#How to Grow Larkspur Flower

[meatriarchived2]

nosy birthday where leland walked around gathering all kinds of wildflowers in the fields around the property, very meticulously. he doesn't know the meanings of any of them and he's not very good with making things -- but he hopes maria will like them anyway (: "sorry, i didn't have any good ideas for gifts..." he says, sheepishly offering the makeshift bouquet to her "i just didn't want you to think i forgot." / @lifesver

it wasn't too often that the three of them had the property to themselves — when johnnys' mother seemed to vanish into thin air, when her and lee were able to roam around freely . . . at least, to a point. but she enjoyed those little times they got to have, stretch their legs out, breathe in the fresh air. when johnny would let them go a little further out each time — still in view of him, of course — but where they can just rest, relax.

the sun was warm against her face, even from past the shade of the hat johnny let her borrow to stop her skin from burning under the heat. hair fanned out around her head, the soft blades of the grass cooling her from below.

eyes peered past the brim of the hat, up at the clear blue sky above. watched as the soft, fluffy white clouds crawled lazily in and out of her field of view. it was warm, but not overwhelming today. bright and sunny, kept a smile across her face as she enjoyed the quiet, the peacefulness of it all. she closes her eyes a moment, and breathes in deep. the scents of grass and dirt and wildflowers dances along in the soft breeze. a comforting hug, it felt like.

daylight darkens past eyelids, with the sound of shifting and shuffling beside her, and maria opens her eyes again and peers up as lee lowers himself down beside her in the grass. her smile grows more at the sight of him, backdropped in her view looking up at him by the blue of the sky behind him.

the bundle of flowers in his hands are held out for her to see, and sheepish as he is as he tries to explain, all that grows her chest is a warmth — a dulled ache too, something sad and upsetting in the mix of it all. something about forgetting ones' own birthday, something you used to celebrate yearly, without fail, and not without little crowd of loved ones to spend it with you . . . the day is different now, when thinking about it. like a rebirth in a way. slowly added tally mark to the amount of time she and him have been here, with johnny. far away from everything they once deemed normal. it was a strange and heavy feeling, vice gripped in her chest at the reminder that its the first of possibly many birthdays to come that are quiet like this. that family, that friends, aren't a part of anymore. a book shut on them both, really. no more chapters with those they once knew — but an entirely new story that laid out ahead of them both . . . and with all the uncertainty of what those pages have in store for them.

the heaviness sits atop her heart — however, warmth overgrows that hurt, looking at lee beside her with his bright, hopeful eyes, waiting for her response.

she carefully sits herself up, beaming at him and the flowers, as she leans in close to all the colorful petals, breathing in all different, wild scents, takes the bundle of them gently to look them all over, " oh, lee, they're so beautiful though! " she looks back to him, dimpled smile brightening her eyes, she leans over and kisses his cheek, " i love them, thank you! " she takes and carefully plucks a soft tail of larkspur from the bundle in her arms, turns and tucks it gently behind his ear, fixing his hair so it stays in place, " and one for you, too, pretty blue like the sky, for a pretty, sweet boy. " she grins at him, cups his cheek and kisses the other, " i love you, lee. i hope you know i do. thank you, for remembering. "

[howyouloveyourdragon]

The Heart Bestowed 

pronouns: she/her warnings: none that i am aware of, feel free to correct me in dms :) summary: Jacaerys loves nothing more than a duty fulfilled. Y/n has other impressions. Ever since they were young, they presumed that they would some day find one another in the Sept amongst family and reciting practiced vows to one another. However, they could not be more different nor more infuriated in their joined presence. Neither of them have any greater desires than to quell the other...So why do they feel so disappointed when they are both betrothed to another? disclaimer: this is fanfiction for asoiaf/house of the dragon, i do not give permission for my writing to be translated or copied whatsoever pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon x Tyrell!Reader dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 8,144

120 AC. When Two Foes Begin

Y/n tilts her head as her eyes take in the strange boy’s dishevelled appearance. Her lids turn her eyes to slits. “You have a leaf in your hair.” She comments. Usually this would be a compliment–the girl probably loved nature more than a Targaryen, their dragon. She threads the court girls’ hair with flowers every morrow, which she is doing at this sensitive moment as her fingers peel through pale strands and embed larkspur into the crevices. Her own locks are braided with daisies though he cannot comprehend how she managed to fit them all in with the sheer density of it. The boy with brown hair rolls his lips into his mouth, bites down and frowns at her. Hair had been a topic he had been criticised upon often. He should not be surprised that the little Tyrell girl thought the same. “Better a leaf than a spider.” He snaps briskly, all too used to defending the castle of stone in where his insecurity lies. The girl gasps and shoots her hands into her own locks as quick as an arrow flies. Perhaps if she were not here then he would be able to occupy his time flying arrows instead of pretending not to be as bored as a dormouse. Her wide eyes turn on Helaena as Jacaerys begins cackling. “Hela, you promised!” She exclaims, the Targaryen princess returning her shock. “You told me they were still in your room!” “They are sleeping.” Helaena’s soft voice melodies no louder than that of the very dormouse skittering through Jacaerys’ very soul. The boy sighs.

“Are you a child? You are acting as if you are one. How fearless.” Jacaerys snickers then smirks slyly. “I am willing to bet five dragon coins that you are the younger, aren’t you? Posing as the elder to attract my aunt’s attention.” The way her eyes narrow and settle their attention back onto him only heightens his entertainment. He intends to quip once more but a familiar supercilious voice drifts closer and he rolls his eyes. “And had I not known you, I would have presumed you to be the youngest of your line and yet the Lady seems all too aware of her status. Something that you clearly lack, nephew.” Either child turns to look at the Targaryen picking at his nails to pretend the conflict is not anxiety-ridden. That jumps an idea into the almost-heir’s mind. “Perhaps it is genetics then, seeing as Daeron’s sword can strike thrice the battle yours would. I could presume that–” “You are both foolish.” Y/n interrupts and her hand dips to take Helaena’s. Squeezing. “We are leaving. Helaena is to show me the library. Good day.” It is swift that she leaves, Jacaerys’ aunt trailing behind her slightly as she giggles. The boys however seem unable to dispel the attention she directs, staring long after she is gone. “A shame that your wife and yourself are not yet accustomed to one another.” Aemond smirks with only the slightest twitch of his lip. Jacaerys wrinkles his nose. “Gross, what are you saying? She is not my wife, she is an insufferable girl who makes my eyes sore.” Jacaerys mutters then grimaces at the mere thought. His uncle doesn’t utter a noise but they both understand the growing gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps not yet but she will be. You should know how quickly alliances are forged. Brother of mine own is to marry our sister in the growing years, perhaps you can share together your day of nuptials and all that comes alongside it. I am sure that he would delight in this revelation himself.” “You speak as though you are excused from this fate.” “That is because I am. You forget I am a second-son.” The Targaryen prince ignores the Velaryon’s grumbles.

132 AC.

A dahlia is strapped to her wrist, he notes, watching her. He thought she didn’t like dahlias. It is an off cream colour, not quite possessing the purity of white. It is rare that she would wear such colours, teal gowns usually consume her and yet today she is not wearing one at all, she is wearing a colour reminiscent of the peaches bundle in her arms. She cradles them like they are her own kin. She looks beautiful. More beautiful than he has ever seen her despite the splotches of dirt and vibrant grass stain painting her dress. Jace questions himself why the urge to bow possesses him. She has grown into her Tyrell roots it seems, her steps elegant and handing the small fruits to the children of the city. Jace hides behind a pillar as he gazes, it has been just a year since he last saw her. Just a year and she looks exactly the same and different all at once. He should have prepared for that, he thinks as his stomach tumbles about obscenely and taunts his gut for choosing wrong. He shushes his brother who talks raucously with one of the common folk. His wishes are fruitless. His eyes longing. His feet locked to the floor in order to prevent their unreasoned desires. Her hand reaches into the small basket and squeezes one of the fluorescent yet pale fruits before handing it to a small child, perhaps no bigger than a direwolf pup. Her…

He can’t bring himself to speak her name even silently in his head; it feels far too scandalous. Perhaps it is. Jace likes that word because it sounds like them. Perhaps. Perhaps he will visit her, perhaps he will speak with her, perhaps he will be happy at her side. Perhaps… He wonders why her hair is in those intricate tangles, well not tangles but he cannot summon the phrase, it always looks pretty much like the rose of her name but something feels different this time. Jace wonders if she would too think him pretty. As the thought surfaces he cannot help but feel guilty as he imagines the sweeping swirl that his tongue would gladly deliver around her finger. The one where juices flow freely down her forearm. He swallows. Gods be good. Jace looks back at the once girl now woman. He looks at the odd twig in her hair, the way her dress doesn’t quite reach her feet. Intentional–he’s sure. She knew that she would be walking around although as he hears her laughing, her hair dipping to catch in one of the children’s eyes (to which they swat), he assumes that she did not intend to stay as long as she has. It was been just thirty minutes since he started peeking over at her but it is unknown how she has been skipping and circling the children. One of their small hands dart out at her back and she squeals, the sound more like a birdsong. It looks like a game but once Jace is unfamiliar in. He wonders if she is always this way with children…He wonders if this would be what she would look like amongst their own. Their own. Not her own. Their own. A deepening blush creeps up his veins until blossoming up his face. He wants to brush them away with his hands but that would be foolish.

He glances down at his frozen feet and curses him. He knows they will not move. He refuses to let them and yet he still curses them. His hand dips into his pocket to feel the long-crinkled petals that lie there.

120 AC. The Dragon Incident.

“He stole Vhagar!” Jacaerys seethes, anger steaming on his young face. “He called us bastards–!” “So you carved out his eye?” Y/n yells back, horror filling her face. Her brows are knitted and her lips are twisted downward. Jacaerys’ stomach attempts to devour itself, sharp teeth suddenly becoming unleashed and ripping at his insides like a morbid beast. Bile sews up his throat before hitting his tongue. “Look at him!” Her hands cradle his uncle by his hair and stroke it gently. Jacaerys’ jaw locks and a huff leaves his nose. His uncle looks down, clenching his fists. “You need not fight my battles.” Aemond hisses. “You need not, truly.” “We are children, you are family! Nobody should be fighting anybody.” The girl roars, every inch a beast as powerful as Vhagar in that moment but neither boy changes their stance. Jacaerys huffs and lets his eyes latch onto her hand, running through Aemond’s white curls. A fire burns up his spine. “You seem all too pleased with that fact, if only you could keep your tongue as still as your mind.” The words taste too bitter on his tongue but he chews them out anyway. Her fierce eyes narrow. Her hair sways at the velocity in which she turns her head, the yellow hyacinths in her hair on the verge of falling once her attention returns to him. “I think you both are in far more need of that ability than I.” It is the first time he has felt ashamed. Her eyes drop to Aemond, fingers still carting through his hair. “Aemond, your sisters, name them.” he glares ahead petulantly.

“I have but only one.” He grumbles but her fingers yank sharply and he yelps. “H-Helaena!” She tugs again. “Helaena and Rhaenyra!” He sputters and the Tyrell girl does look far too pleased as she stands to grasp one hand into Jacaerys’ tunic who gulps with wide eyes. “And your mother? Her name.” “R-Rhaenyra!” He sounds out quickly, not wishing for the same sore locks as his uncle. Y/n smiles. She actually smiles. “Good. A common meaning.” Jacaerys winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “You are neither sweet hearted nor graceful.” Jacaerys whines and winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “I am not sure that you are Tyrell at all.” “Perhaps we have been lied to.” His uncle grumbles in agreement. Despite their sentiments against her, the girl beams at their shared discussion. “I hope you enjoy yourselves, my princes.” She curtsy though mock hangs like a banner over them. She snickers to herself as she glides away swiftly. Jacaerys sighs once more and rolls his dark eyes. Aemond folds his arms and they sit down in silence until… “Did you like it?” Aemond asks hesitantly. Jacaerys’ eyes narrow again. “Did I like what?” He snaps. “When she tugged you.” Any retort already built dies on his tongue. A deep flush floods his face. “Of course not.” He denies with haste but his eyes resemble a doe’s as he watches after her.

