#the flowers I drew are marigold

[daily-whistlepaw]

daily whistlepaw until sto becomes PoV day 1278

WindClan comemorates the fallen of the great battle with a pile of stones and Whistlepaw is the one doing the honors that day

[walkerrenee]

two of my students have birthdays tomorrow so i decided to make them lil bookmarks (:

[neebaa]

dogweeds, marigolds and dandelions are related flowers !! so what if i, *humanizes them cutely*

there's something very wrong with them <33 /pos /silly /lhj

(Dogweed, Dandelion: Sisters

Marigold: Dogweed and Dandelions cousin)

[pininghermit]

Spring of Longing

Request: Hello friend! I got she fell first but he fell harder 😘

AN: Perfect timing with this one anon. I am still recovering from a particularly angsty book I just finished reading. Enjoy!

Tropesvania Event- feel free to request

Genre: hurt no comfort

Pairing(s): Adrian Tepes x gn Reader

Summary: S/O fell first but he fell harder

It is the mundane that wounds him most. After decades of living with you, a life now faded into the past, Adrian shouldn’t be like this, a sobbing mess on the cold, hard kitchen floor.

Clutching the brittle packets of seeds, he presses them to his heart, his body wracked with sobs.

The chill dawn breeze creeps in through the window he had just managed to pry open, its icy fingers matching the freezing tears that fall down his face.

Like a dam breaking, the grief he has buried for so long comes rushing forth, unstoppable and all-consuming.

Etched on the back of each packet is your handwriting, the elegant cursive preserved across the ages.

In cramped spaces, you had written meticulous instructions: dates, months, irrigation tips, and care. Each word was a tender promise, a piece of you now reaching across the chasm of life and death to find him.

“How do you do it without me noticing?” Adrian had once asked, standing amidst the vibrant blooms of the garden.

It was as if spring had snuck into his father’s dreary grounds overnight, scattering flowers in an explosion of life.

Daffodils, peonies, snowdrops, and primroses heralded the early days of the season. Later came the roses, jasmine, and marigolds, ending the spring with their heady perfumes. Each year, a different arrangement appeared, unfurling as if by magic.

In the center of it all stood the small gazebo, draped in fragrant vines. It was your shared spot for evening teas and soups, or for quiet nights spent snuggling and stargazing.

Adrian turned to you, astonished yet fond. “It’s like they appear out of nowhere. When do you even find the time to do all this?”

You’d grinned at him, a playful light in your eyes. “It’s a secret, my love,” you chuckled, crouching to caress the delicate petals of a petunia.

Standing, you tucked the bloom behind his ear, your fingers lingering against his cheek. “One day, you’ll know. But until then, let me do it for you.”

Then you kissed him, your eyes full of a love so deep it made him weak.

But you never did tell him.

And now, you never could.

Adrian hadn’t dared to set foot in the garden since illness had taken you. He hadn’t even looked its way, not after it had whisked you from his arms. Curtains had been drawn, windows nailed shut, keeping out every wisp of spring breeze.

Grief had consumed him, and with it came wrath. He had abandoned Castle Dracula, along with every promise he had made to himself, to Trevor, and to you. He had left it all his lineage, the Belmont knowledge of the ancient, and the echoes of your voice, left to decay in silence.

In his mourning, he had raged and cursed the world for its cruelty.

Then, decades of wandering foreign lands had numbed him. On good days, he could forget the sound of your laughter, the feel of your hand in his. On bad days, he stood unmoving for hours, waiting—praying—for you to find him.

Perhaps that was why he had returned. The walls of his childhood home still stood, their cold stone preserved by his father’s enchantments. But walking through its hollowed halls, Adrian found himself a stranger in a place he had once known.

Your room had long since been stripped bare. That had been his doing, burning every piece of furniture, every remnant of your presence, in a fit of grief. Better ashes than the thought of strangers claiming them.

The kitchen, however, had gone untouched. It wasn’t until a faint scuffle of mice drew his attention to an old cupboard that he discovered them. Tucked high above the cobwebs and dust, he felt the crisp edges of stacked paper: the seed packets.

Somehow, even in death, you had found him.

Adrian sits frozen, clutching the packets. “You never did tell me,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “How am I supposed to…?” His words break, drowned by another wave of sobs. “You never told me.”

It takes a long time for him to stand. His legs tremble beneath him as he leans against the counter, willing himself forward. Step by step, he walks toward the one place he had forbidden himself to go.

The garden.

He expects to find it barren, overrun by weeds or swallowed by the encroaching forest. But what greets him is a sight he cannot comprehend.

The garden blooms, vibrant and alive, as though time itself had held its breath. Daffodils sway gently in the breeze, roses climb the trellises, and the gazebo stands untouched, draped in fragrant vines. Dew glistens on the petals, catching the soft light of dawn.

For a moment, Adrian forgets to breathe.

