#sun and moon dew flower

[mediocretosubpar-soup]

idea: jiang cheng gets his hands on the sun and moon dew flower and decides to regrow a body because wei wuxian is taking his sweet time coming back. shortly before the body is ready, mdzs goes down. some time after that the abandoned body unburies itself.

who comes back?

could be mdzs verse or crossover with other mxtx novels. either way i think it's a fun concept to rotate in your head.

[rarepears]

Shen Yuan plants extra Sun and Moon Dew Flowers and uses them. It... doesn't work out quite the way he had hoped - you know, extra contingencies in case he gets killed again - because he wakes up after his death to see... himself. Not his reflection, but himself. Pointing at each other, gobsmacked.

That like spiderman meme.

Because each Sun and Moon Dew Flower did grow a perfect body for Shen Yuan to inhabit! Except now there's 3 Shen Yuan's running around with the same memory, personality, and looks.

Shen Yuan doesn't even know which one is supposedly the oldest, the OG, the real Shen Yuan! He's pretty sure he's the real Shen Yuan; but so do the other two!

What Shen Yuan does know, however, is that Cang Qiong seems to have an impression that there's a Shen Yuan library where they can check out a Shen Yuan for a couple hours! And Yue Qingyuan always goes for the Shen Yuan with the most annoyed looking expression Every Single Time...

Even though it's not the same Shen Yuan every time.

Shen Yuan prays that when Luo Binghe comes back, his little sheep isn't going to try to torture and kill all three Shen Yuans. But he's also scared AF that he might be the one Shen Yuan that gets picked out for revenge...

Luo Binghe, ready to vibrate out of his skin in excitement: Oh. My. God. Three Shizuns! HOW CAN I MARRY THEM ALL ASDFGHJKLKJ

Luo Binghe is too overwhelmed by his fantasies to remember his original goal of plotting revenge.

[More in shen yuan plants extra sun and moon dew flowers; luo binghe wants a harem of shen yuan's now au]

[asifikbal22]

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ #nature #natural #wonder #wonderful #beauty #beautiful #wild #wildness #Forest #Jungle #incredible #amazing #flower #sun #moon #sunrise #sunset #dew #winter #spring #moonlight #sea #ocean #arctic #wander #adventure #awesome #life #time https://www.instagram.com/p/CnPiCL8yZ5z/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mi-i-zori]

Until The End

CoD - Greek Mythology AU - Hades!Soap x Persephone!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Hades’ thoughts to his Queen.

WARNINGS : None.

Author’s Note : Inspired by @charliemwrites ‘ version of a Greek Mythology AU. I really wanted to try and write a little something about it - it was meant to be longer at first, but I’ve been kind of stuck lately. Still, I kinda like it, so here you go o/

I do not give permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my works, be it here or on any other platform.

It didn’t take much for the mortals to forget all about us.

Even though they still talk about us ; write about us ; grace celestial bodies with our names ; and fantasise about our time…

We are now nothing more than myths in the back of their minds. Stories to be analysed over and over, used to teach about the ruins of a civilisation that merged into many. An empire devoid of its former glory.

It didn’t take much for the mortals to forget all about us.

And it took even less for some of the Gods to forget about each other.

The Titans have long since gone silent down in Tartarus, and so have Orpheus’ songs. The souls hovering in the Underworld have all been sent out to a new life, their newfound beliefs condemning Cerberus to guard gates that are never to be opened again. There is no judgment to be given, no life to be retrieved.

In the end, the Earth keeps spinning. The sun keeps shining, and the moon keeps rising. The seasons, too, keep changing, following their never-ending dance from one hemisphere to the other. The foundations of this world remain the same.

Yet you no longer grace my domain with your light.

Time spares no one. Not even us Gods are immune against its passing.

But I refuse to forget.

I still spend my nights in the bed we used to share. The scent of your perfume vanished eons ago, yet my dreams are filled with visions of you. Your laughter echoes in the back of my mind, and flowers bloom in my memory - just like they did before, following you wherever you went. Their petals glisten with phantom dew.

Do you dream about me too ?

I cannot seem to remember where my body has been left to wither ; but every new vessel I find shall guide me to yours. The Moiras no longer spin any thread - so I keep clutching the one binding our souls together in my war-torn hands, hoping that you, too, glance longingly at it whenever it meets your eyes.

It might not be the case, however. If so, I will make it my goal to remind you of every single memory we once shared.

It didn’t take much for the mortals to forget all about us.

And it took even less for some of the Gods to forget about each other.

But I will not follow their lead.

For you hold a special place inside of me.

A place I shall guard until the End.

[undercoverpena]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

He wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 24/∞

APHRODISIAC-PRODUCING PLANTS ARE AN EVER-PRESENT DANGER IN THE WORLD OF PIDW

Rating: FANON - UNSUPPORTED

One of the most common tropes that I have ever seen all across SVSSS fanfiction is the use of aphrodisiac-releasing plants or "fuck-or-die" plants, as a plot device in order to get two characters together. Surprisingly enough, however, there is not a single mention of such plants existing in PIDW.

