#Crimson carnation

[ur-typical-nerd]

Time for Cuphead OCs!

Alright, since I’m currently a little obsessed with Cuphead and The Cuphead Show, I have, of course, decided to make some OCs for it. This list may increase as time goes on

Claire Voyant

-Anthropomorphic crystal ball wearing a flowy, long-sleeved blue dress with golden jewelry and a circlet with a Diamond-shaped sapphire gem in the center.

-Fortune teller 

-Lesbian with a crush on Hilda Berg (I thought having a fortune-teller character getting with a character themed around astrology was cute)

-Recently moved to the Inkwell Isles with her daughter Letta because her old neighborhood was too rough to raise a child in

-Snarky and sassy 24/7

-Besties with the Carnival Trio

-Childhood friends with Elder Kettle

-(Also she was friends with King Dice, but that went south when he started working with the Devil)

-Basically Cuphead and Mugman’s cool aunt

-The Devil occasionally asks for fortunes from her via Henchman, which she absolutely hates. However, she thinks Henchman is very sweet and loves being visited by him; she’ll give him a free fortune whenever he comes to get the Devil’s fortune.

-(She thought it was hilarious when she foresaw the events of the first episode)

-To see the future, she needs to place her head on a golden crystal ball stand

-Both her circlet and her stand are family heirlooms, passed down through generations of fortune tellers/oracles

-Occasionally watches Cuphead and Mugman for Elder Kettle

-My headcanon voice for her is actually the voice from the intro song with a bit of an accent

-Loves her daughter very much

-Also does the occasional seance/exorcism

Letta

-A small ragdoll with short, black yarn for hair, a green button for her right eye, pale fabric as a skin, stitches on the edges of her mouth and all of her joints, and she wears a pastel yellow dress with black shoes.

-Her name comes from the name of one of the most haunted dolls on Earth (it actually stands for Letta Me Out. The haunted doll, not Letta)

-Doesn’t know what her sexuality is specifically, but she is attracted to girls

-Very sweet but very naive

-Created by a cult and discovered by Claire in the same night

-Has no soul, which makes her technically immortal. She’ll age to a point (young/mid-adult), but the only way she can really “die” is if she’s torn to shreds and disenchanted

-Her origins are more or less a mystery

-Can take off her head and limbs by pulling out the stitches connecting them to the rest of her body

-Very good at sewing

-Mentally around the same age as the Cup brothers (which I headcanon to be about 10-12), but she’s only been around for a year and a half

-The Devil is fascinated by the fact that Letta doesn’t have a soul (after all, every other living thing on Inkwell Isle has one) and how this means that he can’t really do much to permanently hurt her

-(Claire is not thrilled by this and has threatened him multiple times to stay away from her kid. The Devil, being the Devil, doesn't listen to her)

-Not much of a hard-hitter, considering she’s full of stuffing

-Doesn’t like fighting

-Can’t get sick

-When she eats or drinks, it turns into magical energy to fuel her enchanted body 

-Used to have a crush on Ms. Chalice until she discovered she was a ghost

Donny “Don” Feathers

-Pale blue, Pillow-headed boy with dark circles under his eyes in a white shirt with periwinkle shorts

-Name is a pun on down feathers, which pillows are often filled with

-Demisexual Gay, and I’m tempted to pair him up with Mugman…

-Lives on Isle Three with his mom and dad (mom is a decorative pillow, while his dad is a round cushion)

-Very chill and kind, down for whatever

-Narcoleptic 

-Has a major sleepwalking problem. He actually met the boys after sleepwalking to their house…from Isle Three. This is a rather common occurrence.

-Not entirely sure what’s going on between the boys and the Devil, but he’s willing to help

-Generally always tired because his sleep schedule is weird due to his narcolepsy

-Enjoys cuddling and soft surfaces

Crimson Rose Carnation

-Anthropomorphic rose wearing a black shirt, exposing a bit of green vine arm, and a green skirt with brown shoes

-Niece of Cagney Carnation, who is very protective of her

-Pansexual with a crush on Letta

-Deadpan and slightly cynical

-The group’s common sense when Mugman can’t fulfill the role

-Has minor control over plants, and, since her arms are made of vines/plant matter, she can stretch her arms to great lengths

-Can also “root” herself into the ground to make herself bigger and more powerful

-Doesn’t really “need” to eat (can create most of the energy she needs via photosynthesis) but does to get certain vitamins and minerals she may need/she likes it

-Hates cold weather

-Goes along with Cuphead and Mugman’s plans partially to make sure they don’t get themselves killed and partially because she’s usually very bored in the woods and wants to see what kind of mayhem they’ll cause

-Has insulted the Devil to his face before

-While somewhat exasperated by his protectiveness, Crimson genuinely loves her uncle 

Woolene Baarnes

-Small, fluffy anthropomorphic sheep with fluffy black wool, brown eyes, and a pale blue full moon pendant with a stylized white wolf on it. She also wears a purple bow in front of her right ear. While she wears white gloves on her hands, she has hooves for feet.

-King Dice’s assistant/bodyguard

-Asexual biromantic

-Her mother was a big, loud, enthusiastic wolf, and her father was a small, mild-mannered sheep her mom fell head-over-heels in love with (they’re VERY in love to this day). This technically makes her a werewolf.

-Her werewolf form is much bigger than her sheep form: she’s actually a head taller than Dice in this form. Her black wool turns into pure white fur, and she grows fangs, a tail, and claws. Her eyes also gain a reddish tint in this form, and her pendant begins to glow.

-She involuntarily transforms into this form whenever there’s a full moon or whenever she get scared/angry enough. However, she can voluntarily transform into this form, but it takes a bit of effort to maintain.

-The amount of control she has over her actions depends on the reason for her transformation. If she transforms voluntarily/calms down, she’s in full control: if she transforms during the full moon or is still too angry or fearful, she has little-to-no control.

-Very perky and upbeat optimist. The kind of employee to bring donuts and coffee for everyone in the morning.

-The reason she was hired is because the Devil basically made Dice get a bodyguard after he nearly got attacked one night. King Dice, frustrated by this, hired Woolene as an assistant/bodyguard to spite the Devil.

-Then there was a fight one night at the casino that ended up involving Dice and Woolene. Woolene got mad enough to transform and literally THREW the aggressors out. Dice just stood there stunned while the Devil congratulated Dice on his choice of bodyguard.

-Got bullied a lot as a kid because of her half-wolf heritage

-Despite her perky, people-loving personality, she doesn’t really like parties. This is due to the fact that pretty much the only party she was invited to was a front for a rather cruel prank that ended up with her transforming out of anger and hurting a classmate.

-Besties with Henchman. As for Stickler…she tries to be nice, okay?

-Very organized and polite, but she actually has a rather short temper  

-Heavy southern accent

#Cuphead #nerd’s ocs #the cuphead show #mugman #king dice #elder kettle #the devil #cuphead ocs #cuphead oc #claire voyant #Letta the doll #Crimson carnation #Donny feathers #Woolene Baarnes #henchman #stickler

[the-web-of-love-and-magic]

Waylaid by Crimson Carnation

Very sweet and funny.

#booklr #web novel #danmei #mlm #romance #m/m #mxm #ancient chinese setting #oel web novel #scribblehub #crimson carnation #read completed

[infizero-draws]

i'm not really feeling like myself today

#adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #fionna campbell #fanart #fionna the human #im not great at drawing flowers so here's what's in each of their bouquets (picked for their meanings): #simon: yellow carnations; pink carnations; forget-me-nots; purple hyacinths; dark crimson roses #fionna: yellow carnations; hollyhock; thyme #this is based off of the amo xo album cover by no vacation (if you've been here long enough you'll know i've redrawn it before lol) #1k

[stanford-photography]

Portrait of Petra By Jeff Stanford, 2023

Buy prints at: https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/jeff-stanford

#©JeffStanford #midjourney #midjourneyart #ai #discord #digitalart #aiart #fineartamerica #Petra #portrait #GustavKlimt #PaoloRoversi #carnations #flowers #flora #floral #blossoms #crimson #reds

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Round 2; Crimson Rose Vs A bouquet of ginger torch lilies and blue carnations

First, let's talk about the Crimson Rose:

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: it means mourning and she's a necromancer who is mourning constantly Description: She is the product of her parent's atrocities, and only knows one other person her age. She is in love with a concept of something untouchable. She loves very little, and what she does love is taken from her. She's also tiny, and has the appearance of a wet sopping cat (except when you touch her she is bone dry). Her goth nature is only added to by her tragedy.

Check her post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of ginger torch lilies and blue carnations:

Meaning and why these flowers were chosen: These flowers canonically represent him! Ginger Torch Lillies represent heartache or self-pity, which in this case are referring to the his self pity. He has severe social anxiety and difficulties talking to people, he became extremely jealous of one of his co-workers who could be so effortlessly charismatic, and within the matrix, took on his appearance to emulate them. He pitied himself, and indulged on his own flaws. The blue lilies represent devotion. He created someone that was devoted to learn about people, and he became dedicated to her. Already with difficulties speaking to others, it did him no good shutting himself away and dedicating all of his time to her. Description: – A huge nerd. – Will tangent into psychological principals whenever they get an opportunity. – Their idea of 'light reading' includes reading a compilation of greek philosophy works, and then looking over modern practices and examining how the field has changed overtime. – Becomes the biggest fan of the Johari window, a heuristic* technique designed to help people better understand their relationship with themselves and others. (heuristic: enabling someone to discover or learn something for themselves.)

