#chrysanthemums are funeral flowers.

[xxcherrycherixx]

I have no caption, please just think its good 😭 my wrist is killing me and im so tired, its 4:30 am👁️👁️

I looked up flower language for this shit, featured flowers are: red rose, wolfsbane, white chrysanthemum, dianthus/carnation and ivy

( i will put a cheat sheet in the tags so you know what meanings im using instead of having to look it all up)

EDIT: this post has been updated with a slightly edited version of the drawing to fix some issues that have been annoying me.

[karamellisokeri]

Art style study but with su jue🦊 I fell for her charm it seems

Colored and the line art version

[kennelkorn]

Jack was the first,

Peter had to see another loved one in a coffin,

Dee had to accept the concept of Death for the second time.

But that's okay !! They're not really gone, they'll see eachother again soon

[coco-loco-nut]

loml part 2

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: it’s time for you to finally have some happiness, even if you’ve sworn off drivers

part one masterlist ttpd masterlist

——————

A year after the break up, you are still living in George’s Monaco apartment. You keep to yourself, sticking to a simple routine and avoiding Formula One when you can. You could’ve gotten your own apartment with the divorce settlement and your job salary, but George insisted that you take care of the apartment for him.

George and Carmen were with you every step of the way, helping you pick up the pieces and bringing you back to as close to normal as you can.

“I’m done with drivers, I will never date one ever again,” you tell George one afternoon. George was almost offended but you added on the second half.

You go out for a run like you do every morning before work, and on your way home you stop in a bakery you’ve been eyeing. After placing your coffee and pasty order, you accidentally bump into someone.

“I am so sorry, I- Charles. Hi,” you look at the equally stunned man.

“Hi, how are you doing,” Charles says gently, sounding concerned. That isn’t what you expected out of your ex’s friend.

“Better, how’s, um, how is he?” you ask a little bitterly, internally cringing at the clear discomfort on Charles’s face. His name is called alongside yours, so he picks it up and sets it on a table, silently inviting you to join him, and you do.

“I don’t know. After the whole Kelly thing, I argued with him and we haven’t really talked since,” Charles admits, you look stunned.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you can’t really hide your bitter expression as the thought of Kelly runs through your mind. Not even a month after you separated, Max was off playing happy family with his new girlfriend. Your divorce wasn’t even legalized yet.

“I’m not. He lost someone incredible just because he wasn’t willing to put in the work for a good and healthy relationship,” Charles looks you in the eyes. You finish your pastry and process his words and his underlying meaning.

“Charles, everything is still so fresh, I don’t know,” you look out at the streets. You couldn’t deny he was attractive, but you didn’t want to reinvolve yourself with Formula One.

“One date, we can take it as slow as you want to. I know it must be hard, but you deserve to be happy,” Charles reaches out and touches your hand gently.

“I have to get to work. You should have my number, Charles,” you softly smile, leaving the cafe. Charles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Naturally, he asked George for permission first. He knew George was acting as your overprotective brother, and George knew you better than anyone at the moment. Despite you swearing off drivers, George felt that Charles might be what you need.

The first date goes well, and so does the second, and the third. Charles prioritized privacy, and you were grateful. He shows up to your door for the fourth with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, ones that Max always forgot to get. He always gave you chrysanthemums, fitting that he would choose a funeral flower seeing as how he killed the relationship.

“Cheri, are you okay?” Charles asks, seeing you tear up a little.

“Max never did this, and when he did they were always the wrong flowers,” you shake you head slightly, fending off the anger and sadness.

“Well, if he wanted to treat your right, he would. I want to treat you right,” Charles presses a kiss to your head. You invite him in while you find a vase to put the flowers in.

“I want that,” you tell him, his hands find yours.

“Be my girlfriend?” Charles asks, you nod happily.

“There is this restaurant that I’ve been wanting to try, down the street. Maybe I can take my boyfriend there,” you smile, heart racing.

“Lead the way, mon cœur,” Charles tells you. You lock the apartment behind you and take his hand as you lead him down the street to a restaurant that opened a couple months ago. The two of you are so caught up in each other, you don’t notice the table across the restaurant.

Max watches you walk into the restaurant, hand in hand with Charles - the guy who used to be one of his closest friends. You look stunning, and happier than you were the last few months before the separation. Of course Max saw you for divorce meetings, but this is different.

“Max is here,” you quietly tell Charles.

“Don’t worry about him, he won’t cause a scene,” Charles reassures you, knowing his old friend. You are grateful for the man sitting across from you.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask, causing Charles’s hear to soar. can’t believe he is finally happy.

Charles is by your side during the rough days, especially the day that should’ve been your wedding anniversary with Max. You couldn’t help but to be upset, and healing takes time. Charles didn’t push you to do anything, he just kept you company and followed your lead.

When you were together for six months, you felt comfortable enough to reintroduce yourself to Charles’s friends and family. It helps that the two of you adopted a dog.

“These are my sons, Ollie and Oscar,” Charles tells you as you stand in the kitchen, watching over the dinner you had been working on. He would’ve invited Liam, but that would be awkward for everyone.

“It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Y/n. I suspect you know Leo from social media. Would either of you like wine, or anything from the fridge? Please, help yourself,” you stop yourself from fussing. Charles recognizes it as your hormones kicking in, making you fuss over them.

“Thank you, need any help?” Ollie asks as Oscar plays with Leo.

“Thank you, but you are a guest. I couldn’t let you. Now, I think Charles has a really expensive bottle that will pair well with this meal, let me grab it and pour a couple glasses,” you wink.

“Only the best for you and the kids, Cheri,” Charles yells from the dining room where he is setting the table. Ollie takes the glass you poured for him, he wouldn’t mind you being his grid mom.

“Charles, come help me bring food in while the boys sit down,” you tell him, giving Oscar and Ollie a little glare when the move to help you.

“Of course, mon cœur,” Charles smiles, carrying the heavier plates in while you grab the wine bottle and the two empty glasses for you and Charles.

The two boys try to make sure they don’t come off as interrogating you, but you don’t mind. They are avoiding the elephant in the room, and both you and Charles know it.

“You can ask, I don’t mind,” you say gently, knowing it’s eating Oscar alive. He’s like you and George if you two had an idgaf attitude.

“Is it true that you and Max, um,” Oscar pauses looking for the words.

“Yeah, he’s my ex-husband. He did me a favor though, without him I wouldn’t be with Charlie,” you look adoringly at your boyfriend.

“Ask George and Carmen, they will give you the best version of the story,” Charles laughs and so do you.

“This is really good, I might need you to cook after races for me,” Ollie changes to topic, groaning a little at how full he is.

“She’s our mom, of course it’s good,” Oscar replies, you can’t fight the grin on your face.

“Of course I will. I can send some frozen meals for you to heat up along to the with Charles,” you tell them.

“Or you could come to the races and keep me company,” Ollie says, looking at you hopefully. You are one hundred percent adopting him. Charles looks at you a little panicked, you never really talked about being in the paddock as his girlfriend. Of course, he has publicly talked about how he has a girlfriend who he adores, but no one knows it’s you, except for a few people.

Max never told anyone about your relationship, despite him seeing your date and reporters asking him about you. It would be an asshole thing to do after he moved on so quick, and you deserved better than what he had done to you already.

“I’d love to, but don’t regret it when you are being mothered,” you point your fork at them.

“Wait, why only Ferrari,” Oscar pouts.

“I can visit you too, I’ll even bring cookies,” you tell Oscar. He pumps his fist in celebration.

Charles is happy to hear you are okay going to races again. You have to be a little stealthy about it at the start. You go the first couple times as George’s guest, and slowly increase how long you are with Charles each time.

Things change when you miss your period. You and Charles have always been very careful, but there have been a couple time that you forgot a condom.

“What does it say, mon cœur?” Charles sits beside you in bed, rubbing soft circles on your shoulder. You take a shakey breath and turn the stick over, ready to be shown another negative.

“Positive, I’m pregnant. I thought I couldn’t have kids,” you feel Charles brush tears from your cheeks.

“We will be the best parents, I’m so happy,”he reassures you, and you can see how happy he is. From then on you go as Charles’s partner, Ollie is happy to have you with him in the garage, and even accompanies you to visit Oscar. Ollie claimed it was to protect you and the baby against Max, but that doesn’t work when Max is talking to Lando at the same time you visit Oscar.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Max asks a little hesitatily.

“I’m really well, how are you?” you ask, pushing down the bitter parts of you. You truly are very happy now.

“I’m okay. Do you think we could talk at some point this weekend? I think it’s been long enough and you deserve closure for yourself,” Max scratches the back of his head.

“Message me on Instagram. We can find a time,” you agree, needing to get a couple things off your chest. That time is the next morning in an open room in Red Bull hospitality.

“You wanted to talk,” you say as you sit down across from Max. Charles was apprehensive when you told him of your plan, but he trusted you and was supportive of your choice.

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you at the end, it was unfair to you,” Max tells you, clearly pushing through his pride. “So, I’m sorry. I can’t say it’s easy seeing you happy with someone who isn’t me. Are you happy?” Max asks, needing to know.

“Of course I am. It was really hard to move on. Charlie makes me extremely happy, and he’s given me the greatest gift I could ask for,” you smile, subconsciously putting a hand on your stomach. Max feels his stomach swirl with jealousy. Charles is living the life he should be living, Charles is doing everything he should be doing for you, but he fucked it all up.

“I, uh, wow. Congratulations, I know how much you wanted a kid. I’m happy for you, schatje,” Max says, pushing down his jealousy. It’s his fault he lost you, now he has to live with the consequences and be mature about it. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten with Kelly so soon he would be with you, but it’s too late now.

Max did try. He constantly asked George where you were, or to convince you to talk to him. George was protective though, he saw how hurt you were and knew you needed to heal on your own time. So he did what any overprotective best friend would do, talk reasonably and show Max why he needed to stay away.

“Thanks, Maxie, that means a lot,” Maxie, a dagger through Max’s heart. “I can’t be friends with you right now, but maybe someday. I like this version of you, maybe Kelly was the right one for you after all,” you can see the pain in Max’s somber eyes, the same one you see from the end of your relationship, and the same one that haunts you.

