#purple hyacinth discussion

[skylinex752]

Ok I don't understand how kym and will don't suspect Kieran being Lauren's partner in crime, because when he gave the alibi that they were at the restaurant , it would be disproven later when they find that Lauren is Lune which makes that an obvious lie ?? Like she can't be on a date and be lune at the same time meaning that Kieran would be the obvious suspect??

What do you guys think?

[infiniteimaginings]

Could you write some angsty Anthony bridgerton x wife reader. Maybe he took his anger out on her cus he was stressed or something.💋😭😫🩷

A Loving Marriage (Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Anthony had married you, he adored you during your courtship. He showed his affections through floral arrangements, joyous laughter, your dance card always had his name first. When he married you though, some things changed. He would be warm, but it slowly dimmed. He was always in his office, he never spoke to you, why does he do so? Pronouns: You/Yours, She/Her Warnings: Angst Word Count: 4.0k A/N: I love angst, I love it! I looked at this request three times, midnight struck, and I turned into a writing goblin.

It had been a nice day, you had finally drawn your husband, Anthony Bridgerton, out of the house to have a delightful picnic with you. The two of you were discussing anything but pressing matters, laughing, eating the small sandwiches, drinking the sweet but tart lemonade. Occasionally your fingers would touch, a burst of energy escaping into your bodies until your fingers interlocked, accepting the warmth with open arms.

The sun was shining brightly, the clouds perfect white and fluffed into shapes the two of you pointed out and playfully teased each other for. The slight tilt of his head when you spoke of a cloud being shaped as one thing, his squinted eyes and scrunched nose were all that mattered to you. The way the sun kissed his skin and a few freckles had come to light, it was so beautiful to you, he was so beautiful.

When Anthony turned his gaze to you from the heavily brightened sky, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the smile he gave you. His toothy grin was matched with him asking, “What is it?” You paid no mind to the question, simply smiling at your husband, your heart warming as you stared at him in adoration. You shook your head, “I just love you.” You told him, the comment making him smile wide, his teeth showing in his grin. The day was beautiful, and neither of you could deny that fact. To make the day even more beautiful, flowers were spread around your blanket on the ground, showing proof of spring.

You began to ramble a bit about the newest items you saw in the shop, Anthony just listening with loving eyes. A bee had hummed and buzzed as it circled around your head, when Anthony noticed he straightened up, his eyes widening a bit in fear. He went to move the dreadful creature from you but the bee had found its attention with him instead, buzzing around his head. Anthony had fallen still, horrified.

Anthony had just returned from shooting with his father, Edmund Bridgerton. The elder man had clasped his shoulder, telling him that in due time he will be able to show someone his best. He gave him a truthfully meaningful message about having to show someone your worst before you can show them your best, but the message didn’t stay in Anthonys head very long.

The elder had noticed a group of vibrant purple Hyacinths within their gardens, his wife's favorite flower. He decided to pick the flowers with a hum, expressing how Anthonys mother would love them. The younger boy laughed and began to pick a few himself, his father standing up, swatting a very persistent bee, Anthony shaking his head playfully. He expressed how his younger sister would be quite jealous until he noticed his father had not responded.

”Father?” Anthony spoke, turning to Edmund, the man was touching his neck. “The bloody thing stung me.” He told his son, moving his hand a bit with a twitch of his mouth. A bee sting didn’t mean much, so Anthony nodded and continued to pick a few flowers until his father began to gasp for breaths. Anthony stood, walking to Edmund, “Father, what is it?” He asked, and that question would be repeated a multitude of times with no verbal response.

Edmund Bridgerton had turned to his son, a bright red patch on his neck where the bee stung him, his face extremely pale, his eyes almost black as he struggled to breathe. Anthony watched his father struggle for air and collapse into his arms. He couldn’t even hear when he yelled for someone to help, he didn’t even hear when his pregnant mother, Violet Bridgerton, had come running down the small hill after seeing them through the open door in the back of their home.

Everything happened so fast and all Anthony could process was his father reaching up to cup his mothers cheek one last time, before his hand fell and the light left his eyes. Edmund Bridgerton died that day, Violet Bridgerton became a widow that day, he and his siblings lost their father that day.

Anthony was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts when you swatted the bee away mindlessly. You hummed with a breathless chuckle, “You know it’s spring when the bees are out.” you spoke, looking in the basket for another small snack, unaware of the daze Anthony had just been in. He blinked a bit, looking around as he deeply inhaled, trying not to ruin your nice moment. He clapped his hands to his knees, “Well then.” He began, “I think I have some paperwork to attend to.” He told you, standing up and brushing himself off. You looked up rather quickly from your spot on the blanket, “Can’t it wait? We were having such a nice time.” You said, pouting ever so slightly.

He shook his head, leaning down to you, pressing his lips to yours in a short kiss. “Unfortunately it can not, enjoy the rest of the picnic.” He spoke hastily, walking back into the home, leaving you alone to watch the sky.

Days had passed, Anthony had not joined you again for a picnic, nor had he joined you for any sort of meal after that day. You didn’t understand why he felt the need to lock himself in his office, what was so interesting about paperwork he could tend to at any time? You were worried for him, you knew the footmen in the household brought him food, you just weren’t sure if he ate any of it.

With that, you decided to pay your husband a visit. You dismissed the footman at the door and simply knocked, a muffled ‘Come in’ came from the other side of the door. You gently opened it, smiling sweetly at Anthony who looked up at you, expressionless. You closed the door behind you, observing your surroundings and your husband who sat behind a desk, papers piling it. He looked like he hadn’t slept, if he had then he looked like her hadn’t slept well.

You walked to him, slow steps, the heels of your shoes sounding muffled as they clicked upon the polished floors. “You’ve locked yourself away.” You told him, standing in front of his desk, fingers twiddling in front of you. Anthony kept his eyes on you, quill pen in hands, plenty of papers around that needed signatures. He cleared his throat, “Well, some matter can not be left.” He told you simply, head looking back down to his work.

You walked around the desk, hands smoothing along his shoulders, he tensed more than relaxed. “You need a break.” You hummed to him, gently pressing your hands into the blades of his shoulders. Anthony leaned his head back into the chair, sighing, “I’m sorry my love, I just have so much work to do.” He told you with closed eyes, his mouth in a frown. Your expression mirrored his and you turned his chair a bit, taking his hands in yours. “We should go to town, go for a walk.” You suggested, “Maybe we could pick some flowers and visit your family.” You continued on, hands holding his slightly larger ones in yours.

You saying that seemed to invoke some sort of reaction from your husband, he removed his hands from you, “No.” He spoke harshly, turning back to the papers. You huffed, trying to get him to look at you, he wouldn’t budge. “Why do you refuse to spend time with me? Is your paperwork that important?” You pressed on, standing at his side, pure disbelief on your face.

Anthony put his clenched fists on the desk, “Yes, it is!” He spoke loudly, not looking at you. “You are interrupting very pressing matters, so go.” He told you, head turning to you ever so slightly, one hand raised to point to the door.

The outburst had shocked you, you stood there with a hand to your chest, a frown on your face, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Anthony I merely hoped…” You began, trying to find the words, instead you found yourself stumbling over them. Anthony shook his head, hand to his temple as he looked back down to the papers, “I care not for your wishes, leave!” HeYou stood up straight, swallowing harshly with a small sniffle. You bowed your head to him, “Of course Mr. Bridgerton.”You spoke, walking out the room, hands clasped together and head held high as you left him alone to his work.

Anthony had not come to the bedroom that night and you had not visited his office for the rest of the day. Neither of you had come down for dinner, eating respectively in separate rooms.

The next day, mid afternoon, you walked into the office area with a tea tray. Typically, a maid would bring it in for you, but you had seemed to reject the idea and believed you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself. Anthony had heard the sound of the door opening, no knock, no announcement. He looked up and saw you setting the tea tray on the low table in front of the seats in the office. The tray had two teacups and saucers, a teapot with freshly brewed tea, a sugar bowl, a milk jug, and a strainer. All of which were porcelain with multicolored, delicately painted flowers and the Bridgerton name along the side.

Anthony sighed deeply, he didn’t look irritated, he just looked tired. “ Did I not tell you to leave me be?” He asked since you had not greeted him. You didn’t look at him as you prepared your cup of tea, “That is such a way to speak to your wife Mr. Bridgerton.” You spoke sarcastically, stirring in your sugar and taking a small sip to see if it were to your tastes. A warm smile formed on your face after you drank the warm liquid, sitting comfortably in the chair a little ways across from Anthony's desk, a table in the way of you being directly in front of his desk.

Anthony clasped his hands together, elbows on the desk, “What are you doing?” He asked, lips pursed. You placed your cup on the saucer, “If you truly believe I will let you sit in this office and rot,” You spoke, finally looking at him, “you are gravely mistaken.” You told him, expressionless. Anthony tilted his head to the side, he didn’t believe he was ‘rotting’ in the office space, but he couldn’t speak since you beat him to it. “I shall remain here and tend to you until you see fit to conduct yourself as a gentleman.” You stated, hands in your lap, straightening your posture, “Or to put sourly,” You began, “an adult.”

“Do not treat me like a child.” Anthony told you, hands dropping back to the desk, no movement towards the quills.

“Then do not act like one.”

“What has prompted this?”

You pretend to think for a moment, pulling up your hand to count, “Your blatant disregard for your wife in your own home,” You spoke as you put up a finger, “your refusal to acknowledge her presence or engage with her” you continued, putting another finger up, “or even talk to her.” You finished, putting up the last finger, slightly glaring at him.

There was silence from Anthony as he bit the inside of his cheek, twitching his nose. Due to the silence, you continued to speak, “I vowed to cherish and support you through all, but I will not endure your silence.” You explained, shaking your head a bit with your words. Anthony sighed, moving a few papers out of his way, “You are aware that traditionally wives do not-”

“You did not marry me due to my traditional nature.”

There was more silence from your husband until he ran a hand through his hair. “You will not leave until I discuss ill with you?” He asked, seeming to be contemplating the idea that he just spoke into existence. You nodded, “Precisely.”

“Very well, let’s discuss ills.”

The Bridgerton man stood from his desk and strode to sit next to you. You gestured to the tea and he shook his head, leaning forward, clasping his hands. His leg shook and tapped the floor as he struggled to find the words, “My fathers death left my mother heartbroken, she never remarried.” He spoke suddenly. The words confused you a bit, was that why he had been so closed off? You turned to him fully, crossing your leg over the other, “Your mothers strength,” You began, taking a breath, “is commendable.” You commented, the Brdigerton in front of you chose not to look at you but he nodded. “She said her love for your father was true and her devotion for your father lies strong.” You continued on, thinking about the older woman and how powerful she was for standing strong for her children. “She does not need to marry if she does not wish to.” You completed your thought at his words about his mother.

Anthony put his hands on his knees, straightening himself. He sucked his teeth, “I understand that,” He told you, “but you do not understand how she flinches when they refer to her as Dowager.” He continued on.

At parties they would announce Violet Bridgerton as Dowager VIscountess Bridgerton, and they have for the many years since Edmund Bridgerton had passed.

“My mother remains a widow.” Anthony continued, voice slightly cracking when he thought about the way his mothers hand would tighten around his arm when someone greeted her as ‘Dowager’.

You nodded in understanding, no matter how strong Violet was, it still hurt. You just didn’t process why that caused him to pull from you. “Nevertheless, I am not,” You told him, the words causing him to look put his face in his hands, “hence my lack of understanding of your coldness and sudden refusal to be with me.” You spoke, staring right at him, hands in your lap picking at your nails.

“What if you find yourself a widow?” Anthony asked suddenly, now fully turned to you.

“Pardon me?” You asked blankly, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“What if you find yourself to be a widow?” He repeated, slightly differently.

“If you suspect you may act recklessly, you must inform me at once." You told him cautiously, hand moving towards him, but he pulled back. "My father's passing was but a consequence of being outdoors.” He stated blankly, eyes staring forward, distantly. He never talked about his father's death, it wasn’t a topic he was very open about. “He committed no recklessness, yet the heavens saw fit to claim him.” Anthony's hands were beginning to shake before he clenched them into fists, “A virtuous man, struck down."

“Anthony-”

“What if I do not live a graciously long life?” He asked, head snapping to you, “What if I meet my end, just as young as my father?” He asked another question that you had no answer to other than, “Anthony you will live a long life-”

He stood abruptly, face red, eyes watering, “How could you possibly know that!” He yelled at you, “You do not!” He continued to yell, face such an angry red it almost scared you. He didn’t seem angry though, his eyes were filled with fear, he was scared. You did not expect him to yell or be so emotional, it hurt you deep in your heart to see him look so terrified about what could happen.

Anthony began to pace, hands in his hair and desperately pulling at his collar. “I didn’t even wish to marry,” He told you, seemingly muttering to himself. “I feared leaving my wife alone, especially if we were to have children.” He continued, not gazing at you at all.

You stood, slowly walking to him, “Yet, here you continue to stand,” You said, “alive,and wed.” You reminded him, concern flowing through you as he paced.

He stopped walking, looking at the wedding ring on his finger. “My mother was left with eight children to raise alone.” He mumbled, having to clear his throat from how low he was speaking. “I, the eldest, lost my father when I was eighteen left to carry his title and responsibility.” He spoke to you, reminding himself of all the information he didn’t know when he was eighteen and how he had to figure it all out, how he had to be the man of the house at such a young age. “I do not wish for you and our future child to endure the same fate.”

