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The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree ( Submit your own)
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Questionable Friend/Crush for Philip Aymslowe.
When your mum thinks you're gay for your best friend (but you probably are)
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa
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Post 3+ times in three or more class threads during the course of a school year. Must all be done with the same character, be they a professor, student, or school portrait or ghost!
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February 9th, 1889 — North Bartonburg, Scamander Residence

Astrild had been ignoring the pains in her lower abdomen for the better part of two days. They came and went and she stubbornly carried on as if nothing at all were the matter. She'd even been sat at her desk that morning, wincing and biting her lip to try to keep from crying out during the sharper pains. She wasn't ready - it wasn't time until she said it was damnit. After being so uncomfortable she was unable to eat, the housekeeper finally gave her a firm talking-to. It was go-time. Now, or never. Or at least, now or... basically, now.

Apparating while being in active labor was something a healer likely wouldn't advise, but she hadn't had a healer look at her during the entire pregnancy so chose to ignore such things. While an uncomfortable means of travel for her condition - hell, any means of travel was uncomfortable at this point - it was uneventful.

The redhead hiked up her skirts over the freshly fallen snow - paused to grunt for a few minutes as another contraction overcame her - and then marched right up to Eugene Scamander's family home and thumped on the door. It was late, likely they were all in bed, but she rapped at the door until someone acknowledged her.

@Elsie Beauregard @Eugene Scamander
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