#but some white flowers do mean purity

[zackcrazyvalentine]

Me, seeing a lot of white flowers on Kalim's BDay bouquet: It's bc he's pure 🥺🩷

#idk if I'm correct #but some white flowers do mean purity #so yah #and white is associated with purity to #so yaaaah #just had to say this silly thought out loud #tbh scarabia might singlehandedly make me return to twst #I'm getting kalim feels and i wanna write comfort fluff with the sunshine 🩷

[akkivee]

finally found the hypmic botanists who are ready with the flowers lol. so i’ve seen the general consensus is that the flowers on nemu’s speakers are:

marigolds: power, strength, the sun, light that lives inside a person

white lilies: rebirth, purity

pink gerbera: admiration, high esteem for someone

blue hyacinth: sincerity, loyalty, fidelity

blue hydrangea: apology, regret, forgiveness

white marguerite: purity, innocence, new beginnings

#this is vee speaking #i didn’t use the hanakotoba meanings because her speakers are western in influence #but some meanings do overlap lol #the hanakotoba are: #marigold: unchanging love grief #lily: purity dignity #pink gerbera: appreciation #blue hyacinth: unchanging love #blue hydrangea: heartless patient love mystery #white marguerite: honesty trust hidden love #so to me the western flowers make a little more sense than the hanakotoba #this other user suggested nemu has yellow roses in her bouquet #i don’t agree lol but those mean friendship across the board #c: nemu

[waitimcomingtoo]

And I Wouldn’t Marry Me Either

Pairing: Tom Holland x singer!reader

Synopsis: you release some songs about Tom after a disagreement ends in a breakup

Masterlist

“Marry me.”

“Right now? But I just got comfortable.” Tom mumbled into his pillow with a sleepy smile.

“I’m serious.” You whispered through a laugh and shook his shoulder. Tom’s eyes slowly opened and he could see the blurry outline of you lying next to him in your bed.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking.” You began. “We’ve been together five years.”

“I’m aware.” Tom laughed and snuggled back into his pillow.

“So we should do it. We should get married.” You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him.

“We are married. Everyone knows you’re my girl.” Tom said without opening his eyes and pulled you into his arms. He tried to go back to sleep but you still wanted to talk.

“I know.” You laughed. “But I want to make it official.”

“What, in Gods eyes and all that? I didn’t think you cared about that.” He laughed dismissively and rolled over. You sat up fully in the bed and looked down at him.

“It’s not about that. I want the flowers and the dress and the rings. Don’t you want that?” You asked and shook him a little to clue him in that you were trying to have a serious conversation. You watched Tom shrug and roll onto his back to look up at you.

“I don’t know. I always found weddings kinda dumb.”

“What? What do you mean dumb?” You forced a laugh and tried to hide the disappointment in your tone.

“I mean, like, they’re not even legally binding. It’s this whole big celebration that people spend their life savings on just to get drunk and slid rings on each other fingers. You still have to go to the courthouse to get married and even that’s just a piece of paper.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you felt that way.” You laughed shortly and picked at your nail polish to look busy.

“I didn’t realize you felt a different way.” He said and rolled back onto his stomach. Tom closed his eyes to go back to sleep and you felt your heart sink in your chest. You got out of the bed and opened the curtains a little to distract yourself with the view. You touched the silky white curtains and smiled to yourself as you thought of all the pictures of white dresses you had saved on your Pinterest throughout the years.

“I’ve always dreamed of my wedding.” You said over your shoulder. “I think every little girl does at some point. Every rom com I grew up on ends with the perfect fairy tale wedding. I always wanted that. I wanted my happy ending.”

“But those are just movies. I bet half those couples wouldn’t last in real life.”

“But it’s sweet that they plan that special day together and then get to celebrate their love in front of all their family and friends.”

“Yeah, all that planning just so they can get divorced before the first year is up.” Tom snorted. “I think the whole idea of weddings are stupid. I mean, you spend all that time and money planning for a one day event that people will just attend for the free booze. Plus, women starve themselves for months and spend thousands of dollars on a dress they’ll wear once? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Tom.” You laughed shortly and folded your arms to glare at him. Tom sensed your tone and sat up in bed to pay better attention.

“I just think it’s all so ancient.” He shrugged. “I’m surprised you don’t agree. Weddings cannot exist without all the bullshit sexist traditions. I mean, the white dress to symbolize the brides supposed purity, the father of the bride literally “giving her away” to another man after being asked permission to get engaged in the first place, and then to top it off with her taking his last name because she’s now his property or something. It’s all so trivial and perverse.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Those traditions may be rooted in old fashioned thinking but I think it’s sweet to ask for my fathers permission. And yeah, I do want my dad holding my hand and walking me down the aisle. He’s not giving me away to be another man’s property, he’s standing by my side as I enter a new chapter of my life. Which is why I want my mama right there on my other side. Plus, lots of people hyphenate their last names nowadays. It doesn’t have to be this monstrous sexism fest you’re making it out to be.” You rolled your eyes and walked into the bathroom that was attached to your bedroom. Tom frowned when you shut the door. You usually left it open a crack when you did your morning skincare routine, but today, you were shutting him out. Tom got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to see you. You didn’t look up at him as you washed your face.

“Come on. Are you seriously mad because I dissed your rom coms?” Tom said as he put his hands on your hips and kissed your shoulder.

“I’m not mad about that.” You mumbled and brushed him off.

“Then what are you mad about, sour patch?” He teased and kissed your shoulder again.

“I’m mad because I’ve been getting my nails done weekly leading up to our five year anniversary just in case you proposed and you just told me that’s never even crossed your mind!” You exclaimed as hot tears of embarrassment brimmed your eyes. You stormed out of the bathroom and when Tom processed what you had said, he followed after you.

“I don’t believe in marriage, okay? I think it’s unnecessary. Why can’t we just live like this forever? What’s the difference?”

“The difference is pretty big. But I guess you don’t see it like that.” You shrugged and kept walking away from him.

“Can you honestly tell me what would be different between us if we signed a stupid piece of paper at the courthouse or didn’t?” Tom said as he put his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place for a second.

“The difference is I’d be your wife and not just the pathetic girlfriend who stayed even though you didn’t lock it down.” You raised your voice at him and pushed his hands off of you.

“So you only want to get married because you care what people think? How romantic.” Tom rolled his eyes at you.

“That’s not the only reason. I want to get married because it’s important to me. It’s a public commitment where we promise to love and protect each other forever. I want that.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I don’t need a ceremony to do that. I can promise you that right here.” Tom calmed down and took your hands.

“But that’s not special.” You sighed and withdrew your hands.

“If you don’t find that special then maybe you don’t love me as much as you think you do.” Tom said, immediately regretting it.

“What?” You whispered and looked into his eyes to see if he was serious.

“Look, darling, I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I just don’t see the point in marriage. I don’t need to prove I love you with a ring and wedding. I chose to love you every day. That’s enough for me.”

“What if it’s not enough for me?” You genuinely asked him as you wondered it for yourself.

“Then maybe you need to stop being so shallow and materialistic and ask yourself if you’re with me because you love me or because you want to play out some childhood fantasy that you saw in a stupid movie.” He shouted.

You both instantly got quiet. You were quiet for a very long time.

“I didn’t even mean that.”

“I don’t even care.” Your voice cracked as you grabbed your purse and slammed the front door behind you when you left.

“Is this one okay?” Harrison asked, pulling Tom out of his daydream. He replayed that fight over in his head about a dozen times a day. If his mind wasn’t occupied by something at all times, he’d perform an autopsy on that last conversation with you to try and understand what he should’ve done differently.

“What?” Tom asked without looking at his friend. He was too busy staring at the seat you always used to sit in at the kitchen counter.

“Can I use this one?” Harrison repeated and held up a muted purple mug as the tea kettle went off in the background. Tom tore his eyes away from your chair and when he saw the mug, all he could picture was your lipstick stain that used to stain it.

“That’s Y/n’s mug.” Tom said, descending a chill over the room. Harry and Sam’s attention was caught and they looked at Tom to see where this conversation was going.

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll put it back.” Harry said and quickly went to put it back in the cabinet.

“It’s fine. She’s not using it.” Tom shrugged. Everyone looked at each other as the awkwardness became palpable.

“How’s she’s doing?” Sam asked and sipped his tea to seem less interested than he really was.

“She’s good. Shes been recording some stuff at her New York studio. New music and whatnot.” Tom replied. He didn’t know this because you told him. He knew this because he’d been stalking your fanpages for every possible sighting of you.

“Have you guys talked lately?” Harry asked.

“Not really. Not since she left.” Tom admitted without looking up at his friends.

“You guys didn’t break up, did you?” Harrison asked, worsening the icy tension. Tom froze at the question for a minute and then shrugged. He didn’t really know what the answer was. In the weeks you’d been gone, you’d make small talk sometimes about work and the weather, but it never went beyond that. It was more to be polite. You kept in touch enough to know what the other was up to on a weekly basis, but you both knew you were dragging out something that had died. You wanted Tom to just say it was over already instead of pretending everything was normal, but he was never going to do that.

“I don’t know. We left things kinda up in the air.” Tom replied. The boys exchanged glances and Harrison nodded to let them know he was gonna take charge.

“Up in the air?” He questioned.

“Yep. Up in the air. Ambiguous. Vague. Open to interpretation. Call it what you want.” Tom shrugged again like it didn’t matter, but it did.

“Well what was the last thing you said to each other?” Harry wondered.

“She said she needed some space and was going to New York. And I said okay.” Tom recalled.

“What about before that?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t talk much in the days leading up to her leaving.” Tom replied and took a long sip of his tea.

“She didn’t speak to you?” Sam asked.

“She did.” Tom nodded. “Sometimes.”

“You didn’t speak to her?” Harrison asked, already knowing the answer.

“I didn’t have anything to say.” Tom shrugged. Nobody spoke a word, but all the boys were thinking the same thing. They knew how bad this was, and that it signaled the end of your relationship.

“What?” Tom asked when he noticed the shift in vibe.

“I’m just surprised.” Harrison shrugged. “You guys were never like this. I can’t even remember your last fight.”

“We didn’t fight. You can’t fight when you don’t speak.” Tom said with a sarcastic smile.

“You should call her.” Harry suggested. “It’s gonna be at least a week since she’s been there, right?”

“Four weeks.” Tom corrected without meeting anyone’s else.

“Mate, you gotta call her.” Harry said quietly and put his hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“I can’t.” Tom shook his head.

“Why not?”

“She can’t break up with me if I don’t talk to her. As long as we don’t have that conversation, we’ll still be together.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, Buddy.” Harrison said apologetically. Tom sucked in a sharp breath and looked at his friend with tears brimming his bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t know what else to do.” He said with a crack in his voice.

“Oh shit.” Sam said suddenly, getting everyone’s attention.

“What?” Tom asked.

“She’s dropping a song tonight. She just announced it.” Sam said and showed Tom your Twitter. Tom took Sam’s phone to read your announcement better. Sure enough, you had posted a picture of you dramatically lying across a piano bench with your left hand covering half of your face. You had a ring on every finger except for your ring finger, a detail that wasn’t lost on Tom. He handed Sam’s phone back and look at the floor.