He steps forward, his heart pounding as memories flood back with every flower. He half-expects to see you there, stepping out from behind a rose bush with that proud grin he adored so much. Or perhaps seated in the gazebo, fussing over an errant vine that refused to climb properly.

But there is only silence.

The sun rises slowly, its mellow rays spilling over the dew-covered blooms. Adrian stands amidst it all, surrounded by the love you had left behind. His tears fall freely now, unrestrained.

In this sacred place, he mourns you anew grieving with the flowers that carried your touch.

It was never-ending. His grief would bloom with every season like the garden that still remained bound to your neatly written notes.

[jesterwriting]

Throwing confetti and rice in celebration for your wonderful milestone!!!

I’d truly love a gn reader x Mihawk with “like the dawn” as some fluff. C; fuel the brain rot!!

pairings: mihawk x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

contents: fluff and pining, reader has a bounty high enough for marines to bother them, set sometime in the two year time skip

note: YEESSSS THANK YOU LUMI I'M SO EXCITED and of course i can provide mihawk fluff i love to fuel brainrot always hehe. im still getting used to writing for him, but i hope you enjoy this all the same <333

playlist: like the dawn - the oh hellos

“You were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you. And surely, you will be the death of me, but how could I have known?”

done for 200 followers event!!

Sunny days were more than rare on Kuraigana Island. They were practically nonexistent. That was why, on the off chance a ray of sun made its way through the gloom, you could be found laying in it.

You were dozing, basking in the warmth of your lone sunbeam. Dry grass prickled the back of your neck, and you slid your arms behind your head to protect the sensitive skin. Your mind slipped in and out of your dreams, barely aware of the world as it moved around you. Distantly, you could hear Perona’s laugh, or the stomp of Zoro’s boots as he strode through the empty halls. There were no birds to chirp, no insects to tickle your cheeks. The only signs of life around you was the sparse garden you had started to add a splash of color to the gray.

You loved your garden, and you were starting to believe that your host did too. Unlike the land he tilled, it was mostly flowers. Mihawk was a hard man to read, but after a year of living with him, you were starting to get the hang of it. His golden eyes would linger on the colorful petals, and every so often, you could see his nostrils flare as he breathed in the sweet air. You could feel your lips twitch at the thought. He liked to group you in with those freeloading kids — freeloading kids you couldn’t help but be fond of — but you knew your worth.

Besides, it was easier to mooch off Mihawk’s warlord status rather than fight off swathes of marines yourself. Didn’t they ever get tired? You sure did.

Footsteps approached you from afar, and through your sleepy haze, you almost thought it was Zoro coming to steal your sunshine. If you were more awake, you would have recognized Mihawk’s near silent footfalls. They were distinct, far quieter than the other two— though you knew they were capable of it, you wished they chose to utilize said skill more often.

You ignored him, still under the impression he was Zoro, and continued to doze. Minutes passed, the intruder’s gaze soaking into your skin, past your flesh, and into your bones. Without meaning to, you fell into a deeper slumber, the slow rise and fall of your chest evening out ever so slightly. The feeling of fingers brushing through your hair caused you to stir. There was a pause in movement, before something tickled against your ear, and the hand pulled away.

It was a fleeting interaction, one you were sure you dreamed until you awoke an hour later, chilled to your marrow. The sun dipped behind the clouds yet again, leaving you cold and wanting for more. A weight against your ear caught your attention. Lips parted in surprise, you plucked a marigold from behind your ear and stared down at it.

“Where did you come from,” You muttered, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger. It was a beautiful shade of gold. It reminded you of Mihawk's eyes, and you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

There was no denying there were feelings for the warlord brewing under the surface. He was a handsome man. His confidence was what drew you, but what made you stay was the softness he kept hidden. Mihawk could have kicked you out months ago, yet here you were, sleeping in the garden with a flower behind your ear.

“Enjoy your nap?” It wasn’t a question, not really. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and stared over at the lounging warlord, a glass of wine by his side as he read his book.

You pointed at him with the flower. “Was this you?”

Mihawk gave you a once over, his expression cool disinterest. “What does that little flower have to do with me?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

He was quiet for a moment, taking a lazy sip of his wine. “I do not ‘play dumb,’ Y/N.” His sharp eyes traveled from your face to the flower, and his lips pulled into the barest smirk. “Though I can’t say that color doesn’t suit you.”

“See! It was you, I was right.” Triumph flooded your face, your smile big and all encompassing. Mihawk studied your expression, eyes soft for a moment before they were back to the hardness you knew so well.

Mihawk stood, closing the gap between you in a few strides. To have a warlord towering over you while you sat in the grass should have been terrifying. All you could do was grin. He kneeled before you, plucking the flower from your hand. Your fingers felt empty without it. Holding your gaze, Mihawk stared deep into your eyes as he tucked it back behind your ear, fingertips grazing your jaw before he pulled away.

“You proved nothing but my point. Gold suits you.”

You snorted. “Like your eyes?”

He unfolded his legs and stood at his full height before offering you his hand. His palm was callused from years of swordplay, though his grip on your forearm was gentle

“Like the dawn,” Mihawk said.

