#cacti pokes

[chaserofstars11]

i have adopted a cactus. her name is harriet. clap for harriet. ignore my green wall pls.

(Can we all agree that regulus would love cacti/succulents???)

[thecryptidwizard]

I completely forgot to show y'all my new cactus?????

Here she is!! Ain't she a cutie???? I even found a tiny stem of String of Turtles in the soil 🤭...

[aster-wires]

high tension scenarios w/ the twst boys

starring: Jack Howl and Azul Ashengrotto

authors notes: first time writing in like a year !! im gonna be writing more for twst, so if you see this feel free to request something. ill be setting up more rules later, so for now i hope you enjoy :D (also the formatting took forever please) 

Jack Howl ○ The Virtuous Protector

Patching them up while they seem to get flustered by the minute.

“And how did this happen again?” You sighed, taking out your first aid kit. Jack sat awkwardly at the foot of your bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Got ‘nto a fight with some of my dorm members. It’s nothing serious.” He murmured. He took off his black vest for easier access to his wounds, but your eyes were more focused looking up and down his muscular arms. Snapping out of your small trance, you sighed as you began to disinfect the cuts and scrapes of the fight.

This was somewhat of a weekly routine by now. He’d come in with few injuries and the occasional bruise, but never anything awful. You never pushed the subject as to why he’s been getting into more fights recently, but that’s partly because you never really minded patching him up.

Besides, he’d rather sit on one of his cacti than admit that he’s been fighting for you. A few of his dorm members decided to talk shit about you in front of him, and he wouldn’t just let that slide on their part.

You two quietly for the most part. Jack looked away when you started to bandage his forearms, letting out a small hiss when you applied some alcohol onto the wound. Deciding to take a quick look back at you, he smiled softly at your furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“All done!” You smiled, finishing wrapping up the gauze around his knuckles. Taking a look at the wolf beast-man, you saw him staring back with a light blush. Clenching his fist, he turned his head to the side bashfully.

“What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” You asked, peering around him to press a hand to his forehead. As soon as you got a good look at his bright red face, you could see his ears flattened atop of his head. His tail was almost moving at mach 10 speeds, as he took his other hand to try and slow it down as best as he could.

“You just…” Taking your hand off of his forehead, he held it loosely in his palm; gently, as if he was afraid to scrape you up himself.

“Nevermind. Thank you for always–”

“Taking care of you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His hands were wrapped in the gauze you applied; rough, yet softer than people think it is. A bit like Jack in a way, you guess.

“Alright, just no more fights for a while. You’re using up my entire bandaid supply.” He smiled at that, unable to stop the furious wagging of his tail again. But he didn’t mind it so much this time.

Azul Ashengrotto ○ The Benevolent Sea Witch

Doing eyeliner when their face is inches away from yours.

"I don’t know why I agreed to this."

And yet here he was, sitting cross-legged in front of you while you were dipping the brush back into the bottle for more of the liquid substance. Letting out a small exhale at the notion, you began to softly press the tool just below his waterline.

Sure, you were focused on making sure that you don’t accidentally poke your friend’s eye out, but you’d be lying if you said that was all you were focused on.

“I mean, I don’t know why you need eyeliner when your eyes are already so mesmerizing.” You teased, leaning in a little closer to add some more liner in the innermost corners of his eye.

He tensed up at the statement, wanting to pull away and look to the side so that his hair could cover up any small smile that threatened his cool, composed behavior. But with a firm grip on his cheeks, you stopped him from moving away. (And stopped him from messing up all his liner.)

Moving onto the other eye, you decided to continue to tease the poor boy. Think of it as payback for all the times he’s left you speechless with his words.

“Oh I’m sorry, should I have said hypnotizing instead? Or maybe alluring? I mean–”

"Stop it."

He breathed out, the skin of his face was getting warmer by the second the more you held it. You chuckled, having way too much fun flustering him.

Azul, on the other hand, was tempted to hide in his octopot forever.

Deciding that’s enough teasing for one day, you two fell into a comfortable silence as the blush on his face slowly dimmed, but his eyes stayed as sharp as ever.

"Can you hurry up? I have a client I’m meeting later today." He grimaced at the thought of having to leave you so soon, but he has a responsibility of helping those dumb- I mean, poor unfortunate souls.

“Sure thing, hun.”

Yeah. He was really regretting agreeing to this.

┊┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊ ˚✧ ┊ ┊┊ ┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊˚✧ ┊┊

[liillyliilly]

The Cactus Project

futakuchi kenji x reader words; 2059 synopsis; Futakuchi never expected to become so oddly attached to a plant. Or the person caring for it.

Futakuchi doesn’t know what had compelled him to start teasing Y/n. Maybe it was that she always seems so put together and he liked to get a reaction out of her. Maybe it was because she also ate the same brand of sour gummies that he liked so much. Or maybe it was because they had been assigned as partners to take care of a small potted cactus for science class.

“Aren’t cactuses meant to be the most self-sufficient plant though.” He said, poking at one of the sharp spines before accidentally pricking his finger. Stuffing his finger in his mouth he looked over to Y/n who was taking notes on the appearance of the cactus.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a My Neighbor Totoro bandaid, sliding it over to him silently.

“Cacti can be very self-sufficient but, without the proper guidance then they fail to stay strong.” Y/n explained, finishing her diagram of the green plant. She slid her notebook across the table for Futakuchi to look at. He wraps the bandaid onto his finger. “It’s kind of like how in volleyball, when you guys don’t practice jumping or something then your skills start to decrease. Does that make sense?” She waved her pencil around trying to compare his interests to the project. He thought it was pretty silly of her to do that, but didn’t know why he enjoyed that she knew he played volleyball.

“Anyway, how do you want to split custody?”

“Custody?” Futakuchi repeated.

“Yeah, custody of Emerson.”

“Emerson?” Futakuchi was starting to feel like a parrot.

Y/n covered her face with her hands and mumbled something. But Futakuchi didn’t understand.

“What was that?” He tugged on her hands, and was surprised at how soft they were compared to his own. When he had finished moving her hands, Futakuchi didn’t know what to do with his own. Getting stunned with the feeling of her skin against his. So, he settled for toying around the ceramic vase that the cactus resided in.

“Emerson is the cactus. I named it, okay?” She shrugged and smiled before getting a black sharpie out and writing ‘Emerson’ on the ceramic pot. “All things deserve a name. Even cacti.” As she finished her statement, she looked back to Futakuchi with big eyes and an earnest side smile.

Her handwriting was clean, crisp even. Futakuchi wanted her to write all his notes for all his class. He wanted her to write her name with his last name. He wondered what his name with her last name would look like for a moment. Pushing those thoughts aside, he tried to start some banter up instead of diving too deep into his potential legal paperwork for name changes.

“How did your parents raise you; I mean do you go around naming the pieces of grass in the fields as well?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, and shook her head at him slightly. When the bell rang, she slid on her backpack and started heading out the door, before turning her head to look at Futakuchi. “I’ll pick up Emerson after school, before you have to go to volleyball. Thanks!” She waved to him before exiting the room. Leaving Futakuchi to rapidly pack up his own stuff, and carry the cactus with him to Modern Japanese. When he sat down, he could feel Aone staring at the plant sitting on the corner of Futakuchi’s desk.

“Science project.” Futakuchi explained. When Aone pointed at the writing, Futakuchi let out an ‘oh’, as a small smile grew on his face. Until he was trying to force the smile back into his body to avoid it from taking over his entire face.

“My partner is a dork. She named the cactus.” Even though Aone doesn’t have eyebrows, he still managed to raise them while tilting his head to the cactus.

“Why’d I let her name it? Well, she, she didn’t give me time to stop her from writing it.” Aone knew that was a lie, Futakuchi could have easily stopped her. Futakuchi didn’t want to stop her, mainly because she seemed to really enjoy carefully writing the letters on the pot.

When the guy who sat in front of Futakuchi swung his bag around his desk, and almost hit Emerson, Futakuchi had to be restrained by Aone. "Bastard can't even look where he's flinging his stuff. Bro! I have a cactus here man! Pay attention to your surroundings!"

Aone stifled a laugh, pushing Futakuchi's shoulder down so he would finally sit down and stop barking at the nonchalant kid.

"I am being calm. This could've been a disaster of the largest proportion Aone."

A shake of the head, and one spitwad later to the student in front of Futakuchi, and the cactus was wrapped in his gym jacket, sitting in his lap.

It was a week later when Futakuchi had begun tapping his foot rapidly against the steps of the entrance to the gym. Looking at the time on his phone for the seventh time in a row. Why was Y/n not here yet? She was usually early to pick up Emerson. He reasoned that it was Friday, so maybe she was making plans with someone. His expression turned just as sour as the candies he was chewing, the thought of her spending time with any of the boys at their school seemed unnatural.

He could only picture her in three scenarios. Her in class with him. Her with Emerson in class. Her with both Emerson and him.

This cactus baby was becoming too real for him. He might actually end up asking her to marry him, and then adopting this cactus as a dependent on his tax forms.

When she finally came into view, Futakuchi eased up so much he almost dropped Emerson. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in odd directions. It reminded him of a bird’s nest.

“What’s with the new hairstyle? Trying to impress me?” Futakuchi taunted.

“I think it rather fits me.” Y/n smiled as she took Emerson into her own grasp. “How’s my little baby doing?” Y/n inspected the spines of the plant, before scrutinizing the dirt. When she realized that the soil wasn’t damp, she clicked her tongue and walked into the gym.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Futakuchi trailed after her.

“Emerson needs water. The gym has sinks in the bathroom. Geez, put two and two together.” She said as if it was the clearest thing in the entire world.

“Wait-don’t go...” Futakuchi closed his eyes, folded his arms, and let out a deep sigh.

The entire Date Tech team was in the bathroom, decorating it for a birthday celebration.