“You didn’t know about this?” Sam asked, and Tom shook his head. He’d gone from being the first person you played every song for to finding out on Twitter that you had a song coming out.

“What’s it called?” Harrison wondered. Sam looked down at his phone to read the title and gulped.

“Who cares?” Sam forced a laugh and put his phone away.

“What’s it called?” Tom asked again.

“You Don’t Know Me Anymore.” Sam mumbled. Tom shut his eyes and hung his head in shame. He hadn’t even heard the song yet but knew it was going to be bad news.

“When does that come out?” He asked Sam.

“Midnight. Tonight.”

Tom’s friends stayed with him all day until midnight rolled around. At 11:58, Tom placed his laptop on the kitchen table and opened YouTube. He knew you always released lyric videos when you dropped a new song and he needed to reach every single world you said. When midnight came, he refreshed his screen and clicked on your video. The background image was a picture of you looking in a mirror with messy hair. You had digitally added sparkly, purple tears to run down the still image of your face. You played a couple notes on the piano before the lyrics appeared beside your face in your handwriting.

“I wish you’d just put me out of my misery

You already know I’m at your mercy

I don’t know why you’re dragging this out

You have all the power, if that’s what this is about

I’m not gonna be the one who walks away

So I need you to say what you want to say

I already know it’s over so just let it end

Please don’t give me the pity of asking to stay friends.”

“I don’t think we should be listening to this.” Sam said as he paused the video.

“Play it.” Tom demanded. Sam sighed and pressed play while the other exchanged looks.

“I’ve been feeling you leaving

I hate this part more than the ending

The moments leading up when I know your heart has changed

I don’t know why we keep pretending

If it’s done just say it’s done

Don’t just change your mind and not tell me

I already know so just let me go

Don’t just watch as I sit and bleed.”

“I don’t think-“ Sam began as he paused it again.

“Stop pausing it.” Tom cut him off. “Play it. I need to hear it.”

Sam pressed play again and Tom pulled the laptop over to himself so he could control it.

“Cause I cut my hand on that first crack in the glass

I feel the icy air between us when you pass me

So I took your chain off from around my neck

I’ll think of something else your initial can stand for

You don’t deserve to see me wearing it anyway

You don’t know me anymore.”

Tom didn’t realize he had started to cry until his tears his his keyboard. He couldn’t see the video anymore from his blurry his eyes had gotten. He wiped his face and leaned on his hands to give the song better attention.

“You know I would die for you in secret

Like that song I showed you in my car

I don’t think you even listened to it

You didn’t draw stars around my scars

You drew your arrow and let it fly

Right into my heart and let me die

Actually, I wish that was the curtesy you provided

Instead, you let this love become one sided

And now we’re shattered like a glass that was dropped

You broke my heart until the day that it stopped

You never got down on knee

Even when I crumbled onto both of mine

I wonder if you ever really wanted me

How did you think we were fine?

And at what part did you realize you liked the idea of me?

But who I actually am isn’t someone you wanted

I miss who I was before we met

Now I can’t go back, I’m haunted

And you were right not to marry me

If I could walk away from me too, I would

You were right to leave when you did

I know I would too if I could

But I’m stuck here with myself

Forever scratching and clawing at your door

Keep it all, even my memories

You’re lucky you don’t know me anymore.”

Everyone sat in silence once the song ended. Tom wiped his eyes again but tears just kept falling down his face.

“That probably wasn’t even about you.” Harrison said after a long beat of silence. Tom gave him a look before turning to his brothers.

“What do you think?” He asked Harry.

“It sounds like she’s hurting too.” Harry shrugged. “I think you’re both waiting for the other to say you’re broken up.”

“Well I’m not saying it.” Tom stated. “She has to.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Sam asked kindly.

“Then we don’t break up.”

“Again, I’m not really sure that’s how it works.”

“Well it’s what I’m going with. Because I can’t break up with her.” Tom sniffled and shut the laptop.

“But you can’t go on like this either.” Sam pointed out.

“She’ll come home when she’s ready.” Tom said, but no one in the room believed him.

And didn’t come home for a while.

After another week of silence, Tom flew to New York to see you. He got to your apartment and knocked on your door without any particular plan in mind. You opened it with a smile but when you saw who it was, you tensed up.

“Hi.” He said with a sad smile.

“If you came to to propose to me as some kind of grand gesture-“

“Please, let me talk.” He cut you off. You sighed and nodded as you leaned against your doorway.

“We have different opinions. But I don’t love or respect anyone more than you. So I am willing to hear your side, which is not something I did last time we spoke about this. I was just listening for what I could rebuttal against. I wasn’t actually listening to understand your thoughts and feelings. But I’m ready now.” He said. You nodded again and seemed to drop the wall that you had put up.

“It matters to me that we get married.” You told him. “I know you think it’s pointless and doesn’t change anything, but it changes things for me. If you picked out a ring, asked my parents permission, and got down on one knee, that would all make me feel special and loved. Those things matter to me in a relationship.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“But now you do know so if you propose, I know you’re just gonna do it to appease me. I’ll always know that you think it’s stupid when I look at the ring.”

“I admit that it found it a little dumb in the past. But it matters to you. And nothing that matters to you can be stupid.”

“I can’t get married to you knowing you don’t really want it. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.” You said and went to close the door.

“But I can’t lose you. My thoughts on marriage literally do not matter to me in the slightest. If it’s important to you and if it is what it takes to make you feel special and loved, then I want it too.” Tom pleaded as he pushed your door back open.

“But you don’t want it. You just don’t want to break up.”

“I can put on a tux for a night and suffer through if it means that much to you.” He said with a slight laugh to lighten the mood. Your face changed and he had somehow made the situation worse.

“Suffer?” You asked quietly with a told of your head.

“I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. But darling, I’m saying we can get married. I’ll do whatever it is you want. Why do you still look so upset?”

“Because you don’t get it.” You shook your head. “And I’m afraid you never will.”

“What don’t I get? I don’t understand. I’m telling you I’ll give you what you want.”

“But you don’t want it too. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s the principle, Tom. Remember how disappointed I was that one time when I said I wanted ice cream so we went to the shop but you didn’t get anything? I didn’t mean I wanted ice cream. I meant I wanted us to get ice cream together so we could eat it and spend time together. This is like that but times a million. You can’t compromise on marriage. You either believe in it or you don’t. So even if we did get married, it wouldn’t mean to you what it means to me. I would always think back to that conversation we had and remember how you really feel about marriage. I keep replaying all the things you said that day in my head. We both know how you feel about marriage and we both know it’s not something you want.”

“So that one conversation ruined it for you? Completely?” He asked.

“Yes, it did.” You answered truthfully. You stared at each other for a minute as both your eyes welled with tears. You both knew you’d reached a stalemate and there was nothing more to be done.

“So what do we do now?” Tom asked without looking at you.

“I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” You told him, making him perk up.

“So do I.” He smiled as tears rolled down his face.

“But what if that’s not enough?” You asked him. Tom froze and felt the situation escaping from him fast.

“We’ve been together almost 5 years, darling. That’s five birthdays, Christmas’s, anniversaries. You make up so much of my life. We’re exactly right for each other. It’s supposed to be you and me in the end. I can’t do this with anyone else.”

“And I can’t do this with you.” You laughed sadly and gestured to him. Tom’s heart dropped in his chest when it became apparent that this was more than just a fight.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“I think I am.” You nodded. Neither of you could believe the words that were coming out of your mouth but it was too late to take them back.

“Does marriage really mean that much to you that you’d rather break up instead of just living a long, happy life together?” Tom asked you.

“I guess it does.” You realized. He stood there in shock as you put a hand on his shoulder and brought him closer to kiss his cheek.

“Goodbye, Tom.” You smiled sadly at him and shut your door.

Another month went by and you did not come home. You busied yourself with your music and dove into your next album, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about him on midnights when you were left alone with your thoughts. Tom thought about you a lot more often, like every time he saw your face on his TV. He tuned in one night to watch you debut your latest music video of your newest song. His eyes were glued to the TV as the video opened with your back to some brown eyed actor.

“You say “I don’t understand” and “I say I know you don’t.” We thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won’t.” You sang with your eyes glued to the floor. The setting changed and you were walking through an apartment that Tom recognized.

“She filmed this on Cornelia Street?” Tom whispered to himself and sat back on his couch.

“Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light.” A smiling version of you sang as she walked though the apartment holding the hand of the actor playing Tom. The setting changed again and you were still in the room, but the lights were off and you were sitting alone in the floor.

“Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time.” You sang while not looking in the camera. The rest of the video followed in suit. You flashed between happy, golden hued memories with the actor to grey toned solo shots of you sitting alone at your piano or on the floor. The difference in the moods made Tom reminisce on the old times and he wondered how long it has been since he had made you smile the way you were doing in the video.

“Stop, you’re losing me. Stop, stop, stop. You’re losing me.” You sang while looking directly into the camera as a purple heart monitor line ran through the background behind you and eventually flatlined. Tom felt like you were staring right into his soul and realized this was the closest he’d gotten to making eye contact with you in a while. He watched the sad, grey version of yourself split from the happy version and suddenly, there were two of you on the screen while the actor playing Tom ignored them both.

“How long can we be a sad song till we were too far gone to bring back to life?” The both of you sang while Tom’s counterpart read the newspaper and didn’t look at either. He thought of the days leading up to you leaving for New York where he’d be doing exactly that, reading the newspaper to pretend to look busy when he felt you glaring at him. He wiped his face and watched as the scene changed to the three of you at a party. The sad version of you was clinging to Tom’s counterpart defensively while the other version of you yelled at him with a drink in your hand.

“Fighting in only your army. Front lines, don’t you ignore me. I’m the best thing as this party.” You yelled and drunkenly stumbled around while the rest of the party watched.

“You’re losing me.” The grey version whispered into Tom’s ear. He assumed that version represented the part of you that missed him while the other version represented the you that knew it was over. The scene changed again and this time, you were back in the Cornelia Street apartment with an open ring box in the center of the table. There was no ring inside, just a burning flame.

“And I wouldn’t marry me either. A pathological people pleaser.Who only wanted you to see her.” You said into the camera while Tom’s character threw things into a bag behind you and went to leave.

“And I’m fading thinking do something babe! Say something! Lose something, babe. Risk something. You’re losing me! Chose something, babe. I got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me.” The grey version of you desperately said to Tom’s counterpart as she pulled on his arm to beg him to stay. It was like he couldn’t see her at all and just kept walking towards the door. The golden version of yourself opened the door and pointed for him to get out while the other version of you jumped in front of him and dropped to her knees to get him to stay. Tom’s character walked right through her and she faded to dust, leaving just the one version of yourself to watch him go. The music stopped and you ended up running after him, but he was already gone. You turned and ran down Cornelia Street but didn’t go back into your apartment. You just kept running down the street and turned the block so that the camera couldn’t see you anymore. The camera panned out to show the Cornelia Street sign and a violin version of your song by the same name played in the background as the street sign turned grey and faded into dust. The screen turned black and Tom was left alone in the silence.

After another month, he found himself outside your door again. He knocked on it and felt his heart pound until you opened it up.

“Tom? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you. I came to fix this.” He said simply.

