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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months

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the gift that keeps giving | marcus pike

Summary | Isn't it just your luck to get the office hottie as your secret santa this year?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Just... Marcus Pike being Marcus Pike, some flirting and general office banter and a steamy kiss but nothing explicit!

Authors Note | To my Cheese & Crackers. My Darling Friend. I hope this makes your festive season that little bit lighter. I hope you love this because I love you, to the moon and back and beyond. Thank you for making 2023 that little bit easier. Happy Christmas @undercoverpena 🧡

“That’s looking a little worse for wear.” Marcus, stood at your desk, waiting for his report, finger pointed at the very much dead succulent on your desk.

You look up from your desk, fingers still flitting across the keyboard as you race to finish the notes he’d asked for.

“It’s looking dead, Marcus.”

“I was trying not to rub it in,” He shrugs, running a finger over one of the branches, a look of remorse on his face when he snaps off and lands on the white of the desk, “But yeah, that’s very much dead.”

“Frank deserved it.” You shrug, eyes never leaving your screen.

“Frank?”

“Yes, Frank,” You nod your head towards the succulent, “You’re meant to name plants, makes you more attached to them, more likely to care properly for them,” Another shrug of your shoulders, “Now look at him, showing me up as a bad mother.”

Marcus can’t help but chuckle a little, “You’ll have to get yourself another.”

“If I can’t keep a succulent alive,” You sigh, fingers slowing ever-so-slightly on the keyboard, “There isn’t much hope for anything else.”

“I believe in you.” He offers.

You stare at him through your lashes, a look that warns him that he needs to be quiet, “You know, the longer you stand there distracting me, the longer it’ll take me to type these notes up?”

“I always thought you thrived on pressure?” He teases, reminding you of a conversation a few months ago where you’d admitted that the best work you produce is always to a time crunch.

“Marcus, respectfully,” You finally look up at him properly, “You need to leave me alone, if you go and sit down in your office and leave me to it, this report will be on your desk in the next twenty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re late.” Your voice is monotone as Marcus hurries out of the elevator.

“I know.” He’s stressed, twenty minutes late to his debrief meeting.

“I told you last night what time you needed to be here.”

He runs a hand over his face, taking the manila file from your hand, flicking through it to make sure he knows what the fuck is going on right now.

“I’ve just moved.”

You sigh, shake your head, but keep up his pace as you race through the office, “What’s that got to do with you being late?”

“The fridge magnet,” He offers, as if you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about, “I lost it when I moved.”

“Am I supposed to make the link myself?”

He stops at his desk, blindly opening drawers, rooting through papers to try and find something, “I used it to pin important things on the fridge, like when I need to be in to speak to the big boss.”

You shake your head, trailing behind him again as he starts walking again, “You can get a damn fridge magnet on every street corner, Marcus.”

“I know,” He says, a little breathless, as he finally comes to the meeting room door, “I’ll get around to it eventually, promise.”

There’s a small gift bag sitting on your desk when you come back from the Christmas lunch. There are an array of other gift bags and small wrapped presents on everyone’s desk. You sigh, flopping into your chair. Someone from the finance team is already passing around glasses of something fizzy, work clearly done for the day. Someone is hooking their phone up to the a speaker. You look left and right, making sure that no-one is looking, before you pull open the top of the back and peer in.

You can’t quite believe it, reaching your hand inside to grasp the pot, pulling it out. A scoff leaves your mouth, a small cactus sitting in a pot that’s been painted like a Christmas jumper. You shake your head, a laugh escaping as you drag a finger over the little spines, like you always do when trying to choose a new plant. You push the bag out of the way, setting the small plant down on your desk, right where Frank had been before.

You use your fingers to turn it around, setting it perfectly in place, when those familiar legs come into view, perfectly pressed trousers right in your eyeline, but it isn’t the legs you’re really looking at, although you do sometimes, it’s his fingers, pressing a fridge magnet onto your desk, sliding it across to you, a magnet that is now so familiar to you, having stood in that damn gift shop for almost thirty minutes try to choose the right one. One with a watercolour painting splashed across it, one that you know he likes, never shutting about what the colours mean and how it makes him feel.

“Oh my god,” You feign surprise, “Does this mean you’ll be on time from now on?”

“It looks like,” He’s got a smile on his mouth when you look at him, “Also means you’ll be able to get off my case.”

You smile back at him, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you still have a job after your timekeeping this past month,” You tease, “But sure, if you want me off your case that bad, I’ll leave you alone.”

His attention moves from the magnet to the cactus already having pride of place on your desk. He picks it up, annoying you slightly as you’d just got it in the right position for you, “What are you going to name it?”

You raise your eyebrow, a knowing look in your eye, “It’s your gift, Marcus, you should name it.”

Marcus drops his head, a snort of a laugh breathing from his nostrils, “That obvious, huh?”

“About as obvious as this.” You bring your fingers to the fridge magnet.

You hold his eyes, watching as he thinks for a second, before he offers his name, “Vincent.”

There’s an actual laugh that drops from your mouth now, “You’re so predictable, Pike,” You shake your head, “Of course it would be an artist.”

He shifts from foot to foot a little, “You know,” His hand comes nervously to the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for the damn $5 cap, I’d have gotten us a gift certificate to this restaurant downtown that I like.”

You breath catches in your throat slightly, because there’s no way, there’s no way that means what it means, “Us?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you’d like it of course,” His nervous hand running up and down the side of his neck, “I don’t need a secret santa to take you out.”

You shake your head a little, bite your bottom lip, “It’s funny, because if it hadn’t been for the $5 dollar cap, I would have got us tickets to the new exhibition at the gallery.”

Your words sink in, him realising you want him just as much as he wants you, outside of this office and the professional relationship you have.

“And what if dinner came with a kiss?”

“What if the exhibition came with one too?”

He’s taking hold of your wrist, dragging you from your chair, back out of the office and down towards the privacy of the alcove near the elevator. Your back, pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands on your waist as his mouth finally slants over your own. It’s exactly how you’d imagined it for all these months, soft but sure, warm hands seeping through the layers of your clothes. And he tastes exactly as you thought he would, slightly sweet, considering his sweet tooth, and you can taste the beer he drank at lunch. It’s intoxicating. You slip your hands under the shoulders of his suit jacket, gripping the broadness of him as he pulls away.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself,” He whispers against your mouth, “If you don’t we’re gonna be sat with HR in the morning.”

You bite your lip, leaning towards him a little to press your lips gently to his own, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, agent.”

He looks at you, fire in his eyes, “Go and get your things,” It’s a strict order, that floats straight to settle in your tummy, “I’m sure I can get us in for dinner somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

#space sisters secret santa 2023 #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro pascal

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ash-says · 3 months

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Cheating Anxiety With Me

Seatbelts tight? Hands Steady? Are you still shaking? No, then lets rideeeee.

Anxiety the feeling of dread, uneasiness, fear, shaking, restless, heart beating rapidly, etc

Coping with anxiety is difficult especially for the mentally deranged girlies. No hate I love you all. You are just so my type of people.

Today I am going to tell you how to deal with it because you know what I say, "Kill or get killed."

The classic deep breathing technique: Start from 1 breathe in to the count of 4 then hold at 5 and breathe out from 6 to 10. This will help in evening out your breathing and slow down your heart beats.

Move, Sway and twirl: You feel an anxiety attack taking over you the best way to tackle all that excess energy released through FFF hormone is by MOVING YOUR BODY. Exercise. Dance. Run. Anything just move.

Sleep: Yeah, you read it right. Just shut down your system and sleep. This is my personal go to. Overwhelming anxious thoughts, feelings, anything we let it marinate over a nap. Works wonders for me.

Talk to a friend: Another personal go to. Sometimes the feelings are so loud, disturbing and dark that sleep is no longer an option. At such times talk it out. Seek a friend. Best if they are physically present with you. Ask for a hug. Loving touch. Don't be embarrassed. It does wonders. Trust me.

Nature therapy: One of the ways I accidentally discovered was that trees, plants and flowers can be extremely calming. No one to rely on. Go and hug a tree. I promise you it works. Social anxiety? Okay I got you also covered. Buy some fresh flowers or if you have house plants touch them. Inhale their scent. Graze the petals or leaves lovingly and tenderly. Feel them. It will calm you down.

Sugar saves the day: Okay some people might come at me for this one but honestly anything sweet is the holy grail for dealing with it. Now the trick here is not eating desserts and chocolates but rather fruits like grapes, banana, watermelons, etc. Basically eat healthy things. We don't want diabetes now, do we?

The 333 rule: This one goes like name 3 things in your surroundings, identify 3 sounds and touch 3 things. This helps in distracting your brain and calming down your wreck of a system.

Positive self talk: Keep on repeating like a broken record that it is going to be okay and you will get through it. As loud as your inner thoughts get that much loud this self talk gets. Basically overpower that annoying bitch inside you. Winning is the only option.

Identify the triggers and face them: Literally be a detective and find out your triggers and then put yourself through it by yourself until it becomes a normal thing for you. I am not advising this for dangerous things but you can try this on smaller triggers. Example: A song, a scent, a topic is a trigger to you. So now listen to that song, inhale that scent, read things around that topic willingly and train your brain and body to tackle it so that when it comes up suddenly your brain doesn't go in survival mode.

No to drugs, alcohol and risky behaviors: You should be going to them over your dead body. Please I am begging you don't indulge in them. Yes I am asking you lovingly, with teary eyes please don't do this to yourself. Don't punish yourself more. The world is already a harsh place if you won't be kind to yourself, who will be then?

Bonus one: Find a strict no bullshit friend who isn't afraid to call you out on your toxic behavior, put you in your place and is ready to be the pillar on which you can rely on. Because we are not able to differentiate in right and wrong during those times. Its really difficult to maintain the moral compass. That's why you need a community of trusted people to hold you down.

Fight your way back. Because this world is a cruel place babygirl. You do anything to survive. If you are still dreaming of a saviour. Dream on.

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cravingsfromatwistedone · 3 months

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CHOCO-CHOCOBO! [ FIC / NSFW ]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: NOW THAT I'M PLAYING FFXV, I JUST KNOW THAT PROMPTO WOULD ADORE THE CONCEPT OF CHOCOBO GIRLS (FF13: LIGHTNING RETURNS IN YUSNAAN) ! I'D LIKE TO THINK THAT THE GUY FROM THE CANVAS OF PRAYERS WHO WANTED A CHOCOBO GIRL'S NUMBER WAS PROMPTO IN ANOTHER LIFE. ANYWHO, ENJOY READING, MY DARLINGS! TW: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, USAGE OF PETNAMES (PRINCESS, BABE), EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT (IT STARTS OFF CUTE BUT IT GETS NASTY AFTER THAT!) PROMPTO ARGENTUM X FEM! READER

The Chocobo Post in Duscae has never been this livelier before ever since they organized Chocobo races. Now that the Deadeye in the area is dead, the owner and staff decided to implement a feature that was long pushed aside due to the past circumstances they had. With enough Gil and materials, what they had planned went in full swing, accompanied with many new and familiar faces; the owner himself even graciously invited the four Hunters

That's why the blonde male was shaking in his boots. Sure, he was excited that Noct mentioned something about visiting the Chocobo Post in a passing statement but he wasn't expecting this. His blue eyes keep flitting everywhere, from the gang to the owner then back to the girls in front of him. Mind you, girls who were dressed up akin to Chocobos. Their outfit consisted of scantily golden coloured bikini tops, thigh high stockings and boots that looked like Chocobo feet. Not to mention the feathery plumage behind them and the feathery wing-like gloves. It doesn't help that the girls were grinning at him, giggling at him as they beckon for him to come closer

"Hey, aren't you the one of the Hunters that killed off that Deadeye? Choco-choco thanks!" "Choco-chocobo, your hair have the same colour as our Chocobos! Say, do you want to take a picture with us?" "You're pretty cute for a Hunter, y'know! Come here, Chocobo boy!"