“What is going on here?” Y/n asked. Y/n pulled Emerson closer to her, as she backed up slowly. Accidently bumping into Futakuchi with her back.

“A birthday party?” Koganegawa gives two thumbs up in Y/n’s direction. Aone scratches the back of his head as he holds a bag with colorful streamers at his side.

“For who?”

“For Sakunami!” Koganegawa exclaims.

Futakuchi cringes. What if she thinks we’re weird for decorating the bathroom? What if she thinks I'm weird for allowing them to decorate the bathroom? What if she is going to laugh at us? And, why is she still standing so close to me?

Needless to say, he is very surprised at her next words.

“Can I help?”

As it turns out, Y/n has a pretty good sense for decorating. She was able to help hang the banner, with the help of Aone lifting her up so she could reach the ceiling. She helped Koganegawa put streamers on the toilet stalls. And she was able to water Emerson’s soil. When she took a step back and stood in the entrance of the bathroom, she dusted her hands off by rubbing them together.

“It looks like a solidly decorated birthday party. Good job boys! But, I gotta go. See you on Monday, Futakuchi.”

Aone puts a hand on Futakuchi’s shoulder. Aone nudged his head in Y/n’s direction as she started to leave the gym. “I can’t ask her to stay Aone. She wouldn’t care. C’mon, let’s get going. Sakunami should be here any second.”

Ever since Y/n pitched in to help with the birthday party, Futakuchi didn’t know how to interact with her. He fumbled and guarded himself. Putting up an iron wall of his own to shield himself from her growing too much onto him. He really wanted to keep being his normal self around her, but she made it really difficult. Seeing as she was almost too perfectly an equal to him. She matched him in everything he did, whether it was jokes or just being way too easy to talk too.

“Hey, Futakuchi, I have a really big favor to ask you.” Y/n clasped her hands together as she rested her elbows on the table, looking intently at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can you have Emerson for tonight? I won’t be home to make sure that they are safe from the sun in my window sill.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks so much, I owe you one.” Y/n leaned back into her chair as she went back to writing her notes down as she studied Emerson.

Futakuchi would have liked to ask what she was doing to not be able to watch Emerson. But he settled for watching her hand move as she wrote down her notes. And for a while, he was glad that he was able to do the cactus project with Y/n. It made him feel secure.

A few days later, Y/n said that she had an extra examination she wanted take for extra credit, and that she would be able to pick up Emerson after his volleyball practice.

"Keep him safe okay?" She threw up a peace sign before going back to the main school building for her extra credit.

Where to set Emerson down while he was at practice was becoming a puzzle that he had no clue of how to solve. But everyone on the team kept nagging him about starting practice so he set Emerson down on the bench at the very corner of the gym.

It was a horrible decision, really. It was a spike gone wrong. A mistake in the angling. A glitch in the matrix. It was a stab to the heart.

When he heard the ceramic shatter, Futakuchi thought that he would also end up shattering as well. Hovering over the broken pot, there was dirt all over the gym floor, and Emerson broken into a hundred sharp pieces. He knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt and just stared at the mess. When Koganegawa tried to help by getting out a broom, Futakuchi snapped at him and told everyone to go home. That practice was over today due to highly unfortunate circumstances.

He didn’t even notice when Y/n had entered the gym.

“That's unfortunate.” Y/n sat down next to him crossing her legs and setting her hands on her knees.

“I bet you hate me.”

“You would lose that bet.” Y/n gripped his wrist and made him dump the dirt back onto the pile. Dusting his hand off slightly, she slipped her fingers in-between his. There sat two teenagers, holding hands and staring at a pile of dirt and debris. “I guess we are just going to have to spend some extra time together to make up the project.”

Futakuchi didn’t know why she was being so nice about this. He had ruined the project they had been working on for over three weeks. When she stood up and pulled him with her, she brushed her hand against his cheek to remove some soil that had gotten on his face.

“You have to name the next cactus.” When she started laughing, her shoulders shaking and smile wider than the gap of space between the two, Futakuchi came up with one of his normal comments.

“It’ll be a much better name than Emerson when I come up with one.”

“I have no doubts about that.”

Even though they had to re-do the project. And even though it was difficult. Even plants can grow in seemingly barren habitats. Just like how love can grow from a cactus project.

[twistedroseytoesy]

Hi!

I'd like to be called 🍬 anon!

Could I request Savanaclaw with a quokka reader?

These little guys are the cutest things ever!

Oh, oh my gosh those little fellas! The happiest little creatures with award winning smiles! I absolutely would love to do this 🍬 anon!

Also image of an adorable little fella just under the cut

Description

you and your family happily lived on an island near the Sunset Savanna but technically outside of its rulings. you and the other Quokka beast folk lived happy lives, trading and bartering goods and trading goods with the mainland but not really needing a lot of money. Everyone gets along and everyone on the small island works together to make sure everyone else is safe and happy. You and your family were rather small but you never minded and always loved taller company. You have cute small little ears in your messy brown hair, with cute brown eyes and a continuous smile. you are about 4 feet tall, with dark skin and a short little tail. the tips of your hands and feet were slightly darker than the rest of your body and you had small little claws.

Savanaclaw

Leona: Tch, think those cute looks are going to get you pity from him your right wrong. He tries to ignore you a lot, but can't help but poke some fun at you since your reactions are just so cute. Though if anyone messes with you when he's nearby be prepared to be taken to be his nap buddy, his tail swishing angrily at someone messing with what he's now claimed. you were picked on a lot at the beginning but luckily after his overblot, Leona stepped up his leadership a bit and made sure to tell the other savanaclaw members t knock it off. he also never made you do spell drive practice, "you're too small to be any help" he would tell you. but for 1 he wants to show off to you on the sidelines, and 2 he knows how dangerous spelldrive can be and he would actually feel BAD if you got hurt. If you somehow become friends with him expect to be his nap buddy often, calls you his cute little plush. but only in private, Ruggie likes to chuckle at you two. Leona may never say it out loud but if you are observant you can tell he thinks you're cute, and he wants to protect you. will wake up only for you, also falls for your puppy eyes so bad don't tell anyone.

Ruggie: shihhihi well aren't you the cutest little thing? careful since a lot of beasts around would love to take a bite outa you. takes you under his wing, for a price of course. but honestly, you remind him of the kids from his village he would take care of. gets you to help him with some stealing, you distract them with your cuteness and he gets the goods. Eventually, he starts to share his food with you and protect you with no repayment required. Of course, from him, you learn a lot of good scavenging habits and self-defense. He honestly is so proud of you when you take down a bigger guy or weaponize your cuteness like how he taught you. He also uses you to get Leona out of bed. even Leona isn't immune to your little begging eyes! shihihihi. will feel betrayed if you turn those adorable eyes on him but he also can't say no to you...

Jack: Immediately was reminded of his younger siblings back at home and became unbelievably protective of you. Tsundere wolf style. he tries to stay near you and will fight anyone who tries to take advantage of you and your cuteness. He does smirk when you weaponize your cuteness, he will introduce you to epel also because you two are pretty similar. can't say no to you. Would rather die than admit it though. He tries to train you to be able to defend yourself if and when anyone tries to mess with you. his tail wags a lot when you're being really cute and you love and help him with his little cacti collection. He's proud of any accomplishments you do and likes to have you on his shoulders, it makes you smile so much and he can't help but smile too.

[lav-bee]

Welcome to Demon School x reader Headcannons

How they act when their in love/ like you

Characters: Balam, Kalego, Opera

Warnings? I don’t think so

Balam

- SKINSHIP TO THE MAX!

- I’m talking all out

- He’d be around you more often than not

- Whenever you’re in the same room together he’s definitely by your side

- And the touches don’t have to be sexual, he’s just there patting your head or poking your shoulder

- Only Kalego would notice the extra touches due to the two being friends, the other teachers would think he’s just being extra friendly with you

- If you were to show any affection back (hugs, head pats) it would make him melt o~o

- He’d ask to plan joined classes, anything to spend more time with you

- Be prepared to be taught random facts about netherworld animals ^-^ He uses them to start a conversation

- Might make a mini notebook with facts about you including your favourite food, movie, ect…

- It would also have a few drawings in there aswell

Kalego

- Would be less grumpy around you

- Or if you guys had a nice conversation before hand he’d be in a good mood :) (or less strict with the students)

- The teachers would definitely notice this and say something

- Kalego denies all of it, Mr ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’

- He’s usually alone (‘cause he finds everyone annoying) so he’d hang around / talk to you more

- A lot of random/ pointless conversations

- Talks about cacti

- Give him a cactus to catch him off guard, might even give you a small smile

- His tail would have a mind of its own

- It would often gravitate toward you, maybe wrap itself around your wrist or ankle :>

- Kalego would try to pull it away before it gets to close but the tail is sneaky >:]

Opera

- “Would you care for some tea?”

- Their always asking if you need any thing

- Snacks, drinks, a book, who knows 🤷

- They also do small favours for you such as go to the store if you need anything, wash the dishes, maybe sweep the floor, anything you ask

- Doing things for you is their thing :>

- Their ears are skyrocketed whenever you’re talking to them and their tail is waving side to side

- The tail would wave at you from across the room XD

- Even though their love language isn’t physical touch, they might purr if you scratch their ears

- As soon as you leave the house their asking Sullivan when you’re coming back for another visit

[ninapi]

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Save me (Ushijima Version)

Premise: Ushijima struggles to understand the concept of love and what is expected of him in said equation, but he finds himself in the predicament of wanting nothing more than to be with the woman he loves even if it gets in the way of his established lifestyle.

Word Count: 2510

Note: Welcome to the second route of the 'Save me' series! This one will be a bit less intense and will focus mostly in Ushijima himself, however, it starts right after chapter 1 from Semi's route (Link here), so I would suggest you read that one first if you haven’t.

Chapter 1: Soft colors in the air.

Ushijima was a simple man.