“Tom, I don’t know that we can fix this.” You said apologetically. It felt amazing to see him, but it didn’t change the fact that you ultimately wanted different things in life.

“You were right. You can’t compromise on marriage. And you either believe in it or you don’t.” He began before getting down on one knee.

“Tom?” You asked skeptically as your eyes went wide. He pulled a ring box out of his pocket and opened it up for you.

“It’s your moms ring. Your dad gave it to her for the third Valentine’s Day they celebrated together in college. She doesn’t wear it anymore because it’s one size too small, so she gave it to me when I asked them for permission to marry you.”

“You asked them?” You smiled in surprise that he had done one of the things you said mattered to you.

“I did. It was a little awkward to find out your mother already knew all about our previous conversations about marriage so you can probably guess how confused I was.” He said with an embarrassed laugh.

“What did my dad say?”

“He said as long as I make you happy, he’s proud to have me join the family.”

“See? No one’s giving me away to anyone. We’re just creating a bigger family for the two of us.”

“I see that now. I see a lot of the points you made. And what your dad said got me thinking.”

“About?”

“All I want is to make you happy. Which is different from agreeing to things I don’t want to do to appease you. I do want to watch you walk down the aisle in a dress that’s been in your Pinterest board since you were 13. I do want to plan the seating arrangement and introduce my weird friends from college to your weird friends from college. I want to plan the entire thing because that’s something we can do together, and those are my favorite things to do.”

“What about the ceremony? And the marriage license? You don’t want those things.”

“I didn’t at first.” He admitted. “But after actually thinking about it and reevaluating the opinion I formed before I ever even had a serious relationship, I realized I feel differently. You make me feel differently. I would proudly sign my name next to yours on a marriage license. Because I happen to think our names look pretty good together. And as for the ceremony, I know we can’t compromise, but we can collaborate. It doesn’t have to be a huge blowout party. It can be the best elements of the both of us. And we can plan it together.”

“That all sounds very lovely, but it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t believe in marriage just a few months ago. Am I really supposed to believe you’ve truly changed your mind? What if this is just some grand gesture to win me back that you end up regretting?” You asked him.

“I will never end up regretting promising my love for you in front of our family and friends. I’ll never regret hyphenating our names so that everyone knows I’m a part of a duo. I’ll never regret choosing to legally attach myself to my vets friend and spend the rest of my life with her. But I can tell you with the utmost assurance that I would regret letting you walk away and become a name I wince at for the rest of my life.”

“You felt differently not too long ago.” You quietly reminded him. You wanted so badly to believe him, but you couldn’t fully trust it.

“I changed my mind. I realized somethings are more important than other things. And that you’re more important than anything.”

Your skeptical expression turned into a coy smile as you slid your hand into the one that wasn’t holding the open ring box.

“You never actually said the words.” You told him, making Tom break into a relieved smile.

“Darling, would you make me the happiest man-“

“Eh. Try again. Too cliche.” You cut him off. Tom smiled and shook his head, knowing you weren’t gonna make it easy.

“My love, I don’t want to spend another minute as just your boyfriend.” He tried again.

“Lame. Thumbs down.” You shook your head and pointed your thumb down.

“Would you do me the honor-“

“Yawn.” You interrupted.

“Will you just marry me, you annoying brat?” Tom groaned.

“Tom! I thought you’d never ask!” You gushed over dramatically and put your hand over your heart.

“Is that a yes?” Tom asked as he stood up.

“I have to think about it. I don’t know if marriage is for me.” You shrugged as he slid the ring onto your finger. You looked down at the ring and remembered the time you tried it on as a little girl and how it didn’t fit your finger until now.

“Yes. I will marry you.” You smiled as you looked back up at Tom. Tom broke into a grin and scooped you up to spin you around.

“Sorry I wrote all those emo songs about you.” You said into his ear, making him laugh.

“It’s okay. It’s what you do.” He couldn’t stop smiling as he set you down. He then pulled you in for a long kiss to make up for all the time you were apart. When you pulled away, he pulled your face back towards him with his hands to kiss your left cheek.

“I see you.” He said, then kissed you right cheek.

“I choose you.” He continued, then kissed your forehead.

“I love you.” He said, the kissed your nose before looking into your eyes.

“And I know you.” He told you. You smiled softly and nodded your head.

“You do?” You asked him. “You really know me?”

“I do.”

Tag List 🏷️

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@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison

@andreasworlsboring101 @letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention

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@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill

@every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave​ ​ @fiantomartell

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you

[lacryem]

— A surprisingly long and in depth look about symbolism in the recent G-Fantasy cover by Yana Toboso ✦

Including references, flower language, how to decode the meaning of flowers, and a little too much brainrot. As well my personal interpretation drawn from all the sources I looked at. And of course what all of means (and maybe hints at?) for Sebastian and Ciel… and maybe even Sebaciel? 

Originally posted as a twitter thread, but threads suck and I forgot a couple things. so here now.

Disclaimer :

I don’t know FOR SURE that all these things were directly referenced by Yana when creating this art. But being a fan of her work for over a decade I've become familiar with her use of symbolism and reference, and believe myself to have a good eye for it at this point!   I'm also pretty familiar with the use of flower language, including different languages, due to having been involved in a project about it and having to read wayyy too much about this. 

Some of it also includes my own personal interpretation, but the meanings and info I based myself off of ARE factual. I think I made it pretty clear when referencing my personal interpretation. You're welcome to reach your own interpretation based off of the stuff provided!

And lastly, I'm not a sebaciel shipper. I'm not an anti (the complete opposite, actually) and have nothing against the ship, I like the narrative around them and how they're written but I don’t actively ship them romantically or sexually. So I'd say this is actually a pretty unbiased interpretation. Personal taste is one thing, but I don’t deny the author's intention and whats written in front of me! That is what this post is about.

Kuroshitsuji takes place in the Victorian period (1837~1901) in 1889.

The following are both important Victorian books on the language of flowers that I will be basing myself off of.

Language of Flowers by Greenaway Kate (1884), and The Language of flowers: An Alphabet of Floral Emblems (1857).

(Also, I’m treating Ciel’s rose as a deep red rose. Which is a bit different than red roses. But I am adding some relevant information about roses in general, anyway.

Now, on what they say about these flowers.

Deep rose, meaning "bashful shame". White lily, meaning "Purity and sweetness."

— The White Lily

Most people assume that the lily refers to Ciel's purity, and that’s a fair assumption. But I disagree. 

Firstly, the one holding the lily is Sebastian. Holding it on his right hand, tilted towards the right. However what's relevant here is the VIEWER. From the viewer's POV he's holding it to the left. Note he also holds the scissors on his left hand, where he bears HIS contract seal.

How you hold a flower, what position you give it to someone in, changes the meaning of the flower. These context clues are very important. It tells us that 'purity and sweetness' doesn’t refer to Ciel, but actually refers to Sebastian (…sorta).

This may be a little confusing. Purity and sweetness, Sebastian?! I know, I know. bear with me.

These books provide poems to help us understand how you may interpret the intended meaning. The lily poem is about enduring trials out of love because of the purity and sweetness he sees in his lover's eyes and soul. I believe Yana directly references the poems I will include in this post in her new artwork.

— My Interpretation

the meaning of Sebastian's lily is:

"I do all out of love for the sweetness and purity within you."

Him holding it to the contact seal and cutting the flower could stand for him destroying this sentiment (affection within himself) that has arisen in him as a result of their contract by destroying the sweetness and purity—the source of it—within Ciel (consuming his soul).

Note: This is debatable, as 'reversed' almost always means upside down. But if you consider the lily facing away from the viewer as reversed then it could mean "impurity and bitterness" which fits pretty well with Ciel, and it being held against the contract seal which is a physical representation of his impurity, brought on by his bitterness.

— The Deep Red Rose

There something I find very interesting. The rose is in a teacup, standing in for tea (I think there's even tea alongside it in the cup.) From Yana herself we know that Sebastian's eyes are a reference to the reddish brown colour of tea.

Like I said, I believe this rose to be a deep red rose, which is a bit more specific than the meaning given to red roses. However I think the poem included for roses in general very much applies here.

I was going to add my thoughts but I found this interpretation that sums it up pretty well if you replace the carpe diem theme with a more "running out of time" or "impending death" theme, which seems to be a more accurate reading for this artwork.

Looking at the rose itself, it has no thorns or leaves.

It is not a youthful rose as its already fully open and losing petals. "No hope, and no fear" fits with the poem, the rose is basically an hourglass referring to Ciel. His fate is unavoidable, but this isn't a deterrent. He's dancing on the ledge.

The deep red rose means 'bashful shame'.

When you compare it to the lily, which is a direct proclamation, the deep red rose is a quiet confession one cannot verbalize.

Debatable, to be fair but given the tie in to Sebastian's eye colour and the fact that he is always the one pouring tea for Ciel, I believe the Sebastian to be the speaker here too, but this time speaking on Ciel's feelings (Hence why he's the one holding it) rather than Sebastian's own. 

— My Interpretation

The meaning of the deep red rose Ciel holds, speaking about Ciel's feelings of guardedness, and in response saying:

"Abandon your bashful shame, and let yourself be admired without expectations (hope) or fear"

Sebastian speaks about Ciel's feelings, the deep red rose acknowledges his feelings but they remain unspoken.

The Waller poem is a plead for his beloved to seize the day, for time is short, and allow herself to be loved completely. 

Her beauty is one to be appreciated, she is not meant to be a rose unacknowledged (unloved) in the desert.

Regarding 'expectations', I think this is more about rigid ideas of how 'appreciation' or 'admiration, might be shown or received. Sebastian and Ciel's relationship defies normality or 'expectations'. So this, too, would defy expectations a young boy like Ciel, or a traumatised boy like Ciel, may have.

From Yana herself, we know Sebastian's dedication and how highly he holds 'beauty', specifically Ciel's beauty.

The author of the poem proclaims that beauty not appreciated is not beautiful indeeed, and so he calls his beloved to come to him and be appreciated wholly during the invaluable, limited time they have.

We see the deep red rose's petals fall away, in my opinion not only symbolising the withering away of time, but also the crumbling away of this "bashful shame" that Sebastian ascribes to Ciel.

How Sebastian wishes to "appreciate" this beauty is debatable. How he wants to "admire" and "desire" (per the poem) Ciel is rather open ended. Wether it be in a romantic way, a sexual way or by consuming his soul.

However, I don’t think these are mutually exclusive. And consuming Ciel can easily be a metaphor for the former two. 

— The Lily and The Rose

The Greeneaway book has this poem which im sure was directly referenced. This poem speaks about the lily and the rose in a direct power struggle and fight for dominance, until they eventually unite and reign as one.

Now when speaking about this "union", you could say it refers to their contract, but I don’t think so.

The contract ties them to each other, but it doesn’t necessarily unite them. So I believe 'unity' to be about the appreciation Sebastian speaks of Ciel opening up to. 

"The Lily" and "The Rose" might be interpreted as directly representing Sebastian and Ciel, and the unity that would come from them joining and becoming a truly complimentary pair. I think a power struggle and fight for being the one in control is very accurate way to describe their current dynamic in canon.

