#also why are cornflowers like that

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

IVE DONE IT.

this took me like a week to make and its FINALLY DONE.

watch bad b oy halo have a good time. click.

(its a bit slow to start dw it gets going)

[kheyys-worms]

Plucking away at your happiness.

-

Another fic fanart, this time it's inspired by another @merakiui's masterpiece: His Blueberry Eyes 💙💙 Go check the fic out! But do read the warnings first cause, boy... ngl, this one's heavy--

[sleep-nurse]

Cornflower

[the-laughing-lunatic]

All 9 mercs w/ a reader who got them flowers! (PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC)

(I recently got to 20 followers on this blog! :D I wanted to do a little something to celebrate that, so I grinded and wrote headcanons for all nine of the mercs. It, uh, took a while so I hope you enjoy!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

☆Scout - Daisies☆

Legitimately starts tearing up

Tries to blame it on the flowers

“I ain’t cryin’ I- I’m just allergic to flowers.”

“Oh, sorry, I could just return them then—”

“What? You’d hafta take ‘em out of my dead hands, I’m keepin’ em.”

Isn’t a huge flower guy but the fact you went out of your way to get them for him makes him feel all warm inside

Reminds him of when his mom would pick flowers to give to him after his Little League games

☆Soldier - Poppies☆

Would aggressively compliment you

“THESE ARE DAMN BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS MAGGOT!! I FEEL IMMENSELY LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!!”

Seriously though, he does

Since he was never allowed in the military he always felt jealous of the soldiers who got special flowers

But he wasn’t now, because you respected him

And if you did, that was enough

☆Pyro - Sunflowers☆

ABSOLUTELY LOVES THEM

Well, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the flappy hands and excited noises give you a decent idea

Will just spend hours holding them in their hands and looking at the flowers like they’re the most beautiful thing in the world

Draws sunflowers in all their drawings now

If they accidentally burned them they would get so sad and give you flowers back as a form of apology

Make flower crowns with them. Do it. 

☆Demoman - Bluebells☆

Like most of the mercs, he’s never gotten flowers before 

And he has no clue how to take care of them

“Thank ye, but, would ye consider showin’ me how to take care of them?”

Help this man out

Please

He would probably put them just on a table with no vase or water without you

Y’all would put the flowers in an empty bottle of scrumpy <3

☆Heavy - Violas☆

“Little merc has present for Heavy?” 

Surprised, but not so much as Sniper

Honestly the most chill about it out of all the mercs

He has sisters so he knows how to take care of flowers but he’s never been the one to receive them

Would press the flowers once the start to wilt and make bookmarks so he can keep them forever (sap)

And if he’s more protective of you during matches, who's to say the reason why?

☆Engineer - Bluebonnets☆

He sticks to the practical side of things, so when you give him a bouquet of flowers he’s utterly perplexed

He’s flattered of course, and thanks you greatly for the gift because he’s a Texas boy raised with manners

But he’s not used to pretty things and…doesn’t quite know what to do with them

He puts them in a vase with water but he finds himself stopping his work to look at them

They didn’t solve a problem, they didn’t hold a purpose yet people–including him now–seemed to love them

Eventually gives up trying to find a reason for it and just accepts it as they’re just pretty

Even though solving questions like “what is beauty” was never his forte, he’d somehow found an answer for it

And it was…well, you.

(He’d also 100% make you a flower out of scrap metal for you bc he’s a gentleman)

☆Medic - Cornflowers/Drosera Spatulata Sundew☆

There’s two flowers that he’d like

Cornflowers are one of his favorites, specifically the white ones (they remind him of Archimedes)

Not just because they are national flowers of Germany, but he also appreciates their medicinal properties

But if you somehow got your hands on a Drosera Spatulata Sundew he’d be pocketing you for months afterwards

Is absolutely fascinated with carnivorous plants and you get him carnivorous flowers???

The most romantic (or just super cool if platonic) thing in the world to him

Isn’t a botanist but he’ll be in the medbay all the time now just observing it and its reactions

He’s not sleeping for a while

He’d try to create a serum for whatever flowers you got him so they’d stay as beautiful as they are forever :)

☆Sniper - Wildflowers☆

No one has ever gotten him flowers before so when you show up at his camper van with hand picked flowers wrapped in twine he’s surprised, to say the least

Finds it interesting how he walked past those same flowers everyday and never cared

But when you gave them to him they felt…special.

Awkwardly mumbles a ‘thanks mate’ to you

Keeps them in an (UNUSED I REPEAT UNUSED) jar in his van

Smiles everytime he sees them

☆Spy - Roses☆

We all know this man is an old-fashioned lover boy so ofc he loves roses

But he’s never on the receiving end of them

So none are ever good enough for his high standards

“Eugh, where did you buy these, the gas station?”

Similar to Scout that if you say you could return them he’d absolutely refuse

Secretly thinks it’s really sweet 

Doesn’t act any differently towards you afterwards when he’s with you

But you find multiple bouquets of roses in your room and a note that says “if you ever consider buying me flowers again, buy roses from these boutiques instead of the trash you had before.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(Putting in all the tags is another reason why I don't normally do all nine of them holy shit)

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

[apple-os]

i just really hate dandelions I'm gonna be real

they're everywhere and they're Bright Yellow and and just. no

this may or may not be to figure out which to sacrifice to a different texture (cherry leaves pile) bc i cant figure out how to change short grass (lazy) (if you know pls say)

if i forgot one shhh no i didnt lmao

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 6: Bkornblume

Welcome to entry six of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. Today's character is: Bkornblume!

Bkorn's got a funny nickname, since its just a mash-up of blue and kornblume. (cornflower) However, she's got quite the short yet nice story, so I'll at the very least make it worth. Lets get started.

Bkornblume is a German arcanist born in the 1980's, born on February 9th. While I have no direct understanding of her arcane skill, I can at distinct that her skill involves sound, and is able to hear smaller sounds (like whispers) that are usually left unheard in the bigger melody.

She's a spy who works under the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, known in English as the Minister of Security, or more commonly known as the "Stasi." They were the state security and secret police of East Germany, who placed eyes everywhere in the former state.

East Germany has been known for its oppressive rule and its insistence for uniformity. The Stasi were meant to maintain state authority at the time but it was notoriously known as being one of the most oppressive police states, overlooking the lives of the state's civilians with intense surveillance, torture, and intimidation.

Most will conform, some will not. Of course, Bkornblume was not one of the people who wanted to immerse in her part of the role in this era. She's merely a listener who does her job as one.

Bkornblume grew up in Berlin, becoming part of the Stasi and is well-known for her arcane skill. She doesn't enjoy this job very much, but she also does to some degree as she's a good listener. She'll leave a bit of unheard commentary about everything she'll hear.

Her daily life tends to be just her listening and transcribing, but it can be said that she enjoys distracting herself and tends to delay her travels to work to take in the scenery. She's also spied on too. But she feels that she would be more uncomfortable if there weren't any eyes on her.

At one point, she had purchased her scarf (and the elk brooch that came with it) in a shop that was closing down. While not remembering the price, it costed a month's salary "and a funny joke which was rarely heard in East Berlin."

Bkornblume is a conformed and optimistic individual. However, she holds a quiet rebellion in her heart, dreaming of a world where everyone can practice freedom of speech. But with a colourful dream far away because of the dull walls around her, she'll only ever do the little things that she could do in her job. Calling for help, making that commentary, but especially endlessly writing. Even then, she's aware that she can't change everything in one go, so she'll try step by step as she speaks out for others.