He would follow the same routine every day and it mostly revolved around volleyball.

The first thing he did when he arrived at his school was going to the gym and leave his sports bag there before heading over to his class and read his notes in preparation for the first class of the day.

But this morning things didn’t go as planned.

He was on his way into the main building when he saw you crouching down in what looked like a lot of pain, hovering over a flower bed. Once again, his body was moving on its own, it was starting to worry him how he wasn’t able to control his body at will lately. Thankfully, it only happened when you were there and you were rarely involved in anything volleyball related, otherwise, his career would be over.

“Good morning, (Y/N). Are you ok?” you looked up at him with glossy eyes, one of your hands cradling the other, “Oh! Ushijima-san! Good morning! Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry. I just got a thorn stuck in the palm of my hand and just can’t take it out, working with cacti is a pain, wouldn’t recommend it.”

Your smile was so bright, he thinks of how it could possibly light up an entire room. “Can I do something to relieve your pain?” he was now crouching besides you, giving the evil aggressor a heavy scowl.

He’s cute.

“Uhm, can you keep my hand steady? I can try to pluck it out with some tweezers.” he nodded while you were diving into your backpack one handed, looking for the much needed tool.

He held your hand as carefully as he could, gently prying it open for you. Your faces were only inches away, you were fully concentrated in the task at hand, your tongue poking out the side of your mouth while you plucked out the small invader. Ushijima was just lost on your face, the way your eyebrow twitched every time you dug deeper in your palm, the slight pool of tears in one of your eyes, your rosy lips parting in small gasps at the constant prickle.

This was the first time he’s seen someone’s face this close and in so much detail. He was intrigued, not only by you, but by his reactions. He doesn’t care much for people, specially not those who aren’t linked to the sport in any way.

 But you were different.

He could compare seeing you with how he felt after a morning run. It was his favorite moment of the day. He would run along the coast, watch the sunrise, pet a cat or two on his water breaks. The air tasted wonderfully, and he felt so full of energy afterwards, ready to tackle the long hours of study and practice ahead. He felt the same way every time he saw you smile, this sort of thing has never happened to him before, and he wonders what is it about you that make him feel so many things at once.

“YES! Got it!” your little outburst startled him, and he ended up bumping his forehead against yours. “Ouch. Sorry, Ushijima-san. Got too excited. Are you alright?” still being extremely close, you reached over to check his forehead, gently moving his hair away with your fingers, “My head is sturdy, nothing to worry about.” his answer made you chuckle, helping yourself up by holding onto his shoulder. “I wish my head was sturdy. Thank you for your help, Ushijima-san. You should probably hurry, I don’t want you to be late to class on my account.” he was about to leave now that you didn’t need any help, but his brain was having problems functioning on the way it normally does, he felt troubled, everyone called him by his last name, that was completely normal, but he kept on calling  you by your first name, was that a bad thing? Was he being rude? Did you perhaps not want to call him by his first name? He wants to believe you’re already close enough to be in first name basis, could it be possible that you don’t know his first name? He doesn’t remember ever telling you what it was.

“(Y/N)” he gave you a pointy look, and that’s when you realized he hasn’t moved an inch yet, he was just there, staring at the flowerbed, “Yes, Ushijima-san?” you knew he had communication issues, this is in fact the first time you’ve talked this much, even if its been mostly all you, “Would it be ok for you to call me by my first name too? Its Wakatoshi.”

Was that what he was thinking about so thoroughly? His oddly cute side was making you smile so brightly, he was just glad he still had some of the medicine he got the other day because his breakfast was coming back up at an intense speed, “Can I really? I would like that very much! But how about I call you…..Toshi-san! Yes, I like that better.” you were swaying happily, and it all ran in slow-motion in his eyes, the way your eyes sparkled at the mention of his name, the way your hair moved in the wind, he could swear he could even hear music in the background.

His expression softened and it’s the closest you’ve been to see him smile.

“Toshi it is, then.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That afternoon right before practice he saw you talking with Semi in a corridor. He’s seen the two of you together often and he wonders why it bothers him this much. He should be happy for you, having friends is a good thing, his mother used to say that.

But his body keeps on playing dirty tricks on him, he feels restless whenever he sees the two of you spending time alone and he just can’t stop himself, he was nearly charging on your direction when thankfully, Tendo spots him and gets in the way. “Woah woah, buddy. Chill. What is it?” he looks around until he spots you laughing while Semi was laying against a wall with a smug grin on his face, “Oh ok, I see what’s happening. Breathe, Wakatoshi-kun. Come on, let’s go to practice.” he literally had to drag the heavy man around the school, his feet refusing to listen to his friend, “What is happening to me, Tendo?”

He was honestly worried and disheartened. He’s never been a violent person, he doesn’t even have time to analyze human behavior, he should be practicing right now, not sulking about life.

“It’s called having a crush. Happens to everyone.” Tendo pulled his friend to a bench, sighing at the look of confusion in his teammate’s face, “A crush? I haven’t crushed anything, Tendo. What are you talking about?”

“Well you almost crushed Semi.” he snickered at his own remark, “But I mean you like her. Don’t you?” Ushijima pondered the question; did he like you? Well, of course he did. You are a wonderful person, always kind to everyone, “I do. But don’t we all?”

“We do, my dear Wakatoshi, we do. But I mean as a woman, not as a female schoolmate. You know like, like like?” his head was spinning at this point, this conversation was more complicated than the math problem he had to solve this afternoon. “You speak nonsense. How am I supposed to understand what you mean when all you do is repeat the same word multiple times.”

Tendo sometimes wonders why he puts up with this man. There has to be a limit of how clueless one can be. “I mean like romantically; you want her for yourself. That’s why it bothers you when Semi is around her.”

Romantically? He’s read some romance novels that were a requirement for school work, but he never really understood their plot.

“How can you be so sure is that?” the wild grin in Tendo’s face was giving him the chills, “All I need to do is see your face to know that’s what it is about. You look at her the same way I look at chocolate cake. And that, my friend, is called love.” this was the first time Tendo ever heard Ushijima sigh, this was really getting to him.

That’s when they noticed you were coming their way, Semi tagging along. “Toshi-san!!” the sound of your voice is all he needed to understand that Tendo was probably onto something. He’s never felt anything similar to the way he feels when he hears your voice, it tingles his internal organs. “Do you like carrot cake? I baked some in class just now, it’s still warm!” you wiggled yourself out of Semi’s grasp, running all the way over to the bench.

He looked up at you with an almost defeated looking smile, making your breath hitch.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” your hand went straight up to move his hair away from his face and pressed your forehead gently against his, closing your eyes to feel in his temperature. He was definitely warm, but nothing too out of the ordinary as temperature goes. “You don’t seem to have a fever.” he shook his head, looking into your eyes. “Then what is it? Is it your tummy? Maybe carrot cake isn’t such a good idea.” you started retrieving the cake when Ushijima’s larger hand clasp around it, “It is not. I would like some carrot cake.”

“You sure? I can bake more for you another day if you aren’t feeling well.” the look of concern in your face was making it increasingly hard for him not to lose composure.

“My dear, (Y/N). Let the man eat some cake. Though, why are you just offering cake to him? What about me? You hurt my poor lonely heart, ingrate woman.” he heaves a pained huff, making you chuckle. “Sorry, Tendo-san. I didn’t see you there.” You didn’t see him? He’s been there the whole time.

“I see. Nothing to worry about, just make sure you give me some cake too.”

Semi was watching the entire scene unfold from afar, giving him mixed feelings. He’s gotten closer to you as time went by and he is confident now that you two are good friends and good friends support each other. He would like to think of a future where he would be the one getting the girl and not the guy who already has it all, but truth is he cares for both of you just as much and it is true what Tendo said, he’s never seen his captain make a face like that, let alone let someone touch him so freely.

“(Y/N) you are a wonderful cook.” the cake was gone before any of you noticed, making Tendo gasp in despair and Semi laugh.

He ate it all.

“Oh my god, that was fast! Sorry, Tendo-san. I’ll make sure to save some for you next time."

“What about me, (Y/N).” his face was full of crumbles, softening your heart and quickly turning it into a puddle of goo. “You can have as much as you want.” brushing the crumbles off gently with your hand, you smiled adoringly down at him.

“You’re right, Tendo.” he just blurted out staring at his friend while still being tended by you, having his friend panic and cover his mouth instantly.

“Right about what?” Tendo got up and stretched to get your mind out of it, “Oh, we were talking about cake just before you came. About how much I love it.” that made you feel bad, you didn’t know he liked cake so much otherwise you would have set some aside for him earlier. “I’m so sorry, Tendo-san. I just thought of baking this cake for Toshi-san and I…it was not nice of me to not think of the others, I will bake a larger cake next time, I promise.”  This time was Ushijima the one standing from the bench, “You made it for me?” the surprised expression on his face was unlike anything you’ve seen before, he was showing you so many different sides of him today, it made you feel things. “I did…I…I was thinking about this morning, and I thought maybe you’d like to have some carrot cake.” You were tripping over your words; your face was slightly red and your shaky smile was just out of this world precious. He didn’t know how the happening from this morning translated in your head to carrot cake, but he was thankful nonetheless, you were thinking about him when you baked it, and it was delicious.

“I didn’t know I needed carrot cake. Thank you for noticing, (Y/N), it was very good.” you nodded proudly, of course he would follow along, he’s always like this, even when he doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, he would never put you on the spot. His kindness was what you liked the best about him, even when people can’t see it straight away, you did. “Of course! Whenever you need something, I’m your girl! I mean…what? I..um…yeah…cake!”

Semi laughed so loud it made your shrink onto Ushijima’s shadow. “Shut up, Eita!” you pouted, grabbing your school bag and stomping away on the direction of your dorm. Just before you were too far away you turned around and saw Ushijima was looking at you without blinking, this made your smile come back and you waved at him before returning to your room.