It may also be interpreted as "The Lily" and "The Rose" as being representations of their feelings and ideals previously. And then it would represent these two conflicting expressions—a loud  unrelenting and destructive devotion, and a guarded, bashful, unspoken reluctance— coming together and turning from conflicting to complimentary. 

Or as it tends to be with these things, both!

Either way all of this is expressed under the sense of impending doom created by their circumstances and the contract. So there's a sense of urgency permeating all of it.

Also clear to me is a sense of internal conflictedness coming from Sebastian's message that is usually only hinted at like this, and some people end up overlooking.

Sebastian desires Ciel deeply, but having him would also mean not being able to have him anymore.

Sebastian is torn and that’s why he attempts to cut the root of his wavering feelings represented by the lily. 

All of this makes me wonder about what's next, and if we will see these things said more blatantly. Foreshadowing with flower language and references like this, isn't exactly rare for Yana. I wonder if we will see this 'unity' come to be, and what necessary development Sebastian and Ciel will need to undergo to make it possible. As well as what shape it will take.

I also wonder very much about Ciel's perspective in all of this, as this was almost entirely from Sebastian's POV, but I think that's intentional. Ciel has his own goals and a lot on his mind. Sebastian's goal IS Ciel. So I assume he spends a lot more time thinking about Ciel and this kind of thing.

Thank you if you read the whole way through. Like I said before, even though the sources defending it are, my interpretation is not law and you're welcome to reach your own with the things presented.

Links for sources, including free public domain PDFs of the books mentioned are found at the end of my twitter thread.

— Thanks for reading! —

#sebaciel shipper friendly post #kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #sebastian black butler #ciel black butler #sebaciel #please refrain from ship discourse on my post. I don't care if fictional characters upset you. I'm looking at the source material here.

[comfortless]

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

[daydreaming-paradies]

Genshin Men and Their Flower Language(s)

ᡣ𐭩 Summary: Every flower has its own language. What flower language do these genshin men have?

ᡣ𐭩 characters: Zhongli(150), Childe(151), Diluc(182), Kaeya(141)

ᡣ𐭩 Warnings: Fluff, wholesome, a bit angst in Diluc and Kaeya's part

ᡣ𐭩 ~ Want to Continue?~ part 2

art belongs to @/eriimyon on X/Twitter

Zhongli

Baby's Breath-Everlasting Love

As a former archon, he has seen people come and go. He had learned to accept it years ago however when he first met you, he once thought that you were out of his league. But you proved him wrong, you took your time understanding him. You were there whenever he talks about his stories even if you do not like history, your attention is always on him. You make him feel loved no matter what he does on a daily basis. Yes in his eyes, you are his silly lover and his one and only. He knows that he will outlive you and he will miss you dearly so if he had any flower to give you daily is baby’s breath because for you, you are his everlasting love. Even if you pass on to the afterlife, you will be forever in his memories and his one true love.

Childe

Gardenia- You're lovely, Secret Love

You are the secret love of Childe. You know that he is a harbinger and you know he loves to battle but Childe for him, seeing you after he got home from a tiring mission had brightened his day. Childe knows that he brings danger and harm to you so he keeps you a secret from his enemies. His family loves you and his siblings love you to death. In Childe’s mind, you are one of the reasons he is still kicking, the reason for him to smile..the reason to come home in one piece. Every day when he comes home to you, he always gives you Gardenia flowers yet you do not know what it means. You bugged him about it until he revealed it. “Gardenia flowers means you are lovely or secret love, mia amata.” Childe says with a smile. “That means you are my lovely secret love.”

Diluc

White Rose-I am worthy of you

Diluc Ragnvidr is the man with few words, a private person, and a man with walls to protect himself from others. To stop himself from being hurt by another loved one's death but with you, all of that is out of the window. With you alone, he is very attentive despite his nightly duties. He always makes sure to put your needs before his own. You both made a routine to give each other flowers whenever you two see each other either in privacy or in private. Your flowers is always the red rose but Diluc’s rose is white roses. You later ask Lisa what the white rose means and you were surprised to say the least. White roses means innocence and purity, you’re heavenly, secrecy and silence and I am worthy of you. Diluc was in a surprise when you hugged him, killing him with your kisses and saying to him. “Thank you, my nightly Knight.” This makes the poor man tear up and embrace you in his arms. You are both worthy of each other. Never let each other go.

Kaeya

Orange Blossom-Eternal Love

Who says that even the broken can fall in love? For Kaeya, it is him. He has been hiding his pain with a sly smile and the flirtiness, hiding the turmoil in his heart. To Kaeya, he thought that he would be alone in this world where nobody loved him nor understand until you came into his life. Kaeya was wary of you at first but after some time, he realized that you did not have any ill motives towards him. You understand him, love him for who he really is despite what others said about him. You make his life worth something and if he had to pick a flower to describe you. It would be an orange blossom flower. Even in a different universe..even if you are gone from his life, his love for you will be eternal.

~Taglist: @areislol @purpleqilinwrites @amxto @yoghurtsan @ryuryuryuyurboat @windblume-wishes @thestarswhisper @the-guardian-kitsune @sanzach @asoulsreverie @inkybloom-luv @ainescribe @kitsuvil @dxmoness @kalims @mccnstruck @dailypenpen @husky-studies

#ཐིཋྀ- daydream’s paradise -ཐིཋྀ #୨୧- daydream’s library #𓏲𝄢 ~ genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #ᰔ- come daydream again #genshin fluf #genshin fluff #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin kaeya #Genshin Diluc #genshin zhongli

[grey-spark]

OMORI Color Symbolism

Some of this will be obvious. Some other stuff won’t be. Enjoy! (TW: Suicide, depression, OMORI spoilers)

White: Purity/ Sterility/ Dissociation

White is the color of OMORI. The game and the character. An oppressive white that banishes all impurities. White space is a place to become nothing. White is not good. At least not until later. White is simple like a tulip, and that’s probably why its Sunny’s favorite color, but Sunny has taken simplicity to a toxic new level. We also find another white flower, the Orchid Egret, a white flower that connects the dream world to the real one. Almost acting as an anchor, grounding the real world to Whitespace. At the end of the game, white and sterility is given a new meaning: redemption. It’s the sign of a clean slate. Sunny has come to terms with Mari’s death, his part in it, and has confessed. He can move on with his life.

Beige: The Past/ Dullness/ Decay

Beige is Sunny’s main color. Maybe even more than white. It’s the color that differentiates him from Omori. Unlike his evil doppelganger, Sunny is a person with memories. At the end of the game when the real Sunny explores his childhood home, all of his memories are cloaked in a sepia beige. It’s the color of old photos and old times. Towards the end, we seen the plant life surrounding basil’s forest die and decay into a sullen beige. Showing how his attachment to the past is stalling and killing his growth as a person. In the real world, Sunny wears beige cargo shorts, in a empty house with beige walls and floors. Lacking in color, the inside of Sunny’s house feels muted and dull in comparison to the vivid blues and greens just outside his front door.

Orange & Yellow: Joy/ Excitement/ Agitation

Orange is almost exclusively Kel’s color. Serving as a more fashionable alternative to yellow, it’s a bright, happy color that conveys the same positivity. Its warm and welcoming. It’s also the main color of the titular “Orange Oasis” an area of Headspace that’s easy going. But even in such an area, there is a truth teller, Mr. Outback, draped in orange. Poking holes in the fantasy and stirring up the waters. Orange is a loud, aggressive color, similar to red. It annoys and aggravates people. Just like Kel. But in doing so it can generate much needed disruption to break stagnation. Kel instigates the whole plot of the game, and in the end everyone is much happier for it.

Yellow is the game’s designated color for happiness, though sometimes it blends green into the happy symbolism as well. A core example is the sunflower, a yellow and green plant that Basil admires for its ability to see the bright side of things. There’s also Kel and Hero’s parents. In their family photo the parents wear yellow and green, subtly showing that the core value of the household is the happiness of the family above all else. Finally, there’s the Big Yellow Cat. The centerpiece of Sunny’s dream world, serving almost as an unofficial ruler of Headspace. Protecting the very precious thing Sunny treasures most, the happy memory of his old friends. It’s interesting to note that all three of Sunny’s childhood imaginary friends are babylike pastel primary colors. The cat is yellow, representing Sunny’s happiness in the dream world. Abbi’s tenacle is red, the arm of the wisest who was discontent with that world. And then we find Humphrey is a baby blue, the starving sadness that Sunny keeps tucked away at the bottom of it.

Blue: Sadness/ Truth

Blue is the color associated with sadness, and more importantly, the truth. All the horrific real world nighttime scenes are portrayed in blue on black. Meanwhile, the final hospital scene when Sunny confesses the truth is shown in blue on white. Visually showing the importance of truth in the story, as well as the suffocating sadness of the situation.

Hero is blue. A color that accentuates his masculinity and dependability reflected in his manly can-do attitude, though his conventional masculinity is often subverted by him wearing a feminine pink apron while cooking. However, the main reason he’s dressed in blue is because as mentioned before, it portrays his sadness. Hero is a character that is perpetually depressed. His intelligent mind over thinks things and blames himself. Mari’s death was no exception, so like Sunny, Hero seals himself away in a cocoon of sadness. Consider Humphrey, the big blue whale (the final boss of Headspace) that eats Sunny over and over again. Swallowing him deeper in a devouring cycle of depression. By escaping Humphrey, Sunny gets a chance to escape his depression and fantasy, just like Hero did before. Rejecting his fantasy, Sunny can start reintegrating into the real world outside.

Blue is one of the two main colors associated with the Real World, along with Green. We see it most prominently in the cloudy sky, showing the status of Sunny in the real world on the final title screen. Unlike the oppressive purple sky of dream world, the real sky is blue, wide and filled with many possibilities. It’s reflected in the blue picnic basket at the secret lake, its blue and white like the sky. Sunny describes it as “not as good as Mari’s” but it’s a real picnic in the true world. The only world where Sunny can learn and grow.

Green: Growth/ Change/ Basil’s Envy

The color of growth. Plants are the keystone metaphor the story. In the duet sequence we see the plants growing, and the children alongside them. OMORI at its core is a coming-of-age story. One that homes in on the worst part of growing up: facing traumatic catastrophe. And being able to grow in spite of it. One of the kids hit hardest by this trauma is Basil. The gardener. A boy with a green thumb and green eyes (not literally, figuratively.) Note that Basil’s envy is never a malicious thing. But its made clear that he was always questioning his place in Sunny’s friend group. Taking photos but never feeling apart of them. Basil wants to be someone else. Someone loved. He wants to change. Lacking options, he turns to gardening, so he can make something beautiful to add to the world. Hoping that maybe he can change along the way.

As mentioned before, Green is portrayed as a happy color too. And is almost always portrayed in a positively light, being the second main color of the Real World. Though it also has a place in the dream world as well. It’s the color of the Vast Forest. The one that reminds Sunny of the tree that changed everything. It’s even the color of Space Ex-boyfriend’s hair, where its made abundantly clear that green is the inverted color of pink. If green is the color of growth and change. Pink is quite the opposite.