No wonder the guys were grinning from ear-to-ear in the car, refusing to give an inkling of what he was going to see when they arrived there. Everyone that day could still remember the visible flush that was on his cheeks and neck, the male capable of saying yes meekly to the Chocobo Girls' invitation for an impromptu photo session. It was a really, really long day

⋘══════∗ {♡} ∗══════ ⋙

"Do you think this looks alright?" You asked, the feathery plumage fluttering as you do a twirl. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Hard. "Yeah, it looks fine, totally fine—" He blurted out, propping his chin up on his hand as he stared up at the figure standing in front of him, baby blue eyes skimming down your form greedily. It doesn't help that his skin is warming up considerably too. He sat up straight, hands reaching out for you and his fingertips grazing your exposed sides "Can I touch it?" He coughed out, shaking his head as he cleared his throat before muttering "Can I touch you?—" His eyes are wide with so much hope pooling in them, his brows arching upwards and his lips pursed in a thin line. A very nervous, quivering line

"You don't have to ask permission," You giggled as a smile blossomed on your pink lips. Lips that he just simply adores. He sucked in a breath sharply, holding it as his gloved hands enveloped around the smooth flesh. He pressed his thumbs into your muscles gently, slowly trailing them upwards while he pulled you closer and closer to him "So pretty," He mumbled, his golden bangs tickling the skin of your breasts as he planted a soft kiss in between them "My very own Chocobo girl who's the cutest," The male added a beat later, letting his lips linger on your skin a while longer before sinking his teeth in, evoking out a gasp of surprise out of your lips. It's so hot. His ears are burning from hearing that precious little noise. "The sexiest," He drawled out, arms snaking around your hips and waist as his hands began to fondle with the straps of the costume "Wanna take these off," He muttered, his fingers hooking into the elastic band of your shorts, sliding them down just enough so he could see your pussy. It was soaking wet, your wetness staining the fabric. His tongue swiped against his lips unconsciously, his eyes narrowing in interest as he pulled the cloth down all the way through before his hands went back to squeeze your thighs, tempted to just swipe the pads of his fingers against your clit "All this just for me?" He questioned, the edges of his eyes crinkling from grinning too widely "Can't wait to fuck you stupid, babe—" The male hastily dragged his other hand to the buckle of his belt, undoing it as he tugged you down to his lap, cock straining against the fabric of his jeans and once he does undo his jeans, he's almost embarrassed of how stiff he was. Keyword; almost. He couldn't care less of about what he feels right now, the only thing he wants to feel is your tight walls enveloping him and clenching down on him like a vice. His blue eyes turned into half-lids as he watched how the head of his cock brush and prod against your soaked folds, your arousal just simply dripping and coating over the flushed tip. He let out a hiss through gritted teeth as you started to lower yourself down, fingers digging into your backside as you take him inch by inch He knew that you had to ease yourself like this every time, your cunny too tight even for his size but fuck, he can't take it anymore—

The blond wrapped his arms around you, muttering a gentle 'Sorry' against the shell of your ear before grabbing a handful of your thighs and forcing you down his cock, the male happily swallowing up your whimper when he pressed his lips on yours. " 'm sorry, 'm sorry—" He chanted, groaning into your mouth as your hips met in rapid succession "Wanted my cock in you so, so, much, princess—" As soon as he said those words, he felt you tighten around his pulsing cock and he nearly sprained his neck from how hard he threw his head back, his brain filled to the brim with the thoughts of your warm pussy and how good it felt to be in it. One of his hands slithered up to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling it back just so he could litter a mess of hickeys on the soft skin of your neck

"That's it, keep-mmh-taking my cock like that," The blond praised, his mouth parted slightly before he moved up to your lips, blue eyes fluttering shut from the taste of your tongue invading his mouth which just made him hasten his pace even more. He had to pull away, he had to. If not, he would've busted his load right then and there and he didn't want that He wanted his sweet, sexy girlfriend to cum first So with another whine leaving his lips, he dragged his hand to be in between your legs, rubbing his fingers on to your clit furiously while you start to squirm in his embrace. The male knew you was close, judging by the way your muscles are tensing up, your moans getting higher in pitch. He wasn't so far behind either, his thrusts mostly consisted of him rutting his pathetic cock in and out as he tried to push the both of you over the edge "P-Prompto, I'm going to—" Your words were cut off by a loud, pleasured cry and it made Prompto lose his mind, your slick juices dribbling down his thighs as he continued to bully his cock into you. It was more than enough for the man to let loose now that your needs were satiated first. With another bruising kiss to your lips, the blond pulled away before putting his entire focus into his pace, not really heeding the constant pleas and whines from you to 'slow down' and be 'gentle' He's almost there, he can feel it. His thighs going taut, his jaws clenched and the constant, throbbing ache in his loins as he kept on going. His persistence was then rewarded, the blond whimpering in pure delight as he felt his sweet girl clenching on him for the third time. His body not even hesitating to just simply flood you with his warmth, your pussy milking his cock for he's worth while you both basked in the sweet, sweet afterglow. He'll worry about the Chocobo costume later on, his brain's too mushed to think about cleaning them and returning them back to the owner. It was a rental after all

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mopeyy · 5 months

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Forgotten Love

Nor x Fem Na'vi Reader

angst

Summary: Reader is in love with Nor, but he's still in love with her dead sister.

Inspired by this post!!

The soft ground of pandora glowed with each step you took, the leaves rustling from the soft wind. The glowing plants and moon guided you safely through the forest. You thought back to what led you out here tonight, how nobody in the resistance could find Nor, and you were tasked to look for him. Of course, you were the only one who knew where he'd be. You knew Nor more than anyone here, you'd memorized him from the many years you spent together in the RDA.

You stepped over a log, making your way towards the top of the waterfall, his favorite spot. You weren't surprised to see his figure sitting there, his legs dangling over the edge. Since the resistance rescued all of you, he often came up here to think. You didn't try to be quiet as you approached him, not wanting to accidentally scare him. His sharp ears twitched when you took a step. He knew you were there.

He said nothing when you took a seat next to him, still keeping his gaze on the view infront of him. Determined to end the silence, you spoke first. "Everyone is looking for you, Priya sent me to go and find you." He let a soft smile pass his face, "Well than you've found me." His gaze was unwavering, still not turning to look at you. You took note to the crease in his brows, and how his ears were slightly pinned back, he was upset. "Is this about the Aranahe? I know we spoke about it last time." You questioned.

Was he still upset? Scared that the Na'vi might view him different? Your thoughts came to an end when he replied, "No, not this time. its just-" He paused, contemplating on wether to not to tell you, "Its nothing, don't worry yourself" He ended, deciding to keep whatever he was thinking about private. You let out a soft sigh. With everything going on it was not a good time to keep secrets from one another. You placed a hand on his shoulder, "I don't mind worrying, you are my friend. Tell me, what's on your mind?" He glanced at you from the corner of his eye before placing his hand on top of yours.

He opened his mouth to speak, "Im just thinking about Aha'ri. How unfair it is that we get to be here and she doesn't. " You stayed silent, leading him to continue, "She would have loved it here, to be Na'vi. She was so brave and adventurous." A smile overtook his face as he spoke about her. You watched how his eyes held a different look in them. It was a look you haven't seen before. Why did he look this way when speaking about your sister? "I don't know I just...well, do you ever think about her?" He asked, turning to face you and watch for your response.

You swallowed before answering, "Of course I do, everyday. She was the only family I had left." you whispered, voice growing quiet and sad at the thought of her. He took your silence as his turn to speak, "I sometimes wonder what things would be like if she was still here. How different they would be." You raised a brow at this, confused you asked, "Different how?" He paused once again, thinking about his next words, "I haven't told anyone this before but, when we were children I.." he hesitated, taking a short pause before continuing, "When we were children I was in love with her. And...sometimes I think I still am." He confessed. He watched your face for any sort of reaction but you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Yes, Nor often talked of your sister but you just thought it was because he missed her like the rest of you did, you had never imagined that he may have loved her. You knew for a fact that your sister had not felt the same. When you were children all she focused on was escaping and keeping your Sarentu culture alive. She wasn't focused on love. and never once had she mentioned such a thought about Nor. How could he love someone who didn't feel the same, someone who was no longer here? How could he still love her when you were right here, in love with him.

Your eyes fell to your lap and your ears pinned to your head. You removed your hand from his shoulder and stood up. Watching you, he stood up too. "Im sorry, was that too much? I know speaking of her can bring back the memories for you and that was never my intention." He explained, he felt bad thinking that the thought of your sister made you sad all over again. You shook your head and began walking away from him, "Its not that Nor, its nothing don't worry." He started to walk behind you. He didn't want you to leave the conversation upset. "What happened to being friends and telling each other what's on our minds?" He questioned, using your words against you. When you didn't respond he grabbed your arm. Soft enough not to hurt you, but tight enough to stop you from walking away. He put his other hand on your hip, turning you to face him. "Y/n, what is it?" He pleaded.

You let out a soft breath before looking up at him through your lashes, begging your eyes not to water. "Its you Nor" You spoke. His face changed to one of confusion. His eyes narrowed and his brows creased in confusion. "I-what?" He replied, the confusion evident in his tone. You rolled your eyes. How could he be so dense? "Im upset because of you Nor. How could you love my sister when I've been here the whole time? How could you love her when I love you." You mumbled the last part. When he stayed quiet you continued to speak, "Why do you think its always me who finds you when no one else can? Why do you thinks its always me who comforts you when your upset? Why do you thinks it me who knows what concerns you? Why do you think its me who knows you." You finished.

Upon your confession his grip on you loosened. You took this as your chance to leave. Your broke free of his grip and walked away into the forest. he didn't follow after you.

comment if you want part 2!

#avatar frontiers of pandora x reader #avatar frontiers of pandora #nor avatar frontier of pandora #nor #nor x reader #nor frontiers of pandora

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violet-lazer · 1 year

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Astronomy

Content / Warnings : EXPLICIT 18+, Terzo/Reader, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fluff and Smut, Terzo is a Hopeless Romantic, 3.2k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3)

It’s not that he can’t commit, as he’d told you one evening, fingers tracing your spine as you lay together in flushed afterglow. It isn’t that his eyes wander or he grows bored of his lovers. He’s simply never wanted to. Until-

Or: Terzo wants to watch the stars with you.