It can't be denied that Bkornblume spent most of her time "alone," but she enjoys having those eyes on her. She would have wondered if she were dead if not. Like I said earlier, she's greatly optimistic in everything she does, and even believes that she's some sort of "undiscovered radio host." She wishes to become one in the future to comfort others in late nights. Bkornblume hopes that she's at the very least observed and acknowledged.

She's also a greatly mundane and relaxed person, enjoying the simplicity of life and even interacting with simple "contraband" that never really seems to be harmful, like flowers.

Bkornblume finds admiration in the pieces of wildlife that bloomed from old cracks, identifying them time to time such as cornflowers and chrysanthemums. She'll always find some in the most niche places and will share where to find them.

The cornflowers—kornblume in German—are why she took up her current nickname, as she had wanted to distinguish herself from the "countless other unfeeling names" like SCH KA/#.

She empathizes with others greatly and wishes to help them directly, but she can never cross the monitor to take action now can she? She'll shift around the stories of other people in her reports, and no beneficiary ever thinks twice about it as her reports are detailed and easily convincing. Her kindness reaches quite far despite her ways of wanting to express it being a little unethical.

She'll hear anything and everything meant to be hidden away, but hopes for a free world and will choose to grant peace and freedom to the innocent and defiant against such oppressive control.

[aphpuffinchild]

since it's out i can finally post my piece for @hws-anthology as well as the timelapse for it. as is arguably all my hetalia work, it's a love letter to my friend @pyrrhocorax 's fic Sendlingur og Sandlóa - i'll ramble a bit about how much it means to me, as well as the symbolism i wormed into this piece below the read more :)

i originally had two pages planned for this piece, potentially more - the fic is a good 74k words long and certainly not light on scenes i could and wanted to pull from, but various things led into other various things and one page was all i could manage, so i tried to cram in what i could, so here's that (in a rough, somewhat arbitrary order of focal points)

the opening chapter! the car is a framing device for the piece as much as it is for the journey the characters will take following that first chapter, so i wanted to use the car window/shapes as a literal framing device in my drawing

joi, shaky at best in his sense of self, sees no reflection in the window, instead there's a silhouetted raven to signify the search he must go on to find it

while not perfectly transcribed by virtue of wonky (plus an extra) line(s), the notes coming from joi's headphones are the opening to the song sendlingur og sandlóa, the fic's namesake, which a loved one kindly transposed by ear for me for the purpose of this piece

in a similar vein, the stickers on joi's suitcase are of a purple sandpiper and a ringed plover, the birds after which the song is named - here they are as transparents and in their original colours

i wanted to create a sliiight impression that joi is the one knocking over the chessboard, representing his repeated rejections of it (both physically, and the things it represents)

the chess pieces were also chosen specifically! originally i was going to use a black rook and a white pawn to match chapter 41, but for the sake of having alternating colours and the rest of my metaphors working (iirc) i swapped those colours around. that, and i wanted to match chapter 13's white king and black pawn - the black pawn stuck, the white king was colour swapped for colour cohesion reasons like the other's. (visual contrast was important to me, but the white queen blending slightly into the sky was okay for symbolism reasons) (there was also black king, white rook from chapter 3, so it all worked out anyway - there's a lot of chess in this story and i only had space for so many pieces and colours, basically)

speaking of which, the black pawn is for joi (chapter 13), the white queen is for halle (someone who, from joi's perspective, can go anywhere, vs joi's pawn, someone to be used -> see chapter 35 and perspective).

the king piece is falling (but hasn't quite fallen) between halle and henrik (chapter 3, 7, 13, though i most clearly thought of 19)

the person in the top right corner is eduard! i desperately wanted to include him because i think he's deserved it, and i considered a lot of ways of working him in, but i think an ambiguous silhouette that isn't Quite part of the main picture works better narratively

note also that he's separated from the other's through a red curtain, to represent the iron curtain (naturally) i wanted it to match ber + tino's part in some way, to sorta emphasise their similar foundations despite being split apart across places

the flowers at eduard's window are placed and chosen purposefully as well! orange/red zinnia's outside (for familial ties, steadfastness, friendship and remembrance) for what eduard puts out in to the world, then lily-of-the-valley for tino and cornflower for him inside to show what he wants to hold close :)

halle and joi are the only characters with their eyes open - halle looks towards the viewer/author/reader/joi, while joi looks away all together. if you've read the fic (which i assume you have because i can't imagine this is interested to read otherwise) you probably don't need me to explain why that reflects their roles in the story

similarly, every character apart from the brothers is turned towards another in some way (eduard does not count when his flowers do, and his role in the story is based around that disconnect partially anyway) tino towards ber and eduard (and hana, i guess), ber towards tino, henrik to halle, halle to henrik (though he looks away - his values are elsewhere even when they are together). joi, at best, looks at his own reflection in the window

the colour scheme, while arbitrarily picked from gradient maps based on what i felt "fit" has been approved by the author as being very "SoS core"

finally, the poem on the note, chapter 46

all that being said, i can and will now talk about my personal relationship with SoS, so unless that interests you i imagine the post is done now! thank you for reading :)

the first comment i posted on SoS is dated 2nd November 2016 - logging into my old account i can see i bookmarked it on the 31st August that same year, so i can safely assume i first read or at least found it then. a month after my first comment, i posted another on a different account, pouring a few bits of my heart out and the author responded! we went back and forth a bit and eventually talked (i think) via tumblr for a little, but the majority of our conversations were via skype for whatever reason (we didn't call, just texted). it was a lot of me looking for writing advice, insight to their work/process/skill, talking about The Brothers and talking about psychology/the brain on a general and personal level. i think if i read our conversations back now i'd cringe, given that i was an awkward, fumbling 16 year old, but i dont think anything else wouldve been fitting given the subject matter. eventually our conversations fizzled out and we stopped talking for years, but i'd go back to SoS routinely and cry.

in may of 2021, i posted another comment during what in hindsight was definitely another relatively minor mental health episode - i think it was half trying to emphasise how important the work was to me on the off chance pyrr saw it, and half a bid for connection since i had no idea if they even remembered us talking. i assumed nothing would come of it, and for about a year that was true - until pyrr responded after all in february of 2022 - i'm happy to say we've been talking consistently on discord since then. i feel a little weird speaking too intimately about our friendship as it is now since it's not just my story to tell (though pyrr, if you're reading this) (i'm sure you are at some point) (you're welcome to talk about it however, i just didn't want to without consulting you) but i can say with some certainty that it's at least a little bit my fault that we have a sequel now - cementing my place as official number #1 fan and validating the me from almost 8 years ago in a way i don't think either of us processes well.

it's here that i feel the need to talk about my other dear friend, @hws-lceland , who i'm grateful to have met through the zine's discord server. i'm sure they're reading this too, and a lot of what our relationship means to me is stuff that's probably a bit too vulnerable for either of us to speak publicly, but i *can* say that i love them very much, and i'm really grateful to have someone else to understand, and that he read SoS for me. i thought he needed it, and i hope i was right

sendlingur is...endlessly important to me. i'm aiming to not write an essay here (a goal i think i've already sorta shot in the foot) but i think it's important for me to talk about some of this a little loudly, all the same. my writing has changed because of the series - remeeting with pyrr and showing them some of my more recent work was interesting since it was apparent even to them the influences i'd taken (to be fair, in one section i explicitly asked and did borrow a format of theirs, but this goes beyond that). when i was 16 i asked my mum to read the fic in a desperate bid to be understood. i've cried reading the fic many, many times. i've signed off letters and poems with my switched around version of i'm sorry / thank you / i love you (i swap the first two around) many, many, many times, including in a close friend's wedding gift. SoS has very sincerely changed my definition of love. the name halle is a part of my abstract mindscape. id already considered changing my name to johannes anyway and this fic certainly didnt help. i've gained a friendship of 7 and a half years through it. i've gained another newer one now, too. i am not well. i wasn't well then, reading it, and it hasn't fixed me (i am worse, now, arguably), but it healed something, or at least made me feel understood. i could go on, and maybe sometime i will (there were so many things i wanted to include in my piece and pay homage to!), but for now i will thank anyone who took the time to read all this (again), and say that i look forward to experiencing the sequel

as always, i'm sorry, thank you, i love you

[grapehyasynth]

Wilmon + 'he'd been receiving anonymous flowers for a week now.'🌸🌷

When I re-read this today I immediately thought of this full-fledged idea @piebingo posted yesterday. With her permission I am drawing inspiration from that idea. I also drew on this post about flower meanings.