You were quiet, “Then why did you marry me?” You whispered, your expression was slightly crinkled but you were listening. Anthony had turned to you, a soft but sad expression on his face. He gently held your hands, looking into your eyes. “My affection for you was undeniable.” He confessed, cupping one of your cheeks with his large hand, a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead from being so worked up. “It was so difficult to be inexplicably in love with you and watch for you to have other suitors.” He continued, drawing a breath, “I was drawn to you, as a moth to flame.”

You licked your lips, “Yet, you still harbor fears of leaving me-”

“The responsibility of children and a title you cannot shed unless you remarry.” He interrupted you, thumbs rubbing at your cheeks. He looked at you desperately, desperate for you to understand how he was feeling, but you could not. “Which I have no intention to do.” You retorted to his comment, he is the only man you believe you’ll ever love and nothing will change that.

Anthony nodded, dropping his hands from your face. He remembered how he wasn’t there for his mother, for his family sometimes. “I acknowledge that I was a challenge to deal with for my mother.” He spoke, and you were aware of such things. He had admitted these feats to you during your courtship, during small corners of vulnerability. “I just do not wish for you to face similar struggles alone.” He finished his thought, ultimately refusing to meet your gaze as he found the bookcases to be far more interesting.

You shook your head, “She did not endure it alone.” You stated matter-of-factly. Anthony looked up, eyes blinking in confusion, “What?” He asked you, so you continued. “Your mother, she had you, she had Benedict, Colin, Daphne. All of her children were her solace and support.” You expressed to him, reminding him of all of his siblings. They all had each other, they were all her shoulder to cry on just as she was theirs.

Anthony sighed for the thousandth time within that conversation, “We were not easy children.” He told you. Eloise didn’t wish to marry, he had been such a terrible man of the house in the beginning, Benedict did not wish for the responsibility, Colin rushed into things too quickly, Daphne had so much going on when she was named the diamond of the season, his younger siblings couldn’t even fathom the world they were in.

“No child ever is.” You told him simply, holding his hand gently. This time, he did not pull away.

You smiled at him, kissing his cheek gently and pulling back to look him into his eyes. “Now,” You started, letting out the puff of air that was compressing your chest the entire conversation. “I’d prefer if we do not speak the subject of your demise as if it were to greet us at dawn.” You told him, the comment causing him to chuckle a bit, holding your hand a little tighter. “You will come down for dinner and we will enjoy a meal together.” You told him and he nodded, “I will be down in a moment, I shall see the papers are put away first.” He spoke, looking around to all the papers scattered on his desk and some even on the floor.

You left him to the papers and asked your maid to get dinner started, the woman asking if there were any preferences you wanted. The door had closed and Anthony was soon left alone.

Once the door had closed Anthony had begun to gasp for breath, unbuttoning the top of his shirt for air. His chest began to have as he leaned against the door, tears filling his eyes. He furiously wiped at them, trying so hard to push them back but he couldn’t stop them when a choked sob left his lips. His hands were shaking when they reached his face to wipe at his eyes hurriedly. The topic of conversation was difficult, you were so sure that the two of you would grow old together with your children, that you would not have to worry about being a widow, but Anthony was not so sure.

Everyday he saw a little bit of his father in himself and it terrified him. Such a good man was taken from the world by something as simple as a bee and it scared Anthony of everything around him. Sure, before he was not scared of death, even going as far as to call for a duel where he was prepared to die for his sister's honor. But now, he had you, and he did not wish to leave you.

Anthony shakily clasped his hands in a prayer, praying for all the time in the world to be with you. Praying for more time than his father had, praying for a chance. He muttered small prayers, “Please, I just wish to be with her, I will never ask for anything else.” He cried out quietly, eyes closed, tears pouring from his eyes. “I just want time, time with her, please.” He begged quietly, his prayers in reflection to how lonely he saw his mother was. She had so many children but he knew that his mother wished for his father to be there to help her everyday.

A knock had sounded at the door, the noise caused Anthony to stand quickly and rush to the other side of the room with documents, back to the door. He cleared his throat, sniffling one last time, “Enter.” He spoke, the door opening.

“Lord Bridgerton, dinner is served.” A footman had announced, standing in the doorway.

Anthony put the documents away, wiping his tears without the man noticing. “I shall be there in just a moment's time.” He told the man, putting some documents into the drawers. The man nodded and closed the door, going to inform you of the comment.

The door closed once more and Anthony felt his legs were so weak that he had almost collapsed into the furniture. One of his hands gripped the edge of the drawer, the other clawing at his chest. He felt as if every time he took a breath his chest would tighten, he felt nauseous, dizzy. The room was spinning and his vision was blurry from his tears. It almost seemed as if he were dying, but he was not, everything felt like so much but nothing was happening.

It all felt like too much.

He tried to take a few more deep breaths, the pain ceasing and his vision returning back to normal. He slowly exhaled, blinking and wiping his tears. He clenched his jaw as he stood up straight, muttering some words of ‘man of the house’, ‘loving husband’, ‘time’. He couldn't connect the words even if he tried, all he knew was that he was going to dinner.

All he knew was that his father's words rang in his head, but he kept shaking them from his mind. “You cannot show someone your best without allowing them to see your worst.” If only his father had told him how difficult it was to show someone your worst. How frightening it was to show true vulnerability, to find the words to explain feelings you don’t even understand fully yourself.

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

kiss and cry

summary | you’ve learnt to build your walls sky high in the wake of dick grayson’s abrupt departure from the world of skating. but one decade later, he’s back like nothing ever happened, and you’re back to square one. prompt | language of flowers event: a bouquet of purple hyacinths in blue wrapping paper with a pink ribbon ♡ pairing | dick grayson x gn!reader wc | 3.2k warnings/tags | pairs figure skating, childhood friends to strangers to ???, mutual pining, repressed feelings, angst, swearing, insecurity, no use of y/n, very liberal interpretation of how you’d qualify for the olympics ty @strangergraphics for the divider!

Brian Orser is a liar. 

“Oh c'mon kid, I had no idea. I thought this was a good kind of surprise! You might have a chance at the Olympics this time around!”

You should’ve known something was up when he asked you to stay after practice. The old man is annoyingly close to catching up with you, and if you weren’t wearing skate guards right now, you’d speed walk to the lockers faster. 

“Isn’t this good? You need a new partner, Dick finally decided to call me back, and anyways, I thought you l-”

You don’t need to hear the rest of his sentence to know what he’s about to say. “I didn’t. And I don’t anymore.” Neither of you seem convinced, but at least it gets him to shut up. 

What pains you the most is you can’t even be mad at the older man. You can’t cry, or scream, or throw a tantrum like you were 9 again, because at the end of the day, this is the coach you had begged to take you on. The one who has been behind so many legends and basically built your career up from the ground. Had this been any other situation, any other person, besides the Boy Wonder himself, you would probably be on the verge of much happier tears. But you know, just like last time, he won’t be here to stay. And you don’t know how much more heartbreak you can take.

Before you get the chance to talk him out of it, a pair of footsteps joins you. Speak of the fucking devil.

It’s like they had planned some flanked attack, with Brian herding you towards the front of the building and Dick stepping in to cut you off as you’re about to make your grand escape. No idea, your ass. Brian knew you wouldn’t be able to say no if they had you cornered like this.

“Dick!” he exclaims, pushing past you to wrap the black-haired man in bear hug. Normally, you think you’d be hurt by how his face is practically illuminating (he had never greeted you like that before). But you have your own worries to deal with: namely, a heart that is currently trying to claw its way out of your throat and lungs that have forgotten how to inhale air. You think Brian might still be speaking, but if he is, you’ve tossed that all to the side in lieu of studying the man in front of you.

You make it a point not to meet his gaze, even as you feel him trying to meet yours. Perhaps it’s pride, perhaps it’s fear, but either way, you know as soon as you look at him, properly look at him, any objectivity will fly out the door.

So you settle for the obvious things. He’s taller, and his face is sharper, no longer rounded by baby fat. Even the spiky haircut you used to tease him for is grown out now. He looks good—but nothing like the boy you have enshrined in your memories. This isn’t the boy who would stay behind to help you practice your jumps. This isn’t the boy who would pack an extra lunch for you in case you forgot yours. This isn’t the boy you cried yourself to sleep over for months, the boy who almost made you quit the one thing you loved most in the world because the thought of skating alone made you want to hurl.

This? Him? It’s just a bitter reminder that figure skating wasn’t the only thing he left behind all those years ago. 

You think you hear the two of them discuss the technical details. Practice schedules, song choices, choreography—it all goes in one ear and out the other. It’s a conversation you have with the older man at the start of every season. An annual promise that that year would be the year you finally earn the recognition you had worked so hard for. 

Technically, everything had been perfect. Technically, you were good. Enough to consistently land a spot at the Grand Prix Final.

But not good enough for a medal. It was never enough. No matter how much training you did, how many extra jumps you crammed into your programs, how many partners you had cycled through. There was no use in denying it: after Dick had left, you hadn’t been the same skater.

It’s pathetic. Your crush had not only abandoned you at 14, but any hopes of even making it to the podium had been crushed then as well. And you hate that 10 years later, you still haven’t moved on. Not enough to say no to his offer. Because like it or not, chemistry is everything in pairs, and there’s nobody like him. There is nobody like Dick Grayson.

It’s silent now. They’re waiting for you. 

You finally look up to meet his gaze. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

—

It’s too easy to fall back into step with Dick. He always greets you with a smile, brings you snacks before practice (homemade ones at that), and carries your bag to your car for you, even though you insist that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He’s certainly trying, but the more effort he puts in, the more you can’t help but resent him. 

His kindness is all just a means to an end for him. He’s buttering you up so your movements are less goddamn stiff when you’re next to him, so you at least vaguely resemble an evenly matched pair. You know from Brian that he’s only coming back because of a stupid bet he made with his brother. He’s just here to prove he can make it to the Olympics. Your childhood dream, what you’ve decided would be the sign that you’ve made it—to him, it’s just another achievement he can use to inflate his ego. The worst part about it is he’s good enough that he could genuinely make it happen that effortlessly. And once he’s satisfied with that, he’ll waltz out of your life just as quickly as he came in. 

So when he offers you a hand as you step out of the rink, when he happens to have an extra energy drink, when he suggests a “team bonding” dinner, you don’t accept. You’ll let yourself entertain him on the ice for the sake of the skate. But nothing more. 

At the very least, you can admit that your performance aspect has definitely improved since skating alongside Dick. You breeze through Eastern Regionals, then Skate Canada, then Skate America, and in no time at all, you’re at the Grand Prix Final: the one barrier you’ve always hit. 

The short goes even better than you imagined it would. Too good. You’ve seen the posts that the fans have made about the two of you, digging up old skating clips to support their theories about the two of you. There’s a poorly worded interview by Brian that does nothing but fuel the flames, and even some of the commentators have been talking about how good the two of you look together. All signs seem to be telling you that you have nothing to worry about; the two of you are perfect. They don’t understand that that’s exactly what you’re worried about. 

You don’t catch yourself until it’s too late. You’re slowly getting consumed by him—by his soft smiles and whispers of encouragement and stupid, stupid puns. You’re back where you started, feeling weightless as the two of you skate your free program, actually losing yourself to the music. There’s nothing to prove anymore; this isn’t a performance—this is just how it’s always meant to be. It should feel right. But it doesn’t, because you’re terrified that if you let yourself get comfortable in his embrace, you won’t be able to skate like this ever again.

You pop the triple Lutz. Then you go into an Euler and a double toe loop that’s under-rotated too. You don’t understand, your jumps have always been pristine, especially your doubles. You haven’t made a sloppy mistake like this in a while. The last time was when–

Shit, you’re too early into the step sequence, the turn too sharp at the corner. You meet his gaze repentantly, like that will absolve you of your guilt. You don’t know what emotion you’re expecting to find in eyes. Maybe anger? Frustration? That’s certainly how you feel at the moment. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not adoration. 

You want to ask him what the hell is going on, but there’s no time. Last move. Death spiral. You have to hold hands, and the contact makes your skin burn. You don’t have the heart to look at him again. You’re afraid of what you’re going to find.

Suddenly everything feels too tight: the rink, your chest, the skates around your feet. You have to get out of there. One revolution, two, three, four. You can hold on, it’s almost over. Another four. He pulls you back towards him. It’s your final pose. The two of you are chest to chest. 

You just have to hold this for a second, and then you’re free. You can do it. You can do it. And then he’s leaning in even closer, until his forehead is pressed against yours and your lips hovering over each other. 

You can’t do it anymore and all you can think about is how to get out of there. You don’t even bother to wait for your score; you’ll deal with Brian’s scolding later. But you know if you stay out there any longer, you won’t be able to scrape together what little sanity you still have left. 

You’re leaving. You have to leave.

And as you run back to the lockers, you realize somebody’s been calling out your name.

“Hey, wait! Is everything okay?” Of course, the one person you don’t want to see would follow you. “Why did you leave like that? Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovers over your arm for a moment before he pulls it away and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. He used to do it with practiced ease back when you were kids, when you would joke that he had cooties but let him do so all the same. Now, you’re not sure if you can stand his touch, and from the look on his face, it seems to break his heart.

”Nothing, let’s just forget about this.” You feel like you’re being strangled and it takes all of your energy not to burst into tears at the moment. 

”No,” he says softly. “No, I know you, I know you’re not okay. Please, let’s talk about this.” 

And suddenly, everything’s just too much. He’s acting too nice to you, like he actually cares. Like maybe the fervent glances and lingering touches on the ice mean more to him than just pandering to the judges. But you know he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have left.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, you don’t know a single thing about me. So don’t act like you care about me now.”

