#Green Lantern Apple Bloom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

Text

As the River Flows - (7/8)

Summary: As Feyre lamented quietly over the misfortune of her life, there, in the marketplace, she heard a merchant instruct to its patron: Place a butterfly wing under your tongue before you sleep, and you will dream of your true love.

A gift for @sideralwriting 💕

Read on AO3・Previous Chapter・Series Masterlist

Magic always comes at a cost.

Feyre couldn’t count how many times she had heard that warning from her governess. From Nesta. Sometimes, even from Elain.

She supposed the evidence of their warnings now laid on her skin in permanent ink, binding her to the man who stood just over her shoulder. Magic did come at a cost. And that cost, apparently, was three copper coins.

“What does it do?” She asked the shopkeeper, staring at the glossy surface of a translucent sphere. It shaped perfectly to her palm, small enough that she could close both hands around it. No larger than a ripe apple.

“It allows you to share memories,” the shopkeeper answered.

Feyre raised the orb higher, watching it catch and twist the sunlight, throwing a multitude of colors against the cloth drapes of the stall. When Feyre turned, she could see the reflection cast on Rhysand’s cheek. Red and blue and green. And sparkling violet, staring at her with open delight.

She quickly flitted her attention back to the shopkeep and the velvet-clad table of magical wares. On one end, there was a jar with several thin sticks of wood, wafting a thick, fragrant smoke. Smoke—but no fire. She wanted to ask if that was magic, too, but held her tongue. It was enough to take a deep breath, inhale the scent of rose and jasmine that she wished she could bottle and take with her when they left.

Oh, how she never wanted to leave.

“How does it work?”

The shopkeeper shared a grin over Feyre’s shoulder, at Rhysand, who was undoubtedly preening at Feyre’s enthusiasm. The elderly woman held out a wrinkled hand, adorned with rings and bangles and sharp plum painted nails.

Feyre placed the orb delicately into the shopkeeper's palm, watching with fascination as the glass emitted a soft, misty glow. Like a deep fog was trapped beneath the surface, and someone had lit a lantern from within its center. She swore smoke lifted from the orb and as she stared, images began taking shape. A man and a woman, undetailed at first, but then she could make out the blue-black hair and winning smile of her husband. And spinning in his arms, eyes sparkling with unfettered joy, was… herself.

“You made quite the handsome pair, on that stage,” the shopkeeper said.

Had she really looked that… happy? Feyre blinked, staring at that laughing girl, hardly recognizing herself. The image faded, drifting back into shapeless clouded glass. And the orb was just an orb again.

“Focus on a memory,” the woman said, handing the sphere back to Feyre. “The veritas will show it to you.”

“Does it have a cost?”

“Three copper pieces.”

“No,” Feyre said, a bit bashful. “I mean the magic. Is there a consequence to using it?”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “Some memories are better left unvisited. You would be surprised how many people become trapped in their pasts.”

An arm stretched over her shoulder, and the proximity of Rhysand’s body warmed Feyre’s back, making her feel again as breathless as she had felt dancing on the stage. Perhaps she still had yet to recover from the exertion.

He dropped three copper pieces into the shopkeeper's hand, murmuring behind her, “We’ll take the veritas.”

Rhysand had been doing that all day. Indulging every whim, whether Feyre asked him to or not. It was how she’d earned herself a sugar covered apple and a cup of spiced rum and now, a magical orb that could revisit any memory.

As they wandered out of the women's draped stall, Feyre wondered how many times she’d revisit this one. Her cheeks bloomed from the contrast of the sudden cold. It had been warm in the shop—through magic, Feyre was certain, since aside from the thick fabric of the tent, there was nothing in the shop that could have fought off the winter air.

“Is it time to go?” She asked, solemnly.

Rhysand had been making passing glances at the sun, and at the carriage parked on the other end of the market. She supposed they had wasted most of the morning; the sun was at its peak.

“We could stay here another night,” he suggested.

Delaying their arrival to the Northern Kingdom was a tempting offer. But it also added another day to their journey—another night at an inn, a far more intimate setting than a palace where she imagined they would stay in separate rooms.

She mulled that over, before shaking her head. “We can go.”

“There are plenty of markets like this in the North,” he said, reaching for her hand. She let him take it, surprisingly compliant in allowing him to raise her gloved fingers to his lips. That was becoming a habit of his.

Their eyes met. She again seized the opportunity to relish the sight of him in the daylight. There was more blue in his eyes. They were so much darker at night.

“I’ll take you to all of them,” he promised.

Feyre couldn’t imagine a prince and princess roaming around the street markets in a place they would be recognized. His words were simply a condolence, a means of coaxing her back into the carriage. She was tempted to tell him her older sisters used to play the same trick on her. But perhaps it was to her benefit that he thought her naive.

And maybe the little girl who climbed to the treetops, risking injury and more importantly, her smart clothes, just so she could peer over the manor walls to see what laid beyond—maybe that girl wanted to believe he was telling the truth, despite every rational reason she had to believe otherwise.

Feyre breathed, “Are they all like this?”

She thought she could see the memory behind his smile. The veritas hummed in her hand like it could sense it, like it wanted her to place it in his palm so it could shape the images in his mind. Feyre was tempted, if only for the opportunity to reveal what he kept beneath his mask. She wanted to measure the light and darkness that warred inside of him, to know which side won, and how closely it mirrored her own.

“In essence,” Rhysand said, elbow looping through her own to guide Feyre through the crowd of bellowing merchants. He murmured at her ear, “Though you’ll find some are more exceptional than others. Ones that are held in jeweled caverns, obscured beneath waterfalls. Some, even, are held at the bottom of lakes.”

Feyre scowled at him, “Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not.”

He said it off-handedly, more concerned with turning to pluck a flower from a passing wagon piled with red and purple asters. The merchant’s back was to the prince, calling to the market that he was selling the flowers for one copper a bunch.

“And I’m supposed to trust a thief?” Feyre asked, raising a brow at her husband. Rhysand ignored the accusation in favor of sliding the aster stem into a notch of her braid.

“Hold on to that,” he said. “Asters are a key ingredient for most love potions.”

“And praytell, what use do I have for a love potion?”

“As you said, there aren’t many butterflies in the North.”

It was remarkable to Feyre how easy it was to suddenly lose her footing on the ice, especially when Rhysand said things that made her chest feel little more than a wooden cupboard he’d pried open, exposing her heart to the cold elements and his careful scrutiny.