His words were matter of fact, as if they weren’t enough to drown you. You stumbled, halfway off the ground. The only thing holding you aloft was Mihawk, whose stare never left your face, even while you gaped up at him. With a final tug, he hauled you to your feet. You stayed stock still, gaze firmly locked on his own, though he didn’t appear at all affected by the sincerity of his compliment. Not like you, at least. Mihawk frowned slightly and pulled a leaf from your hair. It fluttered to your feet.

“Close your mouth, dear, you’ll catch flies.” The pet name rolled off his tongue smoothly.

Your jaw snapped shut and a hint of amusement flitted across Mihawk’s face.

What if you were born to be dear to him? Although you wondered that for a while now, the words seemed to be caught in your throat. Of all the millions upon millions of people who inhabited this world, you sure you were made to slot inside his bones and meld your flesh with his. That, the first day you saw him, the only thing you could think was: at last.

That was too vulnerable, though. Instead of making a fool of yourself with sentiments and feelings that were better left unsaid, you picked up the leaf and set it on his shoulders.

“You’ll be the death of me, Dracule Mihawk.”

He sighed and flicked the leaf from his shoulders. “And you, me”

[ostewell]

finished the eps of malevolent that are out now and thought abt how like . "designs of john where he looks like the king in yellow go very hard, but like . what if he only resembles him . " which lead to the idea of john in a cloak covered w/ yellow flowers, the idea being like. you can grow out of your past, but it still has its impacts on you. and then i drew flowers for 9 hours

more ramblings under the cut <3

flower symbolism is like, semi-intentional; i mostly just tried to stray from flowers that have strongly romantic connotations (<- queerplatonic at most jarthur truther), but didnt Really pay attention/research too heavily? anyw here's the reasoning for most of the flower choices + their symbolism (according to this google sheet smone sent me in the midst of making this <3 (note: i will be picking and choosing and ignoring symbolisms as i see fit (looking at you yellow tulips))

(ignored symbolisms are italicized LOL)

pale pink rose at the cloak clasp thing: based on the time kayne referred to arthur as "[their (john and kayne's)] english rose" (grace, joy)

yellow roses: yellow roses pretty <3 (decrease of love, infidelity, jealousy, friendship)

marigolds: kayne nickname LOL (cruelty, grief, pain, other similar negative meanings LOL; note: marigold i referenced is the type you use for day of the dead, so im also saying mourning :3)

lemon blossom: kayne nickname as well - "lemonhead" <3 (discretion, fidelity in love)

yellow tulips: space filler and pretty KGJSHKD (hopeless love)

black-eyed susans: space filler and flower meaning <3 (justice)

buttercups: space filler (THE space filler) and flower meanings (riches, childishness, ingratitude)

dandelions: kayne nickname-ish? (flirtation, oracle, happiness)

daffodil: ... needed another flower similar in size to tulips LOL (chivalry)

foxglove: friend suggested it and i thought "man that would be a banger border thing..... and its poisonous? you could make a symbol out of that!" /SILLY (wishes, selflessness(?), insincerity)

jasmine: wanted smth small to fill more space :3 (grace, elegance)

sunflower: (tall specifically) similar color scheme /SILLY, its like. THE flower i think of when i think of yellow flowers LOL (pride, haughtiness, false riches, "smile on me still" - dwarf sunflowers symbolize adoration too which :3 hehe /SILLY)

cosmos: pretty 👍 (joy in love and life)

wish i found more that represent friendship LOL but <3

[ghostiekins]

Shinsengumi+Mitsuba!

Kondou - Daffodil: I read on a hanakotoba website that daffodils can represent “respect” and “unrequited love” which I feel encapsulates Kondou and his relationship with the Shinsengumi and Otae.

Hijikata - White Rose: Roses felt like an obvious choice because of the Baragaki arc, so I drew Hijikata with roses and thorns. I think Hijikata also has a sort of innocence to him too? Like when he fantasized about the mayo factory lmao so I thought white roses which represent innocence was fitting.

Okita - Forget-Me-Not: I thought forget-me-nots were fitting for Okita because it makes me think of his feelings of not wanting to be left behind by Kondou and Mitsuba.

Mitsuba - White Lilies: White lilies symbolize purity and dignity so I thought it was fitting for Mitsuba who personified both attributes to the very end. They’re also the flowers on her kimono I believe.

Saitou - Marigold: I read that Marigolds can mean loneliness, which I thought would fit Saitou who is extremely shy and has trouble making friends.

Yamazaki - Pansy: I just thought the color scheme of pansies worked well with Yamazaki when I was thinking about animal crossing flowers (Sorry for not having a deeper meaning Zaki...)

[dragonbackvoyager]

In January, I drew Marigold for @idyllhaze to complete our trade! He is a warm and lovely fox spirit that brings golden flowers and sunshine wherever he goes- he's a real cutie, and he was so much fun to draw too!! Thank you for trading with me!