Pink: Innocence/ Childishness

Aubrey’s color. Her punk pink hair, originally meant to be a testament of her girly innocence, has since become a symbol of defiance. But this is only one instance where innocence is defiled by the toxicity of their shared catastrophe. Pink is the color worn by Sally the baby, the most innocent character in the story. But most pink characters appear as obstacles. Aubrey is the most obvious example, but pink is also featured on all three of the major Headspace bosses. Spaceboy’s pink hair. Sweetheart’s strict adherence to pink attire. And Humphrey’s monstrous parasite form is a sea of pink. Each character once had innocent origins but are all lashing out from an unwillingness to move on. For Aubrey, its from Mari. For Spaceboy, its Sweetheart. Sweetheart can’t move past her heartbreak to love anyone. And Humphrey fights to maintain the “blissful ignorance” of Whitespace itself, refusing to let Sunny wake up from his childish dreaming. After all, the very floor of the Neighbor Room is pink. Pink almost appears as an antagonistic unnatural color. Or rather, pink is the childishness Sunny and Aubrey need to overcome to mature and grow.

Though for Aubrey’s case, there’s a second meaning. Pink and purple are considered a feminine color, though purple is decidedly more mature of the two. Growing up, Aubrey didn’t have many feminine role models. Since Aubrey’s mother is emotionally unavailable, Mari is the only other girl Aubrey has to relate to. So they planned to style their hair to celebrate this connection. By asking Mari to dye their hair pink and purple, it appears that Aubrey is seeking to share her feminine experience with Mari.

Purple: Lavishness/ Love

Mari’s color. Purple is a color that exalts femininity and abundance. Traditionally associated with royalty and luxury, purple provokes a feeling of richness. Although in Mari’s case, this richness is not material wealth but rather takes the form of doting and indulgence. Representing how Mari goes out of her way to express her love to others in the form of gifts. This is also the main color of Headspace, since the color black is missing from that world replaced by infinite purple indulgence of an escapist fantasy.

Black: Mystery/ Repression/ Fear

Black is not evil in this game. It’s simply darkness. Hiding something important from sight. Something, the ghost, is black. All of them are. And of course there’s Black Space itself. All of it hidden, all of it pushed down. Black is also the exclusive color of fear, and is tied explicitly to the Truth. In earlier versions of the game, Fear was going to be just another emotion. In fact, super early concept material even indicates that somethings and black space were just going to be a haunted level. Not so in the final game. Black stands out as a special nightmare, that not only encroaches on the dream world, but even the Real World. All colors are swallowed by a darkness that torments Sunny and hides something awful.

Red: Anger/ Guilt/ Trauma

The color of blood. Of her blood. The color of guilt. Of being caught red handed. The color of unbridled fury for doing something awful to someone who loved you dearly. Across the game, we see Sunny being lured into the red lights. Red is the destructive impulse to seek revenge for Mari’s sake. Take from himself what he took from her. In Red Space, Sunny fights Omori. He faces his own self-hatred and overcomes his darkest impulses. 

Anyway, I think that’s all the main colors. Happy Birthday Sunny!  I try to make time for lore posts like these whenever I find time.

Thanks for reading.

#omori #omori meta #kel #hero #basil #Aubrey #mari #sunny #omori analysis #color theory

[angelitadiaz]

Benedict Bridgerton x Princess Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

As you made your way through Buckingham Palace, you ran into your mother, Queen Charlotte. Being the youngest of your siblings and your mother's miracle child meant she held you dearly in her heart. But what made her anxious about today's ball was that it was going to be your first debutante ball.

Making it her personal mission to make the ball perfect meant you hadn't seen her. "Good morning, Mother," you said as you bowed elegantly. She made her way over to you and placed her hand on the bottom of your chin, lifting your delicate features.

"Y/N, just the person I was looking for. Do you like these flowers to go with today's theme or these?" She said as she pointed to two bouquets. One was filled with white roses and pink tulips, adorned with different greenery added into it. The other bouquet had white tulips but was mostly filled by baby's breath, of course with the added greenery.

"The first one is beautiful, of course, but the second one seems to grab my attention more. Especially the baby's breath, it can mean purity and innocence, what I am to be for my husband." You said to your mother.

Your mother turned to look at you, pride seeping through her features as she couldn't hold back the tears welling up in her eyes. She grabbed your hands and held them with sincerity. "I am truly proud of what you have become, and I know you will make a sensational wife and mother."

You couldn't hide your smile from her. You loved your mother very much and wished you could be just like her, a loving wife. You had to leave her so you could start getting ready for the ball and quickly make your way to your room. You had your maid, Annabeth, help you pick a dress for the ball. You both decided on a pale pink dress with embroidered flowers matching the ones in your hair.

Annabeth helped put half of your hair up, putting it into a bun while having the rest curled freely. She grabbed some flowers and put them into your hair as she grabbed your crown. It was bigger than the other debutante but still had the simplicity that captured a man's attention. Annabeth helped you with your shoes next and chose a pair of pearl earrings and a pearl necklace.

Before you leave, you remembered to bring a feathered fan, a trick your mother had shown you not too long ago. Your mother is waiting for you outside of your room with her dog, Charles, whom you had given to her not long ago. She looks at you shocked as she eyed you up and down.

Queen Charlotte slowly made her way over to you and gripped your shoulders tenderly. "You are most perfection, my dear, wonderful job on today's dress." You couldn't hold back the smile you gave her as you gave her a quick hug filled with love. She laughed out loud and reciprocated your hug and held you tighter.

You both had to wait until the guests had fully arrived and held on to each other for support. "Y/N, promise me you'll find someone who you will love and cherish with your whole existence? And that you'll visit me often!" You nodded towards her as you heard both your names being announced.

The ballroom became hushed as they announced your mother's name and then yours. The doors opened, and your mother pushed forward, pulling you with her. Both of you stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the gentlemen and ladies. Synchronized, you both went down the stairs slowly and poised.

Once you reached the floor, your mother grabbed your hand and kissed your cheek, earning the soft awe of mothers. You decided you wanted to get a drink to quench your thirst and sipped on a lemonade.

You started to walk around, noticing the many staring young suitors around the ballroom. Being a princess ment you were in everyone's list of prominent wives. The ton also knew you would either be Duchess of Sussex or next in line for the throne after your brother George.

As you walked around the ballroom, you noticed a certain lord looking over at you. Lord Berbrooke made his way towards you, pushing anyone in his way. His eyes never left your body and smirked in a disgusting manner.

You turned around quickly and made your way across the ballroom hurriedly. Lord Berbrooke was catching up to you, but before he could reach for your wrist, you noticed a certain Bridgerton.

Benedict Bridgerton was the most handsome man you had ever seen and one of the most lovable. But you knew you couldn't be with him because of his lover, Madam Delacroix. Remembering your situation, you hurriedly made your way over to Benedict to escape Lord Berbrooke.

"Lord Bridgerton, would you do me the honor of having this dance with me?" Benedict looked taken aback but accepted your invitation, offering his arm towards you. You both made your way over to the dance floor capturing the attention of the ton.

As you both held each other, you couldn't help but feel his arm wrap around your waist softly and offer his hand for you to take. "What a surprise, Princess Y/N. I never expected you to choose me for your first dance." His eyes never leaving your own and moving gracefully to the melodic music.

"Please don't fluff your pride. I needed help with escaping a certain Lord. Lord Berbrooke tells everyone I am to be his princess and the mother of his children." You said as you rolled eyes while Benedict was chuckling to himself.

"Princess Y/N, do you wish to be a mother, or are you more concentrated on your throne?" You smiled at his question, answering diligently. "I wish to have a big family full of love and honesty. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind being away from the crown and living a simple life that I could enjoy. My husband shall be the most important person in my life as they will be my soul mate and lover. My purity is solely for them, and my moments shall be enjoyed with them. I wish to find a husband who is passionate about what he does while also loving me for me." You answered while your eyes looked around every couple dancing.

Benedict couldn't take his eyes off of you. You showed such grace, worthy of a princess, but expressed your wanting for a normal life. Benedict could remember all the times he had seen you with Queen Charlotte looking gorgeous. Your presence exuded a powerful leader while your very being showed a caring and kind person.

The perfect mix for the future crown princess of the Great nation.

"Lord Bridgerton, how do you feel about having a wife?" Benedict looked at you with confusion, his eyebrows scrunching together as he slightly shook his head. "I have been meaning to find one, but it seems I always get distracted with painting. But I hope to find a wife that is as loving as you."

Benedict looked down towards the shock in your face. You looked towards his gentle eyes and smiled a pure smile. "Then Lord Bridgerton, let's get married." In that moment, Benedict seized from dancing and looked at the ton that was staring back. Chills ran through his spine at the thought of marrying you. Sure, you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and admirable, but you were a princess. You didn't belong with someone like him.

"I must reject you, Princess Y/N. I only see you as a friend, not a lover." Benedicts' composure fell at the sight of a single tear falling from your eye. "What if I told you, Lord Bridgerton, that I fell in love with you from afar? Would that change anything?"

"I'm afraid I can't reciprocate your feelings, Your Highness. I just see you as a friend." Oh , how he wished he had said yes, he knew that he too had fallen in love with you from afar. He missed the feeling of your hands on him and could only stare at your retreating figure. "Lord Bridgerton, thank you for rejecting her. I truly appreciate it!" He turned around only to see Lord Berbrooke excited with a long grin in his face.

"Whatever do you mean Berbrooke?"

"Well, if it wasn't for you rejecting, I would have never had the chance of being with her. So I thank you." Berbrooke patted Benedicts shoulder walking away to go and find you. Benedicts fist wrapped tightly around itself as he looked over at you, longing in his stare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Benedict could not think about anything other than you until he heard Francesca mention your brethothal. "Did you hear, mother? Princess Y/N is engaged to Duke Simon Hastings, it's all over Lady Wistledown." Violet rushed over her daughter and snatched the paper from her. Looking over to Daphne, she watched as her daughters heart broke, but in that moment, they heard a knock.

"Please, right now is not the time. If it is about lunch, then we -" You walked in with a sad expression on your face, smiling at the family you couldn't help but notice the lingering stare of a certain Bridgerton. "No, Lady Violet, I don't bring lunch. I wanted to explain my betrothal to Simon Hastings." You looked over at Daphne, who your mother named her diamond at her last ball.

You knew she had fallen in love with Simon and how he felt for her, too. The room fell for you to explain. Before you did, you got something from your pocket hidden in your dress. It was a box that contained a diamond necklace, which was a present from your mother. You walked over to Daphne and sat next to her, offering the box to her.

She opened it and looked at it as she gasped at the sight. "You know he's afraid of marriage." Daphne, along with the Bridgertons, looked over at you with wonder. "Daphne," you said as you grabbed her hand, "I don't think of Simon as a husband or companion. Rather, I see him as a brother. He proposed to me after he saw Nigel Berbrooke try to take advantage of me." Before you could say anything, Benedict sprung at the sound of Nigel.

"Nigel tried to come onto you? Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, Benedict, I am sure thank you, anyways Daphne."

"When did he try?"

"What?"

"When did he try?"

"After you rejected me at the ball my mother had for me." Violet gasped at the fact Benedict had rejected you. Violet was too busy with Daphne to notice your dancing with Benedict. But you gave them a look that said let me finish. "Daphne, I'll break off the engagement today because I know how Simon feels about you."