Did he know, then? That her true love had visited in her sleep? The stone wall around her mind was still in place, but he could have simply guessed. In all of his charm and sweet whisperings, she’d nearly forgotten how he’d attempted to deceive her at the ball by pretending he was her true love.

The rumours are true, that you have eyes like stars. They are the most beautiful color I have ever seen.

He’d known about it then, and even in their argument that morning he’d attempted to assume his identity.

You presume I’m not your true love?

He wasn’t. He had known the phrase because he’d plucked it from her mind. Tamlin had known without magic, though Tamlin had also arrived empty handed, where Rhysand had brought a necklace laden with blue gemstones, just as her true love had promised.

Feyre’s head spun. What on earth was she thinking? She had met her true love just last night and he had been utterly distraught at their circumstances. Why would Rhysand have reacted that way? He’d gotten what he wanted.

It was evident by the curve of his mouth as he caught a stray strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger, whispering, “Perhaps if you get tired of longing for your true love, you can learn to love your husband instead.”

And there—confirmation from the liar himself. His violet eyes flickered to the flower in her hair and Feyre resisted the urge to pull out its stem and throw it to the ground.

A stolen aster for a stolen bride.

“Let’s get in the carriage,” she said, mood now soured despite the lovely time she’d had at the market.

Rhsyand sighed, clearing sensing the shift. He led her away regardless, the two of them dodging shouting vendors and aimless shoppers.

Molten chocolate—two for a copper.

Come see the spectacular Koschei juggle six daggers!

Newlyweds, having trouble sleeping? I can brew a special potion—

—break any spell or bargain.

Feyre grinded to a halt, cocking her head towards the hunched man sitting at an empty table. There were no trinkets, or any signs, but he grinned when he saw Feyre. A serpent's smile.

“Bound by bargain or law?” He asked. “I can only assist with one.”

“You can break a bargain?” Feyre asked.

They were just on the outskirts of the market, within seeing distance of the carriage. Rhysand pulled at her arm, urging. “You can’t. He’s trying to swindle you.”

“An interesting accusation, given you have just lied, and I have yet to make a single promise—false or otherwise.” The man’s beady eyes turned to Feyre. He crooned, “Yes, madam. Bargains can be broken. But doing so requires powerful magic.”

“Feyre,” Rhsyand said. Not a warning, but a plea.

“What kind of magic?”

The man leaned forward, eyes sparkling in a way that caused the hairs on her arms to stand on edge. He turned his head like an owl, before licking his lips and answering, “That will depend on the bargain in question. A small debt is more easily broken. How has this man bound you?”

Feyre glanced over her shoulder at Rhysand, studying the way he held himself still. He was staring at her, not the man, his expression so guarded she couldn’t say if it was anger or fear that held the tension in his back.

She held his gaze as she answered the man, “an eternity of obedience.”

The vendor laughed, an awful wheezing sound that stretched long enough to transcend into mockery. “What a foolish thing to promise.”

Her cheeks burned. Rhsyand touched her arm like he was intending to comfort her, but his jaw was clenched tight, and the anger burning his eyes was far from consoling.

Feyre forced her pride to heel, turning herself to the man still laughing at her expense.

“Can it be broken?”

“Not by any spell I can offer you.”

“But it can be broken?”

The man gazed over her shoulder, at Rhysand, and smirked. “Yes.”

It was clear he wasn’t going to provide any more information. Not for free, and clearly nothing that he believed would be helpful to her. Feyre huffed, pulling her arm out of Rhysand’s grasp to shuffle the rest of the way to the carriage. She would have stomped, if she wasn’t afraid of slipping on the ice. Rhysand trailed after her, maintaining the quiet in what she suspected was his own ire—but was it directed at her, or the shopkeeper?

He opened the carriage door for her, regardless, and she climbed in without looking at him, arms crossed over her chest. Rhysand said something to the footman before stepping in across from her, and the carriage jolted forward. Onwards to the North, once again.

She could feel him staring. But Feyre was still sifting through all her thoughts, trying to reconcile these different, confusing fractals of her husband. A liar and a thief and a prince who was gentle and cruel and manipulative and devoted. Which pieces were real? They couldn’t all be, could they?

“Feyre—“

“Do you know how to break the bargain?”

Rhysand slumped forward, running his hands through his thick, frost-dampened hair.

“As one of the five questions—“

“Feyre.”

“—do you know how to break the bargain?”

“You only have two questions left.”

She gritted her teeth. “Answer it.”

“Yes.”

Feyre exhaled, waiting for more. But that was all Rhysand would say. His lips were pressed tight, his brows bunched together.

“Tell me how,” she demanded hotly.

His golden brown skin had been flushed from the cold, but now she watched it drain of color. “That would be another question.”

Feyre shrieked, wanting to throw something at him and, having nothing besides the veritas, she lobbed it at his head.

He caught it between two hands, lips twitching to hide a smile that only kindled more of her rage. “This would be your final question, do you still want me to answer?”

“Tell me every possible way,” she amended, learning her lesson. “I want to know precisely what I must do to break the bargain.”

Rhysand sighed, staring at the veritas like he hoped it might transport him away from the carriage, towards a memory that did not involve angry wives who shouted and threw things in his direction. She quietly felt smug that the veritas could do nothing more than show Rhysand his own dastardly reflection.

“There are two ways,” he said, finally. “The first is to see the bargain through to its terms. Since each of our bargains is a lifelong commitment, I’m afraid you would need to see it through to your death. The second way is to break the bargain’s spell by using a more powerful magic. The only thing more powerful than a lifelong bargain is…”

Rhysand swallowed like he was trying to push down the truth as it rose in his throat, but the magic forced it to his lips, until he practically spat the words: “A kiss from your true love.”

Feyre’s heart sunk into her stomach.

It’s rumored that true love’s kiss is the most powerful magic in existence.

Her true love had said that, hadn’t he? But… he had kissed her last night, and the bargain remained. Did they need to kiss with the intention of breaking the spell? Perhaps it had not worked because they had kissed inside a dream.

“I don’t need to be in your mind to see what you’re thinking,” Rhysand said. “And I’ll remind you that regardless of bargains, you are my wife. No magic will change that.”

Feyre stared out the window, not wanting to let him see how much that thought deflated her. She knew he was right. He had already told her that if she ran, he would stop at nothing to find her again. Knowing the bargain could be broken changed very little, especially if true love’s kiss didn’t work in her dreams.