“So I’m right, huh? Did you see that Semi-semi?? She literally had her face on his just like that! I wonder what they are not telling us. Do you know anything that I don’t? You’re awfully chummy with her.” to this Semi scoffed, of course he saw it all, the look on Ushijima’s eyes wasn’t one of surprise or discomfort, it was one of fondness, it was like he would let you do anything, without questioning. Very unlike him.

“Well of course I am, she’s my best friend. But sorry to disappoint you, I know as much as you do.”

“So that means you are not romantically involved with her?” his chest felt so much lighter, even without the medication, he could breathe more comfortably now.

“What? No, I’m not. Are you?”

What was it even being romantically involved with someone? He knew he had something different going on with you if he compared it with how the others treated him, but was that being romantically involved? Or what does it even entail? “I don’t think I have an answer to that question.” the two of them just nodded in understanding, they knew this wouldn’t be easy, but Tendo was satisfied with the progress, he got him to agree there’s something that needs to be thoroughly discussed and it would steal a few of his well-rested nights away.

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Tagged babes: @dazaisfavgf, @lauraagrace

Masterlist Next Chapter

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

A Couple Nights Later...

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Penn here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about Azalea, go here. Illinois belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe. The same thing goes for Murdock...but if you'd like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here. Ness belongs to the creators of the FNAF movie; I've got some headcanons on him too, which can be found here.)

(Also, for more information on the mob Murdock, Caliban, and Azalea work for, go here.)

(This is yet another gift from me to @insane4fandoms. Just a little something in return for them remembering my fanmade egos in their lovely drawings. Please give them a follow and boost their art! You won't regret it!)

(One more thing: this story is an epilogue to my latest work. You can find that story here; it has some clarifying details...)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, descriptions of illegal business, implied cannibalism, cravings/hunger pangs, mentions of knives/blades, mentions of poisoning, mentions of blood, eating/drinking, anxiety/paranoia, implied past trauma, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The sun was setting again, as it tended to do. The remaining light shone between the trunks of a nearby copse of trees, casting long shadows to stretch over the road. 

That was what made Penn question if he and Illinois had left one desert only to end up in another: the trees. That is, he knew logically that this county was in one of the dryer parts of the States, and any trees growing here had more than likely been planted by the locals. Once Illinois drove to a less populated part of town, there wouldn't be much in the fields besides sagebrush. 

But right here, right now, all the trees and hills were a huge change from the cacti and rock spires. 

It was refreshing. 

It reminded him that he and his companion were closer to their respective homes than before.

It reminded him that they were at least a thousand miles away from that cavern. 

(As for the horrific thing they’d found in said cavern. . .well, the duo had stopped at two more hotels by now, and Penn thankfully hadn’t seen any maladjusted figures looming outside the windows in either of them. The combination of a threat and a promise was still fresh in his mind, yet part of him was somehow sure that it’d be a long time before that monster made good on it.)

Just one more day, Penn thought as he shifted in the passenger seat. Just one more stop at one more hotel, and then we’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

The Warden hung from the rearview mirror, silent and creepy as ever. While Illinois’ personal rituals included hanging it on the doorknob of whatever bedroom he slept in for the night, he usually moved it to his breast pocket the next day. Ever since that one terrifying night, however, he’d made sure to keep it in the open, as to let its protective juju slowly but surely cleanse the surreal dread from his and his friend’s minds. 

Penn wasn’t quite sure how, but that strategy seemed to be working. 

He reached up and gingerly poked the little totem, making it sway to and fro. Illinois glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then took one hand off the steering wheel and poked it himself. The odd game of makeshift tetherball only lasted a moment, but it still brought a smile to both the adventurer and paleontologist’s faces.

As the jeep descended a small hill, its passengers were treated to the sight of a fork in the road, the section of grass between the two pathways adorned by a large blue sign.

The top-half silently announced NEXT REST AREA—20 MILES in bold, white letters. The bottom-half, meanwhile, displayed a row of universal symbols: a gas pump, ATM, WiFi, a bed, a plate with cutlery on either side. . .and an arrow.

“Right on cue,” Illinois remarked, the wheel spinning in his grasp as he edged in the pointed direction.

___

The car’s headlights caught a pair of raccoons up ahead, waddling on their hind-legs and fidgeting with their weird little hands as they sniffed at a lumpy mound of. . .something that sat right on the seam between asphalt and grass. 

Murdock tapped at the center of the steering wheel; the horn’s blare was short and quick, but it still made Azalea flinch in the passenger seat. Just behind her, Caliban did the same, instinctually grabbing Snare and holding him to his chest. The raccoons each let out a startled squeal as they scampered off into the nearby trees, their striped tails swaying back and forth.

Azalea stared after them before raising an eyebrow at her accomplice. “What was that for?”

“Yeah, they weren’t even in the way,” Caliban chimed in, his crimson leather jacket sliding against the similar material of his seat. 

There was actually a fourth passenger here, but only in a technical sense, considering he’d been crammed into a hidden compartment in the trunk. And while that probably would’ve led to a chorus of dull thumps and muffled shouts, he wasn’t really capable of complaining. 

Or moving. 

Or breathing.

Murdock lifted his chin, glancing at the backseat as he shrugged. “Well, if we make a pit-stop, I thought I might as well scare off the competition for you, Cal.” 

Caliban tilted his head, unable to stop the confusion from creeping onto his features. It only lasted a few seconds before the hitman eased on the brake pedal, ever-so-slightly slowing down as the car drew closer to the rancid pile that the raccoons had been examining. 

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, ‘Doc,” Caliban replied, now understanding as he rolled his eyes, lips quirking into a sarcastic smile. “But I think I’ll pass.” 

“I thought you were hungry?” Murdock hummed as he picked up speed yet again. 

Caliban nodded. "That’s right. Hungry, not desperate.”

Murdock huffed a laugh, black-tinted glasses shuddering on his face. “Said the cannibal.”

“Exactly! I eat people, not roadkill or garbage.”

“Eh, not so sure about that last part. You’ve helped me get rid of some real scumbags before. Besides, you follow your feeding schedule like some kind of religion.”

Caliban paused. “. . .Okay, that’s fair. But the point still stands! If I’m gonna eat anything, it at least has to be somewhat fresh.”

He then leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the driver-seat, still focusing on the rearview mirror; if he looked closely enough, he could make out his companion’s dark brown eyes behind his shades. He could make out the way they glinted with morbid humor and a challenging air. 

Caliban made sure to return the unconventional vibes tenfold. Joking with Murdock could be a gamble sometimes, but that was what made the dynamic between the two of them fun.

“I mean, that stuff might’ve been part of a person at one point,” Murdock mentioned. “It’s not like we got a good look at it, but I could turn around—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Azalea interjected, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head.

Caliban snickered, flashing a big grin his sister’s way. Azalea smiled right back, firmly ignoring the offended hitman noises.

The snickers and grin died down, however, as his stomach started churning with a hollow ache.

The presence of a fresh corpse stowed away further behind him didn’t do many favors. But then, that target was off limits. Yeah, his organs could still be harvested to make a nice little profit on the Black Market, but they’d already been tainted enough to effect the prices. (He’d been given a hefty dose of batracotoxin courtesy of Azalea. Not that Caliban was blaming her; poison was her personal signature. She’d just been doing her job, just like he and Murdock had been a little while ago.) 

That wasn’t quite what annoyed him, though. 

What annoyed him was the fact that the target had been working with a crony when the trio had tracked him down to the dilapidated lakehouse he’d apparently been using as a hideout. 

The aforementioned crony had looked very healthy (read: appetizing) and had screamed and struggled in such an exciting way when Caliban and Murdock corned him on the pier, taking turns stabbing and slicing to interrogate him.

The smell of blood had been so heavy and rich in the air.

The red splatters had looked so dark and deep.

The adrenaline-high had been awesome, as was the anticipation of eventually getting to eat a very well-earned meal. . .and then some LAZY BASTARD OF AN ALLIGATOR had decided to JUST LUNGE UP from the water, clamp its jaws around the crony’s neck, and dive back down again in LESS THAN THREE SECONDS! 

Because APPARENTLY, when you’re a creature that nature has given so many deadly gifts for HUNTING YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD that you barely even had to evolve since prehistoric times, you STILL find it easier to STEAL from hard-working contract-killers who are just trying to earn their keep and get some fresh air. 

Caliban sighed through his nose, leaning back and propping his elbow up to rest his cheek against his hand. Snare, like a good little emotionally-tuned boy, wasted no time craning his neck to nudge at his owner’s face. With a smile that was softer than before, Caliban gently scratched his pet’s ears.

Now, he did have some well-preserved, perfectly edible human remains at home, hidden in that huge chest freezer in the corner of his abandoned-subway-tunnel-office-den. But he, his sister, and their mutual companion still had a ways to go before they returned to the Cove Port Inlets. 

This certainly wasn’t the first time his cravings had acted up, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, either. This wasn’t even the worst instance; the emptiness wasn’t wracked with gnawing and pinching sensations for flavor (pun vERY MUCH INTENDED) just yet. It would get to that point if left unchecked for another hour or so, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

Things like beef, chicken, pork, or fish may not have been as savory as Caliban’s addiction, but they were good enough. So long as he got a bite to eat in general, he’d be fine. Sure, part of his mind wouldn’t know peace until he cooked up some pieces of human-person, but his stomach wouldn’t twist and growl and beg. Not for a while, at least.

Gravel ground beneath the tires. Bright, artificial light streamed in through the windows.

“‘Sparky’s,’” Azalea announced, reading off the sign that stood tall before a tidy little building that carried the exact same aesthetic of all roadside diners in the known world. “Looks nice enough. Have you been here before?”

Murdock nodded as he maneuvered into a space on the very edge of the parking lot. “A few times to test the waters, yeah. There’s no cameras anywhere outside the entrance, and even if there were, not many people stop here at hours like this.” 