[whatavery]

Sweet Mayfly Fly Away

An art trade I did for @miles-crow a while ago featuring Atlas and Asa. We love us some old man yaoi around here, don't we?

---

As the door slid open, Asa glanced up in time to see the familiar, leaner figure of his friend stepping into the dimly lit office. Cigar smoke swirled around Asa as he exhaled, his face breaking into a smile.

“Ah, Atlas… I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Atlas may was dressed as sharply as ever in a nice, sleek, almost form-fitting black three-piece suit. Asa grinned and drew another deep hit of his cigar, exhaling slowly after the smoke had filled his lungs. Asa himself was also dressed up in a similar getup. He knew it was almost time.

“I wouldn't miss a party of yours for the world,” the gray tabby simply said as he took a seat on the other side of Asa's desk. Atlas wasn't a man who smiled very often, but just then, Asa noticed the unmistakable way the corners of the gray cat’s mouth tugged themselves upwards. “Look at you, working on the night of your own party…”

“Not working, just… making sure everything is as it should be,” Asa chuckled, before he resumed looking over the paperwork. Granted, he had a hard time keeping his eyes on it now that Atlas occupied the chair opposite him.

They occasionally stole glances at each other and Atlas didn’t seem to mind just waiting.

“Oh, but where are my manners…” Asa gestured towards the jars on his desk, one holding cigars, the others holding candy. “See something you like?”

“I certainly do.” Atlas’ eyes weren't even on the candy. Instead, the tabby’s golden eyes were staring straight into Asa's green ones. Asa smirked at him and chuckled.

“Well, afraid I can’t let you do that, old friend,” he said with a wink. Asa put out his cigar on a nearby ashtray beside his desk mat, and pulled the lid off a jar. He popped a hard rock candy into his mouth. “We’ll need something else to occupy your mouth tonight.”

“I’ll have one of those then…” Atlas leaned in closer, eyes still staring into Asa's. When Atlas opened his mouth, Asa knew what he wanted, making him snicker. And without a second thought, he picked out a piece of candy for his oldest friend and gently placed it into his mouth. When he briefly felt the other man licking his finger, Asa found himself grinning some.

“We really need to find you a lady friend – get those queer tendencies under control,” he teased him. He showed one of those small smiles Asa knew so well. Since the day they'd met, Atlas hadn't been much for smiling. Although many people found it intimidating, it hadn't ever bothered Asa. Besides, he knew fully well how to make Atlas crack smiles on a semiregular basis.

Asa finally rose to his feet and adjusted his red tie, before he checked his jacket and his vest, the left side of his chest adorned with the signature orange Marigold flower. “Mayhaps tonight is the night.”

“Mayhaps…” Atlas said, though he didn’t seem like the prospect was one that interested him very much. Asa had barely stepped around his desk before Atlas stopped him in his tracks. “You already know who I want, though.”

Feeling his friend invading his personal space, Asa gave him an almost guilty smile. He shook his head. “You’re a strange man, Atlas May. Pining for your oldest friend who’s taken.”

Atlas’ small smile faded quite noticeably when Asa reminded him. They both knew, it wasn't as though it were some shocking revelation that Asa was seeing someone. Atlas leaned in towards him till their lips almost met. “Can you blame me?”

“Well, I just want to remind you that no matter how bad you want it – no matter how bad we want it – we can’t, Atlas…” It was a rare, serious moment between them that didn’t involve business. For decades, they'd been together, generally in secret. Not many people would understand what they had.

“I know…” Atlas replied in that calm, almost cold voice of his. “I’m merely wondering what changed… This new lady of yours really must be something special…”

It was true, things had changed. They didn’t use to let something like this stop them. They'd always sneak around, kiss in secret, spends passionate nights together. Asa inwardly swore and closed his eyes.

Their lips met and Asa already regretted it. He couldn’t help it, he knew he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t encourage this. Tonight was the night they were meant to end things, they had been doing this for far too long.

“She’s… Yeah, she’s something, alright, Atlas…” But she’s not you, Asa almost said. However, based on the look on Atlas’ face, he doubted he needed to say anything. Atlas’ lips were so sweet, and not just from the candy in his mouth. Perhaps his old friend just tasted all the sweeter because they shouldn’t be kissing.

Feeling Atlas’ hands on his cheeks was about enough to make Asa melt. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Stop…”

“Stop?”

Asa opened his eyes again and looked into Atlas’ piercing, golden ones that always took Asa's breath away. “Please, Atlas… You know how I feel.”

“I do know… But we’ve done this before. Tell me why it’s different,” Atlas demanded. Asa sighed inwardly as Atlas stroked his cheeks with his hands, being so very gentle. “That’s all you need to do, and I’ll drop it.”

Despite himself, Asa put his arms around Atlas and held him close. “Because I love you, Atlas. You know as well as I that we can’t have a normal life. You've been with me longer than anyone, you know I would marry you if I could.”