Daphne couldn't help but question you, "What do you mean feels about me?" You couldn't believe Daphne hadn't seen the way Simon looked at her or how he held his breath when she was not with him. "Daphne, he is utterly and truly in love with you. Use this information at your will. That necklace is called the Necklace of Soulmates, which is said to bring to you the one who's meant to be with you."

Daphne looked down at the necklace and then looked at you as she mouthed a thank you. You offered her a smile as you got up to leave the beloved Bridgerton home. Before you could leave the Bridgerton home, you heard Benedict calling your name.

You ignored him and continued your way into the carriage. Just as you were about to enter, you felt Benedict grab your wrist and pull you back towards him. He wrapped his hand around yours and placed his other on your warm cheek.

"Y/N, once you break your engagement, will Nigel keep bothering you?" Benedict had a tone of urgency to his voice. He stared deeply into your eyes, scanning them for a truthful answer.

"Lord Bridgerton, let me go right now." You said, demanding out of annoyance.

"Answer me, Y/N. Please."

"After I break my engagement, Nigel plans to propose to me. But I'll probably find another man, seeming that I am a princess. Now Benedict, I need to go prepare for tonight's ball and hopefully your sister's engagement."

"Marry me, Y/N." You stared at Benedict in shock and heard a gasp behind you. Both you and Benedict looked behind you and saw Nigel with a bouquet of lilies.

"Princess Y/N, please tell me you don't plan on being married to this baboon." You noticed that both the Bridgerton and Featherington were watching the scene. "Lord Berbrooke, this does not concern you."

"How could this not concern me, Princess Y/N? You are engaged to Duke Hastings unless you're committing adultery. In that case, Mr Bridgerton, please tell me now if she is unpure." Your mouth was left agape at the accusation.

End of Part 1

Part 2

#angst #romance #love #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton family

[tsunael]

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

I included the symbolism for the in-game colors as well when they were available.

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

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

What flowers would your WoL have in their residence?

Arums (calla lily) 🔷magnificent beauty, feminine modesty

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

Campanulas (bellflower) 🔷humility, constancy

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

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

Dahlias 🔷dignity, elegance

Daisies 🔷innocence, beauty

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

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

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

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

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

Hydrangeas 🔷heartlessness, boastfulness, "You are cold"

Morning Glories 🔷love in vain, affection

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

Byregotia (begonia?) 🔷Beware

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

Moth Orchid 🔷love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

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

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

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

#queue time #mine #ffxiv #tsuna has white brightlillies white daisies and red carnations in her house 🥺 #with some white chrysanthemum and shroud cherries growing #and a yellow oldrose bouquet... #I should update them tbh

[morallyinept]

I mentioned on a previous Ask that I used to be a florist, (man, do I miss that job...) and lovely @doughmonkey suggested I should match the Pedro Boys with flowers... so, here you are! 🪻🌷🌻

Enjoy! 🖤

Jett's Pedro Boy Rambles Masterlist

Flora & Fauna Masterlist

The sunniest flower for our sunniest Pedro Boy, Javi. Sunflowers often represent the sun and Javi just beams like it, doesn't he? Sunflowers also bring good fortune, and represent a long life and lasting happiness. It is often seen as a symbol of faith and devotion, radiating positivity and hope. In some Eastern religions, such as Buddhism, sunflowers are considered sacred and represent spiritual enlightenment. Or, divine inspiration, as Javi would say...

Sweet Peas represent goodbyes and yearning. In Victorian England, for example, sweet peas were often given as a sign of departure or goodbye to a loved one. Considering Joel has lost Sarah, I'd say a Sweet Pea would be a good representation of a flower for Joel. Sweet Peas also can mean blissful pleasure, friendship and gratitude. They come in all sorts of colours too, such as shades of white, pink, coral, red, violet and blue, and some combining two colours.

More subtle than the bold traditional red rose, pink roses typically symbolise admiration, happiness, and love. Pink roses also symbolise sweetness, femininity, appreciation, and admiration - all traits that this handsome agent showers in abundance towards his love interest. I think receiving a bunch of beautiful pink, velvety roses from Marcus Pike would totally sweep you off your feet and totally convince you to go to Washington DC with him.

Red poppies are worn as a symbol of support for the Armed Forces community, and to remember our fallen military personnel. The poppy is a common symbol that has been used to represent everything from peace to death, and even simply sleep. Seeing as Frankie worked in the forces, he would probably tuck a red poppy flower behind your ear then kiss you sweetly, as he walks hand-in-hand with you through the local Veteran Day Parade.

In the language of flowers, wild heliotrope symbolises devotion and an everlasting love, which when you think about Whiskey losing his sweetheart and baby boy, this flower couldn't be more perfect for him. It has a delicious scent and the flowers follow the sun as it tracks across a winters day, hence the name "Heliotrope" which is derived from the Greek Helios meaning sun and tropos meaning 'turn' or 'direction'. Everlasting love is a journey that you rarely falter from the path, so I imagine Whiskey would choose this flower to place on the grave of his sweetheart and baby boy.

Passion flowers, not only look a little alien in their bloom, they also have healing properties, which Ezra could do with in abundance, right? Roman Catholic priests of the late 1500's named it for the Passion (suffering and death) of Jesus Christ. And Kevva, has this prospector suffered... Passion Flower can incite love and passion and help you attract companionship. A perfect flower to represent my main man Ezra, I think...

Colourful, fun and a little kooky looking, gerbera daisies are just flowers that make me smile in abundance. And so does Dieter Bravo. Yellow gerbera daisies tend to symbolize cheerfulness and celebration. Orange gerberas convey that the person you present it to is the sunshine of your life. Red gerberas represent an unconscious love or to be fully immersed in love. White gerberas symbolise innocence and purity. Pink gerberas are a symbol of admiration, adoration, or high esteem for someone. I imagine Dieter would love these because he would be attracted to the variety of colours and they would make him smile, even when high...

Black dahlias aren't truly black, but rather a very deep shade of crimson that appear black. They symbolise betrayal and sadness, so shouldn't be gifted lightly. It also represents inner strength, likely due to the plant's ability to tolerate such harsh conditions. Although a stunning flower to behold, the symbolism doesn't come without it's notoriety; they're associated with the infamous murder of Elizabeth Short (The Black Dahlia Murder) in 1947 in Los Angeles. Black dahlias and Dave York? Nuff' said.

A flower with a bite, just like Max. A carnivorous plant, this flower eats insects. They have simple nodding flowers and leaves modified as hollow pitchers, which function to passively trap insects, luring them with nectar, then digesting them or drowning them with fluids, later to be absorbed by the plant. So, although it looks pretty and alluring on the outside, beware whats hidden underneath - just like our feisty vampire, Max. Nom.

Anemones are my most favourite flower. It was believed that the flower sprang from the blood of the slain Adonis, who was a lover of the goddess Aphrodite. As such, anemones are often seen as a symbol of love and passion. And there's no-one more passionate a lover than Javi P, right? Anemone flowers are available in many colors with each symbolizing a different meaning. White anemone flowers symbolize sincerity due to their delicate appearance. Red and pink anemone flowers symbolize death or forsaken love. Purple anemone flowers symbolize protection from evil. I think Javi would be a purple anemone, due to the job he has... he'd definitely protect you.

With their vibrant orange, yellow and red petals, naturally marigolds are symbols of positive emotions, like joy and excitement. Marigolds also represent energy, good luck, warmth, creativity, prosperity and passion. Oberyn exudes passion in abundance so this flower would be prefect for him. Their vibrant colors and strong fragrance make them an essential part of various traditions, festivals, and rituals worldwide, such as Día de Los Muertos. A perfect flower to represent Oberyn, in both life and death.

The Ghost Orchid earned its name due to its ghostly white petals and the illusion of floating in mid-air when attached to trees, with no visible roots or leaves. The Ghost Orchid is considered one of the most elusive orchids in existence. Its scarcity and remote habitat have contributed to its mythical status among plant enthusiasts. Due to its unique growth habits and specific environmental requirements, sightings of the Ghost Orchid in the wild are extremely rare. A little like our Mandalorian here in the sense you never see his face, he, like the flower, is elusive and a rare specimen indeed. And when you do get an eventual glimpse of it, it is absolutely breathtaking...

Holding on to their shape and color long after being cut, strawflowers are said to symbolize immortality and are commonly known as 'Everlasting' flowers. Their endurance and strength is notable and we can compare this to our resident hero of the Pedro Boys, Marcus Moreno. Everlasting flowers symbolize eternal love, hope, and remembrance. They are often used in wedding bouquets, funeral arrangements, and other special occasions to express enduring sentiments and commemorate cherished memories. Considering Marcus is also a widower, this flower is a great choice to represent him.

The bird of paradise flower symbolizes joyfulness, freedom, anticipation, and excitement. Furthermore, it represents faithfulness, love and thoughtfulness while being the official flower of the ninth wedding anniversary. As someone who is often bogged down in the the dark gloom of investigations, a colourful, peppy flower such as this would brighten Tim's mood instantly after coming home from a long day of work.

Tiger lilies represent courage, strength, and confidence. The main red tiger lily meaning is passion. White tiger lily meaning can be described as purity. Pero would be of the red variety, considering he wields such strength, courage and confidence on the battlefield. Tiger lilies also have healing properties and the lance leaf tiger lily is native to China. Apt considering Pero fights there...

Giving someone one of these small blossoms is a pledge that you will never forget them and that you will think of them often. For this reason, they're also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness. Forget-me-nots represent true love and giving someone this flower means you truly love and respect this person. Similarly to making a wish, if Max gifts you with these flowers, he's not likely to forget you in a hurry.

The most classic of them all, a red rose is a perfect choice for a significant other. This stunning shade most popularly stands for passion and communicates love. It's the rose of romance and deep feelings, but can also relay desire, beauty, victory, harmony, joy, luck, pride and martyrdom. Which if you're familiar with Silva and his traits, this flower is the perfect choice for him.

A flower that is not very common, Petunias display feelings of deep resentment and anger. Despite their amazingly striking appearance, they take people by surprise because of their shocking underlying meanings. And if you know a thing or two about Veracruz, you know he's just like a Petunia - beautiful on the outside, but sinister and resentful on the inside...

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #din djarin #frankie morales #oberyn martell #ezra prospect #max phillips #maxwell lord #comandante veracruz #marcus pike #marcus moreno #javi gutierrez #javier pena #silva strange way of life #detective tim rockford #pero tovar #dave york #dieter bravo #agent whiskey #jett's pedro boys and flowers #i love flowers #jett's pedro boy rambles #jett's pedro boys

[mrpenguinpants]

Telling genshin boys about Orpheus and Eurydice and asking them if they’d look back

My Faint Magnolia

— He wonders how many times he's heard you tell this story, and how many more he'll force you to recite.

— Dottore / Zandik

White magnolia flowers symbolize purity and perfection. [Masterlist]

I read one Wiki page so don't yell at me if I got anything wrong. Tbh, I don't really like how this fic turned out but it's been sitting in my drafts for years.

"The musician and prophet Orpheus fell in love with the beautiful Eurydice, only for her to die shortly after. Thus, he journeyed into the Underworld to plead with Hades to bring his beloved back. His wish was granted - but on the condition that he must not look back at Eurydice until they were both back in the land of the living. But Orpheus couldn't resist one glance, and Eurydice was lost to him forever."

