#and crimson roses also for mourning

[citrusdownn]

whispers of freedom and love spoken to flowers

[rainybyday]

It started with teenage trivia. 

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were all hanging out and playing games with each other. At first, it was just pvp games with the trio taking turns beating each other and gain more points in their score board. As time went on, Danny was the only one play a level based game with both Sam and Tucker mindlessly watching him go through the ‘Underworld’ level. It was when Danny faced his first pop of color in contrast to all the black and gray did he raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. 

“Why are there red flowers in this level?”

“Their Spider Lilies, they mean death, Danny.”

“Huh.”

And that was that, 

He really didn’t think much of it afterwards, the small fact tucked away in his mind, never to resurface again. 

Until it did. 

He took notices of some red spider lilies that were left behind after defeating Undergrowth. A lightbulb went off in his mind and made the connection that maybe that's why the plant-based ghost grew such flowers in his attack. 

Then he started to wonder if the other types of plants Undergrowth used in their fights also have similar meanings.

Chrysanthemums, he later searched on the internet, also symbolizes death. Crimson roses symbolize mourning and Hyacinths symbolizes deep longing. Danny also felt amusement when he found that some lilies symbolize rebirth and new life or how Carnations and Gladiolis mean remembrance.  

But it really hit home when he found out that some flowers can mean resurrection. 

He closed his phone after that. 

Yet, just like any other teenager who faced the rabbit hole called the internet, Danny found himself going back to search other types of flower meanings and symbolizes over and over again. When it wasn’t enough, he later had a stack of books about the meaning behind many other flowers scattered around his room. It was soon after did Danny started to detail the more interesting stories and meaning behind some flowers into an empty journal. 

Slowly, Danny started to learn the study of florigraphy day by day. 

Then one day the trio of friends were walking down the street from another ghost alert (turns out to be Cujo) with Sam explaining once again why the two boys should think of becoming vegan with Tucker explaining why meat was to amazing to give up. Danny only listened to the two bickers for majority of the walk, humming once in a while. 

Then he randomly inserted himself in between the two with a question.

“Hey Sam, what's the easiest flower to grow?”

It ended with Danny going home with three types of flower seed packets and small indoor pots, curtesy of a quick trip to the store.  

Surprisingly, with some help from Sam and Jazz, he did manage to grow some blossoms in his rooms. Even with an ecto-contaminated home and ghost running around the flowers manage to survive which left Danny with a sense of pride every time he wakes up to look at the arrangement of sweet alyssums, blue morning glories, and marigolds. 

(Sweet alyssums mean ‘Sweetness of the soul’)

(Blue morning glories, while short lasting, means infinitive love, trust, respect, and honesty.)

(Marigolds have so many meanings to them, yet he likes to think of them as ‘beauty and warmth of the rising sun’.)

His pride grew into affection, and soon he was growing more pots of flowers in his room - some by his window side, some handing from hooks on the upper walls, and some growing in a small dark spot with uv lights giving them light. It didn’t take long for his room to smell of flora which Danny loved. 

His small window side garden became a room/green house. Unfortunately, with his growing obsession with growing even more flowers he had to either move his hobby somewhere else or be satisfied with the small garden he has now. 

And so, Danny picked up his packets of newly bought seeds and started to plant even more flowers in a clearing near their hid out. 

So now Danny would always tend to his garden, always find time out his day to care, trim, weed, and water his flowers with gentle hands. He would pick the ones that were always done blooming and gift them to his friends or Jazz, not wanting the flowers to go to waste. Sometimes he would press some of the flowers dry, and once he found out how, he started to take his time picking and drying the flowers that were able to become teas. 

Truly his curiosity had blossomed into a sort of obsession for the boy. 

What he didn’t expect was for ghost to like said obsession. 

Maybe like is too much of a strong word but it seems to fit more or less. 

First it started with Cujo who Danny was chasing once again for digging up holes all over some poor guy's yard. Danny didn’t even realize that the chase was leading Cujo to his outdoor garden until they were right there. Danny was already panicking thinking that Cujo was going run right through his poor flowers when Cujo did the unexpected. 

He ran around his garden. 

Danny almost lost Cujo with how much he was gawking at the scene. 

Then it was Ember who refused to fight him since Phantom had some roses at hand (he didn’t think ok! he didn’t have time to shove his flowers somewhere safe from getting burn to ash thanks) because she didn’t want to burn them. 

Danny thought it was a Cujo think, after having even more weird encounters with other ghost and their avoidance to harm his flowers, he left to ask Clockwork about it. Turns out that ghost respect flowers because they are a common gift to those that had died, and when a flower is placed on their graves, they considered it a token of respect and acknowledgment. 

That really turned his perspective a full 180. 

(Maybe that's why he felt at peace when tending to his garden.)

Since then, Danny always grabbed a basket of flowers to take and place on empty graves routinely. On Halloween he would leave bundles of marigolds, on death days he would leave forget-me-nots, and on New Year's he would place daffodils. 

His actions didn’t go unnoticed by the ghost or the rest of the town. Soon, elderly would wave him over and ask him if he could place certain flowers on their loved one's graves, small elementary kids would give him common daisies to take with him and some adults thank him when he makes him rounds. 

Heck, even some ghost started to attack less and would sometimes watch him place some flowers on the graves, and every time he placed one on their graves they would puff up with pride at the token.

Danny never felt so at peace before. With a single blossom he can hold the peace he wanted in his town. With just a little bit of respect, slowly the tricky and pranks started to slow down. 

Little by little, Amity was able to breath. 

Slowly, the death was coming to rest. 

Now 18 years of age and Danny wanted to leave Amity. Already he established himself as a peace maker of sorts, with most of the ghost staying at the Ghost Zone with a few floating around. His rounds to the graveyard because a business of sorts with people asking to buy certain flowers for special occasions which he happily gave. By now, Danny was finically stable and thought it was time to move somewhere. 

But after a bit of thinking he choose a surprisingly reasonable place to set shop. 

Danny set his sights at Gotham and her ever growing graveyard. 

(While he may be a human boy with a love for flowers, he was also a King who wish to help his people bring a Balance.)

Add more in another post: Flower Shop Au Pt2

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

[genderdenied]

★﹕ tīlucta

pt: tīlucta :end pt

★ ⌒⌒ ;; coined by ! me

‿‿⋆﹒⊹ ; for ↓↓

100 acronymchaos event || day 5 prompts time + grief .. !!

☆⌒⌒ ;; definition

; a term unique to the grief an immortal feels for the people && things they've lost because of their immortality // grief of an immortal, immortal time & grief, etc

﹕★ name from " tīma " meaning time in Latin && " luctus " meaning grief, sorrow, mourning, etc also in Latin .. !! option w && w/o flower for personal pref .. :D

; IDs && plain text below !!

pt: tīlucta. coined by me, for 100 acronymchaos event day 5 with prompts time + grief. Definition: a term unique to the grief an immortal feels for the people && things they've lost because they live forever orr grief of an immortal, immortal time & grief, etc

name derived from " tīma " meaning time in Latin && " luctus " meaning grief, sorrow, mourning, etc also in Latin .. option w && w/o flower for personal pref .. :end pt

ID 1: A rectangular flag with 7 strips of varying sizes, with colours && sizes going in top-to-bottom order: medium dark red, small dark yellow, small dark beige, small light yellow, small dark beige, small dark yellow, medium dark red. The dark red strips have crack like spikes going through the other strips. The middle strip has 6 dark red crosses, 3 on the left and 3 on the right where in the center is a dark yellow stylized clock. :end ID

ID 2: the same as the previous but with a dark crimson rose inside the clock :end ID

; tagging : @radiomogai | @acronym-chaos ; myles is fascinated by the concept of time travel && also v interested in grief ( in a not weird way lol xe realizes how that sounds hsbshs ) and such .. so w these prompts xe couldn't help merging the two, and xe came up w tīlucta .. !! This has ended up as a term myles will personally use, and xe finds much joy in it .. !! also xe apologizes for the multiple pings, but bc xe is behind on the prompts xe has to post like 3 things in a single day .. !!

[nyx-v1]

TWST boys at your funeral Headcannons tw-mentions of deaths and funerals

[Heartslabyul],[Savanaclaw], [Octavinelle]

a/n-might be a little ooc

Riddle

Planned to whole thing, from the flowers, to what kind of clothes you would be wearing.(it’s not weird I promise)

Insists that you are buried on campus.

Stands by the casket the whole time, he also give the eulogy. The eulogy was surprisingly heartfelt.

Riddle also makes a point to not cremate, or anything that  like that. He wants to make sure that if there's a way to send you back home it's in one piece even if you're dead.

takes no disrespect towards you at all, any students who say anything get collared (for like a week before trey tells him it’s been long enough.)