Atlas fell silent and said nothing for a moment. When Asa pulled back to look at him, the other cat had a somber expression on his face. Atlas was the first to avert his gaze, looking down. Asa took a hold of both his hands, holding them against his own cheeks. He removed Atlas’ hands after a moment of enjoying the feeling.

“Atlas… please, I want you to be properly happy… We can’t keep doing this for the rest of our lives. As much as I want to. I want you to be happy,” Asa said, repeating the main point of what he was trying to say. “You understand, don’t you?”

Even after that, Atlas said nothing, he didn’t even meet Asa's eyes. He closed his eyes again and sighed. “I know. And you know how much I love you. There's no one I've ever wanted like I want you, Ace.”

Asa couldn’t help but smile sadly upon hearing Atlas using that nickname that no one else used for him – not even the women he had seen in his life. “And I feel the same about you, Lassie.”

Upon hearing his own nickname, Atlas likewise gave a sad smile of his own. He kissed Asa's lips gently, briefly. Though they both knew it was wrong, it didn’t end at a kiss. Asa knew for a fact that while it could be seen as a finality, the ending of what they had had for decades, it might also make it harder to leave it behind. There wasn't a thing in the world Asa wouldn't do for Atlas, and he felt he owed the most important person in his life something good.

Feeling slightly lightheaded by the time they prepared to leave for the party downstairs, Asa stopped Atlas in his tracks. From a desk-drawer, Asa produced a small, black box and handed it to Atlas. He gave his dearest friend a sad kind of smile as he peered into the box. Atlas’ eyes darted back up to Asa's, fleeting hope showing itself on his face for just the briefest of moments.

Smiling sadly, Asa shook his head. “Give that to a woman you think is good enough for a man like you one day, Lassie. Give it to her and know it’s the ring I would’ve given you.”

Atlas closed his eyes and nodded. He seemed to steel himself before he eventually pocketed the ring. Nevertheless, he walked from the office with Asa. Asa kept stealing glances at Atlas, searching his handsome face for some, any kind of reaction – some way of knowing what he was thinking. Had it been a mistake to end things? Had giving Atlas that ring he'd held onto for almost a full year been the real mistake? Asa had no way of knowing, seeing as Atlas gave him nothing to really go off of.

But they made it down to the Marigold Room no problem. Asa had wanted to make tonight special. Perhaps it was knowing that he wanted to end things with Atlas, perhaps he wanted to see it as a new beginning. It would be quite a party with many people invited, it would have a band playing live music, a different band than the usual one. These people were from out of town and Asa didn’t know who they were. He just hoped they could deliver.

Perhaps this new band could bring about something new. A symbolic or literal new start for the both of them.

[kateaxelart]

Hey hey! Sorry I took a long time but I finally drew the main cast for my Marble Hornets Hanahaki Disease AU!!

I did end up redrawing Brian alongside with the others. I also decided to keep the coloring simple,

From Left to Right is are the names of each flowers I gave them:

Alex - Yellow Carnation

Jay - Aquilegia Formosa (Hidden underneath his hoodie)

Tim - Mixed of Red and Blue Rose

Brian - Marigolds

[picardkisser]

hey GAY PEOPLE. WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!! i wrote a 9k word long chekov/sulu slash fic on AO3 (and soon to be on ff.net)!!!!!!!!

do you like star trek?!?!? do You like communicating through flower languages?!?!?! do YOU like insane foreshadowing?!??!? do YOUUU like having your heart ripped out, stomped on, put back in, then ripped right back out at the end?!?!? BOY DO I HAVE THE FIC FOR YOU!!!!!!!

i also drew THIS which wasn't originally for the fic but i associate it with it now. Soooo.

ITS TOS STAR TREK BECAUSE FUCK AOS CHULU THATS WEIRD!!!

GO READ MARIGOLD AND PINE RIGHT NOW!!!! fair warning. there are spoilers in the tags. so read them at ur own risk bucko...

psssst. theyre both canonically autistic in it by the way ... hohoho.

[edgessunflower]

Yellow

Pairing:Kaldur'ahm x GN Reader

Description:you and kaldur have feelings for each other realizing how special the special you are to each other

Look at the stars look how they shine for you and everything you do yeah,there were all yellow I came along I wrote a song for you and it was called yellow

You had joined the team awhile after Zatanna being very nervous and quiet for the first bit until Kaldur just slowly and calmly started talking to you and you opened up after an hour and a half of talking becoming friends immediately.

So then I took my turn what a thing to do and it was all yellow your skin,your skin and bones turn into something beautiful and you know,you know I love you so you know I love you so

You both realized you had feelings for each other when you went on a trip together to an island near Star City while on a break from doing missions and being full time heroes not only was the island a place you had wanted to go to for years but also it was an experience and chance for him to get more familiar with the world around and above underwater,while you were just laying in the sun and him swimming in the pool you noticed him looking at you but with a look as if he was zoned out or thinking so you stared but until you called out to him bringing him from his thoughts leaving you with a mix of feelings.