”I do though!” 

“Bullshit. We’re not anything to each other.” 

His face crumples immediately. He takes a step back. This is the closest he’s ever been to tears.

On a kinder day, you’d take it all back. You’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness and he would be disgustingly kind like he always is and you could both forget about this. But you’re tired of dancing around the issue and you think there’s a sick part of you that revels in his pained expression. 

You take a step forward. “You’re just a coworker. This? This act where we pretend like we can stand to be in the same room as each other? This isn’t real. So stop acting like it is. You didn’t care about me when you left. So why the change now? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to move on? I couldn’t even skate afterwards. I thought my career was over. And I’ve had to fight every single day to prove that—that I’m still a capable skater, that I have a place in this sport.” 

Your voice trembles, and it takes all of your strength to swallow the lump in your throat. “I had to fight to be able to skate without you. To have the courage to stand on the ice alone. So I’m sorry that I’m not willing to welcome you back with open arms, because I know this is just some stupid game to you. You’ll get to the Olympics, because of course you will, and I’ll get to ride on the coattails of that. And that will be the greatest moment of my career, but to you, it’s just another thing on your checklist. Then you’ll go back to whatever you decided is more worthy than m–” You choke on your own words. “Than skating. And I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces again. But frankly speaking, I don’t know if I can do that a second time.”

It’s dead silent, save for your panting. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And Dick? You can’t read him, and that’s what scares you the most.

”Forget it.” The silence is driving you insane, and you just start running your mouth. “Fuck, forget it. I should just be grateful you’re even my partner this season. It’s the only way I’ll make it to the Olympics. I know you’re thinking it, you and Brian—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—that’s why you left, isn’t it? Didn’t want to be tied down to a pathetic fucking loser.”

“I never said th—”

”I can’t blame you. I’d leave me too—“

“I DIDN’T LEAVE YOU!” 

Now you’re both silent. You’ve never heard him raise before. You’ve never seen him this desperate either. He’s shaking as he stands in front of you. “You’re right, I didn’t care about skating. It was always just a hobby to me. But I stayed because of you. Because I was young and stupid and in love and the only way I knew how to show you that was to skate with you. And it killed me when I had to quit, but I just…I saw how much passion you had for skating. Like it was the air you needed to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t dedicate myself to the sport like you could.. And you deserved a partner who would love skating as much as you do.”

You think your brain short circuits after “in love,” and if he says anything else after that, you certainly aren’t processing it. “…You loved me?”

Dick laughs like you’ve just asked if water is a liquid. ”Of course I did. Everybody knew it too. Brian used to tease me about the way I would look at you. And I figured I would finally tell you after I quit, in case it would make things awkward, but then…”

“I blocked you.” You whisper in horror. 

“Yeah, so I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. I didn’t realize quitting meant I would lose you too.” 

And suddenly you’re 14 again, watching the boy you’ve had a crush on for over half of your life tell you that he doesn’t want to skate anymore, and you feel so small and so stupid. “Oh god. So all of those years…”

He nods, “I lied about the Olympics thing. Or well, I really did have a bet with Jason, but when Brian told me that you needed a new partner…I came back hoping it would be a chance to make it up to you.”

You’re still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that maybe Dick had genuinely been trying to make amends with you. “So you being nice wasn’t just for show or team-building or whatever?”

“Team-building? God, I don’t think there’s a world where I can love you in any other way.”

The first realization that he had loved you in the past had been enough to nearly give you a heart attack. But to hear love? In the present tense? You think back to how he’s been acting for the past few months. All of the weird incidents that you can’t just explain away by saying that he’s making fun of you or being civil to you as a teammate or just being nice because that’s how he is. 

Because there’s no other explanation for why he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, why he lifts you with a reverence that could rival the likes of Keats and Byron, why he lingers on the ice after every practice, like he’s chasing the last vestiges of your warmth. 

And you have so many words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ways in which you can lay down your heart for him as he has done for you. But both of you know that even this stolen moment is just that: stolen time.

”Shall we go back?” He offers you his hand evenly, but there’s a tremble in his voice that gives him away. Like he’s worried that even after all of this, there was a universe in which you still don’t reciprocate his feelings. 

Your heart is screaming at you to assure him, promise that yes of course, you would accept him. But the words evaporate from your mind before you have a chance to grasp onto them. So you hope that at the very least, your actions can convey a fraction of your feelings. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the rink. No matter what the result is, you think it’ll be alright if you have Dick’s shoulder to cry on after this is all over. 

—

“And with a free score of 129.44 and a final score of 205.57, that puts America’s own duo from Gotham at third place in the Grand Prix Final!” 

Third, the word echoes in your head, taking you a few moments to process. Third, and there were no other American teams on the podium. Sure, it isn’t exactly the most fairytale ending, but it’s better this way—more real. You turn to look at Dick, who you’re sure has the exact same look of astonishment that you do. You remember Brian doing the math before you guys had even made it to the venue. Based on this event and the rest of your results this season, it was clear that the two of you were the uncontested pair in the whole country. 

“You’re going to the Olympics!” Brian whoops, hugging the both of you and jumping for joy in a way you think only he can get away with. You’re grinning so hard your muscles are starting to twitch but honestly you could care less about that. All of the training, all of the sleepless nights had finally paid off, and you felt like you had really, truly made it. And the fact that you did it with Dick makes it all the sweeter to you. 

You got a medal, a boyfriend, and that day, the kiss and cry finally lived up to its name.

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[grapefood]

(I made this for fun so if it is inaccurate or poor writing then woops my bad? Anyways this is just a retelling of the story of Hyacinthus and Apollo)

_______________

THE TALE OF HYACINTHUS AND APOLLO

WRITTEN BY Samantha Isabel Misamis

Long ago in a distant land

In a Spartan kingdom

There was a royal man

The prince was named Hyacinthus

He was athletic and gorgeous

And with this beauty many tried

To get his hand and be unified

From Queens to Kings

To men to women

To the suitors it stings

His heart had not been taken

Many failed and many tried

But the prince was not satisfied

Until one faithful day

The god Apollo came his way

And saw the prince with all his glory

And knew he needed to have this beauty

So he flew straight down

Unto the earth

And when the prince was found

He was filled with mirth

Hyacinthus saw Apollo

And there he freaked

He lowered his head low

For he was meek

"Rise your majesty

I had not come to bring tragedy

I request harmony

I want your hand

For you must understand

I have never met such a gorgeous man"

Apollo said with flattery

And the prince listened breathlessly

The prince fell for his charm

And fell in love

For he knew no harm

That would come from above

They were both equally in love

That was for sure

And the god Apollo could not ask for more

Many moons had passed

And long their love had last

The god and mortal were so close

It would surprise most

And surprised the west wind was

The god Zephyrus

Saw the couple's love and was jealous

So he watched from afar

Seeing the couple's love bloom

The God's heart turned tar

And he planned for the loves doom

One sunny day

Where the wind was right

The couple bathe in the sunlight

The couple felt playful

So they played a game

A classic game of discus

To see who had greater aim

The prince went first

And threw it with all his might

And as it took it's flight

The prince felt delight

It had hit the ground

It was quite profound

How great his aim was

For a mortal around

Apollo was impressed

He must admit

But it was now his turn

And this he will hit

For he was a god of many things

From prophecies to poetry

To music and archery

To plagues and healings

Apollo threw the discus

With great precision

Not much to discuss

It was a wise decision

It flew so far

Hyacinthus could barely see

So he chased the discus

Oh so gleefully

Apollo followed behind

But unbeknownst to him

Zephyrus was ready to ruin the game

Right on a whim

While the discus was in the air

Zephyrus blew it off course

But this was not for flair

It was much worse

The discus flew back down

Before Hyacinthus could stop

It broke his crown

Then there a crimson drop

The prince had fallen

And there Apollo ceased

His heart was swollen

His beloved was deceased

He held his dear

With growing fear

How could this be?

Why here?

He screamed and wept

The king Hades felt pity

But he was still dead truly

As Apollo dried his eyes

And wiped his tear

He looked at his love

And held him near

"Oh beloved of mine

I was so blind

How could a god of prochecy

Could not see?

How could a god of healing

Not stop your bleeding?"

Apollo stared at the crimson

Thus he made a decision

There at the reds dew

A purple flower grew

It was a beautiful flower

Just like his lover

He wrote on the petals

A poem that sizzles

"Forevermore

My love

Forevermore

My dove

Forevermore

Forevermore

Forevermore

Forevermore"

And there from his lover's blood

Grew a hyacinth flower

His beloved prince

His beloved hyacinth

Hermes heard the woe

Of his brethren Apollo

And gave him comfort

"Do not mourn him

For he has found peace

And deep below we both knew

His mortal soul would soon decease.

So don't blame the Fates

Nor to Thanatos, for his state.

For we both knew that he'll die

Even if we learnt far too late."

[saberamane]

My Etsy Shop!

Not much posted yet, I will keep this post updated.

On offer is custom planet/galaxy paintings on either canvas (assorted sizes) or gloss photo paper. DM me here or at my shop for custom orders. Based in the USA but will ship internationally.

Stencil-based artwork is available for commission, otherwise sold intermittently.

Canvas Sizes (in inches) And Starting Prices (USD)

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11x18 - $13.50

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24x18 - $20.00

24x30 - $25.00

Starting prices cover the cost of acquiring your desired size. Prices increase once paint, labor, stencils, shipping, or any other materials are added.

Also Available In Gloss Picture Paper

A3 size (11x17 inches or 279x432mm)

180 gsm

40lbs

8.5 mil

$45.00 flat fee for 2 colors of your choice. Additional colors add cost. No 'specialty' colors. Planet/galaxy paintings only unless discussed prior.

All paintings are finished in a gloss coat for protection.

Shipping is not included.

Custom painting requests are welcome.

Payment is secured once everyone is happy with the product and before shipping.

Cancelations are accepted before shipping, however finished products will still be sold.

For paintings requiring custom stencils, customer will be responsible to pay for the production of the stencil. This includes the work that goes into creating a good quality picture, the work in creating the layers of the stencil, and the cutting/clean-up of the stencil as well as time and labor. Price varies on complexity of the stencil.

Available Colors (color preview available soon)(listed dark to light)

Gloss Colors: $4.30 per color (excluding background black and white star splatter)

Reds:

Cranberry

Red Plum

Cherry Red

Majestic Red

Strawberry Fields

Blues:

Deep Blue

Macaw Blue

Blue Hyacinth

Spa Blue

Sea Side

Purples:

Purple

Grape

Icy Grape

Dreamy Lavender

Gumdrop

Greens:

Deep Turquoise

Spring Green

Jungle Green

Pinks:

Hot Pink

Mambo Pink

Berry Pink

Hot Pink

Coral

Soft Pink

Orange:

Real Orange

Popsicle Orange

Tans/Yellows

Khaki

Yellow Ginger

Bauhaus Gold

Warm Yellow

Almond

Browns:

Kona

Chestnut

Latte

Black, White, Gray

Speciality Colors

Fluorescent Colors: $5 a color

Green

Pink

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Yellow

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Metallics: $6 a color

Gold

Silver

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'Crackle' effect paint: $8

Satin/Matte Colors

(less 'shiny' than gloss, but isn't really noticeable with the gloss top coat.)

Aubergine (purplish)

French Lilac

Vintage Blush (light skintone pinky color)

Oxford Blue

Burgundy

Coastal Sage (light bluish)

Note: While you can pick as many colors as you'd like, more than 3 or 4 colors per planet runs the risk of creating a muddy mess.

Unless otherwise told, the background will be solid black with white splatter stars with a white shine on your planet opposite the shadow, the picked colors going toward your planet(s).

When commissioning, please specify how many planets you want (the more planets, the smaller they are), what color combos, if you want any 'space gas' in the background, and if you want your planet 'shine' to be white or a different color.

Example And Description:

2 planets

planet 1 = Red, orange, yellow with matching backdrop

planet 2 = macaw blue, sea side, spa blue with matching backdrop

planets sprayed half white/half black over top, creating light and shadow.

background and planets textured with wrinkled plastic.

no splatter stars

Now Also Making Prop Potions!

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Hyacinthus Iceberg Meme EXPLAIN (P3)

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

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

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

Daphne is Hyacinthus' sister

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

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

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

Some K-drama angsty level of romance, eh?

The accurate hyacinth flower???

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

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

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

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

Here is a detail that got me pondering.

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

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

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

Zephyrus wears hyacinths on his flower wreath

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

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

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

We'll never know.

Chloris creates the hyacinth flowers

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

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

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

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

Apollo is Hyacinthus' uncle/granduncle/great-grandfather

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here are some sources to back me up:

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

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

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

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

Apollo and Hyacinthus in the Trojan War???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That leads us to the next point:

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

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

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

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

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

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

3) Do the Spartans celebrate the Hyacinthia in Troy?

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

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

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

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

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

Food for thought...

TO BE CONTINUED

[theshynerdsworld]

THE MUSE part 6

Benedict Bridgerton x female oc

——-

Mary stood looking in the mirror at her dress, it was light blue with little embroidered flowers “I don’t know…” she whispered “Mary, we’ve tried nearly everything,.” Greta told her “hand me to grey lavender, again.” Mary took it off and took the dress, putting it on and put her head to the side “ok. This one.” Greta buttoned it up and helped Mary down from the little stage, Mary grabbed her shoes and bag. Then sat at her makeup table, putting on some light make up “do you think, he will propose?” Greta asked, sitting down and Mary looked her “I’m not sure..” she whispered “I plan to ask him to sleep with me, if I’m married off to another man.” Mary said as a matter of fact “I don’t care, if I sound like a whore, Greta. I deserve to have some pleasure in life..”