Deals with everything after the funeral too

Riddle personally cleans your grave every week, and if he doesn't have to time he sends other students to do it.

Doesn't know how to grieve so he just takes on a lot of extra work. Basically he spends his life now studying, working, and then sleeping.  

Overall 10/10- he makes sure Crowley doesn’t put you in an unmarked grave.

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Pink carnation, meaning- I'll never forget you. 

"Please forgive me for not being there perfect, thank you for all you've done."

Trey

Helps Riddle organize everything 

Makes sure all students are well behaved 

The one who says they should have grim in their dorm

Makes sure to regular check up on everyone else in his dorm, especially the Adeuce duo.

Trey makes the food, if there is a need for food.

His way of grieving is by taking care of everyone else, ignoring his own needs.

10/10

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Rosemary- remembrance

"Sorry, it has to end this way.”

Cater

makes sure to backup all photos of you he has, picks the best photo of you for the funeral.

Surprisingly does not take photo during the funeral at all in fact he's off social media for like 2 weeks, before he decides to look at it

Before he takes the break he makes one last post dedicated to you.

Doesn't talk about what happened, in fact  he goes out of his way avoid the convo about how he feels

during the funeral he makes sure to dress apparently, he is also super quite when talking 

After like a week he's pretending to be over your death

What kind of flower they would give you+ What they would says

A pink rose- thank you

Ace

tbh would probably be in denial for a while, that or he gets extra annoying no in between 

Has to be dragged to the funeral by riddle 

Yells at crowley for your death, then gets lectured by riddle

oddly quite during the whole things

leaves right after the ceremony is done, Ace goes right to ramshackle after he leaves.

Straight up refuses to go to your grave, and to talk about you

Ace does grieve tho he does this by spending all his free time in ramshackle, more specifically your room

5/10

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say for a final goodbye 

 dark crimson Rose - mourning

Won't say anything instead he gently place the flower down, before taking once last glance then walking out.

Deuce 

offers his and aces room for grim to stay in

takes 2 hours getting ready. Has also never been to a funeral before

Offers to help with anything, because he's not the best academically he decides to help set the venue up

Deuce is on his BEST behavior during the whole thing, he remains quite and by Grims side

Cries a lot, but denies it

During the whole thing he's super emotional, and when ace goes off he can't help but agree

Wants to fight Crowley but doesn't bc he doesn't want to disrespect you like that

overall 

11/10 give him a hug

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Statice- I miss you, compassion, remembrance

"I might not be good with words, but thanks [name]."

[danganronpa96]

Au where the chapter 6 motive is hanahaki disease but monotora fucked up the laws of hanahaki. And now hayasaka and latte are coughing up flowers for dead people

I remember seeing you talk about this on the discord a while back and it was like a try not to cry challenge in real time /j

I went to do a little research on the hanahaki disease and I found that it doesn’t have to be a specific flower. So I decided to find what type of flower the two would be diseased with.

Latte -> carnations, specifically white. Since they symbolise purity and good luck, it’s a reminder of Latte’s pure and happy relationship with Mai, and the good virtue Mai gave Latte before her death.

This may underline a hopeful idea that she can overcome the disease, however as she does not want to forget Mai, it only gets worse.

Hayasaka -> roses, either red or crimson red. Red roses are a common symbol of love, so he won’t be able to turn a blind eye to his feelings towards Kurumada, something he had often struggled with. It also heavily reflects on his verbal confession in the trial.

Crimson red on the other hand represents mourning, something that will co-exist within Hayasaka for the foreseeable future. I’d imagine seeing such a thing every day would only wear him down further.

I also read that sometimes surgery to remove the flowers is possible, at the cost of removing all feelings (and/or memories) of the person they love. So, if Nesos gave them the option of getting rid of the disease with that clause in mind, I wonder if either of the two would give in.

The more I think about it, however, the less I’d see them ever consider it.

[marzipanandminutiae]

have you seen kaz rowe's video essay on the fashion in crimson peak?

Yes. I...didn't like it much.

For one thing, the idea of "tuberculosis chic" seems wildly misrepresented in a lot of Pop HistoryTM. From my research, it was less that women tried to look or act like they had consumption and more like the symptoms of consumption could mimic pre-existing beauty and behavior standards. It didn't change fashion; fashion led to the romanticization of the disease.

I also feel like the idea of the beautifully consumptive heroine doesn't apply here because:

Nobody has consumption. Edith coughs blood into a handkerchief, sure, but we know what's wrong with her. There's no mysterious Victorian novel disease going on.

Edith doesn't look more beautiful when she's sick. She looks sick: hobbling around crouched over, hair dry and frizzy, eyes red and squinting. There's no point being made here about the ~beauty of illness~ if the ill woman looked much better when she was well.

They also kept mentioning mourning, which surprised me because mourning only appears twice in this movie: at the funerals of the Cushing parents. Lucille's black dress would not have been suitable for deep mourning due to its red rose, shiny silk underskirt, and brown acorn passementerie. And later/lighter mourning would really only be recognizable as such in context, given that black was also just a fashionable color.

That video honestly turned me off of Rowe's content in general, though I could be persuaded to try it again given that that was one of their earlier pieces.

[theoperativeif]

The Funeral (Polina Short Story)

The sun rose over the Imperial Palace, bathing it in rays of light that cast themselves in long beams along the hallways.

Polina had spent her early days running through these hallways; she always loved the large portraits and the vibrant garden in the courtyard that was a wonder of the galaxy. Now she wondered if time had tainted her view of it, or if it really was never that special.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she noted how tired she looked. She looked over at the paper sitting on her bed, walking over to it and gingerly picking it up. She read the contents again, her hand trembling despite her best efforts. A knock at the door caused her to jump, nearly dropping the letter. Taking a moment to compose herself, she folded it, tucking it into her sleeve.

Stepping out into the hallway, Polina was flanked by two guards, their crimson armor shining in the sun's early light. Her attendant, the one who had knocked, struggled to keep up with them, the poor woman nearly colliding with one of the staff in her attempt to get out in front of Polina. Polina ignored the woman; if she paused or lost focus now, she would be undone.

Polina's heart ached as she navigated the familiar yet forever altered hallways of her childhood; each step brought a new memory, a new pain. She looked over at one portrait, its subject seemed to silently mock her with its stoic expression.

She eventually reached the Palace's large front doors that looked like they were built for giants. She paused and waited in place. Eventually, footsteps from the opposite side began to approach as her brother stepped into view, flanked by two guards of his own. He didn’t look at her. No smile of reassurance, no look of shared grief, instead, he looked away, not meeting her gaze at all. She clenched her jaw, soon looking away from him and stepping towards the door. He did the same, standing beside her silently as their guards moved to stand behind them.

The doors opened; the front of the palace had been transformed into a sea of flowers. Bright colors danced with the wind, behind that, Imperial flags fluttered with the flowers. The palace's garrison flags remained higher than the others, their fabric torn and scorched. The garrison was present, dressed in their dark armor; they stood out from the royal guards. Their heads were held high as they stood at attention, Polina noted the many members missing limbs or sitting in chairs.

Beyond them stood thousands of soldiers arranged in parade formations. Fighters flew overhead in a display of Imperial power while screens were projected into the air, portraying the crowds assembled in the city below, all gathered to mourn with her.

Her brother stepped up first. He delivered remarks complimenting the soldiers of the empire, cheering on their heroics, and pledging that this attack would not go unpunished and that the war raging would end with the Empire standing tall. Polina noted the implication that the Commonwealth sponsored the attack, something even the Intelligence Agencies dared not say.

He stepped aside to the applause of billions across the galaxy. Polina took a breath then stepped forward, pulling out the letter.

“Citizens of our grand Empire, today we stand united in mourning the loss of my sister. In my hands, I hold a letter from my sister whose absence we all keenly feel today,” she opened it, smiling at the poorly spelled letter, “she often sat in meetings she didn’t understand due to her age, she didn’t understand the war our veterans sacrificed so much fighting, nor did she understand the shortages facing our colonies. She did understand a feeling that our Empire's children face, loneliness; she didn’t want any child like her to be alone and afraid, so she wrote a letter asking if she could donate her stuffed animals to the Empire's orphans, then they would never be alone. I pledge to fulfill her last request. I also pledge that every family of those that fought and died in this tragedy are never left wanting. In this war, we often can forget why we fight; we fight for our children, for our families, to ensure the next generation can proceed on to a future without fear. And our veterans,” Polina turned towards the soldiers lined up, pausing for a moment, “you are the best of the Empire, I pledge half of the Imperial allowance for my family to go to you and your families. Our Empire stands with you. Thank you all for coming.”