Check their post here

#round 2 #mysterious character: crimson rose #mysterious character: bouquet of ginger torch lilies and blue carnations

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: The Seduction of the Crimson Rose (Pink Carnation #4) Author: Lauren Willig Genres: romance, historical, Regency romance, adventure Content/Trigger Warnings: period-accurate misogyny, attempted murder, bloody injuries Summary (from author’s website): Determined to secure another London season without assistance from her new brother-in-law, Mary Alsworthy accepts a secret assignment from Lord Vaughn on behalf of the Pink Carnation. She must infiltrate the ranks of the dreaded French spy, the Black Tulip, before he and his master can stage their planned invasion of England. Every spy has a weakness and for the Black Tulip that weakness is beautiful black-haired women-his 'petals' of the Tulip. A natural at the art of seduction, Mary easily catches the attention of the French spy, but Lord Vaughn never anticipated that his own heart would be caught as well. Fighting their growing attraction, impediments from their past, and, of course, the French, Mary and Vaughn find themselves lost in a treacherous garden of lies. And as our modern-day heroine, Eloise Kelly, digs deeper into England's Napoleonic-era espionage, she becomes even more entwined with Colin Selwick, the descendant of her spy subjects. Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-seduction-of-the-crimson-rose-lauren-willig/11092454 Spoiler-Free Review: So after the disappointment of Deception of the Emerald Ring, I went into this book hoping it’d hold up to my memories of it better than the book that preceded it, and I’m glad to say that: it actually did! Well, sort of. As expected, it was the romance between Mary and Lord Vaughn that actually carried this book for me. I know I said I liked Letty and Geoffrey as a couple, and that I empathized a lot with Letty, but I think I like Mary and Vaughn’s romance more than Letty and Geoffrey’s. A lot of that has to do with what Mary and Vaughn are like as characters: they’re both jaded and cynical, and both have an edge of arrogance handfasted to cruelty. Would I want them as friends IRL? No, because I strongly suspect that if they were real they wouldn’t be very good people. But as characters? They are VERY interesting to read about - especially their dynamic when they’re around each other. Speaking of Mary, there’s a thread here about the general misogyny of the era that was really put in the forefront in this book. The misogyny’s an undercurrent that runs throughout the books thus far, but in this book Mary has this conversation with Vaughn that lays the whole thing out in the open. She basically says that a man like Vaughn can make whatever choices he wants in life because his future is, for the most part, secure. A woman, on the other hand, has to marry well in order to ensure her future is stable. This is something Mary has known most of her life, and basically defined most of her actions - including her attempt to elope with Geoffrey in the previous novel, that was foiled by her sister Letty. She’s not HAPPY with it of course (she’d much rather have the freedoms of a man than be restricted by marriage), but she knows how society works and how the game is played, and her goal has been to play that game in such a way that she manages to gain some power over herself, instead of constantly being in the power of someone else. There’s also a passing reference to Mary Wollstonecraft - yes, Mary Shelley’s mother, whose work A Vindication on the Rights of Women is considered one of the earliest works of feminist politics and philosophy in the West. Mary observes that she agrees with the ideas put forward by Wollstonecraft and other feminists (though she doesn’t call them that; she calls them bluestockings instead), but doesn’t align with them in public because of the damage it would do to her desirability as a potential bride - plus, they’re not very fashionable. Speaking of romance, Eloise and Colin’s romance actually moves forward in this novel! Unlike the last two books where I was only peripherally interested in what was going on with them, in THIS go round they actually go on a date! Other things happen around that date too that I won’t get into because of spoilers, but it’s nice to see them finally moving their relationship into “officially seeing each other” territory. I’m sure their romance will continue in the other books, so I’m looking forward to reading about how they get along with each other. So overall, this was a read that held up to the time since I last read it, at least for the most part. Mary and Vaughn are an intriguing couple who stand in almost direct contrast to the other couples in the previous novels, and they make for a very refreshing read - more along the lines of a Bronte couple than an Austen one, in a way. The only spots of tarnish on the overall shiny package of this book occur in the latter part of the novel. Won’t say much more on that because of spoilers, but: Outlander fans may find something to pique their interest in that regard. Rating: four roses

#book review #book reviews #the seduction of the crimson rose #pink carnation series #lauren willig #historical #romance #regency romance #adventure #books

[katiapostsss]

DRABBLE:

flowers ( sam monroe )

enjoy! (i hate this)

〰️

love with sam monroe would be messy.

he wouldn't know immediately how to do it, as he grew up without much of it in actuality, but for you, he'd try.

he wouldn't know your favorite flower, but he'd study the way you'd study each and every carnation you passed, especially ones of pink and crimson shades. he wouldn't know what kind of candy you favored, but he'd note the way you'd eye every snickers bar in the sweets section of your favorite store. he wouldn't know if you liked receiving letters or not, but he'd acknowledge the way you'd always write them to friends and family for any special occasion.

no, he wouldn't be the best boyfriend. no, he wouldn't be good at love, but, at the same time, he's observant. heedful, as all the quiet ones are. he knows you just because he is, actually, just because he watches so carefully, he can read you like a book. what you want, when you want it, how you want it, why.

so a hard week you explained exasperatedly, in detail, to him late in the night, only half-drunk but fully out of it, was what led to this.

you had already had a bad day at school today, and not being able to find the spare key your parents always left aside for you, underneath the welcome mat, was not helping your case. grunting under the heavy weight of your backpack, you searched everywhere for it, the gutter, the watering pot... and after lifting the mat from the ground altogether, you finally found it, moved slightly from the spot you had left it in, which you'd worry more about if you weren't so damn tired.

swiping it up and pushing it into the lock, you threw open the door and kicked off your shoes, slinging your bag to the floor and nearly collapsing with it. forcing your feet up the steps, you pressed your palms to your eyes and rubbed there, as if to rub your exhaustion away, which was really no use. the good thing was, your parents were out of town for vacation so you had the entire house to yourself.

maybe i'll visit sam later. he was only a three minute drive away after all. then again, you were so tired. you wanted sleep. but you also wanted sam. at least, you wanted him to be with you. plopping on your empty bed, you withdrew your phone from your pocket and opened your messages, swiping to his contact.

come over please?

a moment later—

i've had a bad day

you knew he was coming without having to check his response, and when there was fumbling downstairs, 20 minutes later, you knew he was letting himself in with the spare key. you dragged yourself from half-slumber, rubbing the dregs of rest from your eyes and forcing yourself into a sit.

he was taking off his shoes when you began walking down the steps, and as the stairs were just by the entrance, you could already see his down-turned face. and the flowers in his hand.

"sam?" you spoke curiously as you walked off the last step, hands on the railing and opposite wall and eyes flicking from the bouquet to his face. he was just now turning to you, his relaxed stance shifting until he was slightly tense. you stopped before him, confused.

"are you alright?" he asked, his shoulders slightly bunching. the hand that held the flowers dropped an inch or two.

instead of answering his question, you reached out and lightly touched one of the many, pink petals, admiring the carnations. "sam, are these.. for..?"

"you said you had a bad day," he answered quickly, shrugging and retreating his hand slightly. "i just figured.. do you not..? like them..?" as soon as the words were spoken, your exhaustion dissipated. a smile spread across your face, and an overwhelming amount of happiness took the place of confusion. you looked up at him, searching his eyes. for what? you didn't know. they caught on yours. brimming with joy, you threw your arms around him, squishing the flowers between you and burying your face in his neck.

"of course i like them!"

it took him a moment, but soon, he relaxed and rubbed down your back. "are you alright?" he repeated.

but you were just so.. he hadn't done anything like this before, and you hadn't been dating for long. was this considered progress? pulling back, you took the flowers, grinning giddily down at them. "i'm— this is— thank you, yes, i'm okay. thank you, sam. oh my— how did you know—? these are my favorite! they're so pretty!" you rambled, squeezing them to your chest. when you looked up at him, you found his eyes, usually cold and blue, softened, slight red on his cheeks.

"guessed," he stated simply, even though he knew that was a lie. perhaps it was because he was much too prideful to admit he loved you to that measure, but that was probably not the case. maybe because he just wanted to enjoy the moment. maybe because he was too scared himself to come to that conclusion, that he watched you so carefully, because he loved you so deeply. either way, sam monroe wasn't the best boyfriend, but he knew you. and he used that to his advantage, always.

.

hey guys! this sucks but i barely have anything written for sam and last time i posted was a while ago so this is filler, love you ❤️

#sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x y/n #life as a house #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #fanfic #hayden #star wars #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #fandom #anakin fanfiction #katiapostsss #katiawrites

[luveline]

hi my love <3 happy valentines, im coming over w a kiss rn!! for the event could i req "you got me flowers?" w spence please? maybe reader giving them to him hehe love u

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

happy valentine's my love, thank you for your request! always tired reader x spencer is my new fave pairing of all time!! fem!reader

When Spencer arrives at work that morning you're already sitting down at your desk. It is regrettably far from his, and it's purposefully done. Hotch doesn't care that you're seeing one another, doesn't mind the occasional affection you share in from of the team, but he draws the line at your amazing and incessant chatter. You and Spencer never stop talking. Spencer has a lot to say, and you indulge him. 