He'd been receiving anonymous flowers for a week now, a befuddling situation he vents about to Felice when she stops by the shop that Saturday.

"...And not to sound paranoid, but I almost feel like I should interpret it as a threat, actually, because who sends a florist flowers from his competitor?!"

Felice's eyes widen over the bouquet of apple blossom, red camellia, and spearmint she's been smelling, so he's guessing he's missed the mark on downplaying the conspiracy theorist vibes. "How do you know they're from a competitor?"

"I didn't put any of these together." He gestures to the six vases on the counter between them.

"No, but--" Felice drums her lacquered nails on either side of a vase. "Do you remember the woman who came in here on Sunday and placed a big order for a birthday party?"

"Yes," Simon says, drawing the word out, not sure why Felice knows that information.

"That was Eva. Alex's sister." At Simon's nonplussed shrug, she adds, "There was no birthday party."

Simon is usually better at mental math than this. "...Is Alex my secret admirer?"

Felice throws her hands up in exasperation, nearly knocking down a smaller vase of cornflower and honeysuckle. "Oh my god, Simon! Eva bought all those flowers as a favor to me."

"I don't--"

"I bought the flowers as a favor to Wille."

"W-"

"Who has been sending them to you all week."

Simon takes a step back, looks at all six bouquets again, feels something catch in his chest. "Wille ... Wille arranged these?" he asks tremulously. He might have to hire his friend; he really had thought these had been arranged by his competition. Okay, not the point. "Why would he - why would he send me - and anonymously - and - red carnations?" he finishes weakly.

Red carnations: my heart aches for you.

"Counterpoint: why would you plant mean little flower messages in Wille's date bouquets?" Felice challenges.

"I-"

"It's the same reason. You've both been--" Felice consults the big laminated The Language of Flowers poster hanging behind the register. "You've both been very... red columbine about yellow carnation, but it's all just geranium."

"That's not how that works," he murmurs numbly. He lifts his gaze from the bouquets to find Felice smiling gently at him. "It's really - he's really--"

The bell over the door jingles. From his vantage behind the counter, Simon can't see who's just come in, but Felice smiles, leans forward, plucks a cluster of sweet pea blossoms from one of the bouquets, and slips it behind Simon's ear. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

[peachsayshi]

CORNFLOWER

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ toji fushiguro x female reader ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

wc: 1,269

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: you can probably expect to see me write for toji more often & honestly I am happy staying on the fluffy train when it comes to my faves ^.^  this is a piece that crossed my mind -  I titled it Cornflower because it was inspired by a song, and I also found out that the flowers represents tenderness, fidelity and reliability 🥺👉👈 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: fluff; alludes to smut; intimate touching; sleepy toji; implied size difference, age gap. 

Toji’s soft breath fluttered against your neck at a steady pace. The ticklish sensation caused you to nuzzle your chin into the fluff of his hair while you cradled the back of his head in your hands. With one leg thrown over him, you pressed your heel deep into his back to tug him even closer into your smaller frame. 

A low, deep hum escaped your lover. He removed his arm from underneath the pillow and slipped it beneath your torso instead while circling the other around your waist. 

You blinked your eyes open, feeling his strength wrap around you in a warm embrace.

“You fell asleep,” he whispered into your skin, the husky tone of his voice sending a tingle up your spine. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmured back with a yawn as you lightly scratched his scalp, “you’re cozy.” 

Toji chuckled, leaving a small kiss just over your collar bone. “Is that why you’re clinging onto me like a koala bear?” 

“Maybe...” you sheepishly replied then tucked your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from grinning foolishly. “You’re also keeping me warm...ah-” 

A quiet gasp escaped you when you felt him nip at the base of your neck and you curled your fingers around the strands of his dark hair in response. 

“I had you feeling a lot warmer not too long ago,” he cheekily pointed out. 

Your thighs instinctively clenched around him when he slowly began to unravel from your limbs. The slight distance was enough for you to feel a sudden chill, and your stomach twisted with discomfort as Toji readjusted himself. 

Two hands returned to meet your hips and with ease he dragged you down the mattress so you were seeing him eye to eye, taking in how his green irises twinkled against the warm light creeping through the blinds. You hooked your index finger around a lock of his hair and twirled it mindlessly while contemplating if it was first thing in the morning or late in the afternoon. 

You’ve been cooped up in his small apartment over the last forty eight hours, nesting together in isolation. Weekends like this have been happening more frequently, and you both preferred stealing the other’s precious time while pretending that the outside world ceased to exist. 

This level of intimacy is a nice change of pace in the dynamics of your blooming relationship, because moments like this didn’t even seem possible with Toji at one point. 

From the moment you met the man, who was older with an entirely different set of experiences than your own, you felt more excitement from his gaze alone than you did with anything your past lovers have ever given to you.

For Toji, you were a pretty glimmer shining through the darkness of his own reality, and you tempted him enough to pursue you so that he can bask in your alluring light.

He was rough around the edges when you first met, and maintained that front until you managed to seep through the hidden cracks. Underneath this hard shell of a man was a gooey center of a sweet human. When his heart melted between your fingers, you gathered it up and swallowed it down your throat like it was made of honey. 

“C’mere”, he mumbled, searching for your waist once more and the simple contact prompted you to sigh as he interrupted the silence. 

You were flush against his chest, your arms circling to find his neck as you bumped the tip of your nose onto his. You could feel his hands playing with hem of your cropped tank then lightly tracking down your lower back as he reached for the curve of your naked rear. 

“Want to get up yet?” he questioned, not shying away from an opportunity to grope you beneath the sheets. 

You immediately shook your head no, refusing to make any space from the blanket of affection surrounding you. You moved to cup his angular jaw in your palms, then leaned forward to press your mouth against his. He smiled into the kiss, allowing the first one to be chaste before parting his lips and granting you access to slide your tongue along his own. A few moments passed with you intertwined just like this, the only sounds you can hear were your smacking lips echoing in his quiet bedroom. 

He placed a feather light kiss on your cupid’s bow. “I need...” he exhaled when trying to catch his breath, “to get a bigger bed.”

You traced your thumb down the line of his scar noticing the way your pulse tripped over itself. These passing statements were simply more declarations of his love for you. He kept gifting them to you in doses, each one more potent than the last and making your head spin around in circles.

"There’s an extra toothbrush set for you in the bathroom,” he nonchalantly stated one evening, “I figured you might need one since you’ve been spending  most nights with me anyway...” 