I debated on whether to rate this as neutral or unsupported, since typically I will choose neutral when there isn't any kind of evidence for or against something-- however, in this case, I chose unsupported due to the sheer amount of times that SQQ's narration references the sex scenes and plot devices in PIDW, and the fact that not once was any specifically sex-related plant mentioned among them.

We do know that there are all sorts of rare plants used as plot devices in PIDW:

"Do you still remember creating a plant that only appears every thousand years?” Shang Qinghua was speechless. “Your description is way too broad. Bing-ge’s eaten at least eighty, if not a hundred plants like that.” (7 Seas, Ch. 5)

and

...the number of mythical flowers in Proud Immortal Demon Way numbered at least in the hundreds, and every single one was at least a thousand years old, and when you added on all the mythical grasses and mythical trees, who the hell could remember all those names?! (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

Naturally, we also do not know all of these plants, so it cannot be said with certainty what sort of plants are included or excluded from the set. However, the effects of the plants we do know of are as follows:

Thousand-Leaves Snow Petal Lotus

"This flower has grown within the depths of Jue Di Gorge for thousands of years. Its spiritual qi is extraordinary, and furthermore, it is the natural bane of creatures from the Demon Realm. It emits an innate barrier that repels demonic beasts." (7 Seas, Ch. 4)

Additionally, when Luo Binghe absorbed the flower, it increased his abilities, likely due to the spiritual qi contained within it:

Incidentally, he even absorbed the nutrients of the mythical flower the girl had just eaten, and so his martial ability once again made great progress (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom

The Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom was also called the “flesh mushroom,” and this name was entirely literal. Though this mushroom wasn’t especially useful for cultivating, it still grew by collecting spiritual energy from nature along with essence from the sun and moon. If you planted its sprout in soil rich with spiritual energy, nurtured it, meticulously sculpted it, and watered it with blood and qi, once it matured, you could cultivate a living body of flesh. The body could grow just fine, but it was impossible to also create a soul via this method. That was to say, you could only grow a soulless, empty shell. (7 Seas, Ch. 9)

This is by far the most well-known of the mystical plants of SVSSS, considering the fact that it directly contributes to a major plotline. It is also notable that this plant was not used by Luo Binghe in PIDW:

In [SQQ's] defense, this mushroom wasn’t reserved for Luo Binghe. Rather, it was supposed to be for one of his opponents... ...If it were a thing that affected the main plotline, or if it were some mystical flower or herb meant to provide one of Luo Binghe’s power-ups, he wouldn’t have had the guts to try and steal it. (7 Seas, Ch. 5)

Also notable here is the mention of mystical flowers and herbs providing Luo Binghe's power-ups-- this is seemingly the primary purpose of mystical plants in PIDW.

The Ties That Bind

This is the final mystical plant mentioned in SVSSS-- and also the only one with a negative effect:

This plant sowed its seeds in the bodies of living beings, and they were especially attracted to people who gave off energy. Recklessly deploying one’s spiritual or demonic energy attracted these seeds to oneself. That was why Shen Qingqiu had stuck to physical combat as much as possible and avoided using his spiritual energy. When Ties That Bind seeds entered one’s flesh, they didn’t hurt, only faintly itched. But once they sprouted from the flesh that was their soil and burst forth through the skin, every inch of rent flesh from which they grew erupted in violent agony. Furthermore, the more you used your spiritual energy, the faster they grew. If you went as far as to use a spiritual blast, they would sprout like mad, budding in an instant. (7 Seas, Ch. 16)

Now, obviously, since there are only three of these plants mentioned within SVSSS, it is far from the eighty to a hundred mystical flowers, plus the additional trees and grasses, which we know nothing about at all. It wouldn't at all be unlikely for one of these many plants to have an aphrodisiac effect, or to produce a fuck-or-die poison-- but I personally feel that it would be likely for Shen Qingqiu to mention this directly in his narration had it been as common trope in PIDW as many fanworks imply.

Of course, it isn't unreasonable for fandom to come to the conclusion that such plants were present in the PIDW world-- after all, sex pollen is a fairly common trope, and PIDW contained a great variety of sex scenes. However, here it is important to note that Proud Immortal Demon Way WAS NOT purely an erotica, porn, or hentai novel. Fundamentally, it is a power fantasy-- and papapa scenes are just one part of that power fantasy.

In the original text, it is described as "YY", which is a slang term that literally translates to something like "mind masturbation"-- but that doesn't mean purely sexual content, instead it refers to a wish-fulfillment, escapist setting, a non-academic fantasy world, where the primary focus is on the main character becoming more and more powerful, overcoming more obstacles-- in Luo Binghe's case, this includes defeating all of his past enemies and marrying all of the beautiful women he came across. The sex scenes were just one part of the power fantasy-- erotica for erotica's sake was not the goal.