I swam across I jumped for you what a thing to do cause you were all yellow I drew a line I drew a line for you what a thing to do and it was all yellow

You were planting in your garden at your home when you saw a small blue puddle over a pot with a marigold turning to see kaldur watering the flower and noticing that he had watered the others you planted before smiling as you continue until you both went inside cleaning off and eating lunch laughing and joking looking to see that you had been holding hands with each other turning a shade of pink without thinking you placed a kiss on his forehead making him turn a bright shade of red quietly laughing at each other.

And your skin your skin and bones turn into something beautiful and you know for you I'd bleed myself dry for you I'd bleed myself dry

You found out from the team that kaldur had gotten injured and in medbay after you came back from helping black Canary with a threat in star city immediately going in and seeing kaldur with bandages wrapped around his waist and his hand taking him to your home for the night to make sure he was alright both of you just hanging out like normal until he gently put his hand on your face rubbing his thumb across your cheek whoever lead in first you didn't know but you both pulled each other into a passionate and neverending kiss.

It's true look how they shine for you look how they shine look how they shine for look how they shine for you look at the stars look how they shine for you and all the things that you do

You pull away holding each other smiling on cloud nine "I love you" you say with your foreheads connected sitting on your bed with a movie you were watching playing in the background as you stare at each other "I love you so much" you both lay back down in each other arms under the covers for the rest of the night showing how much you love each other later on when you wake up.

[kalineas]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL 🥳🤩🎂🎉

One more year with the precious Atsushi sushi <3

Also something that I drew last year but didn't finish on time lol

See the meaning of the flowers under the cut

October flowers:

Marigolds have been linked to optimism and prosperity, cheer and joy, love and strong emotions, wealth and success.

Cosmos have long symbolized order, harmony, and balance. Others believe it is a sign of peace, love, joy, and innocence.

[saturnine-saturneight]

Here I am!

Giving that I'm reading (and loving) The Reburial of Natalie King ,

I always wanted to ask 😁 :

have you some specific botanic knowledge ?

particular interest to the topic ?

anything specific with flowers?

made some discovery about it if/while researching for your writing?

🌺🌺🌺🌺 (can't find red lilas emojis , damn!)

Hi Gioia! Thank you for the questions 😊

I am actually not that big of a plant nerd! I grew up in the country and can probably identify a few more species of tree than your average city dweller, but really nothing impressive. I just like trying to identify the things I see on nature walks.

Flowers specifically, I've done a bunch of research into flower languages and meanings in different cultures, and discovered that those meanings can differ wildly (e.g. marigold, which stands for wealth in China because it's shaped like golden coins, but signifies grief and mourning in Victorian flower language).

What drew me to flower zombies in the first place was actually a desire to expand on fungal zombies (though separately from The Last Of Us). From that starting point, I've been using them in Reburial to explore my own eco anxieties. This hasn't made it on page yet, and I'm not sure if it will until the second book, but at the core of the flower experiments in Reburial is the disappearance of insects, which as you know I care a whole lot about x)

[herald-divine-hell]

Writing prompt: “don’t you trust me”

Thank you for the prompt!

TW: Mentions and vague depictions of abuse

Time Period: Dragon Age: Origins (2008)

Setting: Lost in Dreams - The Broken Circle

Characters: Amayian Trevelyan, Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan, Warden Surana

Length: 2k+

~

He found his mother in Vasenarg's gardens, with a faint cool sea-wind crawling over the high stone walls crowned in their horned crenellations, bringing the scent of roses and violets and marigolds.

Seated high upon the stone throne with its blue-tiled dome, slender spiraled pillars topped at both ends with the rearing chest and neighing head of stallions, and vine-woven railing stretching from pillar to pillar, his mother was turned away from him, staring out to the gardens. A blissful smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the soft echoes of laughing lines could be glimpsed with the small scrunch of her amber eyes. Long thick waves of chestnut brown hair tumbled down from a high crown of braided hair, speckled with fine gems of ruby and sapphire and amethyst. That day, she wore her birthing dress, plain and white, with only the faintest silver embroidery along the sweeping sleeves and across the bodice. The skirt spread about her like the flowering lotus, like a gown of starlight.

His feet carried him, and his thoughts swam in and out of his mind, cresting the high waves before darting into the fearful depths. The stone paved road twisting around a little bond, sprinkled with loosened petals that had been carried by the wind. Sunlight glistened across the waters, as if a thousands gems twinkled beneath. And yet, his eyes were only on his mother, and the soft song borne by the air to his ears as he drew closer. A little lullaby, the one she sang when the dreams grasped him in its hold and refused to let him go.

But on this day, no words were spoken, only hummed. But that seemed only fair. He did not deserve those words, after what he had done. After his failure.

For a brief moment, he halted, unsured if his mother would even wanted to see him. Behind, the wind scurried against him, delicate hands of unseen air pressing against his back, grasping fistfuls of cloth, as if to drag him forward. And yet, Amayian's feet seemed buried into the stone, trapped. His right thumb searched for his mother's ring, felt the cold silver touch his skin, and the tightened breath clasping his chest flowed out of him.