Greta sighed and said “Miss, that’s not right..”, “why can’t I have a little pleasure before I’m sold away..” she whispered, Greta gave her a disappointing look “knowing him, probably would.” Mary put her earrings in then nodded standing up The two got up and made their way downstairs when she stopped, seeing Benedict and his brothers, Anthony, Colin and Gregory “Benedict, I thought we were meeting there.” She said after coming down the stairs “well.. we passing by.” She looked at Greta and then Benedict “of course. We should go.”, “shouldn’t we tell your aunt and grandparents.” Colin said, concerned “Johnathon, can tell them.” Mary was out the door “thanks John!”, “I’m gonna make you pay me back, I swear.”

Benedict helped her in and Greta aswell, then the men got in “I like your dress”, “oh thank you, Gregory.” The ride was quiet, the boys mainly spoke. Gregory asked “how do you feel about ducks?”, “ducks?” She asked confused “it’s just I’m going to be feeding them with my sister, hyacinth and well, maybe if you and Benedict are nearby, I was just wondering what you thought”, “um.. well, their ok.. I like animals.” Gregory nodded and looked out the window, making Anthony do a tiny laugh “so where did you go to school?” Colin asked, making Mary look at him “well, I went to sister Margaret’s grammar for girls. It was ok..”, “do well?” Colin started to quiz her, Benedict and Anthony gave him a warning look “well enough…”, “hmm.. so..” Gregory interrupted and said “oh, look we are here.” The men got out and Benedict helped out Mary and Greta “it’s warm today.” Mary stated, as they linked arms and Greta pulled out her fan “you left it.”

Mary thanked her and fanned herself as they walked with Colin and Greta behind them “is it weird?”, “what?” Benedict asked, as they walked “this.. you are known as the Bridgerton, who does not date.” Benedict thought and said “your an expectation.” He paused then said “I asked my brother.. Anthony to be the second for the painting.”, “your brother.. I could not find anyone on such sort notice.” He whispered, as they greeted someone walking past “not Colin?” He shook his head “ok.. sure.”, “you will need a light purple dress, like the one you wore to our second session, I’ll provide the masks.” She nodded “ok..”, “do you want lemonade?” He asked, as they sat. Colin huffed alittle as he sat near Greta. Mary nodded “please.” Benedict stood up and said “Greta, lemonade?”, “thank you sir, of course.” He nodded “come on col.”

The two walked off as Greta sat down, next to Mary to keep her company “so col, why the questions?” Colin scoffed alittle “to know, her. We don’t know anything about her, Ben.” He said all hush hush “I know her.”, “yes because you fucking her.” As they stood in line, he shushed Colin “we are not. So don’t, even.. four lemonades please.” The man nodded and got to work, as the brothers discussed “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Colin said grabbing two cup and so did Benedict “im just saying, the family can’t afford a scandal.” Colin snapped silently “at least I know her, unlike your engagement.”, “that’s not fair.” Col glared “neither is attacking Mary.” The two got closer “here we go ladies. Refreshing lemonade.” They thanked the men and sipped, as Mary fanned herself “are you ok?”, “I don’t well in heat…” just then hyacinth came running “mama said food is ready, if you want to join.”, “actually Col will be joining you. I have a surprise set up for me and miss frantic, obviously greta will be joining.” Colin went to protest but Benedict stopped him, as he helped up Mary and greta followed “so what is this surprise?” She wondered outloud. Colin shook his head and walked to the family “mother, you cannot allow this.”, “I helped him set it up. Anthony! Stop annoying your sister.” Violet snapped and sat down “now eat.” She snapped.

As the trio ate, Benedict looked at her and cleared his throat “I have a question.” She raised her eyebrow “so ominous.” She giggled then drank her lemonade, greta listened as she ate “tomorrow, is the races and I was wondered if you wanted to attend in our box.” Mary nodded and thought, then replied “I am going with my family but maybe I could persuade them, I will try.” He smiled as got closer, Mary looked at him “I have an invitation for you, your brothers, aunt and grandparents.” He pulled out an envelope and she raised her eyebrow, as she took it, looking around and opened it “money?” She whispered, as he sipped his drink “yes, I owe you for a session.” She placed it in her bag and whispered “you paid me.”, “did I?” He said innocently and she glared at him playfully, and took the last strawberry “huh. The last strawberrry? How dare you.” Greta watched the two, playfully argue and she shook her head ‘young love’ she thought and sighed softly, taking in the sun.

(Sorry it’s late, I haven’t been feeling it and tbh I’m making this up as I go along, I’m also trying to figure out how to make a master list for the series. Any suggestions for the story? Enjoy!)

[roridomyces]

Shallan Davar

The flowers and their meanings:

Purple hyacinth (background): sorrow, regret, implications of guilt

White cherry (branch): deception

Diphylleia (transparent, wrapped around white cherry): I will show my true self to you, clarity, honesty

More discussion, honorable mention flowers and alt version:

Shallan is our favorite liar and with the Lightweaver ideals focused on deception, it was an easy choice to pick a flower with that meaning. When I saw the description of the diphylleia meaning I immediately thought of her, it's entwined with the cherry because the honesty doesn't come easily. She doesn't want to show her true self, but she does. I put the purple hyacinth in the background as a reference to all the stuff she's done and repressed, it's still there but it's not the focus.

I regret that I couldn't fit more flowers with lively meanings in, sorry Shallan.

Honorable mention flowers:

Sycamore (tree): curiousity

Brugmansia: vivacity, vibrancy, health, danger

Clematis: mental beauty, art

Meanings came from a variety of sources, mostly the Wikipedia page of plant meanings and Farmer's Almanac.

Version without the hyacinths:

[spiritedstars]

Quiet Thunder - II [ Elucien ]

Prompt: This is a follow-up to part one of Quiet Thunder where Lucien expresses his frustrations to Elain post-ACOFAS. This is the Elain follow-up. |

Rating: SFW

Elain took a deep breath of a new day in Velaris. She paused in the busy streets and her eyes darted around the buildings, the color, and the different kinds of people roaming around her. 

Would she ever feel like she belonged? A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow it as she walked on. Elain tried. She tried to fit in and stay busy and be happy but every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt nothing but shame. 

Shame for who she had been. Shame for who she was now. Shame for allowing herself to cope in the only way she knew how, by ignoring it. 

Everything was different and yet, the same. 

She took another deep breath and walked on, her fingers gently rubbing the tip of her right ear; a new habit she had picked up when nervous. A habit that only kept reminding her of the differences in her body. A body that was hers yet not, a body she was still getting to know all over again.

Elain walked on, past the busy streets into a quieter neighborhood, where each of the houses burst with personality. She saw one, two, and three-story homes, with yards, picket fences, gardens, and treehouses. She smiled at those who smiled at her and nodded at those who didn’t. 

Would she ever get used to being so known like this? Would she go back to enjoying socializing and welcoming people into her life?

Elain sighed, as she did so often these days, and finally stopped in front of one particular home. A quaint, cottage-like home with a modest gate, surrounded by greenery. Wildflowers lining a white fence. Her heart thudded and her throat bobbed.  It was so lovely. 

Elain swallowed then slowly made her way to the front door of his home and stood. 

She stood and stood and stood. 

Elain stood, eyeing the white door and she wondered how long she’d been standing there; ten minutes or ten months.

It had been about three weeks since he’d come to see her and said all that he said to her but she hadn’t heard from him since. She may have only been standing in front of his home for these few minutes, but deep down, Elain knew she had been standing still in all aspects of her life for so much longer. 

“Feel better. Find me when you do.”

The words echoed in her mind now as she stood, rooted to her spot. Thinking back on the past year and some, so many things had just happened to her in her life and she had stood, passively letting it by. Had she just been lying in wait then? Waiting for something to push her story forward? To force her into action? 

She shook her head then and bit her lip. What was she so afraid of? He was giving her a choice. A chance. Free reins. He had made it clear from the very beginning, he wanted nothing more than a conversation and gave her the choice to decide when.

“If you don’t want anything to do with me, then that’s fine, but we need to discuss that.”

A decision she had the right to make. A choice given back to her to move her life forward, on her own terms. 

“I didn’t ask for this either and I’m not looking for you to love me. I’d just like to at least be your friend.”

A friend. A friend that would be tethered to her soul. 

Feyre had mentioned he was back in Velaris for the time being, to visit, to work, she wasn't sure. Elain had stopped listening after Feyre had announced his return, the first one of his since she last saw him. She had shot up and had finally decided — actually, decided on her next move. No one had questioned it.

As she stood here now, her grip tightened around the bouquet of flowers she had put together to give to him. Her gaze dropped to the rainbow of color in her hand; it was a mix of Scarlet Geranium, White Poppy, asphodel, and purple hyacinth. She tried to pick flowers that would express how she felt; there wasn’t a language she spoke as fluently as when she spoke in flower. 

She hoped he could translate her apology but then again, Elain wondered if he’ll even want anything from her. After all, she hadn’t been very kind to him.

“The least you could grant me, us, is a chance to talk about this.”

Elain closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe she should go back. She didn’t know what she’d even say to him. What would they even talk about? Was there a point in moving forward if you didn’t know what direction to go?

“Elain?”

His scent hit her as she whirled around and found him standing a few feet back, a bag of goods in his hand. He blinked at her in surprise and she instantly flushed.

“Hello.” she said, eyes darting all around them before settling on him again and she held the flowers out. “These — these are for you.”

Once again, Lucien blinked at her in surprise and Elain’s flush deepened.

“Oh!” he said and hesitantly reached out to take them. “Thank you...I, um — hello.”

Their fingers brushed as he took the bouquet from her and the two shuddered. She eyed Lucien and by the look on his face, he had felt the shock of the touch too.

She curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear then clasped her hands together, took a small breath, and stepped back. “Feyre said it had been a while since you’ve been back to this home here. I figured flowers could...brighten it up.”

Elain watched him look down at the flowers silently and hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he chuckled softly and she loosened a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought.” he replied, meeting her gaze. “I went to replenish a few missing things.” He paused and she noticed how his fingers tightened around the bouquet as a moment of silence passed between them, then, “Would you like to come in?”

Elaine blinked. “Come in?”

“Yes.”

“Inside your home?”

“...Yes?”

 “...I don’t know if that’s proper.” she said breathlessly and watched his mouth slip into an ever so slight frown. “Unless!” she quickly added and he blinked. “Unless...it’s fine?”

“Of course it is.” he replied softly, his brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Elain bit her lip as she glanced at him. Their eyes met and they both immediately flushed again when his gaze narrowed on her lips. “I don’t know what the social etiquette rules here are.” she whispered. “I don’t want to overstep.” 

Lucien gave her a smile of understanding. “You could never overstep.” he said softly and she nodded silently, brows furrowed.  

A heartbeat of silence passed then,

“So... you want me to come inside your home?” she asked hesitantly, feeling her face heat all over again.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.” he said with a small smile. “Did you think I’d have you at my door and not invite you in? Terrible manners that would be, wouldn’t it?”

She gave him an awkward smile. “To be completely honest...I hadn’t thought about what would happen after I got here.”

Lucien paused then, gazing at her, his eyes locked on hers and Elain felt a tingling sensation — as though he could see right through her. Right through her jumbled thoughts. She watched him nod, seemingly to himself then walked past her to open his door, gesturing for her to go in.

“If this is your way of instigating a night of sweet lovemaking, I’m afraid you’ll have to invite me for dinner first.” he replied with a cheeky smile. 

Elain froze mid-step, her eyes widened and her face flushing even deeper than before. Lucien’s eyes found hers and his expression shifted from a smile to horror, his body going rigid. 

“Oh gods.” he whispered and immediately straightened. “I’m so sorry Elain, I was only joking —I do it when I’m nervous — very inappropriate — I don’t want to make you uncomfortable – it was just — ”

But he stopped as she started giggling. 

Lucien watched her giggle uncontrollably, doubling over and his lips twitched, unsure of what to make of it.

“I thought I insulted you but I suppose I really am as hilarious as I think I am.” he said with a brow raised. “The idea of us making passionate love is just hysterical, hm?”

Elain sighed, wiping her eyes. He had caught her so off-guard with his statement, her own reaction surprised her. The man she’d been ignoring for over a year now was making jokes with her! About the two of them! Being intimate! 

The two stood and looked at each other, taking in the lightness of the moment. That he had made her laugh. It brought back the memory of the first time he had inspired a smile out of her.

“Of all the things I thought you’d say, that was definitely not it.” she finally said, looking away from him shyly. “I — it’s not very proper though, is it?”

“Mmm.” he mused, then chuckled. “Proper is selective in my arsenal but I’ll be sure not to scandalize you further with my jokes. I can be a gentleman for you.”

“I would think being yourself is the best policy.” she replied with a small chuckle and finally stepped into his home. Her eyes darted around his living space, taking it all in.

“Are you saying if I am being a gentleman, I’m not being myself?” he asked with mock offense and Elain snorted.

“Based on the things I’ve heard from Feyre? It’s debatable.”

“Asking Feyre about me, are you?” Lucien asked teasingly and Elain rolled her eyes. “I knew my wily charms would eventually come through.”

“There’s the snark I was warned about.” she muttered and he chuckled. 

Elain felt his eyes on her as she continued to scan his home. It wasn’t too cluttered. It was kept tidy and everything in the space had a practical use. Without having to look at him, she could tell her assessment was making him nervous.