“I really am sorry,” Max’s voice cracks. “You’re the love and loss of my life,” tears well in his eyes as he looks at you.

“You’re the loss of mine as well,” you stand up and move towards him, pulling him into a hug. “You are going to be okay, Max. We weren’t right for each other, but now you can move on,” you say softly. In your heart you can feel the closure you’ve needed. Max felt it too, and when the day came, he would be ready to be a good friend.

Until that day, he is publicly supportive of your family with Charles. Max repairs his relationship with Charles first, then he slowly repairs it with you. When Julianna Herveline Leclerc graced the world, he was one of the first people to send a gift and well wishes. And when you and Charles finally make it to the alter, Max is standing beside Charles, happy to support the two of you.

[mangakachan]

Back to Sailor Moon for the floriography series! First up is Saturn! 🪐

The flower I chose for Saturn is the white chrysanthemum. White chrysanthemum flowers are commonly used in funerals in East Asian and some European cultures, and is associated with death, bereavement, and condolence. However in Chinese culture it is also associated with the traditional Double Nine Festival, a festival that celebrates one’s ancestors and during which people pray for health and a good harvest. In that context, chrysanthemums, and wines made from the flower, are associated with health and longevity. The two paradoxical meanings is a nice fit for Saturn, the herald of death but also of rebirth.

[iersei]

the yellow chrysanthemums for neglected love (i wish i knew how much i loved you before i lost you.)

the purple hyacinths for sorrow, forgiveness, and rebirth (i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. please come back to me.)

the moss men for all that they have greedily stolen away (what are they going to do to you...?)

a fountain filled with green. a centerpiece for a bouquet of funeral flowers. a garden of all that we have lost underneath The Night sky.

(i'm going to save you.)

[irlplasticlamb]

what's your process for like designing your borders for your art pieces or just like how do you come up with such cool designs and layouts and the little details and symbolism you add

if that makes sense

ah thank you!

honestly it’s just a lot of brainstorming — trying to look for symbolic or visual representation for something that’s linked to the character/s the artwork is of!

this one for example: i don’t remember the names of the flowers i used as reference (i’m so so bad with flower names y’all) but i’m pretty sure their meaning was connected to desire and complicated love (btw flowers are a great way to fill out a border, it’s SO easy to find flower language guides online!); moon phases to symbolise the turbulent, passing-and-going nature of rhaenyra and alicent’s love towards each other; the valyrian dagger, the hightower sigil, fire and dragons are pretty self explanatory i guess hahah! don’t be afraid to go for the more obvious symbols, not everything has to be super deep and cryptic! and then FILLER! oh yes! when in doubt add some stars, add some little sparkles and you’re gucci!

here we have: aegon’s sword, crown and dragon for his symbols of legitimacy and targaryen heritage (and him being doomed because of it); carnations symbolise mourning, grief, and sorrow; chrysanthemums are commonly used in funeral floral arrangements to say goodbye; and apples as symbol of destruction; then the star of the seven on top to highlight the religious aspect of the artwork!

so yeah! basically it’s usually a mixture of flower language (and sometimes animal motives! i had a commission once when i used some lovely little deer imagery), some research, more obvious symbols and FILLER!

[um-soybean]

Obey Me! OG lesson 16 MAJOR spoilers…

When Mammon sees you there, half dead, all he can think about is how he doesn’t even know your favorite flowers. Do you like roses? Everyone likes roses right…? Red? No. Too similar to the blood seeping into the crevices of his hands.

Lily of the valley? No, he barely knows what they look like. All he knows is that the petals hang limply like your head in his arms.

Maybe chrysanthemums. Asmo once told him they mean goodbye. Which is the last thing he wants to think of as your eyes flutter closed and cease to open again.

Note:

I adore this man. I was also randomly thinking about funerals and obey me at the same time?

[lovifie]

Her Royal Highness Pt. 1

Masterlist

The palace gardens.

Thousands of flowers, trees and weeds grow all together. Every one of them, their own use and their own mission. 

Growing delicious fruit, being used in medicinal infusions… decorating the burning chapel of the late Queen.

The hundreds of chrysanthemums that decorated her coffin is a sight you would never forget. On any regular funeral, the flowers would have been white. But not on your mum's, everyone from the kingdom who arrived to give their respect to the deceased royal brought flowers. Every flower of different colours, making it look like a rainbow, making it look like a painting. 

A gruesome painting.

But now, as the autumn winds circle your body in the garden; you look around for the chrysanthemums. As in trying to go back to that day, take another look at her face, and try to memorise her better.

But it's not her face the one you see, but of a man you have never seen before.

High in the tower, looking down on you through the window of your father's office. Blue eyes lock with yours, and a kind smile appears through his beard.

At that moment, Alissa, one of the maids, calls for you.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in the Sun Room.”

The Sun Room, the stance where you would spend all those sleepless nights looking into the telescope. Visiting all those faraway galaxies, until the sun would come up. 

Now, it has been provisioned with a table and chairs, and it was your father's favourite spot to have breakfast. 

So you didn't think anything else of the request, making your way up to the Sun Room. Blue eyes already forgotten until you enter the run, and meet them again. But he was not alone. 

Five men were seated around the table, only one of them you know. 

Right in front of you was your father, smiling at you while pointing to sit on the chair opposite to his. 

On his right, was sitting the man you saw on the window. Around the same age as your father, with blue eyes, a beard and a smoking pipe on his lips.

Sitting on the left of your father, was a man wearing a hood and a veil-like fabric covering the lower half of his face leaving only his eyes exposed. You thought he was looking at you for a second, but when you tried to meet his gaze you realised he was looking at the man sitting next to the first mysterious man.

You follow his gaze, meeting bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile looking at you. A bit of stubble surrounded his mouth, only interrupted by the small scar on his chin. 

The last man on the table caught your eyes as he left the cup he was just using on the table. Tan skin, brown eyes and just as kind smile as everyone else on the table met your eyes. 

Everyone on the table except for your father quickly got on their feet as you entered the room, bowing to you as a sign of respect. 

You bowed back, almost on autopilot after so many years of training.

The brown-eyed man quickly makes his way towards you and moves your chair back to make it easier for you to sit, and once you do he pushes you closer to the table. 

“Thank you…” You say, a bit surprised by the action and follow him with your eyes until you look back at your father. “Morning, Father.”

“Morning, angel. Let me introduce you to King John Price, he has come all the way from his kingdom with his son and his two best knights just to meet you.” He says pointing to the older man on his right. 

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess.” The sudden deep voice from the foreign king quickly gains your attention as you smile at him courteously. 

“The pleasure is mine, your Royal Highness.” You answer by bowing with your head and picking up the cup of tea on your right. “May I ask the reason for such an odyssey?”

“Well, my son here, Prince Simon is still unmarried and as my only heir, I would like to meet my grandchild before my passing to die in peace. So when the news that the young princess was of age to marry, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. And now, having met you, I can rest assured that my grandchildren will be handsome.” The king jokes laughing softly but gets interrupted by the choking sounds that erupted from you. 

What news of you being of age? Marriage? Grandchildren? As you try to get back to breathing you cover your mouth with the napkin and try to figure out what is happening. But it is not hard to figure it out, your father is using you as spare change to keep the kingdom safe. A marriage between kingdoms means a bigger territory, a bigger army, and a bigger treasure to live in peace.

It quickly downsides to you how little your opinions matter to the kingdom affairs, it doesn't matter whether you want to get married or not, whether you like the prince, your soon-to-be husband, or not, any of that matter, because you are just like a horse being sold to a bigger farm.

Even though you can barely remember your mother's face, you can almost hear her screams of rage inside your head, the impotence flowing through your veins. She would have fought your father on this, completely against this interchange. Giving away her only daughter to the first man who knocks on the door, completely unaware of his real intentions. 

But your mother is dead, your father is getting old, and you are just a princess sitting between two royal knights of a foreign kingdom. 

So you do what you must, you stop coughing, get your breath back, stand up apologising for the rumble and excuse yourself by letting everyone know that there is a task that cannot wait to be done that you forgot to do this morning. 

You make your way out before any men in the room can say anything and walk to your room as fast as you can, hating more than ever living in such a big palace.

Once inside and with the door locked, you fall to your knees letting the tears flow. You should be ashamed really, of getting knocked out this easily after your first royal mission. 

But you can't help it, the fight that ignited inside your soul. You knew this would happen, ever since you were born your duty has always been to be married to some foreign prince, the easier way to make allies. But your poor romantic heart, which would keep you awake at night, dreaming of how a kind prince would appear to court you, how you would fall in love with each other, finally marrying and living happily ever after.

Those dreams get shattered in such a brutal way, leaving you no time to try and conceal your feelings. So you indulge in those feelings, suddenly taking notice of how little freedom you have left, you decide to not conceal your feelings. So you move onto your bed, and you cry. You cry until you no longer feel your mother's rage inside your heart.

—————————————————————

The knock on your door wakes you up, not having noticed falling asleep. You make your way and unlock the door coming face to face with Alissa, who looks at you with a worried look.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in his dormitory. You should come quickly.” She says as she starts to walk looking back to make sure you are following her.

“Did something happen? Why the hurry, Allisa?” You ask trying to get next to her and when she doesn't answer you grab her arm making her turn to you. “Allisa, what's wrong?”

“It's better for you to see yourself, Princess” Allisa says grabbing your hand back and walking with you to your father's room door. 

She opens the door and looks at you waiting for you to enter but without moving herself. She avoids your gaze almost as if she feels guilty about having you in the situation. 

Both the curiosity and anxiety of the moment make you enter the room without another thought.

The smell of chrysanthemums invades your nostrils, but there aren't any flowers in the room. But the sight brings you back to that grotesque painting of your mother's funeral.

Your father lays on his bed, breathing with difficulty and his eyes closed. He looks weak, a sight you thought was impossible now was right in front of you.

You run to your father's bed, kneeling at his side and grab his hand with your shaking fingers.

“Father? Please talk to me, what has happened to you?” You ask with your vision getting blurry with tears.