Caliban made sure to crack both of the backseat windows open before the engine stopped rumbling. He then tugged his black hoodie off over his head, leaving its sleeves tucked into those of his jacket. He draped the clothing-combo over the vacant seat beside him. Snare promptly scurried over, flopping down and curling up on the makeshift nest. 

Caliban chuckled, reaching over to pet the hare’s fur one more time before heaving the car’s door open and stepping out.

Azalea stood at his side soon after, fidgeting in place, clearly still full of energy from the kill. The two of them shared another grin; it helped keep the awkwardness at bay as they waited on their accomplice. 

Varying shades of red weren’t part of The Pentas Family’s signature just because of the flower it’d been named after. Red was a very convenient color. Wear it to a kill and no-one would be any the wiser (especially not if you combined it with black). 

Murdock was aware of this, almost always wearing his currant-colored turtleneck and ebony overcoat when working on gruesome assignments. And yet he still remained in the car for another minute or two, elbows knocking against the ceiling and window as he took off both articles. 

He then leaned over the center console to pop the glove compartment open and fished out a bundle of dark fabric adorned by a pattern of gray leaves and orange petals. 

Once he finally emerged into the cool nighttime air, the hitman looked almost nothing like himself. 

His tinted glasses were gone too, replaced by a headband that was wider and stretchier than the cherry-tinted one Azalea was wearing. It mainly kept Murdock’s nearly shoulder-length raven hair back, but the white-as-snow material gave it an ambiguously medical look. Murdock pulled one side of it down in order to cover his right eye. 

Or, to cover the misalignment of his right eye. The way it was turned to the right as though he was looking as something sideways.

It wasn’t like his right eye was infected; it wasn’t even useless. It could still blink and see. . .it just couldn’t move around in its socket like the left one. Sure, it was a bit jarring to look at, but not too jarring in the grand scheme of things. 

Still, it was very understandable for Murdock to always keep it hidden. And that wasn’t even due to how needlessly judgemental other people could be.

No, his eye had been damaged in his former life (due to a near-death paragliding incident that he proudly enthralled any newcomers to the mob with), before he’d discovered his skill and passion for killing. All the pain that had apparently come with it...

It’d been a type of rebirth for him. There was no questioning the significance. 

(Although Murdock hadn’t appreciated Caliban’s thoughts on the matter. Which was just another way of saying that Murdock didn’t appreciate comedy. Not even the eloquent, well-thought-out masterpieces of wordplay.)

“. . .Damn,” Caliban had murmured, thoughtfully drumming his nails on mahogany. “I know people just throw words like ‘legendary’ around for almost anything these days, but that. . .that story really does feel like a mash-up of Neil Gaiman, Monty Python, and a sugar-bombed nine-year-old.”

“An inspiration to everyone, me.” Murdock had grinned, the definition of cocky as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “Anyone can survive Death Gulch if they WANT to. If they want to BADLY ENOUGH.”

“Words to live by,” Caliban agreed, his eyes shifting about. 

The Pentas Family’s base was a lot like the dens he and his sister now worked out of. Hidden underground, once part of the subway-tunnel-system that had died quite a while ago. It was bigger than the other dens down here, able to fit more furniture along the walls, like the table in the corner that he and his accomplice were sitting at. 

But just like all the other dens, the base came with relative darkness and a slight chill in the air. 

The darkness and that chill. . .they were part of his and Azalea’s lives now, as fundamental as oxygen. 

They now made their way with blood and blades and screams and secrets, and that was more than fulfilling enough after all the things they’d gone through together. 

And it was all thanks to Murdock. (Yes, The Boss had obviously contributed, but meeting the hitman who sat across from him had been the thing to really put the change into motion.)

Caliban had licked his lips, his smile stretching wider to reveal his teeth. To reveal the new silver one that glinted more than the rest. “I guess that really must’ve. . .shifted your view on things, huh?”

Murdock froze, which was the green light for Caliban to start giggling. His shoulders slumped. Even with his shades on, it was very obvious that he was now questioning some of the choices he’d made to get to this point. 

Murdock heaved a long-suffering sigh. “There’s something very wrong with you.”

“Pot-Kettle-Black, ‘Doc!” Caliban, whose giggles had quickly transitioned to cackles, replied. “C’mon, that was a good one! You can’t deny that!”

“I can, and I will,” Murdock retorted, getting dangerously close to tipping his chair over. . .

Azalea pulled the glass door open, eliciting that well-known whoosh. Caliban felt a rush of cool air as he followed his sister into the diner, Murdock right behind him. A little bell suspended above the threshold let out a chipper jingle. 

The walls followed a simple wood-panel design, though the powder blue paintjob on the windowpanes gave it a little more personality. Cushy leather booths were lined up here and there; a small pendant lamp hung over each table, some flickering more than others.

A coffee-bar stood across the building, separating the main dining area from an aluminum door that had to lead to the kitchen. 

True to Murdock’s word, the joint was pretty empty. A muffled chorus of clinks, footsteps, and running water that leaked through the kitchen door was the only sign that anyone else might be here. 

Along with the voice that called, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be out in a just a sec!”

Murdock pursed his lips and shrugged. Following standard protocol, the three contract-killers claimed a spot that was closest to the entrance.

The kitchen door swung open and a man came strolling out, dressed in a white button-down with sections on the collar and sleeves that matched the dark blue apron tied around his waist. He held a bundle of laminated menus the same way a stereotypical schoolgirl would hold her textbooks, a tired-yet-genuine smile on his face.

As the waiter came to hover in front of the table, Caliban got a clear look at the little nametag pinned to his breast-pocket: NESS.

“Welcome, welcome!” Ness greeted, setting the menus down before his customers. “What can I get for you—maybe some coffee to start off?”

“Oh yes, please,” Azalea replied, her brother and Murdock murmuring in agreement. 

Ness nodded, quick to retrieve a steaming pot from the bar-counter, as well as a trio of mugs and a bowl full of sugar packets and creamer cups. 

Once the fresh brew was poured, the trio was given a few minutes of quality time with the menu. After that, Ness returned, fishing a notepad and pencil adorned by a tiny rubber chicken-head topper from a pocket in his apron. “So, what else would you guys like tonight?”

Being a hitman meant having experience some odd emotions. Such as the instinct to keep yourself and your business hidden clashing against the desire for attention or recognition. It was a matter of (very relative) sensibility and twisted pride. And Murdock was a prime example of that.

“Oh, well—y’know, I. . .I think, m-maybe. . .maybe I could. . .” Murdock stammered, fidgeting in his seat as though he was about to pass out right then and there. “Um. . .ah. . .w-what do you recommend? If you—if you don’t. . .mind me asking.”

Even after all the time he’d spent working with Murdock, it still took some effort for Caliban to not snort at the sight. Yeah, the social-anxiety-incarnate-facade had never failed yet, but Murdock always laid it on thick. He tossed a subtle knowing glance at Azalea, who was carefully biting down her own chuckle. 

Ness, meanwhile, stayed focused. His smile softened as he pointed out certain things on the menu and explained. He was patient and polite, nodding along and not seeming to mind all the verbal vomit he was being doused in before Murdock’s mask finally made a decision. He then moved on to take Azalea’s order with not a finger out of place. 

As he watched all this, Caliban realized that he liked Ness’ spirit, even if he didn’t really know him. The food service industry was infamous for how its workers were treated by customers and higher-ups alike (with Aftertaste being one of few exceptions, of course. Azalea was living proof that even a professional murderer could have a bit more compassion than the average Joe, and that was equal parts impressive and depressing). 

If you knew what to look for and how to look for it, you could see the exhaustion and stress behind Ness’ friendly demeanor. . .and yet, that demeanor wasn’t at all fake.

Ness truly seemed to be doing his best, determined to earn his keep and survive, while still maintaining some positivity. It was refreshing to see that type of energy.

Not only that: Ness was clearly the observant type. Perhaps (hopefully) not enough to cause any problems for the trio or their work right now. . .but enough to see the rising hunger Caliban specifically attempted to hide while in public.

“Did your lunch get away from you?” Ness asked, the playful tone of his voice somehow mixing very well with the slight concern in his eyes as he wrote down the order for a rare steak. 

Caliban laughed, offering a combination of nod and shrug. “Something like that. . .”

One part of him was all-too happy to make his typical jokes, the actual meanings of certain phrases slyly hidden under a veil of casual innocence. (The way Murdock’s facade got close to twitching as he side-eyed him was also amusing.)

Another part had to focus on reminding himself that this guy was a waiter, and any waiter who wasn’t used to seeing hungry people probably had a few issues to work on. He had absolutely no way of knowing about his true eating habits.

With that, Ness vanished into the kitchen once more, calling “Order In!” to whoever else was back there, his words hanging in the air as the aluminum door swung to and fro. 

The shy simper on Murdock’s face warped into a more typical sardonic grin. He put a hand to his chest and leaned forward in a tiny little bow. 

Caliban clicked his tongue, grinning back as he offered a slow applause. “Bravo.”

Azalea waited a few seconds before joining in. “Encor, encor.”

The grin fell from Murdock’s features as he corrected his posture and pouted. “Hey, say what you will about my act, but at least it’s convincing. Not quite as obvious as your pun-addiction.” He kept his voice low as he pointed an accusatory finger in Caliban’s direction. 

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not as bad as you always make it out to be; let Cal can have his fun,” Azalea argued, nudging at her brother’s arm with her elbow. 

Caliban nodded enthusiastically. “Besides, that one doesn't count. I only make things obvious when they need to be obvious.”

“. . .When?” Murdock asked, his brow furrowed as a concoction of blankness and aggravation flashed in his left eye. “When do things ever need to be obvious?”

“When it’s already too late,” Caliban chortled, deciding to be wild and add some extra sugar to his coffee.

“You of all people should know,” Azalea agreed.