“Is it alright if I close the door or should I leave it open in case you want to run after I crack another inappropriate joke?” 

Elain rolled her eyes, then turned to meet his gaze, her cheeks rosy once more. “I’m here, aren’t I? I made the choice to be.”

Lucien hummed softly and walked past her, placing both the bags and flowers on the small dining table. He paused then, “Yes. You did make the choice to come.” he said and braced his hands on his kitchen counter, clearing his throat. “But, forgive me for asking so bluntly and right away but — why are you here?”

Elain’s brows furrowed and she looked down, thinking exactly how to answer that. A moment passed then she looked at him, patiently waiting for her response. 

“You told me to feel better and then come find you.” she said quietly. “So I’m here. To talk.”

Lucien slowly nodded. “To talk.”

“Yes.”

He watched her and it unnerved her how assessing his eyes seemed to be, how assessing his eyes had been from the moment he saw her. Elain had often wondered just how the mating bond worked and had asked Rhys and Feyre so many times... but it didn’t quite make sense as much as it did at this moment. 

When he gave her a small smile and she felt a warm jolt in her chest. 

“Talking is one of my favorite things to do. I do love the sound of my own voice.” he replied with another one of his cheeky grins. “Are you hungry? I could make us something quick if you’d like. Or we can have a cup of tea?”

“I think tea would be lovely.” she said, a small smile and he nodded.

Elain watched him quietly as he moved about his kitchen and it was when she noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he filled the kettle she realized how awkward it must feel for him and how hard he was trying to make her feel comfortable. 

Elain could try and meet him halfway. She was a social butterfly. She could diffuse the awkward.

“Do you have powers — I mean abilities?” she blurted out and Lucien paused. “I think fire, yes?’

His lips twitched and Elain flushed at how silly the question was. Social butterfly indeed.

 “Yes, I do. Fire manipulation is one of them.”

She pursed her lips at the teasing smile he gave her. “Can you heat up the kettle without using actual fire then?” she asked, pointing as she moved closer to inspect. 

Lucien tilted his head as he watched her stand closer to him. Without taking his eyes off her, he put down the kettle then touched it and Elain watched in fascination as steam started emerging from it and then heard the bubbling of the boiled water.

“That must be handy.” she said lamely. 

“Please Elain, settle down. What will the neighbors think if they hear how inappropriately you’re flirting with me?” 

Elain scoffed and playfully shoved him then immediately froze at the contact. She slowly looked up at him and when he smiled at her she felt her whole body heat up.

“Sorry.” she mumbled and stepped back but Lucien only chuckled in response and playfully bumped her with his shoulder. 

“No apologies needed. Let me set up the tray and then we can sit outside by the garden.”

“You have a garden?” she asked and Lucien watched her whole face light up in excitement.

He paused then rubbed his neck with a sheepish smile. “It’s not in the best shape at the moment, considering I travel often but I had started growing some plants and vegetables,” he said then gestured with a hand. “Maybe you can give me some ideas on how to fix it? I know you enjoy gardening.”

“I’d love to!” Elain beamed then curled a hair behind her ear, her cheeks rosy. “It could be a fun project to work on — if you want to.” she began, gushing. “I really love the organization process of setting up a new space and knowing which plants to put next to what and you seem to have good space back there and —” 

But then Elain froze again. 

Had she just casually offered to work on a project with him? Someone she’d been actively avoiding for a year? 

She blinked.

Why was it so easy? 

She glanced at him, for Lucien had paused in place, watching her and Elain swallowed, her heart thundering. 

Why was it so easy to slip into a comfortable conversation? To joke? Like they were old friends?

“Because it’s supposed to be easy.” he answered her quietly and Elain startled, not realizing she had spoken the words to him. Lucien hesitantly reached out to curl that same strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of place in her excitement. “It’s okay, Elain.”

Elain watched him swallow and bring his hands back to his sides. Watched his hands flex then fist.

“I’d ask you how you could be so calm about this but I can feel your heart beating.” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I felt it the moment you set foot in Velaris.” 

“My body is in a constant state of fight or flight.” he said with a shaky laugh, running his own hand through his hair. “Calm is something I’m still getting used to.”

Elain looked at him then, really looked at him. She had always avoided looking at him directly but now, in a feeling she wasn’t entirely sure she was in control of, she stared bluntly. She let her gaze take in his fiery red hair, his sun-kissed skin, his one russet eye and his other metal one that was widened as he watched her watching him. Elain’s eyes scanned the scar on his face and her teeth clenched at the sight of it. 

But then she blinked. She had no right to be angry about it. They were hardly acquainted and yet...the tug between them was taut, clear as day. 

Elain watched him swallow again then casually gesture towards his eye. “Jurian likes to make a joke that if I add an eye patch, I’d make one heck of a pirate.” 

Another attempt at humor for her sake.

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’d be a very eye-catching pirate, I’d think.” 

Lucien chuckled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Elain, please control yourself. If not dinner, at least take me out for lunch before propositioning me. I’m willing to be a mid-day harlot if asked nicely.”

Elain huffed out an unexpected laugh then rolled her eyes at him. “You’re very arrogant.”

“Not annoying?” he asked cheekily and she snorted. 

“That too but arrogant felt more polite.”

“Polite with a bit of a bite, hm?” he asked again with a quirked brow and both her brows raised.

“I am a civilized lady.” she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting. “My bites aren’t so bad.”

“Hm.” he mused with a smirk. “In my experience, civilized ladies tend to have the strongest sting.” 

“Mmm.” she mused in return, glancing at him through her lashes. “Have a lot of experience with civilized ladies then?”

Lucien gave a casual shrug. “So, so.” he said and studied her. “But I do have to say, I haven’t met any like you.”

Elain paused then, realizing again how easy it was to — to flirt with him. She gave him a thin smile. “You mean one who is your...your mate?” she said with a bite to her tone.

“Definitely not, no.” he said softly.

And just like that, Elain felt the air become tense between them again and frowned in the silence that followed. She swallowed, unsure, and met her mate’s gaze. Lucien gestured gently towards the back door.

“Why don’t we head out to the garden and talk things out?”

Elain nodded tightly then made her way outside, a finger rubbing the tip of her right ear again. Her eyes flickered back to him and she bit her lip, watching him take a deep breath, his hands shaky once more. Taking in her own deep breath, Elain let her gaze scan his backyard space as she assessed her emotions. He had a small seating area but it was mostly neat with small semi-alive plants and vegetable patches. 

She took a seat. How was she feeling? Nervous? 

Definitely not as nervous as she had expected. He was as courteous as he’d always been. He was patient and seemed very kind. Lucien was funny and wasn’t pushy at all. He was trying so hard to make her comfortable. So why did she feel shame that it wasn’t going terribly? Shame that she didn’t mind sitting in his garden and waiting to talk to him? 

Shame as she thought of the man she once loved glaring at her in disgust for what’d she become. For even considering the option of accepting Lucien for what he was to her. 

“I feel it too, you know.”

Elain turned her head to see him approaching, a small tray in hand that carried tea and an assortment of cookies. 

“Feel what?” she asked, fiddling with her fingers, avoiding his gaze now. 

“Your shame. It feels nearly as crippling as mine.” he said quietly and slowly took a seat opposite her. She looked up at him.

“What do you have to be ashamed about?” she whispered and Lucien gave a humorless chuckle.

“My whole life has been a cascading waterfall of shame.” he said bitterly and Elain assessed his anger, his clenched fists. It was a moment before he spoke again and his hands relaxed. “I’ve lived with shame long enough to be able to tell you, with confidence, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Elain shook her head and gave him a sad smile. “I can’t stop thinking about him. His disgusted face the last time he saw me. How he ignored me after. I loved him enough that it’s given him so much power over how I view myself. He doesn’t know how much power he has over me and I allowed that. He definitely doesn’t care...but he still has power over how I view myself because I gave him so much of my love... How can you say I have nothing to be ashamed of?”

Lucien gave her a gentle smile. “Being so in love that you trust your partner to give them your world isn’t something to be ashamed of. He should be ashamed for letting blind prejudices take away from what you two had.”

Elain blinked rapidly, her lips trembling slightly and she avoided his gaze once more. He was understanding her too easily, feeling what she felt too easily. “I know I seem naive in my view of it but...before this all happened, I had already envisioned our life together. He...let that go. Maybe it’s because it was my first love that I’m taking it so hard but — but he should’ve fought harder for me.”

Lucien sat back, arms resting in his lap, his expression thoughtful. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve thought of anyone but her.” he said quietly. “She’s always in the back of my mind, even when I’ve attempted to take new lovers and it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who views love the way it should be viewed. As something so pure. It’s refreshing.” 

She shrugged, not feeling particularly insightful at all. Every time she thought of Graysen now, Elain only felt stupid. 

Lucien leaned forward and tapped the table gently to get her attention and she met his gaze. “You know, I can feel whatever it is you’re feeling,” he said. “Nothing you feel is stupid. Your first love will always have a special memory or teach a specific lesson. Either way, it leaves a mark that you’ll remember.”

Elain looked at him, taking in his expression, and gently asked, "I thought...I thought mates couldn't handle talking about other partners. That you'd — you wouldn't take this well."

Lucien pursed his lips, brows furrowed. "I'm not a heathen without any self-restraint. You're also not an object that I own." he simply said. "I'd be an idiot to think someone as beautiful as you wouldn't have had any previous lovers, as did I."

Elain looked down, embarrassed of her assumption and of her question. Why had she just assumed he'd be awful to her? Why didn't she —

"It's okay, Elain." he said gently, cutting into her spiraling thoughts. "You can ask whatever you want. I'd be more than happy to answer."

She nodded and then softly asked, “Will it always be like that? You aware of how I feel?”

He nodded slowly. “Part of the bond’s magic is that you and your mate have a connection so deep and sacred, nothing will ever compare. You’re essentially two sides of the same coin, always in touch.” he explained and paused momentarily, licking his lips. “This past year...especially because I went in and out of Velaris often...I am very aware of how it has been for you.”

“Would this connection remain even if...even if the bond was rejected?”

Elain watched him flinch at the question and felt herself wince, knowing how touchy this was based on Rhys and Feyre’s explanations.

It took Lucien a few moments before he finally swallowed and answered quietly. “Even if the bond is rejected, the link is always there.”

It was a tense quiet before Elain broke the silence. Feeling like she owed him honesty, she only said, “I’ve been aware of how you felt as well but...I always ignored it.”

“I know.” he said with a sad smile. 

“It was never about ignoring you as it was...ignoring the situation.” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. It hasn’t been fair to you.”

“No, it hasn’t.” he agreed and the two sat in silence once more as Elain attempted to express exactly how she was feeling. She looked at him and when he gave her an encouraging smile, she flushed.  

“With everything that happened since the cauldron and everything that was taken from me and then given to me…” she quietly began then paused, curling a hair behind her ear. “Having you as my mate felt — it felt like another thing I had to take without having a say in. It felt like — as though — “

Elain paused again, anger flaring suddenly and she clenched her teeth. “I was in a body that was my body but not, with powers I didn’t understand and suddenly I had now become the possession of a man I didn’t know.”

“I have never once thought of you as a possession and will never think of you that way.” Lucien said softly. 

“While I appreciate you saying that...it still felt that way for me. Especially when I started realizing how the bond works. You...you made me feel things that felt against my will.” she whispered. “I didn’t like it that these instincts I wasn’t familiar with were taking charge with someone I knew nothing about and someone I wasn’t ready to know.”

“It can be very overwhelming.” he agreed. 

“Very.” Elain said with a frown. “Do...do you feel that way?”

Lucien chuckled and gave her a tight nod. “It’s worse for males. This stupid idea that we’re supposed to resonate with our animalistic tendencies and claim, protect. But I am not these tendencies nor will I ever let myself fall to them. I am more than that and you are more than that.”

Elain shied away from his firm gaze, understanding what he was trying to tell her. What he had been trying to tell her for the past year and it was as she sat in his garden, the sun shining down on the two of them that she finally understood. She looked up and closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting herself bask in the sun, as if it was here at this specific moment to remind her how much she needed this conversation to happen.

She’d spent the last year looking for the sun and trying to stand in it but it was only here, Elain actually felt it on her skin, warming her up.

“This feels nice.” she said quietly and opened her eyes to give him a smile, finding him watching her, slight awe on his face.

Once again, she felt the bond between them as he gazed at her but it didn’t feel as daunting as it had before.

Lucien looked away from her, a flush in his own cheeks. “Yes...it does. I do like it here. It’s the first home that’s actually mine.” he said with a small smile. “I’m not living on anyone’s property but my own for once.”

“You don’t feel lonely in it?” she asked, facing him fully for the first the time since they sat, her arms resting on the table.  

Lucien quirked his head in thought. “I think…” he began. “I think inherently, I’ve always been lonely. I was always on my own in the Autumn Court and the Spring Court was a little better but not great. I was Emissary and it was wonderful working with many different people but I also never felt like I belonged anywhere or was tied to one place. Except when I met Jesminda and then…” he waved his hand and Elain understood. He’d rather not dive into those memories.

She hesitated for a moment then, “I always felt a little lost in the middle between Nesta and Feyre. They’re both so strong and have such distinctive personalities. I was always just...the middle sister. Until I met Gray — until I met him.”

“You felt seen.” Lucien said, a knowing look on his face. “You felt understood.”

“Yes.”

“I know. I did too.” he said with a sad smile. “She saw me for all that I was and all that I could be.”

Elain’s sad smile met his. “She was the person you loved most, wasn’t she?”

“She was, yes.” he said quietly and Elain nodded.