That isn't to say that PIDW didn't feature an abundance of sex scenes-- after all, that was one of if not the most-desired plotlines, and Airplane was made to cut backstory content in favor of them:

"And back then, everyone in the comments section was saying they wanted to see the other plotline, right? The one where Bing-ge bravely conquered a hundred flowers, you understand. A whole hundred holy flower spirits who had from their birth never laid eyes on a man, and all of them virgins. Cucumber-bro, how I suffered while writing the chapter of the hundred flower buds’ first mass-blooming! And still you roast me…” (7 Seas, Ch. 14)

Still, the power-fantasy of PIDW encompassed many different factors-- the battles and revenge against the villains and the ever-increasing power level as stronger and stronger enemies were defeated were just as important as the sex scenes and harem plotlines to the overall effect of the story.

My hypothesis for the origin of the theory that "the world of PIDW is full of fuck-or-die plants" is that it comes from the common sex-pollen trope in erotica and fanfiction, PIDW's reputation as containing quite a lot of erotic material, as well as a few select passages of SVSSS which link plants and flowers with sex-- one of which is the passage above, regarding the hundred flower spirits. I think that the more significant root for this theory, though, is the curing of Without a Cure through sex.

In SVSSS fanfiction, I have found it most common that the sex-inducing plants are specifically of the fuck-or-die variety (therefore, able to be categorized as poison) rather than the pure aphrodisiac variety. This lines up quite well with Qin Wanyue's affliction by Without a Cure in PIDW-- and its subsequent cure:

Then, in the end, how was the poison cured? After the down and dirty scene, the girl’s poison was naturally cured! Was it ridiculous? Cliché? Implausible? …But it was satisfying, right? Ridiculously satisfying, so ridiculously satisfying, ha ha ha ha… Look, Luo Binghe was of both human and demon blood, right? And the demon half of his bloodline came from their number one Saintly Ruler—from the heavenly demons of old! A wee little demonic poison wasn’t even strong enough to get stuck between Luo Binghe’s teeth, and he instantly absorbed and digested it during their you know. (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

However, the poison itself had little to do with either flowers or sex-- it was simply an incurable poison, which just so happened to be cured by dual-cultivation with a half-Heavenly Demon. There's a debate to be had as to whether the sex itself was the cure, or if it was Luo Binghe's bodily fluids in any form (curable by his blood as well), but that is all a topic for another post. Regardless, though this created a fuck-or-die scenario, it had nothing to do with fuck-or-die plants. Even in this scenario, the sex was only coincidentally a cure, with the characters not aware of it until afterwards:

The girl thought, “Since I’m about to die, I must leave behind some memories to ensure that my life won’t have been in vain. I don’t have many days left, after all, so I won’t suppress my feelings anymore.” Then, using her weak and fragile body, she pushed Luo Binghe down. (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

Now, we do know that aphrodisiacs do exist in the world of PIDW, but only one aphrodisiac is actually mentioned, which is produced by succubi:

Even if he was Great Master Liu, being poisoned by the succubi’s natural, innate Mesmerizing Fragrance—or in other words, their aphrodisiac, was profoundly…not good! (7 Seas, Ch. 23)

It's perfectly likely for other aphrodisiacs to exist in the world of PIDW, and for plants with aphrodisiac effects to exist, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say that such plants may have been used in some of the many, many harem plotlines. However, the aphrodisiac here is an ability belonging to a certain type of demon rather than a plant, and this is the only time where it is mentioned that some external cause is meant to induce lust in someone (Xin Mo is a matter for a future post as well). Rather, it seems that harem members are mainly drawn in by Luo Binghe's power, talent, looks, and generally magnetic appeal, rather than being forcibly drawn in through aphrodisiac plants or specifically fuck-or-die poisons.

Everything in PIDW was about bringing satisfaction to the (male) readers-- so, to determine whether fuck-or-die plants would have been a common plot device, we would need to ask would this plot device provide such satisfaction? It could-- but that would also depend on how it is portrayed. In fanfiction, both parties are often rendered helpless by whichever plot-device plant is being used as a means to get the characters together. In PIDW, though, I feel like it might play out a little more differently-- likely, there would be more plotlines in which Bing-ge himself was not affected, but instead generously helped out whichever maiden was currently afflicted and suffering, through which the romantic relationship was established.

Of course, it would still depend a lot on the specific plotline being followed, so this is more of just a suggestion to consider how the mechanics of such a plant would work to provide satisfaction to PIDW's target demographic, and whether to follow or subvert those expectations and tropes. Alternatively, because of the genre shift that occured during SVSSS, it wouldn't be out of place to include tropes more common to danmei, or to fanfiction, in that universe-- where it may be more common to have scenarios where both parties (especially the POV character) are incapacitated and affected. Every writer, of course, has the freedom to explore whichever tropes and plotlines they wish to-- but it could be interesting to look into genre tropes and see how they may or may not apply.

Typically, these arguments would lead to a neutral rating, rather than unsupported, since there is no direct evidence against the existence of such plants-- however, this post is not primarily meant to address the existence, but rather the prevelence. The existence of aphrodisiac or fuck-or-die plants in the world of PIDW would be neutral or even somewhat likely, but the topic being analyzed is the common fanfiction trope that within the world of PIDW, fuck-or-die plants appear frequently and are a well-known, common threat that the cultivation world's inhabitants must be prepared to face at any time.