Murdock was in the middle of an overexaggerated sigh. . .only to flinch and put his facade back on when the bell above the entrance interjected.

___

“It’s them,” Penn declared in a hushed tone, struggling to keep his head down and his eyes fixed on the table. 

Illinois hummed and squinted at him, a spoon in his hand softly clinking as he stirred creamer into his coffee. “What are you talking about?” 

Penn shuffled in his seat and pursed his lips, nodding past his companion. 

The adventurer turned his head, tossing a glance over his shoulder at three other patrons who sat at another booth on the opposite side of the diner. The only other people here aside from the waiter who he'd half-chatted-half-flirted with five or so minutes ago.

“Those guys?” Illinois murmured as he returned his focus to the paleontologist across from him. “Do you know any of them?”

Penn nodded. “Not the one with the white-band-thing wrapped around his head, but the other two. . .”

The other two indeed. They sat side-by-side:  a lanky man in a dark blue button-down and a truly petite women wearing white with a cherry-red headband. They both boasted fair skin and chocolate-colored eyes to match their hair. 

That was what really caught Penn’s attention.

Those two looked distinctly related. . .like siblings. . .or cousins. 

Cousins.

Cousins, cousins, cousins, a voice in Penn’s head chanted, getting a bit louder each time, competing with flashing images of that ever-shifting monster. . .of that ungodly amount of teeth, of what the monster had said about those teeth. . .

“It’s. Them,” Penn repeated, quieter yet harsher than before, willing his eyes to give off the same vibe as concrete in order to somehow beam that particular recent memory into Illinois’ head. 

Apparently his efforts were successful, as Illinois’ eyes widened from under the brim of his hat.

“Are you sure?” Illinois inquired, leaning ever-so-slightly forward. 

For a few seconds, Penn’s mouth merely opened and closed with no words coming out. Was he sure? Or could this be some weird cosmic coincidence? (Of course, Penn’s deeper instincts already knew the answer, but some of his nerves were now on fire, and the smoke obscured that just a bit.)

There was one guaranteed way to find out.

Subconsciously weaving his red neckerchief about his fingers, Penn gazed around the diner before zeroing in on the kitchen door. He watched it, listened to the muffled chorus of sizzles and hisses and pops and other trademark noises of cooking for what almost felt like an hour.

Until the wait—uh, Ness glided back out, this time deftly balancing a platter of food on one hand. 

That was where Penn finally moved. 

He shuffled out of the booth and headed over to an empty doorway near the far-side of the coffee counter with a sign proclaiming RESTROOMS hanging just above it.

He walked right past the table Ness was now delivering meals to; right past those three other customers. Penn let his eyes briefly wander over them as he traipsed by.

In a way, it was truly fascinating just how much you could see and feel in under a minute. (And it was equally embarrassing that whenever you knew that you had to be subtle or casual about something, you inevitably ended up trying too hard.)

Two pairs of eyes flicked over in Penn’s direction, one after the other. 

Memories from his childhood flashed in that millisecond of darkness as he blinked. Those images blurred in his peripheral vision as he got further away from that table, almost like they were trying to physically get out of his head and connect themselves to what he was seeing like puzzle pieces. They lingered in his reflection as he ducked into the restroom and hovered over the sink. 

He’d seen them both pause. 

He’d seen both their eyes widen. 

He’d seen that same spark of what could only be recognition etch its way across both their faces.

Both he and the sibling duo had just barely been teenagers the last time he saw them, and somehow. . .

Penn sighed, taking a long moment to splash some cold water on his face before trudging back out. He felt his cousins’ eyes on him as he passed by yet again.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he announced in a small voice as he sat back down.

Cal and Aza, his mind whispered, dredging up names from years and years ago. They’re here. They can see me, and they know I can see them. 

Illinois offered a slow nod, chewing his lip as his eyes wandered over to the window by the table. “Well. . .” Sooner or later, a bit of expectancy mixed into the contemplation in his features. “Are you gonna go talk to them?” 

Penn blinked. “‘Talk to them?’”

“I didn’t think there’d be an echo in here,” Illinois chided. 

If there was one thing to know about Illinois, it was that he had a knack for taking things in stride when they probably shouldn’t be taken in stride. It was usually his best quality, though sometimes it could also be his worst. 

Penn wasn’t quite sure which of those categories this scenario fell into. 

“I can’t just do that.” Penn argued.

“Why not?” Illinois wondered. 

“Don’t you remember what that thing said? How he worded it?” Penn couldn’t help but shudder.

All of those godforesaken eyes and fangs. . .

Illinois’ brow furrowed with a combination of empathy and exasperation. “Yeah, I do. I heard it all, and I know how awful it sounded. But like I said before: since you don’t know what he meant by all that, then you need to find out.”

Penn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You really think I can just ‘find out’ everything I need to know about such a cryptic message right now? In a place like this?” He spread his arms to gestures at anything and everything around them.

Somehow, the diner’s atmosphere remained quiet and normal. For the most part.

“. . .The Walmart incident really did a number on you, huh?” Illinois asked, though the question seemed a bit more aimed at himself than his companion. “I didn’t say you had to learn everything right now. Hell, I know that you probably won’t be able to. I’m just saying that you might not get an opportunity like this again. So. . .why not at least try to give it a shot?”

Any words that might’ve been forming died a quick death on Penn’s tongue. He shifted in his seat, suddenly compelled to stare at tiny imperfections in the table’s surface. 

Illinois sighed. “Look, whatever’s apparently going on is your business. That means you deserve to choose however you may or may not get some information or closure. I’m just trying to help.”

Oddly perfect timing worked in mysterious ways, as the statement had barely left Illinois’ mouth when the universe saw it fit to have Ness reappear and drop off ordered meals (eggs benedict for the paleontologist, biscuits and gravy for the adventurer).

With that, the duo tucked in. It’d been a long day, and it was unbelievable just how much being trapped in a car could really take out of you.

There was much less conversation than usual, but that wasn’t too much of a problem.

Though Illinois hardly ever missed a chance to talk someone’s ears off, he still knew when to keept quiet. So, he fished one of the many old novels he’d collected in his career (specifically The Egyptian Book of the Dead) out of his satchel, reading and reminiscing while he ate.

Penn, meanwhile, couldn’t stop glancing past his friend and at his cousins. 

On one hand, he knew it probably looked weird at best and maybe a little creepy at worst. 

On the other hand, while both Caliban and Azalea’s focus was fluctuating between their entrees and their companion, whose HMS Self Confidence seemed destined to keep hitting iceberg after iceberg. . .they were both glancing at him in that same quick-but-not-quick-enough-thus-painfully-awkward way.

They both shifted in place, whispered to one another. Just a moment ago, they’d acted with a confidence that Penn had never seen before, only for said confidence to evaporate when they realized who he was. 

Caliban had filled in nicely. He looked to be at a healthy weight now, but Penn couldn’t avoid recalling just how skinny he’d been in his youth. (Now, Penn knew he had no room to talk, because he’d had quite a metabolism as a child, but. . .well, people usually didn’t stay so thin after they had their first growth spurt, like the kid he’d seen at just a couple family reunions.)

Out of all the differences between then and now, the biggest one was a small scar that dragged over the skin on the left side of his upper lip. Each time Caliban opened his mouth to take in a bite of food or speak words that just couldn’t be made out thanks to the relative distance, Penn caught a glimpse of something silvery in his mouth, right below aforementioned scar. 

Azalea had been downright tiny as a child, despite the fact that she was a year older than both her brother and her cousin. Right now, her skin was practically glowing. Quite the departure from how pale she'd been back then, which had made the rings under her eyes stick out like a pair of sore thumbs.

And that, Penn realized, was something that had stayed. 

Neither of the siblings’ eyes looked sunken perse. . .but the skin beneath each pair of sockets still boasted hollows. 

The eyes themselves were a different kettle of fish. 

For Caliban, a vague hunger was still present, going deeper and darker. 

For Azalea, vigilance remained, now much sharper and more cunning. 

But there was. . .something else in both of them. 

Penn couldn’t tell what it was exactly. But somehow, he knew that it was very, very wrong. 

He took a break from his dinner to scrub at his own eyes, not hearing the footsteps until he re-opened them and saw the latter sauntering up to his and Illinois’ table.

___

“E-everything was great, thank you!” Murdock’s mask offered what had to be the sixteenth nervous smile tonight as he paid his portion of dinner. Aforementioned smile trembled on his face as he continued, “. . .Gareic would’ve loved it! Probably as much as he loved fireworks. . . ah, w-well, I don’t know for sure. I’ll never—I’ll never really know. . .”

Murdock then hunched his shoulders, forehead suddenly an inch from the table, putting on a truly Grammy-worthy act of fighting back tears. 

A cocktail of sympathy and confusion swirled about Ness’ features. He merely nodded, giving an appreciative look to Caliban and Azalea in turn. 

The siblings nodded right back in that classic Don’t Worry, We’ve Got This fashion. 

And as the waiter retreated once more, the trio made their way back outside, a rather hefty tip left in their wake. 

The shaking and choked sobs up and disappeared from Murdock’s body as he trekked over to his car, quietly celebrating a successful evening of making someone believe that he really was just another poor sap who probably wouldn't survive a public speaking class. 

While Caliban and Azalea would’ve given more sarcastic commentary on the matter, they found themselves having to concentrate on not looking over their shoulders. 

“. . .Why did you do that?” Caliban finally asked, referring to the way his sister had eventually gone over to strike up a conversation with their cousin. The way she’d acted all surprised to see Penn, given him a quick hug, introduced herself to his friend, the works. 

The way she’d ended up giving Penn one of her business cards for Aftertaste. . .

“I should be asking why you didn’t follow along with it. I had to make excuses about you being tired from a wild day. . .well, I mean, I guess I can cut you some slack for that part,” Azalea replied. 