“He was that for me. He saw me. He saw that there was more to me. He listened to things I had to say...it was easy with him. I thought he loved me.” she choked out bitterly. “He may have hated fairies but I was still me...still me just with pointy ears.”

Lucien gave her a half-smile at the attempt at humor, despite the shakey tone with which she said it.

“It turns out he didn’t see me after all.” Elain whispered and before Lucien could stop himself, he reached over, placing a hand on top of hers, and squeezed gently. Despite any initial reservations she had about him, Elain squeezed his hand back and took a deep breath. 

“Now I’m lost all over again...I’m trying to find my way back to myself. The old me isn’t enough anymore.” she continued with a shrug. “I’m too angry for it. The life I had and wanted was ripped away from me and I had no say. With everything that happened after, I still had no say and I hate it. I’m still processing and coming to terms with it...I have so much more to offer and deserve more. I — I don’t want to be reduced to just your mate. I want to learn how to be brave, brave to be me with all the changes that have happened.”

A breath rushed out of her as she spoke, the words she had been wanting to say for so long. They came out strong, clear, and Elain felt a rush of pride that she had not flinched away from him as she spoke. Felt a weight off her shoulders.

Lucien squeezed her hand once more with another encouraging smile, as if he too, had felt the pride she felt for herself. “Bond or no bond, Elain — this is what I want for you and for myself. You may be my mate but you are your own person first and foremost. I am my own person first and foremost.” he said firmly. “I’ve lived my whole life trying to be molded into what others want from me and now, I want to spend it on what I want for myself. If we decide to be mates, I want you to choose me. To be with me as I am. I’m not here to convince anyone to love me. I want to be a choice and deserve to be a choice. I am not a burden on you or anyone else.”

“But that’s what I want too!” she said, leaning forward and tightening her grip on his hand. “I don’t want this to be something we do because we have to, but because we want to. I need something this significant to be on my terms, something I decide. Something we decide together.”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to tell you since I met you.” he said with a small chuckle. 

“I know.” she said quietly, her cheeks heated. “I’m sorry I didn’t give room for it to be discussed. I was — am scared.”

“Don’t apologize. I understand.” he said. “There’s nothing I want more than for this to be a comfortable experience for us both. This is...new and different for me too. The mating bond will be what we decide on, as you said, together. I expect nothing more from you than conversation and friendship...if that’s something you’re open to. This will be at your pace. We can be brave together.”

She smiled at him then her gaze fell on their interlaced hands and she thought about this all for a moment. The idea of a mate didn’t have to be something burdensome or heavy. It could be friendship. It could be more. It could be nothing. They would decide it. 

A sense of ease washed over her, pleasantly surprised that he, Lucien — her mate, was the cause of it. This male who she had thought would be the cause of discomfort in her life had taken all her worries about this bond and eased them in one conversation. 

“I am open to that. I’d like to get to know you as a friend first.” Elain said with a shy smile.

“Elain please, calm yourself. What will the neighbors think?” he said with a grin and Elain laughed softly, pulling her hand away and slapping his lightly.

“They’re going to think the tea went cold and we haven’t even touched the cookies.”

“I can fix that.” he said, his grin widening as he pushed the plate of cookies towards her and let his hand settle on the teapot to heat it.

Elain rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I bet you work that trick into everything you do.”

“Stick around and you’ll find out soon enough, friend.”

She looked at him then, her gaze as firm as his, the two smiling at each other shyly. Elain thought back to the first moment she felt the tug from him, long ago in the House of Wind. It had been a strange sensation and at that point in her life, an unwelcome one. 

Elain found now, she didn’t mind the idea of having a friend that was tied to her soul. A friend that would understand her in a way no one else ever would. A friend that could...later on, be more. When she was ready. If they wanted to take that step. 

A step they would either take together or decide not to, together. A choice she would make. A decision she had the power in. 

Elain decided then that, no, she didn’t mind Lucien becoming her friend at all. In fact, as the sun continued to shine down on them and she basked in its warmth, she looked around his home and found herself at ease. As she looked at him, seated across from her, pouring her a cup of delicious-smelling tea, Elain found that she didn’t mind Lucien one bit. So she smiled again, taking the teacup he passed to her, and said, 

“I look forward to it, friend.”

[ad-ciu]

Hello! When researching Conall I read some description of him (can't remember what or where) where they described his one black eye as being completely black (as in, the iris and the sclera are both black), but in all other descriptions (mainly thinking of Da Derga's Hostel, the retelling of Conall's death by Candlelit tales pod, and the Championship of Ulster) where he is described with one black and one blue eye (just the iris I assume?). What are your thoughts on the completely black sclera?

(I'm sorry if this post is a bit stifled or weird, I had a few reflexive Ctl-Z's that have had me rewriting chunks of this post several times) Heya!

As far as I am aware, that description of Conall is only found in that portion of Togail Bruidne Da Derga (which, for those unfamiliar, I provide an excerpt from Stoke's translation) that you mention. ‘There I beheld in a decorated room the fairest man of Erin's heroes. He wore a tufted purple cloak. White as snow was one of his cheeks, the other was red and speckled like foxglove. Blue as hyacinth was one of his eyes, dark as a stag-beetle's back was the other. The bushy head of fair golden hair upon him was as large as a reaping-basket, and it touches the edge of his haunches. It is as curly as a ram's head. If a sackful of red-shelled nuts were spilt on the crown of his head, not one of them would fall on the floor, but remain on the hooks and plaits and swordlets of that hair. A gold hilted sword in his hand; a blood-red shield which has been speckled with rivets of white bronze between plates of gold. A long, heavy, three-ridged spear: as thick as an outer yoke is the shaft that is in it. Liken thou that, O Fer rogain!’

Now, this is a very interesting description. What stands out to me is the description of his curly hair catching nuts, which is obviously connected to descriptions elsewhere of warriors' hair (or in one instance, a boar's razorback) being so spiky that falling apples are spiked on it. And then, a similar description appears in Fled Bricrenn (which I'm assuming is the Championship of Ulster you mention there?) which I will provide the incomplete ITS translation (which you can read in full here).

The scribe of Fled Bricrenn is probably borrowing from Togail Bruidne Da Derga or from another earlier source (which Togail Bruidne Da Derga would also be drawing on), because we know that whoever composed this story originally was very well versed with Ulster Cycle material. For example, the description of Bricriu's Hall is based on the description of Conchobar's Hall in Tochmarc Emire. If we look at the death of Conall Cernach (Aided Ailella 7 Chonaill Chernaig, which has been edited and translated by my Academic Big Sister for her PhD right here) we can see that there is no reference to Conall's eyes (similarly, the older translation by Meyer also doesn't have this detail). So, what appears to be the case is Candlelit Tales was expanding on the actual source material by incorporating elements from other stories. But, on to your question: What do I think about this eye? Well, because I am an academic I will apologize that before we get to my thoughts, we must cover the previous scholarship on the topic. This has only been discussed once, in an article entitled 'Portraits of the Ulster hero Conall Cernach: a case for Waardenburg’s syndrome?' in Emania 20 (2006) pages 75-80, by William Sayers. As you likely can guess based on the title, in this article Sayers argues that this description of Conall is modeled on Waardenburg's Syndrome. Now, of course, this isn't impossible. However, I am generally of the opinion that attempting to diagnose historical or literary figures is a very challenging thing to do. While it can certainly be done (particularly when combined with archaeological finds), when dealing with a literary figure we would need to take into account contemporary medical knowledge, and I'm unsure if we have any examples of medieval Ireland being aware of such a syndrome. If they were, we should be interpreting it through their medical knowledge rather than our own. That aside, I actually do have my own opinion on the matter. I think this is an artistic flourish intended to communicate how terrific (in both senses) Conall is, which I would argue is apparent when we take into account another notable example of a described heroic body. As mentioned above, this description of Conall is already incorporating visual elements from the 'Apple Hair' scenes in other stories. And then, we can take into account descriptions such as this of Cú Chulainn from O'Rahilly's Translation of Táin Bó Cúailnge Recension 1: ‘In the chief place in that chariot is a man with long curling hair. He wears a dark purple mantle and in his hand he grasps a broadheaded spear, bloodstained, fiery, flaming. It seems as if he has three heads of hair, to wit, dark hair next to the skin of his head, blood-red hair in the middle and the third head of hair covering him like a crown of gold. Beautifully is that hair arranged, with three coils flowing down over his shoulders. Like golden thread whose colour has been hammered out on an anvil or like the yellow of bees in the sunshine of a summer day seems to me the gleam of each separate hair. Seven toes on each of his feet; seven fingers on each of his hands. In his eyes the blazing of a huge fire. His horses' hoofs maintain a steady pace.'

Now, this scene (another example of it is found in Recension 2 but it is different in some elements) often confuses people I am teaching this material. This is supposed to be a description of how wonderful or beautiful Cú Chulainn is, but his body appears strange or different. Burning eyes, seven toes, seven fingers. In Recension 2 he has four multi-coloured dimples, seven pupils in each eye, so on and so forth. This doesn't seem beautiful, it seems... awesome, both in the more recent positive sense, and the older more 'overwhelming' sense. I have been asked before if Cú Chulainn always looks like this, or if this is a transformation, or something else. And, well, it is not entirely clear. We have descriptions of Cú Chulainn where this clearly isn't the case and others where it isn't established. For Conall, we don't get many descriptions of his complete body (as an adult, we have one of him as an old man which is quite different). What we can say, though, is it clashes with the idealized flawless heroic body discussed by McMannus (McMannus, Damian, 'Good-Looking and Irresistible: the Hero from Early Irish Saga to Classical Poetry,' Éiru 59 (2009): 57-109). With this in mind, I think that these scenes aren't really literal, but more figurative descriptions going into luscious, awesome, terrific depth to establish the seriousness of the moment, the glory of the hero, and so on. The hero isn't as much transformed as being cast in a different light to communicate the moment. And this! I have a great analogy for. In animation, artists often distort or change a character to similarly communicate 'feeling' in the moment. Take three examples from the television show One Punch Man, all of the same character, Sitama.

In these scenes, the character Sitama isn't 'transforming'. These changes in his body aren't something 'seen' by people inside the story world. It is a visual effect intended to communicate things to us, the audience. In the first, we have a standard illustration of Sitama. In the second, a serious moment where we see him putting his complete effort into something. In the last, a comic moment. I think these descriptions of Conall, Cú Chulainn, and other ones for other heroes are similar to this. They're intended to communicate the feeling, the sense, and the emotion in the moment, rather than something we are intended to understand is how they 'always' look. However! What remains in this is to ask, if this is some sort of literary trick to communicate tone or feeling or the like, what do the individual parts mean? What's with the Apple-Hair stuff? Why the fire in the eyes? Why the seven fingers? So on and so forth. Well, a lot of this is lost to us, but parts we can identify. Personally, I think the Apple-Hair thing is a reference to Boar's Razorbacks (in the scene with Conall, this is being riffed on and changed to work with curly hair) connecting warriors to boar. The 'fire in the eyes' thing is just an Indo-European motif for warriors (see: McCone, Kim, 'Warrior's Blazing Heads and Eyes, Cú Chulainn and Other Firy Cyclopes, 'Bright' Balar, and the Etymology of Old Irish Cáech 'One Eyed',' Zeitshrift fur Celtische Philogie 69 (2022): 183-200). Exactly what the situation with Conall's eye is, I'm unsure. But, I think it exists within the broader literary tradition as a 'tone setter' rather than necessarily a literal fact of his appearance.

And all of that to say! What do I think of the difference between Conall having a black Iris v. a fully black eye? The one text of which I'm aware where it is mentioned doesn't clearly state what it means in regards to the eye. In the original language (Knott's edition) it reads: duibithir druimne duíl in t-súil aile. I think both interpretations of the eye are valid, but I expect that it is just intended to be 'iris' based on the description of Étaín's blue eyes at the start of the text using a similar grammatical construction (glasithir buga na dí súil, compare with the description of Conall's blue eye, glaisidir buga indala súil).

[stepswowdsen]

Flower Symbolisms: Victorian, Japanese (Hanakotoba), Chinese, and Vietnamese Floriography

Flower Symbolisms: XanLena, KuroEne, and JuAli (WIP)

Flower Symbolisms (Part 1)

I'll include a masterpost of posts that connect to each other! You can see the first part above for the context if you haven't seen it

PW: meowmeowcollection

Cuz Idk what it looks like on the other side, so just in case it asks you for a PW to view old posts, here you go

I looked through a lot more flowers today, but didn't get the chance to put all the new ones into my Notion docs, so for now I'll just add the ones I added for Xanxus and JuAli <3

Selena

Xanxus

Kuroha

Ene

Judar and Alibaba

Intro Rambles

Flower Symbolisms: XanLena, KuroEne, and JuAli

Only thing I have to say is that I am a frigging genius. There are red hydrangeas, and Hydrangeas are considered "fickle/inconstant" due to the way they change colours after blooming (due to pH levels of the soil), and blue hydrangeas were used as a heartfelt apology (to soften the blow of rejection), and in Victorian floriography, to tell someone that they're "cold"

Also, hydrangeas fit so well with Judar's arrogant, playful, ruthless and cruel personality. He is also ice-themed (cold)

I saw a JP florist associate the meaning "Beautiful but cold" to hydrangeas, which fits him well!

I was thinking of red hydrangeas for Judar, which are much rarer in comparison to pink, blue, and purple hydrangeas

Alibaba is warm like the sun, so you could assign him a lot of yellow flowers easily, but I think sunflowers fit him best. I love the Hanakotoba meaning for sunflowers sm.