"My sweet son, my brave son, why are you so far?" called his mother, though she did not turn to see him. "Do you not trust me?"

Ever obedient, Amayian took long steps to his mother. No words touched his tongue. All ability to speak seemed to have fled him, just like his fears when he heard his mother's voice. A voice he had not heard for nearly fourteen years. A soft voice, warm and melodious and flowing, touched with the highborn accents of Orlais.

Small wide steps greeted him at the trefoil-arched entrance of the high stone seat, and above loomed his mother, buried in that great gown of melted starlight. Golden armbands wrought in the appearance of flowers knitted upon a delicate string wrapped around her arms, each center set with a new gem that flashed with the passing sunlight. And she was smiling, smiling that sweet smile that said he could do no wrong. Gently she patted her lap. "Come, my sweet colt. You looked so tired." The wind tugged at him, like chains bound at his wrist and neck, trying to hurl him further. "It is ok. You do not have to fear. I am not angry with you."

One step flowed into a second then a third, until he was before his mother, the Lady Jacqueline who was the Dawn of Vasenarg. His mother extended her hands; and Amayian fell to his knees, took them into his own, kissed and pressed his forehead against them, as was the way of House Trevelyan. Long fingers tightened around his, a slender palm smoothed and unworn by work, drawing him close.

Those hands released, rising and combing their fingers through Amayian's dark hair, softly scratching and smoothing the loose strands of curls, just as Lady Jacqueline always did when she came to put her children to sleep. Her palms pressed against his head, drawing him down to hide his face in her lap, her fingers never ceasing to stop their strokes. "Oh, my sweet, tired boy. Why are you so thin? Have you not eaten?"

Though his mind rushed with words, and his heart a thousand more, they could not find his lips, as if they were sewn with silver.

Even still, his mother continued. "You have not visited for so long, my son." His heart clutched with terror. Brushed upon those words were...disappointment. No, no, he thought. I cannot disappoint her. It was forbidden.

"Do you not trust your own mother so that when you fled you did not dare pay your respect her, to honor her? Did we teach you anything?"

The crack of a tongue of leather, the rush of fire along his flesh, the whisper of blood flowing along the length of his back. The kiss of leather across his face, the bursting of agony across his cheeks, over his nose, a veil of warmth that poured unto his mouth. And beneath those crackles, his uncle's voice, rolling and untroubled, conquering. "As the Maker made us to serve, magic is meant to serve, never to rule. As the Maker made us to serve, a son is a slave to his father, to his mother, to his uncle, to his aunt. Any disobedience is forbidden, be them a word, an act, a flash across the gaze."

I am dutiful, Mother. You know this. I only ever meant to serve, just as Uncle Esmarian ordained. Yes, that was his purpose. Over and over again, his uncle had made that clear. By his father's pardon and his mother's compassion, he was given life, permitted to live even after the magic stirred within his limbs. How could he be so ignorant, to refuse to honor his mother, when he failed her so? "The blood shall be shed, shall be hardened, and the wounds may heal into scars," his Uncle said, pitying. "But the lessons shall be engraved, in the mind, in the heart. Take the Maker's forgiveness, and be honored we shed it to you."

"You failed me once, yes," said his mother, in the tones of fall's mourning when the first snows came. Her fingers were still untangling the locks of his hair, still stroking his head. But her nails dug deeper, scrapping along his head, over and over again. "Yes, you failed me. I had put my trust in you, my speechless son. And how did you repay me? By forsaking your duty? For fleeing the orders of your father?"

Yes, my duty was at the Circle. Even when the blade of his cousins' drew across his chest, for his insolence in seeking to flee, the lesson was learned, the reminder to kin installed. My duty to serve my father was there, and I forbad him. I fled. But you called, Mother. No one ever told Amayian what could he do when Father's and Mother's will opposed. His mother called, and he was ordained to listen.

Something warm crawled down his neck, wet and thick, trailing down from his head. Deeper and deeper his mother's fingers dug, slowing as they curled and pressed into his skin, untangling his hair, untangling his lies, untangling his failures. The wind touched his ears, cracking as the tongue of leather in the dark room.

"But it can be pardoned, all of it. If you put your trust in me, my sweet little boy who is empty without purpose. Did you think that coming to the land of the dogs would be freeing? Ever the dogs are leashed, obedient to their masters. Ever is the grey griffons leashed to their duty. Ever is the ministerial and the sister leashed to their songs, to their Maker. Duty, my son, is the crown of mankind. Do your duty now, and stay."

These words, so very strange they were. She never spoke in such a manner. Such a thought wriggled through his mind, though not in his voice. A woman's, quiet, almost too small that it was nearly lost in the hissing winds. His heart tightening, Amayian pressed his face deeper into his mother's skirts. Too much choices. Mother knows of my failure. Who am I to deny her? His dark curls were swept up by his mother's hair, and the wind laid kisses upon the revealed skin there. Still, the slow-moving wetness dragged down his skin, burning.