Or maybe you don't indulge. Maybe you just love him. He's never had the idea that you might not want to hear what he has to say. 

He doesn't even look at his own desk, beelining straight for you where you're half asleep on your own, your ipod on your desk, an earphone in one ear. You're likely listening to an audio book — Spencer buys you enough of them. 

"Hey," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder, "good morning." 

You tilt your head away from his touch and look at him through your lashes, giving him a tired but pretty smile.

"Well, hello, my love," you say softly. "You look nice today." 

"You say that everyday," he complains. 

"And everyday it's true…" 

He likes how quietly you talk when you're tired —there's a wispy quality to each word, some light teasing— but you're being tired isn't conducive to a good day. He puts the coffee he'd bought for you by your ipod and kisses the top of your head as discreetly as he can. You barely respond. He doesn't take it personally. 

Spencer turns back to his desk and finally recognises the change. There's a rather large bouquet of flowers on the desk, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a ton of added foliage and baby's breath. He thinks for a moment they've been delivered to the wrong desk, after all, Emily's is right beside his, but he knuckles through the soft green stalks of crimson roses, pincushions and white carnations for the card held between. 

It's decorated with a sloping cursive that doesn't belong to anyone he knows. 

Spencer, 

I love you. Thank you for the coffee. 

He smiles at the flowers and saves the card. It'll make a good bookmark. 

"You got me flowers?" he asks, approaching you again. 

The printer beeps loudly and makes you wince. You spin in your chain and beckon for him to come forward until you can rest your face against his stomach. 

"Look at you, my little detective." 

He loves when you make fun of him. It sounds especially cute in your quiet mumbling. He drops his hands to the back of your head and feels very grateful to know that the only people who get here on time are the two of you as he strokes your hair. 

"Can I ask why?" 

"You know, don't you? I wrote it on the card." 

"You got me flowers because I got you a coffee?"

Your laugh is warm against his stomach despite the barrier of his shirt and sweater. "No, smarty-pants." You yawn and snuggle closer. "I love you." 

"Oh," he says. He pulls your face from his front and frames it in his hands. "I love you too, obviously."

"I know," you say, blinking slowly. 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. You lean into it and shut your eyes like a puppy getting scratches. 

"Do you want flowers?" he asks. 

You hum. He has no idea what it means. 

#luveline valentine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid drabble #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

[rainybyday]

It started with teenage trivia. 

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

“Why are there red flowers in this level?”

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

“Huh.”

And that was that, 

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

Until it did. 

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

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

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

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

He closed his phone after that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Sweet alyssums mean ‘Sweetness of the soul’)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ran around his garden. 

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

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

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

That really turned his perspective a full 180. 

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

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

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

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

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

Little by little, Amity was able to breath. 

Slowly, the death was coming to rest. 

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

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

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

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

Add more in another post: Flower Shop Au Pt2

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #flowers #flower shop #dp x dc #dc x dp

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

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

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

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

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…!!!”

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

Another nightmare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as if his subconscious knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had broken the High Lord.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel angst #( .inbox request : death anniversary ) #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ like father, like son

›› chapter 5 ›› nsfw 18+ ongoing multi-chapter fic!

previous chapter ♡ next chapter

ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› toji fushiguro x reader ›› megumi fushiguro x reader ›› toji x reader x megumi (mfm) ›› 18+ f!reader ›› started: 12/6/23 : updated: 1/29/24 : status: ongoing

‹𝟹 summary: You and Megumi are best friends. You've known eachother for almost your whole life. His home has become your second home. As time passes and life happens, Megumi slowly develops feelings for you, even though he's unaware of it. To complicate things further, you're now living with him and his father, who has also taken a liking to you.

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: au - no powers, college au, power imbalance, pseudo-incest (they both want y/n, nothing w/ eachother), dubious consent

‹𝟹 tags: good cop bad cop, fluff, smut, angst, toji has a big dick, dilf toji, toji is his own warning, toji tries to be a good parent, toji is an asshole, toji is trying okay?, daddy dom toji, daddy kink, porn with feelings, porn with plot, friends to lovers, spit / spitting, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, double vaginal pen, double pen, anal, making out, making love, love triangles, praise kink, degradation, light masochism, light sadism, emotional sex, cuckolding, jealousy, jealousy kink, smoking, smoking kink, emotional manipulation, manipulation, polyamory?, father and son share you, protective megumi fushiguro, megumi needs a hug, megumi has a big dick, AGED UP CHARACTERS, dead dove: do not eat, finger sucking, large cock, cum swallowing, blow jobs, first time blow jobs, under desk blow jobs, fingerfucking, face sitting, face riding, 69, mutual masturbation, threesome mfm, lots of smut, loss of virginity

‹𝟹 notes: hi, sorry this took so long to update! i've had a lot going on lately, but i finally felt good enough to finish this chap! i tried to go for soft megumi but then eventually i couldn't help myself. sowwy x_x (im not sorry :3!) don't try so hard to imagine the positions, just go with it PLSSSS T_T LOL. for tumblr: i'm gonna start adding a section for tags. if y'all wanna be tagged in future updates on this fic or any of my stuff lmk!

&lt;;33

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

Chapter 5: Pink Carnations

--

“It’s already almost 5 in the afternoon… and there’s a storm forecasted? Why are they not home yet?” Megumi questioned as he anxiously paced back and forth in the living room. He was worried, not really about the guy who he’s supposed to call ‘father’, but about you. He would never admit it, but he counts the hours, minutes, seconds, moments even when you’re not together. He misses you but feels like he’s not allowed to miss your presence.

Yet… he does. He always does. And that’s why when he sees you come bursting through the front door, clothes soaked but laughing, he’s confused. He knows you hate getting your clothes wet, much less completely soaked through. So why are you in such a good mood? He doesn’t mind, and loves hearing your sweet laugh, but he’s confused, nonetheless. That is, until he sees Toji’s massive frame follow right behind you.

Megumi’s cheeks flare with jealousy, his face flush a crimson red. He stares right at you, loudly asking where you’ve been. He isn’t trying to be mean, but he is mad. “What took you so long in a storm like this? You know it’s dangerous to drive with streets flooded so badly like this.” He finishes, looking straight at Toji, staring daggers into him for even thinking of putting you in a dangerous situation.

“I’m a good driver. You don’t need to worry. And we took a while because we were busy.” Toji smirks slightly at the end of his sentence, moving across the foyer and setting his keys on the table.

You don’t want to feel the uncomfortable sensation of soaked clothes for any longer, so you silently slip out of the room and make your way towards the bathroom.

Toji being Toji, he’s watching every part of you until your silhouette disappears into the dimly lit hallway. He’s watching you like a predator stalks his prey. Megumi’s brows furrow as he feels anger and jealousy boiling beneath his skin. He starts walking up to his father, confronting him, “Why are you looking at her like that, and why are you spending so much time with her in general, you old bastard?” Megumi is practically in Toji’s face, eyes fierce and cheeks flared with anger.

Toji only smirks as he’s leaned against the wall, looking down at Megumi. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? She’s fucking hot, and so obedient. I would be a fool to not want her for myself.” His response almost sends Megumi into a blind rage. Megumi understands Toji most likely takes what he wants from you, sometimes aggressively, and he wants to protect you from that.

“You’re disgusting.” Megumi retorts, words laced with venom. “You make me sick.”

“You can’t deny it though. I’m right. And you know I’m right.” Toji responds before pushing off the wall and away from Megumi towards his own bathroom. Megumi rolls his eyes as Toji walks away, but somewhere deep down inside him- that he’s blind to and wouldn’t even admit to- agrees with Toji. And that’s what pisses him off the most. He feels as if he’s been thrown into a competition to “win” you, one that he is already losing at. Megumi is disgusted with himself at the idea of you being described in terms of a prize, but he also can’t resolve the fact that he wants you. It’s wrong and unfair how someone like Toji could get to you first; Toji doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t value you like I do. And thus, Megumi resolves to make you happy in a way no one else can.

--

A few days pass, and nothing really happens between anyone except sneaking glances and private thoughts.

Eventually, Megumi can’t take it anymore. He chooses a night where Toji is out working overnight “hustling’ or whatever the fuck he called it. He ordered your favorite food and went to pick it up, hoping you’d spend some time with him. Even a little bit. On the way home, he picked up a small bouquet of pink carnations- flowers that mean missing someone.

You get back home from your afternoon class shortly before Megumi pulls up in the driveway. You are just barely sitting on the couch before Megumi opens the door and enters, the sight of flowers and bags of food warming your heart. He makes his way towards the table, setting down the food, flowers still in hand, as you hastily get up and hug him.

“It smells amazing, Megs.” You say, holding him tightly. He thinks you’re talking about the food, but you’re most certainly talking about the intoxicating scent of him and his cologne. He smelled like what rainwater personified would smell like, comforting and refreshing.

“It’s gonna get cold, ___. And these are for you.” He finishes as he sheepishly hands you the flowers. You sit at the table, placing the flowers aside as Megumi looks for plates and silverware for you both.