132 AC.

They are in a large hall, so distant yet so close, as their eyes lock on the other. He smiles at the sight of her hair–no longer so untidy as just hours before. A circlet is delicate upon her brow and loops in the crown of her head and even further back across it. Pink rose petals, real or fake he cannot discern, line it beautifully. Gold compliments her well, he decides and especially in contrast to the soft blue of her gown. Briefly he wonders what she would look like in yellow. Vibrancy. Her colours seem pale as of late, almost unsure. Another thought severs his mind. She is smiling back–no–she is smiling at him. His smile trips for only a moment before it returns taller than ever, he raises his cup and only drinks from it after she reciprocates the motion. Y/n’s eyes wander across the room, sweeping every lord, lady, maid, stray chef, even his drunken uncle. They darken, her eyes, as they explore. Does she like the gem-encrusted candles his mother likes to harbour? Why would she like the candles? Well, what of the cups then? Are they to her liking or shall he replace them all after they are wed. He bites his lip but then she is looking at him again. Warmth waves across the table with a flick of her wrist. He loves it. He loves it dearly. Beautiful, he thinks. Jace thinks a lot of things. He even thinks about how easily he could sneak them both out and into the gardens. Jace could even request one of the lute players to join them, perhaps they could talk freely as he plays. He realises that he does not merely want to talk with her, he wants to murmur in her ear and wrap flowers between the strands of her hair the way she loves it. He wants to inspire each new colour she wears and accept every argument or praise she would bestow onto him. For the dagger of her quick tongue can feel like both the sweetest and only release a man should need. 

He sips once more from his cup, the Dornish delight tickling his own tongue. He wonders if hers should feel the same. A glow echoes from her feet to her hair. It blooms her face, nutritious light dancing across her smile. The grin atop her lips is like golden dust both fleeting and familiar but beautiful nonetheless. Something he would later imprint into his memories. He likes to think of them that way, two dancing dusts of gold moving in tandem despite the wind around them. The firelight cannot distract him from her no matter how flirtatious. His eyes dip to glance at her wrist, he grins when he sees the pale dahlia. Then they meet hers again and he tilts his head to the side. A gesture known between them all too well. So, as they stand and their chairs scrape back. The dancing bodies envelop them enough to shield their bodies from the Queen’s prying eyes.

121 AC. The ‘Strong’ Incident.

She looks as though she has sucked a lemon dry. Jacaerys grimaces, nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. To say that Y/n Tyrell is a petulant Lady of the Reach would be too kind. He has detested her since the moment she clung to his uncle Aemond like a coddling mother. How she wiped the mud off his face and stroked back his hair. He scoffs at the memory. At the ever flowing memories that thread along his mind, stitching it in place as tight as a royal noose. A huff pushes through his nostrils as he stands opposite her at a mere five namesdays. His eyes narrow. “It’s ugly.” He sneers, referring to the rhododendron braided through her hair. She glares back. “You would know, would you not, mittys, afterall you are much further known in that field?” At her sharp utterance, his head snaps up and his eyes blow wide. “Where did you learn that?” He snaps. For the love of the Gods he hates the ill-inducing smile that twists her lips like an insipid snail. She is far too proud of herself, he decides whilst folding his arms. Her grin doubles. “Your uncle taught me.” The Tyrell teases, smirking with those prudish pink lips. He wants to slap away the smug glimmer in her eye but that would not be befitting of his station. Jacaerys clenches his fist to recall that. Instead he breathes. “Well he cannot even summon the correct grammar so he is hardly one to listen to.” The boy is proud when he sees irritation flash over  Y/n’s face. He almost chortles at the sight. “At least he can string together a proper sentence!” She bites back. He scowls and turns his head to the side to pretend the creeping blush is from anger rather than embarrassment. She snickers as her eyes roam every birthmark or dot that lines the crevices of his face. He glances at his mother, already engaging with a strangely familiar looking woman. Oh. Your mother. Oh. 

Jacaerys trains his gaze back on yours and stiffens his posture, arms folding behind his back like Aegon taught him, chin raised. “I do not want to marry you.” He tells her plainly. His words are firm and rehearsed but they take no offence. He is almost insulted when she lets out the most unladylike snort he has ever heard. “Then marry my sister.” She retorts, something playful dancing across her smile. Jacaerys drops his jaw in horror. “Your sister is four!” “Then do not whine to me of what you do or do not wish to do!” As they speak–or rather–argue, Y/n is hoisting up the skirts of her dress and adjusting her shoes. He ignores it. “I merely want us to understand one another.” He attempts, resurging his confidence. She ignores him now, fussing with her hair and wrenching it away from her face. He grimaces once more and glances at their mothers who embrace each other, not in the least concerned of their children’s enjoyment. “And if we are to understand each other then we shall-oh for the heavens, what are you doing?” The prince watches as her hand glides upon a tree branch and latches to it snug into her palm. Her snickers emit as she slings a leg around another. “Escaping!” He gapes at the strange girl. “Escaping? Escaping from what?” “You. You bore me like no other and I find myself in dire need of entertainment.” “I do not bore, you bore me!” Jacaerys continues to twitter even as she clambers through the intense leaves and ducks between branches. “Is this what Tyrells do? Climb trees and allow their smallclothes to the public eye? Be careful you ought to fall.” His voice extracts another yelp of amusement.

“Why? So that your Strong arms oughten to catch me? You are of your namesake, yes, Prince Strong?” Y/n rolls her eyes but before she has the time to argue further, she yelps and falls through the various greenery until falling flat on her back and winces. A groan parts her lips and wrinkles her brows. A gasp calls from the opposing side as the Lady Tyrell and Realm’s Delight skitter toward the fallen child. He bites his lip to quieten a laugh while they drop to her side. “Are you quite alright, my sweet?” Your mother asks, wispy voice wittering. She catches your arm and cheek, eyes scanning over every inch. “Jacaerys,” His mother hisses but conveniently his sights are elsewhere. He grasps a pile of amaryllis flower petals. He doesn’t know how they got there but they are pretty regardless.

132 AC.

The night glimmers with sparkling light, each one more beautiful than the last. “I had almost thought to request a dance of you,” Jace chuckles. “Though that might have been unseemly, as we are not yet betrothed, officially at least.” “I had almost asked, myself.” Y/n retorts back, grinning impishly. She looks down at their feet as they walk, she almost laughs when he performs a little skip. He nods, eyes glazed as they roam his sight across her face. In a sudden move he flicks her nose. Her face flinches and parts her lips. She blinks back to see his smirking face. “What are you–” Jace pretends his eyes are skimming over her in nothing but thought, nose suddenly wrinkling. “Ah yes, I had thought that no such beauty such as your own could be true. I wonder what altered my sights so,” He is grinning wildly but she does not find the comment amusing. A huff bubbles in her and she hoists up her skirts. “How dare you!” She bellows. Jace laughs with greedy entertainment as he begins to skip backward. She runs after him, attempting to hide her delight. “You best apologise for scorning me, Velaryon!” She has to call as she chases him, ducking under branches and attempting not to slip in the thick mud. He glances back at her and cackles at the otherworldly display. She scoffs. His laughter takes control until he is doubling over in amusement which gives Y/n the perfect opportunity to strike a stiff arm across his body and send him crashing to the floor with her body atop his. She pins his wrists above his head and smirks as he wriggles. She beams proudly down at him. “Apologise.” She demands. He grimaces, laughter not yet stopped. “As if!” He dispels.

And all too suddenly, he stops. Jace stops and he looks up at her and his breath stutters. “Do you intend to keep me here? At your mercy?” “I did so when we were children.” She teases to which he quickly rolls his eyes. “When we threw mud and ducked beneath trees.” He interrupts her speech with a chuckle. Her palms soften and slide onto the ground instead. “Do not laugh at me,” “I am not laughing!” He defends. His fingers glide around her wrist. Y/n’s breath hitches. Her eyes flit down at him. As her grip loosens she plummets until their chests touch. Never one to back down from a challenge and yet she fumbles with wide eyes and shallow breath. The prince grins and chuckles as he laces two hands along her waist. His eyes glitter with excitement. “Your lineage was correct at least once.” He murmurs. He spots a row of rogue daisies dotting her hair. “You are so alluring that you have me utterly captivated.” A lump clogs her throat, her breath turns almost so shallow that it hides from her. “And you are as headstrong as the dragon demands.” She breathes out. “We are unchaperoned.” He purrs, a finger raising to stroke his cheek. She swallows and lets her irises track it. “We are.” Crickets dance around them, unseen but their noise unrelenting. His lids lower as the flower leans closer. “It is pretty.” He whispers below his breath. “What is?” “In your hair,” he gestures with a pink hue. She doesn’t have to hear him to know what he is speaking of. “Perhaps…our marriage could be like your hair.” Her brow furrows. “Wild…ever-changing…beautiful…a garden.” A soft smile caresses her face. “I would like to grow our…garden together.” The stars glow above them. As if the fates design it themselves, Jace feels his own smile beginning to warm. “I too...” He breathes. “I too.”

122 AC.

Glares are often exchanged over the dining hall but instead they appear beside a dreary river. It looks utterly soiled and murky. The prince wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going in.” He denies to which the little girl at his left snickers. “I did not ask it of you.” The flower unlaces her boots, huffing as she discards the knotted tangles. “Then what are you doing?” He shifts in discomfort. “I am swimming.” She snickers in retort, “Do not be foolish, that water is freezing.” “But it has water lilies!” Y/n argues tugging at her bodice. She huffs at the trickiness. His hand reaches out to grasp her wrist as she shuffles out of her large skirt. “If our mothers knew that I had let you, they would string me up by my cloak!” “So do not tell them! They will never discover it!” With a twist of her hands she tosses him in the lake below with great ease.

The two highly esteemed most certainly did discover it when their two squabbling children returned to them soaked from head to toe. “Your fault.” Jacaerys hissed at her but she merely stuck her tongue out, as if it had been her intention all along.

132 AC.

The prince stands before the painter, sighing as time whittles away. It is already noon, morning past and yet he cannot escape preening hands or bothersome hands. The excessive garments weigh heavily on him. They feel more like vines than fabrics. His eyes cast to look at the cloudy sky as the gentle blues expose themselves. He is glad that they are not in a shade as spritely as his clothes. It is an odd wonder that he used to love blue so deeply and yet now it shackles him. “And how many more strokes should I be expecting?” Jacaerys asks. The artist before him chokes–presumably on his own saliva–then clears his throat. “Apologies, my lord, what is it that you–?” “Brush strokes, friend. Brush strokes,” A glimmer of enjoyment twinkles in his brown irises. “Ah.” The painter croaks with a flush up his neck. A snicker parts the prince’s lips but an abrupt snap of the doors halts his short entertainment. Jace’s eyes quicken to find a grey dress and solemn face. His grin slips. “My dear, I was not expecting you but it is welcome.” He almost stutters, wanting for nothing but to take a step closer to her. He curses his feet for disobeying his desires. Jace quickly sews back his smile but perhaps too tightly. 

“I thought it best for us to confer in discretion.” The words leave her lips stiffly and as he watches her move he sees a similar firmness in her posture, her stance, her stuck limbs. Jace glances at the painter. “Yes, you are quite right. Ser, would you–?” “No, that is quite alright.” She interrupts, trying to smile but it looks as frozen as the force of her smile. Tensity grapples the air, squeezing it tight. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.  "I didn't know what it meant." She utters quietly, refusing to raise her eyes to meet his. Jacaerys watches as she swallows slowly and takes a deep breath, holding it in her lungs as though it would flee from her the moment she spoke once again. "When I...When I called you that word." Tensity rattles him, locking his bones. "I'm sorry. It was cruel and unbefitting and you did not deserve it." Silence holds them stiff like the portrait itself yet the artist himself holds little hesitancy. "You were a child." He speaks. She finally looks at him and everything inside him goes soft at her gaze. "So were you." And suddenly everything feels different and the same all at once. He does not know whether what he has gained is what he has lost. He wants to move, walk or run toward her, it matters little. Anything his body would allow but it does not. He stays frozen. Watching as she slowly steps back, the slightest dip in her mouth as she regains her composure. Her head dips, eyes fleeting.