“Oh, my sweet bird.” Your father says opening his eyes and smiling weakly at you. “Why do you sound so worried? Don't you ever worry about me, it's my duty to worry about you. Something I ate must me fighting back, but it is nothing I can’t beat.” He caresses your cheek, feeling the cold of his fingers making a tear fall on top of his hand. “How are you feeling? You looked upset before when you left, do you not like the Prince?”

Like the Prince? The Prince you didn't hear say a word? The Prince you didn't even see his whole face? The Prince that didn't even look at you? That Prince? Did you even have a say in whether you like him or not?

“I was just… surprised.” You lie.

“They are nice people. They have a big kingdom, bigger than ours. They will take good care of you, birdie.” Your father says and you see him begin to close his eyes. “I'm gonna try to sleep again, alright? I'm sure I will wake up feeling better. You should try as well, it's been a strange day, hasn't it?”

You smile at him as you see him close his eyes but you don't move. You stay put while holding his hand, and only look up when you hear the door open. 

The King Price enters accompanied by the brown-eyed knight, who is grabbing a tea set on a tray.

“Leave it on the nightstand, Kyle.” Says the king without noticing you are inside and when he finally does notice his expression changes. The more crude and stone-like expression he was using, changes into the kind one you saw before. “Oh, greetings, Princess. Your father requested some tea to ease his sleeping.”

Kyle, the knight, puts the tray on the nightstand and gives you a smile when you look at him. Feeling your throat dry after crying the whole day, you stretch your arm to grab the teacup but before you can do it, the knight grabs your hand.

“Apologies, Princess. But it is for your father.” He says while looking at you with a smile but without letting go of your hand.

“I'm sure my father wouldn't mind sharing a cup. I only want a sip.” I say trying again to grab it but meeting the same luck again. The knight moves his hand to grab my hand more softly instead of my wrist and moves it up to his lips leaving a kiss on my knuckles.

“Your Royal Highness, with all due respect… I wouldn't recommend drinking the tea.” A shiver runs down your spine and you feel the king put a hand on your shoulder making you look up at him.

“Princess, why don't you go back to your room? We will take care of your father, don't worry.” King Price says and you feel like screaming, shouting, hitting, biting, fighting them until they leave the palace and never come back. But you don't, you stay looking at them like a dumb child.

You look back at your father. His skin looks almost grey, a pained expression on his face and cold hands meeting yours. Just this morning, he was fine. Having breakfast with everyone, joking, talking about marriage with the other king. And now, this.

“This is your making, right? You have poisoned my father. You are trying to murder my father’’ You say with a shaking voice looking between them and you hear the king sigh.

‘‘Princess, you are far too young to understand. Your father's kingdom has way too much potential for it to go to waste under such a careless king. He is already too old, and he was never that bright to begin with. When your mother was alive this was a great kingdom, but it has only been getting worse. Is the best for everyone, once you and my son get married, you won't have to worry about anything anymore. You are clever like your mother, aren't you? So prove it, leave your father to rest and let me make everything easier for you.’’

You feel your head throb, so much information all at once. The shameless way he just admitted to the murder of your father, how he let you know that this has been his plan for years even knowing your late mother, the way he expects you to just accept this reality.

You know you need to fight, but you know you would never be able to fight them alone. You think about different things would be if you had any siblings, maybe an older brother that didn't need to get married in order to reign. How things would be different if you were not the next in line… and then you remember. Your uncle. Your mother's brother is the next in line to your throne after you. 

But only if anything happened to you…

What's more important? The kingdom? Or yourself?

The blade on Kyle's waist suddenly seems too close to ignore. And you don't fully register what you are doing until you see the fear in the knight's eyes.

The blade feels heavy on your hands when you raise it above your head, and Kyle jumps in front of the king to protect him of your attack.

But you are not aiming at the king, you are aiming at yourself. And before they can prevent it, the blade is already through your torso.

‘‘If there is no marriage, the kingdom is for my uncle not for you.’’ You say barely above a whisper, feeling cold. A wide contrast with the warm blood covering your hands.

Your ears feel stuffed and it is more and more difficult to stay kneeled without falling. You hear the King curse and order the knight to go for the sages.

You feel the cold floor against your temple, not having noticed being lying on your side. You never thought about dying in a battle, or poison, or murdered. You always thought that's how powerful people die, and unimportant princesses like you would most likely die of old age somewhere alone.

But dying in order to save the kingdom seems noble enough.

In your last moments, you think about your father. Lying on his bed behind you, still breathing but already being given up on by everyone. Even his only daughter. 

What would he think if he got better? If he woke up right now? And saw his child, lying on a pool of her blood inserted on the visiting knight’s blade by herself. 

Useless.

You were supposed to help the kingdom and didn't even try to fight. Gave up before the fight started.

Coward.

Leaving the job for your poor uncle, as if he was not already busy enough.

Selfish.

Dying.

Alone.

—————————————————————

Since I uploaded the little something I did yesterday I couldn't stop thinking about it.

hehe

I hoped that you liked the first chapter <3

[koolaidashley]

White Chrysanthemums

A flower traditionally used in Japan at funerals of a loved one. Representative of grief and mourning.

I was hoping donnie would win next haha.

one more poll for the flower series and we’ll have the full set!

Og leomori post

Leo

[soubi122]

Funeral

This is a oneshot that was collecting dust in my drafts and I finally managed to finish it - ft kakucho.

Warnings: Domestic violence, smut, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of death, slight dark content, alcohol, language, slight angst and fluff.

MDNR - MINORS, respectfully, GO AWAY.

You never thought about being this happy at a funeral. Past funerals attended were full of grief and sorrow. The person who left the earth would be someone whom you'd dearly loved or were close with, someone who you felt was taken too soon. But this was different, the funeral taking place today was for none other than your husband. What you thought would be the best thing in your life turned out to be a nightmare. 

At the funeral many people flooded the marble floors, paying their respects to the dearly departed. His large portrait was on a stand surrounded by white and yellow chrysanthemums. The sight of these flowers was too pure for the vile being that was being honored today. Strangers were coming up to you and bowing - giving their condolences for your loss. They placed small envelopes in a box, a red and gold box that you wanted to burn. He deserved none of the generosity offered today. 

The black veil that covered your face felt like a mask, obscuring your features to avoid people gauging your reactions or grief, it also hid the ugly bruises and swollen eyes. For hours you've been sitting in that cushion and in pain. Your ribs were aching, the throbbing in your head wouldn't stop, the taste of metal on your tongue was driving you mad. As the funeral was winding down, the director approached you with a warm smile, years of practice and empathy made this process easy for them. “Mrs. (L/N)? We're at the last 10 minutes - we will begin escorting the guests out.” You nodded and were about to get up and leave but a tall figure approached you. Oh god, please… no more 'sorry for loss', 'your husband was a great man' lines. You think to yourself as you look up and notice the male's features. Raven hair, a scar that ran across the right side of his face to the left eye - despite his threatening appearance, the look in his eyes was sincere. 

Remembering him as a recent acquaintance of your husband, you knew they were coming to ask about his will. Business is business after all, it will keep going even when you are laying on a metal slab or are 6ft underground. “(Y/N), I'm very sorry for your loss.”  His stern but gentle tone caught you off guard. As you were beginning to bow, he spoke again - “We will need to speak regarding your husband's affairs and assets.” Here we go…the ever looming threat of his wealth was barreling towards you already and his ashes have yet to be scattered into the wind. The vultures were ready. “His attorney will be reading the will tomorrow - I'm sure he outlined what is to be done with his assets.” The raven haired man said nothing more and bowed, taking his leave. Finally, this act was over. 

You made your way to the penthouse that you were forced to call home but now that he was gone, you welcomed the emptiness that awaited you. Kicking off your heels, you exhaled a sigh of relief and slid down to the floor - barely noticing the figure that emerged from the dark corner of your kitchen. Only when you heard the sound of a click did you notice the shadow. You began to put your hands up and stare into the dark corner, waiting for the figure to emerge. “Sorry to do this during your time of grief, but this is urgent.” The same scarred man approached you, he had a gun in hand, loaded and pointed in your direction. 

Soon more figures emerged from the dark corners of your home. How the hell did they get past security? A knot began to form in your throat as the man tilted his head, pointing towards the kitchen island and telling you to take a seat without words. You got on your feet and made your way towards the island, silently taking a seat with your hands still up. The final figure that emerged was that of a shorter male with silver hair and eyes that looked like they haven't had a good night's rest in months. The dark circles became even more prominent by the dimmed overhead lights in your kitchen. “You can put your hands down, dollface.” One of the many men spoke, his tone was that of a psychopath - to avoid invoking anyone's wrath, you put your hands down on the counter. “Your husband's assets belong to us - at tomorrow's reading, you will relinquish them without any opposition.” A third voice said and his figure stepped into the dim light. He too had silver hair but his was long and he had eyes like a feral cat. A light chuckle escapes your lips as you reach for your coat pocket. In an instant your head was pinned against the counter, making you grunt and a gun was pressed against the back of your skull. “Don't even try, gorgeous…” Long slender fingers reached for the hand that held the metal object, prying it from your hold. “It's a cigarette box…” You say quietly without moving or resisting. 

With a nod, the shorter man gave permission for them to remove the gun, allowing you to lift your head from the counter. “We will have someone accompany you to tomorrow's reading…as a safety precaution - wouldn't want you to make a break for it.” Your silence spoke volumes to them. “We can also just make you hand everything over without the attorney present.” Another voice said from behind you, his tone was much softer than the one who pinned you down. Just what the hell did your husband get into? How did they know where you lived? The only thing you could do is nod. “Kakucho, you and these three will stay with her until tomorrow's reading. Takeomi and Mochizuki will bring you some spare clothing in the morning.” The man who you assumed was Kakucho nodded. Were they really planning to spend the night here? Or did they have other plans in mind? Did they want to break you more than your husband already did? You looked at the man with the short silver hair, his eyes were empty, bare and cold. Though the veil covered your face and hid your expression, he saw right through it - the submission and fear. “They won't touch you unless you give them a reason to…” His words of reassurance did just the opposite. 