There was silence for a moment as Polina stepped back, looking over the hidden faces of the soldiers. Suddenly, the soldiers' heads dipped as one as they put a hand over their hearts.

Polina turned, her eyes meeting her brother's suspicious gaze as he looked between the soldiers and her.

One of his advisors stood nearby, whispering into his ear. Snake, she thought, with the barest hint of a frown tugging on her features. Stepping back, the Emperor’s personal orchestra began to play as the coffin was escorted back inside the palace by the royal guards. Emotion tugged on Polina’s soul, begging to be let out, but she squashed it down, silently lashing out at it like a child being grounded.

The day passed like a blur; dignitaries became like a formless crowd, their words empty and promises of friendship seeped in ingenuous talk.

When Polina wondered where the day had gone, she trembled. It had passed like any other day.

Polina found herself walking along the grand halls, passing the ballroom and the burnt-out garden her father loved more then his children. Blinking, she found herself in the throne room, sitting on the bottom step. When she was a child, she would often sit on her father's lap as he heard pleas from his governors and subjects. That was many years ago.

"I assumed you'd be here," the familiar tone of her brother's voice pierced the stillness, startling Polina into turning towards him. As he approached, his uniform fluttered about him—still a size too large, Polina noted with an affectionate smile. A shadow moved behind him, and she tensed, watching as it mimicked her brother's movements before a towering figure emerged into the light. A grotesque figure loomed over them, resembling a metal skeleton animated into a ghastly form of life. Polina fought against the swell of fear—no, terror—that threatened to overcome her. Why should she fear her brother's protector? Was it not an Operative's duty to risk their life for hers? No, she pondered. Her apprehension wasn't directed at Operatives in general. Rather, it stemmed from the fact that this one pledged loyalty to her brother alone. Such a notion unsettled her. Was she truly so isolated that even her brother posed a potential threat? She had never coveted the title, and merely days ago, he was prepared to relinquish his place in line to her. "You shouldn't have done that," her brother's words snapped her back to the moment, his stance and tone brimming with agitation, his gaze attempting to pierce through her.

"Done what?" she inquired, choosing not to rise, instead leaning back and feeling the step's edge press against her spine. "The letter, the pledge, all of it," Vasily paced, his frustration palpable. "You don't grasp it, the Governors, the veterans—they are clamoring for someone to lead them." "Our father leads them," Polina retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm, which only served to agitate him further. "He abandoned the empire just as he abandoned you and Daria!" Vasily's outburst revealed a storm of emotions before he quickly subdued his anger. "Like he abandoned you," Polina murmured softly, offering her brother a compassionate smile. She understood that the pressure was always on him, she remained free from it until she freely placed the expectation of change on her own conscience. But Vasily had never been afforded such freedom. "He may have forsaken you, Vasily, but that doesn't mean the people see it. The veterans hold you in high esteem." "I was held in esteem," Vasily responded bitterly, his hand unconsciously flexing; Polina observed the Operative's stance relax behind him. "You are," she insisted calmly, forcing herself to stand and face her brother, "No one is cherished as you are, by all of us. They respect how you carry yourself with dignity and assurance." Vasily averted his gaze, fists clenched. The Operative took a step forward towards Vasily this time. Reaching out, Polina placed her hands on his shoulders, then pulled Vasily into an embrace. She didn't need to see his face to understand his turmoil. "I miss her too," Polina whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Behind them, the Operative lowered its head in a gesture that seemed to convey a shared sense of loss, not just for one, but for countless others.

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

The Embrace of a Weeping Willow

Introduction + The first part of the prologue.

I hope you all enjoy my silly little au-- which i got inspo for after talking to @ninjagirlstar5 abt their au :3

Introduction

Misery (mis·er·y) noun

A state or feeling of great distress or discomfort of mind or body

(miseries)

A cause or source of great distress or discomfort

Source: Oxford dictionary

---

Emptiness (emp·ti·ness) noun

1. The state of containing nothing

2. The quality of lacking meaning or sincerity; meaninglessness.

3. The quality of having no value or purpose; futility.

Source: Oxford dictionary

---

Marigold - Grief, jealousy.

Rose(Dark Crimson) - Mourning

Willow - Sadness

Source: The Farmer's Almanac

---

Being human means being miserable. Why do others not have to share the same misery I have? Why do they get to be happy? It's unfair. 

Source: the mastermind Prologue: A Dead Bird's Silent Song (Part 1/?)

The mattress that Yuki awoke on was rather odd. For one, it was not the one he fell asleep on.

For two, it was a patch of flowers. However, there were only two types in it. Instead of making a rainbow-y show, as he had come to expect from most patches, it only had two colors.

The first flowers, the easiest to recognize, were dark crimson roses. The second flowers were marigolds, which bore an orange-yellow color. However, the flower patch he had slumbered on was not the oddest thing.

As he had earlier reflected on, he had never fallen asleep in such a place. However, similarly to that reflection, he also had never been in this area before. At least, not that his memory had told him.

He began by sitting up, and then placed his hands on the ground to stand up. The petals of the roses below were silky, but they were practically ruined from how much weight he had placed down on them.

Aside from the flowers, the room was dark. He could not see any fancy wallpaper or even windows, and the only lighting were a few dim lanterns and a few strands of fairy lights hanging around. They were enough, however, and he eagerly exited the room once he had finally found the door.

The light outside was much brighter, blinding Yuki and forcing him to cover his eyes, while the wall paper was much more... beige. Once his eyes had adjusted to the new lighting, he continued to travel the unfamiliar environment with curiosity and concern. "Mom...?" He called out with a shaking voice, "Moooom? Where are you? Is this some surprise gift...? Where are you...?"

He sucked in a heavy breath upon hearing footsteps and told himself it must be his mother. But the walking pattern was off, and the thumps on the ground were heavy instead of gentle, and they were loud instead of quiet. He had lived with his mother long enough to know this was unlikely to be her, but he still told himself it must be to ease his own anxiety.

Obviously, he was not met by the green sweater and graying-orange hair of his mother. Instead, he was met by a man with blue hair, fierce ruby eyes, and a police uniform. He immediately startled back and squeaked.

The police officer, or what he guessed to be one, eyed him suspiciously whilst reaching for his belt. Yuki followed his gaze and covered his mouth at seeing the gun on it. "Please don't kill me--!" He squealed as he startled back a bit more.

The other paused all movements and stared at him with an expression of bafflement. He didn't say anything to combat the idea, but the look on his face was enough to tell Yuki that this was not a cold-blooded killer who hated gingers specifically.

"Who are you." The officer's voice was brash and seemingly carried hundreds of battles behind it. His eyes blazed in a similar manner, always prepared to fight. Another detail Yuki noticed, albeit unintentionally, was that he was obviously very muscular.

"Ah--! I'm Maeda Yuki!" Completely by instinct, he offered his hand out for the other to shake. He was not taken up on the offer.

The officer relaxed and dropped his hand away from his gun. However, in turn, he lifted his other hand and grabbed his badge from his belt, flashing it at Yuki before flipping it to reveal an ID card.

"Kinjo Tsurugi, Ishikawa prefecture police force." his eyes squinted a bit at yuki as he placed his badge back on his belt, as if trying to remember something, before they soon relaxed and he gave a much more at-ease smile. "Ah, that's right... You were listed as the lucky student this year, weren't you? Which would mean we're both ultimates."

At that, and at the smile, Yuki felt himself relax completely as he nodded his head in agreement. "So you're the ultimate police officer...?," suddenly hit with a new question as he was speaking, he quickly followed up the previous one, "Do you have any idea of where we are? Or how we got here? I don't remember coming here."

Kinjo's gaze suddenly hardened, and his warm smile faded with it. "I had presumed it to be some sort of training test done by surprise, but... upon hearing you calling out, that wavered a bit. They'd use robots for training, not risk actual lives."

Yuki shivered and hugged himself at that. "Yeesh," He murmured, "I'd hope so..."

Kinjo either didn't hear him or didn't care, seeing as he had turned away to look around. Either way was fine for Yuki, due to worry that it might make the officer reach for his gun once more.

"We should investigate." Kinjo said suddenly as he sharply turned back and grabbed Yuki's wrist. It wasn't hard enough to bruise, thankfully, but it was scary.

He slowly pried his wrist away from the other's grip, but nodded in agreement. "Alright. Maybe... Maybe there's some others here. I'll follow your lead."

With that, Kinjo began to trudge off, and Yuki followed after him.

(End of Prologue, part one.)

-

Notes:

Yuki's first impression of tsurugi: oh god he hates people with orange hair he's going to kill me

Tsurugi, actually: I fucking love people with orange hair. i want to kiss yuki maeda. i want to kiss rei mekaru. I want to marry yuki maeda. i want to divorce rei mekaru

[theosconfessions]

For Theo please:

🍼 [BABY BOTTLE] What's your OC's first memory?