I think that if that were the case in PIDW, there would have at least been one single mention in Shen Qingqiu's narration of a fuck-or-die or even an aphrodisiac plant-- perhaps as something that he himself would need to prepare for and worry about after transmigrating. However, there is no such mention-- therefore, while they may exist, it is not likely that sex-inducing plants are an overly common sight in the world of PIDW. The mystical plants seen in SVSSS are either poisons, power-ups, or utilities, and it is implied that most of the many other plants in PIDW would also fall into that category.

[mooshywrites]

Could I request headcanons of giving and receiving flowers for Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with gn s/o?

They so deserve flowers 🥹

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Giving and Receiving Flowers from the Tieflings

Dammon

Giving him flowers -

~ Dammon would be a blushing mess when you gave him flowers

~ He would immediately find a vase to put them in, setting the display in an open window

~ Though most of the shop seemed cluttered and covered in a thin layer of soot, the flowers and vase were kept pristine

~ Every customer who came in couldn’t escape Dammon preening over his flowers, telling anyone who would listen how happy he was to have flowers from his love

Receiving flowers from him -

~ Dammon wanted to be certain the flowers he gave you would be special

~ He spent half the day looking for the perfect bunch, but nothing quite fit

~ That is, until he had a brilliant idea

~ That evening, he couldn’t sit still as he watched you open the carefully wrapped box

~ Inside the gift was a marvel to behold. There was a delicate metal flower, shades of silver and gold polished to give the illusion that the flower was blooming with life, even kissed with dew

Rolan

Giving flowers to him -

~ Rolan didn’t really see the point of flowers, that is until you pop into the library, dripping and mud and holding up a bundle of incredibly rare blooms

~ He recognized the plants as the same he’d been searching for, unsuccessful for months. They were an important part of an alchemical spell, but it seemed they may be more legend than real

~ But here you were, panting from exhaustion but still smiling brightly and holding the damned things

~ Rolan couldn’t even make himself snap away the caked mud before scooping you up into a warm, thankful hug

Receiving flowers from him -

~ Rolan was much more of an experience man than a gift giver. He preferred taking you on adventures or showing you beautiful things than mere possessions

~ After your flower fiasco, however, he can’t help but return the favor

~ One night, he leads you to a creek side picnic, the only light being the soft rays from the moon

~ Your breath practically catches in your chest as Rolan whispers a spell, millions of glowing flowers blooming in ripples through the velvet grass

Zevlor

Giving flowers to him -

~ Zevlor was almost confused when you gave him flowers, so taken aback by the idea of you gifting him something like this

~ As soon as realized they were really for him, he was all smiles and soft kisses

~ He carefully dismantled the flowers, showing you his process of pressing and drying the soft petals

~ Afterward, he strings the petals through thread, adorning his home with drapes of twirling dried blooms

Receiving flowers from him -

~ Zevlor would bring you flowers all the time, practically every day if he could manage

~ It almost became a game for him, trying to find flowers that matched your eyes, matched your hair, even matched the sun kissed freckles across your skin

~ He prepared the vases himself, having a few placed around the house. One in at least every room

~ He enjoyed having something to remind him of you, a glimpse of his love wherever he was

[piosplayhouse]

Honestly the more I think about it the more I really think the sun and moon dew mushroom rlly should've been an amorphophallus instead

- extremely rare and take an immense amount of expertise and tedious care and special conditions to bloom (to the point where one blooming is an incredibly proud event for gardens and often publicized to draw visitors nationwide)

- on average take 5-7 years, sometimes even 10 for some varieties, to reach maturity

- human sized

- called the "corpse flower" (because it smells like rotting flesh)

- weird penis shape

- variety called amorphophallus yaoi

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, in which author had a intrusive thought and instead of waking up in the Sun and Moon Dew Flower body, Shen Qingqiu Transmigrates again.

-

Shen Qingqiu hadn't exactly been expecting anything. Dirt, maybe, a forest perhaps - a clearing with a beautiful spring and impeccable Feng Shui preferably, but with Airplane-bro doing the arrangements he hadn't really put much hope into that. Either way, coming out of a plant, he figured there'd at least be soil.

Metal ceiling with bevelled corners and fluorescent lights was definitely not something he'd been thinking about. Hell, he didn't think he'd ever see fluorescent lights again! His new xianxia world didn't even have the concept of electricity, never mind making use of it beyond some lightning-based attacks, and even if he, as an immortal master, lived long enough to see technological progress, why would electrical lights become a thing when night pearls already exist? Never mind glowing talismans and various crystals and gemstones, and honestly, glowing moonlight snail worms in a lantern - and besides, the rules of xianxia basically forbid modern technology, because would it even be xianxia anymore at that point?

And that's completely beyond the point here.

Shen Qingqiu sits up, still staring at the fluorescent light in the ceiling. It's got a slight greenish hue and emits constant low hum of electricity. It looks painfully, incredibly mundane and utterly real.

Maybe it's a dream? He's dreaming of his past life. That has to be it.

Shen Qingqiu looks down and knows none of what he sees. Well, he recognises it - curtains on a frame at each side of his bed, uncomfortable looking chair sitting beside it, a metal bedside table, laptop with sorta janky angular design… Everything looks like it's made of metal, from the walls to the doors to the desk. 

