down at a small table. I open to the front page.
“Une femme retrouvée morte devant une librairie,” it read. Though I’ve lived in France since fifteen, I still took a few seconds to translate it.
“Woman found dead outside bookstore!” I cried out, much to the annoyance of my fellow cafe guests. And next to the article is a picture drawn by a sketch artist of a woman that had a striking resemblance to the woman I saw in the book store.
Tears ran down my cheeks and I felt immense regret for not speaking to her.
Smiling back.
Waving.
Anything!
I feel so useless right now…
I broke down and lay my head on the cafe table.
In a few moments, a girl walked up to me. A little girl. She said, “Tu avais l'air triste,” and she handed me a meadowsweet.
Before I could thank her, she ran out of the store.

The End because i am lazyy lol

Daily 2: Flower Daily
word count - 588 words

Flowers used:
- Fern: concealed love
- Nightshade: sorcery, dark thoughts
- Orange blossom: purity

Surrounding by the whispy fields of Wisteria, the calls echoed through the valley. A breeze so gentle, the flowers in full bloom - all rustling, swaying in what seemed like such a calming manner. It was days like these that made me remember. Of course I would never truly forget… no, that would be unfathomable. However, it simply served as blatant reminder of my sins, of what the past used to be. Used to be- now that's the key word you need to understand when comprehending my story.

As I walked through the peacfeful trails, the sun's gleaming rays seeping in through the clouds, I noticed a patch of ferns scattered across the lucious fields. A humming, some sort of hime, resonated through the cave walls nearby and that's when I knew - my time too, was coming. If only I could've told you how really felt. Though I'm sure the both of us knew very well how that would've aged.

Before I know it, I'm at the crosswalks that lead to the cabin we had once spent all our summer's in. Not it was abandoned. Isolated. The only thing that one could find nearby despite the ever-growing vine groves were an abundance of nightshades. Their deep purple hue kept the area colorful, though in all honesty, it only added to the feeling of isolation. It made everything else look so empty by dragging away the life we once saw in this place. As I hobbled over the cobblestone path, filled with overgrown weeds and butterflies of all sorts, I couldn't help but dwell on the fact that this was once our happy place - our one and only escape from the harsh realities of this ever-so tattered world.

“Lara,” I muttered, but my voice simply echoed into nothingness before getting lost in the wind. The spruce trees that once acted as shelter, as protection, was now what made this place seem dark. Empty. To be frank, I was never quite fond of this place. It was always her dragging me along to this desolate area with no one in sight. I should've known better.. I let her fall when she was already slipping. Lost in my thoughts, I reached for the rusty knob on the wooden oak doors. My hand brushed against it for a split second and it was like the whole world stopped.

I stood there, frozen. My whole body felt cold as the Spiral formed above me, sucking everything in its way. “Your time has come,” the voice echoed into the hollow chamber. My breathe, steady, despite the circumstances. I knew what had to be done - the signs were there all along after all. Clutching the letters I had kept so close to my heart, I tossed them in the air, letting them fly free my tainted soul. This was it, this was goodbye. Though it pained me to let her go after fighting for her all this time, I knew this choice was the One. After all, I come above all. Letting out a chuckle, I complete the deed.

- the reconnection -

Twinkling lights stringed across my bedroom ceiling. The orange hues from the orange blossom illuminated. It was like another fantasy world, a realm like no other. I was at peace. Finally. Though most do say, all good stories that come to an end- well, they say that it's simply just the beginning of something more.