🍋 [LEMON] What is their kryptonite/ultimate weakness?

🏵️ [ROSETTE] What flower symbolises your OC best and why? What does the flower mean in floriography?

🥯 [BAGEL] What does/has your OC have/had an unhealthy obsession over? What caused this obsession? How do they deal with it? Do they seek help?

Thank you!

🍼 [BABY BOTTLE] What's your OC's first memory?

Theo: 'Oh my god. hmm. I think my first real memory ... was PROBABLY falling off the monkey bars and shit when i was trying to show off for a classmate? like I THINK thats what i was doing.cant be for sure but goddamnit if that doesnt tell you everything about how my life would go after that moment. and no i didnt get his attention. [laughs] "

🍋 [LEMON] What is their kryptonite/ultimate weakness?

Theo: 'id say men but its also been women too. for instance dustin and i are going through some shit now because of some kids that i wasnt really aware of . so probably just sex in general. even still '

🏵️ [ROSETTE] What flower symbolises your OC best and why? What does the flower mean in floriography?

Black rose.. ” Dark crimson roses are symbols of mourning and grief."

'Ive had a lot of that. Probably more than what im comfortable with sharing with even my husband and a lot of my own doing. '

🥯 [BAGEL] What does/has your OC have/had an unhealthy obsession over? What caused this obsession? How do they deal with it? Do they seek help?

Theo: 'Oh..sex. for sure. This all started when i was younger and it just kinda became something that i realized that if i turned on a little something in myself that i could get pretty easy. unfortunately....this has caused a lot of problems with me and my husband which is almost ironic because as time goes on .... the less im able to give him...and its just kinda like.. karma i guess. my sex drives still there but my ability to perform ..i dont have it in me anymore. luckily dustin somehow likes other things about me [laughs] and yeah i was in therapy for a long long time. my husband still goes. i dont. its almost a moot point now '

a moot point you say theo.

thank you for the asks love! this was sooo funnn!!

[enarmor]

“ Sain. ”  The greeting is as it perhaps always is, but there is something slightly different to Kent's mood today. It is a bit embarrassed, a bit more lenient, perhaps a bit more lax, as he announces his reason for looking for him today.  “ Today's the Winter Festival. I hope you are keeping yourself out of trouble lately? ”

Not that he ever needed a reason to see the man. His question is filler, a way to allow himself to figure out the motions of conversing because he trusts Sain to pick up his slack. Some things take time. Some things take experience.

This one takes Sain's kindness, and for as much as Kent might exasperate himself looking over his fellow cavalier, he thinks the other man is just as patient with him in his own way as he always has been.

“ Stay out of trouble, and I might very well keep getting you gifts for seasons like these. ”  A fib, for he would still do it regardless.  “ ...It's been a while since we've last celebrated a holiday together, hasn't it? ”

He hands the man his gift in a bid to cover up his waxing nostalgic, mourning that it was the truth at all.  “ You're free to open it now, if you wish. ”

Underneath wrapping paper is a sleek box and inside is a small pocketwatch, chain and all. Its outer face bears the design of roses.

“ I don't think I need to tell you why I gave you this. ”  It's an exercise in keeping the man on a leash, in trying to train him to be more punctual and responsible as per usual, but...  “ ...However, I suppose I can confess that there's more to it than whatever you're thinking. ”

It's at that point Kent pulls out a similar pocketwatch out of his own outfit, holding it up for his other half to see.

“ You seemed keen to match when you first arrived here. So I also... ”

The pocketwatch Kent holds is not exactly the same. Instead of roses, his bears a design of lilies, but it's undeniable from even just a spare glance that the two were twins made by the same craftsperson.

Just the thought of it makes the Shield grow a bit more crimson in the tips of his ears.

“ ...Nevermind. I need not explain myself! ”

And he puts away his matching item, lest his embarrassment make itself any louder...

"Kent!" answers the Lance, his hand shooting up to the back of his head in tandem with him turning around. Instantly he's on his feet, trying to cover up what he had been fiddling around with before Kent arrived. The man speaks of 'trouble', which seems to make him skittish. Could there have been something sinister brewing?

He isn't the least bit surprised by Kent's gift--and on the contrary, had come to expect it--but the delivery throws him off. His shoulders slump and a frown quivers on his lips. To imagine the two of them, them, missing a holiday together... It's almost pathetic. That they missed a few, that it's been a while, stings worse. Sain finds himself wishing he could shake his younger self before he resigned from Ostia, that he could slap his face in the direction of Kent and show him what he would lose.

But the Shield continues, sort of stumbling his way through conversation as he normally does. He mentions a gift, and Sain sticks out his hand to receive it. The wrapping peels off very slowly, betraying the rip-and-tear one might expect from the roguish cavalier. This was touched by his partner's hand, though, and that makes it special. Special enough to want to keep it intact until it begins to rot.

"Ah, Kent..."

Once the lid pops off and the watch enters his grasp, he is overcome with emotion. Sain, after a moment of quiet, starts drowning in his own tears. They only wet his eyes like a soft and damp rag touching dabbing them down, but they feel like so much more. A torrent against a ship's hull, a storm over garden roses, a tidal wave dragging starfish back to sea. And Sain, too, feels like he's being dragged back. Back into the past, back into memories of Kent. It's almost like he could turn back the hands of his clock and he'd be there, and he'd see Kent too.

He's hardly being realistic.

But maybe that's not the point. Looking at his watch, and then its sister, and then his soul and then Kent's soul, Sain thinks he understands. Their days tick by the same second's hand. They'll never live a moment out of sync. They watch the turn of the same hour's hand, so no more will there be any 'while's where they haven't done this or anything else. And when they call for one another, when one says "I'll meet you in five," those are five ticks of the same minute's hand. They'll know exactly what the other means to say.

Sort of like now, how Sain knows that Kent means to say he wants them operating on this same rhythm. "...You always were kind of awful with words, weren't you?" he laughs, wiping his tears away as his umbrella of a smile opens over his mouth.

"You don't need to explain anything to me."

He reads his partner's intent to swallow the humiliation of this encounter, but dredges it back out of him by pulling him into a tight hug. It constricts his back, presses his chest, and lingers a few seconds longer than it should. There's a slight tremble as he pulls away.

Once he's finished, he gives the other a pat on the shoulder and a damp smile, and focuses back on what he was doing before his Shield arrived.

"Good timing, though! I've got something for you." Scooping one of two bundles off the bar table, he hands it off. "From now on, we're writing to each other! No more losing contact, no matter the distance."

He waits for Kent's gift to be opened first, then tears the wrapping off his and holds their sets together. They are each a stack of calligraphy papers and matching pens: red for Kent, green for Sain. The parchment, in addition to its color, sports a floral scent. This is the gift of space, where Kent had given him time. Now that their hearts beat as one and time won't keep them apart, the space between them will prove to be trivial. No matter where in the world they wind up, their letters will arrive--kept on-schedule by their matching pocket watches.

"Happy Winter Festival, partner... Let's never miss another one again."

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Round 1; A bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis Vs A bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

If you know who they are, or are pretty sure of it, please don't tell until this poll has ended!

First, let's talk about the bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis

Meaning and why these flowers were chosen: Yellow orchids, because he compares himself to an orchid kept in a greenhouse, because yellow is a color of heavy symbolism in his source material—for nothing good—and on the other hand because yellow orchids can represent friendship and new beginnings and he’s a sweet guy who gets a possible new beginning. Rue, because it means regret and he has plenty of that, not so much because of wrongs he committed but wrongs he was complicit in and inherited as a legacy from his family. Yew, because it represents life, death, and reincarnation and he was almost an avenue for someone’s reincarnation. It also represents evil and protection from evil, and someone close to him isn’t always sure which he’s going to be. Bird’s-foot trefoil, because it means revenge and he helps someone deliver comeuppance to those who had wronged them, and though I’m not sure he was in the state of mind to appreciate it as revenge for himself, he deserves to. Yellow gladiolus, because gladiolus represents strength and that’s the last thing anyone would expect this fragile young man to have but in a way he does. Yellow peony, because peonies can represent bashfulness and he is shy and awkward and so repressed. Sunflower, because it can represent intelligence and the pursuit of enlightenment; he is a devotedly scholarly type (in fact, he likes botany a lot so he’d probably vibe with this tournament idea) and knows better than to support the ideologies of his family; he is enlightened beyond their prejudice. Yellow amaryllis, because amaryllis symbolizes love—he is deeply, yet delicately, in love with someone who has brought hope into his life—and because it also means unrecognized beauty and I think that would be funny but neat for him, given that he’s unattractive but possesses a kind, potentially beautiful personality. Description: ‘God, what a pathetic loser’ you think (assuming you’re, ahem, the POV character, but I get it) and it’s a fundamentally compassionate person who was only complicit insofar as he was trapped in an abusive system and had succumbed to despair. Incredibly polite to his shitty family and tells the first person who asks that he thinks the family home should be burned to the ground. He may be a bit ugly and awkward, but in good circumstances he radiates the silly joy of a nerd. Also, he’s one-half of one of my favorite fictional interracial couples; they are such a good and sweet and thematically resonant duo

