#this ended up being set in the ichthyological studies universe i hope thats ok!!!

[beskars]

Maybe a Silco x reader where they pick out flowers for each other and get like super in depth with the flower meanings? I think that would be really cute! -Silcosis

floriography

The small flower shop was nestled between a cafe and an antiques shop in the Entresol level, its modest exterior belying the vibrant array of colors within. You stepped inside, a well-worn book tucked under your arm—"An Illustrated Guide to Floriography," a treasure you and Silco had discovered during a recent return to the bookstore you had visited together on your very first date.

Inhaling the scents of sweet jasmine mingled with earthy greenery, you opened the book to the dog-eared pages you'd studied last night, refreshing your memory on the blooms you hoped to find.

You'd devised this idea over breakfast last weekend—each of you would select flowers for the other based on the meanings outlined in the book, creating a bouquet that expressed what words sometimes couldn't capture.

"Shall we each make our selections?" Silco suggested, his gaze briefly traveling to the book in your hands. "Without assistance, as agreed?"

You nodded, already turning toward the nearest display with renewed purpose. This wasn't merely about aesthetics but meaning—a tangible representation of all the precious elements that made up your lives together.

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Silco moved with deliberate focus through the shop, examining each variety with characteristic precision. Your own selection process was more intuitive, drawn first to a cluster of blue irises nestled among more showy blooms. You flipped through the book, finding the entry with a small, triumphant thrill.

Next, some ivy caught your attention—deep green and glossy. The book suggested it represented friendship and affection. You added it to your growing selection, considering what else might convey your feelings.

A bush of white flowers yielded several delicate sprigs. Consulting the book, you found it was heather, associated with protection and wishes fulfilled. It seemed fitting for the man who had become an unexpected yet essential sanctuary.

As you continued browsing, you found yourself drawn to bright yellow flowers with trumpeted centers. The book identified them as jonquils—desire and returned affection.

Finally, a single dark crimson rose—not the bright scarlet of conventional romance, but something deeper. The book's description was slightly faded, but you made out "unconscious beauty" and something about passion not recognized in oneself.

With your selection complete, you returned to the front of the shop where Silco waited, his own carefully assembled bouquet hidden partially behind his back—a rare display of almost boyish restraint that made your heart twist with tenderness.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward a small table in the corner.

"I'll go first," you told him, holding out your arrangement. Reaching out to touch each flower in turn, you began to explain your selections.

"Iris for faith," you said, "because of how we've learned to trust each other, despite how difficult that was at first. For me, especially." Your fingers brushed the ivy next. "Ivy for friendship, for the connection beneath everything else."

His expression remained carefully composed, though you didn't miss the slight softening around his eyes as you continued.

"Heather for protection—the book said it's about fulfilled wishes too." You smiled slightly, adding, "I think it fits both of us rather well."

A hint of amusement flickered across his features at that, the corner of his mouth lifting in acknowledgment.

"The yellow ones—jonquils—are about returned affection," you continued, heat rising to your cheeks despite your best efforts. "For the way we respond to each other."

When you reached the final bloom—the deep crimson rose—you hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

"And this?" he prompted, one finger gently brushing the velvety petal, his gaze never leaving yours.

"The book said something about beauty you don't see in yourself," you told him honestly. "For all the parts of you that I've been privileged to witness."

Something shifted in his expression—a vulnerability that made your chest tighten with affection.

"Thank you," he said simply, the words carrying more weight than any elaborate response.

When he handed you his own arrangement, you were struck by the careful composition—not just the selection of blooms but how they seemed to naturally complement each other.

At the center was a perfect white flower, surrounded by clusters of small blossoms and delicate bell-shaped buds, with a base of lush leaves and a curling vine wrapping it all together.

"The white flower is a camellia," he began, the soft lilt to his voice still so captivating to you even after months together. "The book suggested it represents admiration and perfection."

His fingers, impossibly elegant, indicated the small clustered blossoms next. "Flowering almond, I believe. Associated with hope and watchfulness." He paused, weighing his next words. "As I find myself consistently hopeful where you are concerned, despite my typically cautious nature."

The simple admission, delivered with such characteristically careful phrasing, made your heart swell.

"These small bells are lily of the valley," he continued. "According to our text, they suggest the return of happiness. A renewal of joy."

The significance wasn't lost on you—this acknowledgment that you had restored something he'd believed permanently lost.

"The leaves are hydrangea," he continued, "representing perseverance. Something I've observed in you consistently." His gaze softened. "Your determination, particularly when faced with uncertainty."

Finally, his finger traced the vine that encircled the arrangement. "Passion flower. The book mentioned faith—a belief in possibility not yet realized."

As his explanation concluded, you found yourself at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the deliberate care evident in each selection.

"It's perfect," you managed finally, cradling the bouquet as if it were infinitely precious.

Which, given what it represented, it was. -

@silcosis ty for the request! | requests | masterlist