As a practicing Witch and small-scale herbalist, I often find that when I’m out and about I’m also absentmindedly on the lookout for any new, interesting or useful herb species that might help me in my practice. I even carry a small clean jam jar and a sharp penknife in my handbag at all times for if I spot a herb I just can’t resist and need to take a cutting of it for my collection back home. However, while I’m avidly seeking out roadside feverfew or happily snipping cuttings of a rare cultivar of lavender or sage, I’m always acutely aware of why I call the etiquette of herb-gathering.
These are a few simple rules by which I suggest all foraging Witches, alchemists and herbalists should abide that dictate the correct course of action for those who seek to collect herbs from places other than their own gardens. They are mostly fairly common-sense, but a few are ones that might be overlooked, but which can actually be of profound importance!
I will list the rules below, but bear in mind that it’s not like this is some onerous obligation that must be fulfilled, and nor is it some sort of “Witchcraft commandment” or infallible and unchanging list of sacred laws. These are a few things that I created for my own usage, and nobody else is under any obligation to use them. If you choose to do so, I’ll be thrilled; if you find a way to improve them, please do reblog this post with your corrections!
The Etiquette of Herb-Gathering
Remember that all plants are living things, and if you harvest them too severely, they will die. This seems obvious, but you’d be shocked how many people forget! This is especially important when what you’re harvesting is the plant’s leaves - always remember that leaves are how plants make their food, so leave enough of them to enable the plant to keep growing strongly.
Never forget that you may not be the only one foraging. Make sure that, when you harvest a wild growth of a herb, there may be others in the area who would also like to harvest that plant. Take only a little from a lot of patches, rather than using only two or three patches, but taking almost all of what is available at each one. This will not only ensure that other foragers can use that patch too, but will mean that when the patch regrows, you’ll know where to go back to in order to find it again instead of needing to hunt down a new patch each time.
When foraging on another’s land, ask their permission first! This seems so straightforward, but sadly people forget that plants growing in other people’s gardens (yes, even their front lawn) are that person’s private property! Taking cuttings or fruits from plants on that property without the owner’s permission is legally theft, and can be punished just like shoplifting or stealing a bike from a railing. It also means that the owner will know that their plant is looking smaller because it’s been harvested, rather than them thinking it’s died or been eaten by some wild herbivore.
Always cut stems at a diagonal angle. Never snip a stem so that it forms a circular, blunted end, because this can allow rainwater to build up on the surface of the cut. This rainwater can trap fungal spores, and cause the plant to get a serious fungal infection that may damage or even kill that whole patch. Instead, cut the stems at a roughly 45° angle, so that water beads up and rolls off more easily.
When collecting flowers, remember that other people like to look at wildflowers. Never take ALL the flowers from any wild plant, both because it prevents that plant from reproducing as it naturally wants to do, and because it means others who walk past the plant don’t get to see it’s beautiful blooms! If you own the plant, that’s another matter - you may WANT to snip off all flowers to prevent it from bolting, like with parsley. However, with wildflowers, always leave at least half the flowers on the plant so that it can continue to reproduce as nature intended.
Never pick a plant you can’t identify with total certainty. Yet another seemingly-obvious one that is nevertheless often ignored. This is often quoted for fungi, because some fungi can be quite poisonous, but if anything it’s even worse for plants. The medicinally fabulous plant known as yarrow, Achillea millefolia, is a very useful plant and a common component of herbal medicines. However, it looks almost identical to spotted water-hemlock, a species of plant so deadly that one bite can kill you in 20 minutes. Make completely certain that all plants you collect are positively identified, and that you flag all plants with commonly-confused poisonous cousins for further identification later if you’re not 100% sure.
Never harvest flowers from plants around beehives. Bees are one of the most important families in the natural world, being responsible for the pollination of tens of thousands of species of flowering plants all over the world and on every forested continent. Whilst most species of bees are solitary, and don’t form the large hives we assume are common to all bees, those that DO form vast colonies need similarly vast numbers of flowers to support themselves. When you come across a beehive, especially a boxed hive that’s clearly domesticated by humans, try to avoid harvesting any flowers from within 500 metres (about a third of a mile) around the hive(s). The hive needs all the nectar and pollen it can get, and due to the rising threat of colony collapse disorder the life of every single hive is a precious thing that must be preserved at all costs. It might be inconvenient for you, but it’s worth it.
These are just a few of the major rules that I personally suggest all foragers and herb-gatherers take to heart. Remember that you’re not the only Witch who needs their supplies! Thank you for reading :)
Summary:You’d remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he’d never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.
Genre: Angst. Fluff. Light Smut
a/n: This is a roller coaster of emotions, but it has a happy endng because I’m a sap and didn’t want to make myself cry.