Jacaerys has not screamed since he was a child but suddenly he wants a change of heart. Regardless of duty. Regardless of honour. The two things he holds most dear behind his family. “I have news.” “Oh?” He tries not to let his voice shake despite surrendering to the quietness. “An announcement has been made–two in fact.” His brows furrow. “And what have we to do with them? Have our mothers’ meddling persisted?” Jacaerys’ smile returns but something flickers beneath his eyes. “Your flowers…Where have they gone?” She doesn’t answer. Lady Y/n Tyrell merely takes a deep breath. “We are to be wed.” The spark lights up again and he claps, startling the artist. “Oh, Y/n, I have–” “To other people.” Her Ladyship corrects, eyes flitting up at him from the floor. “Yourself and Baela shall live happily in Dragonstone and I will live at Lord Stokeworth’s side. We are finally free. My congratulations, my prince. I have enjoyed our short time together.” “My lady, I–” “I am not your lady anymore, your highness. Now if you would excuse me…” She walks away and he swears he cannot stop himself from counting each quiet step. He does not feel like Jace anymore. He feels like Jacaerys, prince and future heir to the Iron throne.

126 AC.

‘And then you throw a cloak over her which I still do not comprehend.’ Aegon’s handwriting explains in rough scribbles so filled with the ever increasing bubbles of rage that only a sixteen year old forced to marry his own kin can muster. Jacaerys chuckles quietly at the tear in paper at the centre where a convenient ink splotch lays. A farce of a marriage his uncle and aunt possess and yet there is something bitter in Jacaerys’ snickering. This will be his own fate soon, he is merely lucky that his mother has not been hounding him with it, not forcing him to kiss the weird Tyrell girl’s hand or invite her to dance. He sighs in thought as he thinks of her and the stupid petals that are no doubt swaying in her hair. He can see it, even when he tries not to, he can see her nose wrinkle and scrunch, he can see her eyes cloud with childish amazement as another boy asks her to dance instead–one of the Lords old enough to be his uncle and strange enough to want her grimy hands on them. He bets that they are caked in dirt–they always are–and he can see the oddly shaped and unfitting rings that she adorns, all in the patterns of thorns or flowers. He is tired of listening to her babble to them whenever he sits beside her at feasts. He wishes frequently that he would take the seat beside one of his brothers or cousins.

He continues reading the crumpled letter and reluctant recount of the royal wedding. A princess and a prince destined to tear the other at the seams, he muses to himself. He wonders what Y/n will look like at their own wedding, she always has her hair twisted funny and her dresses are ridiculously large. He does not understand why she bothers with them when she throws them off to jump into the lake every chance she can reach. Surely she would not wear green like Helaena did although that is the prioritised colour of her house. He supposes that would bother him not though with the sage colour she wears so often. But should a wedding not be an excessive expression? Had Helaena looked as miserable as she felt walking up to her new husband or had she braced herself enough to don a reluctant stone mask? Will Y/n look miserable too? Will she throw things at him like she had when she last visited and pommel him again with the force of her fists? To her respect, he had been at fault for taunting her and snatching the lavender flowers from her hair. Would they mind that they would marry in a Sept or beside fire? Will it bother her or would she like it? His thoughts swirl as the parchment’s words grow less intense. The ink starts to fade, replaced by insufferable girls and insufferable promises. Will it be warm or cold? She hates the cold but she hates a lot of things. Will she have to stop climbing trees when she’s Queen? He supposes she will but he’s not quite sure why he hates that idea. There’s something he likes about her calloused hands. He rubs a thumb over his palm as he remembers the last time they danced, it must have been the year before but it threads in his memory with the sound of a well-strung lute. Jacaerys loves music, which is why it is so irritating that he can recall the shade of her eyes with ease and yet not a single note plays in his ears. He cannot even remember whether he had liked it or not.

132 AC.

The door almost snaps from its hinges when the young prince bursts through. “What did you do?” He asks his mother immediately, watching as her eyes widen and she chokes on her wine. The princess takes her time to collect herself and slowly lowers the glass. Blood pumps in his ears so loudly that he almost doesn’t notice his own trembling fingers.“Whatever do you mean, Jacaerys?” “You are betrothing me to Baela?” His mother sighs and looks down, lips parting to respond. “Why should she not? You turn aside every other girl that your mother suggests.” Daemon utters, gliding through the door. He takes his regular brisk and composed steps until settling his hands on Rhaenyra’s chair from behind her. He raises his eyebrows. “Or have you finally made up your mind on who shall be not only your Queen but the Kingdom’s one day.” Rhaenyra turns the rings on her fingers quickly. The prince scoffs. “I know that arranged marriages are not your preferred method but your grandsire is growing very ill, Jacaerys, he should be able to see you wed. It will be the first ceremony he could witness since his own.” The irritation grapples him and squeezes like a vice. “Then do not betroth me to Baela, betroth me to Y/n like you were supposed to!” Jacaerys shouts. A silence rings through the air, a ticking clock quirks at the top of his mother’s head, slowly working her mind to understand his words. She blinks. “The Tyrell girl?” She finally asks, face screwed up and eyes clocking back and forth aimlessly. “I never intended for such a match, I thought you hated her.” Daemon’s face tenses and so does his posture as he folds his arms. Jacaerys’ face becomes even more flushed as the hour passes. “I-I, well, I had but she–I don’t…” His breath grows haggard and huffs.

He strikes a harsh hand through his hair and grips it painfully. The boy bites his lip, suddenly falling small again. “I wanted to. I wanted to marry her, I just…No, I want to marry her. Either I did not know yet for being too foolish and youthful that I thought her to be a trap or I did not want to admit it but now I do and I just want her. I want all of her. Every inch she will give unto me. I want her thorns and her petals, of every season I want to keep her in summer and love. I will travel anywhere to keep her warm, I will command flight, I will command ships, I will even command the stars and sun if she wishes so to force the day to stretch as long as she wishes. I want to give her summer. I want to be her summer. I want to give her myself in every way possible. She has more beauty than I have ever seen and more beauty than I deserve.” His throat tightens even more. “Mother, please let me be her summer, I will do anything you request of me just as I have always done but I will marry no other woman, I swear to the heavens high and low.” He stares into his mother’s eyes, Daemon long forgotten as her fingers stop their flickering of rings. The light catches on the one of gold and amethyst. The shade of his worry and the shade of Baela’s eyes. He knows that he cannot walk onto the stones and before the fires only curated to worship the Gods of Old Valyria and lie to them. It would not only seek him damnation but a life of agony. He knows he cannot willingly look in her eyes and gaze like he does the only beauty he has ever truly known because it is not she. It will never be she. There is but one dream in his heart and he will not let the rebounding tricks and lights of amethyst save him.

“Rather odd that you have had such an enthralling change of heart but I see no reason for such extremities.” Daemon almost growls, the insult burning hot in his ears. “My daughter is beautiful and of pure blood I commend you for your childish songs, I am sure the bards would be proud but I am not. There is no reason for you to deny her of being Queen. It is a title we both know her blood and nature is worthy of.” “Rhaena is betrothed to Luke.” He starts again shakily and glaring into his stepfather’s eyes hard as steel. “If it is your bloodline you wish to prosper then I shall abdicate without fight.” Just as quickly as the words slip past his lips, Rhaenyra’s ring falls. A memory flashes through both the adults’ minds. One in which a man was just as quick to toss his crown. Just as quick to deny himself the power he had always craved just to marry a woman with silver hair and a sharp tongue. And while he was desperate to marry a Queen, the boy before them now was willing to marry nothing more than a flower. Both their eyes tread curiously on him. “Abdicate?” Rhaenyra tests the word on her tongue, an unfamiliar one, it slips across her taste buds–too quick yet too thick. Too heavy and yet he says it with ease. As though it is the only passing thought in his head. Daemon’s own invasive sights are unrelenting. They strike through him as threatening as a sword to his neck, if he moves it will do more than nick him. Something twists in his gut when Daemon’s lips part. “That will not be necessary, will it, doñus ābrazȳrys?” He cuts into the thick cake but it is unclear whether it is filled with stone or honey. His violet eyes slowly track up to Jacaerys’. “I believe a wedding is in order…” The silence weighs heavily while a scream begs to claw up the boys’ throat. “Let us hope the thorns are gentle with us.” A sigh passes Daemon’s lips and his shoulders soften as he leaves.

128 AC.

“Oh.” He murmurs quietly, back straight and eyes darting. “Oh?” Lucerys hisses, brows raised and fiddling with his fingers. Anyone looking at him could tell he looks utterly drenched in a sea of nerves that rise slowly to attempt and drown him. “Oh is not what you say your betrothed is dancing with our uncle. ‘Oh’ is when someone tells you they have lost their toad or-or their cat ate a mouse.” Jace rolls his eyes. “Unlike you I do not care who she dances with, she can enjoy herself as she pleases.” Lucerys huffs and turns to glance at Rhaena at his side. She snickers. Jacaerys continues watching Y/n, watching as she twirls and joins hands with Aemond and then clapping them. He watches the shimmer that the candlelight shines on her necklace. He watches. He always watches but he never does anything. “Why should I care? If anything I should be encouraging it, maybe he can keep her attention long enough that she stops following me to my High Valyrian lessons, stops squawking in my ear.” “She doesn't squawk.” Baela defends with a chuckle.His eyes narrow, still locked on her. “Besides she is rather helpful, you ought to listen to her if she is to be your wife.” The tease is light on her tongue but it squeezes his chest. He nods stiffly and folds his hands together behind his back. He glances down. “Perhaps…” He agrees begrudgingly.Baela slaps his back. “Good.” “You know, she wouldn’t be dancing with him if you had asked her.” “Yes she would, she would do it to spite me.” His lip twitches like the tail of a smirk.

“Truly you are not going to marry him?” Aemond asks, the back of his hand caressing hers although it strikes little attention. The Tyrell does not have to look to know who he is speaking of, her answer is as swift as the flick in her wrist. “I have not yet decided, my friend.” Aemond grins wolfishly and lets his chuckle last. “A shame for the masses, I suppose for you to be shackled by the bonds of marriage, you were not made for it. That I am certain of.” “Then you must not know me well.” She smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Not that that would surprise me, you have horrendous taste in brides.” He wrinkles his nose. “And how have you decided that?” The length of her skirts twist around her, the patterns raucous. “Go on, tell me. I have not yet taken a bride of my own.” “Which is precisely why you have horrendous taste in brides.” The music grows louder, hiding his scoff from the fellow noble people. “I am the same age as you, why should I have taken a bride?” “Because they seem to either run from you and flock like a series of swans.” She grimaces. “It is rather irritating the way they stare.” “Yes well I am sure you do the same,” He teases. Her gaze turns hard on him but it only encourages his long for mischief. “I think I would rather find Luke and gouge my own eye out.” Aemond huffs but does not react in malice. He catches her sleeve in retort, resulting in a stumble. “Funny.” “Hm,” He agrees, his sly smile returning. “He would not be horrible, I suppose and especially not compared to the other men at court.” Aemond pulls a disagreeable expression and glances at his petulant nephew whose stare is as deep as an embedded knife. Aemond almost feels him twisting the hilt into his chest. He also so happens to pretend he cannot see her growing blush. “You are entitled to an opinion…even if that opinion is as incorrect as a worm flutters its wings.”