Though that did get a chuckle out of Caliban, it was still laced with a bit of anxiety.

Azalea winced, giving him an apologetic glance before she continued. “I was setting up a gameplan.” 

“You saw that look in his eyes.” Caliban sucked his teeth. “We both did.”

Azalea fidgeted with her sleeves. “It’s been years upon years. It’s impossible for him to actually know about our work.” 

“Right, right. It’s just—” Caliban sighed, running a hair through his hair. “Something obviously happened. I don’t know how it could relate to us, but. . .” He trailed off as something cold traced along his ribcage. 

Azalea reached up to place a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ve gotten through much bigger things. I know how this feels right now, but it won’t be so bad later on. I promise.” She hesitated for a few long seconds, then added, “. . . It’s not like he ever tried to make things worse back then.”

Caliban gazed down at her and nodded. She was correct; she was taking initiative like she had so many times years before. She wouldn’t have to handle things alone. 

And Penn. . .well, Penn had been a good egg as a kid. Chances were he was still smart and reasonable today. 

Azalea nodded back. “What I did bought us some time to go over our stories. To come up with something convincing enough. So, once he accepts my little invitation and stops by for a visit—” 

“—we’ll be ready to put him at ease and keep him off any scent,” Caliban finished.  

Headlights beamed to life as Murdock took his place behind the wheel. 

Azalea didn’t call shotgun, but she didn’t really need to, She already had earlier that day, and Caliban, who knew his car etiquette, slithered over to the backseat without any fuss. 

Snare stirred, letting out a tiny yawn and stretching before clambering into his owner’s lap, curiously sniffing at the to-go box in said owner’s hand. 

As Murdock eased the car out of Sparky’s parking lot and back onto the main road, something in Caliban’s brain decided now was the time for him to start staring at those glowing windows. He glimpsed his sister looking in the same direction. 

Penn and his friend were still there.

It only took a moment or two before the restaurant became a small blur in the distance, but Caliban's instincts told him that his cousin could still feel his and Azalea’s eyes. . .

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lexusinsannus @sunny011387 @x-hotrose-x

[vinnfeyntheinsane]

Doughboy (Or, The Modern Prometheus)

Here is the Vinn Lore story that was requested by most (by most I mean @sallymew4. The sarcastic and pompous tone is intentional. Also, my mother is amazing lmao, she was reasonably very stressed about the downfall of society. And her 40,000 children.)

To set the scene, the year is 2020. It is the height of COVID and I am trapped in my home. I am bored out of my fucking mind.

---

One day, I was in the backyard, sitting on a rock, poking listlessly at dirt with a stick. Perhaps the symbols I inscribed in that dirt were meaningful, however none can say now, as they were soon drowned by the sprinklers, which turned on unexpectedly. They drenched the dirt, my stick, and my socks.

I did not move. I watched the sprinklers. They were faulty, and their water rarely managed to reach the cacti they were aiming for. In great coughing gurgles, these sprinklers spewed the lifeblood of the desert into the ashen dirt, turning the lifeless grey soil into a rich brown mud.

I tested the wet sand with my stick, aimlessly swirling the mud into patterns. It was thick, claylike. I knelt beside a puddle of sprinkler water, and I plunged my hands deep into the mud. I gathered a fistful of loamy clay, and rolled it into a ball.

It held.

Humans exist to create art, and the world exists as a canvas. Thus, the resulting creation was a work of divine art, a carnal creation of the purest instinct. It is impossible to say how many ancient ancestors I mirrored as I stretched and shaped wet clay into crude shapes. Clay was used to create monuments which house Egyptian pharaohs. It was used to create sculptures which have withstood the passage of millennia. On this day, it was used to create a creature of my own imagining. A beautiful piece of artwork which was shaped from dry desert, flowing water, and nimble fingers.

When my piece was done, I laid it upon hot concrete. The sun shone brightly that day, blessing my artwork with her rays, taking away the moisture it no longer needed. The once-malleable clay slowly began to harden. Creation was over, and now was the time for permanence.

In the meantime, I washed my hands in the sprinkler. The remnants of vibrant soil which had stuck to my hands slowly diluted as the water ran over them in brown rivulets. I turned to my artwork, and dried my hands on my pants. I picked up my creation, which was now hardened to the consistency of gingerbread. It was perfect. *He* was perfect.

The name of my creation was Doughboy. Images cannot truly express how glorious this clay creature was, but I will do my best to recreate him in a drawing:

Doughboy was a son to me. He was not the child of my womb, but the child of my hands. As mothers shape their children in the cradle of their stomachs, I shaped Doughboy in the cradle of my fingers. This is, perhaps, why my first instinct was to show my own mother what I had created.

I re-entered the confines of my home, cradling Doughboy in my arms. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the comparative darkness of the indoors. Away from the golden rays of the sun, Doughboy's colour seemed to fade. The magic of his creation diminished ever so slightly in my mind. I inhaled deeply.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-"

The person in question came running towards my call. Her hair was in a frazzled updo, her eyes were wild with stress, and there was a phone to her ear.

"MOM, LOOK," I announced, "I HAVE CREATED A MAN FROM DIRT AND WATER. I AM THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. MOM. MOOMMMM ARE YOU LISTENING?"

I had not noticed that my mother was on the phone until her eyes flicked from the receiver to my face. I paled as I saw the virulent look in her eyes. They locked to mine, holding them there, as she gesticulated wildly for me to shut up.

"Yes, sorry," she chirped over the line, "(insert insurance gibberish here)...blahblahblah write that down."

Rejection sliced through my heart. The pain of a pup being rejected by it's mother is no small thing, and I staggered away from the blow, through the back door, and back into the sun. I turned from the door, and in the brief instance before it closed, I saw my mother do the same.

Even in separation, we mirrored each other. Save one thing, and one alone. My mother cradled her cold and sterile phone, while I clutched a warm and living Doughperson.

In that moment, I vowed not to abandon Doughboy. I would not hurt him as I had been hurt. The cycle of generational trauma would end with me. As I made this solemn vow, tears coursed down my face, and dripped onto the eyes of Doughboy. Salty tears traced the contours of his face, melting the hardened clay. I patted his cheeks back into place, set him gently by my side, and sobbed.

Then I went back inside a little while later and completely forgot about Doughboy, until my siblings found him on the concrete. They thought he was a voodoo doll placed there by Satan. I explained what actually happened, and my mother came out and laughed until she cried. She apologized for not paying attention to me the first time. Then she did a photoshoot with Doughboy. I let my siblings play with Doughboy, and they immediately cracked his head off and left him in a puddle of water, where he promptly melted. I made a few more little Doughpeople, but they all died brutal deaths, so I eventually gave up.

[captain-of-the-roses]

Jimmy is a Canary, yellow winged and with a voice of song. His presence means chaos and death, has for years now, and with them all blinking awake in yet another game, one more is just added.

Still, he smiles. Still, he jokes with his friends and flutters his useless wings and tries his hardest to complete his tasks. He builds a home upon a hill, he laughs when Scar calls Joel 'John', he trails after Scott with familiar ease. Jimmy's heart threatens to beat out of his chest, to either save him from his fate or get it over with, but he keeps going.

Tango is a soothing sight to see. Fiery red hair and blinding grin, Jimmy watches him mess with the others and falls in in a way that only soulmates can. He spots Lizzie and Joel, yelling about mesa's and Joel's butt, and wisely walks away. He waves to Gem, watching her aggressively build a pink house. It is the early days, and he will savor what he can.

But the Canary in him sings in warning. The smoke is coming, black lungs and gunpowder covered cheeks just around the corner. Jimmy saw Scar and Grian come back, riding on a camel, covered in cacti spikes, and poking fun at each other, and his throat tightened. He saw Martyn craft a sword out of the corner of his eyes, and grimaced, for there was no Ren to temper him. He saw Bdubs and Impulse brush shoulders, eyes locking, and his wings puffed. The Canary continues to sing.

Endermen make him flinch, lava has his breath catching in his throat, the sound of far away arrows flying has him wincing, but he doesn't let the Canary sing. For if he does, Jimmy is afraid he is sealing his own fate yet again.

Maybe it won't be so bad, he tries to tell himself. Maybe it'll be Skizz this time, so close to dying in Limited Life as he was. Maybe it'll be Etho, who has Gem's joking -but perhaps not for long- attention. Maybe it will be Scar, who already failed one task.

And maybe he's fooling himself.

Jimmy is a Canary, yellow wings and with a voice of song. His presence kills him and those around him; it has for years and will continue to do so. There is nothing he can do to stop it, so he smiles anyway.

[grooviestsadpapaya]

Okay revisions!

So I’m gonna address some of the suggestions I got, they were all very good btw thank you!

We have some palate changes, rather than more greens the tones are warmer just to make them more recognizable.

More patterns on the pants and sleeves, they were kinda boring and I imagine that the Gerudo are a race that values arts, so boring clothes are a no go. Maybe their embroidery and designs are added on with time and as someone develops new skills there are more designs representative of that sewn onto their clothes.

Their shoes! I love them! I imagine the bottoms are made from Molduga tongue leather, since they are textured like that. They act like running spikes and stick to the sand so that these people can get around easier in the desert.

SCIMITAR 🗡🗡🗡🗡

Some things not present in the design that I will elaborate on in a future post:

The Gerudo use mainly satchels made from Molduga parts to carry supplies. I think I am going to make the Molduga more of a pivotal part in Gerudo culture since they are like the divine creatures of the desert. It is also canon that their organs are used for medicinal purposes, so I think it only makes sense that the Gerudo make use of every part of the beast.

The Gerudo have a gene that causes them all to be born female, and it is the same gene that makes them have four fingers. Because Ganondorf is male, he doesn’t have this gene and therefore has five fingers, a trait he inherited from his paternal father. The gene is dominant in Gerudo, hence why every other gene is recessed, making a male Gerudo incredible rare.