Once the rest of the men left your penthouse, the others that remained began to make themselves at home and turned on the lights. Turning to face them, you noticed that they were all dressed in suits, had wildly colored hair and two of them had neck tattoos. The more ‘normal’ looking one was the raven haired man, with the exception of his facial scar. “So, dollface…you're probably wondering what your dear ol' husband did in order for us to be here…” The male with the psychopathic tone spoke, the two diamond shaped scars on the corners of his mouth curved as he smiled wickedly at you. Never have you seen such beautiful crystal eyes on such a sinister looking man. “You're scaring her Sanzu, she'll be sleeping with an eye open now thanks to you.” The coy and playful tone of the tallest male made you look in his direction. He had clean cut short purple tresses, the neck tattoo robbed your attention from his lavender eyes and handsome smirk. If you were to stand in front of him, you were sure to get top shelf vertigo. “Mikey said not to touch her.” The third male spoke, he had almost a matching hair color to the taller man but in mullet form, he too bore a neck tattoo - wait…that hanafuda design…it can't be! Alarm bells started going off in your head, you've seen the news, heard the rumors and seen first hand at what Bonten is capable of. That life of peace that you thought you were going to have? Well it just went up in smoke. These men were probably going to torture you, rape you or throw you in a brothel to pay off whatever your husband owed them. 

It felt like your chest was about to burst, the anxiety was ravaging your nerves and mind. The shortness of breath and trembling started, when the raven haired man noticed, you were on the verge of passing out. He caught you right before the back of your head met the floor. “Hey! What's wrong?” He asked as you began to have a panic attack. A sharp pain in your chest was making it difficult to breathe or even speak. “Get her some water!” He ordered one of the others as he sat across from you on the floor. The others began bickering, yelling at each other over who scared you. There was too much noise. “I'm going to slowly remove your veil, ok? I'm not gonna hurt you.” His hands gently reached out to you and you screwed your eyes shut. Don't look at me, please…! The voice inside your head screamed, your body was too in shock to move away from him. When he removed the veil, they all went silent. “…fuck, we didn't know.” You could hear one of them say. 

All four men flinched for a split second, recalling when they slammed your head against the counter. The purple and faded yellow bruises on your face and busted lip were staring at them dead in the face. The veil wasn't so that people wouldn't see your puffy crying eyes, it was to hide the pain and evidence of domestic violence.

The silence was overwhelming, making you panic even more - your breathing struggled again, snapping them out of their daze. You felt a pair of hands intertwining themselves with yours. Despite being inside, your hands felt like ice - the warmth of his hands made you feel alive. “I need you to try and take a deep breath. Focus on my voice, squeeze my hand if you understand.” Kakucho's soft and honeyed tone traveled through your ear canal and went straight to your chest. There was a soothing bass in his voice that made you follow his directions. 

Slow and steady you began to take deep breaths, one light squeeze signaled your understanding. A second voice was now in your ear, gently he titled your head in his direction. “Slowly open your eyes and focus on me…what color are my eyes?”  When you opened your eyes, you were met with a pair of lavender orbs and a tender gaze. “T-They're…beautiful.”  You managed to stutter out, his eyes matched the taller male - were they siblings? Your comment made him smirk softly, usually when people stare into his eyes they see death. “Rindou, I think she likes you…” The taller male whispered as he noticed the slight blush on your face. Finally, you were beginning to relax and breathe normally. Who would have known that the world's most dangerous men could soothe your soul? “Here, take small sips at a time.” The man with the diamond shaped scars said to you and handed you a small glass of water. Little by little, you were able to think straight without panic or anxiety. “So you can call us by our names and trust us - my name is Ran, this is my brother Rindou.” The tall male said. “The knucklehead you see over there with the pink hair is Sanzu and finally, in front of you, you have Kakucho.” Their introduction was not needed but worthy of making you feel a little at ease. 

Kakucho released your hand and helped you get on your feet. “Please, get some rest - we need to be on time for tomorrow’s reading.” That's right, these men stated that everything your husband owned was theirs. The question slipped your tongue when you opened your mouth, “Will I be set free or sold tomorrow?” Ran stepped closer and cupped your bruised cheek, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “That's not for us to decide.” Depending on what Bonten's king says, he will ultimately determine your fate - even after his death, your husband is still finding ways to break you. 

With your head hung low you made your way to your room. “Keep the door open, dollface.” Sanzu said as he sat on the Burrow couches and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. It made your eye twitch, your husband would have made you sit on the floor if that were you. Despite being at home, you had to be perfect, primed and ready for anything. To have such freedom and fearless nature, you envied it. 

It was useless to try and protest keeping the door open. Walking into your bedroom, you began to lay out clean clothing - the day was long, you needed the comfort of warm water to relieve the ache in your ribs, the aches on your legs and arms. Once you had everything ready, you picked up your bathrobe and went to the bathroom - quietly closing the bathroom door. You took a long hard look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the bruises on your face, the marks across your neck and the redness in your eyes, it was over. Your life was over before it even began. That freedom you were hoping to have was now dependent on someone else. 

After filling the tub you began to slowly shed the clothing that clung to your figure. You had hairline fractures that were making it impossible to stay still during the funeral. The bruises extended down to your hips and thighs. Something no else would see. After showering you settle in the bathtub, gently laid back and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you should even continue to walk this earth…

Several minutes of staring into space, the door to your bathroom opens and in walks Kakucho. His calm demeanor was rather comforting - you were used to seeing your husband walk through that door with a scowl on his face or worse, a liquor bottle in his hands. “I’m not trying to drown myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” You say while slowly sitting up. You were surprised that they gave you this much privacy knowing that you could have called the cops or signal for help. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust the cops. That dearly beloved husband that departed this earth always had his way anytime you or someone else would call the cops. They would ask questions but your husband would pull them to the side and slip a small stack of bills in their pockets to keep them quiet. As soon as they would leave, he’d continue where he’d left off. Days would go by where you couldn’t even walk or let alone stand due to the pain. 

“Please be ready by 8:00 tomorrow, the reading is at 10:00...” He says and hands you a towel. Guessing by how they are looming over you like this, they wanted to make sure you’d be able to attend tomorrow’s reading. He was about to walk away but you pulled his sleeve and stopped him. “I need help.” You spoke meekly and avoided his eyes, as much as you didn't want to ask - you needed his help. “Oh…I won't look.” He said, closing his eyes and turned the other way as he extended his arms for you to reach out and grab. Sucking in a deep breath you braced yourself for the next painful seconds of your life. Kakucho could hear you struggle and grunt as you were struggling to get up. It was exciting to him, but he refused to indulge. With his eyes still closed, he spoke - “Your face isn't the only thing bruised, is it?” Usually they don't pry into other people's affairs but this was different. Gathering information was his specialty, but your docile nature drew him in. 

Kakucho felt compelled to at least leave you with something to take care of yourself with. Despite Bonten's reputation and crude nature there was still some sort of kindness in their subconscious. “My late husband would beat me almost everyday if something wasn't up to his standard.”  You said while wrapping yourself in a bathrobe. Maybe, just maybe they'd have a little mercy on you if you tell them the truth. “Yet he wanted me to conceive a child…and he fucked me nonstop until I couldn't walk… “ Kakucho felt his hand twitch for a second, raising your hand at a woman - it made his blood boil. Even though Bonten was involved with prostitution, their merchandise would still be protected. 

Your mother-in-law's declining health led to her asking you to bear her only son's child. It was a request made out of love. She loved you and adored you like her own daughter, yet she was completely blind to her son's true nature. Manipulative, cunning, aggressive and silver tongued - that's what he was. He tried to knock you up but had no luck. With a visit to the doctor, you'd come to find out about your infertility. This caused a maelstrom of emotions, you were glad yet heartbroken. Cursed to suffer alongside him and unable to conceive. After his mother's death the beatings worsened, the cheating began and so did the drinking.

“Did you miscarry?” Kakucho's question made you chuckle, making him open his eyes to face you. The sight in front of him was that of beauty and horror. The thin bathrobe left little to the imagination, the outline of your perky breasts made him blush. Your figure was gorgeous, your frame was perfect and your eyes almost had an ethereal glow to them. Yet the bruises on your body made him sick. How could someone do that to you? Was your love and devotion not enough for that sadistic son of a bitch? “Apparently I'm hollow…” Your hands caressed your belly as you spoke. Confusion was written all over his face. “I can't have children.” For someone who knows very little about you, he was ready to kill your husband but alas he was already dead. Someone beat him to it. 

There was little to no emotion in your voice. You accepted your infertility and begged to be divorced but he refused to let you go. He refused to see you happy, let alone happy with another man. “I know it doesn't mean much now but I'm very sorry.” Kakucho says and breaks you out of the misery spiral. For the first time in your life since your mother-in-law's death - someone actually said something sincere to you. “Thank you. Who knew strangers could provide such comfort?” You say and head to your bedroom to get dressed. Something about you made him curious. What else were you forced to endure? 

From the doorway you could see the other three males laying on the couches and nodding off to sleep. Looking back at Kakucho, you noticed his eyes never left you. There was warmth building up inside you, but the reality of it all loomed over you like a rain cloud. Yet, the urge to feel that warmth overpowered you. “Mind if I close the door?” There was a tinge of playfulness in your tone. You knew he would keep his eyes on you. He nodded and gently closed the door himself, he didn’t want to catch the attention of the others. 

Shedding the bathrobe and letting it drop to the floor, you kept eye contact with him. You could hear him swallow thickly as his eyes began to wander around your naked figure. Kakucho just about groaned as your body was on full display. The bruises, scars and cuts drew him in like a moth to a flame. He began to walk towards you and closed the distance. Seeing how you could barely lift your arms or bend over, he helped you get dressed. There was tension but as much as he wanted to act on it, he couldn’t. You were too fragile to even touch. 

Finally after helping you to bed, he stepped out of the room and left the door ajar. “I know that look…” The sound of Ran’s voice broke through the silence. Turning around, Kakucho saw that Rindou and Sanzu were asleep on the couch. Ran was sitting by the island and smirking at him. “We might need a little help tomorrow.” Kakucho says and makes a phone call. The remainder of the night was quiet, you slept peacefully for the first time in 3 years. 