The silence between them stretched, becoming a heavy, tangible thing. She could hear Rhysand shift, felt his legs—so much longer and more constrained in the small space—bump hers. He was trying to get her to look, and Feyre refused.

Until she saw something shining in the window’s reflection. Then, she turned to find Rhysand cupping the veritas in his large hands. He was looking at her, and she wished she didn’t notice the way his face lit up at her attention. The soft glow of the veritas left two silver disks shining around his pupils, and the contrast with the violet made his eyes look impossibly wider, more childlike than she’d ever seen him, but still filled with mischief.

“Can I show you something?”

Feyre hesitated. He was leaning toward her conspiratorially, and the smile he wore offered no hint of the man who had warned her, just a mere moment ago, that she was to be his reluctant bride for life. Was this his attempt at smoothing things over?

He leaned his broad shoulders forward to extend the orb into the space between them. It was humming—no, roaring. Feyre jumped as a spray of white mist burst out of its surface, crashing over her.

“It won’t hurt you,” he said, gently. “It’s just a memory.”

Indeed, the mist was intangible and brushed straight through her, then retreated, folding back into a pool of rock and water just beneath the vantage point. Then, a dark wave rose in the distance, curling at the top before it, too, crashed against the rocks, its momentum more violent, causing the white-tipped water to shoot towards the sky.

Feyre reached out a hand, trying to feel it. “What is this?”

She recognized the soft call of birds, nearly drowned out by the sound of the powerful push and pull of water. She could guess what it was.

“The ocean,” Rhys said, his eyes shining.

“It’s…” she frowned. “It seems so dangerous.”

And it was louder than she imagined.

“It can be,” he murmured. “But it can be gentle, too.”

The vision shifted, and Feyre could see a smooth, beige beach where foamy water rushed to the shore like a playful lover, clinging to the blushing sand, reluctant to return to the sea, but always rushing back. She could see the low light of sundown, reflected not just against the water, but on the wet, polished sand, gilding everything in sight in bright orange and gold. And if she shut her eyes, she swore she could feel a warm breeze tangling in her hair.

“It can be warm in the North,” he said. “I used to take my little sister to the beach in the summers. The water stays cool, even with the sun shining against it all day long.”

Feyre studied the surface of the glistening water, awed and fascinated that something so majestic could truly be real. “What’s it like?” she whispered. “Swimming in the ocean?”

“It’s wonderful,” Rhysand said.

And then the image rippled, like they’d dived beneath the surface. The sound of the lapping tide immediately muted, replaced with the soft, lulling sound of bubbling air, rushing to the shining surface above. But below… Below was deep, beautiful blue water, crowded with schools of colorful fish and the most curious rocks Feyre had ever seen. She hadn’t known there were plants that could live underwater, but she could see their long vines swaying leisurely to-and-fro as striped fish darted by. The backs of her eyes stung. Feyre raised a hand to cover her mouth, uncertain why she was crying, just—that it was so beautiful. So tranquil and vibrant, flush with a diversity of life that Feyre had never even imagined, could never fully describe, it was so outside of her exposure to the world.

“I’ll take you there,” Rhysand promised softly. He offered her one of those rare, sweet smiles. Devoid of any mockery or pride. He said, “You’d need to let me teach you how to swim, first.”

Feyre fought a sob, but it came anyway, bursting out at her first attempt at speaking when she asked, “Is it hard?”

“No,” he soothed. “You’ll love it.”

Bashful, Feyre sniffed and brushed away her tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Rhysand shifted the orb to one hand so he could reach forward to cup her face, chasing away the tears he could reach with his thumb. “There is a great, beautiful world that has been waiting for you, Feyre, and I intend to show you all of it.”

She should have pulled away. She was angry at him, wasn’t she? Feyre grabbed his wrist and instead of pushing, she tugged him across the carriage until he was seated beside her.

“Show me more,” she said. “Show me the North.”

He made a quiet noise, something she interpreted as compliance though it sounded more as though he’d been punched in the stomach. But when Feyre turned her head to gauge his expression, he was wearing his usual sideways smile, nothing more than pleased she’d taken an interest in his kingdom.

Feyre nearly asked for him to forget it, not wanting to offer him the satisfaction, before the image changed again and she could see a city nestled between ocean and mountain and sprawling river. They flew past boats and piers, past homes and streets and theaters. Past a colorful plaza teaming with stalls and restaurants and artwork. People wandered about, happy and thoughtful, kind and welcoming, and they waved to the memory’s observer—to Rhysand, their Prince. Waved, not bowed.

“This is Velaris,” Rhysand said. A note of warmth in his voice, one that wasn’t entirely foreign. “This is the heart of the North, the city that you will call home.”

Moment after moment, images of marketplaces and townhomes and the glistening river that ran through it all. And though Feyre could not explain how, she could have sworn there was love in the images. She did not understand how the veritas conveyed it, but the colors, the light… They were rooted in something deeper, something linked to Rhysand and his memories.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, still waiting for the sight of the castle and walls that would contain her.

But they never came. Instead he showed her a townhouse and a palace carved into a mountain and he walked her through each section of the city, and she realized, with every passing citizen who greeted him by name, that the walls wouldn’t come. Her eyes began to sting again. And even though she fought the tears, Rhysand must have noticed, because he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she didn’t stop him. He was warm, and he smelled like she imagined the ocean might. Salt and danger and freedom.

“Do you want me to keep going?” He asked.

She would never admit it, but she tilted her head to move closer, so she could let his scent soothe and steady her. When she nodded, Rhysand swept his cape over her shoulder, settling into a position they both knew they would stay in for the indefinite remainder of the carriage ride. Her head fell against his shoulder, and she could feel the quiet exhale of his breath at her temple. She could hear his pulse, and she nearly joked that she was surprised he had one at all. But somehow, through the combination of his warmth and his scent and that ever-beating metronome, Feyre drifted to sleep in her husband’s arms, while his memories of their kingdom continued playing.

She woke to darkness.

Feyre sat up in bed, waiting for the sound of strolling footsteps.

They didn’t come, and slowly she pushed through the disorienting haze of sleep to realize a hearth was crackling in the corner of the room, and she could still see its light.

She wasn’t dreaming, then.

The lighting was dim, but slowly her eyes adjusted until she could make out the details of the inn’s bedroom. She didn’t remember leaving the carriage, which surely meant her husband must have carried her in. Thankfully, she was still wearing the elegant navy dress she had put on that morning.