“Thank you, Gumi.” You gently say as you’re taking containers out of bags and unpacking them. “It smells so good!! I can’t believe you remembered what kind of pasta I like.”

Megumi returns to the table, placing silverware and plates down. “You’re welcome. Of course I’d remember. How could I forget?” He’s sure he could see a faint blush creep on your cheeks, but you’re ultimately distracted by your craving for noodles. He chuckles at how you’re practically inhaling the food.

You both talk for a while about how classes have been, what stuff you’ve been watching, just mundane stuff that still shows how deeply interested he is. You know he remembers every detail, no matter how boring it may seem. He never forgets.

--

After finishing the wonderful food and cleaning up together, you’re both relaxing on the couch looking for something to watch together. Usually, you gravitate toward thriller or horror movies, but Megumi picks out some almost cringey – but still cute – romance anime about two people who meet at a convention for a game and fall for each other. It’s not your first choice, but it’s still cute.

Your legs are resting on Megumi’s lap, not moving as you both watch. Megumi is slow, almost cautious when he places a hand on your leg, just rubbing you. He wants to make sure any touch in general is fine as he takes his time, slowly moving up your legs and eventually reaching your thighs. You’re acutely aware of his agonizingly slow touch, but the wait almost makes it better. He’s not even watching whatever he put on, and you’re too caught in the sensations of his soft hands rubbing your inner thighs to even begin to pay attention to the show.

Megumi’s hands continue its ascent up your inner thighs, going painfully slow. He’s looking for any and all reactions he can get out of you, and the way your breath hitches as he gets closer – it drives him insane. The way you try to hide your blush across your cheeks with your arms, trying to look at anything else to save you some embarrassment…. He loves it.

His hand moves to the waistband of your shorts, tugging at them to show he wants to take them off. He hooks his fingers around the waistband and gently pulls them completely off before tossing them to the floor. Megumi’s eyes instantly lock on to your panties. “Fuck, ___... do you always get that wet?” He’s teasing you but also shocked, the underwear was soaked from just a little teasing. You must have really wanted him.

His fingers play with you, rubbing the outside of your underwear as he draws sweet moans from your mouth. He absolutely loves the taking his time, hearing every soft moan you squeak out every time he moves his finger.  He pulls your panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off as his long, slender finger slips past your folds. Just as quickly as it appeared, he pulled his finger back to his mouth, tasting a bit of your slick. “You taste so good, baby. Oh my god.” He purrs as he brings another finger back to your cunt, this time pushing into you.

“Fuck, Gumi…”

He fucks you with a single finger as he expertly rearranges you on the couch, one leg hanging off with him in between. He slips another finger inside your tight hole as he brings his mouth to your cunt, flicking his tongue around your clit. The whimpers and pants you make only serve to make Megumi feel like a man starved. Eventually he slips his fingers out, much to your annoyance, and replaces it with his tongue. He’s eating you like a man having his last meal. He wastes no time in tasting every part he can reaching, fucking your cunt with his tongue. His hand creeps back up to your clit, thumb gently circling it as he continues eating you out.

He comes back up for air and inserts his fingers again, fucking you in a rhythm matching his thumb on your clit. You can feel yourself approaching that edge, the knot in your stomach tightening as Megumi stretches your cunt with just his fingers. He adds another finger, stuffing you full of his fingers as his thumb continues its assault on your clit. “You’re such a good girl for me, huh? Did you miss me, baby?”

Your eyes widen as he praises you, feeling yourself reach your limit and cum over his fingers. You make quite the mess over his arms and the couch. “I guess that’s a yes, isn’t it princess?”

He pulls his fingers out of you and reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. There’s a noticeable small wet spot on his boxers, he was definitely hard and leaking at just teasing you. As much as he loves your mouth, he absolutely wants your already fucked out hole.

He picks you up and turns you over so you’re on your knees, hands on the back of the couch. Megumi aligns himself behind you, gently pushing his throbbing cock into your soaked hole. Your panties are still pushed to the side, creating a lewd sight Megumi hadn’t even anticipated as he watched your cunt swallow his cock.

Your upper body was pushed against the side of the couch, with your knees spread apart and ass in the air. Megumi bottomed out his cock inside your tight hole, pushing against you fully. “You’re such a good girl. Holy fuck.” Megumi wasted no time in picking up speed, developing a comfortable pace. You moan in tandem with his thrusts, turning him on even more. He wants to be gentle with you, but you were taking his dick like a bitch in heat, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

He spanks your ass as he slams his thick cock into you, and you tighten around him in response. He doesn’t realize it now, but soon will understand how masochistic you really are. He slaps your ass, creating red marks all over it to mark his presence. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you? You like being fucked like a whore?” He asks as he thrusts into you, hitting your g-spot. “Answer me, princess. Are you a disgusting whore?”

He gives you almost no time to respond as his hand snakes up your back, reaching your head and grabbing fistfuls of hair to pull you back with. “Yes sir, I am” You barely manage to squeak out as you feel yourself being fucked silly, close to cumming again.

“You’re what? Answer me clearly, darling.” He coos as he tugs at your hair, pulling you back against him.

“I’m a dirty whore-ah” You yelp out as he pulls on your hair. You can feel the warmth of his body on your back, as you feel another hand make its way around your neck.

“Good girl.” Megumi purrs out. He is picking up the pace now, as his grip around your neck gently tightens. He’s thrusting into you with ferocity he didn’t know existed, abusing your tight cunt.

You feel yourself getting dizzy while Megumi keeps drilling into your cunt. He releases his grip on your throat, allowing you to gasp for air as he pushes you down against the couch. His hands grip you at your waist, giving him a better holding on you to fuck you harder. He groans as he feels himself getting close.

His cock slams into your g-spot again, as he nears his edge. “I’m close, baby. Be a good girl and come with me, yeah?” You can feel his cock starting to twitch inside your cunt as he continues his relentless assault on your sensitive spot, feeling that knot snap in your belly as you tighten around his cock. The moment you cum, it sends Megumi over the edge, and you feel his warm cum filling your womb. He slips his cock out as he pulls your panties back over your cunt. “Keep this on for a while, sweetheart.” He says as you start to roll over. He leans down and kisses your forehead, while caressing your cheek.

“That was amazing, ____. You were amazing.” He praises as he sits on the couch, pulling you into an embrace as you sit on his lap. Your head rests in the crook of his neck and you can smell that familiar, fresh scent. It smells like home.

“Thank you, Gumi.”

--

‹𝟹 notes: i don't think there are going to be many more chaps for this fic soon. maybe 2 more at most idk. i dont rly know what i wanna do going forward, so i gotta keep it cookin in my brain for a lil more i guess lol. if y'all have suggestions i am ALWAYYYYYYS open for them! getting comments on my fic literally gives me so much serotonin u dont even understand lol

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(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

#jjk fanfic #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi smut #jjk smut #megumi x you #jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji is my husband #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #daddy toji #dilf toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #smut #jjk fic #fushiguro x reader #fem reader #female reader

[pedrointofolklore]

Rosebud

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: carnations bloomed when you saw joel. too shy to admit your feelings, but too overcome to not, you began leaving flowers at his doorstep. 

warnings: very brief but graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death/grief, tragic backstory, emotional processing, reader is a loser who falls in love in two seconds, lots of metaphorical language, swearing, mostly just self-indulgent fluff, joel is soft, big age gap (reader is in late 20s), no smut, no use of y/n (reader has a nickname), jackson era.

word count: 6k

a/n: hey y’all. i’m delving into the world of fanfiction writing and i’m tentatively posting this as my first story. this story by @army-author is what inspired me here—i read it years ago and loved the concept ever since. i also super don't know much about flower gardening so apologies for any inaccuracies.

Your earliest memory was sitting in the garden with your mother one September. You were small then, no more than three years old, covered in soil and some residual stickiness from whatever fruit you’d just devoured, watching with a curious eye as your mother pruned her roses.

When you thought of her, you thought of that garden. In your memories, it was a labyrinth. Flowers, shrubs and vines overflowed the yard. You used to fear getting lost in the brambles, but at some point, you started to crave their thorny embrace.

It was a pink rose, so bright and intense, like a painting come to life. She shed the thorns, tucked it behind your ear and pinched your chubby cheeks. That was the first time she called you ‘Rosebud.’ Nobody ever called you anything else.

You couldn’t have known then that you were just a few Septembers away from losing her.

She died on the first day, in the centre of the garden. Your lasting memory of her was your father driving a pair of garden shears into her jugular. She collapsed to the ground, blood as dark as a crimson rose pooled around her as your father wept over her lifeless body. You sprinted inside and threw up.

She died a stranger. You didn’t understand what was happening to her then, but you understood that she was gone before the shears even entered her neck.

It haunted you for the next twenty years—but that person was not your mother. 

Whenever the wound opened, and that memory came flooding back, you closed your eyes and thought of her as she truly was—kind, gentle, passionate. You recalled her soft smile, her musical laugh, the books she read, the flowers she loved.

When you were a kid, you thought of her as the sun that kept those flowers alive. As you grew older, she became the sutures that kept you from falling apart.

You knew your father had no other choice, but you could never quite look at him the same. Still, he was all you had, and he kept you safe until the day he died.