"Yes." The word came dragging, drawn out. "Yes, my son. Good. You are learning. And of the lessons, the heart shall remember, even when the mind grows forgetful, arrogant. Here you shall rest, by my side. You always wanted that, no? To serve your father, your uncle, your aunt, your sister, and your brother? That was what you were made for. To serve your House. To only serve, for magic was made to serve and never to rule. Never to rule the heart or the mind. Stay, and put your trust in me. You trust me, no? You think I died, but how can I leave my son guideless, he who needed most of all, whose heart could not feel except what we ordained? Oh, my son. I do live. Can you not tell?"

Yes. He was a fool, to trust in his heart. How wrong he was...how foolish...how...disobedient. His mother was alive, and she will still live, if he obeyed, if he stayed.

A footfall, echoing across the garden, piercing through the air like an arrow whistling and taking flight. "Amayian?" A familiar voice. A man's voice, and beneath that a woman's. The woman's seemed so far away, and yet so close, kissing his ears, lifting out from his heart.

His mother's hands strangled in his hair, pushing deeper into those white skirts that swallowed all sight, almost all hearing. "Begone, intruder. This is my house, and he is my son."

The voice, the man's voice, ignored her, and something hot tore at his chest, quickly sparking before dying. "Amayian, this world is an illusion."

No, it is not. Duty is not an illusion. She is here. My mother lives. I have my duty to her, to all of them. I just need to put my trust in her, to obey. It is so very simply. There is no illusion in that.

"Yes, my son. There is no illusion, no cloud to obscure your vision. If you serve, if you stay." Her words were steel as she spoke to this intruder, this deceiver that did not exist. The only thing that existed was him, his mother, his family, here in Ostwick. "Begone, interpolar. He knows his duty, knows where his place belong."

And still, the voice ignored her. "Amayian, you know she is dead. You saw her, didn't you? I don't know what happened that day. But she is dead, Amayian. Just like my parents are. Nothing I can do can bring them back. I know. I tried. Whatever happened that day, your mother does not blame you."

Yes, she does blame me. I let her die. If I had only been stronger. If I had not let the iron chain to wrap around my heart, she would still be alive.

The woman's voice, the one closer than his own heart. She begged you to stop, said this woman's voice, the voice he heard in those suffocating dreams. The fire was burning her, in and out, the ashes pouring out of her in crimson. No matter what we could have done, she would have died. She knew that. Your father knew that.

No, no. Too much. This was all too much. Why could everything not be simple, like when he was a child? When he only had to obey his father, his mother, his uncle. He wanted to stay. Her voice, it was still there. He could still smell her perfume, soft and scented like hyacinith and jasmine. I don't want to forget. I don't want to go searching. I'm home.

The woman's voice whispered around him, hoarse and harsh and mournful. We have no home.

The man's voice urged, so far and yet pressing. "You do have a home. With us. With Sten and Raila, with Alistair and Zevran, with Leliana and I. Even Morrigan, though don't tell her I said that." And he laughed, tilted with nervousness. But it was a laugh all the same. A similar laugh that erupted from Athlaros when Amayian had answered Zevran's deviant jest with truth, and when he had to explain how the joke went to Amayian. It still made no sense, even with Leliana interrupting to get the idea in his head.

Zevran, Morrigan, Ralia, Sten, Alistair, Athlaros, Leliana. He lifted his head a little, confusion casting assurance in his mind into the depths. But his mother's fingers dug deeper, flesh and bones seemingly crushing into his skin. Fire burned through him, in and out, over and within. "No, he is mine. Mine. Mine."

The wind screamed, the petals struck at his face in rapid slashes and cuts. And in those winds, he heard Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan's screams as the blood pour out from her, and Amayian's magic did nothing. Did nothing to save her. I tried and failed.

There was a whorl and a terrible screech that broke at Amayian's world. Dark soot and wisps of fire kissed his skin as his mother's hands seemed to flung off his head, and the demon withered and screamed, carried away by the winds of the Fade. The screams were still there, even after the white skirts was gone, and Amayian was upon his knees, seeing but not seeing.

"Amayian?" asked Athlaros. And Amayian turned, seeing a long-faced man with brown hair - not chestnut brown, but the brown of soil and earth. And behind, a woman. A woman shrouded in darkness and gowned in ash and snow, with long red-golden hair cascading down the length of her right shoulder, while melted bone and flesh, flecked in angry embers smoldered from blackened, withered skin, twisted and gorged. But her eyes remained, eyes of pale blue crystal, seeing and not seeing, keen and misty, all at once.

But then they were fading, and Amayian wondered...

What was this wetness on his cheeks?

[jujubeanie]

I drew a marigold :P

In flower language, marigolds stand for grief or jealousy. But in some cultures, they stand for divinity, purity, and the connection between life and death! :D