Slipping quietly out of bed, Feyre measured each footstep against the old wooden floorboards, unaware if Rhysand was a light or heavy sleeper. He again had chosen to occupy an armchair in front of the hearth.

Feyre reminded herself, sternly, that it was not charming he’d decided not to share a bed with her when she was not awake to protest otherwise. But… it’s what other men would have done. He was a prince, and it was the second night in a row he’d claimed the armchair without complaint, without her asking. It was a little charming.

It was the least she could do not to wake him up now as she searched for a nightgown. He’d placed their trunks in the window bay across the room, and Feyre was able to easily find a silken negligee at the top of the folded clothes—short and delicate and pink and certainly not one that she had packed for herself. With a sigh, Feyre threw the fabric aside and began digging for something more suitable. She pushed past the heavy cloaks and dresses, searching for the unmistakable feeling of silk.

While she searched, her hand brushed against something thin and solid, which made a crinkling sound beneath her fingers. Parchment. She froze, head swiveling over her shoulder to see if Rhysand had overheard, but he remained still. Holding her breath, Feyre carefully pulled the parchment from beneath the heavy piles of clothes—buried so deep he had clearly been trying to hide it.

Thinking perhaps she had finally unburied one of his secrets, Feyre eagerly held the paper to the moonlight. The moonlight, which was always honest with her. It was hard to read the black ink in the dim lighting, but as Feyre pulled the crumpled parchment close to her face, she immediately recognized her own handwriting.

My dear rake,

At first, her mind couldn’t truly make sense of what she was reading. Had he found the letters she had kept from her true love? But—no. This letter hadn’t received a reply.

Perhaps this will be the last letter I ever send you.

Feyre dropped the parchment back into the trunk, trying to make sense of this. Had he… had he been intercepting their letters? Is that how he’d known about the identifying phrase, and the gift, and—and when to intercept her, before she made it to the Archeron gate? Had any letter ever reached her true love? Did her true love exist at all? Or was he… was he…

She scrambled to rearrange the trunk to its original state, burying the letter and her fears beneath the heavy piles of cloth. With shaking hands, she tore at the eyelets on her back, leaving her bodice and skirts as a heap on the floor before shrugging into the indecent nightgown.

Rhysand stirred as she walked past, but he didn’t wake. Which was just as well, because Feyre had no intention of letting him see her in the nightgown—ever. She crawled back into the large bed, still reeling at what she had discovered. At what it could mean.

Feyre only knew one thing for certain: she needed to trap a butterfly.

#Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #AtRF #As the River Flows

71 notes · View notes

butmakeitgayblog · 6 months

Note

Did AWTR clexa ever go to a pumpkin patch and pick out pumpkins to carve into jack-o'-lanterns? Would they have been the type to give out candy to trick-or-treaters?

Oh yeah, that was one of Lexa's bucket list items 😌 about a month after their honeymoon they drove up and down the coast just to watch fall burst into bloom. They visited apple orchards to bring Gus back as many crates of their own handpicked apples as they could fit in the trunk of Clarke's shitty Honda to make treats and stuff for the shop (and also them, they swiped from the display case constantly). They went to pumpkin patches and loaded up their backseat with all different kinds and colors of gourds and pumpkins to carve up into interesting and crazy jack o lanterns, and haul out little trinkets/decorations they found from kitsch shops along the way. Enough to decorate the house, Abby's house, and the shop as well, to the point it looked like Halloween had thrown up all over everything that would stand still.

Clarke and Gus handle carving the bigger pumpkins while Lexa takes up a very authoritarian reign over the smaller gourds. Dozens of tiny jack o lanterns and cat silhouettes and wonky faced carvings lit up with inner tea lights peppering throughout the larger pumpkin displays. Just to add a little flare.

Lexa is the most excited to hand out candy because that's what she's always done since she was 8 years old. She never really cared much for trick or treating, not after her mom got sick. But getting dressed up anyway and stuffing herself with popcorn and candy while watching scary movies? Handing out candy and seeing everyone's costumes? Decorating the whole house with spooky stuff and pumpkins and cobwebs and little bats and candles????

Perfect. Day.

They go as Peter Pan and a very, very questionably appropriate Wendy. Lexa prancing around in her green skin tight tights and little hat slightly askew on her wild curls, brandishing her plastic sword and a playful grin to all the neighborhood kids who stop by. Which is helpful and a distraction from Clarke who settled on a wildly loose interpretation of Wendy, donning a rather short, tight white nighty in lieu of a nightgown, complete with a generous dusting of "pixie dust" (body glitter nicked from Lexa's secret stash of costume makeup via her high school performing days of the past).

She earns more than a few looks from the parents trailing behind...

Mostly though they spend the early evening just sitting on the porch swing out front, sneaking candy from the stash and getting pleasantly tipsy on Gus's homemade hard apple cider. After curfew they retire into pjs and the livingroom couch, snuggled up and crashing from the chocolate, alcohol, and sugar high of before, sensibly cutting the decadence with a mountain of popcorn that they share with Gus while listening to him complain about the sheer amount of blood, guts, and gore on the screen 🎃👻

#anon #AWTR

19 notes · View notes

floydsmuse · 4 months

Note

Meggy, I'm trying really hard with the Calvin thoughts, I really am, but the Miles Miller thoughts/thots really started talkin and it just couldn't be helped (lol).

Benny absolutely loves to help with the chores around the ranch and he's so friggin cute while doing it (lol). Maybe it's a warm spring day and the grass is nice and green, the flowers are in bloom and everything is just bursting to life. Maybe you're pregnant with Jesse and your bump is getting in the way a little bit. You're hanging all the sheets, pillowcases and shirts out on the clothesline to dry and you drop one. You squat down to pick it up but Benny comes waddle-running over and sternly tells you, "No mommy, no! Daddy say no bend over! I gon help you!" (lol).

Miles loves bringing Benny to go and collect the eggs because he knows it'll keep the broody rooster and the hens in line and from pecking his boots. Benny will be tossing the feed to the chickens while Miles is checking to make sure the eggs aren't fertilized before bringing them back to the house.