I said it’d take a bit more work to find a good flower (based on meaning) for Judar and it only took an hour. There we go! Quicker than I thought. I’m GREAT at this <3

Hydrangeas in Japan are used as an apology gift (apologizing for bad behaviour, etc.), but there are numerous meanings to hydrangeas, so there are also more positive meanings associated to hydrangeas by JP florists (the meanings associated to the flowers depend on the colours)

I just posted pictures, but in my Notion docs, the ones with citations link to official sources (official Hanakotoba)

While the ones that don't have citations next to them are ones where I did look at JP florist blogs' interpretations (popular Hanakotoba meanings of flowers) and based it on my own interpretations/readings of the JP text.

The rest of my rambles will be my discussions with my friend Cinna!

Discussion

(How me picking flowers for JuAli started)

Me: This just came to mind but if I were picking flowers based on meaning for Judar, I'd pick black and red flowers, since those are his main theme colours

And ones associated with meanings like "Passion, power/strength"

Frost flowers are a very cool rare phenomenon

C: Ohh makes sense

Oh?

Me: Oh here! I was considering if there are flowers named snowflake, but they don't feel very Judar in terms of vibes…

C: Ohh interesting

Arctic flowers in general could be something to pick from

Me: Oooh interesting!

C: 🤔

Me: Inchresting flowers mate!

C: There are many kinds of flowers....

Me: Hm maybe red hyacinth could be a possible pick due to the meaning of "Play"

And Judar’s childish nature and going like “Play. With. Me.”

C: Hm I see

Me: Went through flowers with the meaning of "Passion"

Hmmm these flowers aren't red though

C: Hmmmh I see

Me: Ok there are Red Snapdragon flowers

Ok looking for flowers for Judar is gonna take a bit more work than XanLena and KuroEne

C: Oh yeah valid

Me: Cuz even for Xanxus, red peonies are the ultimate flower for him.

Tree Peony = King of Flowers (花の王, Hana no Ou) in Hanakotoba

C: Oh yah!

I'm sure there's something for Judar...

Me: Right? I just need to find it

C: Dunno is there anything for mischief or similar things

Me: Crown imperial (orange and red flowers) with the meaning of "Majesty, power" Ig another one for Xanxus lmfao

Xanxus' main theme colour is red, and orange (secondary)

Me: Oh yeah I was thinking about that too!

Me: Yeahhh like "mischief/mischievous, playful"

Ngl I think Alibaba would be much easier in comparison cuz boom there's lots of yellow flowers

Also sunflowers having the meaning of "I only have eyes for you" and "adoration"

XanLena is so easy to come up with flowers for, cuz Selena is literally a florist and gardener and flower enthusiast

C: Oooh

Me: Selena /j

I'M KIDDING SHE WOULD HAVE A PROPER GARDEN WITH A LOTUS POND AND KOI FISH AND WATERFALLS AND EVERYTHING

Like I imagine the garden that Xanxus would arrange for the Varia mansion's servants to build for her would look something like this

But the idea of Xanxus allowing her to fund a deadly poisonous garden on the side (cuz he totally would let her) is hilarious to me

C: THE POISON GARDEN

OH YEAH THIS PLACE

She would fucking love this tho

Me: RIGHT LMAO

C: Lmaoo yes

C: Ah right

Sunflowers ;;;

C: Selena the flower gal

Me: And Alibaba is warm like the sun ☀️

Me: AliHaku the Sun/Moon ship, and JuAli the Sun/Moon and Sun/Black Sun ship

C: Cuute 🥺

Me:

Alibaba

Sunflower (Himawari): I only have eyes for you, adoration, worship (Hanakotoba) 🌻

C: I see... :")

Me: Ok I searched up some flowers (outside of the official JP Hanakotoba website)

Flowers that mean strength:

Red Camellia: Being in love (can be seen as a symbol of strength)

Peony (Botan): King of flowers, royalty, honour (can be seen as a symbol of strength)

Cherry Blossoms (Sakura): Spring, renewal, (can be seen as a symbol of strength)

Plum Blossoms (Ume)

Carnation: Passion

I already had Red Camellias, Peonies, and Red Carnations listed for Xanxus though

I don't mind there being overlap between my faves since Xanxus and Judar are both associated with Red and themes of Strength and Passion but I need to find a flower that's PERFECT for Judar I chose it for Kuroha, but, since there can be overlap between my faves, I think black roses could be also a good pick

Considering Judar's character arc theme of resentment and grief

Black Roses (Kuroi Bara): Hate, You are only mine

Judar's key character traits: Powerful, cruel, arrogant, childish, playful, mischievous, spoiled, bratty, likes strength, victory, fighting, and war, resentful, holds deep grudges (hateful/hatred)

Me: I guess we can try... strength and victory for Judar

Laurel in Victorian Floriography is associated with glory and success

Ok let me check Chinese Floriography since Judar is CN/EA inspired

Canna: Confidence

Ok interesting

Ok I'm checking a list of Chinese Floriography meanings. I can take a few of these for Selena

And some of the yellow flowers can be for Alibaba. Like Daffodils.

Ok so plum blossoms (Ume) can represent strength

Chinese floriography has subtle differences from Japanese floriography (though a lot of core meanings are the same)

White lily: Purity, chastity (Hanakotoba), Everlasting love (Chinese Floriography)

Orange Lilies: Hatred, revenge

Orange lilies are perfect for Xanxus ngl, who is associated with Wrath

Me: I found some white flower (Edelweiss) associated with power and it's so fucking ugly looking

NAH

I CAN'T GIVE THIS TO MY FAVES

There are red freesia flowers which mean "Childish, immature" in Hanakotoba so LMAO this could also work for Judar

Ok I'm checking Hanakotoba

Hydrangeas could be interesting

Hydrangea (Ajisai): Heartlessness, Boastfulness (Arrogance), You are cold (You're beautiful but cold)

Ok we're finally getting somewhere! And there are red hydrangeas too

And Judar is ice themed (Beautiful but cold)

Hydrangea (Hanakotoba) Meanings:

Fickle/whimsical

Cold-hearted; heartless

Patient, persevering, enduring

Cruelty; cold-heartedness; relentless; ruthless

Haughty; arrogant; proud

Ok I think Hydrangeas could actually be a really good pick for Judar. Also since there are red hydrangeas

The Hanakotoba describes Hydrangea as "fickle/whimsical" due to the hydrangea's gradual shift in colour after blooming and "cold" due to the colours of blue hydrangeas

And also "whimsical" has the nuance of "playful"

Ok this is a GREAT flower pick for him based on meaning and colour

I KNEW I HAD IT IN ME!!!

[polarisgreenley]

A Bouquet of New Beginnings Chapter 22: Vine

Summary: Another nightmare, a conversation on Unforgivables, and a calmer introduction to the Undercroft.

Floriography: Connection & Friendship

Full Chapter: [AO3] //6.5k words

*There are trigger-warnings in this chapter. Below excerpt does not contain the items, but read carefully if reading the full chapter.*

Excerpt Below:

“Artie!”

Artemis looked up from the boathouse docks as her feet dangled above the Black Lake. Natsai came over with a few bottles of water and pumpkin juice in her arms.

“What are you reading?”

“Alice in Wonderland,” said Artemis as she slipped the purple hyacinth bookmark inside. “A fun read.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Natsai took a seat next to her. “Poppy said she’ll join after getting a few more snacks. I’m glad to see that you are doing better than last night, my friend.”

“Motion sickness is a bane.”

Natsai gave her a sympathetic look as she gestured toward the small basket. “How did you manage to bring lunch this early?”

“I made it,” answered Artemis plainly.

“You…made it?”

“I mean, it’s just throwing together sandwiches, but yes,” explained Artemis as she opened the small basket. Deek had been more than happy to get her the ingredients, especially after introducing him to all the beasts this morning. “Plus, I didn’t think our conversation would be good for the Great Hall.”

“True,” agreed Natsai. There was a pause. “So, about what you asked last night.”

“About you being a gazelle?”

“No, about my uniform,” said Natsai sarcastically as Artemis chuckled. “Yes, about being a gazelle. How did you know?”

“Poppy and I saw a gazelle hanging around the Hog’s Head. Frankly we thought Harlow’s poachers had brought the gazelle from Africa. Then I saw the gazelle melt and change into a person that looked like you, but then that would be barmy right? Because we were in the forest. But then you were actually there, and really, how many gazelles are running around Scotland,” said Artemis.

Natsai laughed brightly. “Of course, the first people to spot me is you. Does Poppy not know?”

Artemis shook her head. “She was facing me when you turned back. I’m assuming that’s magic?”

“Yes, yes,” laughed Natsai as she placed a hand on her chest. “I’m an animagus.”

“Animagus?”

Natsai nodded. “It’s a branch of self-transfiguration not often practised in Britain, and not taught at Hogwarts. It’s a complicated process, but I can change into a gazelle at will. Professor Weasley has… ‘gently discouraged’ me from it, or discussing about the subject since it’s considered dangerous here, but I find it freeing.”

“Sounds very handy, especially for a quick escape.”

“Somehow I knew you’d say that,” said Natsai. “I’d been sneaking around the Hog’s Head more so recently but have been travelling around the forest since last year – it reminds me of when my father ran with me back in Matabeleland. My father transformed into the most beautiful giraffe.”

Artemis recognised grief like a glove. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” said Natsai. “It’s been a few years but, some days, it is harder than the others. Running as a gazelle helps me to feel closer to him.”

“Did you choose to become a gazelle?” Artemis asked as Natsai shook her head.

“Oh no. When you go through the process, you become the animal that represents your personality. My mother is convinced that my form is a gazelle because I adapt well to any situation. I believe it is because I can sense danger and keep my wits about me. I would appreciate it if we kept this between us. My mother and I are both registered because we need to be, but I’d rather not have everybody know.”

“Of course,” Artemis readily agreed. “But in return, could you show me some wandless magic? Just until Poppy comes.”

“Truly? Well, you’re easy to please,” teased Natsai as she pointed to Artemis’ book. “I can do better. I’ll teach you basic wandless magic, especially since you asked me to show you our first Charms class, and I’ve been neglecting you.”

“Really?” Artemis asked; she didn’t think her friend would teach her.

“Of course! Wandless magic isn’t too different aside from the obvious. There’s no spell that is tied to a particular hand gesture, but there are tendencies. Levioso.”

Natsai held her hand out, palm up, and gently curled her fingers as the book levitated from Artemis’ lap. Artemis watched with fascination as the Gryffindor did the same movement for Accio, and the book went into Natsai’s open hand.

“But because there’s more overlap, the intention becomes much more important, and knowing where your magic comes from. At Uagadou, before we learn how to cast magic, we learn how to gather magic into our palms. Like this.”

This time, she held both her palms up, and Artemis gasped mutely as she watched a ball of red with golden hues coagulate. It reminded her of the colour of the Secret Sharer. Natsai spun the magic as it floated and expanded, flicking like a fire before extinguishing it.

“Try it,” encouraged Natsai. “Hold your palms up like you’re cupping water. Then, concentrate getting your magic from your core to your palm, and hold it for as long as you can.”

“Um… any guidance on that, Professor Onai?”

Natsai guffawed. “Please don’t. I feel like my mother.”

Artemis rolled her eyes as she chuckled. “Teacher Natty?”

“Acceptable. When I first learned, I thought about the savannah and running. How my heart would pump, the golden beauty under the sun, and the freedom I felt. I imagined my heartbeat pumping the blood – and my magic – into my palms. Maybe something like that?”

Artemis hummed as she looked down at her hands – an illusion of matching, unmarred palms. Since Natsai’s magic was the same colour as the Secret Sharer, theoretically, hers would be as well. She closed her eyes slowly. She enjoyed running through the forests around home, but that didn’t seem right.

No, what it sounded like was the need to direct and control her magic. Maybe it was like preparing to plant the garden, to find the perfect bit of fertilised soil. To dig just enough to plant the bulb. The more she imagined her the process of planting through the Briar Greenhouse, the more she felt her magic tingle throughout her body; like it needed room to breathe. She imagined how she felt when she first stood at the greenhouse entrance with everything finally planted.

Breathe In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three Four.

As she breathed out, a cooling sensation coursed from her chest through her arms, and centred in her palms. Keeping the slow, controlled breathing, she opened her eyes and let out an elated gasp as a blob of iridescent blue-green shimmered with a silvery hue within her hands.

“That’s it Artie! You’re doing great!”

It only lasted for three seconds before the warble fizzled away, but Natsai clapped cheerfully.

“You did really well! Not many people can get it in the first try, and certainly not for that long. It gets easier with practise, I promise.”

“How long do I need to be able to keep it before moving onto spells?” Artemis asked.

Natsai hummed. “Our professors had us hold it for three minutes. Our first spell, by the way, was levioso.”

“I’ll keep working on it then,” agreed Artemis.

Natsai held up her fist; Artemis bumped hers.

“And I will help you of course.”

“Artemis! Natty! Sorry I’m late!” Poppy’s voice carried as Natsai and Artemis lifted their heads. In her arms was a large bag, undoubtedly filled with sweets. “The house-elves were really nice and gave us the rest of the Halloween desserts.”

Poppy sat to Artemis’ right with an excited huff, and Natsai chuckled from her left. With sandwiches and sweets in hand, the three started their cobbled outdoor picnic. The November air was crisp and cool, though it didn’t feel that way with the company kept.

“Highwing’s safe. The place I had in mind worked,” started Artemis.

Poppy beamed. “Really? What about the other hippogriff? And the thestral?”