*the next morning*

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, it was gently tugging at you and waking you up. Mumbling, you turned to face Kakucho. He was standing next to your bed. “It’s time.” He says softly. Slowly sitting up you notice he was the only one with you. The others had left already, maybe they were making their way to the lawyers office…wait, what time was it? Grabbing your phone, you see that it’s 8:30 a.m.- you were late. Sensing your panic, Kakucho explained that they let you sleep in as the reading wasn’t until 10:00 a.m. 

During the car ride, you stared out the window and wondered if you would live to see the next sunrise. “Did you tell your boss about that?” You asked him and broke the silence. Apparently there was more than just a simple helping hand last night. You laid your soul bare and told him some additional information that Bonten needed to be aware of. “It’s been taken care of.” He says and keeps his eyes on the road. 

When you arrived, you made your way to the office and upon entering you saw it. Well to be exact, her. Your husband’s mistress and the wicked smirk she had on her face. She was clad in a skin tight black dress that accentuated her bust and belly, a large ‘fur’ coat, stilettos and was wearing bright red lipstick. It was a stark contrast compared to you. You were appropriately dressed like a widow, wearing black dress pants and a black blazer - it was to cover your bruises and also be comfortable during this shitty reading. You had neutral makeup on, just enough to hide the bruises and dark circles. “Well well…you showed up knowing that you ain’t getting shit. How bold of you (Y/N).” The mistress said while eyeing you up and down. Kakucho glared at her, after what you told him last night - he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her face.

In walked the lawyer about 2 minutes later, he was a very short man with gray hair and thick glasses. He carried a serious look on his face and by the creases in his face, you can tell his scowl was permanent. Clearing his throat, the lawyer sat down and confirmed that the required party was present to begin. Before he could begin with the reading, the mistress interrupted him by saying something that made you ball up your fists. “Sorry, I need to run to the ladies room. Being pregnant and all, you just can’t hold your bladder.” Her faux apologetic tone was a jab at you and your infertility. Of course she knew, your husband made it known to every prostitute he slept with. How she managed to stick him, you weren’t sure but you no longer cared enough to harbor any jealousy towards their affair. The only thing that managed to hurt you or cause you anger was the fact that she always threw your infertility in your face. It was worse when she found out she was pregnant with his child. Constant bullying and teasing by them both ensued. She was currently 4 months pregnant.

When she returned, you kept your eyes focused on the lawyer and asked him to proceed. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as her. “Very well…we are gathered here today to read the final will and testament of (Husband’s Name). ‘To my wife, (Y/N), I leave to you only one thing, my mother’s wedding ring.’ To- ” The lawyer was interrupted by the loud cackle of the other woman, she was laughing and holding her sides. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to rip her tongue out. Kakucho placed a hand on your shoulder and snapped you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry, oh that was too funny! Please go on.” She says and wipes tears from her eyes and calms herself.

The lawyer subtly rolls his eyes and proceeds. “As I was saying, ‘To (Mistress’s name), I leave to you all my assets and fortune as you carry our child and my bloodline.’...” Of course she was elated and smiling from ear to ear. Kakucho could see that she was only looking forward to the money and didn’t care that the man in quest had passed away. She was giggling and making a whole scene about how lucky she was and how the god’s blessed her. The lawyer kept reading the will and then the room went silent when the lawyer read the last line of your husband’s will. “In order for (Mistress) to claim any assets and fortunes, a paternity test will be required to prove that the child is the biological child of (husband’s name) no later than 1 month of the child’s birth. In the event that the child is not his, all assets and fortunes will go to his spouse, (Y/N).” As she is a floozy, you knew there was a 3% chance that it wasn’t his child. All eyes turned to look at her and her face was red. She was pissed. “How dare he question his own child?! I will prove it as soon as I am able to get the paternity test!” She yelled and huffed. To be honest, you just wanted to go home, you didn’t care who ended up with anything - Bonten was going to take it anyway.

Just then Kakucho’s cell phone rings, he lightly taps your shoulder and gives you a warm smile before he steps out of the room. The mistress caught it all. Her fires simmered when she noticed the look of what she assumed was worry on your face. “Moving on so soon (Y/N)?” She says and it looked as if she was baring her fangs at you. Maybe she could try and take Kakucho from you too. You ignored her question and asked the lawyer what needed to be done in the meanwhile as the mistress was in her 2nd trimester. He explained that you will manage all assets and issue a monthly allowance until the child is born. 

After 10 minutes, Kakucho walked back into the room and asked you not to contest the will. You figured that Bonten instructed him on how you needed to proceed. They will obtain the assets through the mistress, knowing them - it will be easier than dealing with you. You knew the ins and outs of the legal world so you may be able to contest in some sort of way. It was a little upsetting that you were being tossed aside but at the same time you were grateful that you didn’t have to continue suffering for your husbands fuck ups. 

The lawyer presents you and the mistress a document, it was to confirm that you were present at the hearing and will not contest the will. You read over the information to make sure it was all accurate, once confirmed - you signed it and returned the documents to the lawyer. The mistress was so giddy and had a shit eating smirk on her face that it made the lawyer roll his eyes again. The poor man was not having it. Once everything was signed, his assistant came to collect the documents and was personally dropping off the documents to the courthouse for filing. Everything was to be expedited and they did not want to waste any time. “(Y/N), I guess I will come by before the end of the month and drop off my things. Since I will be moving into the house and all.” She says smugly and leaves the office. You wanted to punch her in the face but had to resist the urge to upset her as she is pregnant. It’s not the baby’s fault that their mother is a fucking bitch.

Standing up, you thanked the lawyer and headed out, leaving Kakucho behind. You were so overwhelmed with emotions that you forgot about him and just wanted to go home to pack up your things. You didn’t want to leave anything personal behind for that woman to enjoy. Once you were out of sight, Kakucho placed a document on the lawyer’s desk. He didn’t say a word and let the lawyer read it to himself first. The lawyer gasped and chuckled. “I expect you will arrange a meeting within the next 2 weeks, yes?” Kakucho said and the lawyer nodded. He exited the office and headed back to headquarters. 

The next few days were a blur, you were trying to figure out what to do with your personal belongings and searching for a new place to live. Even if your husband would have left you the penthouse - you didn’t want it. There were too many bitter memories in this hellhole. Lucky for you that you set aside money for yourself and weren’t fully dependent on your husband, you were able to afford living comfortably by yourself. With some of your injuries healed or at least not as bothersome, you were able to move around a little better. It allowed you to pack and put things in storage. Luckily, Kakucho came by everyday to help you. He was extremely kind and believe it or not a great cook. In the midst of all the chaos in your life, he was slowly becoming your rock. 

There were innocent gestures that made your heart skip a beat. As much as you tried not to get attached to another man, it was hard when the man in question was treating you like an actual human and not a punching bag. 

By the end of week 2, you received a call from your husband’s lawyer - he stated that you and the mistress needed to come back down to his office for a final reading and to confirm that the paperwork was accurately filed. You asked if this was something that could be confirmed over the phone but he said no. “It is in your best interest to attend, you also need to sign an additional statement.” Great… You didn't want to see the mistress and her smug face. It was rather short notice, you had to attend tomorrow evening. Ending the call you prepared to let Kakucho know. Either way Bonten was bound to know about this right? Regardless, it was no longer your concern as the mistress would be taking hold of all your husband’s assets. 

A hard knock on your front door spooked you and you thought it was going to be none other than her as she promised to stop by. Huffing in annoyance you walk over and open the door but were caught off guard by the gentleman that stood in there. “(Y/N).” Kakucho was standing in the doorway and made a chill run down your spine. The timing was too perfect. Were they wire tapping your home? You wouldn’t be surprised. “You’re still packing?” His calm demeanor was rather soothing and welcome. Opening the door wider you let him in. “I have to.” You smile softly. 

He noticed that you were packing other things that were rather questionable and gave you an odd look. You chuckle. Kakucho was taken aback at how sweet your laugh was. He realized how much you changed, it was like night and day. On day one, you were broken and quiet - almost frail and had given up on life. Today, you are warm and vibrant. Was this the same woman? 

Throughout the day you were drinking wine and offered him some, at first he refused as he was technically on the job but you somehow got him to accept. Now you were down to the third wine bottle. Getting to know your executioner was rather endearing. Aside from Bonten being what it is, their members weren’t as bad as they seemed - well for now anyways. With the previous visit leaving a bit of tension behind, the wine was giving you the edge you needed to get closer. Who knows, this might be the last time you could sleep with someone of your choosing. Bonten might end up selling you or leaving you penniless. 

“So, why do you do this?” You ask and lean your head back on the couch. You both were sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. There were multiple boxes, papers, momentos and wine bottles scattered about. Kakucho picked up a photo and looked at it, exhaling as he pointed at your husband in the photograph- “To keep people like him in check.” There were various things that came to light after you asked Kakucho to elaborate. Backroom deals, gambling, fraud, prostitution and of course murder - they were all dealt with by Boten. Your husband ended up joining them as a partner after trying to move into their territory. Some things were a little familiar to you but there were other unsavory things that hit you like a truck. It made you sick. Your husband owed them money amongst other things.

All this wealth was obtained by walking on other people’s corpses. Your husband not only destroyed you but he also destroyed others. It was naive of you to think that you were the only one who was taking in his wrath. Sensing your disquiet, Kakucho opted to change the subject. “You will be set free, (Y/N).” He says softly. Turning to look at him, you noticed his eyes were glossed over - oh that innocent look on his face… It made you want to devour him. “You know you shouldn’t promise things like that.” You say coyly. You were just teasing but at the same time you meant what you said.

Taking a chance and letting the liquid courage take over, you leaned over and pressed your forehead against his. The unsteady breathing and sweet scent of alcohol only drew you in. “What are we doing?” He whispers and almost pouts when you bite your lip. “I want you to make me feel like a woman again.” You almost whimper your reply and place your hand on his chest. Oh you just made Bonten’s number 3 head spin. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours - hungrily devouring every breath and whimper. For once, you were enjoying getting kissed, you were enjoying the taste of alcohol on someone else’s lips and you were sinking into bliss.