It's definitely no room Shen Yuan had ever lived in. It kind of looks like a hospital bed, but in no hospital he's ever been in.

Pushing the flimsy blanket off himself, Shen Qingqiu moves to stand up, only to stop and stare at his bare knees. He's only wearing modern underwear and the fact that his legs are hairless isn't a surprise - Shen Qingqiu's body is perfectly smooth all over, of course, because xianxia - he's used to that. It's their shape that's new.

His knees look muscled. They begin from - thicc - equally muscled thighs and continue onto shapely calves, and - and who has muscled knees? Honestly, they look like something that belongs to Liu Qingge, not him! Liu Qingge would have muscled knees!

Shen Qingqiu wasn't weak, alright, he trained, he practised with his sword, he could handle himself. He was a master of martial arts too, okay! But, uh, he didn't… exactly… look the part. Nor did he want to! That kind of shape took a lot of work to maintain, and with the Without a Cure poison -

Ah!

Shen Qingqiu quickly puts a hand on his - tight, so tight, flat, faintly ripped, definitely muscled, and now that he's looking, is that a noticeable bulge in his very tactical looking boxers, holy shit, okay, not the time - belly and circulates his Qi.

Correction, he tries to circulate his Qi.

It feels like he's trying to stir a pool of fresh cement with a spoon. There's energy there - a great thick mass of energy - but it doesn't flow. It barely even reacts to his crude poking.

This body hasn't ever cultivated - and yet it is practically bursting with power.

Oh, is that how the Sun and Moon Dew Flower body works? That makes sense. Of course, it's new, so it would've never cultivated, it wouldn't have a shaped core. Honestly, he should be grateful that it has any energy at all! He might've come out of his resurrection without any power at all! Having this much energy to mould into a new core is a blessing. And his veins…

His spiritual veins feel a little burnt somehow, but that's not too bad! Probably just a side effect from all this energy roaming freely in his body. Shen Qingqiu's body has damaged spiritual veins too, he's used to working around it. And either way, the Without a Cure is gone! That's already a huge leap forward for him, even if he had to start from scratch.

Running a hand up and down his - washboard abs, holy shit - stomach, and feeling long hair - so familiar he almost didn't notice - falling down his back, Shen Qingqiu looks up and then frowns.

New body doesn't explain the room he's in. It doesn't explain the electrical lights. It doesn't explain -

A hand rips aside the left side curtain with a screech of metal rings on a metal frame, and a doctor steps into view.

It's unmistakably a doctor, with a white lab coat and clipboard, eyeglasses and irritated expression and everything.

"So, you're up," the man says, looking at him down his nose and sniffing. He takes out a pen and turns his attention to the clipboard. "Well then. How do you feel?"

Shen Qingqiu reframes his world with the swiftness of a practised transmigrator and a liar and hangs his head as though it hurts. Hair falls to curtain his face, hopefully hiding his expression. It's surprisingly pale. Hm. "What happened?"

Oh, nice, his voice is almost the same. A little lower, maybe, but familiar enough.

The doctor glances at him. "Confusion," he says and marks it down. "Not a common symptom for you. What else?"

Shen Qingqiu hesitates, unsure, and looks down at himself. He's got muscles on muscles, and his internal energies feel like a concrete truck ready for a pour, but aside from that there's no clues as to what he's supposed to say.

System? He thinks warily.

He gets the mental equivalent of a busy signal. Which is a… really weird sensation, really.

"What else?" the doctor demands impatiently.

Shen Qingqiu, uncertain, asks again, "What happened?"

The doctor narrows his eyes at him and then scoffs. "The assistant misjudged the dosage. I should've never let him handle your injection, but what's done is done. You received three times your maximum, and your body shut down briefly to accommodate."

… What? What is any of that even supposed to mean? Aside from that last point… that sounded far too familiar. "My heart stopped?" Shen Qingqiu asks slowly, pushing his long bangs back from his face.

"Only for a moment - we didn't even need to resuscitate you, your body recovered on its own - a notable new mutation, which has been added to your file, but unlikely to be very useful going forward," the doctor says, looking at the clipboard again. "It's likely only applicable to specific circumstances, and you shouldn't rely on it in the field. Blood loss will kill you eventually, even if your heart can restart itself, so don't count on it even as a last resort."

… Yeah, Shen Qingqiu has no idea what to make of that. "I wasn't planning on it," he says and clears his throat. This place and this guy is starting to give him the creeps now. "I feel fine now. Can I go?"

The doctor tsks at him, marks something down and tucks the clipboard under his arm. "Fine. Your next dose is in two weeks, on the 17th. Don't miss it."

Shen Qingqiu hums, noncommittal, and misses his fan. If these doses killed the new original goods, he's not sure he'd be taking any more, not if he had any choice. 

The doctor scoffs, reminding Shen Qingqiu for a moment of himself in a weird way - what the original Shen Qingqiu might've looked like for original Luo Binghe - and turns to leave. "Get out of here then, Sephiroth. Your clothes are in the closet in the back."

"... Thanks," Shen Qingqiu murmurs and then lifts his head, feeling his face go slack in shock. There's a strand of pale - silver! - hair in front of his face and thankfully the doctor is already out of view and can see his reaction, because, what…?