When you both were in the shower washing off another night of making love, you randomly asked about the vibrant pink body wash that oddly stood out next to his own. Toji simply replied: “I thought you might be getting tired of smelling like me all the time...” 

One afternoon you mindlessly mentioned that you were craving your favorite snack, and Toji immediately pointed out that “you can find them in the pantry” because he “bought them in bulk.” 

This man who ensured to always keep you away at an arm’s length was now carving out his life to make room for you. 

You swallowed the tight lump that formed in your throat. 

“You don’t like me snuggled up on you like this?” you teased with a pout, trying your best not to allow the weight of his sentence to overwhelm you. 

In one swift motion he had you pinned underneath, the bed springs squeaking loudly from the shift of his heavy weight. “Don’t twist my words around, doll...” he sweetly scolded between a kiss while allowing his body to press you deeper into the mattress. “You know I prefer being closer than even this...” 

You giggled then lightly traced your knuckles along his cheek, “what kind of bed were you thinking of?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “something big enough for two. We can go take a look next week...” 

“We?”

“Wouldn’t mind hearing your opinion is all...” 

You unknowingly held in your breath, the seconds passing by as your pulse grew even louder when your heart thumped wildly in your chest. 

“So, if you’re thinking of getting a bigger bed, then you’re probably going to need another mattress...” 

“Yep.”

“And maybe...new bed sheets, that might take us a while to shop around for....”

“I guess we'll have to make a weekend of it then,” Toji acknowledged. 

You can’t deny that you had your doubts in the early days of your relationship, but right now it was hard to even justify why the two of you constantly found excuses to fight off your feelings towards each other. Despite your efforts, you both always had a reason to come back to one another.  

You combed back his hair, keeping it away from his face to reveal his handsome features. You angled yourself high enough to kiss his forehead in agreement, and pulled your mind back from considering the future and settling yourself into the present moment. 

You realized that loving Toji is not as difficult as you initially perceived.

As a matter a fact, it all felt quite natural like it was always meant to be. 

[meo-on-prairie]

Pulmonaria

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Prompt: “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love // The slowest way is never loving them enough”

Words count: 2844

Tags: ANGST, SO MUCH ANGST, fluff if you take out the James Webbs Space telescope, pain train all the way, not a happy ending, mention of blood and death, idiot to lovers a little too late, it’s not happy, highschool au, hanahaki au

Rambling: if you see this fic as “Pulmo flower” this is the revamp of that lmao, I posted it years ago and deactivated my entire account cuz i was insecure about my creativity, but i’m working on that. By re-releasing what I think is my proudest work. Please listen to “High Infidelity - Taylor Swift” and “Heather - Conan Gray” for this fic. 

/////

XX03 Daisy: innocence 

He gave me a Daisy when we first met— a wildflower he picked at the entrance of the playground, shoving it in my face as I sat on the swing. Grinning from ear to ear when he asks, “will you be my friend?”. And every birthday from then on, without fail, Daisies would be shoved to my face. Those damn Daisies occupied my lungs, took my breath away. 

XX09 Sunflower: unconditional love 

We’re inseparable, attached by the hip. It’s easier to count the times where we’re not together. I don’t know when it started, but he became my air, although sometimes it was hard to breathe, it’s hardest to breathe when he isn't near. The pressure in my chest became so great that it often forced out violent coughing fits. They are often violent and painful, sometimes unbearable, they feel like my lungs are trying to force something out that is incapable beyond reach. Until one day, those violent coughs forced me into unconsciousness. 

White. The first color that I saw when I opened my eyes. Cold and harsh white of the hospital room. the color white, it’s in everything I hate. White is the color of the hospital room glaring at me mockingly, laughing at the fact that I have a weak body. White is the color of snow signaling the arrival of winter and the freezing uncomfortable cold. White is also the color of his stupid hair, a painful reminder of someone I can never have. I hate the painful white color. 

But maybe the color white isn’t so bad if it allows yellow to shine so brightly. The Sunflowers on the table caught my attention from the corner of my eyes, the flowers warmed up the whole room instantly, funny how a speck of yellow can warm up the cold white room. The small note of the familiar handwriting attached to one of the flowers makes the flowers shine even brighter. "Get well soon! :( love and miss you a lot ~ Satoru". Slowly, painfully, I can feel the sunflowers blooming, occupying another space in my lungs, making it harder to breathe, especially without him. 

XX11 Cornflower: young love

Legend has it that Cornflowers were worn by young men in love; if his love was returned they would remain bright and fresh, if not they would wither away quickly. He gave me Cornflowers during freshmen orientation. Everything about cornflowers was annoying, the color was too bright and it hurt my eyes. It's a weak flower and dies easily, withering in two days. It reminded me of how similar I am to it, weak and annoying; both wither away when our love is not returned. But at the same time, it gave me hope… 

“Why Cornflowers?”

“They just look bright and pretty, something vibrant for a new chapter in our life right?”

“Right… of course.” 

Of course, there wouldn’t be any deep meaning to them. Hope is for fools.

XX14 Heather: admiration

November brings around the freezing cold of winter, I have always disliked the cold, it made breathing harder than it already was. When the bell for lunch rang, I quickly packed my bag to go meet up with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko at the cafeteria.

To my surprise, Satoru wasn’t with them. The three of us went to get food anyway since all the good foods will be all gone if we’re late to the line. Satoru arrived at the cafeteria a few minutes later, with an unfamiliar girl trailing behind him. 

“Sorry I was late, I was trying to convince someone to join us” he explained quickly before turning his body sideways, “We got paired together for a project for Physics, she just moved here so be nice to her.”

“Hi, I’m Areum” she spoke softly, her shyness written all over her face. She was absolutely gorgeous, the soft curls of her long hair framed her face perfectly. She has a small figure, the clearly oversized sweater she’s wearing made her look adorable, a sight for sore eyes. Compared to her I’m not even half as pretty.

“Hello Areum, I’m Suguru, I see you’re wearing Satoru’s sweater,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the blush that quickly appeared on both Satoru’s and Areum’s faces. 

“S-She looked like she was about to freeze over in that room alright?!” Satoru defended hotly. 

“Sure thing buddy” Shoko joined Suguru on the teasing-Satoru-bandwagon before smiling at Areum, “My name is Shoko, by the way!”

I reached my arms out to flick Suguru and Shoko on their forehead, “stop teasing the poor girl!”

“Hi Areum, I’m Y/n, Satoru’s childhood friend, sorry you got stuck with that doofus for a Physics project of all thing” I joked, offering her a gentle smile while ignoring Satoru’s pouty complaints of something along the line of he’s not that bad at Physics.

Areum let out a shy giggle at my comment before sitting down to join our table. The four of us quickly settled into a comfortable atmosphere as we got to know Areum better, asking her the reason for her transfer so late into the school year, among other things. 

The entire time, Satoru’s eyes never strayed away from Areum’s face. His smile got wider every time she laughed. His gaze toward her made my stomach somersault and me feeling nauseous. They’re the same gazes I had toward him. It slowly gets harder to breathe as pressure builds up in my throat. I forced the cough that threatened to escape down, I was probably overthinking it anyway. 

But that feeling of nausea never went away. It only gets worse as the week comes and goes, especially when almost all of the conversations between me and Satoru had always led to her. I started to see him less and less since he always declined invitations to hang out with: “Sorry, I promised Areum that I would study Physics with her.”