You felt your heart racing, it was racing out of excitement rather than fear. His hands began to travel along your body and touched places that you never thought would make your heart skip a beat. The more heated the kiss got, the more you wanted him to lay you down already - you were desperate. 

Feeling bolder, you moved your hands south and felt the bulge that was throbbing. You breath almost caught in your throat - he felt bigger than anything you’ve ever had before, larger than your now dead husband. Wasting no time, you made haste and unbuckled his belt, you were leading. Throbbing in your hands was Kakucho’s member, oh the gods gifted him with more than just a menacing look. Leaning back away from him you took in the sight in front of you. Heavy panting, chest heaving, glossy eyes and parted lips - he was beyond handsome. You paused a little too long before you were snapped out of your daydream. 

“You’re not gonna leave me like this are you?” He pants and moves your hand in a stroking motion, sending a jolt of electricity down his shaft. Oh how he was making your brain turn into mush. Continuing your motions, you felt your core aching and in desperate need of attention. Running your thumb over his leaking slit, you felt his hips jerk and he let out the sweetest moan. “Kakucho…” You say coyly and put a little more pressure around his length. He moans a response and gazes at you. His mind was also melting and on the verge of turning into mush. “Can I…taste you?” You ask while leaning in and give his tip a kitten lick that makes his eyes roll back. He chuckles and gives you permission to devour him.

Taking him in your mouth, you taste his sweet essence and bob your head slowly up and down. Focusing on his tip, your tongue swirls around the head and he feels his vision getting hazy. He was a lot to take in, with the tip hitting the back of your throat, you had a feeling he was going to tear you apart later. To him it felt like sweet torture, you were giving him affection - something that he hasn’t felt in a long time and yet you were going so slow with your movements that he wanted nothing more than to thrust his hips up to make you gag. Hearing those husky moans and his breath hitch made your folds begin to stick to the fabric of your panties. Pleasing him like this only made butterflies run rampant in your stomach. 

Releasing his member from your mouth, you took a long lick from the base of his cock up to his flushed tip. You continued to take his length further into your mouth but not too deep, you wanted to keep him on edge and make him whine a little longer. Your jaw was getting sore but you wanted to keep going. 

Kakucho placed his hand on the back of your head and pushed you down further. It made you gag a little but you welcomed his actions. They were gentle, unlike your husband - he would force your head down until you couldn’t breathe properly or until you threw up. He would leave your throat and jaw sore for days and wouldn’t care if you could barely eat the next day. Moving your hand to his length, you start to pump his cock while sucking and it sends him into overdrive. “Ngh…(Y/N), wait! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum…” He moans and tries to pull you off but fails. You were determined to swallow his seed. 

The vibrations of your moans travel down his cock and into his core. Kakucho was getting lost in heaven. The very woman who Bonten was going to take everything from was on her knees and pleasing him. Your pace began to quicken as you felt his length twitch and the vein along his shaft pulsed. His coil was so tightly wound that the moment he felt it snap, his eyes rolled back into his skull and that numbing sensation made his toes curl. Hearing him come undone was bliss, to know that you could make a man like him melt and make him whimper - it did wonders to your ego. Your husband would always say that you were good for nothing, that you would never be able to satisfy a man and yet here you are with one of the country’s most dangerous men. You were giving him the blowjob of a lifetime.

Swallowing his thick seed, you made sure to not waste a single drop and continued to suck his sensitive tip even after he emptied himself inside your mouth. “Stop…oh fuck!” Kakucho whines and pulls your hair. Releasing his member with a pop, you smile and slowly stroke him - making his hips twitch and his whimpers louder. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. You felt validated and worthy of satisfying another man, you felt like a woman for the first time in years. Your husband only ever made you feel like a toy, almost as if your sole purpose in life was for him to break you. He would treat you less like a woman and even less as a human being. 

Catching his breath, Kakucho remained seated on the floor - dazed and determined on what to do to you. “Get up…” He pants and pulls you up. That tone of voice was quite authoritative. You obey and get on your feet. He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom. “Strip…” His low tone made a chill run down your spine and you removed your clothing. He too started to remove all his clothing. When he saw that you left your undergarments on, he paused. “Everything, (Y/N).” He demanded and layed down on your bed. Feeling the cool air hit your skin, you shivered and he noticed. “Come here.” He says warmly, he was trying to reassure you. 

Seeing him in all his glory…oh how your cunt clenched instinctively. His defined muscles, the veins on his arms - it made you almost drool. Even the scar on his chest that appeared to be a bullet hole had your slick dripping. Climbing on the bed, you take place next to him and run your hands along his body. The slow and gentle touches made his member twitch. Even in its flaccid state, it still twitched and looked big. He rolled you on top of him and slid his arms underneath your thighs. The confused look on your face made him chuckle. He lifts you by your thighs and slides you up towards his face. The movement was so sudden that it made you squeak in surprise. Looking down at him, his pupils were blown as he had your pretty cunt in his face. 

“Wait…I-ngh!” You moaned out loud as he pushed your hips down and buried his face in your honeypot. He was sucking on your bundle of nerves and wasted no time in making you scream his name. Your hands quickly found solace by holding on to the headboard and your forehead was leaning against the wall. Whoever was lucky enough to be on the other side of that wall could hear you moan like a whore in heat. Kakucho snaked his hand between your thighs and slid two thick digits inside your tight walls. Pumping them in and out while sucking on your clit had your eyes rolling back and your hips grinding into his face. Hearing him slightly struggle underneath you only made your coil tighten. 

Such lewd and wet sounds echoed in the room along with your wanton moans. “Ahn…Ahn…Kakucho! It feels s’good!” You mewl and run your hands along your chest, pinching and teasing your nipples. The electricity coursing through your veins had you in a daze. Not even your husband ever bothered to eat you out before - Kakucho’s gift to you was more than anything your husband could have offered you. He curled his fingers to find your trigger, when he found it your legs were beginning to shake and your hips were stuttering. Your pitch got higher and higher as you neared total bliss. 

That unmistakable tingle that ran down your spine made you throw your head back and total ecstasy as your orgasm was ripped out of you. Kakucho didn’t stop, he kept going - he wasn’t satisfied with just one. “Ngh, s’too much!” You whine and try lifting your hips away from his face. However, the iron grip that he had on your waist made it impossible for you to escape. “Mhn…one more, just one more…” He pants from between your legs. The sound of your sweet voice kept him spellbound. He wanted to keep hearing you cry out for him. 

Your overly sensitive bundle of nerves was throbbing from the continuous stimulation. He moved lower and shoved his tongue inside your tight cavern. Kakucho wanted to taste everything, his warm and wet muscle felt like heaven. With your walls fluttering you thought you were going to lose it again. “Stop! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You whine pathetically, begging him to stop knowing full well that you didn’t want him to. The final push was him tracing circles on your clit with enough pressure to make your vision go white. 

Kakucho made you gush and he took it all. The obscene sounds of him slurping up your honey echoed in the room. Your whole body was shaking from the intense orgasm that you felt almost light headed. Slowly, he slid your body down and made you collapse into his chest. The energy was drained from you, barely being able to move or respond when he asked if you were ok. Only a small hum could be heard from you. Wrapping his arms around you, he placed a kiss on your head and whispered. “We’re not done yet. You wanted to feel like a woman? I’ll keep showing you…” His low tone made you smile softly and bury your face into his chest. 

The rest of the night became a blur. By the time morning came you were left disheveled, sore and satisfied. Kakucho meant what he said. All night he made you moan, scream, cum and cry out in pure bliss. He stuffed you full of his cum to the point where the sheets were beyond saving. His aftercare was even better, got you water and some light snacks for you to nibble on - even medicine for your throat. To think that this was one of the most feared men in all of Japan, last night he was more than that to you. Rolling over, you see Kakucho sleeping next to you. He looked so peaceful and innocent despite the prominent scar on his face. Seeing his chest rise and fall softly, you take a better look at the tattoo on his chest - it looks like all the higher ups have this. You recalled the man with the feline like eyes and the placement of his tattoo on his temple. The two Haitani brothers and their neck tattoos. Also, their leader - the man with the empty eyes and white hair, he had his on the nape. It would be a tattoo that you’d need to familiarize yourself with. 

Kakucho stirred in his sleep and woke up with you kissing his cheek. “Good morning…” You say softly and ask him if he’s hungry. You both opted to get up and shower…together, it ended up in another round of sex that led to skipping breakfast and diving straight into lunch. Offering him a change of clothes, he accepted - besides, the clothes were brand new and never worn. No need to worry about the mistress recognizing it and accusing you of theft of ‘her things’. 

Arriving at the lawyers office, you see that the mistress was already there. She was smiling smugly from ear to ear. When she noticed you with Kakucho, her smile faded ever so slightly - jealous that he was still with you. “So quick to move on…what a shame (Y/N). Looks like you truly don’t deserve any of (H/N)’s fortune.” You paid her no mind, you just had the best night and morning of your life. “I feel bad for you when you give birth, that baby’s gonna have a big ass head just like the mother and father…you might just tear (M/N). You might never be able to please a man again.” You say without thinking. The sudden fire in you made Kakucho almost burst out laughing. Quite the insult to a pregnant woman, she of course gasped and huffed defending her unborn baby’s head size. The poised woman was gone, you no longer had to keep appearances nor bite your tongue. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat made the room fall silent. He took a seat at this desk and went over the original will one last time before making you and the mistress review the already signed and filed documents. Both parties agreed that everything was in place. The mistress couldn’t help but keep chuckling to herself as she repeated words loud enough for you to hear. “...to my wife, I leave nothing.” It was annoying but you didn’t let her get to you - you wanted to come back home and have dinner with Kakucho. 

“Now that both parties confirmed, please note that there is a new document that was received after the filing that affects this arrangement and cannot be disputed.” He says and narrows his eyes. For a moment you felt your stomach flip - what the hell was he talking about? Did the wench take an early paternity test? It’s not like it mattered, you knew you were going to vacate the home and keep your mother-in-law’s ring. That much was certain. Acknowledging the lawyer's words, you asked him to elaborate and explain what the real reason was for you both to be here. He nodded and began to read out loud the document in his hands:

“From the University of Tokyo Hospital, below is the information requested by (Husband’s full name) on (11 Nov YYYY) and (12 Dec YYYY). The original tests and new tests administered resulted in the following:

Spermatozoa count - below 2 million per mil.