… What did the man just call him?

-

So, there was a Whole Train of Thought that brought us here.

[seneon]

月光 ݁ ˖ MOONLIGHT ── CHAPTER ONE. THE CRUEL AND LONELY AFTERMATH OF A GREAT WAR BETWEEN NATIONS.

CONTENTS. warnings of dead bodies, slight gore (slicing through the skin), suicide of an enemy party. wc of a thousand.

moonlight series masterlist ₊ 𓂃 chapter two

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊, night-time, right after the evening where the golden hour turns into dusk. the sun has set completely, allowing the moon to rise and take up on its duty for the rest of the night. it was only a few hours ago that humanity officially ended a war between nations. chaos ceased right then with only one victor left standing.

Y/N, nobody but a mere girl who was turned and twisted to be in the war not by choice, but by the lack of freewill. nobody but a daughter of a swordsmith. nobody but a daughter of a lady who sells potatoes and sometimes mooncakes during mid-autumn festival by the streets to make a living. you are nobody... but a doll of the battlefield, simply selected by some soldiers to be made into a weapon on the rough battlefield.

woe to you who survived through the hellish nightmare of watching your comrades get their chest pierced by spears. woe to you who survived the cuts all across your limbs by the blades of the other innocent souls, also forced to be on the battlefield. woe to you who was the only living being standing amongst puddles and mountains of corpses. and woe to you, for you had to lay a finger on your last standing enemy who eventually unalived himself for the sake of surrendering.

you still remembered the scene of the man standing in front of you, crying his eyes out and begging you to kill him. as the last person standing, shouldn't there already be some sort of peace? you didn't know why but before you could even say anything but to touch his shoulders, he used his blade and run it across the skin of his throat, allowing the substance you despised so much to swiftly flow out.

now venturing on your own after leaving thousands of corpses behind, you walked and walked and walked through forests, meadows, riverbanks, and eventually your journey halted as you stepped forth into a huge mountain.

you unsheathed your sword, pointing it at the direction where you sensed a presence lurking around. "who are you?!" you exclaimed at the person, a man with half a yellow and black hair. he possessed such blank golden honey eyes, almost as if you could drown in the dew, consumed by the sweetest of emptiness.

something about him doesn't feel right though. he is man, but he feels something more than man. something closer to a divine being that harbours magical abilities. why would a man be in the middle of a huge mountain anyways? why is the man dressed in such fine clothing and is alone in a mountain? is he a nobleman to be clothed such a way? what intrigues you the most is the two line that runs from his eyes down to his cheeks.

the grip on your sword tightens, ready to offense and defense for anything that might happen.

"what may a mighty warrior such as you be doing here?" he finally spoke, furrowing his eyebrows. the man spoke with authority, as if you aren't supposed to even step foot in this mountain. his honey eyes scanned all over your body, taking notes that you obtained cuts, stabs, and hurts all around. "you are injured. physically and mentally. perhaps you seek solace in this mountain. that is why you are here."

this man had read you like a book. the grip on your hilt tightened even more, before it loosens and you drop your arm. your eyes slowly dropping to the ground too. "you're not human. what are you?"

"the god of this mountain. rayne ames. i know the very inner being of any living creature that sets foot in my mountain," the mountain god said as he lifted his hands up and a group of fallen petals arise and danced along the wind. rayne spun his hands in a circular motion, the wind following to dance around you. then, the flowers slowly and beautifully flow down all around you. "everything of this mountain belongs to me."

as he uttered those words, a petal fell right at the palm of your hands. you gently held your hand out. even though it has fallen from its origins, it remains as beautiful and fresh as it first blossomed, unscathed even. the petal then jumped right out of your palm and flew away along the wind.

"if everything in this mountain belongs to you, may i... stay here and be one of yours..?"

rayne ames' eyes widened just in the slightest way, before it shuts, locking away the sweet honey dew. "i refuse. descend the mountain and return to your people."

"but i have no people!" you shouted. "i thought you knew that, stupid god..." that came out as a whisper, merely decipherable to one.

as much as rayne feels so much sympathy for the hurt, he cannot allow a human to live in the mountains with him. it is simply impossible. but your words strike him in a way that he couldn't quite understand. the words ‘i have no people’ reminded him so much of himself. just like how he is a mountain god and always alone.

"what is your name?" rayne asks, letting out a sigh.

"y/n."

"y/n, you may stay," he turns around and walks away. "but if you spill poison in the soil and roots of this mountain, i will cast you out." relief embraced you as worry left you when his words filled your ears. "you are now mine, y/n."

you are his, rayne ames the god of this mountain. the moment you spoke to him, the moon has already sent the stars to form a fate between the two of you. moonlight belonged to a mountain god who accepted a human girl and a mighty warrior who seek solace in the haven of a divine being.

NOTES. omg what an exciting fic!!! jokes anyways happy valentine's day! this series will be updated every day 🖤

TAGS ݁ ˖ @kyoghurts @anqelically @caelivir @bbladie @ansbobcar @rjasmin2021 @lunareclipses-moments

© SENEON￤MOONLIGHT 2024. do not alter or repost.