Ever since Areum joined our little group, she got Satoru mesmerized. They’re practically attached by the hip, never one without the other. It was suffocating to see them together all the time. But how could I hate her? She was an absolute angel. Always speaking softly and gently, always kind to everyone around her. Hell, she noticed whenever I started to struggle for air when no one else did. I wish I could hate her even just a little bit, maybe then it wouldn’t be as painful.

XX15 Rose: romance  

February 14th, probably the most annoying day of the year. The school ground is littered with pink and red, people carrying flowers, balloons, chocolate, and stuffed animals in different sizes around, blocking up the already crowded hallway. 

Some couples walk around, others busy sucking each other face off in a corner, and god knows what some of those freaks are doing in the bathroom stalls. I wish this day would be over already, everything is suffocating. I make my way through the hoard of people professing their undying love to each other in the schoolyard. Finally, I reached my first-period class, reaching my hand out to tug open the door when I heard my name being called. I turned around to see Satoru with one hand waving in the air like a madman and the other carrying a single pink rose. 

“Y/n! Hi!” He greeted me after coming to a stop in front of me.

“Good morning to you too, Satoru,” I said with a smile.

He shoved the pink rose he’s holding to my face with the bunny smile gracing his lips, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

I guess some old habits die hard after all, “Thanks, Satoru” I chuckled lightly as I accepted the flower. 

We stood there for what felt like forever until he started, “Y/n, so I----” the bell ring cutting Satoru off.

“Shit, gotta go, my first class is on the opposite side of campus, I’ll see you after school okay? Bye Y/n” He said quickly before running off. 

What was he about to say? Curse that damn bell, I swear that thing has the worst timing. I look down at the pink flower. The pink petals look soft and fluffy, a small pink rose starts to bloom in my lungs along with budding of hope. “No Y/n, you idiot, didn't you say that hope is for fools? Stop it before you get hurt!”. But I know it's already too late, I can't seem to control the smile that's growing on my lips and the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. 

Maybe... Just maybe... he feels the same way. Maybe I was wrong about his feelings toward Areum. After all, he gave me a rose, the one flower that shouted “love” louder than any other flowers. This could be my chance to tell him how much he means to me. Suddenly, Valentine’s day became the most exciting day of the year. Bringing the rose closer to my nose, I can't wait to see him after school...

When the last bell signaling the end of the day rang, I practically bolted out of the room to meet Satoru at our usual spot. Excitement filled my body, I felt lighter than ever, but also nervous at the same time.

I arrived at the schoolyard to see a huge group of people crowding around in a circle blocking the way to our usual spot. I rolled my eyes as I prepared mentally to push through the crowd. 

With great difficulty, I started to join the crowd and maneuvered myself through the hoard of people while repeating "excuse me" over and over again. Eventually, I reached the other side of the human barrier, I breathed deeply and prepared to do it once again before looking up. The sight that greeted me when I looked up filled me with dread. My stomach dropped and I felt nauseous. The flowers in my lungs are multiplying, making it harder to breathe. I can feel my heart tighten up in my chest. 

Standing in the middle of the circle of people is Satoru, holding a bouquet of red roses, looking as handsome as when I last saw him. Light pink coating his cheeks, there is nervousness in his eyes as he stands in front of Areum, who is having both hands covering up half of her face. Surprises grace her beautiful form. Standing behind them are Shoko and Suguru, they're both holding up a giant sign that reads "will you be my Valentine?" with a glittery cursive font. Both of their faces show excitement as they look at Satoru and Areum. 

I held my breath as I prayed for whatever deity above for her to say no. Unfortunately, they seem to hate me with a burning passion. I watch as she nods slowly before exclaiming "yes!". I watch as Satoru lets out a sigh and then smiles brightly. The same smile that can light up the whole room. The same smile that makes me fall hopelessly in love with him. I watch them walk toward each other as people around them cheer loudly. I watch as Satoru shyly gives Areum the rose and she accepting them just as shyly. I watch as they embrace each other with wide smiles gracing their lips and people hollering and wolf-whistling around them. 

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The flowers are multiplying too quickly, filling up my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. I need to get out of here. I turned around abruptly, forcing my way through the crowd of people. Once I'm out of the circle, I break into a sprint. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I don't know where, I just want to be as far away from that crowd as possible. My lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen, but I kept running until I could no longer hear the cheering of people and dropped down to the ground. 

I tried inhaling to no avail. It hurt so much. Every time I try to inhale or exhale it would feel like needles are being scraped against the walls of my lungs. It's painful, no, fuck that, it's torturous, everything hurt like hell, the pain is agonizing. It makes me want to rip out my heart and lung and throw them far away to ease the pain in my chest. 

Pressure slowly builds up in my throat and it gets itchier and itchier forcing me to let out a cough. That cough is followed by another one, and another one, and another one until I'm coughing uncontrollably. My body doubled over and shook violently as I wheezed for air. I covered my mouth with my hands as I coughed into them. I choked violently before I felt wetness on my hands. 

I pulled my hands away from my face and looked down on them, holding back another cough. In my hand, a pool of blood and flower petals. The warm yellow of sunflowers, the cold white of daisies, and the gentle pink of roses are being dyed by the red of blood. Tears blurring my vision as I throw myself into another coughing fit. More blood was forced out of my body along with more flower petals. 

Suddenly my lungs started to burn even more. I cough harshly as something bigger than the petals force its way out of my throat and onto the floor, joining the existing puddle of blood. A pink rose. Soon enough the more flowers and blood forced their way out of my body to join the puddle of blood under me where the rose and flower petals lie. It hurts like hell with each cough, but... It became easier and easier to breathe after each time. 

When the last daisy fell into the pool of blood, the coughing fit stopped. The burning stopped along with the pain in my chest. The numbness I felt was almost exhilarating. My body felt lighter than ever, it felt like I was floating on clouds. I take in a deep breath and slowly exhale as darkness takes over me. 

XX16 Tiger Lily: “Please love me”

A figure of a man holding a bouquet walks silently toward the cemetery. His lean frame is adorned with a thick jacket to protect him from the harsh cold of winter, his form feels lonely as if a part of him is missing, gone from this world completely. The sun is setting over the horizon, coloring the sky in bright orange and pink. But Satoru couldn't care less, his world has lost all of its colors a while ago. The beauty of this world only appears dull to him, nothing can be pretty in a world without her. 

He walks solemnly through the cemetery, passing by the countless headstones. Until he reached one in particular. The headstone looks relatively new compared to the ones surrounding it. The writing on it read: "Y/n, XX97 - XX15, 'Loving you silently'". 

Satoru kneels in front of Y/n's grave as tears slowly spill from his eyes, blurring his vision. He placed the bouquet of Tiger Lilies in front of her grave, joining the other flowers that were already there from visitors earlier that day. He sat there regretfully silent as tears spilled from his eyes. 

"Hey Y/n, How have you been?" he greets.

"I hope you’re doing well.” He lets out a forced chuckle, "Everyone has been missing you. Especially your mom, she cried everyday for months after you’re gone. She has been doing better now though, so you don't have to worry too much, I’ll take care of her in your stead."

Satoru let out a shaky breath as more tears spilled out from his eyes, “I miss you every damn day, I miss you so much that it’s hard to breathe. Fuck, I can’t look at daisy flowers without crying anymore!"

“I miss your smile that brightened up the whole room. I miss your eyes that held the universe. I miss your comforting voice” he said while choking up as tears fell harder from his glistening blue eyes, "But more than anything, I miss you who felt like home...”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot and realizing when it was already too late, you deserve so much better than my pathetic self” He sobs pitifully.