Sperm motility - below 20%

Sperm viscosity - high

Sperm morphology - abnormal

Unfortunately, both labs have confirmed that the patient is infertile. With the severe lack of sperm motility and spermatozoa count - treatment is not possible.”

Everything in the room went dead silent. You felt faint and nauseous, was this actually true? The sudden screech of the mistress startled you and she came charging at the lawyer’s desk to snatch the paper out of his hands. She was beet red and almost foaming at the mouth. Reading the document in hand she crushed the edges that she was holding and her hands were shaking. “This…this can’t be! It has to be fake!” She screams and looks at Kakucho who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “You probably faked this document to get in on your whore’s money!” She spits and rips the paper to shreds. The lawyer simply sighs and asks you to sign the document confirming that you were present at this hearing. Apparently your late husband amended his will one month prior to his death. When he received the first results in November he contacted his lawyer to insert a new clause. Originally he wasn’t going to leave you anything, however, due to him sleeping around not getting anyone pregnant - he grew suspicious.

With the mistress screaming like a banshee and almost attacking the lawyer, security was called to have her escorted out. The lawyer was quick to have you and Kakucho sign as a witness to all this. “Ms. (L/N), congratulations - you have all your husband’s assets and fortune. Please rest assured that the mistress will not be able to contest.” He said softly and smiled. His smile was warm, it’s as if he knew this was going to happen. How long was this information in his hands? Wait, is this why Kakucho said for you not to contest the will?

The lawyer excused himself and left the office for you to have a moment to yourself. The room was spinning and thought you were going to die. It wasn’t just the shock from the hospital results but the fact that your husband abused you and beat you non stop for being infertile when in reality he was the one shooting blanks the entire time. You began to laugh to yourself, slowly building up to a cry that made you drop to your knees. It was painful. Recalling all the times he called you hollow or less of a woman when your pregnancy tests would come out negative - it broke your heart. You were both the problem, the blame shouldn’t have been just placed on you. 

“(Y/N), there is something else I need to tell you. We did some digging and whoever was in charge of getting your fertility results a few years back royally fucked up which rendered your tests inconclusive and marked as infertile by mistake. You can have children.” Kakucho says softly and helps you stand back up. A second wave of emotions hit you and panic soon followed. You were fucking him raw yesterday and this morning like a rabbit in heat. “Kakucho…how long have you known for?!” You ask him and shove him. There was a slight pained expression on his face, he should have told you sooner. “That medicine I gave you this morning was a morning after pill. (Y/N), I’m sorry, I let myself get carried away.” At least he was honest. Last night he snuck out of your apartment to purchase the pill and would pass it off as ibuprofen or something since you were saying your throat was sore. Though he wasn’t expecting to sleep with you again in the morning he explained that he would take responsibility if the contraceptive fails. Whatever your decision would be, he will respect it and will do what he can. He made sure to explain this to you and managed to pull you in. Crying in his arms, he embraced you and did his best to calm you down.

“You didn’t sleep with me just for my husband’s assets, did you?” You ask a little broken hearted. The night you spent with him meant more to you than just sex. It was you liberating yourself once and for all from your husband. You didn’t expect to feel something more for Kakucho. Maybe it was the fact that he made you feel validated and praised you like a goddess, but it felt real. “The assets have nothing to do with what we did last night or this morning.” He assured you. 

*4 months later*

You signed off on all documents that allowed you to transfer or ‘donate’ your husband’s assets to Bonten. The head of the organization, Sano Manjiro, handed over a legal sized envelope with your name on it to you. He said nothing and walked away. “W-wait, what is this?” You ask him and he waves you off without responding. Opening the envelope you read over the information and gasp. Though you handed over everything to Bonten, they gave you something in return. Manjiro was kind enough to leave you something that the three of you could enjoy. Kakucho leaned over and placed a peck on your head. “You know, he is kind of excited to be an uncle...” 

END.

TAGS: @anxious-chick

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

13

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s. 

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally. 

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

-

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done. 

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five. 

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—" 

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—" 

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left. 

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife. 

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue. 

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit. 

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face. 

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails. 

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on. 

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away. 

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you. 

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress. 

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills? 

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."  

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?” 

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. 

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that." 

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet. 

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least." 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth. 

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation. 

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech. 

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe. 

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you. 

But Snow could find your mom. 

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead. 

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

-

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

[seungkizu]

Love you so much it hurts

Heeseung x Fem!Reader; a Hanahaki au

Hanahaki

-a fictional disease where a victim coughs up their love's favorite flowers after suffering one sided love.

 Warnings: Blood, Vomiting

Summary: 

Being in love has always had consequences, you didn't think that falling for Heeseung would have any since he was the sweetest–always bought you flowers, pulled the chair out for you when you two went out, never let you touch any door handle as he would always be ahead of you, kissing you always, and expressing his endless love. But why were you coughing up daisies?

You regretted many things in life, but being Heeseung's girlfriend? Never. You two were always so close, so sweet to each other. He had asked you out for the first time with the help of his friend, Jay, when you two were still in highschool. You had gone through the ups and downs of college together. 

He was the man you thought you'd walk the aisle for. The man you would speak your vows to. The man who would be with you forever. But no. It was never meant to be.

One morning, you woke up on the bed by yourself. He'd already gone to work, you sighed. You wouldn't have woken up this early had it not been for the piercing pain in your chest. This had been occurring for the past few weeks, but now it seems as if it had gotten so much worse. 

You felt the urge to vomit. You ran to the bathroom as quick as you could and started to dry cough on the sink. Then you saw it. Blood? What? You saw something come out of your mouth covered in blood. You picked it up from the sink and washed it. It was a small white petal. 

How? You knew what it meant. Your mom had died this way. Your father drifted apart from her and cheated on her with someone else. Leaving your mom all alone. There was nothing you could do to save her. After being handed the divorce papers, all she did was stay home, lie in bed, and cry herself to sleep. Then, one day, she coughed up small chrysanthemum petals and passed out in your arms.

You took her to the ER and there you realized. It was too late. She was dead upon arrival. And your father had the audacity to ask how you were doing after basically flaunting his affair in his now-ex-wife's funeral. There you stood at the funeral. Watching as your mom was lowered deeper and deeper underground.

That was until you felt a hand caress your back in a comforting manner. It was like your mom's touch. There he was, Heeseung. The Heeseung that helped you stand back up after you fell into the abyss of grief-depression. The Heeseung that always made sure you were okay. The Heeseung that always made sure you never felt left out. The Heeseung that asked you out on that fateful day that marked the beginning of what you thought was your forever. 

But it wasn't. Your chest was painful. Not because of the thorns that pierced through your body, but because of the realization that for him, you really weren't enough. He clearly loved you. He admitted it many times while drunk. Does that mean he fell out of love?

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Later that night, he came home. You tried to clean the bathroom as well as you could and threw away any possible evidence of what happened earlier that day. He hugged you, kissed you on the forehead, and whispered his promise of love to you.

But you knew the truth. Yet, you did your best to show your most genuine smile, but that smile cracked, and tears formed in your eyes. His face fell into confusion. Looking at you as if he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't grasp.

You took hold of his hands on your waist and took it off. “How long?” You asked.

“How long? What do you mean ‘how long’?” He asked, with the same amount of confusion he had earlier. Maybe even more.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You asked. Tears flowing down your face as your knees fell under your weight. You couldn't hold yourself up anymore. That's when he realized what you were talking about

“____, I'm sorry” He repeated apologies over and over again as he tried to comfort you. Reminding you of that exact same comfort he gave to the first day you met each other. Except this time, you weren't strangers.

“Heeseung, I love you so much. I'm sorry”

“It wasn't you, it was me. I never intended to hurt you that way” He whispered, tears flowing down the face you once loved. 

“Heeseung, I'm sorry, I don't think this will work anymore. I’m letting you go, Heeseung.” You said through choked sobs as you stood up and took the bag you packed on the couch. You left, never looking back to the love you'd have to call a memory from now.

Back in the apartment, Heeseung cried. He lost you. He didn't know how it happened, but he started to lose the spark he lit up between you two, and he knew he couldn't stop the truth from coming out. So he ran. He ran away from the truth. He forced himself to love you again to protect you from getting hurt. But, it hurt you even more.

He truly lost you. The person who made him and broke him.

_

3 years later

–

Amidst the cold of winter, Heeseung rubbed his gloves together, hoping to warm up a little more. The clanking of bells could be heard as Heeseung walked into his cafe. He ordered his favorite coffee and started to head out. But he bumped into a girl who seemed to have paid no mind to where she was going.

“Oh! I'm so sorry!”

His heart stopped beating as he recognized the familiar face and that familiar voice. It was the face he once kissed every morning, the one he'd whisper his forever to, and the face of the person he once loved.

“_____?” His voice came out choked.

“Yes? Do I know you?” The girl asked him.

“Uh-”

“_____! I think Layla would want a pup cup!” A voice came from a distance.

“A pup cup? But it's freezing outside!” The girl turned around, and Heeseung saw it. A man holding a fluffy cream colored dog on a leash.

“Uh, sorry mister. But I have to go. See you later and Take Care!” She waved at him before running to who Heeseung assumed to be her boyfriend.

And He was proven right as the man kissed her cheek as they went back into the cafe with their dog.

‘I hope he treats you much better than I did. I never deserved you _____, I’m sorry’ Heeseung whispered as he felt his tears gather in his eyes. 

‘I love you so much it hurts. But I never deserved you. I'm glad you found someone who'd treat you the way you deserve. I'm sorry it wasn't me. I hope in our next life, I'd be a better person for you’ He wanted to chase you so badly. But, he didn't.

Instead, he turned around and ran away again. It was what he was best at. But this time, it was for the better. He coughed up blood again. As he always did, the past 2 years.

The END.

[artoutforblood]

Bishop Moses!!