It was your mother’s leather-bound notebook that kept you going. She listed every flower she could think of, and wrote the meaning next to it. That notebook went with you everywhere, all across the country. Every new species you came across, you found it in the book, memorised its meaning, and crossed it off your mental checklist.

Flower seeking had to be the most frivolous thing one could do at the end of the world, but it kept you close to your mother, and gave you some semblance of purpose. Each new flower felt like something blooming inside you—your own secret garden that grew from the depths of your soul.

Carnations bloomed when you saw Joel.

He first came to Jackson in December with a girl by his side. They were gone by the next morning, but you saw him. He was coming out of the bar, tugging his coat back on when you spotted him through the crowd of carolling townspeople.

Even from a distance, you noticed the pain in him—a pain similar to yours. There was a wistfulness in his face, a longing for something he missed, and a fear so intense it seemed paralysing. He clutched at his chest, holding in the marigold that grew where his heart should have been.

You wanted to know him.

He came back that spring with the same girl, and this time, he stayed.

It was a while before you spoke with either of them. Everyone who arrived in Jackson had a tendency to be closed-off at first, and you couldn’t fault them for that. You didn’t know where they’d been or what they’d done, but you knew they’d gone through hell.

You met Ellie first. She came by the greenhouse one day, arms crossed and face vacant. Her reticence might have been mistaken for hostility if you didn’t relate so much.

You tore your soil-covered gloves off and wiped a hand over your cheek, probably just further smudging whatever dirt was caked on there.

“Hi there!” You did your best to sound cheerful, to come across as someone who was definitely okay with unexpected visitors. “What can I do for you?”

“Maria told me you might need some help around here.”

You didn’t think you needed help, and it seemed like the girl wanted to be anywhere but here. But as you pondered her, you started to recognise what she was actually getting at.

She didn’t know what to do, but she needed to do something.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” You held out your hand, which she stared at for a good couple of seconds before shaking. “Call me Rosebud.”

“You’re a florist named Rosebud?” She was incredulous, and you didn’t even care that she was making fun of you—it was the first time you’d seen her smile during this entire interaction.

“It’s a nickname,” you told her, “and I'm more of a floriculturist. If you want to help me out, grab some gloves and a trowel.”

“What the fuck is a ‘trowel’?”

You spent the next few hours with her digging holes in the soil, un-potting flowers and planting them in the ground. As apprehensive as Ellie had been to begin with, it didn’t take her long to warm up to you.

The first thing you learned about her was that she asked a lot of questions.

“Why do we have to move these?”

“It’s spring. They’ll do better in the ground.”

“Why didn’t Maria show us this place when we first came here?”

“It was winter. Half the flowers had gone to shit, so there wasn’t much to see,” you replied, flattening the soil around a sunflower plant.

The greenhouse had been established before you got there. Nobody ran it, it was something for everyone to tend to, but nobody cared enough to do so. The gardeners of Jackson preferred to focus on crops that could actually feed them. But then you arrived, and you knew how to grow a thriving flower garden, and with all the bees it brought, it only helped the agriculture. It also meant that Jackson had honey.

“This one’s cool. What is it?” Ellie asked. You looked over at the plant she was settling into the ground—a grassy little shrub with white flowers blooming at the ends.

“Starwort. It means ‘Welcome to a stranger.’”

“Appropriate,” Ellie said. “I didn’t know flowers had meanings.”

“It’s called floriography,” you replied. “I have a book all about it.”

Ellie stayed until the sun began to set, leaving in much better spirits than she arrived. You were used to working alone, and you thought you preferred it that way, but she turned out to be good company. You sent her home with a starwort blossom and a jar of honey as a thank you, and told her to come back any time. You really hoped she would.

You met Joel the next morning. 

There was a knock at your door, which you expected to be Ellie back again. Instead, you opened the door to find her guardian standing on your front porch.

Your eyes flicked shamelessly over his form. He was broad, strong, with plaid sleeves hiked up to his elbows—you didn’t know it was possible to be attracted to someone’s forearms. His features were beautifully angular, especially his nose. But it was his eyes that really got you. They were dark like coffee, deep and intense. You could fall into them and never stop.

The garden you carried in your soul had never felt more alive. It was weird you hadn’t spoken yet, but you worried if you opened your mouth, the brightest, reddest chrysanthemums would come bursting out.

“Good mornin’. Sorry to bother you,” Joel finally said, with the rehearsed politeness typical of a Southern man. There was still an earnestness to him, like he didn’t quite remember how to do this but he was determined to try. “I think Ellie was here yesterday?”

“That’s right.” You internally cheered when your voice didn’t fail on you. “Is that okay? I know I didn’t get your permission. She just kind of showed up.”

“No, that’s okay. I just came by to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“She's been struggling to…adjust, I guess,” Joel explained, “but she was in a good mood when she came home yesterday. I think being here helped her, so thank you.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. People silently appreciated what you did for the commune, but nobody had ever gone out of their way to thank you for anything. It was a little overwhelming.

“Well, she’s welcome here any time.” You didn’t think Ellie was particularly interested in gardening, but you could see that the girl just needed to feel busy, and maybe needed some company. You were just glad she could find that with you.

“Thank you,” Joel said again. “What was your name, darlin’?”

“Just call me Rosebud.”

You expected a laugh, a mocking jab of some sort, but instead he just tilted his head and looked at you with complete sincerity. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Your cheeks were embarrassingly warm.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Joel said. Your heart fell. “It was nice meetin’ you. And, uh, thanks again.”

He started to leave, but you weren’t ready for him to go. Before you could think it through, you called after him, “Wait.”

You might have imagined it, but for a split second after he turned back around, you could've sworn you spotted an eagerness in him, like he was hoping you’d say that.

“You can come inside,” you offered, “if you want.”

He did.

Five minutes later, Joel was standing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter. You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, getting the water ready and setting out two mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” You were already sure of the answer.

“Black. No sugar.” Yep.

You poured the coffee into a mug, absent-mindedly blowing on it as you handed it to him. He didn’t wait for it to cool down before taking a sip, not even flinching at the heat.

You opted for tea with a generous amount of milk and honey.

“Thanks for the honey as well,” Joel said. “Ellie loves it. She’s never had anything so sweet.”

“That doesn’t surprise me if she grew up in a QZ,” you replied, turning to face him with your mug cradled in both hands. “I think I cried when I first got here and they actually had sugar.”

“When did you get here?”

“Around two years ago. My dad knew Seth—you know, from the bar—got in touch with him, and he told us how to get here,” you explained. You truly hated Seth, but he did save your ass and that left you obligated to be nice.

“Your dad’s not here, is he?” Joel spoke without any particular sentiment. It was an observation, plain and simple. You didn’t mind, you just shook your head. It felt normal to talk about your dad. You missed him, but his death wasn’t horrifically tragic to you—the man had a heart attack.

“What about you? I mean, how’d you end up here?” You were nervous about prying, or accidentally chasing him away before you really got to talk, but Joel had fascinated you since December. You needed to know more.

“I was in the Boston QZ for a while, left to look for my brother, found him.” He wasn’t going to get more detailed than that. Too much had happened that was difficult to talk about, and you could see that, because it was the same for you.

No matter how much you wanted to, you didn’t let yourself ask anything more. You didn’t ask why he’d been here in winter, why he left so soon, why he came back, why he didn’t come sooner if his brother was here, how Ellie fit into all of it. You didn’t ask, and you wouldn’t ask. All you could do was hope he’d open up in time.

It occurred to you just how different Joel looked now than he did in December, and not just because you were actually seeing him up-close. His whole spirit had shifted. Back then, he’d been like an open wound, barely being held together by exposed, bloody tendons that threatened to snap at any moment. He was different now—still wounded, but no longer in pieces.

There was something else in him too. Something dormant, but always on the verge of springing back to life. A quiet guilt.

“Flowers always been your thing?” Joel asked. You were grateful for the subject change.

“Pretty much. I used to know someone who loved them. Made me love them too.”

He nodded with an unexpected softness in his expression. It wasn’t pity, or even sympathy, but a warm kind of understanding.

“I know the flower stuff seems silly,” you said, looking down into the milky beige of your tea, “but it really is useful.”

“I know that,” Joel said. “I don’t think it’s silly.”

You could practically feel your chest split open that very second. Flowers sprouted from your heart, and they bloomed for Joel. They longed to reach out, wrap him up in their stems and vines and pull him into you.

Carnations. Chrysanthemums. Vervain.

You kept your composure until Joel left. You said your farewells, waved him off, shut the door, and immediately collapsed on your couch in a lovestruck heap. It was all so dramatic, the sofa may as well have been a bed of roses.

It wasn’t just that Joel was attractive—and fuck, he was attractive—it was the way he wholly and truly respected you. Respect was something you’d had to earn from everyone else around here, but Joel didn’t need any convincing. He saw your worth right away.

He was all you thought about for the rest of the day, the evening, until you went to bed that night. Even then, your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

These feelings were big, too big. Keeping them inside hurt, but you feared letting them out would be agony. They were safest with you, blossoming into flowers in your soul, where only you knew about them.

But still, you were wide awake, consumed by the urge to do something, say something.

So you got up, pulled your shoes on, went outside and picked a flower from your garden.

Jackson was desolate as you wandered down the street. The only residents awake at this hour were those on patrol. It might have been eerie if you weren’t so wound up. 