Breezy nighttime air hits your face as you’re gently guided out of the heavy front doors of the Ministry and into the grounds. There’s grass underneath your feet, the gentle trill of birdsong in your ears, and you can’t see a bloody thing. Terzo’s hands are over your eyes, and he’s leading you from behind to a destination unknown. His chest is warm against your back.

“I could’ve just closed my eyes,” you say, as you carefully pick your way forwards through the grass. Terzo chuckles, and you feel the rumble.

“I admit, the distance feels much longer at this pace,” he says. “Perhaps I should have done a test run. But can you not feel the excitement coursing through you? The mystery?”

“I can feel myself tripping and breaking my neck,” you reply flatly. Terzo tuts.

“Where is your sense of adventure, hm? You will change your tune soon enough. Come.”

You know the grounds well, and as you venture on, you can tell you’re approaching the greenhouses when you’re hit with a heady bouquet of fragrance- honeysuckle, jasmine, rose; the evil-looking plant that Primo claims eats people. You continue walking, and you recognise you’re out past the edge of the well-kept gardens and meandering towards the edge of the woods where the foliage creeps along the floor like beckoning fingers. About three minutes of careful navigation later, you stumble on a rock and almost fall directly on your arse before Terzo grabs you.

To his credit, Terzo catches you with only the mildest of fumbles, and even manages to keep one gloved hand over your eyes as he does it. Very professional. He clears his throat.

“Shit. Ah. We are stepping onto a path now. Pick your feet up, please.”

You crane your head sideways and hope he can feel the withering look emanating from you that his hands are mercifully concealing. In apology, he presses a kiss to the most accessible part of your cheek.

“Sorry. We are nearly there.”

Gingerly, you let him nudge you forwards. There’s stone underneath your feet now, uneven cobbles. You know where you’re going.

The ruined groundskeeper’s cottage at the edge of the woods is haunted. Well, that’s what the priests say to attempt to dissuade any curious Siblings from exploring the structure too enthusiastically. Yes, it’s true that it’s all crumbling stone and ivy encroaching through dead windows, and the wind can be exceptionally vocal in the winter. Sure, nobody is quite sure why or when it was abandoned. Haunted, though? You think it’s more likely that a decrepit abode is a potential health and safety nightmare and the senior clergy is keen to minimise the number of accident forms they have to fill out. Still, it has its uses for the bold- you’ve heard tell of Siblings holding seances, conducting rituals, throwing the occasional orgy. You’ve been there yourself, once, years ago when you were a fresh initiate determined to lay bare all of the secrets the Ministry had to offer. You’d chanced a careful exploration and found naught but empty rooms and disappointment; a week later a sizeable chunk of ceiling fell directly onto a similarly inquisitive Sibling so you’d steered clear ever since. That was an isolated incident though. Probably.

Terzo slows his pace, bringing the two of you to a stop. After imploring you to close your eyes for just a second- you comply- he reaches around and in front of you, and you hear the distinctive sound of the cottage door pushing open. The iron knocker sounds a clang as he lets go and replaces his hands over your eyes.

“Here we are. One more step.”

Together, you cross the threshold. Once you’ve come to a stop, Terzo lets his hands drop and you inhale sharply at the sight that greets you. You’re expecting cold, half-ruined walls and the aura of decay but before you, the shell of the living room feels alive. A frankly staggering number of candles bathe the small room in an inviting glow, and the years-cold fireplace is aflame. In the centre of the room, on the floor, a large, heavy-looking blanket has been arranged with some complementary pillows. You can smell incense from one indistinct corner of the space. It’s warm. It’s beautiful.

Behind you, with a voice you could swear was tinged with the slightest hint of nerves, Terzo says: “Well?”

Turning on your heel, you finally come face to face with Terzo. Half-lit by candlelight, shadows playing on his handsome face, he’s looking at you with the most earnest of expressions; hand outstretched for yours. This is for you. He’s done this for you. Anything you could say feels insufficient. But you have a go.

“I can’t believe you’ve done all this for me.”

He smiles. “Well. I can. Let me show you the best part, hm?”

You slide your hand into his and he guides you toward the centre of the room, encouraging you down to sit opposite him on the blanket. It’s thick enough that you don’t feel any residual cold from the floor, and it’s probably absolutely fantastic on the knees if you were to, say, end up straddling someone tonight. Hm.

Terzo raises an eyebrow at you. “Comfortable, yes? If you wish to be staring at the ceiling later I think you may be disappointed. Look up.”

You look up. Directly above you is the famed hole in the roof, and it’s large enough, almost the size of the sprawling blanket you’re sitting on, that when you gaze upwards into the inky sky you can see a vast array of stars.

You pull your gaze back to Terzo and you want to tell him.

It’s been two months since you and he began sleeping together. A month and a half since he asked you to be his. Mindful of his…popularity, the more cynical voice in your head warned you to be realistic, to keep your expectations low, to prepare yourself for the possibility that he would grow tired of you and move on. As other Siblings had helpfully reminded you, Terzo wasn’t widely known for commitment. But he’s given you no reason for pause. Terzo wants to spend every waking moment with you, and every sleeping one at that. So attentive and present that it would be genuinely impressive if he could find the time to court anyone else. It’s not that he can’t commit, as he’d told you one evening, fingers tracing your spine as you lay together in flushed afterglow. It isn’t that his eyes wander or he grows bored of his lovers. He’s simply never wanted to. Until-

Still, neither of you have dropped the bomb yet. The declaration that feels like the point of no return, that desperate leap into the unknown. If you cross that threshold together any illusion of a casual affair is shattered, and what then? You either belong to each other for the rest of your lives or suffer complete and utter heartbreak. Perhaps, though, tonight could be the night. Perhaps. Let’s see how brave you feel. But fucking hell, he’s brought you to gaze at the stars and he’s so close and so handsome and you know it’s only a matter of time before you slip. You swallow.

“Thank you,” you say. “Terzo, this is–”

“I am in love with you.”

It comes out of him so quickly, so honestly that you’re stunned to silence, and judging by Terzo’s expression, it’s taken him by surprise as well. After a moment, he clears his throat.

“Hm. I was planning to save that for later.”

This would be a good time to respond, but you’re struggling and he’s in love with you. Your heart is going to burst out of your throat. Fuck, this is real; and it’s more than you’d dared to hope for. Is this why he’s brought you here tonight, to tell you? The reason he’d double- and triple- checked this morning that you were still on for a date? Hey. You still haven’t said anything. Glancing downwards, Terzo runs a hand through his hair.

“Do not feel pressured to say it back. It is still early, I know-”

“I’m in love with you too.”

Of course you’re in love with him. You never stood a chance. Every morning you wake up next to him and he pulls you into a lazy morning embrace, each time you pass in the corridor and he pushes you into a corner to steal a few secret kisses, you fall just a little bit further. Your response comes pouring out of you like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And it is, really. The dissipating tension in Terzo’s shoulders is instant, and extremely visible.

Terzo lets out a deep exhale. “Thank fuck for that.”

He leans forwards to kiss you and you meet him in the middle. It’s slow, tender, his hand raising to caress your cheek. When you reach forward to tangle your fingers in his hair his tongue presses into your mouth and you accept him wholeheartedly. Oh, the things he does to you. Oh, the things he could be doing to you right now. If you just shift forwards like so, you could get your legs either side of his to straddle him and-

You’re just about to make your move when Terzo pulls back gently. You frown, and he laughs.

“I know, I know. I want to ravish you too. But I cannot be thinking with my cock all the time, yes? We are on a very strict schedule and-” he makes a show of checking an imaginary watch- “I believe it is time for the light refreshment and star-gazing portion of the night.”

Pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, he gets to his feet and retrieves a decently-sized picnic basket from one of the unlit corners of the room and places it in front of you with a flourish. It’s almost comically prototypical, complete with red gingham cloth. Very cute. You laugh.

“How long has that been there?”

Terzo shrugs. “Oh, years, I would imagine. It was here when I arrived, actually.”

“Mmhm.”

With one hand, he flips up the lid of the basket and gestures for you to have a look. You peer in to assess the contents.

Ooh. Well, there’s definitely a bottle in there, that’s always a welcome sight. And ah- on top there are a couple of boxes emblazoned with the name of that little patisserie in town you adore. The two of you had had your first proper date there, sat across from each other at a tiny table on a rainy afternoon, condensation painting the window as you took turns sampling each others’ pastries. And he’d held your hand over the table even though anybody could have seen you and you allowed yourself to entertain the dangerous idea that he might be serious about all this.

You look back up at Terzo. He gives you the smallest of self-satisfied smiles, and you think you’ll let him have this one. Sitting beside you, he busies himself unpacking the basket, and you watch him set plates, glasses and an expensive-looking bottle of red before you. As he pokes around for a corkscrew, your gaze wanders to properly take in your surroundings. Here, in the centre, pools of candlelight encircle you, and the darkness beyond is inconsequential. You could be anywhere. It’s just you, him, a blanket he’s surely stolen from someone and a really impractical amount of candles for one man to have arranged and lit by himself.

“Did you do all of this yourself?” you ask. Terzo stops what he’s doing and graces you with an extremely complacent look.

“Yes,” he says. Then, he tilts his head in consideration. “Well. I planned everything. And I did ninety-nine percent of the legwork. I was at the patisserie at nine o'clock this morning wrestling an old man for the last box of tiny croissants. But Omega did help me with some of the-” he waves a hand at your surroundings- “decor.”

You nod, quietly lamenting the fact that you were not present to witness your lover antagonising the elderly.

“Makes sense. I was thinking some of those candles were placed a bit high for you to reach.”

Terzo quirks an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

Oh? The change in atmosphere is palpable as Terzo shifts onto his knees, leaning towards you to close the small distance between you in one swift motion. He’s fixing you with a look that sends a shiver running down your spine to settle between your legs, and you can scarcely catch your breath as he reaches up to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.

“But I can reach you.”

You gladly let him push you onto your back. The blanket cushions you nicely as Terzo climbs on top of you. Trailing kisses down your neck, his hands begin to wander, fingers ghosting any exposed inch of skin as he works his way down, down, towards the heart of your desire. Terzo gives your thigh a squeeze before tracing teasing, exploratory touches between your legs over your clothes. How easily you begin to fall apart for him, bucking your hips upwards to grind against his hand, to chase the friction you crave. He looks you straight in the eye as he slips his hand beneath the layers of fabric that separate you, and when he bypasses that final barrier, fingers finding your warmth, his moan matches the one that falls from your lips. Your need for him is laid bare, and Terzo regards you with a hunger that borders on animalistic.

“Already so desperate for me, hm?”