Miles and Otis both teach Benny how to milk the cows too. You and Miles adopted four females who mated with a bull and it was one of the best decisions you could have made since it cut back on the grocery bills. The other good thing too was that Miles and Otis didn't have to milk them as often since the calves are still little and can nurse in the early hours of the morning (Rhett and Royal also do that with Abigail, one of the dairy cows Cecelia took in) and you guys get all the milk, cheese and yogurt you could want (especially since Miles is a fiend for all three, lol). You know too that it's time for the cows to be milked when Benny comes back carrying a metal bucket and clanking it with your wooden spoon (lol).

The orchards are by far yours and Miles's favorite places on the ranch. The grape orchards always smell so good and there's rows and rows of apple, blueberry, apricot and huckleberry bushes. Miles loves being out in the field but seriously hates cutting the grapevines back if they're really overgrown and has to keep poor Benny from eating half the crop because they're just that good (lol).

On the property, you're especially grateful for the swimming hole. Montana winters are super cold but oof, those mountain summers are HOT. Half the time you and your family will just dive in without a second thought on especially hot days. Benny loves looking for the duck nests and watching the mallard and his mate leading their little duckies down to the water and anytime you guys have stale or moldy bread that needs to go, Benny will gladly take it down to the swimming hole to feed to them.

He also loves to help with the vegetable garden too. Benny loves to yank up the carrots, parsnips, radishes, turnips, beets, ginger, garlic, potatoes and onions and Miles doesn't mind in the least when dirt sprays everywhere. He loves to pick the tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, beans and big fat squash that like to creep through the dirt. In Fall, you guys get big, fat orange pumpkins that soon become jack-o-lanterns, soups, stews and pumpkin pies.

Speaking of which, Benny loves to help in the kitchen too, especially when you make the German chocolate cake that Miles's grandma, Essie, used to make and it's so tasty especially with the farm fresh eggs, milk and cream that you guys have (lol). Beef, pork and chicken are especially easy to get and Miles even trained the pigs how to find mushrooms which is an added plus for the kitchen. You always have fresh bread being baked no matter what time of the year it is and you always laugh when Benny pulls up a chair and sits in front of the oven to watch it rise.

Meggy I promise you I will try and get some Calvin thoughts/thots together soon, I'm tryin and it's a BITCH!!!! (lol).

Mary my darling! don’t worry about it :) i will gladly accept any thots/thoughts that come up! i love our precious boy Miles & i can’t wait to read what you’ve sent in!

~ aww little Benny helping out with the chores :,) i just know he feels like such a big boy & is all giddy to help out mommy in any way he can🥹 Benny running over to you to pick up what you dropped is just so sweet! Miles wouldn’t want you to lift a single finger while you’re carrying baby boy & would do everything he can to make your pregnancy as easy & effortless as possible for you!

~ i could so picture Miles bringing Benny to collect the eggs & milk the cows too! that couldn’t be more perfect :,) idk why but for some reason i could see Miles having a ton of knowledge on all the animals on the farm & he’ll share little facts with Benny & you at any given chance! he’s so fascinated by all creatures & animals that roam the earth. he almost loves them more than he does humans, but with an exception of you & Benny of course ! i could also see animals being super attached to Miles, like even deers or squirrels will come up to him & he’ll happily feed them or give them a little pet. He’s like the wildlife whisperer or something. a real life prince charming🥰

~ ahh not Benny eating up all the grapes🤣 i can’t say i blame him tho. they are super yummy! especially fresh ones straight from the vine! a swimming hole? that sounds intriguing! i need one of those when it gets hot😅 aww Benny pulling out veggies from the vegetable garden is so cute! i like the idea of you & Miles gathering up all the veggies & squash to make some delicious soups/meals! i love Benny being a big help & getting so involved with all these activities around the farm :,)

~ Benny helping in the kitchen too?! Mary! it’s just cuteness overload at this point🥹 i could picture him being all giggly & excited when you ask him to help you bake/cook! when you or Miles offer to help Benny, he playfully shuns you away & is all like “i got it mama, dada. no need any help.” which proceeds to make you & Miles laugh. you let him do his thing, but are always there to guide him or help if he needs it! :)

Mary! these thoughts were so sweet & just what i needed tonight🥰 as always, thank you for sharing them with me! i look forward to see what you send in next💗

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #miles thoughts/thots <3 #bad times at the el royale

2 notes · View notes

davisbette · 2 years

Text

thank you @wexler-mcgill for tagging me 💕💖

hot shower (and by hot i mean that the water has to be at least 40° even in summer) or cold shower // texting or calling // earbuds or headphones // paperback or hardcover // matte or gel // 12 hour clock or 24 hour clock // blue or green // sunsets or sunrises // tulips or orchids // candle light or moonlight // sci-fi or horror // ball pen or pencil // pandas or koalas // gold or silver // sneakers or this boots are made for walking// denim jacket or leather jacket // pink or purple // chocolate or sour candy // deodorant or AND perfume // drive-in movie theatre or the cinema // pastel colours or neutral/earth tones (sToP with colours i can't decide ok??) // lemonade or fruit juice // past or future (unfortunately)

pumpkin spice or gingerbread (???) // horror or supernatural // hocus pocus or halloweentown (never seen either) // painting pumpkins or carving jack-o-lanterns (i think doing any of these things is not a universal experience...)// vampires or zombies // beanies or scarves // oversized sweaters or favorite sweatshirt // orange or black (sTOOOP)// apple pie or sweet potato pie (quoting Anna: "i don’t think sweet potato pie is a thing here lol") // corn maze or haunted house // apple picking or bobbing for apples (what...?) // trick or treating or staying in // diy costume (diy meaning my best friend doing it) or store bought costume // cinnamon or nutmeg // hot cocoa or apple cider

tagging: @swinging-stars-from-satellites @scullydubois @danakathrine @em-bloom

#ask game

8 notes · View notes

akumaverse · 1 year

Photo

MOMMY LONG LEGS

First Appearance: Green Lantern Apple Bloom (Mod Monday - June 13, 2019)

Dimension: Scratch Space

Allegiance: Evil

Long before she was Mommy Long Legs, she was likely a human turned into a living toy. While she was deemed a failed experiment, she was eventually used as a guide at Playtime Co.’s Game Station. Because she worked so well with kids’s the company made her into an official toy. But when Playtime Co. shut down, all their experiments continued to exist. This includes Mommy Long Legs, who decides to torment the first living being she came across. While she died in her original game, she continues to live on in Scratch Space.

Sprite Credit

Current Version is by AkumaTh

Fun Facts:

I have never played Poppy Playtime, but I fell in love with the design so much I had to make her.