i flinch at the sound of footsteps, stilling as they draw closer to my place at the foot of a bush in my front yard. the scissors i'd been using to snip pieces of flower petals grow hot in between my fingertips while i anxiously hold my breath, waiting for the person to walk past, praying the darkness conceals me. they're a mere 6 feet away when their pace slows, the clicking of their steps becoming less frequent against the sidewalk. i can feel myself shaking, whether out of fear or from the chilly wind nipping at my exposed skin, i don't know.
then they stop.
the person's stare is burning into my back as i sit frozen on the grass, silently pleading that they'll move on. mud squishes beneath their feet. they've come into my lawn.
“aurora?” the trespasser whispers, turning on their phone flashlight. finley. i'd know that voice anywhere. i awkwardly turn to hide the scraps of white flower petals before answering.
“finley,” i huff, masking frustration to distract from the shakiness of my voice. “what are you doing up at this hour?”
“i could ask you the same,” he says, lips quirked up in a slight smirk.
“i thought i heard benny scratching at the door so i went to let him in, but when i opened it, the stupid cat ran off. into these bushes, i assume.” it scares me how easy it is to lie to him, my childhood best friend.
his gaze trails over me under the dull light projecting from his old samsung, then drops to the scissors lying in the grass. in my attempt to hide the petals, i'd completely forgotten to tuck those away too. “planning to give benny a trim too, or what?” he lets out a soft chuckle, lifting his eyes to mine.
“the landscaping people must've left those there a few days ago,” i lie again, meeting his stare with an irritated frown.
he steps closer, then sits down in the grass beside me, concern flashing across his face before returning to the same composed expression he wears every day. “why do you change the shape of your flowers?” he murmurs sadly.
i shift anxiously, the beginning stages of tears sparkling in my eyes. my mouth opens to speak, but the words are choked and mangled in my throat. “convolvulus is transient beauty,” i finally croak. “jasmine is amiability.” i pause, blinking rapidly and biting my tongue to hold back a sob. “i'd rather be seen as friendly than as someone with impermanent beauty.”
finny's hand inches closer to mine, his thumb stroking my fingertips. “go on,” he pleads.
i take a shaky breath. “if i cut the convolvulus to look like jasmine, people will think of me as friendly rather than fake.” a tear slips down my cheek, despite my desperate tactics to refrain from crying.
he gently wipes it from my face and i jerk backward, unsure of how i feel at his touch. “rory,” he begins. “the flowers in our yards don't define us. this silly little town seems to think that, but that's simply not how the world works. you are much more than your looks, aurora.” the way my name rolls off his tongue sends chills down my spine. i scoot closer, giving a small nod.
“then how come your flower suits you so well. gilly flower, affection, it's exactly you, fin.”
“i'll burn them all tomorrow morning, just for you.”
“that's not what i'm suggesting!”
“you can't change my mind now. go back inside,” he says, tugging me to my feet. “get some rest. meet me at my house tomorrow morning and we'll fix this obnoxious flower game the town is playing.”

for the flower daily!! i used meadowsweet, honeysuckle, and dandelions :)

-

Eurydice collapsed to her knees, crushing tall meadowsweet stalks beneath her, digging dirt-crusted nails into the soft white petals.

Useless. The thought snagged in her chest like a thorn, the single point of clarity in the storm that had long since begun to swirl around her. Feeding herself, keeping warm, surviving each endless dark night had been difficult enough alone, but she'd managed. She always had.

But now she had two mouths to feed, and it seemed as if she could never do enough. No matter how long she spent in those cold woods, checking her traps, plucking the tiny berries that remained on frosted bushes, it was never enough. One of them always had to do without, and more often than not, it was Orpheus. He had stayed out later and later these past months, only returning to Eurydice's side from who-knew-where when their meager fire had nearly burned out and she had eaten more than her share in a futile attempt to sate her ever-aching hunger.

Eurydice reached for a handful of meadowsweet blossoms, cramming them into her dry mouth. She couldn't remember if the flowers were poisonous. She wasn't sure it mattered.

She swallowed hard, rolled to her back on the bed of flowers. The sun's last rays stretched over the field, casting hundreds of tiny shadows beneath the meadowsweet stalks.

Useless. The thorn twisted within her, and if Eurydice had been standing she would have doubled over in pain. The last minutes of light, and she couldn't even spend them caring for the one she loved. She had one task, to keep them both alive, and she was slowly, painfully, inevitably failing.

Cold wind swept over the meadow, and Eurydice sat up, ripping her coat from her shoulders. Goosebumps formed on her skin, but she ignored them, barely feeling as the cold burrowed beneath her shirt, deep into her spine. The carnation that had been tucked safely into her buttonhole tugged free, a speck of red disappearing ahead of her into the trees.

Like an echo returning in the flower's wake, Orpheus appeared at the edge of the trees, his too-thin figure outlined by the dim sunset.

“You came,” Eurydice whispered, voice hoarse and low.

Orpheus smelled of springtime, of dandelion and honeysuckle, at once sharp and sweet. Clasping Eurydice's hand, he pulled her to her feet, brushing tiny white petals from where they clung to her hair.

“Always,” he murmured, wrapping the thick fabric of her coat back around her arms. He ran a callused hand down her cheek where a tear had slipped downwards, and waited for her to speak.

She remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I feel like I'm failing. Like the gods have given me a purpose, but it's all too much and I'm paralyzed by the thought of it.”

Orpheus's mouth tightened, his body stiffening in her embrace. It wasn't pity, Eurydice realized, but recognition.

“And sometimes,” he went on, voice shaking, “I wonder if it's possible at all. Would the gods punish me like they did Sisyphus? Would they give me some eternal task that they know I can't ever get right?

”I'm tired of feeling like I'm holding the world on my shoulders.“ As Eurydice spoke, the wind picked up, petals of meadowsweet swirling around their feet, wide leaves scraping against their ankles.

Orpheus embraced her then, their bodies trembling with cold and hunger and the crushing weight of fear.

”Maybe,“ he finally whispered, ”we must bear the weight together."