Check their post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: Dandelion- overcoming hardship [Hes been going THROUGH it, like its been rough for this guy] Asphodel- my regrets follow you to the grave [he is riddled with guilt, for things he did, for things he didnt do, just- so much guilt] Poppy- eternal sleep, imagination [dreams are a very important aspect of the media] Chamomile- patience in adversity [he has been scraping by not dying by the skin of his teeth, he is constantly experiencing the Horrors] Red Columbine- anxiety [he is soso goddamn traumatized] Hydrangea- Frigidity and heartlessness [hes kind of a bit of an evil bitch] Rhododendron- Danger [He has been in non-stop life threatening danger since the series began] Dark Crimson Rose- Mourning [he is defined by his grief and regret] Queen of the Night- enjoy small moments because they do not last [Any minor joy he finds is immediately crushed, this man CANNOT have nice things] Description: Ohhhhh he is riddled with guilt. He is a private investigator. Everyone he loves is dead, its all his fault, it also kind of isnt. He is in a toxic yaoi situation-ship with a ghost in his brain. He is a pathetic wet cat and every eldritch god he meets wants to fuck him so bad it makes them look stupid. Hes serial killer on accident but also on purpose. Hes british and half of the media hes from is him whimpering or gasping- but it isnt horny- hes just so miserable. He loves art, he beat a widow to death with a rock one time. Hes iconic, hes wife material, he had a severed head at one point (not his).

Check their post here

[lothricknightgirl]

Abyss

A WIP prologue of a fic I'm hoping to post someday. I'm putting it here so I can get some early feedback for revisions, and also because I like watching numbers tick up.

Yes, before you ask, it is a shipgirl fic for Kantai Collection. Yes, it's also a Dishonored crossover.

:>

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The sun rose over Dunwall’s bay. 

Atop the high white walls of the aristocratic quarter, two did sit and converse.

“Do they not unnerve you?”

A scoff.

Bellowed low did the mournful calls of a wounded whale echo across the water, sunlight glinting off the blood-sullied ships calling their fair port home.

A sigh.

“Of course.”

They turned their eyes away from the bay, and the victorious hunting horns sounded.

Crimson splattered against decks as the cheers of many working men went up into the air, the scent of salt and the stench of iron pervading through the air. 

The whaling trawlers stood still on the water, towering over the smaller boats in the docks, waves slowly lapping up against the sides of their looming steel hulls, as ichor from their crew’s latest prey dripped, dripped, dripped down onto their decks, flowing down the sides like a macabre curtain. 

Gore pooled into the bay, and it was whaling season in Dunwall again.

Deckhands whistled as crates and blubber were hauled ashore, bosun’s ear-bleeders and wounded animal calls drifting across the port, interjoining into a discordant chorus of ship’s horns and voices high over low as the bustle of the returning hunt began.

“Voids, just lookit the size of ‘er! We’re eatin’ good tonight lads!”

Eyes roved out over the water, stormy grey and gazing off into places elsewhere.

“Can barely believe it myself I say, she’s nearly bigger’n me bloody house! What a beauty of a beast.”

Smoke drifted into the air from a pipe, attached to a pair of cracked lips hidden behind a scruffy ill-maintained beard.

“Daniels, keep yer mitts off the crates! If I find even a piece o’ that blubber missin’, I’ll take my cut outta yer hide, you good-fer-nothin’ yellow liver!”

Calloused and bloody hands gripped the railing at the bow of a ship, the limbs they were attached to hidden by a black wind-weathered overcoat, whale-leather exterior shining under the heavy gaze of the sun. 

“You keep yer hands away from that Bessie or I’ll have words with you at the end of my gun, you salt-ridden dogs! Away, away with ye, to yer posts!”

Captain Gregor Hobson of the Red Lady’s Hymn sighed, raking a hand backwards through his hair, whale-oil pale with a meager speckling of grey here and there. 

“Oi, Claggard! Ease up on ‘em, no reason to get so worked up this early when we’ve just brought in a haul like this.”

His voice was tired and exasperated, smokey and slow like a cask of fine liquor, or a trail of burning gunpowder leading to an ammunition storage, depending on his mood that day.

The first mate stood pinned in place, before quickly nodding and scarpering off without a word, not without one final glare at the smug deckhands.

“And fer the rest of you, if I find even so much as a hand's width of that blubber missing, I’ll feed you to it. Get back to work, the lot o’ you!” He turned, and the crew took to their stations with all the speed of a man being chased into hell without so much as a backglance.

“Blimey, he’s terrifyin’.”

“Aye. He was a sarge, fer the navy. Tyvia, I think. Sunk near a dozen ships himself and ate a man’s heart out on the deck during the wars, from what I heard tell of.”

“Malarkey, the both of you. He’s an old sea-dog, nothin’ more, nothin’ less. Just keep yer hands away from the whales if you want to keep ‘em. He’s ruddy well good with that sword, and I don’t fancy losin’ any more fingers than I already have.”

Hobson scoffed, turning his pipe over the port with a good thunk against the rail for good measure, reflective mood soured as a heavy frown worked its way onto his sea-wizened face. 

“Excuse me.”

He cast an eye over his shoulder.

Another sigh, barely suppressed as the frown dropped from his face like a slick trout.

A thin man stood behind him, face pointier than a shark’s with twice the teeth to match, eyes narrowed down to dagger points and holding a watch in his hands, impatiently checking the time and tapping his foot.

A shining brass badge pinned to his vest shone in the rays

“Mornin’, Harbormaster. What can I do you for this fine day?” He greeted, turning and leaning back against the railing nonchalantly, tipping his hat up. 

The Master looked down his nose from his head’s perch upon his far too spindly body with a sneer.

“Yes, yes, good morning and all that, we hardly have time for pleasantries. State your name and import, I have important places to be and this isn’t one of them.”

His voice was a mixture between coarse grating sand between his ears and a poor imitation of a noble’s nasal dulcet tones.

Hobson only narrowly kept from rolling his eyes at the behavior. Slap a new accent on, think you’re taller’n everybody else and suddenly you’re the talk of the Tower. 

Still, as much as it grated, the Harbormaster was a rung above him in this twisted labyrinth of a society, so he played along for appearances sake. 

“Of course, of course, wouldn’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’ve got some very important things to be doin’. Just follow me and we can be done with it right quick,” he assured, tone falser than his bosun’s teeth, smiling wide like a whale waiting for its next prey to wander into its maw.

The Master’s head inclined, chest puffing out, though he straightened himself out before it could become too obvious, glancing about none too obviously.

Hobson pretended he didn’t see it, whistling a jaunt as he guided the man away and down to the hold, past the whale strung up in the crane above them. 

Hook, line and sinker with these types, every time, like leadin’ a rat to bread.

An hour later found the man off of his ship, wandering away with his hands stuffed into his pockets, probably to bugger whatever poor sod he set his eyes on next that was within his reach.

The Red Lady’s Hymn sailed for no company, and no sponsor. 

To a man like the Harbormaster, it would’ve been easy prey for an ego boost, bossing about independent sailors on their own ships from the safety of his position, conversely to the myriad of trawlers moored in the bay marked as Royal Hunters, the biggest group of sailing shills this side of the continent. 

Hobson watched until the slimy eel disappeared into the throng of sailors before turning back out across the bay, blowing out a long exhausted heave, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands to rid them of the salt’s sting. 

The Hymn hummed under his hands, engines whining with electrical power under the strain of the immense creature above the deck, groaning as blood sluggishly dripped from harpoon wounds along its flank. 

“I know girl, I know. Just one more good haul and you can rest,” he whispered, waiting for the humming to settle before striding off towards the bridge, barking orders to the crew as the church bells further inlands began to toll.

Below the deck, buried deep within the guts of the hulking steel beast of a ship, was the Hymn’s twin hearts, glowing as the whale-oil within churned and sparked with arcane energy, rusted screws rattling in their places as the engineers did their best to sooth the beleaguered machines. 

The Red Lady’s Hymn was ancient, by modern day whaling trawler standards. 

It wouldn’t be out of the question for Anton Sokolov to have walked the Hymn’s deck himself when it was just WT-032, the last of the Driscol class ships, marking the beginning of a new line as the trawlers were further refined.