#Mommy Long Legs #evil #scratch space

2 notes · View notes

matchamojitos · 1 year

Text

autumn leaves

The flowers might be dying, the leaves might be falling, but they’ll turn a beautiful amber. Autumn leaves come with gloomy weather and shorter days, but they’ll soon be green again. For now, I’ll find beauty in these withered trees and the flowers will soon bloom again.

It’s the season of cinnamon apples and porridge, and I won’t get seasonal depression this year. I’ll savour these misty mornings, the never-ending battle between the fog and the rising sun.

In a knitted jumper and my warmest coat, the crisp autumn air will turn my cheeks as crimson as the leaves I walk through. Endless days in a coffee shop, reading and writing, countless coffee cups to keep my hands warm. How I wish I liked pumpkin spice lattes – ’tis the season, after all. I’ll have Dad’s pumpkin soup recipe with a crusty loaf from the bakery, and the sun is already beginning to set, but the rosy sky is so lovely.

Alfie warms me up, snuggling in blankets and comfy pyjamas in my candlelit room. I’m rewatching Buffy for the millionth time, hoping she’ll end up with Faith this time around. I’ll watch The Craft and Jennifer’s body, and think about what I’d like to be this Halloween, but I’ll probably leave it to the last minute as always.

All the little autumnal festivities to look forward to. Carving pumpkins. Bonfire night. Fireworks. The lantern parade. These dreary days will become less lonesome, and I won’t let my sadness consume me this season.

The flowers will soon bloom again, the longer days will return, but for now, I will enjoy this season.

#autumn #writing #romanticising #romanticising life #seasonal depression #fall #self help #mental health #coping

6 notes · View notes

ohsokeluk · 6 months

Text

Mango Wood Dough Bowl & Faux Foliage Door Wreath: A Perfect Duo For Seasonal Home Styling

Seasonal decor breathes new life into your home, creating a welcoming ambiance. For an effortless yet elegant transformation, combine a Mango Wood Dough Bowl with a Faux Foliage Door Wreath. This timeless duo seamlessly captures the essence of each season, lending warmth and rustic charm to your living space.

The Allure Of Mango Wood Dough Bowls

Mango Wood Dough Bowl is beloved for its rustic charm and versatility. These bowls, often carved from sustainable mango wood, are traditionally used for kneading and shaping dough. Today, they have found a new purpose as stylish home decor.

Mango wood is prized for its rich color, distinctive grain patterns, and durability. The warm and earthy tones of the wood make it a wonderful addition to any home, regardless of the season. Here's how you can incorporate this timeless piece into your seasonal decor:

1.Fall Foliage Abundance: Fill Mango Wood Dough Bowl with gourds, pumpkins, and faux leaves to complement the earthy colors of the season.

2.Winter Wonderland: During the winter months, your dough bowl can be a vessel for pinecones, ornaments, and candles. Adorn it with fairy lights for a festive, cozy glow.

3.Springtime Freshness: As spring arrives, place a bunch of fresh flowers or colorful faux blooms in your bowl to create a contrast of vibrant blossoms against the wooden backdrop.

4.Summer Simplicity: In the summer, use your Mango Wood Dough Bowl as a fruit bowl, filling it with fresh citrus, apples, or even a mix of tropical fruits for a refreshing look.

Faux Foliage Door Wreaths: Timeless Elegance

A Faux Foliage Door Wreath is another timeless decor item that suits every season. Whether you prefer a lush green wreath, a colorful arrangement of faux flowers, or an autumnal mix of leaves and berries, these wreaths offer year-round beauty. Here’s how you can incorporate these door wreaths into your home decor:

1.Front Door Welcome: Hang your Faux Foliage Door Wreath at your entrance to greet visitors as it offers a warm welcome and sets the tone for your home’s interior decor.

2.Indoor Decor: Don’t limit wreaths to just the front door. Hang them indoors to add a touch of nature to your living room, dining area, or even bedroom.

3.Table Centerpiece: Lay your Faux Foliage Door Wreath flat on the dining table, place a candle or lantern in the center, and you have an instant and elegant centerpiece.

The Perfect Pairing

Now, the magic truly happens when you bring the Mango Wood Dough Bowl and the Faux Foliage Door Wreath together. Imagine a dining table adorned with a wooden dough bowl filled with seasonal fruits, complemented by a wreath hung above it. This pairing creates a harmonious blend of natural elements and visually appealing accents that enhance the character of your home.

For a fall-themed setting, add a wreath with autumn leaves and berries to your door and fill the dough bowl with decorative gourds. In winter, use a wreath with sparkling ornaments, and let the dough bowl hold pine cones and candles for a cozy ambiance.

In conclusion, the Mango Wood Dough Bowl and Faux Foliage Door Wreath are a match made in decor heaven. These two elements seamlessly blend rustic charm, elegance, and versatility, making them an ideal choice for year-round seasonal home styling. With this duo, you can easily transform your living space into a warm and inviting haven, no matter the season.

For more details visit our website

ohsokel.com

#Kitchen ornaments #Grey Rattan Tray #Vintage decorative cowbells #White wax flower #Pretty little home #Mango Wood Dough Bowl #faux foliage door wreath

0 notes

essentialcateringvd · 6 months

Text

Catering for Seasonal Celebrations: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter

In the grand tapestry of the year, each season unfolds with its own distinct palette of colours, scents, and flavours. It's no wonder that we find cause for celebration in the changing of the seasons, and what better way to honour these natural transitions than through the art of catering Melbourne? From the delicate freshness of spring to the sun-soaked days of summer, the rustic charm of autumn, and the cosy comforts of winter, every season offers a unique canvas for crafting culinary experiences that reflect the essence of the time. We will explore the world of seasonal catering, uncovering how it can enhance and harmonise with your celebrations during spring, summer, fall, and winter. Prepare to embark on a delectable voyage through the seasons, where the flavours and aromas of each time of year are brought to life on your plate.

Spring: A Burst of Freshness

As the world awakens from winter's slumber, spring heralds the arrival of new life and flavours. When planning a spring celebration, catering with a focus on fresh, vibrant ingredients is key. The beauty of spring lies in the colourful blooms and the crispness of the air, and your catering choices should reflect this rejuvenating spirit.

Menu Highlights:

Salads: Spring is the perfect time to incorporate crisp greens, juicy strawberries, tender asparagus, and edible flowers into colourful salads. These ingredients not only add a burst of flavour but also a visual feast for your guests.