Well, it’s his fault. And he knows it too, giving you a wry smile as he withdraws his fingers and shifts to settle on his knees before you. You help him undress you, pulling your underwear down and off and as soon as it hits the floor he’s there, sliding his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him. Terzo descends upon you slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to every sensitive inch of skin as he makes his way towards your aching core, and you are almost delirious with anticipation. Please.

“We are off-schedule.” he says, voice thick with lust. “Head back, love. I want you to see stars.”

And then his tongue is on you, warm and wet, and you throw your head back in sheer pleasure. Terzo moans around you as he tastes you and in response you reach down to knot your fingers in his hair. Fuck, you can’t help but rock your hips into him, grinding into his mouth while he goes down on you. Above you it’s constellations that neither of you likely know the name of, your moans escaping into the air as Terzo brings you towards your ruin.

There’s nothing separating the two of you here from the stars thousands of miles away but there’s no time to get existential as Terzo pauses to reach up and push two gloved fingers into your mouth. Obediently, you suck, tongue eager against leather and when he’s satisfied he withdraws, hand sliding down between your thighs. Slowly, presses a finger into you and you breathe a fuck right towards the heavens. Terzo hums approvingly and you can’t help but lift your head to look at him. He’s so beautiful when he’s between your legs, mouth full of you, paint beginning to smear along your thighs. The most divine evidence of his unholy devotion to worshipping you. He pushes another finger into you gently and begins to fuck you, fingers crooked to stroke the most sensitive area of your heat. You’re edging closer and closer to your climax with every lap of his tongue and when you finally come you’re a mess of clenched thighs and choked gasps, twitching tight around his fingers. Desperately, you pull him on top of you to catch him in a messy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel his cock hard against your leg and you reach to palm him through his trousers. Groaning, Terzo grinds into your touch, biting at your lip.

“Let me fuck you,” he breathes into your ear.

“Fuck me then,” you respond.

Already there’s want simmering between your thighs, an ache to be filled, completely. Terzo requires no more encouragement, rearing back and swiftly unbuttoning his trousers; you’re treated to the glorious sight of that dark spill of hair leading from his stomach to his cock. He shifts his trousers down his thighs- deftly taking his underwear with them- and kicks them off hurriedly before settling between your legs. And now, he looks down upon you as if he has all the time in the world. Grasping his already-leaking cock, Terzo begins to stroke himself languidly above you; the sensation of precum leaking onto your skin makes you shiver. This is Terzo in his element, and he’s at his most powerful right as he’s about to sink into you. You lift your legs to wrap them around him; to coax him forwards, and he lets you. Pushing the head of his cock down through pooled precum he guides himself into you, exhaling a satisfied sigh as you stretch around him. Terzo rolls his hips to fuck you and you draw him close once again; he buries his head in your shoulder as he thrusts and you revel in each needy groan that escapes him. It’s not long before his pace quickens and he lifts his head to meet your gaze, nose bumping against yours, breaths ragged and heavy. You’ve never seen a more exquisite sight, and he’s yours. You lift your hands to his face.

“I love you,” you gasp, and his breath hitches, hips bucking hard against yours.

“Shit, I’m-”

Almost immediately he spills into you, thrusting shallowly as he rides his orgasm out, wide eyes giving the distinct impression that his own cock has ambushed him. Regardless, he leans down to capture you in a kiss, messy and unrefined, and his tongue scrapes your teeth in his desperation to push it into your mouth. When you part, Terzo pulls out of you gently and collapses on his back next to you, finding your hand and lacing your fingers together as his breath evens out. After a few moments, you break the silence.

“I told you I love you and you came immediately.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear Terzo chuckle. “Apparently so. How embarrassing.”

You laugh, letting your thumb trace lazy circles over his, gazing upwards into oblivion above.

“Stars are nice, though.”

“Mm.” He gives your hand a squeeze and then lets go, propping himself up on his elbows. “You know, I was actually planning to seduce you with my astronomical knowledge over our little picnic. I borrowed a book on constellations and everything. Studied for, oh, a full afternoon. But alas-” he makes sure to heave a dramatic sigh- “it wasn’t necessary. Hours, wasted.”

As much of a shame as it was that Terzo hadn’t had the chance to flex his new-found knowledge, the fact that you’d derailed his plans so completely and so quickly feels infinitely more gratifying. In fact, you’re going to have some pastries and wine in about two minutes to celebrate. But in the name of generosity…

Scanning for your target, you pick out a particularly bright cluster of stars and raise your arm to point.

“Alright, what’s that one?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he follows the line of your finger, eyes narrowing in consideration. He hums. Then, he turns to look at you with the utmost seriousness.

“I do not have a fucking clue.”

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #terzo #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii

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linddzz · 8 months

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Tell me about corals magic man

oh man this ask keeps sitting here and I keep starting to write stuff out, forgetting it, then never finishing. So since I am still processing tons of coral pics from a recent field work excursion about coral (and have a day off to just CHILL at home before regular work again) this is as good a time as any. CORAL. IT'S IMPORTANT I GUESS BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? PLANT?? ANIMAL??? OVERAMBITIOUS ROCK??? Yes. kind of. Technically just an animal is correct. Corals are animals, but they are fucking weird animals. Weird in the way that only marine invertebrates can get. I love them because they're freaks. Let me show you.

Corals are a cnidarian, which puts them in the same category as anemones and jellyfish, and when you look at an individual coral polyp you can instantly see the relationship. They are colonial animals with massive structures formed out of polyps that are all clones of each other, and all building a support structure to form the whole, called the colony. An especially cute metaphor I've heard is that each coral polyp has it's own little nook like a room in the massive home they all work to build. A layer of tissue connects polyps to each other over the colony, allowing them to share nutrients and such over the entire structure like little marine communists. These polyps can range widely in size, and they can either be distinctly separate or all fused together, only distinguished by separate mouths. Numbers can also range from millions to a couple species that will have one or polyp mouths max. Polyps can extend out or retract into their little nook, called the calyx, and extend more when the coral is capturing prey from the water.

Lookit those cute little polyps, these guys make their own cubby for themselves!

Don't worry about what I just said about capturing prey and feeding, look at those cute little guys. Some of them are out and some are retracted, showing the little bump where they live.

Fused polyps like on brain corals don't extend exactly, but feeder tentacles will come out from that delineation between the ridge and oral groove. It's actually called an oral groove! Those tentacles are full of the same stinging cells jellyfish and anemones have! One biologist referred to brain corals as a wall of mouths! Ive seen them using those tentacles to slowly drag struggling little shrimps and larval fish towards a slowly opening mouth amongst that wall of mouths! It's like living in a place where at night, the walls open mouths and drag you into them with unthinking stinging strings! Sometimes they just spit out digestive strings to digest stuff outside of their body, like other coral that got too close and needs to check itself! Isn't that great!

A lot of people are surprised to hear "mouths" and "feeding" with corals and yup, corals are animals and therefore they eat! Each polyp has a mouth and tentacles and will extend them to capture prey, mostly zooplankton but also some plant material. Because they're fucking weird though, many species also gain energy via photosynthesis with the help of a symbiotic dinoflagellate called the zooxanthellae or symbiodinium. It's this algae like symbiont that actually gives coral most of their colors. These colors can range from psychadelic to just brown, with regular old browns and greens and yellows being the most common colors (especially in the Caribbean). A bleached coral is still alive, but due to stress has lost their zooxanthellae. They can survive and recover, but in this state they are highly stressed, prone to disease, and can starve slowly without the symbionts helping with their nutritional needs. They appear white or faded because the loss of their symbionts reveals the white calcium skeleton beneath the tissue.

Bleached portion of coral beside unbleached. A dead coral is one that has lost all of it's tissue, and every individual polyp has died, leaving nothing but the skeleton which can no longer grow without the living polyps. Bleached coral is very, very vulnerable to becoming a dead coral.

Unusually high heat is the most common trigger for a bleaching event. And this is where, in my education talks I sometimes do, I pause with a strained grimace of a smile as we all contemplate ocean temperatures hiking up every summer. SO WHY ARE THESE WEIRDASS ROCK ANIMALS IMPORTANT BESIDES BEING COOL TO LOOK AT? Coral structure can be colloquially described as stony or soft. Stony corals are what I work with more, and these guys are the ones that build a hard, calcium based structure as their support building, and these powerhouses are the ones that build the coral reef. Soft corals are what it says on the tin, they may have a sort of support structure that varies amongst families, but it's flexible (you'll see them waving very beautifully and gracefully in the currents) and they (for the most part) do not build the reef. If they do add to reef building it, it's with a very slow process of depositing fine layers. (Soft corals of course have their role in the overall reef health, but reefs are bonkers complicated ecosystems and I'm trying to keep on track here.) When you're looking at the reef, you are looking on centuries, if not millennia, of stony corals building on top of each other. Sometimes this building has been going on for so long that islands are made of fossilized reefs from millions of years ago, with corals that still resemble modern species in the rock. (This is the case of BonAire and blew my goddamn mind seeing the fossil reef it's so fuckin cool.)

Sometimes just a single colony will keep building on itself into massive structures. Polyp clones adding on and on to their predecessors, giving the colony overall a lifespan in centuries. It's thought that some huge colonies may be thousands of years old, because the fastest growing stony corals have a growth rate that may equal centimeters per year.

It's those reef structures of calcium carbonate building up and up that provide the homes to so many other creatures that coral reefs are some of the most biologically diverse, and biologically dense ecosystems out there, like rainforests of the ocean. Even marine life that doesn't live directly in the reefs have a connection to them, using them as feeding grounds, breeding areas, a place to hide while young and vulnerable, ect. They even protect coastlines, acting as a literal barrier that reduces wave damage from storms or just wave action in general. The reef takes the brunt of the physical damage, colonies get knocked around, but the still living polyps keep on building and rebuilding so the reef can go on and not get smashed into rubble every year. That is, if there are still stony corals alive to do the rebuilding. :))))))

So you have these weird animals who build stone structures like cathedrals, have algae in their tissue, live as massive ancient colonies of clones that can eat, photosynthesize, and also reproduce both asexually and sexually. They're able to branch out and do all of that because they are adapted to insanely stable environments. Temperatures don't fluctuate by more than a couple degrees seasonally, tides are consistent, storm seasons are consistent, the water is consistently clear due to lack of algae, which allows sunlight to penetrate and feed the symbionts that feed the coral. Mineral levels in the water are stable so they can take the calcium and carbonate from the sea water to build their skeletons. Without having to be able to adjust to changes in the environment they just went hog fucking wild on all the ways an animal can be an animal.