“Them too.” Artemis nodded. “I can bring Highwing out anytime you’d like.”

“Thank you. Truly, both of you. Let me know if either of you ever need help.”

Natsai and Artemis both smiled.

A few moments of silence passed before Artemis brought up the question.

“The spell that Harlow casted… the one with the green light… it killed that owl, didn’t it?”

In the lake’s reflection, Artemis saw Natsai and Poppy both pause in their reverie as they looked at each other. A small fish popped above the surface momentarily.

“It’s called the Killing Curse,” started Poppy.

Artemis whipped her head toward her. “The what curse?”

“The Killing Curse,” sighed Natsai. “An Unforgivable.”

“… unforgivable…?”

“It’s a collection of three of the most powerful Dark curses,” continued Natsai. “We learned what they are last year, obviously just the name and what they do. The green one last night is the Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra. The effect is self-explanatory – instant, painless death.”

“There’s also the Imperius Curse and the Torture Curse. Imperius, or Imperio, puts the person completely under someone’s control. And the Torture Curse, Crucio, well… it’s also self-explanatory. Intense, excruciating pain,” explained Poppy.

The memory of the red crackling lightning by that Ashwinder as she cackled at the centaur’s pained screams flitted back. Artemis pressed her thumb against her scar and let the pain keep her steady – that witch had cast a torturing curse on the centaur.

“Who would make such spells?” Artemis managed to squeeze out.

Poppy huffed. “A medieval sadist. If you can believe it, they weren’t always illegal; they became illegal in 1717.”

“That’s less than 200 years,” pointed out Artemis.

“Morality took its time,” said Natsai bitterly. “They can’t be blocked, so you have to be able to stop the cast beforehand or dodge it. Otherwise… you suffer. Or, die.”

Poppy picked off a bit of her sandwich and threw it for the gathered fish. “The one good thing is that not everyone can cast Unforgivables. Because they’re so… you know, powerful, whomever casts it needs to have a high level of skill and willpower. Remember I said the creator was sadistic? The curses are more effective if the castor has a clear, deep desire to use it. They have to mean it. Mean that they want to hurt someone, want to control someone, want to kill someone.”

“What happens if someone casts it? Consequentially, that is.”

Natsai swallowed her sandwich bite. “Azkaban. Lifetime, plain and simple.”

“But only against humans. Apparently, they don’t count as ‘unforgivable’ if cast on beasts or other beings, like goblins,” spat Poppy.

Artemis blanched. So the witch cursing that centaur was legal? The Depulso she’d casted suddenly didn’t seem strong enough… not that the witch could do that anymore. An arrow to the neck tended to put a stopper to things.

“Is that… it?” Artemis held her hand up as both girls looked at her incredulously. “I mean. The effects are horrid, yes. But, does it hurt the caster? Other than their conscience, if they have a shred of it left. It just, it seems like it’s more than just morality and some degree of sadism that made it Unforgivable.”

Natsai and Poppy both looked at each other before Natsai sighed deeply.

“According to Professor Hecat, successfully casting an Unforgivable on a living soul damages the caster’s own soul and magical cores.”

“Like we said earlier, you have to mean it. That means it’s premeditated, and if we’re talking about the Avada, that’s premeditated murder,” finished Poppy.

Poppy’s acorn eyes were steeled, and she was subtly hugging herself. Artemis didn’t comment.

[lost-technology]

So, I've been reading the first part of GeminiWillow / @somereaderinblue's Purple Hyacinth AU, Part the First, Hush, little baby (don't say a word). I, of course, have been getting emotionally devastated by it. (The AU is that Tesla is born with Knives and Vash was the first Independent Plant and suffers Tesla's canonical fate. Also, Rem and Luida have switched roles, Ship 3 and Ship 5 switch roles. Also, from reading tidbits on their tumblr, it seems that Livio/Razlo are going to be the "Wolfwood" for Tesla). I brainstormed a bit of it with them, having seen their proposal and sharing ideas. This is NOT a co-write. I'm just eager to see where it goes. Now, one thing I have noticed when reading Hush little baby is that there is a LOT of obvious inspiration from two chapters of my own long WIP (Rem Lives AU), Survivor's Guilt - Chapters 6 and 7 specifically, which are flashback-chapters to the Tesla situation. PH-author drew the surnames of SEEDS-crew from my fic, which they thought were canonical. (I corrected them and anyone who reads comments on that. I nicked the names from The SCP Foundation as a reference to another media with morally dubious scientists). There are other similarities, as in, a lot of inspiration from my fic, as well as some things I've seen in other people's fics there (that handle Tesla), as applied to Vash. There are some unique things in there, too (like, now I'm kind of kicking myself for not even thinking of having Tesla share dreams with the dependent Plant-sisters like Vash does, but it would have made my chapters too long and my story was Rem-centric / firmly in her POV even as it was third-person). I kept thinking about why I am very chill regarding people borrowing some ideas and a bit of style from my fanfictions.

Well, first of all, it's because we're all writing fanfiction - simply put. We aren't being entirely original here, as we are expanding upon a source-material that we don't own the copyright to. Also, we are limited in scope because of said source material. Second is an experience I had about 2 years ago in another fandom. There was someone whom I was doing some fic-collaboration with because we mutually had some OCs we admired - like "Can I use your OC in a fic as a cameo-mention?" and so forth. It was pretty common in the teeny, tiny sub-fandom of a big fandom I'd found myself in because said tiny sub-fandom were for a bunch of literal clone / cult-survivor mook characters who did not canonically even have names let alone individual backstories and could be shaped to fan-creator's wills in the aftermath of the canon on the premise that they'd finally gained their freedom. It was pretty much "Instant OCs, just add imagination" without running into the messiness of self-inserts / "sonas." This tiny sub-fandom also started doing pretty much a collective fanon regarding the culture that these types of characters would develop and what they had in their former lives as soldiers. I wound up on a Discord for this sub-fandom and its fanons and I introduced the concept of roleplay to it, but the person who ran the Discord was obviously uninterested, so they made a separate Discord for it and set up a few folders and moderators. Problem was, I was made one of the Mods without knowing much of dip about Discord's functions and the person who'd set it up set up a bunch of folders based upon one popular fanficcer's locales, probably without their permission. In addition to this, I'd wanted to do a roleplay-story with one other person, but borrowing some of said fanficcer's ideas. I contacted them privately and discussed what was allowed and what was off-limits and proceeded. I had apparently misread some of it, because before I knew it, I had this person I'd once collaborated with roaring out the gate that I was plagiarising them, using things without permission and they also were upset over the folder-locale names (and didn't seem to want to listen to me when I told them I was not responsible for those, but they were besties with the forum creator, so I think I got scapegoated). It coincided with me being once a very admired fanficcer in the fandom to being "that person on the forum who became the friend that nobody liked." I got into it with another person, and I could just feel the tension, like, my neurodivergence done got me again and I didn't understand how to human, so multiple people were annoyed with me. I spiraled out of control - I'm bipolar, so I'm shit on the best of days, but this sent me into a full manic episode. I unfortunately lost my shit on a lot of people, which basically made absolutely no one want to listen to my side of it when I tried to explain that I had not, in fact, plagiarised and had simply made some permission-mistakes on something that wasn't even a public fanfic but was a two-person roleplay tucked away on a private discord that was never going to become a fanfic. Paranoia-person who was all "wounded lamb, she plagiarised me!" (over a mistake I thought we'd discussed and worked out) turned the ENTIRE tiny-subfandom against me, plus the greater side of the fandom it had originally shot off from. This included someone who was not previously involved but who ran another popular Discord doing a public tumblr callout post telling the entire fandom not to interact with me anymore. This lead to me becoming suicidal. I had lost an entire friend-group and then-some. Long story short, I'm not paranoid and have determined myself not to be a bitch. If someone in my fandoms likes some of what I am doing, as long as it's not copy-paste, they are free to borrow some stuff from me. You can borrow some of my ideas and style, as long as you add your own flair to it. I don't want to hurt anyone like others have hurt me.

[sinksby]

Gooooooood moraftereve everyone!!

About time I introduced myself.

THIS IS A SFW 16+ BLOG!

I'll be sure to list any triggers here later and tag when necessary. Also just for the sake of everyone's safety. Now for some brief ground rules!

The name's Sink, Sinksby, or Sinkship! Any will do :)

I'm a minor!

Uncivil discussion is unwelcome in my posts and my dms. This includes the usual list of any form of discrimination, hate speech, or mention of politics.

I will delete comments and dms, as well as blocking users that violate this.

I want this place to be a silly goofy safe spot for me to post fanart and ramble about my fav media with fellow enjoyers. I won't be posting here as often because I still have a life outside tumblr, but I will try to post as often as possible! This place will also mainly be random reblogs when I don't post art.

More about me!

I'm Australian, g'day I guess?

Been learning to draw since 2020 and started digital art on Black Friday this year

I try to journal about my life on paper as much as possible! Hoping to do more next year

I'm decent at acoustic guitar, maybe

I read webtoons! I'm willing to take a peek into any genre, but atm I'm loving anything fast paced with mystery, the supernatural, twists, and moral dilemnas?? With the occasional fluffy friendships and romances ofc. Balance is crucial.

Misc media I'm into (some of which I got into through my brother in late November):

Portal series

Arcane

Spy x Family

Delicious in Dungeon/Dungeon Meshi

Studio Ghibli movies (haven't watched all of them yet, it's going to be my 2025 resolution)

I vaguely get Ultrakill, Pressure, Murder Drones, TADC, and Halflife references since he introduced them to me (thank you for your killer robot/ai lore dumps, G 🙏).

And webtoons I've been obsessing about (moslty ongoing):

Handjumper by SLEEPACROSS

Purple Hyacinth by Sophism

Sunset Phoenix by NeverDraws

The Uncommons by Team Weird Enough

Nevermore by Kit Trace and Kate Flynn

Katlaya Rising by MariaMediaHere

Stagtown by Punko (finished 😔)

Our Walk Home by furanc0

Cinderella Boy by Punko

And a ton of others! Would love ot hear some webtoon reccs based off of my taste!

Anyway, cheers! :)

[zenasflower]

Flowers for Celebration

Flowers are the perfect way to celebrate any occasion. They bring a bright, natural beauty to the home and have been shown to boost moods.

Milestone anniversaries are a time to honor the love and happiness a couple has built together over the years. They’re moments you will look back on for decades to come.

Tulips

For many, tulips are the quintessential spring flower, and they make an excellent harbinger of warmer weather to come. They also represent love and beauty, as evidenced by their role in a variety of cultural traditions.

Tulips can be purchased from florists and garden centers, and they can be planted in gardens to rebloom year after year. Tulips also work well in cut bouquets and can be arranged with other Flowers for celebration such as hyacinths or irises for a colorful display.

Red tulips symbolize romance and are most commonly given as gifts. White tulips are used to express respect and forgiveness, while purple tulips convey royalty and honor.

The tulip’s vibrant colors and rich history make it an ideal choice to encourage your child to explore the natural world and nurture their curiosity about the plant life cycle. Nurturing your child’s curiosity can be as simple as taking a walk in the neighborhood to look for the first signs of spring, including new buds and flowers popping up from their beds.

Hyacinths

Hyacinths offer a fresh, vibrant scent to complement their pastel colors. They’re a great choice for Easter, especially since they’re tied to rebirth.

In the Greek mythology, Hyacinthus was a Spartan god of spring and the beloved companion of Apollo. When Zephyr, the west wind, blew up a discuss between the two and killed Hyacinthus, Apollo sprang up flowers, the hyacinths, from drops of his blood.

Hyacinths are a perfect match with tulips, adding a touch of dramatic color. But they’re also lovely on their own. The flowers are richly detailed and look like they’ve been painted, making them a beautiful choice for a special gift or personal celebration. Hyacinths also make a wonderful addition to the Haftseen table, which is used during Nowruz (Nwrwz), the ancient Persian New Year celebration that takes place in early spring.

Roses

Roses are a symbol of eternal love and romance, but they’re also great for celebrating friendship. Pale pink roses convey a sweet and platonic message, while deep red roses evoke passion, desire and admiration.

Ivory roses are a wonderful choice to gift someone special with a sense of elegance, without any romantic intentions. Similarly, white roses are a great way to express gratitude.

Rosa 'Golden Celebration', bred by David Austin and United Selections, is a goldenyellow rose with a luscious bloom that has the flavor of tea rose mixed with citrus or strawberry. With a long flowering season, you can enjoy these blooms from early summer to first frost.

Carnations

Carnations are a classic option for bouquets wedding flowers, corsages, and boutonnieres. They’re long-lasting and add a sophisticated touch to any floral arrangement or ceremony. Their versatility also makes them a popular choice for bridal flowers. Their pristine white petals are symbolic of purity and new beginnings. They’re a perfect addition to weddings, christenings, and any special event that celebrates innocence and fidelity.

Pink carnations are typically associated with Mother’s Day. They’re a beautiful way to show your appreciation for your mom, but they can also be given to anyone you admire. The colour purple carries many different connotations, including fascination and distinction. It’s also the colour of royalty, which can be a great way to send your loved one a reminder that they are unique and stand out from the crowd.

[babsandstellar]

late-night discussion, me and my thoughts, me writing my story,

(image, not mine, credits to Purple Hyacinth, forgot which episode though)

The story starts in the mysterious town of Summertown City, a town that should not exist, like a folktale to the gossip wives, a rumour, a kathang isip— though it does exist. A death that started it all ends like the same,

Inheritance, mythologies, mystery, and a book that ties their fate sealed,