Three crews had manned the decks of the Hymn in her time, and all but one of them had met grisly fates at sea at the hands of beasts unnamed and unknown. 

And yet, every time, the Hymn had sailed back into Dunwall to do her duty as always, towed in by tugs, or, in the incident that earned her the moniker of Red Lady’s Hymn, by the tides themselves. 

It had been a foggy morning then, all those years ago, bitter winter come to lay its weary bones into the bay as ice crept around the shores, and WT-032 had been missing at sea for three weeks. 

The Watch had all but given up on it by the beginning of the second week, and the only ones still looking for it in any capacity were sailors wary of happening upon its wreck. 

Then, in the waning days of the Month of High Cold, a ship had sailed into port, sluggishly maneuvering into dock until her hull had ran aground the shore with an awful shrieking noise, almost touching the nearest house with her prow until she rasped to a stop, barely a finger’s width away from shattering its window. 

The Harbormaster then, a crabby old man with little to say beyond poison to spit at younger folk, had come running out of his hovel with his face twisted into an angry rictus and shouted for the captain of the vessel to step onto shore, then abruptly fell silent. 

The hull loomed over him, red ichor drip, drip, dripping out of her scuppers and onto his face, filling his nostrils with the heavy cloying scent of iron as it dribbled down his chin. 

The carcass of a whale still hung above the abandoned vessel, bereft of all life as it slowly shifted in the wind, sending creaks rattling down the cranes holding it aloft. 

Blood congealed into the cold oak of the deck, spattered about in great pools and littered with splinters, some planks sticking out like jagged teeth, and others split in two, like the steps of a mighty giant had sundered them apart. 

No matter where the Watch had searched, after the calls had gone up, no crew were to be found, corpses or otherwise.

It was like they had been plucked from the decks by the hands of the void itself, leaving it to drift away on the winds, pulled along by the tides like a lost child by the hand of a mother.

That day, in the cold of Dunwall’s winter, the dock-goers had gathered and listened as the vessel’s engines sang, like a ghostly siren’s chorus, solemn and pained as it strained to keep itself going on what little fuel it had left.

The sailors would drift home that morning, minds elsewhere and attention paid to places far away as the song echoed across the waves, the blood drip, drip, dripping off of her deck and into the bay, seemingly never drying no matter how long it stained the decks, or so they say.

WT-032 earned the moniker Red Lady’s Hymn that day, for the color of her crimson shawl and the notes of her sorrowful song. 

As much of an curse as she was a blessing, she was truly a terrible and wonderful thing to see over the horizon, hull bloodied with whale-gore more often than not, her song whispering across the waves as the silhouette of a mighty beast caught in her crane wavered against the setting of the sun beneath the sea, like wet paint running down a canvas. 

As the moon came up over Gristol and colored the ocean in a ghostly pale blue, the Red Lady’s Hymn set out for her next hunt, skies cloudless overhead and waves calm beneath her hull.

Captain Gregor kept a watchful eye over the sea, hands steady on the wheel as a quiet tune carried over the deck in chorus with the humming of the Hymn’s heart. 

He turned slightly, away from the windows, just enough for the glow of the moon to leave the corner of his vision, grasping for the lighter in his pocket and deftly lighting the pipe perched precariously on the wooden surface beside him, lifting it to his mouth and turning back to face the deck.

He stilled.

It was quiet. 

He leaned slightly over, casting his gaze about for his crew and finding nothing but air. 

His heart slowed as his eyes narrowed, setting the pipe down. 

He thumbed open the lock on the furthest right window, before calling out in a clear voice, “Boys, how’re the seas lookin’?”

The only answer was the waves, gently lapping against the Hymn’s hull, song eerily silent. 

Unnerved, he called again, voice unsure, to no avail. 

His eyes narrowed further, and his hands itched for his sword.

Turning on the spot, slowing the ship and leaving the wheelhouse, he opened the bulkhead and stepped out into the cool night air, breezeless and still.

Closing the heavy cast door behind him, he strided down the steps, whale-leather boots click, clack, clicking against the deck.

Two paces.

No sign of anybody.

His heart beat faster, like a war drum thudding in his ears. 

Four paces. 

“Boys?” He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

No answer.

Six paces.

His back was nearly against the aft’s railing now, the Hymn’s heart still quiet beneath his feet, his voice echoing across the waves. 

Eight paces. 

The Hymn sang. 

One, low, haunting note, like the death-call of a whale in her last throes, reverberating in his chest as it froze like ice, heart dropping like lead into his gut as it crescendoed, louder, louder, the engine’s whining almost reaching an unearthly wail, before- 

Death, yawning wide open, like a cavernous maw, a black and cold abyss.

A hat hit the deck without a sound, a scream evaporating into the air, never making it out of his mouth as more than a rattling gasp. 

When the dawn rose over Dunwall’s bay once more, and the hunt once again returned victorious to the bay only to find its waves silent and songless, the Red Lady’s Hymn was not there to greet it.

______________________________________________________________

Abyss

noun.

A deep or seemingly bottomless cavern.

“A rope led down into the abyss.”

______________________________________________________________

[nightwingsaregoths]

oh btw for context for the victorian flower symbolism tags ( at least according to the websites i found): blue anemones mean mutual trust, affirmation of intelligence, & love/respect; baby's breath means everlasting love; pink camellia means longing for you; red carnations mean 'alas for my poor heart, my heart aches, deep love' (first two could also apply to greatness grieving for quickstrike); gardenia means 'secret love' which i thought was rather fitting, aha; heliotrope means eternal love & devotion which is just so quickness i can't; blue hyacinths mean constancy; honeysuckle means bonds of love; lavender DID mean distrust in the victorian era but it also represents sapphic love nowadays so i thought it was fitting, and yarrow means everlasting love. and for the ones after quickstrike dies: zinnia means thoughts of absent friends & lasting affection; dark crimson roses mean mourning; forget-me-nots mean "i'll never forget you"; and purple hyacinths mean sorrow. i thought it was very angsty and fitting!

that is so very thought out and I love it. I bet that Quickstrike would be whipping out one of those handy books on flower meanings and studying it, just to understand things better, but I wonder what happens after she dies. I wonder how Princess Greatness will express her affections in flower language if there's nobody to receive her bouquets :(. Obviously, she can't send them to Deathbringer, who Princess Greatness has elevated to Quickstrike's former position, as no one knows of her secret love affair with Quickstrike. Of course, Princess Greatness likely can't talk of Quickstrike's death at all, at least not after a certain period of time has passed. She's just there, posture worse than ever, sinking into her angsty grief. No one to talk to at all.

[imhereforscm]

You have an natural talent for writing ♥️. The Karno angst fic is fabulous. So here i am requesting two fics linked together. Please make this fic a continuation of ' new '. Where a goddess reader dies and gets reborn as a human girl and falls in love with Scorpio in her teenage years; but Scorpio rejects her. They both die and are reborn as a God and Goddesses. But reader has no memory of her past life and she starts dating Tauxolouve but Scorpio still has feelings for her. Please give this two ending -

• Where she regains her memories and falls for Scorpio.

• She doesn't remember her past life and she is happily married to Tauxolouve.

Another thing I am typing this half asleep, so I hope you can understand what i am trying to say. Take care of yourself, do not worry. You are a talented writer. You are my inspiration ❤.

"New" part 2

Genre: angst

Warnings: graphic death scenes, a lot of blood, heavy language at some points, mentions of attempted suicide

A/N: I feel like you've been waiting so much, I'm so sorry.(⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) Also, thank you thank thank you so much for the beautiful words!!｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

Tauxolouve's screams made his vocal chords feel ready to snap, his head about to split in two and his veins to rip through his skin by the boiling blood flowing through them.

The god on the receiving end of his hatred shrunk back into himself, horror overtaking him at Tauxolouve's enraged state.

Tauxolouve was always known for his kindness, his tranquility and patience, along with his soft-spoken nature. But now, with the crimson red of your blood drenching his white uniform, like spilt paint on a canvas, everything became a memory, his eyes piercing the lower ranking god, filled with loathing. "You were supposed to protect her!" Tauxolouve's voice cracked as his volume rose more and more. "She picked you for that reason! Because she relied on you! She believed your love was enough to provide her a good life and you just allowed her to die like this!" He looked down at your steeled form, blood staining your tunic through the broad wound across your chest, were your ribs got crashed by the pillar that had crumbled a few minutes ago.

The god felt ashamed, having all the eyes on him like this. As if the swarming deities in the grand hall were crows, ready to eat his corpse. He slowly rose to his feet, his golden sandals and knees stained with your blood and then he ran away. Away from the stains he could've prevented if he hadn't abandoned you and ran away first. If he hadn't betrayed your blind and devoted trust, yet he couldn't run away from them completely. The blood was on his clothes and would always follow him.