He came to you like a breath of fresh
air, cleansing your body and bringing life to your bones. He was the
type of art that only existed on grainy canvases of white, beautiful
colors blending together to form a perfection to your eyes. He was
the smell of fresh rain on a summers afternoon, peculiar and
satisfying mixed into nothing other than complete and utter fondness
on your part.
It’s difficult to imagine the terror one would feel to one day wake up and not be able to see anything other than pure darkness. This is exactly what happened to Mrs. Kuroki, who lost her eyesight due to diabetes. Non surprisingly, Mrs. Kurki fell into a deep depression as she found it difficult to adapt to life without her eyesight. Her husband, heartbroken by his wife’s despair, thought of an imaginative way to help her enjoy the beauty in life: knowing that human senses adjust and compensate when one is lost, Mr. Kuroki planted thousands of flowers on their property. This kind gesture has given Mrs. Kuroki a new lease on life. Before, she had been grief-stricken that she couldn’t take daily trips to the town to meet new people and to socialise; she worried she would become a recluse. However, with visitors travelling from all over the country to come and view the beautiful garden, she has made a number of new friends and welcomes everybody to visit the garden. It is said that couples are particularly fond of visiting the enchanting garden which speaks volumes about the atmosphere this loving husband has created for his wife. This is a true testament to the fact that even during complete despair, something beautiful can grow.
do not get me wrong, anakin is an extremely effective sith—esp after order 66 and mustafar, anakin is conflicted and full of that kind of selfish awful misery that feeds on itself, which is where so much grief and evil comes from (not unintelligence or political antagonism, but a fundamental lack of empathy, of awareness of humanity existing outside yourself—laziness has created more pain and grief in the world than active hate, it is written)
but where anakin is selfish, obi-wan is painfully reaching, desperate to be disinterested. he subordinates himself to the jedi order, to anakin’s needs and then to luke’s, to the republic. it fucking kills him, so much of his conflict is him trying to be disinterested and failing, time and time again, to be disinterested—after all, he was the one who wept when qui-gon died, who couldn’t find it in himself to kill anakin on mustafar or on the death star. he’s trying, he’s trying so hard, to be the consummate jedi that everyone else needs him to be, but he’s not, he’s angry and conflicted and mouthy and impetuous and ultimately loves anakin and padme and luke and individual people more than he should.
but he wants so much to be good, to be obedient—can you imagine if one of he the sith had managed to turn him? if dooku (bc lbr sidious was never going to turn obi-wan) had made some coherent arguments in the midst of a firefight, if obi-wan had been a little more susceptible, if grevious had flirted a little more or anakin had broken away for padme openly, or someone had promised—
obi-wan, like his master’s master before him, would have fallen. and likely, he would have been more content that way. feeling his feelings, instead of viciously suppressing them, and praying that devotion would make up the difference there.
Summary:Distance is a cruel thing, and when you find yourself going astray, they are there to help remind you of just where exactly you belong.
Warnings: Explicit smut. Includes M/M smut as well. Slight angst. D/s themes.
a/n: 11k of smut. This is a new low.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Voice thick with irritation,
spitefulness leaking from plush lips that supported the thin
cigarette hung loosely from his teeth, a threatening gaze sized you
up and left you feeling defenseless and weak under the scrutiny of
coffee eyes, depths uncertain and unknown.
You weren’t exactly sure how you
managed to find yourself in this predicament, hands held at the small
of your back, wrists overlapping each other as a much stronger hold
pinned you in place. You could feel the drumming of Hoseok’s
heartbeat against your shoulder, grip tightening around your skin as
you poorly attempted to gain back any control you once had, which
hadn’t been very much to begin with.
Okay, so this is a very different thing than what I usually write. It’s basically an AU mashup, and all of our sides are human in this. It’s eventually going to have Logicality and Prinxiety, but not right away. This is just kind of a test balloon to see how you all like it. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: When Logan, a florist with a PhD in botany, decides to hire someone to work the counter in his flower shop, he assumed it would be no big deal. He would get his coffee from his friend Virgil’s shop, as per usual. Ignore his other friend Roman unsuccessfully flirting with Virgil, as per usual. He would continue to live a calm, unruffled life, as per usual. He could never have expected what a disruption one single Dad could make to his neatly ordered life.
Logan sighed, but closed the book he was reading and set it aside,
resigned to forget reading until his mother allowed him to come back to it. He
was tall, for a 6-year-old, and remarkably bright for his age. The word “gifted”
was often slung about by the various adults in his life. He really didn’t care
what labels they chose to affix to him, just so long as they kept letting him
study more things.
Logan sidled up to his mother, who was kneeling in the garden in
front of one of her many flower beds, pulling weeds. He really couldn’t
understand her obsession with these silly fripperies, but they made her happy
ergo, they made him happy by proxy.