You scanned each house as you passed by, looking for Joel’s. Your heart pounded in your chest when you found it. You didn’t need to be so nervous, the lights were off, but you kept imagining someone walking out and catching you in the act. But you’d come this far, and his front door was just a few yards away.

You climbed the stone steps with a quiet urgency, twirling the flower between your fingers one last time before dropping it just outside his door.

A single gardenia.

You were going to leave it at just one flower—you didn’t want to be weird and scare Joel off before you really got to know him. But then Ellie came by the greenhouse again.

“Did you leave a flower on our front porch the other day?” she asked, watering a yarrow seedling.

“What? Why?” You felt so lame, and so stupid for forgetting that Ellie lived there too. Your gesture was bound to get intercepted.

“There was a white flower out there. I showed it to Joel, and we figured it was from you.” It was a very reasonable thing to figure considering it was from you.

“What did Joel say?” you asked, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt.

“He said it was for him.”

“So he took it?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Don’t know what he did with it.”

Ellie wasn’t nearly as invested in this as you were, but it still sounded promising. Joel had accepted the flower, maybe even liked it. The thought made your stomach feel strange, like a bunch of petals were flurrying around in there.

“Well, it was for him…” you mumbled.

Ellie glared at you in feigned outrage. “I’m insulted.”

“What are you complaining about?” you laughed. “I gave you a flower.”

“It’s wilting.”

“Fine then”—you handed her a pair of pruning shears—“go cut yourself a new flower.”

She wandered around the greenhouse for about five minutes and came back spinning a flower between her thumb and index finger. It had pure white petals and a bright yellow pistil. “I chose this daisy.”

“That’s a cosmos,” you corrected. “It represents harmony and balance.”

Ellie assessed the flower in her hand, genuinely mulling over the meaning of it, and you realised how much you appreciated her. She saw value in something you cared about. 

“What did Joel’s mean?” she asked.

“I’m actually not sure about that one.” It was a total lie, but you sounded convincing enough that Ellie shrugged it off and carried on watering flowers.

You couldn’t help yourself after that. Knowing that Joel accepted your gift made you want to do it again. And again.

So you did. Every few days, when you were sure he and Ellie were asleep, you sauntered down to their house and dropped a flower outside the door. An aster, agapanthus, camellia…

Joel never mentioned it, and you never really expected him to, but the nods and soft smiles he gave you when he saw you around were enough to let you know he appreciated you.

But Joel would never know the true meaning of your flowers. It was better that way.

Maria and Tommy’s son was born later in the spring, and your garden had never seen so many visitors. The new parents were practically drowning in congratulatory flower arrangements, and eventually Tommy had to tell you to start turning people away.

One of these visitors happened to be Joel, and he was the one person you couldn’t turn away.

Unlike everyone else, Joel came to your door first. The slight nerves he’d had the first time he came over were gone, but so was the facade of sociability. Maybe this uncouth version of Joel should have irked you, but seeing him comfortable enough to drop the pretence just made you like him more.

“I need help with something,” he said, not even bothering with a hello.

“What is it?”

“A gift for the happy family,” he spoke bitterly, like he was actively trying not to grimace as the words came out.

“Flowers?”

“Flowers seem appropriate.”

Joel was strangely upset for someone who was welcoming their nephew into the world. You didn’t know the story between Tommy and Joel, just that they hadn’t seen each other for years before Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson, and that Maria really disliked him.

But despite his sour attitude, it was clear Joel was trying. Whatever was weighing on him, he was pushing it down and choosing to be thoughtful for the sake of his family. Tommy could deal with one more bouquet.

You walked down to the greenhouse with Joel trailing behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets the entire time. On a better day, you would have tried to make conversation with him, but he obviously didn’t need that pressure right now.

He finally spoke up when you arrived at the greenhouse. “This place has seen better days.”

It wasn’t the flowers he was talking about, it was the structure itself. The contractor in him must have noticed the rusted metal pipes holding everything together, the holes and tears in the plastic sheets, and the fact that there was almost no room to walk.

“I know it’s bad,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It was built before I got here. I don’t think they used their finest materials.”

It was always cramped in here, but Joel being so broad and having such a presence made it even worse. He was closer to you now than he’d ever been. He smelled warm, like fresh coffee and leather and musk. It made your head spin.

“So, what kind of flowers are you thinking?” You needed to change the subject before you threw yourself at this man.

“Uh...pink?”

You laughed—you couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have been more vague if he tried.

“Why’s that funny?” He wasn’t mad, but he did seem impatient.

“Sorry,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you could elaborate on that?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned, running a hand over his prickly beard. “This is why I need help.”

You felt bad for laughing when he was so stressed out. He was overthinking something that should have been simple, and it made your heart ache for him. He was looking for guidance.

“We’ll do peonies for good fortune,” you told him, “and daffodils for new beginnings.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left him. Whatever was weighing on him was still there, but this was one thing that made it bearable. 

You walked back to your house after cutting the flowers, where there was actually space to work. You expected Joel to leave then, go home and wait until the flowers were ready like everyone else did, maybe even have you deliver them on his behalf, but he stayed by your side.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Joel asked, sitting across the table from you as you worked. “About flowers, I mean.”

You never got into this with anyone, but your inexplicable attachment to Joel compelled you to open up. Whatever pain resided in him reminded you of your own. He understood you.

“My mom had this book. She wrote down the meaning of every flower she knew of, and I guess I’ve memorised it all over the years,” you explained.

Talking about her didn’t hurt like you thought it would. It was actually a relief.

“When did it happen?” You knew what he was asking.

“First day,” you replied.

He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”

This wasn’t the first time you had seen through the gaps in Joel’s armour, but it was the first time he’d made the choice to let you. You didn’t know his limits, if those two words were as deep as he could get, but you wanted to see what would happen if you just asked.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t seem happy about this,” you said, straightforward but still cautious.

“I guess I’m not,” he admitted, looking down pensively.

“Why is that?”

“Just don’t understand bringing a kid into all this.”

You agreed with him. The people of Jackson were as safe as they could be, but outside the walls were infected, raiders, FEDRA, and a multitude of horrors too awful to speak of. It would only take one mistake for Jackson to be completely wiped out. You wouldn’t want to bring a child into a world like that either.

But you also knew that most people who had kids post-outbreak hadn’t done it by choice.

“It’s not as if people have access to birth control,” you pointed out, stacking peonies onto a piece of tissue paper. “But I don’t disagree.”

“It’s just a lot for me to wrap my head around,” Joel continued—or maybe he was starting on a completely different train of thought. “Tommy’s the uncle. He’s always been the uncle. I’m…“

He couldn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

“You still are,” you told him. “Tommy’s still an uncle.”

Joel was silent, letting your words sink in. It was cold comfort, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but it was what you believed.

“Why do people call you Rosebud?” The question took you aback. It was completely unrelated, yet felt so important. He was the first person in twenty years to ask you that question.

“My mom came up with it when I was little. It’s what everyone’s called me since.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Joel asked. “Seems like a constant reminder of what you lost.”

It was hard having to live without her, but you never wanted to forget what you lost. “I guess I like the reminders.”

His hand absent-mindedly fell to the broken watch on his wrist, and for a fleeting moment, you were seeing the man you first saw in December. An open wound. Marigold.

“She didn’t stop being my mom,” you said quietly. “I didn’t stop being her daughter.”

And as quickly as the wound opened, it was once again sewn shut. He even managed a smile. “You’re wise, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

Ouch.

It felt like a kick to the stomach. In an instant, the carnations that bloomed when you first saw Joel all those months ago, that had been so red and vibrant, faded into yellow.

You held yourself together until he left. You finished arranging the flowers, wrapped them up, handed them over to him, said goodbye and wished him luck, then trudged over to the couch and flopped down onto it—this time in a dejected heap.

It wasn’t as if you thought you had much of a chance with Joel, but this just felt so awfully final. It didn’t matter that you were basically thirty years old—in his mind, you were a kid.

It was embarrassing. You thought about the flowers you left—a quiet admission of feelings—and prayed the couch would swallow you whole and suffocate you. 

You’d gotten it all wrong. Joel never appreciated it. He probably thought it was weird and pathetic but didn’t have the heart to tell you. You wondered why he even accepted the initial flower, and if you weren’t feeling so spurned and humiliated, it might have dawned on you that you were overreacting.

You still left a flower that night, if only to get some closure. It would be the last one you ever left him.

A red tulip.

Joel came to your door one day in July.

You’d come to expect Ellie on your front porch at least once a week, but Joel wasn’t a surprise either. You were friends now, even after such an embarrassing rejection.

Joel still never mentioned the flowers. He was probably relieved when you stopped leaving them and wanted to pretend it never happened, and that was fine by you.

Being friends didn’t help matters though. He was always rough and grumpy in his Joel way, but he was sweet too. So sweet. It felt impossible to move on.

“Hey, Joel,” you said. “Need help with something?”

“I wanted to help you, actually.”

“Me?”

“I can’t keep lookin’ at that greenhouse,” Joel said. “It’s a piece of shit.”

You had to laugh at his honesty. “You want to patch it up?”

“Was thinking of taking the whole thing apart and rebuildin’ it.”