Tauxolouve hugged your broken body close and with his face buried into the crook of your neck, he sobbed and the tears created wet trails down your collarbones, before mixing with the traumatizing amount of blood across your chest.

Your ribs had broken and your heart was the next victim, leaving you with nothing but hushed lips and eyes that harbored no real meaning in their attention, as they were left half lidded and dull.

Tauxolouve didn't care about the pitiful stares that were present only for the sake of susurrus, as he cried like a small child against your body, not leaving your side once even when he felt your body growing cold beneath his palms. "My little lady... My sweet angel..." He mourned against your lifeless skin. "Why did you have to leave me? If only I was there sooner. If only I could prevent it all...!" He cried out, the pain so intense he swore it would slice his chest open, just like yours.

That day was the day Tauxolouve lost himself. He became distant, living his torture by himself every waking moment of his terribly long life. And how he wished he could just die, but he couldn't simply do that. The time he tried to rip the stars out of his eyes, the king had to intervene and for a long time afterwards, he had to be supervised at all times. Some days by Karno, some by Huedhaut, some by Leon. He wasn't trusted to be alone for many years afterwards, everyone in fear, thinking he might try something like that again.

"Feeling romantic tonight?" Leon addressed him, striding up to Tauxolouve, whose eyes were casted high upon the night sky.

"Why are you here?" He asked and even Leon's heart twitched uncomfortably at the lifeless tone. No matter how much time went by, he refused to get used to this new, broken Tauxolouve. "You don't need to watch me anymore."

"Who said I'm obeying orders?" Leon scoffed, deciding to hide his true feelings under his usual cocky mask and came to stand beside Tauxolouve, who was leaning onto the flinty edge of the top of the glorious palace. Leon's whiskey eyes wandered around the sky, searching through the countless constellations, until he spotted a certain one, shinning exceptionally brightly tonight. "So that's why you're here..."

Tauxolouve remained wordless, his own hurtful turmoil swirling like a ravaging hurricane within his mind.

"Lou..."

Tauxolouve hummed and even that tiny indicator that he was listening was enough to satisfy Leon.

"She hasn't lost her stars."

Tauxolouve's dark irises, slowly turned to his minister, his eyebrows furrowing suspiciously. "What are you saying...?" His voice came out a little hoarse, given how this was his first conversation for the day.

"Lou..." Leon averted his eyes from the endless starry sky and looked deep within Tauxolouve's. "She's out there."

Tauxolouve's fingers twitched against the flinty build of the top of the palace at the sound of those words. Could he really hope? He honestly feared that. He feared being wrong and reliving the loss all over again. "If you're playing with my feelings, stop this instant."

"I'm not fooling you." Leon contradicted him, almost insulted he was suspected of such a thing.

"I know your sense of humor can be twisted." Tauxolouve pushed some more verbally.

"I won't lie, it can." He snorted. "But not now. Now I'm being honest."

Tauxolouve pursed his lips and stared at the far off sky's horizon. Could he really hope...?

Maybe he could, if he looked lower. Much much lower, away from the Heavens and down on Earth.

Hair were swaying in the breeze and eyes looked up at the sky. If only they knew they were admiring the same constellation.

You looked up and your lips naturally curled into a smile. "You're here, good." You sat up straight and made room for Scorpio to join you on the bench.

"You said you needed me, so make it quick, I'm busy." He started coldly as he took a seat beside you, but still keeping a certain distance from you.

Your smile twisted into a nervous one, your fingers fidgeting with each other and you looked down at them, searching for the correct words.

"Hurry it up, woman." Scorpio complained impatiently. "I don't have all night." It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with you and you didn't know that, but neither was homework the reason. He just wanted to run away from his feelings... Scorpio loved you, but held back. Looking into your eyes, he identified the righteous thing that needed to be done immediately.

His life was intense and he meant that in a negative way. He had to deal with things people his age—or literally anyone—shouldn't. The most dangerous kinds of people would often chase him down for illegal negotiations of his father and the money he owes these sick people.

"Scorpio, I..." You paused, your voice lowering as you shrunk into yourself, your shoulders rising as if to hide you between them. "I love you...!"

Your words were only three, but how they made Scorpio feel... It was indescribable. The dilemma was stabbing him repeatedly. One half of him was ushering him to take you into his arms and kiss you deeply, yet the other dragged him away, saying how it would be cruel to put you in danger by mixing with him. You deserved to be safe and by his side, you couldn't, since anything dear to him could be used as bait to get him to do anything they wanted.

"What... Do you say...?" You asked timidly, every terrible scenario racing through your head at once at the sight of his shocked expression. You swallowed thickly as his deep voice tumbled out of his throat and one of those feared scenarios turned to reality, throwing your heart onto the ground and hearing it break like glass.

"Let's forget this conversation ever occurred." Scorpio's dark eyes shifted to the side, uncomfortably. He got up from the bench and took a few steps away from you, before pausing and with his back still facing you, he spoke words that hurt you both. "Nothing can exist between us." Walking away from you and crossing the dark street, Scorpio clenched his jaw and his fingers curled into fists. The half of him he just denied screamed at him to turn around and apologize. Explain everything and love you. But he didn't...

The next day, you avoided each other at all times and places. You, because the sight of his face reminded you of your heartbreak and him, because the sight of you reminded him of the feelings he had to deny.

School was finally over and the crowd previously stuffed into the building began swarming out on the streets, everyone huffing and groaning, finally free of their boredom and all the irritating people they had to deal with.

You were about to walk back home too, when you spotted Scorpio standing just below the stairs, looking down at his phone with a disturbed expression.

He was about to leave, when you rushed up to him and called out his name, but to no avail, since he hadn't heard you. You respected his declination from yesterday night and you only wanted to ask him to forget all about last night and see if you could remain friends, like before.

Scorpio kept walking forward fast and with rather aggressive and determined footsteps and you found yourself practically jogging to catch up to him. He took a turn into a narrow alley and you were finally able to reach him.

"Scorpio..." You spoke with slightly ragged breaths.

His inky eyes opened widely and he turned around to face you. "What the hell are you doing here, stupid?!"

You were surprised by his sudden outburst, seeming eager to shoo you away.

"I'm not here to bother you, really! I just-"

"No, that not it, you don't get it. You need to fucking leave now!" He demanded and knowing you shouldn't push your luck, you were about to comply and leave, when another voice joined the two of you.

"You got a girlfriend? Well now, that makes the job easier for us." A man with a scar across his face stepped into view and gave Scorpio a twisted grin.

"She's not my girlfriend. I just found her wandering here." Scorpio contradicted him, doing his best to come out unbothered by your presence and convince him he's never seen you before.

"Oh, really?" The man seemed to see through that lie and pressed on for answers. "You certainly seemed really passionate about getting her to run away. If she was a mere passerby, she'd walk away eventually, but you ordering her to leave...? That means she would've stayed."

Another man, taller than the first one came behind you and grabbed your arms tightly and making you wince in pain.

"I told you she doesn't have anything to do with me! Get that shit through your thick skull!" Scorpio raised his voice and the man laughed with a hoarse tone, which sounded like he had been smoking for years.

"You know your bastard old man owes us a shit tone of money." He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small, but sharp knife.

"Not my business anymore. He threw me out and disowned me." Scorpio clicked his tongue and took out his own knife.

You were left breathless, watching the scene unfold before you. You never heard of that part of Scorpio's life before, even though you had assumed you were close.

The man lashed out at Scorpio with the knife pointed to his throat and you screamed out his name in fear, thinking Scorpio was done for. But your heart raced in a somewhat relief, when Scorpio grabbed his wrist and twisted it unapologetically, proceeding to brake it in the process.

The man with the scar hissed and groaned in pain, holding his broken wrist close to his stomach and glaring at Scorpio, his knife falling to the dirty ground of the alley. "You bastard... You're quite reckless when we have your woman."

Scorpio's gaze shifted to you and then into one of horror and regret, seeing your face twist in pain and your vocal chords squeezing out a scream of agony, when the tall man holding you plunged a knife into you.

Your world darkened before your eyes, with the last sight being Scorpio's enraged and devastated face and the hot feeling of your own blood, dripping from your open wound and staining your clothes, contrasting your body, which started growing cold.

Around fifty years passed and you waved your hand at Scorpio, from the balcony of your house as he passed by after a late night shift in the department of punishments. "How was work today?" You asked and your smile tugged on his heartstrings.

"The work was fine, the idiots there were the shitty part." He replied and you chuckled at his usual tone and choice of words. "How... Have you been?" He asked bashfully, keeping his casualty with you under a certain point, fearing his true feelings will come out and he'll ruin even those small and peaceful moments with you. You were Tauxolouve's lover and he knew better than to steal another man's woman.