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Fairy au question:

What was it like for Sun and Moon when they were first born/created? Idk how being born as a fairy works, aside from all the Tinkerbell movies I've seen, lol.

Did they know each other and their jobs immediately or did it take some time?

The light of the first dawn shines upon and enchants a dew drop with its magic--effectively becoming a "sun drop". It then falls onto a flowering bud.

The bud glows with the sun drop's magic and it blossoms. Curled up inside, new as the dawn, is a tiny sleeping Sundrop fairy.

It's both nature and nurture when it comes to their tasks. Some, they know instinctively; Sun knows to help with the flowers. Some they learn, like their fairy dust having an effect on other living things.

As for Moon's origins, it's the same as Sun's. Instead, it takes place at night, with the light of a blue moon (the second full moon of a month). Both of their origins are meant to be extremely rare occurrences.

also, just wanna point out, they have no genitalia, so not technically naked. But they didn't just emerge with their clothes.

[artemis-potnia-theron]

How I perceive different deities' energies

(based on personal experiences)

Apollon ☀️: Light coming up from somewhere deep in the gut. An ache that almost burns. And it might if I stare too long. Swelling gold. A chorus of music too perfect to be written, words that could shatter my tongue if I tried to speak them.

Brigid 🔥: A lump at the back of my throat. Tears in my eyes while I smile. Joy and grief mixed together under my ribcage. Melodies sung through the ages, and through tears. Warmth at my back and a hand on my cheek. Baked bread. Garden herbs. Clear water from a well. An embrace that could last an age.

Nyx 🌌: The low, echoing hum of something eternal. Something too ancient to comprehend and too overwhelming to be perceived. Endless. Ethereal. Peace and chaos. Quiet and thunderous. Coffee. Red wine. Onyx.

The Morrigan 🐦‍⬛: A chant of words I can't understand, spoken in a language I never knew and never forgot. The cold steel of a blade's edge. Sharp, precise, and unwavering. Her language of secrets and ancient knowledge could swallow you whole if you let it.

Hekate 🗝: Whispers. Shadows against candlelight. A flickering flame that knows how to dance in the wind and never extinguish. The smell of old parchment and herbs. A ripple on the water. As intricate and mesmerizing as a spider's web. Silent and sharp like a viper. A bark and a growl heard from somewhere too far away for me to see.

Aine 🧚🏼‍♀️: Sunlight breaking over the surface of a river. Citrus. Wildflowers. Fresh grass. Wind sweeping over a meadow. Chimes. Fruit trees finally coming into bloom. The juice from an apple trickling down my neck. Laughter. So much laughter.

Aphrodite ❤️: Flower petals. Something sweet and soft like honey that trickles down the back of my throat and seeps into my belly. It spreads all through me like starlight trapped in my veins. Bells. Bliss. A want that could dissolve me. A yearning that would hurt if it didn't taste so lovely. The pain feels like a lifetime away.

Tiamat 🐉: Clusters of stars. Endless reflections of light on the water's surface. The deep song of a whale that echoes through the pulse of the sea. An eye that gazes down from the cosmos.

Caer Ibormeith 🦢: A lullaby that has been with me for longer than I know. A kiss pressed to my forehead. That place between sleeping and awake, between real and not. Cool air at twilight. Dew on the glass before sunrise. Clean fabric. A veil. Flying over the world as it sleeps.

Artemis 🦌: Freedom. Breath-taking, devastating freedom. A stag drinking fresh water from a spring. A doe and her fawn, sleeping as the songbirds chirp at dawn. A rush. An absolute rush like mountain air in my blood. Fireflies in an open field. Bones bleaching in the sun. The thrill of a wolf pack chasing its prey. The moon over the ocean at night. Teeth. Bird calls. Wildflowers. A great bear that walks in the stars. Hymns only beasts can sing. Jasmine and animal fur and the midnight air.

[rarepears]

Don't mind me, i'm just minding my own busi-

*slips* WHoops, excuse me as i slip this into your askbox. https://www.tumblr.com/magioftheseas/703568367129362432?source=share

Did you know some plants, like Mint if i remember correctly, can do this? And pumpkin stems, but you need a special powder thingy-ma-bob for that.

Lots of plants can do it - especially ones with rhizome roots. Ginger, calla lilies, bulb flowers like tulips... Plus plants like hydrangea and tomatoes where, if you bury a section of its stem in soil, said section will sprout roots and you have a whole other plant. Then there's plants like bamboo and strawberries where roots will spread everywhere and shoot up more stems.