The offer stunned you. It was so generous and so out of nowhere. Your first instinct was to say no, that it wasn’t worth the trouble, but something stopped you. It was Joel coming to you in earnest and saying he wanted to help. It felt like an insult to deny him.

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Okay.”

“When can I get started?” he asked.

Shit. You had dozens of flower pots you didn’t know what to do with. “Uh, I’ll have to empty the greenhouse first. I guess I'll bring the flowers here in the meantime.”

“Ellie and I can help with that,” Joel said. “I’ll go get her.”

You blinked at him. “Now?”

“You got other plans?”

You absolutely did not. “Ah, no. Now is good.”

“Great.”

That was how you spent your day, lugging flower pots from the greenhouse and unloading them in your front yard with Joel and Ellie in tow. It was so lovely it bordered on being painful—pink roses unshed of their thorns pierced your heart.

You let yourself imagine for a moment that this was reality. That you, Joel and Ellie were a weird, happy family. The carnations in your soul had never been more yellow, and you instantly regretted indulging in that particular fantasy.

Joel was already at the greenhouse when you went there the next morning. He was up on a ladder, and half of the structure was already torn down. Rusted metal pipes and discoloured, ripped up plastic sheets were piling up a few feet away.

“Need any help?” you called out.

He looked down at you and smiled—a real, wide smile you hadn’t seen on him before. “You know what you’re doin'?”

“Not really.”

“Then, no,” he replied. “Don’t want you droppin’ anything on that pretty little head.”

Huh?

You flushed all over, wishing your couch was here so you could collapse onto it. Less than two months ago he was calling you a kid, and now he thought your head was pretty. The thought crept in that maybe he was purposely messing with you, but you liked Joel too much to entertain the idea.

“Well, I probably can’t help with the physical labour,” you said, cursing how nervous your voice sounded. “But if there’s anything else…”

“You’re a sweet one, Rosebud,” Joel said. He had to be doing this on purpose. “You just let me do my thing, and we’ll leave it a surprise.”

You laughed. “In other words, you’re telling me to get lost?”

He grinned at you fondly. “Just trust me.”

It only took one exchange for that hope to come back to life. You tried to stop it, tell yourself he was just teasing, that he didn’t mean it that way, but it was too late. Those carnations were already morphing back into a searing red.

You wanted to come by everyday and watch him work, but you stayed away and waited for him to come to you. It only took a few days for him to show up at your door, looking infuriatingly hot covered in blotches of sage green paint.

“Is it ready?” you asked.

“It’s ready.”

You followed along behind him, keeping your eyes down so you didn’t accidentally spot the new greenhouse before he was ready for you to look. You ended up just ogling his ass, which was a decidedly better and much more pinch-able sight than the ground.

“Look now.”

You lifted your gaze, and your hands flew up to your mouth as you let out a dramatic gasp.

It wasn’t just good, it wasn’t just an improvement, it was beautiful—masterfully pieced together with timber and painted the same sage green that Joel was sporting on his clothes. And it was bigger. There would actually be space for you to walk around inside.

Joel started to panic from beside you, and you realised you were crying. “Is it the green? I can repaint it if you hate it.”

You seemed to have lost the power of speech to reassure him, so instead, you threw your arms around him and held tight. The suddenness of it shocked him, and his hands found your waist. You weren’t sure if he was about to push you away or pull you in.

“So, you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” you snivelled into his shoulder. “Thank you, Joel.”

He hugged you back then, caging you in with his big arms and making you feel so safe. You felt a prickly sensation on your temple as he brushed his lips against it. 

Red tulips were threatening to burst out of you in droves. You didn’t want to let go, but you were seconds away from making a confession you couldn’t take back if you spent too much longer in his embrace.

You pulled yourself away, and even with the sun beating down on you, you missed his warmth.

He walked you back home, came inside when you offered him iced tea (you were out of coffee), drank it all even if it was too sweet for him, and all you could do was thank him repeatedly for what he’d done.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I wanted to do this for you.”

What did that mean?

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Joel continued, a pink flush apparent on his cheeks.

“About what?” You knew exactly what.

“The flowers. I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know how. I’m not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Kindness.” He almost winced, like it hurt to say.

“It was weird. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Joel assured you. “It was…nice. Bummed me out when you stopped.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I get it.”

You didn’t know what to say at this point. You didn’t want to be talking about any of it, and you were about to tell him that, ask him to move on from this, until he decided to put you on the absolute spot.

“What did they mean?”

Fuck. “Hm?”

“The flowers,” he said. “You said flowers have meaning. What did they mean?”

“I actually don’t know those ones.” That harmless little lie worked on Ellie, but Joel saw right through it.

“Why are you lying to me?” He didn’t even sound angry or annoyed, just genuinely curious, and a little sympathetic.

You considered doubling-down, insisting you didn't know, but you couldn’t do that him. It was a vulnerable conversation for not only you, but Joel as well. You understood how hard this was for him, and you cared for him too much to shut him down.

But you couldn’t say it, not verbally. Instead, you grabbed the notebook that was laying on your coffee table and held it out to him. There was a split second as he was reaching for it where you imagined yourself tugging it back out of his reach, forgetting about this entire thing, but then it was in his hands and it was too late. Nothing would ever be the same.

You held your breath as he flipped through it, his eyes flicking over the words. His face gave nothing away, but his finger was tracing over something.

Red tulip - declaration of love. 

He gently shut the book and set it down, and your eyes stayed firmly on the floor, hoping if you stared at it long enough it would split open and consume you.

“Are you surprised?” You couldn’t project your voice above a whisper.

“I guess not,” Joel said. It was the honest answer, and the one you most expected. “I thought you were just bein’ nice, then Ellie kept insisting you were interested.”

That girl was smarter than you gave her credit for—and you already thought she was very smart.

“I thought there was no way,” Joel continued. “You’re sweet and young and so pretty. I’m just an old man.”

“I don’t care how old you are,” you replied.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things...”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. I care who you are now.”

You were looking at him now. He looked moved, rapt, and not at all like someone about to deliver a devastating rejection.

“And you want me?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause where neither of you said anything, but the air was thick with an unspoken question: Where do we go from here?

“Can I kiss you, Rosebud?”

You nodded, and he did. It felt like dozens of chrysanthemums, camellias and carnations all springing to life under your skin.

He was gentle in a way you never could have imagined, cupping your cheek with his palm and holding your waist with the other. It was reminiscent of the hug you’d shared earlier, and you wondered if he’d wanted to kiss you then.

His lips were rough, a little chapped, but soft in the way he moved them. This wouldn’t be how he always kissed, you were sure of that. Someday it would be messy, frantic, all-consuming. But this careful, slow movement of his lips against yours was all you needed right now. 

He wanted to be gentle with you, because he cherished you like a rosebud.

flower translations:

rose (pink) - perfect happiness

rose (dark crimson) - mourning

carnation (red) - admiration

marigold - grief, despair

starwort - welcome to a stranger

chrysanthemum (red) - i love you

vervain - enchantment

gardenia - you’re lovely

yarrow - healing

aster - symbol of love

agapanthus - secret love

camellia (pink) - longing for you

peony - prosperity

daffodil (bunch) - new beginnings, hope, good luck

carnation (yellow) - rejection, disappointment

tulip (red) - declaration of love

rosebud (red) - pure, lovely

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #the last of us fanfiction

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Tiebreaker round; A bouquet of sunflowers, dandelions, ferns, foxglove, hollyhock, lotus, balsamine, green carnation, fennel, black eyed susan and queen of night Vs A bouquet of star magnolia, lavender, dark crimson rose, white carnations, sweet pea and forget me nots

First, let's talk about the bouquet of sunflowers, dandelions, ferns, foxglove, hollyhock, lotus, balsamine, green carnation, fennel, black eyed susan and queen of night

Why and meaning: Sunflowers- very literal in their relation to the sun. Dandelions- overcoming hardship Ferns- magic or enchantment Foxglove- insecurity Hollyhock- ambition Lotus- rebirth Balsamine- impatience Green Carnation- he is homosexual Fennel- strength Black eyed Susan- justice Queen of the Night- enjoy small moments because they do not last Description: Hes sooooo silly your honor. Hes my skrunkly blorbo oongly. THE babygirl. Hes 35 years old, hes the chosen one, he has a sickass sword. He keeps adopting stray children like pokemon cards, hes broke as a goddamn joke. He managed to score a major fucking hottie by being peculiar and having sopping wet cat energy. He’s gay, he's gray-ace, he has a layered, complex queer platonic relationship with his best friend and every single woman he knows could throttle him. He's my special little boy please

Check his post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of star magnolia, lavender, dark crimson rose, white carnations, sweet pea and forget me nots

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: – Lavender for distrust. Dark crimson rose for mourning. White carnations and sweet pea for when truth has gone. Forget me nots for the girl who refuses to be erased. – Star magnolia: it means perseverance, purity, it was chosen because it resembles the flower she wears in her hair Description: — She’s a paradox. She can’t exist yet her existence is what drives the story. She’s the mastermind. She never had a choice. She’s never told a lie. You can’t trust her as far as you can throw her. She saw the end of the universe at twelve years old. She caused the apocalypse. She saved the world. She spends the rest of her life atoning for the sin of keeping herself alive. Yet, her life is what makes the universe keep spinning. — Kidnapped as a child by a rich company studying psychic powers and forced to play a deadly game unlocked her latent psychic abilities... that allowed her to see into, and manipulate, the future and other timelines. Trapped and afraid and full of newfound power, she used this ability to manipulate her best friend into saving her life, years in the future. In the future, then, it was up to her to set the gears in motion to create the scenario that saved her life in the past. The power, once she harnessed it, never left her. She could see the threads of all the timelines and the outcomes of decisions... and she saw an apocalypse coming. She had to choose between staying with her friend, who she had come to love, and abandoning him to dedicate herself to preventing the apocalypse she saw (that he could not be part of). And she did. The apocalypse came so soon, and in its aftermath, she spent decades of her life using her timeline-reaching abilities to find and formulate a plan that would have stopped the apocalypse, and taught it to the person who could time-travel to implement it. She could not, herself, travel back to the past; she could only see the threads of decisions, what would be and could be, and use that information to construct the perfect timeline. The version of her that survived the apocalypse knew that she would never get to live in the saved timeline; she wrote off herself, and everyone else in this timeline, for a chance to set things right for another version of her and another version of everyone. She is dedicated to the point of being frightening, and consequentialist to the point of being cold. But it's in the name of saving the world - and never being at the mercy of another selfish cruel rich powerful people who thinks that their money means they can do whatever they want, ever again.