132 AC.

It is not an odd place to find a Tyrell Lady seated in the gardens admiring the vegetation but it still manages to halt the prince’s steps. Jacaerys feels himself freeze. She is just sitting there, a few other ladies and lords about courting but she is there…and for the first time since he was fourteen he watches her, truly watches her. As her hand dips to pluck a white rose between lithe fingers, her eyes dart around her to make sure no one has seen but he is behind her, hidden within the eyes of an observer. He runs honeysuckle between his fingers, unsure whether time is restraining him or prompting him because she looks so peaceful. He almost does not want to disturb her. Would she be happy with him, Lord Stokeworth, if he left her at her peace? He had not thought to ask. For the first time he wants to know what she wants for he has only brought about her sense of dread and bubbled anger. His breath hitches. He loves her. He can feel it growing and blossoming as fresh as the flowers in his hand. It calls to him, begs him to stare one moment longer. He watches her. He wants to cherish her, hold the skies for her, he wants to do any and everything and yet he has not the courage to ask her the same. The blossoming flower of his hope wilts in fear between her hands.

He watches her hair, so vibrant with youth and the last effects of their childhood. The bleach of sun is warm in her locks. She likes the sun, would Lord Stokeworth give her that? Or would he keep her locked away like so many men would dream just to keep her to himself. So stiff, she had been, when she had spoken with him. Was this not what she wanted? To be rid of him? Perhaps she could escape Lord Stokeworth but she could never escape a prince. Should he leave her this freedom? It is selfish that he wants her to stay, to stay with him, at his side but he cannot help wanting it so. He should be hoisting her over the wall instead of watching her in the gardens. Y/n needs freedom not him. She will never need him…Not like he needs her. And so Prince Jacaerys takes a step back. It is painful to look at her, Jacaerys gathers, his heart wrapped in thorns. His breath is shaky as he watches her soft fingers stroke the gentle petals. He has honour but he does not have the grace to leave her just yet. Not when she looks so beautiful.

Her dress is a pale teal, he always liked that colour on her, it is her favourite because it reminds her of seafoam. She wore it to a ball once, with a masquerade mask settled on her nose. Her eyes flit through the garden, he can sense that she feels him. She always knows when he’s there–even when he doesn’t want her to–and yet she doesn’t turn around. She does not turn to him, she does not call out to him. There are no flowers in her hair again, no remains of her desires. She is left utterly open to the world and yet hidden from him, he has nothing to analyse, no colours to discern her mood except the seafoam. The questions rebound in the inside of his mind, bouncing across like skittish rabbits. Jacarys’ hand lessens on the honeysuckle. He can almost hear its taunts ringing in his ear. He takes back another step, eyes still watching her as she turns the rose in her hand. His body twists before he can command it not to, slow steps making the choice for him but just as he is about to let the honeysuckle fall–

“Stop.” Her gentle voice calls and it is the only command he needs to stop but he cannot summon the strength to look at her. Not with those pretty doe eyes. The girl of Tyrell however stands up, her breath shallow as she watches him. The sun envelopes her like a sea of familiarity–her family seal sewn into her dress and yet the gold is belonging to a fool. She is to shine, not to sink into expectation. Jacaerys does not turn around but his hand stutters. Silence lingers in the cracks of their polished floorboards–their quick retorts lost and malnourished. Yet it is as familiar as the creaking wood it resembles, it matches the ignorance of caring for it. It is forever present and yet forever neglected. If you asked them to map it on a sketch, they could not tell you the rough edges or the spaces in where it shines but they could tell you where every last board of it leads. They belong to it as much as it belongs to them and perhaps it has been neglecting them too. Leaving them both curious and unsure without even taking the thoughts in stride. “Don’t go.” Jace’s ears prick up. That may have been the most vulnerable sound to ever grace her lips. He still does not turn his head. He cannot surrender to the hope but he will acknowledge it, letting his head turn softly to the side, his shoulders tensing with the desperation to look at her again. He swallows and he hears her own breath pause. “Do you want me to beg?” At that he quirks his lips and turns to her, slowly, tentative, nervous. “I…do not think that necessary.” He whispers, eyes slowly rising from the floor to meet her own and it is that moment that breaks. His restraint. He takes a step forward and so does she. For the first time…they are working in tandem. Together. Because that is all they needed. No honour. No quick wit. They only needed to release their hearts. To let them free.

Their eyes meet. “I brought you this.” He utters as her thoughts pace then halt. His fingers shake gently as he raises the bundle of honeysuckle. Y/n’s eyes don’t leave his own for even a mere moment, she only nods. Both their feet attract to each other like magnets until they are mere inches apart. With wilting trepidation, Jace lifts the flowers before settling the ring on her head. “A crown for my Queen.” He whispers. Their breath mingles, entwines. They join, holding one another. As Jace’s fingers let it become with her, her own rise to entangle in his. Her eyes flicker across his face. “I rather like that idea.” She responds, just as quietly. A sphere of gentleness immerses them. It holds them like the rarest of jewels. Like starlight itself. His breath hitches. “Will you...be my queen?” He murmurs. Her right hand cups his face and pulls it closer until their foreheads meet. Their noses brush. “If you will be my King.” His lips broaden into a grin and he nods–just softly. “I would be your anything.” He responds then leans in to finally after the years of triumph and battle and silent love connect their lips. Her own smile warms. “Then start with my everything.” A spark dances across as they press together, the line between them finally breaking. They have been bestowed the finest honour one could find. They have been bestowed a heart–not two but the old threaded into one. A new heart. The heart bestowed is a garden to rest in each of them. One for them to nurture together.

Valyrian Translations: mittys - fool

Flower Translations: daisies - innocence, new beginnings larkspur - lightheartedness, youth dahlias - commitment, kindness rhododendron - danger, caution amaryllis - pride, strength, determination pink roses - gentle love water lillies - majesty white rose - a new beginning, fresh start honey suckle - everlasting love

(feel free to ask me in my inbox/askbox if there is anything i have forgotten :))

The Heart Bestowed Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @beaconofthehightower @buglyberry

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter @cookielovesbook-akie @maximofftwinsbitch @ughhthisbitch

Jacaerys Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @fairysluna @mrsgrwy

[sachermorte]

what’s your favourite flower? :D

Gladiolus!

They're also called sword lilies. When flower language was in vogue, they were used to symbolize integrity and strength of character. I more or less developed the second over time. I'm still working on the first. I just think there's something about them. They're much bigger in person, standing tall and proud. I'm actually fond of many other flowers that grow in spears like this (foxglove, lupine), but gladioli are my favorite. I like them so much I have a tattoo of them. They're expensive and hard to keep (I don't have a garden and if I did I probably couldn't maintain it) so they feel even more exclusive to be for that reason.

Other honorable mentions:

Roses. "Ah, but everyone likes roses", you say. Not like I do. I'm a certified Rose Enjoyer. Ours tend to last through the winter so I have even more time with them. I love them. I love how they stab me when I'm arranging them. I love their different colors and shapes. I spent a whole summer crying my eyes out in the rose garden at Volksgarten pretty much every single day and you know what? It helped. If you're going to cry do it somewhere aesthetically appealing, at minimum.

Hydrangeas. Like clouds in the sweetest pastel dream I never have. They're either pink or blue depending on the pH of the soil, which I think is very fashionable of them. There's a church in the sixth district that plants them every year in giant, sprawling bushes and I always battle the bees every spring to go and sit with my nice beverage and just be around them. When I finally find the place where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, hydrangeas will be planted there.

But really, I just love flowers. Larkspur, peony, begonia, snapdragon, pansy, forget-me-not, snowbell, lily, iris, morning glory, and it goes on and on and on. I love flowers so much I could cry. The next time I go through a big dramatic breakup I'm leaving it all behind to go be a florist for a couple years until I'm forced back onto the path fate has written for me.

[dramaturgydrakes]

so you see this little goober?

yeah. in the unreconciled au, he and apollo never make up.

more yapping below ↓

why did they argue in the first place?

“argument” is a… really generous way to put it! especially because hermes didn’t really grasp what was happening.

apollo was overwhelmed. stressed. losing his patience. he had trauma he was repressing, in part because he ended up being hermes’s primary caretaker and had no time and space for himself. hermes matured differently than the other gods, and not many of them were willing to look after a kid, godly or not, who actually had to grow up. plus, hermes was a bit of a duckling—he ADORED his big brother.

hermes was oblivious and even naïve, not able to recognize apollo’s pain as his brother tried to put more and more distance between them.

and then apollo exploded.

he said so many horrible things—you’re not my brother, i didn’t choose you, why don’t you go find someone else to rip off, can’t you take a hint?

when he finally calmed down, the first thing he saw was hermes’s tears.

the second was the silence.

no sobbing, no wailing, no dramatic show or meltdown.

just hitched little breaths and a few sniffles.

the guilt hits immediately, and apollo steps back, hair extinguishing.

now, either he flees or hermes does. haven’t really decided on that.

what happens next?

hermes immerses himself in the woods. he sheds away the things he took from apollo—the diadem, both pairs of wings, among another miniscule details. in their place, he tucks flowers into his hair as ram horns begin to grow over the years, a fluffy tail and ears bouncing with each step, his fingertips darkening with keratin. he dons a chlamys, wanting to feel safe, embraced with no one around. he’s still a child. at some point, four extra eyes peer out at the world around him.

some call him pan. he’s still hermes, still calls himself by that name and prefers it, but he doesn’t shut down the additional epithet altogether.

now, normally, within a few years, apollo tracks hermes down and they sit down to have a long talk. he apologizes, explains himself, but acknowledges that no reasoning could excuse how he treated his little brother. they hug it out, yada yada, and hermes reemerges from the wood, dropping his ram features and regaining the beloved imitations of his older brother (plus an additional pair of wings above his original ear ones!).

in unreconciled, that part doesn’t happen.

the great god pan is dead.

why?

well, we can’t answer that question without another.

what was apollo going through?

hyacinthus.

if you don’t know the myth, hyacinthus was an absolutely stunning mortal man who caught the eye of apollo for his beauty. their love was deep and fully mutual. apollo taught him many things, like hunting and music, and was utterly smitten with him.

then, one day, apollo wanted to teach hyacinthus discus. forgetting his own strength as a god, he threw the discus and hyacinthus, laughing, went to

catch it

and it struck him in the head, dealing a fatal blow.

apollo was devastated. he tried everything—medicine, ambrosia, anything to bring back his love. none of it worked; he was already gone. he wanted nothing more than to die and reunite with hyacinthus, but his own immortality prevented him from doing so.

from the blood of hyacinthus, a flower was born. funnily enough, this likely wasn’t actually a hyacinth, probably a delphinium/larkspur, iris, or fritillary (which… are all very different from each other? wack), but that’s kind of irrelevant.

in some versions of the tale, it’s said that the west wind zephyrus, burning with jealousy, sent the discus wildly off-course to strike hyacinthus. hyacinthus was loved by many, after all, but he chose apollo first.

still, at least in this au, apollo places all the blame on himself. he’s even fearful, convinced he’ll hurt somebody else he loves.

that he’ll hurt his little brother.

and he does, but he tells himself it’s better than hurting him physically. than—than—

in one universe, he works through his feelings and remembers that hermes needs him. that hermes loves him. that forgiveness is a possibility, and he doesn’t have to suffer alone.

in this universe, the world is not so lucky.

he sinks deeper and deeper into his guilt and pain, growing darker and darker, dimmer and dimmer, until

the domain of light is no longer his.

and so lightless apollo is born.

anyway lol tune in next time for my ramfam yapping im too tired to keep talking

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Hyacinthus Iceberg Meme EXPLAIN (P3)

Part 1 ✿ Part 2 ✿ Part 3 ✿ Part 4 ✿ Part 5

It's time for me to answer your questions about this Hyacinthus iceberg meme. There is a lot to tackle, so I'll divide it into 5 parts for the sake of my sanity.