[More in shen yuan plants extra sun and moon dew flowers; luo binghe wants a harem of shen yuan's now au]

[asifikbal22]

Reddish #nature #natural #wonder #wonderful #beauty #beautiful #wild #wildness #Forest #Jungle #incredible #amazing #flower #sun #moon #sunrise #sunset #dew #winter #spring #moonlight #sea #ocean #arctic #wander #adventure #awesome #life #time https://www.instagram.com/p/CnPgcGcyiGA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sashi-ya]

donquixote rosinante x gn! reader tw: none. au: cora is still alive, living at dressrosa with doffy. wc: 505

DEWDROPS. Whenever there was pain, whenever there was sadness running through the fields of Dressrosa always made you smile. But the sunflowers were hidden tonight, and the sun hadn’t give those beautiful sunshine lovers enough to be in full bloom. You sit in between them, whose desperate attempts for energy forced to rely on the others. Faced one to the other, each of them having a couple to share what was left of vitality. And while there, you feel as if you would never have your other sunflower. Living in the castle made you sad. Serving Doffy, even more. It was that or becoming a forgotten rag doll… somehow, the rag doll alternative didn’t seem so bad anymore.  Some little tears pooled in your eyes, and a big sigh coming from your mouth, moved the green -now tinted in blueish and silver moonlight- leaves. It made a drop of dew touch your leg; it’s cold, but it caught your attention… always flashed by the beauty of wild big yellow flowers, you never noticed the silent little drops of water on top of their leaves. You come closer, touching one of those with extreme caution. You don’t want for the little droplets to slide off the leave. And for some reason, you smile. Those were interesting to look at, especially at the way they reflected the moon and your face despite being that tiny… “Are your leaves crying, dear sunflower?”. A sudden face appeared on the reflection; blonde, beautiful, silent. You jumped, as you weren’t expecting someone else to be right behind you. “Oi, oi. Are you ok?” he asks, grabbing you as you fall back in your desperate attempt to stand up. Your eyes, as wide as a sunflower, open in big surprise. “You- you can speak?” you gasp, noticing the man you thought to be a mute -or all of you, for that matter- happened to be talking to you. Rosinante covered his lipstick drawn lips with his hands. He realized he had committed a silly mistake. But had he really? Always silent, to you, Doffy’s brother has always been like the dew drops. A beauty worth reflecting a whole sky, but always so unnoticed. “Don’t tell Doffy, yeah?” he pleads, sitting right by your side. “But why are you so sad?”. You smile, softly. Of course you wouldn’t tell him. “I – I won’t tell him. I’m… I don’t like this life” you murmur, unsure. Should you tell this man, that’s Doffy’s brother and a prince of the castle you live and work in, the true?. “I don’t like this life either, would you mind if I share the feeling tonight sitting by your side?” he asks, with a smile as bright as the sun itself. Somehow, the warmth of it suddenly made you feel reenergized. You smile back, nodding. In silence, you thought that maybe you had found the sunflower you were hoping for, this night and the following ones. Even if he would reflect, in the dark, all of what you are… ~

[temis-de-leon]

Peaceful waters

Characters: Levi x gn!MC

Masterlist

CW: implied depression, emotional numbness, MC's not having the best of times, another minuscule nod at Lesson 16 because I'd never be able to forget about it

He may be ooc, but i couldn't stop thinking about this

.

There was something about the color blue. Something so strong it made you want to cry. 

It could be the clear skies of spring, warm breeze carrying the smell of flowers; or maybe the blueberry sour candy that stained your tongue. It also reminded you of that stray cat that followed you around, purring against your leg even when you didn't have any treats, cyan eyes staring at you with unconditional love. 

It could be the water and the sound of waves reaching the sand, or maybe the early hours of the morning, moon and sun coexisting in the sky, mist in the horizon and dirt moist with dew.

When was the last time you woke up before dawn? High school, perhaps? Or one of those nights where the tears were heavier than your eyelids? Staring at the window and the people living around you with a headache so brutal it took away your vision.

But did you have enough reasons to cry? You weren't okay, but you were neither sad nor angry; it could be worse. 

Poor MC with the empty hole in their chest, no emotions to fill it with, unable to enjoy the flowers that grew inside the crevices of the pavement, the dog sunbathing in the balcony or the desire paths inches away from the manmade sidewalk.

Poor MC, no sense of direction, too detached from their own life to reject their murderer’s friendship, to listen to their survival instincts and turn around when it was due.

So lost in their lack of feelings that the only thing they could confine in was the color blue.

Blue, like the wings of a butterfly.

Like Levi's aquarium.

Like laying in the midst of his pillows, his blankets and his clothes, the familiarity of his scent surrounding you when everything became too much.

Levi, who didn't need to ask why whenever you showed up at his door with cloudy vision. The one who respectfully turned up the volume of his headphones so you could cry in peace, uncomfortable upon your sadness, but understanding.

Whatever you would give him without any reason to do so, he would give you. His presence, his silence, his words… A lending ear, a forced joke to ease the room, a tutorial for a game you've already played millions of times.

Levi, who treated you like his lover, his idol and, above all, his bestfriend.

When he'd look at you, your wet cheeks and your red nose, half of your face buried in the nest you'd made in his bathtub, he'd realize.

The color of his pact was orange, but he was an aquatic demon. Wouldn't it make more sense if he wore the color of his own element? 

But then again, you were the color blue: the depths of the ocean, the lights of his room, Henry's tank. Laying together and staring at the ceiling while talking about the last game he'd purchased, hugging him when he became to embarrassed to do anything else and kissing him when he believed he didn't deserve it. 

You were to him what he hoped he'd someday be to you.

Blue.

Just like water.