Notes: limbs have grown longer, more muscle mass, horns and hooves have darkened, so have their extremities. The scars left over from their time in chains before their first death have turned crimson at the extremities as well. Horns have grown and curled, and we have a smaller extra pair directly below the og horns

They've also grown taller. They can and do shrink themselves to whatever height they'd prefer, but if their "natural mortal height" would be a full head taller than Narinder.

The robes are based off traditional hebrew robes, my biggest inspo coming from the Prince of Egypt, as homage to their name and also the Shepherd persona.

Lace and cloth flowers are a staple of lamb fashion in my head, so i incorporated those. White flowers and Chrysanthemums are traditional for funerals. The camellia flower on their sash is actually a pin to keep their robes in place and for the golden chains to hang from. It is a camellia and kept red because its a symbol of the Red Crown, which they named Camellia early in their adventure.

They had grown more at ease with their scars and had eased up on hiding them. Then, they changed from dull pink to so red it looks like they're still bleeding. They've taken to covering them up again with gloves and legwarmers made of gossamer fabric.

The heavy golden bands on their wrists and ankles serve as reminders to themself of their origins. They'd really hate to become like the Bishops of the Old Faith. Best to stay humble before the fates decide your ego's gotten too big.

Their wedding ring is made of a mix of Narinder's ichor and resin. (idea originally from bamsara) It's black but shines a toxic green and red when the light hits it. Narinder is the one who made it by hand and gave it to them. Moses made a similar one of their own ichor but dried into a design on a gold band.

While Narinder wears white, Moses wears black. That way they're wearing each other's colors <3

I'm still a little up in the air of what god they are, exactly. They are the god of death, but theres many ways to describe that. The One Who Waits/The One Who Waits Below is a title descriptive of a patient stalker who lurks at the corner of any unfortunate turn. But Moses is more of an old friend waiting at the end of a long journey, thats the sort of god they want to be.

The God of Death and Rebirth/God of Final Rest/God of Eternal Peace/ idk.

[tsunael]

If there's anyone out there that cares about flower language and symbolism like I do, I made an informal write-up some time ago about the in-game flowers (that you can put in your house) and the different symbolism that they can mean.

I only included the symbolism for the in-game colors and also their general meaning.

Also as a disclaimer these could be incorrect, have contrasting meanings, or have different meanings in different real-world cultures. White chrysanthemums (kiku) are usually a funeral flower in Japan for instance. (My Japanese professor once said they were a faux pas for her to receive in a bouquet!) So your mileage may vary!

Now with added sunflower.

This was simply a fun personal project I made for myself that I thought other people might enjoy as well! So here's a question to answer in the tags:

What flowers would your WoL have in their residence?

Arums (calla lily) 🔷magnificent beauty, feminine modesty

Brightlilies (easter lily) 🔷purity, refined beauty 🔷White: virginity, purity, majesty 🔷Pink: wealth and prosperity 🔷Red: warmth, desire 🔷Yellow: gaiety, falsehood, "I’m walking on air" 🔷Orange: hatred

Campanulas (bellflower) 🔷humility, constancy

Chrysanthemum   🔷cheerfulness, "You’re a wonderful friend" 🔷Red: I love you 🔷White: truth 🔷Yellow: slighted love

Cosmos 🔷harmony, peace, modesty, "the joys that love and life can bring", beautiful

Dahlias 🔷dignity, elegance

Daisies 🔷innocence, beauty

Lilies of the Valley 🔷return of happiness, sweetness, humility, purity

Oldrose 🔷Red: I love you, love, beauty, passion, romance 🔷Blue: mystery, attaining the impossible, love at first sight 🔷White: innocence and purity, "I am worthy of you", reverence 🔷Yellow: decrease of love, jealousy, friendship

Shroud Cherries (cherry blossom) 🔷spiritual beauty, a good education

Tulips 🔷perfect lover, fame 🔷Red: declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, "believe me" 🔷Yellow: hopeless love, unrequited love, brightness, sunshine 🔷White: ask for forgiveness, purity 🔷Purple: royalty

Hyacinths 🔷sports, games, rashness 🔷Purple: I am sorry, sorrow, "please forgive me" 🔷Red: play 🔷White: loveliness, "I’ll pray for you" 🔷Blue: constancy, sincerity 🔷Yellow: jealousy

Hydrangeas 🔷heartlessness, boastfulness, "You are cold"

Morning Glories 🔷love in vain, affection

Violas (violets) 🔷modesty, faithfulness 🔷Purple: daydreaming, "You occupy my thoughts" 🔷Blue: watchfulness, love 🔷White: candor, innocence 🔷Yellow: rural happiness

Byregotia (begonia?) 🔷Beware

Carnation 🔷fascination, love, distinction 🔷Red: "My heart aches for you", deep love, admiration 🔷White: sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love 🔷Yellow: "You have disappointed me", rejection, disdain 🔷Purple: capriciousness, changeable

Moth Orchid 🔷love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

Sweet Pea 🔷departure, good-bye, delicate pleasure, tender memory, blissful pleasure

Triteleia 🔷 They're a North American wildflower also called 'triplet lilies' or 'Ithuriel's spear' which is a reference to John Milton's epic English poem, Paradise Lost. It's about an angel sent by Gabriel to find Satan in the Garden of Eden. Satan, in the form of a toad, is introducing evil suggestions into the ear of Eve when Ithuriel pokes him with a spear. Satan then returns to his true form, "... for no falsehood can endure Touch of Celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness."

So, I can't find any symbolism for this one. Would make a possibly good Halone/Ishgard reference if you wanted to read into it, though.

Sunflower 🔷 Haughtiness, respect, passionate love, adoration, radiance.

[moibakadesu]

Okay, here we go, my interpretations and rambles about the 4th anniversary art. I know everybody is doing that right now and a lot of my thoughts might be the same as a lot of other people's, but the brainworms are active.

Let's start that it is brilliant that they went with a funeral theme for the 4th anni and to top it off they released it on the 4th of April. As a lot of you might know, 4 stands for death in Japanese (and various other asian countries), as it is pronounced the same.

My initial prediction for the art was, that it would be the funeral of the prisoners themselves and that we would see them lying on the frame of flowers (chrysanthemum, white lilies and white roses, all traditional funeral flowers). But as it turns out, we have the prisoners attending the funeral of their victims, so to speak.

So of course we have everybody in classic funeral attire, and sadly that doesn’t make for a lot of variety for the guys, sans the shoes, some buttons and different seams and pockets, but they all look splendid in it (and it stops Fuuta from combining it with some ridiculous fashion choices), so I can vibe with it.

For the girls we have of course a bit more to look at in terms of different clothes, the ones who are still visiting school in their respective uniforms, although in dark tones to fit in the whole composition, and Mappi with a simple dress as well as Kotoko with a chic blazer and trousers combo.

The wardens take the role of the priest who would attend a traditional Japanese funeral, how very fitting. Everybody is very pretty. I do still prefer akka’s art, but kee did a very good job capturing everybody as well.

Now the really interesting part is of course how everybody is holding their bouquets. I think the general consensus is that they stands for the victims, or in a wider sense the emotional stance that each prisoner has in regards to their murder. Let’s go in order from left to right.

Mikoto: Very prim and proper. I am in the camp that thinks that Mikoto committed the murder, not John, but also that he genuinely doesn’t remember anymore (due to stress-induced amnesia etc.). So it makes a lot of sense that he holds it in the most neutral and normal way possible. He doesn’t know the victim, he doesn’t have any particular feelings regarding it that he can remember.

Kazui: Holding it very lightly, but not as careless as if you would have to fear it falling to the ground. Maybe symbolic for the lack of emotional commitment in his marriage, due to being homosexual? Somewhat fitting to the lyrics of Cat, “let’s keep it simple”, keep it casual, these feelings are not real and very fleeting.

Shidou: Oh, he is interesting. He is holding the flowers exactly like you would a young baby, proper head and body support with both his hands and arm, while being very gentle with it. Further evidence that his murder ended up being one of his sons. As I assume ending up braindead after an accident and Shidou having to give the okay to use him as an organ donor.

Fuuta: My angry little ginger. And his anger shines through, what are you gripping your flowers so tightly for, little man? He is holding it almost like a weapon, very much the hero of justice with his sword ready to strike. I find it interesting that he is the only prisoner not smiling. I thought maybe because he is the one who is the most terrified about what his actions have led to? He was deeply riddled by remorse from the beginning after all, as much as he didn't want to admit that.

Haruka: Oh Haruka, what are you doing? His is … interesting. My theory is still that the murder he is actually is in Milgram for is a suicide, and the way he is holding the flowers does a good job in supporting that thought. He is holding the bouquet upside down, with not much apparent care for its state, some petals falling on the floor, and more importantly, on himself. I think this might represent how he has little to none self-worth and care for himself. Another thing I did see a japanese fan on Twt talk about was the meaning of an upside down bouquet. Apparently there is a superstition about holding flowers upside down, so that they … absorb water faster. This is both a good way to show Haruka’s innocence about the world as he would possibly believe such a thing as well as … very grim, as I think he drowned himself.

Yuno: Similar to Shidou she is holding her flowers a lot like you would an infant, and … well, that speaks for itself I would say. There is no ill feeling or disrespect towards the unborn life, is what just not meant to be with her.

Muu: Holding her bouquet behind her back, just like she does not want the fact that it might in fact have been her fault behind her victim act. Could also go very well with how she most likely did hide the box cutter out of sight until she struck.

Mahiru: She is holding her flowers very gently, delicately, with a lot of love, of course, it’s Mappi after all. Maybe almost a bit too close to her, if she is not careful she could crush or squish them easily. As it is in line with how destructive her relationship ended up being.

Amane: Oh Amane, the disrespect, haha. Carelessly discarded behind her. Sinners are worthless and need to be punished, right? Nothing wrong with quite literally stepping over dead bodies. The little girl is quite savage, I have to give her that much.

Kotoko: She is a bit hard for me to read. Her grip on the bouquet is concealed, does she maybe not want to admit how tightly she is holding on to it as a parallel how she does not want to admit to her sadistic tendencies, because it is after all always for justice, nothing else. Hmmm.