And here I once again pause with a strained grimace smile as we all take in how they need to be alive to keep building those reefs that support the ocean and the coasts, and how not stable their environment is becoming with new pollutants clouding waters, storms becoming more unpredictable, and waters having bigger temperature swings with hot summer spikes. :)))))))))))

#long post #marine biology #coral reefs #informative #corals are freaks and i love them #i barely touched how theyre freaks i wanted to keep this to a simple 101 guide on what they are and why theyre important #and why they are. not doing too great.#in the grand scheme of the world i believe coral reefs as an ecosystem type will survive #a few species are super hardy #some are more adaptable #in millions of years the ones that made it will eventually find new suitable places to rebuild on the rubble of ruins #but also i would prefer NOT HAVING A CATASTROPHIC EXTINCTION EVENT FOR THEM TO RECOVER FROM OVER A FEW MILLION YEARS THANKS #I WOULD PREFER THAT SORT OF RUIN NOT MAKING LIVES HARDER FOR EVERYONE

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towine · 8 months

Text

[flowerfang] get us right

i'm late!!! for flowerfang week happening over on twitter! but i had this little idea for the day 2 sfw prompt "first kiss." just something silly i banged out really quickly. do not think about it 2 hard

“Miles, stop freaking out,” Miguel says.

“I’m not freaking out, you’re freaking out. Why would I be freaking out? Ain’t no reason to be freaking out, right, I just got poisoned by an alien wizard and I’m gonna die because you knocked the alien wizard out before he could give us a cure after he sprayed purple powder in my face and now my skin is turning purple oh my god Miguel I’m turning purple what do we do—”

“LYLA,” Miguel says, turning away from Miles’s meltdown. “Tell me you got something from the biometric scans.”

“Looks like a strain of pollen from a plant native to Earth-31,” LYLA says. “The effects of consumption include asphyxiation within five minutes.”

“What?” Miles wails. “Oh no no no no—”

“Can we craft an antidote?” Miguel demands.

“Already sent the lab order. But there’s no time, boss—the kid’s freaking out and it’s making the toxin spread faster. At this rate, he’ll asphyxiate before you can get him to HQ.”

Miguel whips around to look at Miles. Miles has his hands buried in his hair, continuing to babble about dying from space pollen and how he’ll fail his calculus class because he’ll be too dead to take the test on Thursday.

“Miles,” Miguel says, grabbing Miles by the shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down?” Miles fights against Miguel’s hold. His eyes dart around in a panic, his breathing hard and fast.

“You’re hyperventilating. You need to stop.”

“I can’t—” Miles squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t stop.”

“Yes you can. You have to.”

“I know I have to, that doesn’t mean I can suddenly do it!” Miles’s inhales have turned thinner, shakier. Not good.

“The antidote is synthesizing back at HQ, boss,” LYLA says, “but it doesn’t mean anything if you can’t get him there on time.”

Miles is still breathing too fast, mouth parted, bottom lip trembling.

“Shit,” Miguel curses.

He does the only thing he can think of.

He yanks Miles forward into a kiss.

There’s no grace to it, no pleasure. It’s a life or death kind of kiss, like CPR. This is what Miguel tells himself when he feels Miles’s breathing stutter, feels him tremble beneath his hands. Their mouths are pressed together harshly, awkwardly, but it forces Miles to breathe through his nose and slow the pace of his inhales.

And then, all at once, Miles relaxes. He turns to outright putty in Miguel’s hands, and that— Miguel really shouldn’t think about what that means.

Miles’s mouth moves against his, soft and tentative. It’s instinctive for Miguel to follow him and deepen the kiss. It’s easy. Miles is so pliant, so ready to receive.

Miguel snaps back to reality.

He pulls away.

Miles leans in after him, dazedly following his mouth. Then he stops, realizing what just happened.

Neither of them say anything.

LYLA clears her non-existent throat.

“Antidote’s ready at the lab,” she says, with a smug tone Miguel does not appreciate.

“Great,” Miguel says, voice rough. “And the toxin?”

“Has slowed its spread now that Miles is no longer going into a panic attack. Nice work, Miguel.”

“Don’t mention it,” Miguel mutters, jabbing the coordinates for Nueva York into his watch. “And I really mean that.”

The trip back to HQ is made in dead silence. The portal spits them out in the lab, where Miguel gets a syringe of the prepared antidote and injects Miles in the shoulder, through the suit. Miles doesn’t say a word the whole time. He keeps avoiding Miguel’s eyes.

But the alarming purple color that was crawling over his skin fades away, leaving Miles’s normal skin tone. So that’s… good.

“Looks like you’re clear,” Miguel says. He tosses the syringe into a biohazard bin. “How do you feel? Still freaking out?”

Miles scoffs. “No,” he mumbles. He rolls his shoulders, touches a hand to his throat. “I feel okay, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m fine,” Miles amends annoyedly, and now he’s starting to sound a little more like himself. “Thanks. And thanks for…” He waves a hand in a vague motion, and his expression turns flustered.

Miguel sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “Look—we don’t have to talk about it. I did it to make you stop hyperventilating, it was a spur of the moment thing. The point is, you didn’t die, and now you’re cured.”

“Right,” Miles says slowly. His lip is bitten between his teeth. He still hasn’t walked away.

Miguel’s next words come out awkwardly, stilted and ill-fitting in his mouth. “I’m… sorry if I made you… uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.”

“No, that’s not—!” Miles finally looks up and meets his gaze. His cheeks are dark with a blush. “You didn’t. Not at all. I just, uh.”

A pause. And then Miguel gets it.

“That was your first time kissing someone,” he says numbly.

Miles winces and looks away, his blush worsening.

“Fuck,” Miguel mutters, covering his face with one hand. “I’m sorry, Miles. That’s—”

“Hey, no, don’t do that.”

A hand comes to touch Miguel’s wrist and ease it away from his face.

Miles’s brow is furrowed, his lips pursed in an expression Miguel knows. It’s the one Miles gets when he’s going to argue with Miguel because he knows in his heart what’s right. It’s the one he gets when he’s told something is impossible only for him to do it anyway. It’s the one he gets when he’s about to take a leap of faith—not the absence of fear, but acting in spite of it.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Miles says. He’s still blushing. He’s a vision.

Miguel says, “Then what do you want?”

Miles swallows. “Maybe we could… do it again? Without the panic attack this time. Second time’s the charm, or whatever.”

Miguel huffs. But he’s reaching out to curl a hand over the nape of Miles’s neck. “That’s not how the saying goes.”

“It is in my universe.”

Miguel rolls his eyes. Miles is grinning.

“If you’re done,” Miguel says, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

He leans in. Miles moves to meet him.

He’s right, it turns out—second time’s the charm. Or whatever.

#flowerfang #miguel x miles #miguiles #caiwrites #flowerfangweek0923

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dayurno · 4 months

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recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts.

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it.

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him.

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child.

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one.

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken. Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.”

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin.

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs.

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks.

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.”

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving.

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t.

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt.

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front.

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him.

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

“Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her.

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.”

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering; Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously.

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get.

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name, “ah, do you want to come with?”

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it?

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.”

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle.

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him.

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else.

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin.

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help.

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil.

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten.

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can.

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control.

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But I need you to come and help.

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother.

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort.

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along.

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.”

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all.

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

“Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer.

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd.

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

#asks #kandreil #my writing #thisis very scuffed i did some minor editing but its seriously not good. dont perceive me

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rius-cave · 3 months

Note

I love all your adamsapple posts! As a fellow angst fan, would you mind givin an overview of all the angst at the beginning of the relationship? Specifically like Adam dealing with falling from heaven and stuff

Thank you so much! I love thinking about them hhhh

Hmm, if we're going for Adam dealing with being a fallen angel now, there isn't a lot of Adamsapple at this point imo (or at least not necessarily lol)

Well! If you didn't see it, I talked before about how I think Adam would go through something very similar to the five stages of grief. He would first not really believe that this is happening to him. Him? Adam? The first man who started it all, in hell? Impossible. There's probably some weird mistake going on here. But besides what I said in that post, yes, of course he would panic, be angry, etc, when he sees his newfound demon form. He probably doesn't have a lot of time to dwell on it at first, either because he starts getting killed by demons left and right, or because Lucifer had already found him etc etc. In any case, there isn't a lot of self reflection happening.

But then once things settle in, he sees his reflection for the first time, and it's upsetting. In my sinner!Adam design, his hair is completely black now, his horns are now real, his feet feel foreign for him (he hasn't yet seen that they're now hooves) and there's just... This heavy burden on his shoulders tells him his bad, it's the weight of the sins he's committed, but he doesn't recognize the feeling, he's never had to think about the justness of his actions before..

But he still thinks this is some kind of mistake, that either Lucifer or Charlie or even God is playing a prank of him, this isn't where he belongs. He keeps being a nuisance, an asshole, he's condescending and rude and doesn't take anyone, much less Charlie's hotel, seriously.

And then things progress, things change, he's now trying to "redeem" himself but he only half believes it. Or rather, he says he still doesn't believe it, but there is already a seed planted in his heart, that maybe, just maybe, they are all right and he really does deserve to be here.

This is nothing but a mere thought in the back of his head that he crushed every time it tries to resurface though. His conscience is catching up to him but he still won't admit any fault.

And then he sees his red blood for the first time.

Blood, thick and bright, with an unmistakable red color that he hasn't seen on himself for literal millenia. At this point he's been dead longer than he was alive, so it's only a distant memory. The truth finally manages to resurface in one big wave. Demons bleed red. Sinners bleed red. People that have earned the punishment of God bleed red. People that don't deserve kindness, that are damned to eternal suffering, that were deemed guilty, bleed red. He doesn't even get mad anymore. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he just stays there, looking at the blood trickling down, his blood. And it finally dawns on him that he's here because of his own actions, because of his own evil. His body and emotions become numb and he goes on autopilot for a while, until he finally snaps. At someone, at something, it doesn't matter, anything to get rid of this stupid feeling that he's worthless and that he's never meant anything, that he's just stuck down here for eternity unless some angel has pity on him and kills him on the next extermination.

Luckily for him, he has people around him that know exactly what that feels like, and now, they're willing to help out. For real this time.

#woops rambled again #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #ask

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happyk44 · 2 months

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Do you have any thoughts on what powers the children of Persephone would have?

Yeah - so Persephone is the goddess of springtime and nature, and queen of the underworld. The springtime/agricultural aspect should always be more prominent than the underworld aspect, which, imo, should become more powerful during the months Persephone is at home in the underworld, but never more powerful than her flower powers.

There should be a great deal of overlap between this kids and their aunts/uncles/piblings (parents' siblings, lol, not a common term but I read it once a billion years ago and I still love it 😂 niblings is the niece/nephew equivalent). Demeter's kids should have stronger control over the earth and agricultural nature (grains and other plants typically used as crops). Persephone's kids, in my opinion, either should have no control of the earth or very minimal geokinetic abilities, unrelated to plants.

Because she is often described as queen of the underworld versus god of, as Hades is, and the underworld does not share its name with her, as it does with Hades, there should be much larger limitations between the overlap of Hades' children's powers and the powers of her kids when it comes to the dark and spooky. Nonetheless, her kids should feel just as comfortable in the shadows as they do in the sunlight. They are likely strongest during the spring months - but as springtime varies between calendars and hemispheres, maybe it's up to their perception of spring or it's strictly related to what the ancient Greeks would have thought of as spring.

So first and foremost, the springtime!