Satoru sat there with his back hunched over as tears fell endlessly from his eyes. At that moment, he looks small and fragile, as if we would break from a single touch. With each passing minute, it got harder and harder for him to breathe. His lungs begin to burn as the pressure slowly builds up in his throat, forcing him to violently cough up flower petals and blood. When the coughing fit died down, he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off of his lips. Slowly, he stood back up before glazing at the headstone longingly. 

“I’ll see you soon, Y/n,” he whispered with a bitter smile as he began to walk away.

[nardo-headcanons]

What kind of bodywash would Naruto characters use?

Part 1: Konoha Ninja + Their senseis

inspired by a chat with @uchihaharlot and my Suigetsu headcanons. just a heads up, these will be rather European centric because that's where I live, but the frangrance hcs still apply. let me know if i should do this for other characters too.

Naruto, Shikamaru, and Choji use cheap 2 in 1 men's bodywash. They also uses axe deodorant spray very liberally. Their go-to is the Fa Men Kick Off shower gel.

Sasuke and Sai are not too fond of strong frangrances. They need something practical that won't irritate the skin and clean them properly. They use something more neutral, like sebamed fresh shower gel.

Sakura prefers more feminine fragrances and takes great care of her skin. She isn't afraid to pay a little more for good bodywash. I see her using dove cherry bodywash even though she smells like antiseptic most of the time.

Kakashi keeps his bodywashes neutral like Sasuke, preferring scents like body lotion or baby powder. He's a loyal Nivea Creme Care bodywash user.

Ino enjoys anything floral and she often switches around the scents regarding her current mood and vibes. She is currently using Kneipp cornflower and mallow scented bodywash.

Asuma needs something strong to get rid of the persistent tabacco smell his cigs leave in his beard and hair. He uses Yves Rocher shower gel concentrate in the same ratio he would use regular bodywash.

Kiba canonically bathes with Akamaru very often, which is why he uses dog-safe bodywash created by the Inuzuka clan.

Hinata loves mildy scented shampoos, nothing too harsh. She uses Rituals of Sakura and Rice milk bodywash and secretly loves how it kinda smells like fabric softener. Shino, much like Kiba, uses a formula created by his clan, which is bug-safe and not too harsh on the skin.

Kurenai loves the smell of sandalwood. As a jonin she earns a little more and therefore can spend more money on luxury bodywash, like Acqua Colonia Sandalwood and Peony shower gel.

Gai and Lee use the same type of bodywash, and that is Adidas After Sport Shower Gel because they think having 'sports' in its name, it's the only product suitable for them. However, I do need to give them credit for not using it for their hair - they have an extensive haircare routine, and their locks are told to be smelling like apricot 24/7.

Neji loves the smell of cotton flowers, he uses Nivea naturally good cotton flower shower gel. His hair frequently gets greasy, which is why he uses a special shampoo to keep it clean.

Tenten doesn't care much if her scent is more masculine or feminine. Her go-to is anything green tea scented, like the Jean and Len green tea shower gel.

[2unlikelyenemies]

Russian Roulette

[This little thingie was written because I really want Joel, Gem and Scar to team up. Just imagine the chaos and enjoy, ok?]

Joel, Gem, and Scar. They were doomed from the beginning, they all knew that when they created the Cornflower Crew. The Cornflower Hill is the name of their place, and they had made a Cornflower Cave with blue beds and everything else necessary for a base. It is a nice place, so far so good.

[ 3 ]

“Here we go…”

[ 2 ]

“Stand in the circle!”

[ 1 ]

“I am….”

[ ? ]

"I'm safe!" Gem exclaims.

“Not the boogeyman, thank goodness. Scar?”

"Oh, I'm fine,” Scar holds the “i” in “fine” long enough so that they’ll know he’s lying, “totally unrelated, do we happen to have any TNT lying around?”

“Yup, here.” Joel throws him a couple.

“You’re just taking them for a walk, right? Nothing weird at all?” Gem already knows the answer of course, but They need to know that she knows. It’s Their show after all.

“No! No no no, nothing weird, just taking a walk, mhm!”

It’s early in the season. Their trio has just formed, and all of them know they are deadly. In desperate times, their loyalty is going to be unmasked as self preservation. And that’s how they like it. That’s how they choose to play. They all like the risk, it’s not scary but thrilling. It’s a russian roulette kind of fun. And yes, one day they’ll turn on one another, might be boogey or red life or something else. But they all also think they could take on one another, so why not take the help when they can?

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 5 - Cyvasse

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

While the men are hunting, court is held in the queen's private chambers and there is enough cake and gossip to fuel an entire afternoon.  

The cake, you enjoy, but the gossip is all the same. Suitors. Marriage. Betrothals. It's as though the men never left and, the name which far surpasses all others in its frequency, is Aemond.  

The sound of it seems to prick your ears from every direction and, for a moment, you wonder if he enjoys being the most eligible bachelor at court. Except you already know the answer to that. You've never seen him dance or flirt. In fact, the only time you've ever seen Aemond perform for his gaggle of starry-eyed admirers, is that day on the balcony. And you’re not sure if he did it for their benefit, or if it was just a natural result of arrogance and gloating. 

Laughing to yourself, you decide on the latter before reaching for your second raspberry tart. 

Your mother, however, has other ideas. She slides the plate from your grasp and, if that wasn’t bad enough, she also picks up the embroidery hoop which has been idling on your lap for the past twenty minutes.  

"This will need unplucking... again ,” she scolds, handing it back to you with a pair of scissors and a stern look. 

You refrain from rolling your eyes, looking instead at Maris and Cassandra who have almost finished their handkerchiefs. They never have to unpluck anything!  

Why can’t you be more attentive? It would save you so much time in the long run, and your poor thumb wouldn’t be facing another round of pin pricks. With that in mind, you quietly decide that one wonky cornflower will have to do, no matter how much your mother disapproves. 

Afterall, it's not as though you'll be giving this handkerchief as your favour, since you can’t think of a single person who will ask for it.   

So, instead of wasting more time, you wait until your mother is distracted by something Cassandra has said. Then you slip away, taking your hoop and a spool of thread as though you might continue elsewhere.  

Your real destination is the bookcase on the other side of the room, and it's been calling your name since you first arrived.

The closer you get, the easier you can see the dragons carved into the wood just like they are carved into everything else. The walls, the chairs, the stone fireplace. As though anyone in this room could ever forget you were in the lair of the dragons.  

Reaching the bookshelf, you’re excited to see every inch of space is piled high, and some of the volumes look as though they have never even been touched, their spines smooth and their gold embossed lettering in pristine condition.  

There are no new books in Storms End, and you itch to open one. Wanting to smell the fresh ink on crisp parchment and feel the pages beneath your fingertips. But you don’t. You'd hate to be the one who sullies that perfect leather, and these aren’t just anyone’s books, they’re the Queens. So, you reach for an older book, its cover curled at the edges, its pages stained and wrinkled from countless turns.  

Aegon’s Conquest.  

Flicking through the first few chapters, you wonder if Aemond has read it and curse yourself as soon as the thought enters your mind. Wasn't it enough for his name to be in every conversation? Did he really need to creep into your subconscious too? Though you suppose you couldn’t really blame Aemond for that, he wasn’t even here. Still, blaming him felt infinitely better than blaming yourself.  