“Do you know what this flower is called, sweetheart?” Logan shrugged
at his mother’s question. Flowers had never really interested him before. He
knew they were the kind with the white petals and the yellow middles, but
that’s about it.
“These are Bellis Perennis, or the common daisy. This flower holds a wealth of medicinal
properties despite its unassuming appearance.“ Logan leaned closer, intrigued. His mother smiled a little before continuing.
“When used in an infusion, it acts
as a laxative as well as an expectorant. It is also used as a home remedy to
help treat physical disorders such as arthritis and rheumatism. Direct
application to the skin through an ointment or poultice can aid in healing
wounds. And do you know what it means in the Language of Flowers?”
Logan stared at his mother and
wordlessly shook his head again, looking at those silly flowers in a whole new
light. Flowers could do all of that? And there was a language?!
“It means innocence and loyal
“There’s a language of flowers?!”
Logan’s mother smiled gently at his outburst, pulling him in closer. Logan
happily breathed in the unique scent of his favorite person in the world, a mix
of her favorite perfume, laundry detergent, moist earth and grass. He loved
learning new things, and now she was going to teach him something fascinating,
he just knew it.
“Of course! The language of
flowers, sometimes called floriography, is a means of cryptological communication
through the use or arrangement of flowers. Meaning has been attributed to
flowers for thousands of years, and some form of floriography has been
practiced in traditional cultures throughout Europe, Asia, and the Middle
East. It’s a very ancient practice, and the history of floriography is
tied with humanity. Every flower in my garden has a meaning, and I planted them
all for a reason.” Logan’s mother explained patiently, her smooth voice
soothing him as she gently moved him in front of her to see her garden with new
Logan contemplated the various
blooms and colors in front of him, his brow furrowed in thought. He had
dismissed these plants as useless frippery, but with this new information he
thought perhaps flowers might be the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
This was why he loved his mother so very much! She explained things to him,
helped him understand new things. He turned to look up at her, a bright smile
forming on his lips.
“Will you teach me about them,
momma?” Her answering smile was blinding.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Logan enjoyed mornings the best.
The quiet stillness before the world woke up, the taste of his usual cup of
coffee, the scent of his plants all around him. His mother had started him on
this path a long time ago, and now he was the proud owner of this delightful
florist shop and greenhouse. He ruefully smiled at the framed picture of her on
the wall as he put an arrangement together, feeling her loss particularly
keenly at this moment.
He had worked very hard to get this
place, and when he’d finally had the keys in hand, he knew exactly what to name
it. Minny’s Garden, named for his mother, was the only place to get any sort of
flower or plant in the entire area and he had worked himself to the bone to get
it to that point. It had always just been him, but as he’d started to take off
he had recently decided to hire some help to man the shop so he could be free to
spend more time in the propagation house, which was more his forte anyway.
Customer service was not his thing. People were not his thing, to be perfectly
frank. It was one of many things he had in common with his best friend, Virgil.
Most of the time, he felt customers were more hassle than they were worth. But this time? Early in the morning, before the
shop opened, before the customers and the phones barged noisily into his life?
This time was all his, and he relished it.
He glanced at the orders for the day, nothing too challenging there, and sipped his coffee. Virgil owned a coffee shop called The Darkest Roast, and it was one of the most popular places in town. Their claim to fame was that each barista would roast you more than the coffee beans. If you wanted sass and sarcasm with your latte, Virgil’s shop was the place to be. Logan grinned wryly at the “Fucking Nerd” scrawled on the cup where his name should be.
It hadn’t always been a popular concept, but after The Darkest Roast was featured on the Travel Channel that one time, it had really taken off. Honestly, Logan was pretty sure Virgil had only come up with that concept so that he’d have a solid business model that allowed him to be as rude to others as possible and still make money. The coffee wasn’t half bad either.
Logan moved around the shop on autopilot, getting ready to open for the day. This was routine for him, had been for years. Virgil and Roman both liked to tease him about being “in a rut” or “boring as fuck” depending on which of them you asked, but he liked routine, he liked knowing what to expect. There was something very comforting in knowing exactly what today, and every subsequent day, would bring. He’d wake up early, put on his usual outfit, get his daily insult and coffee from Verge while pretending not to notice Roman valiantly trying (and failing) to get Virgil to go on a date with him, then he’d come to the shop and go through his daily checklist. In a few minutes, the door would get opened, the phones would start ringing, and his day would begin.
He unlocked the door, and turned to walk away, but it was already opening, the bell above issuing a cheery sound.
“I’m so sorry, I know you just opened, but I saw from the sign in the window you were hiring…?” Logan tried to bite down the irritation he felt at having his private bubble invaded so quickly, and turned back.
Whatever response he was going to supply died on his lips when his eyes locked with the man standing nervously in the doorway, feeling a jolt of heat run down his spine. Well. This was new.