Inducement of spring, obviously. It's varies from creating spring because they can only induce spring-like nature within the realms of the area they're in. So they can't make Bermuda-like spring weather in Iceland.

They can grow and manipulate nature, especially with flowers. I headcanon Persephone to be wild and experimental. Where Demeter is the clean lines of agricultural and crops, Persephone is the vines reclaiming abandoned cars and houses. So this power is very easy for them to go overboard with; requires practice to keep it mitigated and small. This power is reliant on pre-existing plant life, so the kids will often carry packets of seeds (and maybe dirt) with them in the event they end up without direct access to nature.

They can grow plants in non-native, undesirable, or out of season areas, like a tree from a crack in the sidewalk. However, without prolonged assistance, that plant may shrivel up and die, like a water-heavy plant in the desert will dry up once the kid stops manipulating it, but in the moment, they can drop a seed, plant it and have it spring forth fully grown and whatnot.

This does in fact mean they could shove a seed or plant into a human body and have it root and grow out of that person. Like. For anyone who wants a little bloody bloody speculation 👀 (Fun fact: I like to think this was one of Demeter's combat moves during the Titan War, shoot an arrow and grow plants from the body of enemies that get hit 👍)

Rain! With spring comes rain, so I think they can manifest small drizzles of rain when needed. It's nothing particularly fantastic, but it can be useful.

They can revive dead plants, fortify them, and even mutate DNA in certain plants (though this is a tougher power to execute and requires both a lot of practice and mental effort). Mutation may not work out if the goal is to combine two plants with features that are not compatible - but crossbreeding unrelated plants is possible through them

Sunlight! Springtime is associated with the emergence of the sun and longer hours of daylight. This power, like with rain, is very minimal. Most kids are able to create a gentle low light with only their hands that they typically use on their indoor plants. It will never be as bright or powerful as, say, the Apollo, or even Zeus, kids (Zeus is god of the sky, the sun is in the sky, yes, I think they can glow)

With enough practice some kids are able to manifest small orbs of light, but it requires a lot of effort and is not as sustainable. Luckily they have good night vision (underworld bonus) so it's not as necessary, but still

They can physically connect to nature, which allows them to "see" areas that are otherwise out of sight (eg, enemies hiding in the trees or bushes, waiting for an ambush). Downside of this power is that damage to the plant life around them can cause physical pain and incapacitate them.

Similar to my headcanon that Nico is instinctively attuned to souls at a greater sense than would be natural to his siblings, some of Persephone's kids have an instinctive connection to nature and often bogged down by physical and mental health issues as a result due to pollution, poor or minimal conditions of the nature around them (like living in the city where nature is not as extensive as it would be I'm the countryside), parasite/pest infestations in gardens, crops, and such, etc.

Like with Nico and souls, it requires effort and practice to disconnect from nature enough to function daily. Persephone provides medication, disability aids, extremely healthy plants to invigorate them as needed, and frequently checks up on her kids with this issue, especially these days when nature is at its most pained.

Springtime is associated with rebirth and renewal, so they can utilize the life and energy of the plants around them to energize, heal and/or revive themselves or people. It takes a lot of effort and requires a lot of energy. Hades' children can do this as well. Both instances will kill the plant(s) used, but the flower power kids can revive the plant(s) afterwards - so long as the plant(s) in question haven't crumbled to ashes or, it's not, say, like an entire forest, because that might require a little bit more energy than they can extend. Persephone's kids can also use this power to stop someone from entering the underworld, so long as a) their soul has not been collected, b) their body is still in good condition (not decayed, rotted, etc), and c) an extensive period of time hasn't passed

Example One: I'm stabbed and I die. They exchange the life of a nearby tree for mine only a few seconds later and I'm revived.

Example Two: I'm stabbed and I die. They come across my corpse several hours/a couple days later. My soul still hasn't been collected because Hermes and Thanatos are still busy. Depending on the strength of the kid, they may be able to revive me fully BUT at the expense of more than one tree.

Example Three: I'm stabbed and I die. Hermes immediately collects my soul. I'm not in the underworld yet, just his shoulder bag with other souls. They cannot revive me.

Example Four: I have been dead for decades. My soul is still wandering because I am an atheist and refuse to go any underworld and also I bit several psychopomps when they tried so now they ignore me. The kid cannot revive me.

Example Five: I was burned to death. They find me immediately and revive me, but because the extent of my injuries exceed what they can heal via life exchange, I die again in agony and mentally curse them out for bringing me back to suffer once more.

👍👍👍

Now for the underworld powers!

Death sense, although it is weak and if the corpse in question is dead underground or has been dead for a very long time, they may not notice as quickly as Thanatos' and Hades' children would. Hermes' kids have the same issue with their death sense.

Ability to summon, see, and touch ghosts. While they can manipulate or control various spirits as children of Hades can, it requires a lot more effort to do so, especially during the months Persephone is topside, so her kids often don't bother with trying it on stray/uncollected souls (easier to use on summoned souls)

Necromancy, of course. It's easier for them to control corpses or bones. They have a harder time control large groups. Implications that would occur with a child of Hades summoning a dead body are often missed by children of Persephone, typically requiring verbal orders for the corpse to get shit done

Example: Nico senses a corpse underground and summons it. The implication along with his summoning is to be quiet as it digs its way out of the ground in order to catch Nico's captor by surprise. His step-sibling senses a corpse underground and summons it. The corpse in question may not catch the implication applied to its awakening and just continues to lay where it was buried until it receives clearer orders from the child that summoned it. They have an easier time resurrecting dead bodies and getting across the unspoken implications of the resurrection with physical touch

Corpses that spoke a different language in life, were deaf or hard or hearing, or anything else I'm missing that relates to verbally and/or audibly understanding another person, may be harder to control, especially if that mental connection (idk how else to phrase it) between them and the corpse(s) is lacking

Side note: this is just to display another example of how the overlap of powers between both step-siblings differs, it's not the holy grail, practice makes perfect and they could get on the level of their step-siblings over time, and honestly I'll probably ignore/forget the distinction myself at times, lol

They can understand skeletal chatter and ghostly whispers that would otherwise be incomprehensible to other people (Thanatos' and Hermes' kids can also understand ghostly whispers. However, skeletal chatter is usually not comprehensible to them)

Instinctive underground senses - like with Hazel in SoN, being able to walk around the tunnels without a map

Some darkness manipulation - not enough for shadow-traveling by themselves (solo travel is typically only possible via VERY short distances, a group of them working together may be able to go longer); enough to be able to blend into shadows and hide themselves, or utilize darkness to defend

Traveling through dreams (I like to think Hypnos gifts this to a lot of the Underworld kids as a little bonus, save for Hades' kids where the power is innate due to Hypnos being part of the Underworld)

Human life exchange, aka taking the life/health from one person to give it someone else. Children of Hades can do this as well, and have a far easier time with it. It costs them a lot of energy and effort, so Persephone's kids typically use it in tandem with taking life from the nature around them. Rebirth is both an underworld thing and associated with springtime, so it works.

Although similar to the above, they cannot, or struggle, do a flat death touch. If they want to kill someone with a touch, the life they're taking has to go somewhere.

And I think that's a good amount of stuff. Of course there's always more that that's possible, and again, these are just my thoughts - anyone else is welcome to come up with their own ideas. If you have thoughts on their powers, even if they contradict my own, feel free to add them or hmu about them! Love to hear other people's ideas 😊

Oh! Lol, headcanon that the seed packets the kids like to keep on hand for emergencies are mint 😂

#happy talks pjo #persephone (pjo)#happy's asks #july171224

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pinkhairedlily · 6 months

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tadaima

sharing my piece for @sasusakubpzine which i'm so grateful to have been selected for. we are holding leftover sales so get a copy now if you haven't yet! 🛒-> https://t.co/DM3t6gqkDo

“Tadaima!”

Sasuke heard this greeting many times when they were kids. After classes, after missions, after errands. Everyone had families to come home to. Only Sakura had this privilege in their team, her parents still alive, but never once did he catch her uttering it.

He envied her regardless. However casual and mundane the word was to her, he craved to use it. Maybe letters strung together could bring back his dead.

But it was Sakura, his anchor after the war, who made it possible again. “Tadaima.”

And today, he’ll hear her say it to her family.

Only that, she isn’t herself. He sees her plant a longer kiss on Sarada’s forehead and feels her squeeze his arm a little tighter, signs of her anxiety bursting to the brim.

“We can go another time.”

Sakura shakes her head and grins her way out of his silent prodding. “Let’s take advantage of this while we can. A complete family. I can show them that.”

A complete family. Sasuke always thought Sakura had it easy, but not all families mean home.

x x x

Sasuke hears the Harunos before he sees them. Their noise is as loud as their eclectic hair styles and colors, but they quiet down when they register their arrival. The grand entrance ends on a neutral note when Sakura beckons him to the empty seats beside her parents at the center table. Hot seats.

Kizashi and Mebuki manage lukewarm nods towards the three of them. Not so much as a kiss or hug for Sakura or an awed expression for Sarada inside her baby wrap. Sasuke doesn’t know which of the two irks him more.

The luncheon goes well for the first half. Everyone keeps to their little conversations. The meat is a little too hard and the broth a little too rich, but nothing out of ordinary. Perhaps it’s the food coma that makes some cousins plant their attention on them.

“Did you learn love potions at that ninja academy?” Eyeliner Guy asks. “Couldn’t think of any other way.”

Sakura smiles. “No, but I'm an expert with poisons.”

The death threat flies over their heads.

“You probably baby-trapped him, no?” Thick Lipstick side-eyes him. “What a catch.”

Sasuke tries to smile, if only for his wife’s sake, but his annoyance seeps through his reply. “Great theories, but we actually met at the academy, fell in love later on, and got married. Contrary to what you think, Sakura is quite the catch.” He takes a sip of his now-cold tea. “I’m sure you’ll find someone in your forties. Don’t lose hope.”

Sakura almost chokes on her dango. “She’s in her twenties, Sasuke,” she chastises under her breath.

“Such a shame we didn’t see your marriage registry. We tried to find it, you know,” Green Mohawk smacks his lips, “for fun.”

“We got married outside the village, but we appreciate your effort.” He hopes his cold tone diffuses their burning curiosity, bordering on assault.

Some old people gravitate towards their seats upon hearing this. “We heard you came from traveling.”

“Ah, yes, the Land of Flowers was so beautiful.” Sakura tries to turn the conversation light, but no one takes her bait.

“Wasn’t that too dangerous during your pregnancy?” Paper Fan Grandma asks.

“You should’ve been more careful, Sakura,” Mebuki chastises, “And you should’ve known better, boy.”

“It’s Sasuke,” Sakura butts in, “And Mom, I’m a doctor. I can take care of myself.”

Mebuki not remembering his name doesn’t bother him as much as her occupation escaping them.

“So what’s your work, Sasuke?” Cigarette Smoking Uncle asks.

Sasuke has half a mind to use amaterasu on the nicotine stick. “I have duties beyond the borders of the village.”

“Ah, you’re always traveling then?” Paper Fan Grandma loves to gasp a lot.