Replacing the book back onto the shelf, you turn to the window. From here, you can see a perfect view over Blackwater Bay, and it could remind you of home if it wasn’t for the near constant stream of merchant ships. Most of them are small, with only one sail to propel them through the water. But one is much larger, and you count 15 sails in total as it leaves port, its tiny crew standing on deck. 

You wonder where they're going, who they carry, and just how exciting it would be to sail away to some strange and exotic place like Braavos or Volantis. 

When you can’t make out the people onboard the ship any longer, you turn your attention to the Cyvasse board. You’ve never seen one like this before, its pieces carved from ivory and jade instead of black and white.  

You reach to pick up the green dragon and its heavier than it looks, the stone perfectly smooth and the carving intricately detailed. It almost feels as though it might spark to life in the palm of your hand, which leads you to wonder just how small real dragons are when they’re born.  

You'd never thought much of dragons before but, here , they are everywhere. Carved, embroidered, painted and prowling the halls in black leather.  

Holding the piece closer to the window, the tiny green gems of its eyes glow brightly in the sunlight, and again you’re thinking of Aemond . You’ve never seen what lies beneath the black patch across his scar, but you know it's a gem and wonder of its colour. Green like the tiny dragon in your hand, or blue like his eye.  

Cursing yourself again for not only thinking of Aemond but knowing the precise shade of blue which makes up his eye, you place the dragon back on the board then reach to investigate another piece- 

"Do you play?” A voice startles you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Queen Alicent standing directly behind you. 

“Your Grace,” you gasp, turning to face her and offering a somewhat awkward curtsy.  

What was it about this family which always seemed to catch you by surprise?  

“I said, do you play?” 

“A little.” And not as well as you would like. Cyvasse partners were not frequent in the Hall of Storms End and, if they were, most people didn’t want to play with a girl.  

“Then sit,” she says, gesturing towards the ivory side of the board.  

For a moment, you don’t move. Was this really happening? Were you really going to play Cyvasse with the queen? The whole thing seemed so unlikely to the girl you were a few months ago, yet it was happening just the same.  

You force your legs to move, sitting opposite her but not without casting a weary look towards your family. But its only Maris who seems to notice what is happening and, when you smile, she does not return it. 

“Your sisters seem to have become quite close friends with Helaena,” the Queen says, drawing your attention back to her. 

“The Princess is very kind,” you reply sweetly, thinking your mother would be pleased with your answer. But more pleased to hear you had not gone on to say, ‘unlike your son.’  

The queen doesn’t reply and there’s a comfortable silence as you both arrange your Cyvasse pieces into your preferred starting positions.  

You know it will be your turn first, but you’re not sure what piece to play. You don't want to appear too aggressive or too careful. You want something surprising, thoughtful. Though you suppose none of that really matters, since your only real hope is that she won’t beat you too quickly.  

You move the Light Horse. 

“Are you enjoying your time in Kings Landing?” she asks, contemplating her own move for longer than you would have imagined. 

“It is... everything I expected it to be.” 

“Quite the political answer,” she says, sliding her Rabble two spaces forward.  

Your aunt always played her Rabble in the same way. As a result, your second move is a little quicker and the queens is too. You both play four more turns before there is a longer pause while she considers her options. 

“I noticed you looking at the books, you may borrow one, if you wish,” she says, falling into the trap you’ve been baiting. 

Your heart quickens, excited. “Thank you, your grace,” you say, sliding your Dragon to capture her Elephant.  

For her move, she claims a Trebuchet, and you bite your lip, frustrated by your mistake.  

“A good Cyvasse player must notice everything, ” she says and, maybe she’s talking about the game, but there’s something in her tone which causes you to meet her eye and wonder why she has noticed you .  

The room is filled with other ladies. Ones who crave her company, one’s who she’s known for years and most with stations far higher than yours. Still, you don’t ask her why. You play your next move and, more than thirty moves later, the Queen wins.  

You’re not surprised by her victory. It's been almost a year since your last game, which is a good enough excuse, yet you hate to lose just the same.   

“You play very well but you should practice more,” she says, and you enjoy her praise far more than you’d care to admit.  

"Thank you, your grace but my family does not play,” you reply, knowing instantly that Maris, who has not stopped staring, would hate you for saying this.  

If the queen wanted Cyvasse, then Maris would practice until her fingers bled, even if she despised every moment of the game. 

“Then meet me tomorrow, after breakfast, in the garden.”  

This is not a request, nor does she wait for an answer or even stay in the room. She’s done with court and leaves you and the rest of the ladies to finish the afternoon alone.  

Later, when you should be sleeping, Maris sneaks into your room, sitting at the bottom of your bed with her hair in rags. 

“What did you talk about with the Queen?” she asks, and you know she’s been desperate to ask you this all evening.  

“Nothing really, we just played.” 

“Urgh...” she falls back dramatically on the bed. “I’ve been trying to get her to notice me for weeks and you spend one afternoon with her and-” she sits back up, frowning, “it's not fair!” 

“You try too hard.” 

“Well , you don’t try at all.” 

She wasn’t wrong. If anything, you were trying to stay out of the way. But you supposed aloof was noticeable when everyone wanted centre stage. Perhaps if you were livelier, you’d be less visible. Like you were those first two weeks at court.  

“I envy you,” she says, reaching to brush away the hair which has fallen onto your cheek. “You are the third daughter which is even worse than being the second, but you don’t care. I wish I didn’t care.” 

“Then don’t,” you smile, taking her hands in yours and holding them tightly. “Starting now, no more caring about what anyone thinks.” 

She returns your smile, and you both know that what you’ve said is an impossible task for someone like Maris. She cares about everything and everyone. Still, neither of you say it.  

Instead, you scoot over in the bed and pull back the covers for her to climb in beside you. You haven't slept together like this since you were little girls, but the excitement you feel is just the same. Sometimes you would stay up all night, talking, telling stories and daring each other to sneak down the hall to bang on Septa Orella's door. Maris would never do it, but you could never resist.  

Blowing out the candle, you both snuggle into the quilt, lying face to face, arms tucked under pillows and eyes still not quite heavy enough for sleep.  

“There is one person I care about...” she whispers in the dark. 

“Who?” 

“Aemond, of course,” she says as if this is common knowledge, yet it is not common to you. 

"You don’t even know him,” you say, hating the tone in your voice. So judgemental, so accusatory.  

“What is there to know?” 

What is there to know about a man you care for? You scoff, its times like these when you realise just how different you are from her. 

“How about his manner? His interests? His passions?” Or the way he might mercilessly tease a person for the rest of their life. Which leads you to the terrible realisation that, if Maris marries Aemond, then you will never be rid of him.  

“You are quite the secret romantic,” she says, laughing softly. "Ladies do not marry men for their interests, and I do know him. He is a Prince of the realm and Helaena has told me he is the kindest and most gentle brother.” Her voice turns so whimsical at the last part that you can’t help but snort. 

“Helaena is hardly going to tell you that he is ungentlemanly, exasperating and completely incapable of-” you stop yourself.  

What exactly were you going to say next? Incapable of forgetting a certain day on the beach?  

You swallow your words, but Maris presses for more. "Incapable of what ?”  

“Smiling ,” you say quickly, except that isn't true. You've seen him smile plenty of times. Heard his infuriating laughter too. Yet Maris agrees with you.  

“You’re right, he never really seems to smile but I can hardly hold that against him.” 

“You don’t hold anything against anyone,” you remind her.  

“Well, you hold everything against everyone . You know we are all wondering why Ser Harrold does not ask you to dance anymore...” her tone is playful, as though she assumes the whole thing is by your design and you don’t refute her. 