Quick disclaimer: I am NOT an expert in Greek mythology, just a fan of Hyacinthus who wants to learn about him and anyone related to him. Most of the things I'm about to discuss are just theories and speculations of a passerby on the Internet, so do not take them as valid facts!

Daphne is Hyacinthus' sister

There is only one poet who wrote about Daphne being Hyacinthus' sister. Well, it's not explicitly stated but he claimed Daphne was a daughter of King Amyclas and lived in Laconia, so it's not hard to piece it all together.

"This is how the story of Daphne, the daughter of Amyklas (Amyclas), is related. [...] But she got together a large pack of hounds and used to hunt either in Lakonia (Laconia) or sometimes going into the further mountains of the Peloponnese." - Parthenius, "Love Romances"

I have a joke headcanon that Apollo loves Hyacinthus because he looks like Daphne (Hya's sister) and Hyacinthus loves Apollo because he looks like Thamyris (Apollo's grandson).

Some K-drama angsty level of romance, eh?

The accurate hyacinth flower???

This has been a debate for quite a while now. Is the flower born from Hyacinthus' death the modern hyacinth or a different flower?

Even though most of us settle for the widely-known purple hyacinth (the flowers above), many argue that the flower can also be a larkspur, an iris, or a martagon lily.

I admit I prefer Hyacinthus' flower being the purple hyacinth or at least a similar ancestor. It's because Athena used to give Odysseus a curly hairstyle like the hyacinths, and that description is similar to the modern flower.

[...] Athena poured beauty on [Odysseus]— her abundance made him taller and more robust to look at. Then, on his head, she transformed his hair, so it flowed in curls like fresh hyacinths in bloom. - Homer, "The Odyssey"

Here is a detail that got me pondering.

In the "Abduction of Persephone" myth, when Persephone is returned to Demeter, she tells her mother about the abduction and we have this:

"[...] we were playing and gathering sweet flowers in our hands, soft crocuses mingled with irises and hyacinths, and rose-blooms and lilies, marvelous to see, and the narcissus which the wide earth caused to grow yellow as a crocus." - Homeric Hymn 2 to Demeter

So Persephone is collecting flowers when she is taken, and one of those flowers is the hyacinth. It's unexpected to think Apollo and Hyacinthus got together before the seasons were a thing.

Zephyrus wears hyacinths on his flower wreath

There is one account I can find that talks about this detail.

"You can see [Zephyrus], I think, with his winged temples and his delicate form; and he wears a crown of all kinds of flowers, and will soon weave the hyacinth in among them." - Philostratus the Elder, "Imagines"

It might be a simple thing, but it had me thinking. Does Zephyrus wear hyacinths in his flower crown as a reminder of his former lover (like Apollo wears laurels from Daphne's tree)? Is it out of the guilt he has later or a sadistic triumph?

We'll never know.

Chloris creates the hyacinth flowers

For those who don't know, Chloris is the goddess of flowers and the wife of Zephyrus.

We all agree that Apollo created the hyacinth flower in the memories of Hyacinthus, but Ovid claimed Chloris (or Flora, her Roman counterpart) to be the creator.

"I (Flora) first made a flower from Therapnean blood [Hyacinthus the larkspur flower], and its petal still inscribes the lament. You too, narcissus, have a name in tended gardens, unhappy in your undivided self. Why mention Crocus, Attis, or Cinyras' son, from whose wounds I made a tribute soar?" - Ovid, "Fasti"

I don't like this version not because it's a Roman source, but because having Flora/Chloris creating the flower will reduce the heart-wrenching of Apollo and Hyacinthus' myth. Apollo lost his beloved to the hands of death, so having him make the flower as a tribute to their love and to always remember him will have a bigger impact.

Apollo is Hyacinthus' uncle/granduncle/great-grandfather

Look, almost all Greek mythology couples are related in some way. Apollo and Hyacinthus are no exception.

If we have Amyclas and Diomede as Hyacinthus' parents, Apollo will be Hyacinthus' granduncle on his father's side and great-grandfather on his mother's side.

Lacedaemon (Hyacinthus' grandfather) is a son of Zeus and Taygete.

"[Eurotas] left the kingdom to Lacedaemon, whose mother was Taygete, after whom the mountain was named, while according to report his father was none other than Zeus." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

Lapithes is a son of Apollo and the father of Diomede.

"Lapithes, the son of Apollon and Stilbe, the daughter of Peneus." - Diodorus Siculus, "Library of History"

"Amyclas and Lapithes' daughter Diomede had Cynortas and Hyacinthus." - Pseudo-Apollodorus, "Bibliotheca"

If we have Clio as Hyacinthus' mother, Apollo will be his half-uncle because the Muses are the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the Titan goddess of memory.

I guess the only way to remove incest from Apollo and Hyacinthus is to have Clio as his mother but use the version where the Muses sprang into life from four rivers made by Pegasus.

Hyacinthus is the relative/ancestor of other heroes (Perseus, Heracles, Helen, etc.)

I used to make a family tree for ten generations of the mythical Spartan family (and an additional one for Perseus and Danae).

And since Perseus is the great-grandfather of Heracles, this means Hyacinthus is an ancestor of Heracles as well.

Here are some sources to back me up:

"[...] Lelex, an aboriginal was the first king in this land, after whom his subjects were named Leleges. Lelex had a son Myles, and a younger one Polycaon. [...] On the death of Myles his son Eurotas succeeded to the throne.." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"On the death of Amyclas, the empire came to Argalus, the eldest of his sons, and afterward, when Argalus died, to Cynortas. Cynortas had a son Oebalus." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"[Oebalus] took a wife from Argos, Gorgophone the daughter of Perseus, and begat a son Tyndareus, with whom Hippocoon disputed about the kingship, claiming the throne on the ground of being the eldest. With the end of Icarius and his partisans, he had surpassed Tyndareus in power, and forced him to retire in fear." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"To Acrisius and Eurydice, Lacedaemon's daughter, was born a daughter Danae [...] When Acrisius later learned that she had given birth to Perseus, not believing that Zeus seduced her, he cast his daughter out to sea with her son on an ark." - Pseudo-Apollodorus, "Bibliotheca"

Apollo and Hyacinthus in the Trojan War???

Oh boy. This is the part many of you are screaming for me to explain.

I'll have to disappoint you because there aren't many texts about Apollo/Hyacinthus in the Epic Cycle (at least, I can't find all of them yet). But if we bust our brains, we can draw out some shower thoughts.

1) Was Hyacinthus alive by the time of the Trojan War, and did he participate?

The timeline is shaky and depends on which source you're looking at. Euripides' play "Helen" mentions the Hyacinthia festival, meaning our prince was born, died, and immortalized before the Trojan War.

"They will be gathered in a dance, at long last, or in games, or in all night feasts, in honor of Hyacinth, whom Phoebus Apollo killed during a discus throwing contest." - Euripides, "Helen"

On the other hand, Lucian's "Dialogues of the Dead" said that Hyacinthus was still in the Underworld after the Trojan War.

"Menippos: Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me around, I am a newcomer. Hermes : I am busy, Menippos. But look over there, to your right, and you will see Hyacinthus, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helene, Leda - all the beauties of old." - Lucian, "Dialogues of the Dead"

From Lucian's work, either Hyacinthus will be resurrected much later after the war or never at all.

If we go by the version that Hyacinthus was deified before the war, I'm sure he will side with his homeland. Hyacinthus is a favorite hero-god of Sparta and great-granduncle to Helen, so there is no reason he won't participate in the war.

That leads us to the next point:

2) Can you imagine the angst potential for Hyapollo???

National pride is a big thing for Spartans. You know how Spartans mock other city-states and uphold their people. Hyacinthus must feel utterly betrayed when Apollo is revealed to be siding with the people who stole from his homeland. He loves the god, but he loves his homeland more.

However, unlike the previous point where there are sources to draw from, we got zero records of how Apollo and Hyacinthus interacted during the war. So it has to be up to our imagination.

When Apollo sent a plague on the Greeks, did he purposefully spare the Spartans because of Hyacinthus? Did Hyacinthus tell his men to not kill the children, lovers, or favored mortals of Apollo?

Did they avoid each other when the Olympian civil conflict broke out? Did they even talk to each other at all?

And most importantly, how would they heal after the Trojan War?

3) Do the Spartans celebrate the Hyacinthia in Troy?

Now, this one is funny. The Spartans worshipped Apollo and Hyacinthus together, yet Apollo is now the enemy of Sparta.

In history, Spartans did form truces and leave the battlefields to attend the Hyacinthia festival.

"Now the Lakedaimonians (Lacedaemonians), as the festival of Hyakinthos was approaching, made a truce of forty days with the men of Eira [in Messenia]. They themselves returned home to keep the feast." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

But this isn't the case in the Trojan War. No sources say the Spartans desert the battlefield in Troy to go home for the festival (makes sense because they have to travel across the sea, and their queen is still trapped in Troy)

So the question is: how do they celebrate them in Troy instead? Do they even celebrate the Hyacinthia when one of the honored gods is siding against them?

Food for thought...

TO BE CONTINUED

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Garden Flowers Part 3

All photos mine. The small buttercup and evening primrose are edited for colour since the camera didn't catch it and washed it out.

In order of appearance:

In order of appearance:

061. Wild Basil (Clinopodium vulgare) Didn't do so well the last place I had her in, but she seems happy in this spot, so fingers crossed.

062. Crested Iris (Iris cristata) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

063. Smallflower Buttercup (Rancunculus abortivus) Not much to look at compared with other buttercups but one of the only native buttercups with (limited) edible uses.

064. Smooth Solomon's Seal (Polygonatum biflorum) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet. Soon, hopefully!

065. False Solomon's Seal (Maianthemum racemosa) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet, but she's growing well so hopefully next year.

066. Blisterwort (Ranunculus recurvatus) I didn't plant that. She just turned up last year. Not pictured as I haven't got any pictures yet.

067. Fairy Spuds (Claytonia virginica) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet. She's a wee little spud in the ground.

068. Flowering Dogwood (Cornus floridus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet but she is slowly spreading out.

069. Plantain-Leaf Sedge (Carex plantaginea) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet. I should. It's a neat plant. Evergreen, too!

070. Virginia Bluebells (Mertensia virginica) One of the prettiest plants I've ever seen, from the shape and texture of the leaves to the purplish pink buds to the bright blue bell-shaped flowers. They're spring ephemerals, though, so they're long gone by now. But will emerge next spring!

071. Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis) Only lives for two years and reseeds itself. It's a common weed along sidewalks, but its flowers glow yellow in the evening and often remain in bloom at night.

072. Squirrel Corn (Dicentra canadensis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet. The leaves are really cute, though.

073. Large Toothwort (Cardamine maxima) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

074. Wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens) Not pictured as I haven't got any pictures yet.

075. Great Burnet (Sanguisorba officinalis) A cultivar, not sure which one. I'll get the wild type if/when I can.

076. American Plum (Prunus americana) I was not expecting her to flower this year! Hopefully she will next year too, and without aphids this time so I can have some plums. :)

077. Smooth Aster (Symphyotrichum laeve) So like I said, I do think New England asters are the prettiest of this genus, but smooth asters are very nice in their own way. Tender bluish leaves, and delicate light purple flowers.

078. Sweet Grass (Hierochloe odorata) Not pictured as I haven't got any pictures yet. She only flowered one year. Hasn't since. I won't miss a photo next time.

079. Nodding Onion (Allium cernuum) What's better than pretty flowers? Tasty pretty flowers!

080-081. Swamp Rose Mallow (Hibiscus moscheutos) Two different cultivars and the red one has died, but I did get my hands on the wild type! That will hopefully bloom this year.

082. Stiff Sunflower (Helianthus pauciflorus subrhomboideus) Holds her own against the much more aggressive Nuttall's sunflower. Sometimes called beautiful sunflower. I don't know how one decides which species of a very showy genus gets that name, but I guess she won out.

083. Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) Another one that was hard to choose a photo of. You just hardly believe they're real!

084. Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris) I planted her where there's a drip from the eavestrough so she can get very wet when it rains. :) She is not a marigold but instead part of the buttercup family.

085. Nuttall's Sunflower (Helianthus nuttallii) Whenever I am expressing frustration about sunflowers, it is almost always this species. lol Very beautiful but very aggressive.

086. Larkspur Violet (Viola pedatifida) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

087. White Turtlehead (Chelone glabra) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

088. Small Sundrops (Oenothera perennis) Not quite as intensely yellow as some of her relatives but still very bright.

089. Bigleaf Aster (Eurybia macrophylla) You generally grow her for foliage rather than her flowers, but flowering she is! Very drought-tolerant, but spreads more readily in less harsh conditions.

090. Bride's Feathers (Aruncus dioicus) Southern Ontario and surrounding area's evolution really went off on the lacy white flowers, and this species' flowers might be the laciest of them all.

[maidenofmice]

The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake.

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

Come hither, the dances are done,

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,

To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate;

The red rose cries, *She is near, she is near;'

And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;'

The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'

And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet;

Were it ever so airy a tread.

My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthy bed;

My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead;

Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.

[excerpt from Lord Tennyson‘s Maud I, XXII.]

So i was briefly exposed to this poem in an art history seminar on the Victorian Era a few months ago, and because I am totally normal, all I could think about was how well it fit Aki on at least two layers. One: the entire linking of Maud with flowers, especially the rose, for obvious reasons works so so well. Especially the title „Queen Rose of the Rosebud Garde of Girls“ makes so much sense. And the second layer is a little deeper but also totally supported by my own confirmation bias. Maud is described to be deceptively beautiful but incredibly cold looking, with a stern expression and a complexion that makes her appear almost dead. I haven‘t read the entire poem down to detail but from what I could gather, the lyrical protagonist falls in love with her (and grows increasingly obsessed) after a disagreement between their fathers lead to his father‘s death, so at the beginning he tries to get back at Maud‘s father through her, but ends up being bewitched by her in the process, eventually dueling and killing her brother etc. etc. it‘s all very Victorian. Maud is mostly passive in this, never actively described to do anything and yet she is said to be both the best thing in the lyrical protagonist‘s life while at the same time being his demise.

Retrospectively one could assume that both of these things are not inherent to her character and just qualities assigned to her by the men in her life. In the Victorian era there was almost a popular belief that there were two opposing kinds of women: femmes fragiles and femme fatales, the first kind being dependent and almost sickly but on the other hand sweet and kind and docile, while the femme fatale as in popular media today is independent yet violent and oftentimes promiscuous.

It‘s an interesting duality that I see in Aki in a way (helped by the image of roses, y‘know, they‘re beautiful flowers with delicate blossoms but also piercing thorns which the show uses actively to characterize this duality in Aki) , but in a way where it has always been decided for her instead of by her. She‘s violent at the start because that is the side of hers that is fostered by Divine and towards the end of the show her caring nature shines through instead. Interestingly enough though, she is less independent when in her „femme fatale“ stage, which is really just her anger and pain towards abandonment as a young teen not being dealt with properly. She was never a true femme fatale to begin with and neither has she ever been and will ever be a femme fragile. She‘s just Aki, with both all the hurt she‘s had to experience but just as much all the times she got to experience genuine happiness, a lot of which comes from being taking care of by and caring for her friends.

There are a lot more thoughts in my brain about how women were characterized in literature throughout the decades, using the image of the rose — a sort of de-humanization of the woman and at the same time a personification of nature as woman. We talked about this extensively in another seminar on nature songs but that would exceed ALL limits on this post.

So instead just take this little drawing I made of my Queen Rose. She enables me to do things in my art I never knew I could do.

[danse--macabre]

OC tag game

thank you for @fay-run for the tag! tagging @waterdhaviancheesecake @gribbo @sixteenstrikes and @ineadhyn

NAME: Ch'lakhou

NICKNAME: There's none, really (they refuse to any shortening of Ch'lakhou, and it's not an easily shortened name by design). Post-canon SOME people are allowed to call them Jess or Jessa. This list of people is very short.

HEIGHT: 5'0"

GENDER: "I don't know and I don't particularly care"

ORIENTATION: bisexual, in a hasn't-really-thought-about-it-much, "I'll go for whatever" way (read: they don't really care about gender, but has to be capable of being mean to them AND/OR snapping them in half for them to be interested. I'd say 'bonus if larger than them', but this isn't really hard to achieve, they are not large.)

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Baldurian "gith". By which, Bhaal's super nasty OC version of a gith that has extra teeth, extra pointy claws, has luminous eyes, can grow a tail, originally has tits (accidental oversight lol), and is a foot shorter than normal for some reason. They are Baldurian to the core though.

FAVORITE FRUIT: blood oranges :)

FAVORITE SEASON: summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: is not a huuuuge plant person but definitely warms to flowers over the game. to the extent that when Astarion claims flowers are gaudy, the part of their brain titled 'agrees with Astarion's deliberately provocative opinions because it's funny to see how people react' goes on pause and they catch themselves saying "Hey wait, hang on–". anyway, I think their favourites are Larkspur and Hyacinth. If pushed, though, they'd probably just get succulent plants, and kill them anyways. Not a gardener, shall we say!

FAVORITE SCENT: Cinnamon & Mandarin

COFFEE, TEA OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, 100%.

AVG HOURS OF SLEEP: They and sleep do not historically get on for Durge Reasons and they have trouble staying asleep. I'm going to say around 6, even though they need a full 8.

DOGS OR CATS: They thought they were a dog person, but both in terms of temperament as a person and preference as an owner? Cats.

DREAM TRIP: 1. Somewhere warm 2. A good bar/tavern nearby 3. (Optional) A beach.

Astarion will also be there (non-negotiable, do not separate them) so the conditions have to be tolerable to him (which reduces the number of places they can visit by 80%, in part because of vampirism and in part because he's fussy).

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Probably at least three. They sleep in a nest like arrangement. How they do this with three blankets is somewhat questionable.

RANDOM FACT: They can roll a joint perfectly.

[larkspurclan]

❂ STARTING LORE / Goldenkit's age: 0 moons

Moon 1 - Greenleaf

"In the beginning, there was fire.

Nobody knew how it started, or where it came from. All they could think about was the heat, the flames, and their clanmates' helpless yowls.

One cat was braver than the others. Their spotted fur covered in ash, they trotted to the edge of the forest. Around them, everything was chaos, but they kept calm. Like a cool breeze, they pressed onward.

Finally, they leapt up onto a tall rock,

and let out a powerful, loud screech, that could surely be heard all the way up in Starclan: THE RAIN WILL COME, AND THE FLAMES WILL BOW BEFORE US!

Just then, the sound of thunder rumbled from the sky. A drop of water hit the ground, followed by another. Rain started showering the meadow, putting out the relentless flames.

Like magic, Larkspur’s started growing from the scorched earth, their purple petals unfolding gracefully.

The spotted cat watched as the once-dead ground came alive again, the vibrant flowers spreading in waves, their roots reaching deep into the soil as if to anchor hope itself.

The clan cats, who had been cowering in fear, began to emerge from their hiding places, eyes wide with wonder.

The flames were fierce, but the rain had saved them. They had survived. And they felt stronger.

As the cats celebrated and frolicked in the rain, with the flowers, the spotted cat jumped down from the rock and walked back into the smoke,

never to be seen again."

“I didn’t like that fairy tale at all! Where did the spotted cat go?”

“That was no ‘fairy tale’, Pumpkinkit. That is how our clan came to be.”

Goldenkit squinted his eyes, trying to see through the blur, as he listened to the two cats squabble. He could only recognize one of them, his father, Rowanburn. Only a big blurry red shape in Goldenkit’s eyes.

The other was a smaller shape, white, with brown specks, that let out a squeaky noise that Goldenkit found very annoying. It was nothing like his father’s voice, which was deep and soothing.

“Right. Sorry. But what happened to the cat who saved us?” Pumpkinkit pressed.

Rowanburn went quiet for a moment, as if he was deep in thought. “It was such a long time ago, Pumpkinkit. No cat can remember. All we can do is look up to the stars, and thank them for their heroism.”

Goldenkit kept listening, as the vibrant rays of the morning sun filtering through the bramble entrance warmed up the nursery. Beside him, his littermates Blazekit and Lightkit snoozed somewhat peacefully. Blazekit's little paws occasionally kicking against Goldenkit's back.

Just then, another cat popped their head inside. Goldenkit immediately recognized the familiar scent, letting out a weak mew instinctively. It was Sunstar. Larkspurclan’s leader, Rowanburn’s mate and what was most important to Goldenkit, Blazekit and Lightkit - their mother.

“I’m so sorry I had to go, my little rays of light… I’ve been so busy this morning!” Sunstar purred in her sweet voice as she curled up next to the three, now whining kits, and Rowanburn.

Pumpkinkit sat alone, off to the side, with a sad glint in her eyes, trying to keep herself busy with a ball of moss.

“Tell me all about it.” Rowanburn said with a smile, giving his mate a few licks behind the ear.

Sunstar started with a deep sigh. “Well, first there was Gravelspot’s warrior ceremony. Which went great,” she said, snuggling closer to the kits. “And then there was that whole thing with Bubblecloud…”

Goldenkit listened to his mother’s ramblings, wondering about all the cats she mentioned. Who were they? Maybe he would meet them all one day.

But right now, he was still a tiny kitten, snuggled next to his family in the nursery, eyelids growing heavy, not a care in the world.

This is love, Goldenkit thought to himself and fell back to sleep.

“Your journey begins, young one. I hope you are ready.”

///

Gravelpaw is granted the name Gravelspot and honored for their insight.

Bubblepaw is granted the name Bubblecloud, and they are now a full medicine cat of the clan.

Bubblecloud is caught outside the clan's territory.

[revvethasmythh]

Random-ass fic question: Of all the dialogue you've published so far, what is your favorite line/exchange/monologue? What is it about that dialogue that you enjoy most? Was there anything notable about the process to come up with it?

Did I just go through ALL of my published fics scouring them for favorite dialogue? 100%, absolutely I did. But, ironically, my answer is actually from the most recent fic I published, which was a holiday themed Gale/Durge piece I wrote back in December.

I suppose the context of the moment is important, in that Durge is having trouble adjusting to mundane life after everything and Gale is seeking advice from Jaheira about this. My favorite published dialogue is Jaheira's monologue from the end of that fic (that first dialogue is from Gale):

“So what do I do?” Jaheira shrugged, her voice uncommonly gentle. “You find space for her. Space for her to try and to fail. Space for her to experiment and to grow. I was growing larkspur recently—they’re beautiful flowers, but, like anything, they require care. Full sun, moist soil, and mine grew to be quite tall, so they required a stake to give them support.” Her hands opened and closed and she stared into the corner of the room, as if searching for the right words. “Living things love to grow. All living things can grow into something beautiful, I believe, as long as you treat them right and give them the support they need to keep going. But the growing itself? That’s for them to do. You want my advice? Be her sun. Keep your hand steady at her back. Find her the space to grow and the means to do so. Then you can only hope you will watch her flourish.” She tipped her head from side to side. “I don’t know how much that will help, but that’s what you get when you ask for wizened advice, yes?”

I don't know, something especially about "living things love to grow" stuck with me after writing that. I actually, genuinely think about it frequently, as if it was advice given to me by Jaheira and not something I thought up on my own. Also, I think I love it because it feels very in character? I finished it and I was like "yes! THAT was a successful representation of her character and something she absolutely WOULD say."