And it was also the fact that your presence was what made Tauxolouve happy again. He heard about your previous divine life and how it ended and as well as the way Tauxolouve's heart was crashed, along with your ribcage and your blood painting both of your clothes. The tragic love story and Tauxolouve's healed heart. Something Scorpio didn't see fair to ruin for his own pleasure, even though it ate out at him every waking moment he considered the possibility of you being in his arms instead of Tauxolouve's.

"I had the day off and so did Lou, so we went out on a date." You responded with an affectionate smile as your memories swirled around your sweet moments and your lover's gentle lips and hands on you.

"I see." Scorpio's reply was curt and he was thankful for his generally surly reputation, since now he didn't need much effort to hide his feelings.

The curtains behind you parted and Scorpio's jaw clenched, when Tauxolouve stepped out onto the balcony. He walked to your side and leaned onto the railings, looking down at Scorpio. "Care to join us for dinner?"

Scorpio found it ironic to see you both standing high above him side by side, staring down at him with such welcoming eyes, he almost believed fate was mocking him in the cruelest way possible.

"Can't. Zyglavis has given me a shit tone of paperwork that I need to get through by sunrise." He declined using lies once again.

"Being a vice minister must be tough." Tauxolouve chuckled and Scorpio swallowed thickly, wishing he didn't have to go through all that play pretend. He was happy for both of you, yet he couldn't help feeling miserable, knowing he was fated to end up alone in the end.

{Ending 1}

You filled the vase with fresh water and dipped the flowers inside, closing your eyes and taking in their delicate floral scent.

The sunlight was basking into the house through the windows and the white curtains swayed with the gentle wind.

You hummed to yourself and with the vase in your hands, you danced slowly around the kitchen table, your hair swaying, fixed into a beautiful hairstyle.

You were about to place the vase on the table, when your vision blurred and figures began forming before your eyes.

At first you saw yourself with Tauxolouve, holding hands and walking side by side through a field of daises, with the sun setting in the background and your smiles sweet and carefree. But then, your hands parted and the sky ripped in two, into a colossal crack, which sucked you in and brought you by the side of a crying Tauxolouve, alone and with a devastated smile seeing you walk off by yourself.

You assumed that was when you left him and if you were not mistaken, the event that followed was...

You swallowed thickly and tightened your hands into fists, seeing as you couldn't look away from this cruel sight, which you wouldn't even wish it upon your worst enemy.

You laid across Tauxolouve's lap, with your ribcage broken and your blood spilling out of you, dipping both of your clothes into a deep crimson, as another god rushed off, with bloodstained knees and sandals.

Your heart couldn't take anymore and yet this merciless higher power refused to let you go just yet.

You found yourself on Earth and you couldn't lie, you were quite intrigued. You hadn't heard anything else apart from the fact that you were a human in the same period with Scorpio and that the two of you lost your lives together. So now, that the truth was revealing itself before you, your mouth was left dry.

You watched everything from Scorpio's perspective and you were able to experience all of his emotional turmoil with your every interaction. He loved you, he truly did. And because he loved you so much was why he denied you. To protect you.

You returned to the present with a loud gasp and the wetness at your feet made you look down, only to find the vase you were about to place on the table earlier, broken to pieces and the flowers scattered around your sandals, dipping the end of your toga into a puddle of water.

The shards hadn't cut you, yet you were bleeding. Internally. Your heart was hurting that you had to hurt Tauxolouve again, because your feelings had shifted. That vision had brought everything back.

"Little lady?!" Tauxolouve rushed into the room, his eyes wide with worry at your shaky form. "Hey hey, what's wrong?!" He came to stand in front of you and cupped your face in his two big hands, tilting your head upwards so you were facing him.

Looking into his eyes, all your feelings came pouring out in the shape of hot tears, your chest jolting with your sobs and you moved your face away from his hold, refusing to face him any longer.

"Little lady-"

"Please, don't call me that. Please... It hurts..."

His fingers grew cold at your plea and his mouth dried. He remembered those words... His hands fell by either side of his hips and he stared down at the top of your head, as you held it low, looking at the ground in guilt. "Is it happening again...?"

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him through wet eyelashes.

"Is history repeating itself...?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but you only cried louder. "I'm so sorry, Tauxolouve!"

He pursed his lips together, his eyelashes resting on his cheeks, trying his best to keep the tears in. "Your feelings for Scorpio... They came back... They did... Right...?"

You nodded, finally managing to quieten down your cries. "I'm so sorry." You created some distance between the two of you and Tauxolouve's hand moved to reach for you instinctively, but he pulled it back, keeping it close to his stomach. "It all happened so suddenly... I... I don't know what else to say, except how sorry I am for hurting you again."

"(Name), tell me something."

You hummed, listening closely to him. "What is it?"

"I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" He asked, his irises swelling with tears. "I want you to be honest with me or else I won't be able to live with myself..." He swallowed thickly. "Did I hurt you or disrespect you in any way?"

"No! No, you didn't do any of that!" You rushed to reassure him, shaking your head in denial towards his statement.

"So I'm just... Not him..." Tauxolouve smiled in such a devastating way, you swore you could hear your heart breaking.

"Tauxolouve... I want to leave." You said, your heart clenching at the cruel fate Tauxolouve had to deal with for a third time, yet it simultaneously yearned for Scorpio.

"And I want you to be happy." He put his hand on top of your head and smiled down at you. "Even if you choose to not include me in your happiness."

You ran out of the house, your lungs begging for oxygen and your heart for a god.

You made your way to the department of punishments and pushed open the double leafed doors, startling Scorpio, who was sitting in his office by himself.

"Why the hell did you just barge in like-"

But his eyes widened, shock and disbelief colouring his face in a vivid red, when you suddenly yelled at him words that almost made him believe he was hallucinating. "I love you! Scorpio, I love you! Do you still love me too?!"

He just jumped from his seat, his shock too much to bear and he grabbed your face, crashing his lips into yours. Oh, how he had been craving this moment for two whole lifetimes now.

Your hair tangled with his fingers and his with yours, your lips connecting and coming apart only to come together again in hunger, not the hunger of lust, but the hunger of two lovers, star-crossed in the eyes of witnesses, but now they were about to prove them wrong.

{Ending 2}

The music played on loudly and happily and even though you were feeling quite shy, today was a day you'd only be happy.

Your snowy white dress swirled around you as Tauxolouve guided you around the dance floor, which was empty, reserved just for the two of you.

"You look absolutely beautiful, my wife." Tauxolouve's smile was one of the sweetest a man's lips could ever form and the love in his eyes was visible and obvious to everyone watching you two waltzing in circles around the ballroom.

"I love you, Lou." You said and your bright grin captivated everyone present. You were so beautiful in your wedding dress and your elaborate hairstyle, you could be the prettiest goddess in the Heavens.

"I love you more."

"No, I love you more!" You giggled.

"I told you, I love you more!" He laughed along and your bright smiles had successfully outdone all the jewellery in the ballroom by their vibrance.

The dance came to an end and the deities approached you one by one, giving you their most heartfelt blessings and sharing your indescribable happiness with you.

Scorpio stepped into view and his lips formed a rare smile. "I'm sure you'll be happy, so my wishes are pointless." It shattered his heart, but he knew you'd be happy, so maybe he could hold his pieces together for some more time.

"Thank you." You smiled and his breath hitched, the time stopping in his mind, not wanting to miss a second of your beauty.

"Well..." Seeing a few pairs of eyes on him, his face stiffened again and he bowed his head at you. "If he hurts you, tell me and I'll beat him up."

You chuckled and butterflies flapped their wings in his stomach. "Don't worry, he'll treat me wonderfully."

His eyes trailed to the wedding ring on your finger for a split second, before returning to your eyes. "I know... I'm sure of that." And with a nod of his head towards your husband, he stepped aside and leaned against a pillar, blinking a few times to keep the tears inside. He was happy for you, that was something he could never deny... But he'd prefer if he was the one who got to be by your side like this and share rings and vows with you. But he did make a vow that night.

If you didn't want him by your side as your lover or your husband, he'd make sure to be the best friend you could ever have.

[kikinom]

Bev what flowers are Bev5 coded

Yellow/Dark Crimson variegated Roses, yellow for friendship and dark crimson for mourning, because he's done a lot of both

Goldenrod, positivity and support in times of hardship, and can also mean growth

Wild Pansy, for an open heart + gay connotation

Gayfeather, for enthusiasm and joy

Field Poppies, for sacrifice + soldier connection

Dog Violet, for first love

Gladiolus, for honor and strength of character

Wilted White Lilac for youthful innocence, wilted to show that it is taken away