"Fascinating. The seventh retelling adds to the suspense."

"Boo, you're no fun. Minus ten points," he hears you whine. The sounds of a book being tossed carelessly aside as ink-stained papers filled with formulas slide forward and brush against the sleeves of his arm. All are pushed away to allow you to sprawl your upper body over the desk so you can mope and continue to avoid doing any actual work. He can feel your gaze on him, patiently waiting for him to look up from his notes and give you attention, yet he continues to write making you huff in annoyance.

You're both supposed to be working on your assignments, so he has excellent reason to keep ignoring you to focus on his work. If anything, he should be annoyed at you, and he is, but it's a testament to how much he's come to tolerate you that he doesn't immediately get up and leave. Or deal with you in another, less unsavory way. Instead, he flips back through the pages of his notebook. A list of collected components of spare parts of a vast machine and smaller notes of their possible working principles and manufacturing processes. Diagrams and sketches of their possible construction and engines filled with footnotes and annotations. Not all of them are in his writing. He wouldn't dare use that atrocious shade of yellow that you seem to love so much.

"Can't we do anything else? I'm bored out of my minddd," you stretch the words out, effectively cutting his concentration in half with nothing but the sound of your voice. He can feel his eye twitch and his pencil's wood creaking from the pressure he's slowly exerting onto it. Your voice is muffled, which means you haven't picked yourself off the table yet, probably hunched over with your cheek against the table that will take another hour for you to pry yourself back up again. He can't wait for his future headache with your complaints about back problems, even though you're killing your own spine and his head. The sound of a pencil rolling back and forth fills the silence, and that's the last of his patience. He slams his notebook down, the pencil bouncing and dropping onto the floor, and the clattering of wood causes his frown to etch deeper. He re-opens his notebook to the page of the Khaenri'ahn machines found in Devantaka Mountain. There's an annoying doodle of a Ruin Hunter in the corner mocking him right back.

"Work."

His clipped voice has you quiet down. It's a good thing you have some sense of preservation and know that even though he indulges you frequently, there are only so many distractions he will let slip through. But the resounding sound of a chair scraping against the floor, papers being shuffled, and your footsteps tell him you're equally frustrated. He thinks he hears you mutter "rigid oaf" under your breath as your footsteps grow fainter. The silence should put him at ease, but it only serves to irate him further since you're the one who's causing him trouble when he just wants to work in peace and quiet. The worst thing about this situation is that he knows you'll refuse to talk to him unless he apologizes first for something he hasn't done wrong. But alas.

He lets out a deep sigh that sounds twice his age. Puspa Café should still be open at this time. If he leaves now, he can still catch up to you. With a sweep of the arm, he quickly gathers his papers haphazardly but still slides them into their rightful places between the meticulous sections of his notebook.

"Would you look back?"

He pauses when your voice sounds behind him unexpectedly. You sound a mixture of cheeky and skeptical, but the drumming of your fingertips against the back of his chair tells him that you are genuinely curious about his response. Maybe even a bit nervous to ask him such a ridiculous question too.

"The fatal flaw of Orpheus is he never stopped to consider the psychological cost of Hade's offer. To think "Do not look back" is an impossible sentence to think without simultaneously speaking the opposite. Every time you repeat, "I must not look back," you are forced to say: "Look back." But that is the weakness of the human mind," is the answer he supplies. He thumbs at the edges of his notebook, worn from all the years he's opened it but still in pristine condition. He doesn't like his things to be dirty. It makes his skin crawl.

"What? Are you above the human mind now? So you wouldn't be tempted at all?" you say with a hint of dumbfoundedness. He's sure you think that he won't give you an actual answer.

"No."

His answer is short but firm. He won't look back. He won't be Orpheus and lose his Eurydice so easily to temptation. His finger moves and tips the cover open, papers flipping until they stop in the middle of the book. Frantic scribbles of ink of his research on the rare disease of Elezar. He thumbs the page's corner until it creases.

"Hey, look at me."

The next page is on segments.

"Why won't you look at me."

The final page is on dreams.

""Please look at me Zandik."

He closes the notebook.

"I thought Orpheus couldn't hear Eurdicye."

He hears you laugh at his unempathetic reply. It's a hallow imitation. Then silence. It always ends like this. His mind dangling what he needs most only to take it away, making him question if you are even still there behind him. Just one look. Just one look to confirm what's behind him but he won't. He won't be a fool like Orpheus. Not until he's finished. So he does what he always has, removes any option he hates, and creates his own means.

+

He blinks awake slowly. The white ceiling of his laboratory stares at him back and the first thing his mind registers is that it's cold. His hand automatically moves to his side only to meet air. That's right, you're not here anymore. You haven't been here for years. The manifestation of the withering caused dark hardened scales to grow across your limbs. Slowly numbing the affected areas until you couldn't walk anymore, which progressed into fatigue and progressive nerve damage. Your last days were spent asleep in a coma surrounded by as many Nilotpala Lotuses as he could find. He closes his eyes again, but the sound of the heavy steel door grates against his nerves before he has the time to truly relax.

"You know you'll never succeed. You know why. Even if this one doesn't die, it won't be the same."

The voice isn't right. Another failure.

Dottore lifts his head to see your segment standing in front of him. That's correct. He can already see the beginnings of scales on the segment's arms. It's funny. He is capable of creating physical carbon copy segments of himself from different stages of his life and yet you, the outlier, it's never the same. A body is made, and a piece of his memories of you acts as the brain, but it's never the same. He knows why. It's because his memories of you are dying. His dreams are getting shorter, and fuzzier around the edges. He used to dream of seeing you, holding you, and he knows the next time he dreams of you, he may not hear your voice anymore. His own segment thoughts echo in his mind. Don't you think this is a waste of materials and time? It's time to give up. They don't understand, they can't dream.

He won't look back because he knows that as soon as he does, he will never dream of you again. Even if the next dream takes away your voice, the next takes away your presence, until he's left with a void of nothing. Even then, he won't look back. He has only dreamed of you every single night, regardless of anything. These are the only things he has left of you. Everything else was taken, stolen, or burnt. He isn't sure if the person he's constantly dreaming of now is actually you or a figment of his imagination that's begging to be free. But he won't let you go.

My doleful aria, tell me that story again tonight.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin dottore #genshin impact dottore #dottore #il dottore #genshin zandik #dottore headcanons

[traegorn]

The uselessness of Witchcraft Author "Blacklists"

Every once and a while I see a "Witchcraft Author Blacklist" either in the tags or getting passed around here on Tumblr, and never in my life have I thought it was a remotely useful thing.

Because every single time, they lack and semblance of nuance. Like yesterday I ran across one that literally equated Scott Cunningham with Stephen Flowers. Yes, Cunningham, a person who wrote some things that need to be read critically is, apparently, as bad as a literal fucking Nazi whose books help fund the AFA.

Like are there Cunningham books I wouldn't recommend? Absolutely. Should most of his works be read with a critical eye and take into account the state of the community and available information when he was writing them? Yes. But... like... there's a huge fucking difference between these two things.

Also, this list claimed because Cunningham wrote about Wicca his works were somehow homophobic. Have there been homophobic Wiccans? Of course - but Cunningham, an openly gay man, was not one of them.

Additionally, there are people who get included on these lists where I wouldn't recommend anyone read their books to learn witchcraft per se, but their works have important historical significance.

Like Gerald Gardner - should anyone learn from Gardner? Fuck no. His works are full of misinformation and outright bullshit. But it literally is where the modern witchcraft movement was birthed, so there is value in understanding where we came from.

Aleister Crowley falls into this category too - harder even. Crowley was gross as heck, but how can you understand what in the modern community is still descended from his works or propagating his gross ideas... if you're unfamiliar with his works?

Also, he's super dead, so it's not like he's benefiting from someone reading his stuff.

It's just so deeply frustrating that people make these lists to start with. Like, I have written or talked about how certain authors should be avoided -- but I always do my best to include context, reasons, and explanations why. I will specifically explain why I don't think they're valuable to read. Making a laundry list where you make unsourced or unexplained claims about a huge list of people doesn't help someone understand what might be wrong with them.

Also, my recommendations are usually about how a new witch shouldn't read their work, because it's about not having the experience to see what is and isn't bullshit in what they read yet. They don't have that baseline yet. That doesn't mean that some of these books might not be significant or worth reading at some point in their journey. Just not at the start of it.

It's just... a complete lack of nuance. Like I don't recommend Silver Ravenwolf because her books are, frankly, poorly researched and bad. I don't recommend Stephen Flowers because he's a fuckin' overt WHITE SUPREMACIST whose publications have been used to fund the AFA. These are not the same. When we pretend that they are, we are doing a massive disservice to all of us.

It... it honestly feels like Christian purity culture repackaged. If you can't handle nuance, I don't think you can really handle that much witchcraft to start with. The world isn't black and white -- there are overt evils out there, but most everything else is a shade of gray and pretending otherwise is poisonous.

#witchcraft #witchblr #beginner witch #baby witch #blacklists #wicca

[elrielmoments]

A hint of Jasmine

Throughout Acotar, the Jasmine flower is mentioned a couple of times. First, in relation to Elain and second, in relation to the Night Court. Today I’m going to be breaking down some facts and a little bit of history about this beautiful flower that blooms at night and how it is both attached to Elain and the Night Court.

Here is a quote from the ACOTAR series that shows Elain smells like Jasmine: “Elain was in the private library. Nesta knew it before she’d cleared the stairs, covered in dust from the library. Her sisters delicate sent of Jasmine and Honey lingered in the red-stoned hall.”

Here is a quote from the ACOTAR series that shows the Night Court / Verlaris smells like Jasmine: “I smelled Jasmine first—then saw stars flickering beyond glowing pillars of moonstone that framed the sweeping view of endless snowcapped mountains. ‘Welcome to the Night Court,’ was all Rhys said.”

Here are two quotes that show the Night Court has Jasmine flowers:

“Nesta ran a finger over her ivory and obsidion place setting, examining the silverware and vines of night-bloomimg Jasmine engraved around the hilts.”

and

“Great scaled black beasts were carved into those gates, all coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, sleeping and fighting, some locked in an endless cycle of devouring each other. Between them flowed vines of Jasmine and moon flowers.”

What is Jasmine? Jasmine is a rich and flourishing plant and is one of the most beautiful and fragrant flowers in the world.

What does the Jasmine flower represent? Jasmine flowers symbolize love, beauty and sensuality. It’s pure white blossoms also represent purity.

In the ACOTAR series it is said by the Archeron sisters mother that Elain “shall wed for love and beauty.”

What is the language of the Jasmine flower? In the language of flowers, the Jasmine flower is saying “I care deeply” or “I am with you in spirit.”

What is the Biblical meaning of the Jasmine name? The meaning of Jasmine is “Gift from God.”

Reminder: Azriel and Elain’s name meanings in Hebrew both have to do with God and are both connected to each other, like a puzzle piece. Azriel’s name meaning in Hebrew is “God is my help.” Elain’s name meaning in Hebrew is “God has answered me.”