I WISH there was something notable about the process of writing this. Well, actually I'd written 7k of that fic in one day all at once because I was trying to meet a deadline to publish it, so by the time I got to this I was a little delirious and I actually think it helped me channel Jaheira because I just was not overthinking it. If delirium can give you anything, it's the ability to not overthink what you're doing and just follow your instincts to put the right things on paper.

Also a bonus favorite UN-published dialogue below the cut because it's funny and also I just like to add bonus things whenever I talk about my writing:

This is a conversation that never ended up getting published because I lose momentum on the piece (I might return to it one day, still, but for now it's on indefinite hiatus). But every time I see this in my notes it just makes me cackle. Like, yeah, this IS a conversation Beau and Veth would have

Beau threw her head back and growled in frustration. “I know you love your husband. But are you happy?” Silence fell. Assurances sprang to Veth’s lips, but for the first time she found she couldn’t force them out. To her complete humiliation, she felt tears start to gather in her eyes. “Beau,” she began haltingly. “I-I don’t know what to do.” “Oh, shit,” Beau’s hands were planted on the table, fingers splayed wide and rigid. “You’re crying. Oh gods. I’ve literally never seen you cry.” “I don’t know what to do, Beau! Oh my gods, I’m crying.” She paused to swat at her wet cheeks in disbelief. “Oh shit, oh fuck, okay, come here.” Beau practically vaulted over the table to get next to Veth, throwing her arms around her and pulling her close. “I don’t cry!” Veth wailed, letting herself fall into Beau’s arms. “What did you do to me?” “I don’t know! I just asked you a question. Shit, I wish Caduceus was here. He would know what to do.” “Caduceus? I don’t want to talk about this with Caduceus!” “Okay, cool, cool, cool, good thing he’s not here, then.” Beau patted Veth’s back and tightened her grip on her. “Let it out, Veth. Just let it all out.” “You’re so bad at this.” “Hey, I’m trying! And, no, I’m not bad at this. I give great hugs.” Veth sniffled pathetically, nuzzling her head into the crook of Beau’s shoulder. “I bet Yasha gives better hugs. What if I want Yasha to hug me instead?” “Veth,” Beau’s breath hissed in through gritted teeth. “I know you’re going through a crisis right now, but I will punt your ass right back to Nicodranas.”

[rayofsunshinc]

ASKS ANSWERED

@aintashes sent 🌺 but instead of putting it in aaron's hair, daryl just gives the flower to him ( and maybe it's in return for the one he put in daryl's hair earlier ). he's much too reserved to try and tuck the stem behind aaron's ear, so into his hand it goes. Send me 🌺 to place a flower in my muse’s hair (or apparently break the rules and hand them one).

This had started because Aaron was admiring the flowers that were growing alongside the trail - light bluish-purple phlox, yellow milkweed, dark purple larkspur, and light purple wild geraniums dancing in the glow of the sun. It was just too tempting when he straightened up from plucking one stem to turn to Daryl and tuck it behind his ear. Truly, it made him feel absolutely warm inside that Daryl would even entertain him on that. And he liked the way the delicate flowers looked alongside Daryl's expression, his unsure little touch of a smile.

But as they continued along the trail, it was Aaron's turn to be silent for a beat as he was handed a flower by Daryl. He took it, a warmth spreading through his chest again when their fingers brushed and he met Daryl's gaze.

He tucked the flower in his front shirt pocket, then reached out to give Daryl's shoulder a gentle squeeze in another, yes, gesture of affection. Daryl was absolutely one of his favorite people. And as a warm blush spread over his cheeks, he was considering how maybe Daryl was his favorite person (after Gracie, but that was a given). ❝C'mon, let's ... pick some more.❞

[howyouloveyourdragon]

...the heart bestowed - jacaerys velaryon x tyrell reader - is still being worked at (it's turning out a lot longer than planned) so i'm not able to post yet but should be out tomorrow

in the meantime here is a snippet and tell me down below or in my askbox if you would like to be tagged ♡

120 AC. When Two Foes Begin

Y/n tilts her head as her eyes take in the strange boy’s dishevelled appearance. Her lids turn her eyes to slits. “You have a leaf in your hair.” She comments. Usually this would be a compliment–the girl probably loved nature more than a Targaryen, their dragon. She threads the court girls’ hair with flowers every morrow, which she is doing at this sensitive moment as her fingers peel through pale strands and embed larkspur into the crevices. Her own locks are braided with daisies though he cannot comprehend how she managed to fit them all in with the sheer density of it. The boy with brown hair rolls his lips into his mouth, bites down and frowns at her. Hair had been a topic he had been criticised upon often. He should not be surprised that the little Tyrell girl thought the same. “Better a leaf than a spider.” He snaps briskly, all too used to defending the castle of stone in where his insecurity lies. The girl gasps and shoots her hands into her own locks as quick as an arrow flies. Perhaps if she were not here then he would be able to occupy his time flying arrows instead of pretending not to be as bored as a dormouse. Her wide eyes turn on Helaena as Jacaerys begins cackling. “Hela, you promised!” She exclaims, the Targaryen princess returning her shock. “You told me they were still in your room!” “They are sleeping.” Helaena’s soft voice melodies no louder than that of the very dormouse skittering through Jacaerys’ very soul. The boy sighs. 

“Are you a child? You are acting as if you are one. How fearless.” Jacaerys snickers then smirks slyly. “I am willing to bet five dragon coins that you are the younger, aren’t you? Posing as the elder to attract my aunt’s attention.” The way her eyes narrow and settle their attention back onto him only heightens his entertainment. He intends to quip once more but a familiar supercilious voice drifts closer and he rolls his eyes. “And had I not known you, I would have presumed you to be the youngest of your line and yet the Lady seems all too aware of her status. Something that you clearly lack, nephew.” Either child turns to look at the Targaryen picking at his nails to pretend the conflict is not anxiety-ridden. That jumps an idea into the almost-heir’s mind. “Perhaps it is genetics then, seeing as Daeron’s sword can strike thrice the battle yours would. I could presume that–” “You are both foolish.” Y/n interrupts and her hand dips to take Helaena’s. Squeezing. “We are leaving. Helaena is to show me the library. Good day.” It is swift that she leaves, Jacaerys’ aunt trailing behind her slightly as she giggles. The boys however seem unable to dispel the attention she directs, staring long after she is gone. “A shame your wife and yourself are not yet accustomed to one another.” Aemond smirks with only the slightest twitch of his lip. Jacaerys wrinkles his nose. “Gross, what are you speaking of? She is not my wife, she is an insufferable girl who makes my eyes sore.” Jacaerys mutters then grimaces at the mere thought. His uncle doesn’t utter a noise but they both understand the growing gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps not yet but she will be. You should know how quickly alliances are forged. Brother of mine own is to marry our sister in the growing years, perhaps you can share together your day of nuptials and all that comes alongside it. I am sure that he would delight in this revelation himself.” “You speak as though you are excused from this fate.” “That is because I am. You forget I am a second-son.” The Targaryen prince ignores the Velaryon’s grumbles. 

[thesungod]

Funniest part about Riordan's portrayal of Hyacinthus to me is how heavily he's associated with the hyacinth flower. He's holding it in art and it's the color of his eyes and they grow in Cabin 7 and Apollo hugs them... but the modern day hyacinth isn't the flower his myth is talking about: the real hyacinth is actually the larkspur. They're similar (both have the curls and violet hues Hyacinthus was said to have) but only the larkspur has the specific petal markings the myth refers to- they resemble the Ancient Greek word for "alas". It's backed up by the fact that Apollo's sacred stone, which was also meant to honor Hyacinthus, was lapis lazuli. The Pythia was required to wear a necklace made of it, and it matches the color of larkspurs, not hyacinths. Rome interpreted the stone to be sapphire and the flower to be iris, since the Greek term "hyacinthine" is used to describe curls and/or a deep blue-violet hue, so it technically fits. I don't know why everyone got it wrong but I needed Apollo in THO to look around and go hm. These are NOT the hyacinths I made for Hyacinthus

i know you’re joking

[albatris]

oh hey i finally got around to answering your ask about MY alex, therefore, tell me about YOUR Alex my friend who Also Has an Alex Vampire :D

Hiiii Larkspur and thank you for the ask!

It would be my absolute pleasure to tell you about my Alex :D

Its full name is Alexis Alexander Anders..... did its parents think that would be funny? Maybe. I definitely do. It's 31 years old and it's been a vampire for 15 years, following an unfortunate accident. Alex uses he/him pronouns for the general population and it/its for very special dear friends! It's aromantic and in a queerplatonic relationship with its best friend, one Quinn Cooper, and they bicker like an old married couple. Its tarot card is Temperance!

Alex is a personal injuries lawyer! That's right! It has a day job! Very dicey business for a vampire with a fatal sunlight allergy. In winter and autumn, it works in Melberra City, Melberra, where the weather is cold and dreary and less likely to result in death. In summer and spring, it returns to Darwelaide, Quinn's home base of operations, and a nocturnal lifestyle. It mostly spends the warmer months chilling with Quinn, tending to its greenhouse, and doing online freelance work of various kinds c:

Where to begin with Alex's personality? Hmmmmmm. Alex is extremely kind-hearted and gentle! It's also recklessly strong-willed, infuriatingly stubborn, and rigidly moral to a fault. Alex is a firm, diplomatic person who loves a good debate, but shies away from physical violence of any kind and hates any situation where it's forced to rely on its vampiric speed and strength. Or its vampiric anything, to be honest.

(Fun fact, though! Alex is the only ordinary vampire in the story capable of using its blood for hypnotism purposes! It's also the only vampire in the story, ordinary or otherwise, aside from the centre of the Garble itself, capable of using its blood to heal others, not just itself!)

Alex loves people! But also dislikes Being Around people. It cares deeply about others and enjoys making a positive difference in other people's lives. But when it comes to friendship, Alex is an intensely private person who's difficult to get close to. It's not standoffish or cold! It's friendly and warm! It just values solitude and prefers to keep itself to itself. It prefers to Care About People from a distance, be it a professional distance, an emotional distance, or simply Alex doing kind things to help out people in ways that can never be traced back to it. It's closed off when it comes to talking about its personal life and has very few friends by choice. Befriending Alex is a task that requires Commitment and Dedication.

It can sometimes come across as overly sombre and serious, but it is a huge dork, especially around kids. Alex knows magic tricks! Not sneaky hypnotic vampire magic tricks! Card tricks! Sleight of hand magic! It loves busting these out when it has to deal with kids for a case. Kids either go "oh this guy is a LOSER" and are thus no longer intimidated by it, or they go :O!!!!!!! MAGIC. Either way is good.

Alex also adores plants and has a wildly impressive greenhouse full of herbs and flowers and veggies and other goodies because Hobbies Are Good For One's Health! Alex can often be found scurrying around Quinn's various social circles with boxes of vegetables frantically trying to pan them off to people because it grows way more than it can realistically use. Which is part of how Alex and Nat initially bond, because Nat loves to cook for people and Alex loves to share ingredients with people :3

In terms of vampirism, Alex has been a vampire the longest of the main gang, and despite this, is the most """"human"""" of the bunch. Which is to say, Alex can easily appear human in almost any context aside from staggeringly extreme levels of stress or starvation, and is the best at hiding its vampiric traits. It took a lot of extremely hard work and practice! Most vampires are prone to a lot of involuntary changes that give them away, but Alex has such tight control of its emotional state and instincts, it's very impressive :D It has spent a lot of time finding ways to "redirect" the Garble so as not to give its vampire status away.

At this point in its life, Alex murders almost exclusively awful abhorrent as-near-irredeemable-as-possible human predators that human society is never going to hold properly accountable, that ideally, though not always, 1) have had every opportunity to not be the fucking worst, and 2) have escaped any form of proper legal justice or consequences for their actions.