“Ser Harrold is a fool.” 

You can practically hear the roll of her eyes. "Is there a single man you don’t despise?” 

“Of course,” you say, keeping your tone even and entirely serious. “I don’t despise, Lord Henry.” 

Maris giggles so loudly you’re certain she will wake the entire keep. “He is a cat!” 

“And much more amiable than the men at court,” you say, trying desperately to hold onto your own giggles. But Maris’ laughter is so infectious that you’re both forced to cover the quilt over your head to smother the sounds.  

When you come up for air, you don’t tell her you’re playing Cyvasse with the Queen in the morning. In fact, you don’t tell anyone, and for someone who is trying to steer clear of unwelcome company, you’re doing a terrible job.  

~~~~

Thank you for all your lovely comments, likes and reblogs on the previous chapters! <3

[heronchild-haven]

Excerpt from my Grishaverse Heronchild AU (Thomas’ POV):

The sky hung grey and heavy over the hills and a chilling wind had set in at noon. The cornflowers and buttercups sprouting in the grass all around were the only sign of spring’s touch on Cambria.

Climbing up the slope, Thomas could make out the heretic even from a distance, robed entirely in black and unguarded, as any protection would’ve been superfluous. A short, slight girl in blue stood at his side. And a few paces behind them, surrounded by a retinue of soldiers and banner men, sat the white witch on a grey horse, rigid and upright, like a figure carved in ivory. Black flags displaying the jagged sigil of Edom fluttered all around her in the wind like a flock of ravens.

As he closed in, Thomas could feel their combined attention settling on him like a heavy weight.

Despite his height he felt like he was shrinking with every step towards the heretic. His gaze slid first to the girl, who he realised had to be Lucie Herondale. Even though she’d grown up since their time in Alicante, she looked younger than her age, appearing almost fragile in her thick, heavily embroidered coat and bejewelled headpiece, from which strands of hair had been ripped free by the wind. There was something haunted in her expression, and with a flash of pity Thomas thought—not for the first time—how terrible it must’ve been for her to spend all those years locked away and alone.

“Lightwood.” The heretic said as way of greeting, forcing Thomas to finally look at him. He’d expected to see something of the shy boy he’d known at the academy, but aside from the same wild hair and pale skin, James Herondale was almost unrecognisable. Even his eyes, which were still of the same strange colour, had a wildness in them now that lent them a predatory quality, and Thomas understood for the first time why so many found them unsettling. He lowered his gaze instinctively.

“I requested specifically to speak with Matthew Fairchild.” The heretic said coolly.

Thomas forced himself to meet his gaze again before replying: „It would be foolish to send our sun summoner into a potential trap.”

James Herondale cocked his head: „You are the more expendable one, then.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, and he was right. Thomas knew perfectly well the worth at which the clave currently held anyone carrying the Lightwood name, but he’d agreed to put himself at risk willingly, even though Carstairs’ hesitation to send his own son had been enough for him to know that the general suspected at least the possibility of an ambush. Better me than him.

„Either way,” the heretic continued without awaiting a reply to his remark. “There’s no need to pretend. I know that your sun summoner,” he enunciated the words slowly, almost mockingly: “is not anywhere near this camp.”

Thomas’ heart sank. They’d already lost the one advantage they’d hoped to employ. He did his best not to let anything show, trying to think of what Alastair might say in his place, even though he had no hopes of managing a convincingly derisive sneer.

“Do you really want to base your plans for battle on pure speculation?”

“As I said, there’s no need to pretend. The clave should know better than to try and trick me. Matthew Fairchild is not here.” He almost seemed to lament the fact. “He will meet his fate another day. As for you, you have until sundown to surrender and agree to our terms. No blood will flow if the Clave withdraws their troops peacefully from Cambria within two weeks time and hands over the lord and lady Lightwood to Edom.” Thomas’ mouth felt dry. He had not expected to be driven into a corner this rapidly. “Also,” the other man added: “that insolent son of lord Carstairs, Alastair, will have to be delivered tonight as a hostage and a sign of good will.”

The heretic mentioning Alastair set Thomas’ heart racing. If he held a grudge, if he had it out for Alastair, what in the world could Thomas do to protect him? He wasn’t supposed to accept any conditions of surrender, but what if Carstairs and Anna ended up changing their minds when faced with the might of Edom?

“The paladin is with them.” Thomas flinched violently. He’d almost entirely forgotten about the presence of the girl. She was mustering him with an amused, almost childlike sparkle in her eyes. How did she know?

James’ gaze slid to his sister, then back to Thomas, who began feeling unsettled under their joined attention. Avoiding their eyes, he glanced over at the witch, who observed the scene from her horse, her lips drawn into a thin line.

“So Carstairs brought both of his children,” the heretic said. “Very well, I was looking forward to getting even with the paladin anyway.”

It seemed pointless to even try and deny Cordelia’s presence, so Thomas kept quiet, still reeling from the heretic’s earlier demands.

“Aren’t you worried?” Lucie Herondale asked her brother, though the tone of her voice betrayed anticipation rather than concern. He looked at her and his expression softened ever so slightly, turning almost indulgent: “I have confidence in your abilities.”

He turned back to Thomas. “You all know what my sister and I are capable of. You are likely to loose this fight. Even with the great Elias Carstairs and his paladin daughter. Even with your incantatores,” he said, spitting out the Idrisian word like a curse.

Thomas’ blood was rushing in his own ears. He couldn’t think of anything to say, to try and bargain. He wasn’t Alastair. “I will convey your demands to the general.”

The heretic gave a slow nod: “If we don’t hear from you before sundown, you will be destroyed.”

It was a dismissal. Feeling dizzy, almost as if he was caught in a haze, Thomas took a few steps backward, putting some distance between himself and the siblings before he turned his back on them.

“Lightwood,” the heretic called again, forcing him to look over his shoulder one last time. “Deliver my regards to our sweet cousin.”

[fandom-queen-13]

Colors I associate TMBS characters with, because why not

I have no idea what the exact colors are called, I'm just getting the names off of the internet. This will mostly be the book versions, but the show also affected my judgment. Just keep that in mind!

The Kids:

Reynie: Dark green

Sticky: Light blue or teal

Kate: Red and white candy stripes (because of her shirt)

Constance: Scarlet red and yellow (her raincoat and hair respectively)

The Adults:

Number Two: Yellow, obviously, dandelion to be exact

Rhonda: Cerulean blue

Milligan: Steely gray but with undertones of gold and turquoise

Mr. Benedict: Emerald green

Miss Perumal: Magenta

Bad guys:

Mr. Curtain: Jade green (so close, yet so far)

Ten Men: Black. Just black. Maybe a bit of gray too, but mostly black. They don't deserve actual colors.

The Man I Will Not Name But His Name Rhymes with Homoecious, Which Is A Type Of Parasite: Carnation pink, deceptively sweet.

Executives, because I refuse to sort them in the villain category:

Jackson and Jillson: Primrose yellow and cornflower blue respectively, although they both have the same colors. I just see one wearing more of a color than the other.

Martine Crowe: Lavender

SQ: Changes depending on the day, and that's what makes him interesting! One day he might be red, the other purple, a third cyan! If I had to choose, though, he would be the same color as a pearl: White, but with colorful undertones

Bonus:

Claire (The Listener): Gray at the beginning, but evolves into a rich royal purple with a little bronze for her glasses

Tai: A mix of orange and yellow, like amber

ROA Constance: Coral pink and emerald green