What does Jasmine symbolize in Buddhism? Jasmine holds great importance in Buddhism. It symbolizes compassion, empathy and showing kindness to all living beings of the world.

A quote from Feyre about Elain in ACOWAR: “Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind.”

Jasmine in Greek Mythology: In Greek Mythology, Jasmine is associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love.

What is the emotion of Jasmine flowers? The scent of Jasmine has the abilty to relax and uplift. It is a floral, musky, sweet and sensual scent all at once.

When do Jasmine flowers bloom? Jasmine flowers bloom at night to attract nocturnal pollinators such as moths and bats. Night blooming Jasmine is also known as Lady of the night.

What does it mean to smell Jasmine at night? Smelling Jasmine at night could be a sign that the spirit of a loved one is checking in on you or wants to communicate.

What do the colors of Jasmine represent? White is for innocence. Pink is for new love. Yellow is for joy.

Diving Deeper: In some traditions, Jasmine is believed to attract positive energy, promote happiness and offer protection against negative influences. The Jasmine flower could also symbolize hope, good fortune and positive outcomes. The delicate blossoms of the flower are seen as happiness and prosperity.

#elain archeron #pro elain archeron #elriel #pro elriel #elriel supremacy #elriel endgame #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

[box-milk]

Flowers

Pairing ~ Yelena Belova x maximoff! Reader

Genre~ fluff

Warnings ~ i used Google translate, so I blame them for the bad Russian.

•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○

Yelena is immediately hit with the cooling air of Stark's Industrial Ac as she followed her sister into the Avengers compound. She remained vigilant despite all the employees going about their lives disregarding her presence.

Natasha gave a brief tour of their surroundings until they entered the elevator, pressing a button that took them to a higher floor.

On the way off the elevator, they bumped into an unfamiliar redhead, causing yelena to immediately go into defensive mode and raise a gun while the latter's fist to glow red in retaliation.

"Woah! Both of you calm dowm". Natasha said as she got in between them with each arm keeping the younger girls at a safe distance.

"Yelena, this is Wanda maximoff. Wanda, this is my little sister. Now, can we calm down. Please." Both class hesitantly lowered their hands, but their glazed never flattered.

Natasha rolls her eyes at the glare they are sharing, but let's out a quiet sigh of relief. "Excellent. Getting rid of the glares would be nice too. " She mumbles the last part under her breath.

Yelena, who was standing next to her, heard and was about to respond when a hue of white light, barely noticeable, appeared behind the younger redhead.

The young blonde observed how neither of the women seemed bothered by the light. In fact, they seem to relax. "Privet sestra." Wanda says with a small smile, and yelena is confused until a head with white hair pops out from behind her.

Yelena, for some reason, feels a sense of calm wash over her as she stared into the girl's pure white eyes. "privet roza".

Natasha looked at her younger sister, completely enchanted by the girl with snow white hair that sat neatly in a French braid and smirk.

"Hello Natty, who's your friend?" The mystery girl says as she stepped completely out from behind Wanda but still had a grip on the red sweater she was wearing.

"This is my sister yelena". Nat turns to her sister. "Yelena, this is Wanda's younger sister Y/n". You light up at the introduction, causing flowers to literally bloom around your forehead, forming a crown.

"Lovely to meet you." You bounce on your toes lightly before placing your hands together, emitting a light that shines through forming a flower crown made of lilies before gently placing it on yelena's head.

"krasivyy"

Wanda frowns before gently taking your arm moving around the sisters into the elevator. You wave at them until the elevator closes.

"Someone has a crush." Natasha smirked at her sister.

"What is this crush?"

"Oh boy"

°•°•°•°•°°•°°•°°•

It's been 2 months, and Yelena would have settled in quite nicely building a relationship with the team while still having her guard up.

The only one her defenses dropped completely for was for Y/n, but she hardly saw you due to your older sister's protective nature. She'd always find a way to cut your interactions short.

"Lili, hello." Yelena jumps slightly at the soft voice behind her as she doesn't even hear the girl entre. "Privet younger maximoff."

Y/n's pure white irises quickly scanned yelena before her palms glowed lightly, and another flower crown appeared in her hands before she placed it on yelena's head.

Yelena blushed lightly before clearing her throat. " Why do you always do that y/n maximoff"

Y/n clasps her hands behind her back, maintaining her pristine posture while smiling softly at the blonde. "You remind me of lilies purity, innocence, and rebirth."

"What does that even mean y/n maximoff ".

Before y/n could answer a grip on her wrist is pulling her away from the kitchen within a millisecond, leaving the younger blonde even more confused and how the white-haired girl was out of her sights so quickly.

"Fucking older maximoff". Yelena grumbles to herself once she realized the cause of y/n sudden disappearance.

" Well, hello to you too, sunshine".

"Fuck off cyka"

Nat chuckles while pouring a cup of coffee before sitting the cup on the counter, giving her sister her undivided attention.

"What's your problem this morning?"

"I don't understand why Wanda maximoff takes younger maximoff away from me all the time." The blond expressed with her famous frown on her lips.

"Wanda is...complicated. I'll talk to her."

...........

Just as promised, nat found the maximoff siblings in your lily decorated room. Wanda sat with her back against the headboard, lighty tracing the outline of your face as you peacefully slept.

"Why are you cock blocking my sister max?"

Wanda turns to the woman leaning on the door frame with a glare, then returns her gaze back to her sleeping sister.

"So?". Nat pressed, stepping completely into the room and sitting at your feet. Wanda swallows thickly before facing the red head.

"She's all I have"

"You have-." Wanda interrupted nat quickly. "I know I have you guys, but she's all the blood I have left."

Natasha frowns in understanding before gently rubbing the younger girls back. "I understand, but I can grantee yelena would never hurt her."

Wanda clutches her fist lightly before thickly swallowing. " What if she leaves and forgets about me me?". Natasha can hear exactly how choked up the girl is.

"That'll never happen"

Wanda flinched in surprise at the voice of her younger sister before looking in her pale eyes. Y/n smiled softly before bringing her hand to caress Wanda's cheek.

Natasha is confused, but the siblings seemed to come to a quiet understanding.

"OK." Is all Wanda says before y/n kisses her cheek before running off to find a certain blonde.

"She be OK." Nat reassures, and Wanda smiles lightly letting out a sigh.

"I hope"

........

An: you can tell I didn't know to end this 🫠

#marvel #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #yelena belova #natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena x reader #yelena mcu #yelena marvel #yelena boleva

[squish--squash]

I haven't seen anyone else do this, so I'm gonna try and see if I can make out what flowers are in the bg of the 5 mtp character cards you get during scene transitions in the anime (and as a bonus, some language behind the flowers based off Hanakotoba)

William has white lilies (which are also seen in the first opening), which represent purity

Albert very obviously has red roses, which are well-known to represent love

I didn't immediately recognize the flowers Louis has, but after a quick search it seems that they're daffodils, which represent respect

Sherlock has some very lovely blue irises (which I'm quite fond of myself), and they represent loyalty

Last but certainly not least is John! His was the hardest for me to identify bc I'll be honest, I'm not that knowledgeable in identifying flowers. However, I'm like 95% sure he has crossandras; I couldn't find what they mean in Hanakotoba tho, and upon further research, I couldn't even find if they symbolize anything :( I do know now, however, that they're called "firecracker" flowers for their explosive seed pods tho, so there's smth at least..

#moriarty the patriot #yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty #hanakotoba #flower language #okay but if anyone that sees this knows if crossandras mean anything pls tell me I'd love to be proven wrong

[l0uterstella]

YOUR MELODY: Analysis, Merold's Manipulation

(Parts are still incomplete like the flower language) full english lyrics, Ever Red theory (MUST READ TO UNDERSTAND THIS POST) Updated: Feb 25 2024

MV

Flower Language

(thanks to my friend Lux for finding most of them)

Rimicha - sunflower, birds of paradise Sunflower: Symbols of joy, adoration, and loyalty. There's a story in Greek Mythology of a nymph who turns into the flower after losing her lover Birds of paradise:  Symbols of joy, paradise, freedom, and a sense of exploration

Hallritt - red periwinkle - symbol of purity, everlasting love, loyalty to friends, and hope

Merold - white and pink easter lily, white chrysanthemum, baby's breath, white spider lily, white and pink rose, hyacinth - together as a bouquet, all these flowers symbolize devoted love and loyalty, feelings of strong familial love and homesickness, positivity, happiness and admiration for the receiver, along with "seeking forgiveness/deep regret" with the hyacinths

Mirror flowers: lily, daisy, carnation, 4th still unknown - Together as a bouquet, these flowers represent celebration/hope for happiness, love and connection. Some flowers also share a meaning of rebirth or missing someone

Broken Mirror

Broken mirrors typically symbolize a shattered self-image, fractured identity, and a sense of loss. I'll most likely be covering the voice drama in another post, but in the first episode, Hallritt is seen easily defeating a seed in one hit. Maybe Merold feels like his role as the strongest knight is being challenged? Which is why he accuses Hallritt of being a failure as a knight in the teaser for episode 2. In another scene, these two frames are right next to each other. Instead of the diamond flipping around like it did before, Merold just completely replaces Hallritt.

The MV also had multiple "waves"/glitches, which recently has been a recurring theme of Seed's presence.

ELDRITT/HALLRITT SYSTEM

Hallritt also feels a bit "off" in the MV. It's possible that it's Eldritch Hallritt/Eldritt/The "original Hallritt" currently present. It's a bit confusing to tell which timeline the MV is set in, but it might make more sense with the System Hallritt headcanon. Eldritt formed as a protector and gatekeeper who used to hide the truth from the "current Hallritt", before deciding it'd be beneficial if he knew the truth and did something about it. Following this, the MV is in the 2nd timeline as my timeline theory suggests (with the voice dramas being the 1st timeline), and Eldritt is simply fronting instead of Hallritt.

There's also this scene where Hallritt sings: "As if two hearts are on top of each other, I want to be connected by the same rhythm"

ELDRITCH MEROLD

Merold seems to know about the 1st timeline. He holds a ribbon, which is what represents the memories of that timeline in Ever Red. He is also seen multiple times with a corrupted version, possibly hinting at him having an Eldritch (seed corruption) form as well.

The lyrics seem to have him hinting at the 1st timeline to Hallritt. If you corrupt the future, you echo its dark history.

To summarize: Merold is threathened by Hallritt's strength, yet he also knows the truth of what he did/will do. He wants to get rid of him somehow, or at least keep him in his place. He put up a face to seem trustworthy, but someday, that facade will shatter like the mirror.

BONUS

1. Merold losing his vision? Really not much proof here aside from this quick frame

2. blob people. idk who or what they are yet

3. there's one transiton where something that look like vines turn into (angel? dove?) feathers and another one with a broken crystal. could it be referencing cielomort's death? is it his crystal strawberry from aozora?

(Why? Why?) This heart (Why? Why?) It's fragile (Why? Why?) No matter what, I love you most (Why? Why?) It's overflowing (Why? Why?) These desires A melody just for you

#rimicha's just chililng #“melody” definetely means something too but i'm unsure what yet #may edit in the future #fragaria memories #fragmem #fragaria memories theory #hallritt #merold #rimicha