It's a complicated, difficult and highly-specific food source that requires a lot of traveling, planning, money and other resources... it was completely out of reach for Alex for a long time, but nowadays they have Quinn, who would quite literally do anything to help it, and Quinn is also Fucking Loaded, so..... ya. Mostly, Alex picks the targets, and Quinn just kind of goes ":D <3 okay whatever resources you need I will give to you. mwah. love u bby you're doing amazing"

Alex doesn't consider itself, like... judge, jury and executioner, yeah? Like, this is not a mission for Justice, this is not a cool vigilante thing Alex gets a kick out of. Alex didn't become a vampire and go "sick, now I can take matters into my own hands".... this is an extremely tired, stressed, scared person in an awful traumatising situation making the best and only real choice it has available because the alternative is to die. And this is an alternative Alex considers quite frequently! Because, like, yeah, these are awful, violent, cruel people, and killing them will ultimately save a lot of other people from harm, but taking a life is still a huge horrifying thing to have to deal with. And this was never the way Alex wanted to make a difference in the world :(((

Alex Does Not Like Being A Vampire. It's constantly having ten moral crises at once about the nature of its condition and the things it's forced to do, and frequently spirals into depression and suicidal ideation... It mourns the human life it had to leave behind and the human future that's been stolen from it. It tends to guilt spiral no matter how atrocious its victims are, even if it wouldn't hold other people to nearly the same moral standard. But yeah. Yeah. Mostly what Alex wants out of life is to live a quiet peaceful life in harmony with the world, helping through extending kindness and not violence, and causing as little harm as possible. This is not the sort of life usually affordable to vampires, unfortunately.

Oh, and - while most vampires think of the Garble as some kind of urban legend, like. like bigfoot. lmao. Alex is firmly in the "the Garble definitely exists and it's a hivemind and it hates me personally" camp, and it's correct! Once, during a particularly angry time in its life, it basically went "yeah I'm not playing your stupid Garbley games anymore" and fucked off to an abandoned house in the wilderness, isolating itself from society and refusing to feed on humans. It survived almost three months of near-constant agony, mind-manipulation, starvation and gaslighting from the Garble. Alex is gentle and kind. Alex is also hardcore as fuck.

Anyway, this has been ALEX FACTS with albatris, I hope you've enjoyed!! :D :D Thank u for reading <3

[sixminutestoriesblog]

larkspur

It's July and, depending on which hemisphere you're in, summer has definitely arrived for some of us. Heat, long days, afternoon thunderstorms if we're lucky and the growing season is in full swing, with fields and gardens in full growing swing. Canada and the US both celebrate their birthdays this month. So, let's talk about this month's birth flower.

July has two birth flowers, as it should. The first July flower is the waterlily. Associated with water nymphs in ancient Greece, the waterlily doesn't seem to have much more when it comes to folklore. Lotus are from a different flower family than waterlilies so it doesn't feel proper to bring their stories into this one.

Instead let's talk about the larkspur.

Larkspur grows throughout the Northern Hemisphere and in some of the higher mountains in Africa. The flower is so widespread that there are close to 300 different versions of it. And all three hundred of those flowers types is highly toxic to humans. How highly toxic? For a great deal of the population even coming into skin contact with the plants can lead to rashes, swelling, itching and blisters on the skin. Swallowing any part of the plant can cause muscle twitching or weakness, vomiting, an irregular pulse, paralysis and even, in extreme cases, death.

Hey, happy birthday.

On the upside, or another upside if you want to look at it that way, bumblebees and other pollinators love larkspur and rabbits and deer won't be bothering that part of your garden if you grow it. Larkspur is poisonous to cows but apparently sheep and goats find it delicious. The larkspur is actually part of the buttercup family. It's flowers can also be crushed and mixed with alum to create a beautiful blue ink, for the next time your pen runs out in the middle of poetry writing. Also some Native American tribes used larkspur to make dye (wear gloves if you're bent on mixing this. Or better yet, watch an instructional video first).

When it comes to the language of flowers, larkspur represents youthfulness, sincerity, an open heart and strong bonds of love and dedication. Pink larkspur is for fickleness or young love, blue is for grace and respectability, white for joy, innocence and new beginnings and purple is for first love, ambition and royalty.

According to legend, when Ajax the Greater killed himself during the Trojan war, a red flower sprang up where his blood had fallen with letters on it that represented the sound of grieving cries 'ai'. Some legends list the hyacinth as that flower but others list the larkspur as the flower mourning the hero's fall. The Romans and Greeks associated the flowers with Neptune/Poseidon because it resembles the nose of a dolphin. The Native American Pawnee said that when Dream Woman cut holes in the sky to look down at them, some of the clippings fell down and became larkspur. In medieval Italy, larkspur were created by the mingled blue blood and venom of a slain dragon. Victorian England thought the larkspur could ward off ghosts and vengeful spirits and often planted it by their doors to keep evil away. The flower is also supposed to be able to ward against both lightning and witches. Larkspur was once a folk remedy against lice.

So there you go. Beautiful July. Look - but don't touch.

[shivunin]

💐🍼☁️✂️💚 for everyone! (Unless that's too much which fair please feel free to pick and choose)

basjkfbi hahahaa Thanks for the ask, Lilou! <3

I'm going to answer this under the cut because I'm doing all five of them (leaving Adahlena and Ilriane out of this, as usual; all seven would have been too many).

(OC Emoji Asks List)

💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?

Arianwen Tabris: Wild tansy, bay leaf, aconite (wolfsbane), dragonwort, and blue pimpernel. What a delight to finally make a bouquet for someone who wants everyone else to choke and die! In order: I declare war against you, I change but in death, misanthropy (and again i say: what a move to send someone literal poison so they know you don't like them), horror, and change. As a city girl, I think Wen is a bit suspicious of flowers and plants in general, so idk that she has a favorite (other than loving the dandelions that grow in the cracks of the road).

Maria: Arbor vitae, red chrysanthemums, red poppies, honeysuckle, and white larkspur. Unchanging friendship, love, consolation, generous and devoted affection, and lightness/levity. Going for the classic scarlet/white combo with hers. Her favorite used to be honeysuckle (her father showed her how to eat the center as a treat and she's never forgotten), but later she's very partial to poppies (for, you know. no particular reason c:).

Elowen: Canary grass, celandine, swamp magnolia, purple pansies, christmas rose, and a sprig of weeping willow. Perseverance, joys to come, perseverance again, thoughts, relief of anxiety, and mourning. Oh, Elowen my overthinking beloved. She loves willow trees most (willows are her Thing), and I think she would enjoy the blossoms too (they look really fluffy).

Emmaera: Lavender (of course!), vervain, elfroot, forget-me-nots, rosemary, lupines, and goat's rue. (starting from vervain) Enchantment, healing, true love, remembrance, voraciousness/imagination, and reason. Lavender is her favorite, hands down, but I contest the Victorian flower language meaning (distrust) and exchange it for respite.

Salshira: Sorrel, holly (herb), cranberries, orange and yellow daisies, spanish jasmine, orange ranunculus, and fallen maple leaves. Affection, enchantment, cure for heartache, beauty, sensuality, radiant charm, and reserve. Going for the deep red/white/orange/brown combo here, since she's very fall-themed. Salshira really likes daisies, actually, and would be most charmed by a kind of loosely arranged handful of them instead of an elegant bouquet.

🍼 BABY BOTTLE - what are their thoughts on children?

Arianwen: Loves children, has no interest in making any of her own. Would kill anyone who hurt a child without question or hesitation. Vigil's Keep acquires a variety of orphans during her tenure as Warden Commander and they're sort of collectively raised by the Wardens (though of course she locates an actual tutor to educate them). For the first of them, Amethyne (the little girl you find in the alienage whose mom dies during the Cousland origin), Wen acts as a kind of close aunt (though Zev winds up regarding her as his kid, more or less).

Maria: Loves kids, wants a million of her own. She thinks the wonder of discovery that children still have is a way of feeling young again and has always wanted a huge family.

Elowen: Likes kids in theory, but struggles in practice. The idea of having children is generally foreign to her (though I do have one AU where it happens, for cultural reasons rather than personal preference).

Emmaera: Likes kids, but not very familiar with them because she didn't spend much time with kids her age when she was growing up. Winds up having two children of her own, both of them unplanned, and loves them to pieces.

Salshira: Likes kids, because they're pretty much always asking odd questions that having nothing to do with you or them. Basically the ideal for Salshira, who does not want to talk about herself. Never thought about having a family of her own until she fell in love, ends up wanting to give her children the kind of love and acceptance she never received as a kid. I haven't settled on how many she has, but at least one (Hauen).

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

Arianwen: Sings to all her animals when they are upset or sick; has a pretty good singing voice, actually.

Maria: Extremely ticklish. Fenris finds this out on accident and the squeal she makes is so surprising that he falls off the bed trying to dodge.

Elowen: Bull said he was into the way dawnstone looks, so she chiseled every little piece she could find out of the hillsides and set the scouts to looking for deposits just so she could custom-order a set of pink armor for him.

Emmaera: It's not a new headcanon, but she hides little notes for Cullen all over his quarters (and later, the manor). Some are simple "I love you"s and others are more specific or practical. She loves surprises and likes giving him simple, sweet surprises as part of his day.

Salshira: Remembers all her friends' favorite foods, colors, songs, etc. and arranges for them to be on hand when they're down or when there's something to celebrate.

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

Arianwen: So easily. It doesn't take much for Wen to pull the plug, except for a very small group of people she's collected as hers. It would take something monumental for her to cut off someone in her inner circle (Zev, Alistair, and Morrigan would have to do something extremely out of character to make it happen, for example--though I do think Morrigan telling Wen she ought to kill the alienage dwellers for a power boost might have done it. Luckily, she didn't come along for that mission). For everyone else, she is all too happy to cut them off (sometimes, you know, literally).

Maria: Maria has a really hard time letting go, so something really drastic would have to happen for her to be done with someone she considered a close friend. Um. Blowing up most of a city would just about do it, I think.

Elowen: I answered this for her here c:

Emmaera: Emma is extremely logical about her interpersonal relationships. I don't think she'd jump to cut someone off, but her trust is hard to earn and easier to lose. She wouldn't cut someone off entirely unless she thought the negative sides outweighed the positives (she never really forgave Blackwall, for example, but let him stay with the Inquisition until they didn't need him anymore). If someone showed a repeated willingness to hurt innocents or others she cares for, that would do it.

Salshira: Likewise, Salshira has a really hard time letting anyone in, so anyone close to her would have to wade through several layers of obfuscation before they could actually know the real her. This is a defense mechanism, but it also means that she has lots of time to push people away if she's wary of them. Anyone she's really close with is someone she wouldn't let go of easily; she cherishes her found family. Again, it would have to be something pretty heinous or out of character to cut someone off.

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make your oc feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

Arianwen: Food is at the top of the list, for sure. Especially something unusual or made especially for her, but she's not very picky. She also likes loose physical contact (leaning against someone, for example) which she can easily get out of if she wants.

Maria: Being held is number one. Maria is always reaching out for other people, and those people reaching back makes her feel fulfilled and safe. She is also a very textural person, so soft, fluffy things bring her comfort, too. Lying on a soft bed in her silk robe while someone (cough cough) holds her is her ideal situation.

Elowen: Quiet company and hot tea. Elowen needs to process before she can talk when she's upset, but she really doesn't want to be alone. When she's ready, someone who will listen to her without judgment is crucial. Being somewhere high in the air with a decent overlook also helps.

Emmaera: Putting things in order makes her feel more comforted. She doesn't want help, but she does want company. When she's thinking or upset, Emma will clean and organize, and by extension her surroundings being reasonably neat is comforting to her. She also finds sunlight and a concrete task to complete comforting, so she gardens in the spring/summer and rakes or shovels snow in the fall and winter. Someone talking things through with her and weighing the pros and cons is comforting.

Salshira: Physical touch for sure. It's the first and easiest way she has to express herself and it's the first thing she looks for when she's upset. Being warm and wrapped in a blanket is second. Also soup---soup is her big comfort food (me too tbh).