Herb-Infused Dishes: Utilise fragrant herbs like basil, mint, and chives to add brightness and complexity to your dishes. Herb-infused oils or vinaigrettes can elevate simple recipes.

Lighter Proteins: To keep the menu light and refreshing, consider grilled chicken or seafood options. The smoky, charred flavours of a grill complement the season's outdoor vibe.

Fruit-Infused Beverages: Quench your guests' thirst with refreshing drinks featuring citrus and berry infusions. Lemonade with crushed raspberries or cucumber water with a hint of mint can be delightful choices.

Decor: To create an atmosphere that captures the essence of spring, embrace pastel colours, blooming flowers, and natural table settings. Consider using wooden or bamboo tableware to enhance the rustic charm of your event.

Summer: Savouring the Sun

Summer brings the joy of longer days, outdoor gatherings, and a desire for cool and refreshing cuisine. When planning your summer celebration's catering, think of foods that can help your guests beat the heat while indulging in the flavours of the season.

Menu Highlights:

Barbecue: Grilled meats and vegetables with smoky flavours are quintessential summer fare. A barbecue station can become the centrepiece of your event, with options like grilled chicken, ribs, and vegetable skewers.

Fruit Platters: Summertime is synonymous with juicy fruits. Watermelon, mango, and pineapple slices add a tropical touch to your menu and provide a sweet respite from the heat.

Iced Drinks: Offer a variety of cold beverages to keep guests refreshed throughout the day. Lemonade, iced tea, and fruit-infused water with slices of cucumber or citrus fruits are excellent choices.

Decor: To evoke a relaxed summer atmosphere, consider picnic-style settings, vibrant tablecloths, and colourful floral arrangements. Lanterns or string lights can illuminate your outdoor event as the sun sets.

Fall: Harvesting Warmth

Autumn brings a rich tapestry of flavours, from hearty root vegetables to warm spices. Catering for fall celebrations should embrace these cosy elements, making your guests feel snug and satisfied.

Menu Highlights:

Roasted Vegetables: Include roasted squash, sweet potatoes, and brussels sprouts in your menu. These earthy and caramelised flavours perfectly embody the essence of fall.

Comfort Food: Serve dishes like pot pies, soups, and hearty stews. The warmth and heartiness of these dishes will be welcomed as the weather cools.

Apple and Pumpkin Desserts: Indulge in classic fall flavours with apple pies, pumpkin spice treats, and cinnamon-infused pastries. These desserts capture the essence of the harvest season.

Decor: To set the tone for a fall celebration, use earthy tones in your decor, choose rustic tableware, and create autumnal centrepieces adorned with leaves, pumpkins, and gourds.

Winter: Embracing Comfort

Winter celebrations call for warmth and comfort. Catering during this season should focus on heartwarming dishes and festive flavours that bring joy to the coldest of days.

Menu Highlights:

Holiday Classics: Offer traditional dishes like roast turkey, glazed ham, and creamy mashed potatoes. These classics embody the spirit of winter holidays.

Seasonal Spices: Incorporate cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves into your desserts and beverages. These spices evoke the cosiness of the season.

Hot Beverages: To keep your guests cosy, serve hot chocolate, mulled wine, or spiced cider. These warming drinks provide comfort and merriment.

Decor: Create a cosy ambiance with candlelight, evergreen wreaths, and rich, deep colours like burgundy and forest green. Incorporate elements of winter, such as faux snow or icicle-themed decorations, to make your event truly magical.

Catering for seasonal celebrations allows you to showcase the beauty and flavours of each season while providing a memorable culinary experience for your guests. Whether it's the freshness of spring, the sizzle of summer, the warmth of fall, or the comfort of winter, embracing the unique characteristics of each season can elevate your celebration to new heights. So, when planning your next event, don't forget to consider the season and let it inspire your catering choices. Your guests will thank you for the delicious journey through the year, experiencing a symphony of flavours that mirror the changing seasons themselves.

#catering #cateringMelbourne

0 notes

amethystiridescence · 2 years

Text

Just to scrape at some daydream seratonin

It will be a cottage. Not necessarily a thatched roof, because I'd want solar panels and it would be too much of a pain to upkeep.

A small two bedroom detached cottage in warm white with painted pale blue window frames and a stable door for the front that matches, so I can prop it half open sometimes in warm weather. With both a front garden and a back garden with a fence I've built and painted myself. It will have a cherry tree in the front that blooms ostentatiously once a year. I will get both enjoyment and irritation from having to sweep up the petals so they don't make the grass go mouldy in their huge pink piles, and I will dry out a few of the blooms each year. The leaves will be stunning in orange and yellow in the autumn which I will flatten and dry out for garlands, complimenting the jack-o-lanterns I will leave on the doorstep. There will be paving stones going through the front garden up to the front door. There will be a brick garage and a gravelly driveway with a garden tap so I can water the gardens and wash my car on the driveway. I'd have a charging station for my electric car in the garage, as well as all my big paints and spare timber for projects and there would also be a trailer in the garage which I can attach to my car so I can pick up bulky stuff when I'm thrifting cheap furniture or buying firewood. I'd have a water butt attached to the rainwater pipe so I can save whatever water I can. I'd keep a beautiful bicycle in the garage with a removable basket and a battery so I can cycle to go get groceries and forage in the nearby woods. I will collect wild garlic in the spring, elderflower in the summer and blackberries and apples in the autumn, and make butter, oils, smoothies, cider, breads, crumble, pies and cordials.

There will be a vegetable patch in the back garden where I will grow tomatoes, spinach, potatoes and pumpkins. There will be a little greenhouse where I propagate plants like chillies and grow seeds and dry out flowers and herbs and occasionally seaweed collected from the beach. Both gardens will be abundant with flowering perennials such as hydrangeas in every colour, lavender, fuchsias, lilacs. And climbers. Honeysuckle, jasmine, clematis, passionflowers. There will be so much wisteria climbing the side of the cottage, thick with greens and purples. And a weeping silver birch leaning over the pond thick with lilies and a small little solar powered water fountain where my two runner ducks paddle, but there will be some pond netting to protect my koi fish. A tiny zen garden will be next to the birch tree and the pond, with raking sand, a Japanese maple leaf tree and a tiny arch bridge over the pond with solar lights. Sometimes the ducks use the bridge and it brings me so much joy. So much grass for my chickens as well, just a few, maybe four. The ducks and chickens roam the gardens during the day eating fresh grass, and reluctantly have to be chased or coaxed inside in the evenings. I have fresh eggs nearly every day in the warm months which I can poach, boil and use for baking cakes. I'll have to shoo them away from the strawberries and the vegetables. There will be a swing chair, a sunbed and a garden table under a wooden painted blue arbor with solar powered fairy lights. There will be an extendable washing line on the side of the house so I can dry my laundry in the warm weather. There will be a wood storage shed which I will hate the spiders gathering in and regularly ask the chickens to step in to help.