“You could put it like that.”

“And you leave her? With a baby?”

“Sakura is very important in the village. She’s the hospital director.”

The three cousins sneer loudly at this while the older group does not feign their disappointment and tut-tuts. Sakura’s grip on his thigh tightens.

“This is why I keep telling her to focus on being a housewife,” Mebuki tells her husband as if Sakura is not in front of them. “The horrors of being a single mom! Did you hear what happened to Ayako? In debt and cheated on!”

Sakura is a strong woman.

She never backs out from a fight or cowers in fear. She faces all her battles head-on. She has grown out of the shells of her childhood and adolescence and into these beautiful myriad of forms: a healer, a soldier, a mother, a wife.

“I can balance my work —”

But this Sakura’s voice wavers and he sees how one of Konoha’s pillars regresses into an insecure girl who only wants her family to see her, know her, and accept her.

Kizashi scoffs. “Sakura, do you know how hard it was to raise you? Your mother and I lost count of the sleepless nights we had because you wanted to become a ninja.”

Green Mohawk adds, “Bad decision. You’re lucky you came back in one piece.” He throws an apologetic look at Sasuke’s lost arm.

Arthritic Grandpa points his cane at Sarada. “A child with two nin parents? Preposterous. Ninjas don’t grow well. They become orphans.”

Sakura stiffens beside Sasuke. He offers her his hand which she clasps in support, but really, it was just to stop her from springing when he says his piece, “Then I’m glad Sakura grew up okay despite being related to you. Clearly, you didn’t know her capabilities– or you only pretended to.”

A look of shock passes through their faces. Sarada takes the momentary silence to wiggle out of her baby wrap and onto Sakura’s lap. She squeezes her Mama’s cheeks, a gentle gesture of, Don’t worry Mama. I love you.

The manager of the restaurant also swoops into the awkward exchange by bringing the bill and a blank paper. “It’s a pleasure to have you dine with us, Dr. Uchiha. You saved my sister in an invasion once, but you probably don’t remember it anymore.”

Sasuke silently thanks the man for reminding Sakura what she is, what she has become.

Sakura smiles. Finding her footing, she quickly gives her autograph “for display” and nods to Sasuke. At this cue, he gives the manager a wad of cash and ushers his family out of the restaurant without so much of a goodbye to anyone else.

x x x

"I think I made a good impression." Sasuke breaks the silence as they enter their home.

Sakura's shoulders — broad, strong, dependable — tremble. But it's only laughter she can't contain.

"You sure did." A soft grumble passes between them and she erupts in louder chuckles. "Can't believe I paid for food I haven't eaten. I'm so hungry."

As they enter the kitchen, his shoulders rub hers, another language meant to hold her hand. "Great timing then."

“Okaerinasai!” Kakashi, Iruka, and Yamato, caliber soldiers, rightfully feared, don brightly-patterned aprons as they rambunctiously navigate a foreign space. Clutter decorates the countertops, and different, appetizing smells permeate the corners.

It smells like home.

Sasuke watches Sakura’s face light up at the chaotic sight.

Sarada is quickly lifted off Sasuke's embrace into the cradle made by three pairs of arms, and her greeting involves biting the cheeks of her uncles — her attempt at a kiss.

"No fair, Yamato. Don't turn your cheeks into wood!" Iruka bursts out. "It's painful for Sara— ow!"

"You forget she's Sakura's daughter." Yamato massages the flushed red side of his cheek where thick gums and milk teeth had clamped down hard.

Kakashi heeds fair warnings. "Now Sara-chan, why don't I kiss you instead?" But the toddler has other plans as stubby fingers pull down his mask.

“Now don’t hog my goddaughter like that.” The three house-nins part for Tsunade whose arms are already open for Sakura. “How’s my best student?”

Where no one touched her earlier, here she is received. In laughter, in pats, in hugs. Casual, mundane things that tell of love.

It feels like home.

“I didn’t invite you.” Sasuke notices the two empty sake bottles on the sink. “But I see you’ve already made yourself welcome.”

“Kakashi said this is my homecoming. Besides, you rarely play host.” Tsunade shrugs, her innocence quickly morphing into slyness. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Another bottle to the mix and a relocation to the patio later, the fifth hokage finds herself losing with an expectant audience.

"Sakura, sit next to your shishou.”

"Sakura, no."

A student still obeys her master, and like clockwork, a gust of wind loosens her top. Sasuke grimaces at the distraction.

"Aha. I win!" Tsunade puts down her hand. "See, Sakura, you're always my lucky charm."

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming?” Iruka jests.

“I recommend Icha-Icha’s Education Against Seduction.” Kakashi pulls a book out of his apron to give to his former student, but Yamato’s the first one to flip through the pages.

Annoyed, Sasuke turns to a half-flustered, half-laughing Sakura. “She cheated. Again. How did she even become your teacher?”

“How did you even become her husband?” Tsunade rolls her eyes. “I bet Orochimaru taught you love potions. Why would the most beautiful kunoichi even marry you?”

“She has the best chakra control,” Kakashi pipes, “I bet Sakura can beat your genjutsu now.”

“Monstrous strength for a doctor.” A specific memory sends shivers to Yamato’s spine. “Don’t let her fix your bones while conscious.”

A consensus runs through the group which stops Sakura’s laughter. “Are these supposed to be compliments? Why do I feel offended?”

Inside her crib, Sarada giggles. Iruka leans down to her and whispers in acquiescence, “I know. She’s a loving mother too. You’re gonna grow up fine, Sara-chan.”

Sasuke trains his sight on Sakura whose face is painted in happiness. There is nothing to prove, nothing to say, nothing to do. She is seen for what she is, all the sides and parts of her that make her her: a student, a doctor, a wife, a mother.

A loud bang interrupts the scene, followed by a powerful rush of chakra.

"Good evening, constituents!" Clad in his hokage robes, Naruto commits to his ceremonious entrance. Only Sarada spares him attention with a delighted cooo-caaa.

"Did you bring it?" Tsunade drawls over her words. Already too drunk to balance, she is leaning against Yamato, who looks like a still painting in front of the fire.

Naruto presents another bottle of sake to the group with a flourish. "Of course, old woman!" Despite his desire to hold off on additional liquor, Sasuke accepts the gift.

x x x

The bottle, emptied after making several rounds in the group, now lies under Sakura's feet. The crowded bench trickled down to the three of them, the rest having already found abode on living room futons, limbs all splayed out and tangled like close friends under the warmth of the covers, with Sarada at the center of them all.

In the dark, Sakura's shoulders are hunched, free of the tension that hounded her this morning. The fading embers dance in her jade eyes.

"It had been a long time since we gathered like this." Her words trail smoke in the wintry air. "Too bad Sai had Yamanaka duties."

Naruto chuckles. "He missed a rare sighting of dancer Yamato."

"With deadpan expressions to boot."

Both of them turn to Sasuke at the same time and laughter spills out.

"No, I’m not drunk." Sasuke holds up his sole hand at the wordless prompting, but he puts it down quickly when his world starts spinning out of orbit. Yep, he’s drunk.

"You're no fun." Naruto sticks out his chin in defiance. "Why don't we play a game?"

Sakura claps in agreement. She somehow salvaged a third of the wine's content from their teachers for their drinking game.

"Take a shot if you did this," Sakura grins too widely. "Never have I ever failed a subject in the academy."

The boys clink their glasses and drink. Alcohol tastes like water when you get used to it.

"What? Sasuke failed?" Sakura's pitch climbs a bit higher.

It's an embarrassing admission, "I hated History." Sasuke wonders if his path of revenge would have taken a different trajectory if he had paid more attention. "Never have I ever failed a practical."

"What are these non-controversial questions?" Naruto snorts and empties his glass. Sakura smugly follows suit. "The know-it-all shows himself."

Sasuke shrugs, grateful to be spared from this round, because my god, I can't feel my legs. To be fair, he's doing a good job pretending he's fine. How is Naruto holding up so well?

"Okay, last question, and I have to go home to Hinata." Naruto swirls the remaining contents of the bottle. Probably good for only two shots.

"Hmm," Sasuke sees him rack his brain for more scandalous questions, but it's the one he picks that sears his insides. "Never have I ever fallen in love with a teammate while we were genin!"

“I hate you! That’s not how it works!”

“I’m too drunk to think of anything else!”

Sasuke swipes the bottle away from their reaching hands and swigs it into his mouth. He hopes it numbs down these butterflies and palpitations and somersaults that time traveled when he tried to touch her rosette strands as she scribbled furiously during History class.

"Sasuke-kun? You switched up the rules. You’re supposed to drink when it’s true.”

Sakura turns to Naruto, usually competitive, but has no protestations on this development.

“But it’s true.” The bottle goes round and round in his hand. “I liked Sakura back then,” he sighs his confession into the open, this secret no longer his own.

“No way.”

“I wasn’t just as loud about it.” Sasuke takes another swig, forgetting it’s empty, and the bottle comes loose in his fingers. “It actually faded you know,” he adds a dash of nonchalance, but Sakura, as she always does, sees through him.

“It’s true, Sakura-chan,” Naruto echoes, “Or maybe his definition of like is ‘the only girl he can tolerate’.” That earns him a good old slap on the back of the head.

They’re twelve again, struggling to be teammates, bickering at every conversation, and building bonds Sasuke thought he could fray.

This is family.

“Stop smiling.”

“I can’t stop.”

“You’re as annoying as you were then.”

x x x x

“What was the occasion?” The question hangs in the silence of midnight as she settles on her side of the bed. Sasuke adjusts his body to her presence, accommodating her curling limbs, like fitting two puzzle pieces.

“Nothing. I told them I missed them,” he lies.

Sakura needs her family, that was the message. She needs her home.

His fingers intertwine with the strands he liked, strands he loves. Underneath his skin, he feels her let go of wakefulness, dreams already waiting to claim her.

A murmur, a prayer, as she leaves the day, “Tadaima.”

FIN.

Thanks for reading!

AO3 | Twitter

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uchiha sakura #uchiha sarada #team 7 feels #homewardsszine #sasuke-is-a-good-husbando

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sea-owl · 1 year

Text

Okay I mentioned this before but now I want to dive a little deeper. So role switch between Effie and Haymitch where she's the quarter quell victor and he's the escort. Warning there is talk of substance abuse in this.

Effie Trinket was born to a town mother and a seam father. She took after her mother with a paler complexation, and blue eyes. Her younger sister took after their father with an olive complexation and dark eyes. They both share their mother's hair color. Her mother was trained to be a seamtress before deciding to marry Effie's father, her father like many other men worked in the mines.

Effie learned to sew from her mother to help save money on clothes. Her mother also taught her to always smile, even if you feel afraid.

That's exactly what Effie did when she was 16 and reaped as one of the 48 tributes for the second Quarter Quell. Her hands may have been shaking but she still smiled at the crowd.

She said her goodbyes to her sister and mother, and left with the clothes on her back and a black hair scarf her sister gave her as a token.