Check her post here

#tiebreaker round 4 #mysterious character: a bouquet of sunflowers - dandelions - ferns - foxglove - hollyhock - lotus - balsamine - green carnation - fennel + #mysterious character: a bouquet of star magnolia - lavender - dark crimson rose - white carnations - sweet pea - forget me nots

[kingkatsuki]

That bookshop, florist, bakery post going around made me think about this. Im gonna write something about all of them, but first I was thinking about owning a florists where Dynamight is your best customer.

Thinking about Pro-Hero Dynamight who is still very much a bachelor in his late twenties, and his PR team decide it’s time to try to fix his crass image by setting him up on a date with a famous influencer online.

Bakugou’s got no idea what she does, outside the few photos he was provided by his team and the videos that Sero sent him after he broke the news over beers that weekend. Needless to say he’s not happy with the situation, but with another negative story all over the front pages of tabloids and circulating the internet he’s got no choice but to try and fix the mess he landed himself in.

So he turns up at your quaint little flower shop close to closing time, the small bell ringing to signal his entry as you look up from the flowers you’re preparing to take home for yourself for the day. Eyes widening in surprise when you see the Pro-Hero Dynamight standing in your tiny shop in full hero costume. He mumbles that he needs to buy some flowers, and you’re trying to help him pick a bunch. Asking whether it’s for a birthday, celebration or maybe a gift for his mother.

“How about that one?” He points to the flower arrangement you’d just finished wrapping for yourself as you smile.

“Maybe she’d prefer a different combination if it’s for a first date?” You know a lot of the flowers arranged in your bouquet aren’t often favourites, “Maybe some carnations, or even a single rose?”

“Nah, they’re perfect.” He slams some notes onto your desk, far more than is necessary for the arrangement as you hurry to try and give him his change. But he’s already out the door, waving you off as he fists the flowers in a gloved palm.

The sight has you smiling as you watch him through the window, carrying the flowers at the end of his large grenade, following behind him to lock the shop for the night.

And you don’t expect him to come back, but he does. This time asking for different arrangements as you smile and ask if the date went well (which clearly it did if he’s asking for more flowers). Trying to ignore the ache in your chest as though you’d ever stood a chance in the first place as you busy yourself with making the arrangement he requested. Feeling his crimson gaze sear into you as you begin to wrap and tie the flowers, handing them off to him as he once again pays you far more than twice what they’re worth.

Dynamight quickly becomes your best customer, unbeknownst to him keeping you in business even when times are hard and your rent is overdue. Even coming in for flowers for his mothers birthday and Mother’s Day.

You hate the morbid curiosity that eats at you when you google his name, wanting to see the woman that he’s gifting the flowers to (as you wish it was you), and when you scroll through them on social media it looks like she really was the one to tame Pro-Hero Dynamight and have him settle down.

There are days Bakugou just comes in to see you, telling you that your shop is on his patrol route (even though he’s detoured six blocks away from it to get here) just to ask about your day.

The irony that he’s been forced into a high profile relationship to boost his ratings when he feels like he’s found all he’s looking for in a quaint little flower shop in Musutafu. He wants to tell you how he feels, that he hasn’t been gifting these bouquets to her and they’re instead blooming around his apartment. The scent of them reminding him of you at every second, allowing him to fool himself that you’re there with him. But he can’t.

The contract he signed burns through his skin as he regrets ever signing the stupid piece of paper, and he’s so close to the number one position he can taste it. The only issue is now the influencer is trying to push for proposals and engagements, and he’s still not number one.

His PR team assure him that the plan is working, that he’ll hit the number one spot and then the break up will be amicable on both sides.

So instead, he just keeps buying flowers.

But as he lies awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling, he wonders whether that’s even want he really wants anymore.

Because now all he can think about is you.

#I wanna write scenarios for all of them cause I just love chance meetings sighhh #soft bakugou

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝘼𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙡

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Lessons in Love. by @violentdelightsandviolentends

Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds

Out of control! by @pomelo-villano

Jacks and Sunshine by @rookthorne (tattoo artist!bucky)

Do You Need Someone? by @drabbles-mc (soldier!reader)

Grandeur by @navybrat817 (florist!bucky)

plum tarts and red carnations by @golden-barnes (florist!bucky)

Mornings Like This by @majestyeverlasting

What Dreams Are Made Of by @navybrat817 (tattoo artist!bucky x baker!reader)

bucky’s day off by @aescapisms

One Simple Touch by @likeahorribledream

Let’s Stay Inside by @writing-for-marvel (dad!bucky)

Operation milkshake, hospital visits and custody of Mr Bear by @golden-barnes (teacher!bucky)

You Bring Me Home by @real-jane

fitting in by @insomniumstella

shy!bucky by @ro-is-struggling

flustered by @lovelybarnes

Grocery Trip by @/lovelybarnes

Angel by @toastedkiwi (UFC Fighter!Bucky x surgeon!bucky)

find sunshine in the rain by @witchywithwhiskey

no shelf control | don’t overdue it by @buckymorelikefuckme (librarian!reader)

Dentist Visits. by @justkending

Five Sweaters to Make You Love Me by @sebbytrash

Took You Long Enough by @matchamunson

Work It Out by @jobean12-blog

backflips by @venusstorm

Crimson Wave by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Entrapment by @/invisibleanonymousmonsters (shapeshifter!reader)

Champion by @sgtjbuccky (40s!Boxer!Bucky)

Stay With Me by @/sgtbuccky

A Love That Heals by @ @/sgtbuccky

Ballerina by @softlyspector (ballerina!reader)

ANGST

She’s Not Mad by @subwaysurf45

Glutton for Punishment by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

The End by @buckychrist

Best Man by @/navybrat817 (soft dark!bucky)

His Everything by @/likeahorribledream

Redamancy by @world-of-aus

Grip by @pellucid-constellations

Pretense by @themorningsunshine

healing broken hearts by @alisonsfics

Marry You Someday by @mickeyhenrys (40s!bucky)

for the best by @classylo (dilf!bucky)

take cover by @royalsweetteaa (dark!bucky)

Anesthesia by @jobean12-blog

borderline by @sergeantxrogers (film maker!bucky)

I Need Him Like Water by @/pellucid-constellations

SMUT

heartless | 2 by @sinner-as-saint (incubus!bucky)

Occupied by @goodgirlofglory

Ambrosial by @/goodgirlofglory

No One Else Matters by @marvelouslizzie

Slice of Heaven by @softevnstan

Stay The Night by @notroosterbradshaw

attention by @heavysoldat

big question by @ownedbyfictionalwomen

normal routine by @wndalovebot

Aiming to Please by @gayouijaboard

Whatever It Takes by @buckybabesonly (dark!bucky)

Soft Lovin’ by @jamdoughnutmagician (chubby!bucky)

Night Out by @/softlyspector

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #incubus!bucky #dark!bucky #tattoo artist!bucky #bucky x soldier!reader #vet!bucky #bucky barnes modern au #florist!bucky #tattoo ar #dad!bucky #teacher!bucky #bucky x single mom!reader #shy!bucky #fighter!bucky #ufc!bucky #bucky x doctor!reader #bucky barnes 40s au #40s!bucky #bucky x librarian!reader #dilf!bucky #chubby!bucky #bucky x shapeshifter!reader #boxer!bucky

[eletainart]

Embarrassingly late to the trend but here they are ^^ and yes, yes, all the flowers have meanings

Vessel: Dark crimson Rose, White Hyacinth, Red Carnation and Marigold

II: Edelweiss, Acanthus, Golden Rod and Ivy

III: Red Camellia, Heliotrope, Yellow Lily and Marjoram

IV: Coriander, Chamomile, Bluebell and Peony

#sleep token #sleep token vessel #sleep token iii #sleep token ii #sleep token iv #sleep token band #sleep token art #sleep token fanart #flower language #my art #artists on tumblr #i cant ever draw a character with a flowe crown without making sure all the flowers there have a meaning #took me so long to finish this but seeing them all next to each other im really hapoy with it #look at them go all pretty boys