There will be a conservatory on the back of the house which will help heat the cottage on sunny days, and I will probably have to chase the chickens and ducks out of it when I leave the doors open in the warm months. The conservatory will have so many suncatchers to bounce rainbows around the room, and houseplants in it, and a little hammock and floor cushions and a giant bean bag and a comfy sofa with throws and fairy lights all around the ceiling and draped around the kaffir tree where I sometimes take the leaves and limes for cooking curries. There will be my homemade kotatsu where I drink one of my many teas under the blanket in winter, sometimes mixed with locally sourced floral honey nestled on the hammock, bean bag or sofa. There will be an extra extendable washing line inside the conservatory so I can make use of the sun on cold days or dry out stuff I've been swimming in. There will be a little pair of sandals left by the door so I can go in and out of the garden via the conservatory.

Inside, the kitchen will have a back door, also a stable door so I can leave it half open on sunny days and air the kitchen when it gets steamy or too warm from cooking and baking, but the chickens and the ducks won't be able to get in and be a nuisance (although I will probably let them sometimes and drop scraps for them over the door). The main kitchen window sits over the big Belfast sink, with potted herbs on the the sill like basil for my pizzas and pastas, and coriander for my curries. When its sunny, theres sunlight over the sink which helps dry the dishes and grow the herbs. There will be a big central island where I'll have loads of unobstructed room for rolling dough and pastry. Underneath the island will be a bookshelf with all my cooking books and my recorded recipe books. There will be a book prop to hold open books at the right page to refer from whilst my hands are messy with flour and chocolate. There will be a big Aga oven with a stovepipe which warms the kitchen in the winter and I boil the kettle on it every day. There will be a pantry, glass jars of rice and pasta, a whole cupboard of teas. There will be an old dresser I've lovingly rescued and up-cycled with pale green chalk paint with all my teapots and mugs. The kitchen will be pale mint green and pastel pink with pale wood accents in the chopping board, the tea and sugar pots and the wooden magnetic knife board. I will try so hard to be mindful of waste and eco-friendly. I will have refillable everything that I can, bottles for washing up liquid, washing powder/softener and cooking oils. I'll have soap on a rope by every sink in the house. Reusable stretchy lids and food bags. I'll save all my glass jars and try my hand clumsily at making jams and other things. A wooden fruit bowl on the table with a hook for my bananas (which sometimes go bad before I can finish them so they become banana bread), grapes for the chickens and ducks, apples for baking in the winter, lemons for cakes and fresh lemonade in the summer, and occasionally a melon for the hot days. A composter will be out in the garden for any garden waste, chicken and duck waste and food scraps I don't end up feeding to the ducks and chickens which I can use to fertilise my garden. There will be a blender for soups and smoothies. A self-venting dishwasher, a washing machine and a heat pump dryer. A big American fridge freezer and the freezer has barely any room left from all the things I've saved relentlessly in tupperware tubs. A stand mixer for breads and meringue , and a proving drawer as well. There will be a modest little wine rack mixed with favourite fruit wines, gins (which I will have with lemonade and the occasional frozen homegrown strawberry) and homemade cordials and ciders. There will be a slow cooker which only really sees action in the winter for stews and mulling warm drinks. A hanging rack will be above the island with a selection of well-loved but trusty pans and pots with the occasional dried herbs or fruit from my food dehydrator or a vine of garlic bulbs. A utensil pot of a ceramic rolling pin, wooden mixing spoons, silicone tools to protect my pans, beloved silicone spatulas for scraping cake batter clean off the glass mixing bowls. On the side will be a butter dish and a glass cake stand that often has recently baked treats inside, like lavender shortbread, carrot cake and apple and cinnamon muffins. A glass bread dish with either a bought loaf or a homemade loaf. I will experiment with so many breads, rosemary focaccia, olive sour dough, sea salt breadsticks, goats cheese ciabatta, nori seaweed rolls.

The kitchen would be half part of the living room with a large fairy-light adorned archway connecting the two, with the table in the living room, a TV thats just viewable and hearable from the kitchen. A giant floor to ceiling old wonky brick fireplace with a wood burner with a stovepipe would be the main centre of the room. A big bookcase with all my books, board games and some houseplants, scented candles and framed artworks and photographs. The worlds comfiest corner sofa where I can stretch out my legs and have friends sit on it, and my cuddle chair in the corner. A coffee table and a footstool. And of course a big window seat that looks over the front garden, the lavender brushing the sill when the window is open, the occasional bee getting lost in the living room and having to be gently escorted out. Everything has gorgeously soft pillows and throws. The whole living room is rich dark blues and purples and clean fresh white details, with hints of galaxy print. I'd treat myself to having the sofa upholstered in rich dark purple or blue with a galaxy printed throw and white star cushions. There would be a star projector I'd switch on in the evenings. The front door is in the corner with a tiled place for muddy shoes and a coat rack on the wall with a console table which I try to always have fresh flowers on, with a bowl for my keys and my post. I'd have a big dried tree feature in the corner with shelves.

The stairs would be in the kitchen with a cupboard underneath with the hoover and the mop, and a chalk board on the door with reminders and a calendar too. There would be a garland wrapped around the bannisters climbing up into the landing. The landing and stairwell would be bright and adorned with art prints and a sunny window.

My bedroom would be an oasis of lavender and lilac and fairy lights. A four poster bed with gauze curtains. A big window seat above the living room one where I sit and drink tea and look over the garden. It will be a retreat, a haven to sleep and take away my worries and soothe and comfort me.

The second bedroom will be my studio. An explosion of paints, tools and fabrics with my sewing mannequins. A place to create. A space to feel inspired and creative.

And a bright and airy bathroom with a window right next to the bathtub.

I'm petering out and may come back to this. I just wanted to fantasise. For a bit.

And two hats for weathers.

1 note · View note