"It matches the coal," her sister told her.

Effie gave her sister a genuine smile. "Yes, it does."

She ties her hair back with the scarf and is escorted on the train with the other three.

She continues to smile on the train, in the Capitol, during the interview with Ceaser. Effie smiled until she was forced onto the platform that would lead her up to the arena where she will die.

She never expected an arena that looked like a fairytale. So bright, and colorful. An illusion.

When the canon went off, Effie ran. She was too scared for smiles now. Eventually, she found herself at the edge of the arena where an accidental rock kick showed her the force field, and how it sends objects back.

Effie will in turn find this useful when she's later being chased by a career. The stitches she had sewn into herself were barley hanging on as she ran. She going to the force field. The career threw their weapon and Effie ducked.

When Effie rose back up, the career was dead, and she was proclaimed the victor of the second Quarter Quell.

Effie woke up in a hospital, one of the mentors from the other districts beside her. Effie knew she had to start smiling again.

She didn't want to smile when she got home, with the new freshly dug graves.

Effie could no longer stand the sight of her hair after that day, the same hair she shared with her mother and sister. No one ever saw her without a hair scarf after.

She couldn't sleep anymore and had to turn to something else that would knock her out for a few hours. She tried the plants the local healer recommended but it wasn't enough nor did it stop the nightmares. During her victory tour the escort with her introduced Effie to sleeping pills. Not only did it help her sleep but it also calmed her down enough to where she could smile through her anxiety.

It was no wonder it didn't take long for Effie to become hooked. It became worse years later when she learned that she could boost the potency of the pills when she mixed alcohol with them. Less pills but same desired effect.

Effie is in her twenties when she is introduced to Haymitch Abernathy.

"Effie this is Haymitch, he will be your new escort."

Effie smiled, though her eyes remained glazed over.

Male escorts were not that common. Often they were young and attractive capitol citizens who did not have an in with an already established family member in the games.

Or they were brought in to help keep the more . . . scandalous mentors in check while in the Capitol.

Haymitch was taller and definitely stronger than Effie. He wore minimal makeup, mostly around his eyes, and his hair looked dyed rather than the wigs she's seen on other Capitols. His clothes were rather plain compared to other capitola as well, but still nicer than anything she's seen in the districts. She would not be surprised if he was brought in to handle her. Absolutely fucking perfect. There's no way she can get him reassigned if that's what he's here for.

"Mr. Abernathy, a pleasure to meet you." Effie stuck out her shaking hand.

Haymitch looked her over. "She's higher than a fucking kite."

Oh he was definitely assigned to keep an eye on her.

Effie keeps her smile plastered even if all she wants to do is knock his perfect teeth out. He's gonna be a pain in her ass.

#a pain the ass he will be in more ways than one #hayffie #role reversal au #victor!effie #capitol!haymitch #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy

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nattousan · 1 year

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Two roommates and a priest stood huddled around the rotting remains of a hideous oozing creature laying quite dead on their living room floor. Next to it, strewn across the peeling linoleum, lay the shredded remains of a peace lily Yuri's mom had left the night before after she'd "dropped by".

The creature had a ring of foam crusted over a hole on its head they assumed was its mouth, on account of the endless rows of needle sharp teeth jutting from its putrid green gums. Its multitude of bulging glassy eyes stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

"Told you it wasn't rats." said Lila to Yuri.

"Must've been the lily that got im, the poor thing, those plants are toxic to most everything they come into contact with" the priest mused.

"Oh really?" Lila said, "That makes sense, my mom used to keep them around the house around Easter and that's usually when one or both of our cats would get really sick. She'd still buy em though, every year, even after one of em died. Said it was apart of god's plan as one of gods creatures"

"This is not one of God's creatures." said the priest, nudging one of the things many segmented limbs, oily black and uncomfortably soft in death.

"Yea no shit"

Yuri ribbed her in the side.

"Ow! Ugh, i mean, no kidding!"

"So, mr. uh..."

" father- "

"Right, Mr. Father, you can get rid of this thing right? Like its a demon? You can just purify it or whatever and it's disintegrate into dust, right?"

"I'm afraid its not that simple." The priest said grimly, "We're going to need to burn the whole house down to its foundation.

"WHAT" both roommates shouted simultaneously.

"I would contact your landlord as soon as possible and get things straightened out, you only have about 4 more hours until sun sets. In the meantime I'll call the fire department and see if they can come out and do a controlled burn. That's the only way you're gonna get out of this safely.

"Wait a damn" -ouch!- "wait a FUCKING second, this is our house!" Lila protested, "the things already dead, why does the whole house need to burn?? You can't just throw us out on the fucking street just like that!"

The priest pursed his lips.

"If you're intent on wasting what little time you have asking for explanations, I can talk while you pack, but I must reiterate that time is of the essence here. Once the sun goes down and they smell one of their own has died, it's not going to be pretty.

"And what the fuck does THAT mean!" wailed Lila, "what are these things!?" but Yuri was already ushering her to her room with a garbage bag.

With Lila distracted, the priest and Yuri moved to the kitchen, where he started transferring what little food they had from the fridge into an insulated cooler.

"So what was that thing? How did it get into our house? None of the windows were broken and its too big to have squeezed in somewhere."

"Oh, no, it lived here already, these types of demons choose a single location to habituate and then remain there for as long as the structure still stands."

Yuri nearly dropped the glass jar of kimchi he was holding.

"What? We've been living here for almost a year, I think we would have noticed a poodle sized blob monster oozing around our apartment."

"Yes, usually people call us within days of moving in, or we hear about it post mortem, but I assure you, that creature has been living here for far longer than you have."

Yuri blanched.

the priest cleared his throat. "Do you both sleep with your door closed?"

"Yes?"

"That's probably why. For the sake of brevity I'm just going to say that they don't really exist during the day. They spend the daytime their own dimension and get called back to this one with the setting of the sun. They are extremely social creatures though so when one of them gets hurt, it releases a smell that marks its attacker and then nowhere is safe for the marked come nightfall."

Yuri finished emptying the fridge, there really wasn't much in there, and moved onto the cabinets. He straightened up and pushed back his long black mop of hair out of his eyes, a gesture he often did when he was stressed.

"So these things have just been crawling around our apartment at night and we just never noticed because we were in our rooms too much?"

"Most likely, did you ever notice things going missing or moved around in the morning? Mysterious moisture spots that didn't seem to clear up?"

"Dude have you seen the apartments in this area? They all have rat problems and mold. This was the only one in the city with two bedrooms under $1200 a month."

The priests demeanor softened a bit.

"I'm sorry. I know this is short notice but the longer you remain here the more likely it is that the mark will transfer to you both and then you'll truly never know peace again."

Yuri gripped the box of expired hamburger helper he was loading into a duffel bag.

"Never had it to begin with..."

The priest gave him a knowing look but didn't pry.

"My church can provide housing in the interim if you don't have... relatives.. in the area."

"You're damn right I don't"

"I'll make the necessary arrangements then."

Over the next two hours the two roommates packed up what little they had into whatever would carry it. Most of it was still in cardboard boxes anyway so it went quick. Still, Lila took her sweet time going through her closet to the point the Priest had taken to pacing by the door after loading everything else into the church's van.

"Lila! What else is left, it's getting close to sundown!" Yuri hollered down the cramped hallway. The priests pacing made him nervous and he'd rather not sour the good graces he'd extended towards them.

"I'm almost done!" Lila hollered back, " You didn't hear me bitching about moving your ridiculous rock collection you insist on dragging around"

"We're nearly out of time here, gentle people," The priest said tersely, glancing out the window, "I suggest you take what you can carry and we seal up the building, Yuri was it? Did you get into contact with your landlord?"

Yuri was helping scoop armfuls of colorful shawls into a laundry basket. "Oh, yea, I called but he didn't pick up, which is usually the case, so I left a voicemai-"

A series of short sharp knocks echoed through the empty apartment before the key turned and swift footsteps filled the hallway.

"Hello?? Ms. Kalimaschev? Ms. Engels?"

Yuri rolled his eyes.

"In here!"

A man appeared at the doorway whom the priest assumed to be their landlord. He was young, maybe his late 30's, with pommed back blonde hair, a bleached white button up and boat shoes. The smile he gave didn't reach his eyes.

"There you are, sorry I missed your call ladies, I was out on the lake." He fixed his gaze on the priest. "What's all this I hear about having to condemn my property?"

The priest stood up and brushed off his knees.

"Yes, I'm sorry sir but the house will soon be quite uninhabitable due to circumstances beyond these two's control, I'll be happy to explain it all at length outside, but first we must get out of the house immediately"

The landlords lips drew taught over his perfectly straight teeth in a hostile grin. He reached into the leather messenger bag hung over his shoulder and pulled out a thick packet of papers.

"Oh, no no no, these two still have three months left on their lease, they can't just declare the place unfit and skip out on rent."

The priest glanced out the window at the diminishing daylight, a bead of sweat running down his dark skin.

"I understand that sir, but like I said, we really do need to move this conversation outside."

The man straightened up, filling the doorway.

"Oh no no no no, no one's going anywhere, what about my property? Do you know how much I've invested in this place? I'm sure whatever damage they've caused can be covered by their deposit. Did you already call the fire department? Can you get them to turn around?"

Yuri bristled. "He says we gotta get out of here, have a look in the living room if you don't believe us."

The landlord smile tightened.

"Oh the thing on the floor? Oooh yea, I'm going to have to fine you for bringing pets in, the lease clearly states "no pets all-"

"Sir, we really don't have time for this, move aside please!"

"Yea, get out of the way dude, lets take this outside!" Yuri said, voice raised with anxiety.

The landlord dropped his smile and narrowed his eyes in a sneer. One hand pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"I will not be talked to like that, young lady, I've already been generous enough letting your kind rent this place, we're staying right here until the authorities arrive. This is my property after a-

Before he could finish his sentence a writhing mass of elongated limbs and gnashing teeth attached itself to his face with a horrid squelch. His body was thrown to the side like he's been punched and they could hear his muffled screams leaking out over the sound of bones crunching.

Lila let out a blood curdling scream and the priest ran to slam the door shut.

Immediately after it shut a heavy and wet weight slammed itself against the cheap particleboard door. The priest threw his weight against it to keep it shut as it was rammed over and over, warping the door a little more each time.

"Alright! We're going to have to go with plan B!" the priest shouted over his shoulder, "Yuri, reach into the holster underneath my cloak!"

"What about Lila??" Yuri yelled, flinching each time the door shook.

"Don't worry about me!" yelled Lila, pulling a katana out of a box in her closet.

The priest crossed himself.

#og post #this came to me after changing out a jug of plant water #my line of thought went from:#ugh #gross water -> good thing we don't have cats -> cats are creatures we really just let haunt our homes huh ->#what if there was something ELSE roaming around our house at night and we never knew it wouldn't THAT be fucked up ->#what if we only found out about it after it had died somehow #ect ect #if this gets 2000 notes i'll continue #but i got other shit i'm writing too #my stories #my writing #writblr

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