They have textured tongues so they are able to eat cacti! Unlike Hylians, who eat primarily meat and have vegetables and fruits as a minor part of their diet, meat is scarce in Gerudo Valley. When meat is not present (mostly in winter, when the Molduga are in hibernation) the Gerudo eat mostly cacti that have been cultivated in captivity, much like modern agriculture. Their rough tongues make it easier to eat without getting poked.

I might delete the other post with the old design, but I also might just keep it so that people can see my progress on this design. It’s been super fun! Hopefully I will come out with more ref sheets that I have been working on when I am tired of working on the comic. Please consider reblogging, this took a really long time and I would really appreciate it! You don’t have to of course but it does help me get criticism on improving my character design in the future.

[bullet-prooflove]

Free - Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader

TW: Very brief mention of abortion and DV. Drug taking.

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life, @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @vannabanana1995

It’s one in the morning and you’re up, sitting on the back porch, smoking a joint as you stare out into the depths of Riz’s small back garden. It’s sparse with a yucca and a couple of cacti and agaves scattered around to break up the grey. Somehow it works, those pops of green adding colour and texture to a landscape that would otherwise be barren.

You hear the pad of his quiet footfalls behind you and sigh. You’d left him sleeping, tangled up in the sheets. You thought he’d be out for the night but you’d forgotten how he likes to reach out for you in the early hours, how he gathers you up and kisses your hair when your half dreaming and whispers the sweetest words into your ear.

He sits down alongside of you, shoulders and hips touching. He’s thrown on the white vest and black shorts that he wears when the heat becomes unbearable. You offer him the joint and he plucks it from your fingers before taking a long drag and blowing it out of his mouth.

“What trouble are you in?” he asks, handing it back.

“The kind that ends in 25 to life if I murder the fucker.” You tell him gloomily.

“Who are we murdering?” he asks half seriously.

He says ‘we’ like he means it and that’s what you love about him. It’s always been ‘we’. He doesn’t have doubts like you do, he isn’t scared to fall, to tumble headfirst into something that has the power to devastate him if it goes wrong. He is open with his heart, his thoughts, his feelings.

“My ex is contesting the divorce.” You tell him, putting the joint between your lips and inhaling. “He’s taking me to court. I don’t want to do that because that means I have to look at him again and I…”

The words trail off as that hummingbird of anxiety flutters in your chest, because you remember the last time you laid eyes on that man. The rage in his face, the fury when you told him about the abortion. He wanted you to give up the music, the only thing that let sunshine pour into your droll little life. You were supposed to behave like a good little wife and slave away in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. You don’t remember much after the first hit, you just remembered waking up on the kitchen floor, your cheek pressed to the cold tile. You knew he was a mean bastard when he wanted to be but that was the first time, he’d laid hands on you; you’d made sure it was the last. You’d grabbed up those precious few items and disappeared into the night like smoke.

Riz’s palm came to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb soothing over the delicate space behind your ear. He knows you find it calming, that the sensation grounds you. You take a deep breath, your hand shaking as you take another pull on the joint.

“Ok.” He murmurs into your hair. “What if I go with you?”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You told him, blowing smoke out of your mouth and into the night time air. “He’s a fucking sheriff, he could make trouble for you, for the club. I’ll just withdraw the petition, wait until he’s calmed down a bit.”

Riz cupped your jaw, his fingertips gentle as he tipped your head up to meet his gaze.

“Songbird, it’s been almost two years. I don’t think it’s a matter of calming down.”

You both knew what this was. Wyatt wanted to drag you through the dirt, to humiliate you, to have your marriage memorialised in court documents that detailed exactly what you’d done to him. He didn’t view what he’d done to you as wrong, poking holes in condoms to intentionally get you pregnant, despite the fact you had told him time and time again that you didn’t want children. He thought you’d change your mind when you had the baby in you.

“I just want to be free.” You told him quietly.

It’s a whisper in the darkness, a hope, a plea.

Riz sighs because he knows he can’t give that to you. This is something you have to do for yourself, him removing the obstacle won’t help in the long run, he’s not deluded enough to consider that an option. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and gathers you close because all he can do is offer you some comfort in the middle of the shitstorm you’re facing.

“We’ll figure out a way.” He whispers into your hair. “I promise you’ll be free again.”

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bluebblurry]

More desert duo bits that i want to make into a full story but i’m working on like six other things lmao

“Scar.. c’mere for a second.” Grian said softly. The swiftly setting sun was making him nervous of the phantoms yet to come. Grian sighed; he’d already caused one of Scar’s deaths, he didn’t want to be responsible for more.

He pulled Scar by his sleeve into one of the houses in the village. It was quite rundown, missing bits and windows, but there was a full roof and a door, so that had to count for something.

Scar laughed, just amused and somehow content with being dragged. He hummed and leaned down a little, smirking. “Is there some reason you wanted to get me alone, Gri…?”

Grian blushed, spluttering as he tried to recover. “Wh- no! That’s– that’s not-!”

Scar giggled, “Oh calm down, I’m just teasing.” He bopped Grian on the nose, to which the avain grumbled. “So what’s up?”

Grian sighed, “I wanted to apologize.” He looked up at Scar with a troubled expression. “A-about getting you killed and all..”

Scar tilted his head, still just smiling. He looked calm and happy, silly as always. “G, I told you it was okay.” He laughed. “It’s no big deal, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Still.” Grian looked exasperated, biting his lip. “I feel like I need to make it up to you. I owe you.” Grian had already made up his mind, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. A thought crossed his mind, but he pushed it down, but not without considering it. He decided to take half of the idea, however.

So with shaking legs, Grian dropped to his knees in front of Scar.

It was Scar’s turn to blush, confusion crossing his brow. “Woah– Grian, what– whatcha doin’?” He looked slightly panicked, but Grian didn’t miss the spark of another emotion he couldn’t place. Excitement? Embarrassment? Both?

Grian took a breath, looking up at the tall brunet in front of him. It was an angle he’d never seen Scar from before, and he had to be honest, it was an angle he wouldn’t mind seeing all the time under different circumstances.

He cleared his throat. “My life is yours. I will… carry out your orders and do your bidding until I lose my first life. I will protect you, I will steal for you.. I will kill for you, if you want me to.”

“So.. you’ll do anything I want?” Scar was grinning, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Grian nodded. “Yes.” He felt breathless, bowing his head in submission. “Anything.”

Scar hummed. “Well, that’s good, because I already have some ideas.”

*****

Grian startled awake in bed, scrambling in the empty space around him. He couldn’t breathe, his head was spinning. It felt like his skin was on fire, needles seering through his veins. He wiped at his face, expecting blood, but his hand came away completely clean, save for the sweat.

“Sc- Scar?!” He called out, his voice a broken, tearful expression of fear. He sounded like a little kid, all small and terrified.

Scar poked his upper body around the corner, not looking up from the glass cup he was cleaning. “Yep?” He answered, blissfully unaware of the panic in his companion’s mind. When he was met with no response, he looked up from the glass to see Grian breathing heavily, his wings scrunched up behind him. Scar put the glass in the sink, quickly rushing down the hall. “Hey hey hey, G, it’s okay.” He whispered.

Grian clung tightly to him, gasping for air with his cheek against Scar’s chest. He wasn’t crying now, but he almost wished he was; it would help get rid of some of the tightness in his chest.

“Nightmare..?” Scar asked, his voice soft. Grian just nodded, unable to speak. Scar hummed quietly, playing with the hairs on the nape of Grian’s neck. “Wanna talk about it?”

He wanted to. He did, but he couldn’t. Not only was it difficult to speak, he was rapidly forgetting what had even happened in the dream. There was fire and a ring of cacti, but he couldn't remember what actually happened. He knew he’d been fighting someone, but he didn’t know who or why. So Grian just shook his head, shrinking a little in Scar’s arms.

“Well, I just made some cookies if you want any?” Scar offered, gently lifting Grian’s face. “They might help you feel better.”

Grian finally smiled a little. “Yeah.. th-they would, thank you, Scar.”

And there it was, that patented Scar grin. He simply shrugged. “It’s the least I can do for you after you spent literally five days building this house.” He giggled, leaning down and kissing Grian’s forehead. Grian blinked in surprise, speechless. “Thank you for that, by the way. Monopoly Mountain couldn’t be what it is without you.”

Grian smiled bashfully. “It was no problem. I had a lot of fun building it.”

Scar chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re exhausted, Gri, I can tell.” He released Grian, standing up. The avian almost chased after him, his fingers still curled around a fold in Scar’s sleeve. “I’ll go grab some of the cookies and come back.” He became bashful, his golden-yellow eyes soft. “A-and we could like, cuddle, o-or whatever, when I come back.”

Grian tilted his head, a smile growing across his face when Scar wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’d love that.” He gave Scar’s arm a little flick with his ear feathers. Scar just blushed in return, scurrying back to the kitchen.

*****

Grian stood at the top of the ravine, still in shock. Scar’s body hadn’t regenerated yet, instead sitting at the bottom in a crumpled heap. Grian had heard his legs break on impact, a sound that kept replaying and replaying in his head. He hoped the injury wouldn’t carry over into Scar’s third life, as injuries like that tend to stick.

He had something much worse to worry about now.. Scar was Red. Would Scar try to kill him now…? He still owed Scar a life, but his companion was Red! All relationships are broken… Maybe he should get out of here while he still can. Maybe it’d be better for both of them if he disappeared.

“Gri..?” He heard behind him. He whirled around to see Scar. His skin was dulled to a pale gray, his eyes now red as blood. His shirt was ripped, practically draped around him like a cape. He took a step, almost falling down.

Grian rushed to his side, helping him stay up. “Woah hey, Scar, I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s alright.” He whispered. “Here, sit down for a second.” He helped Scar sit down in the sand then started searching around for a solid stick that Scar could use for a cane. When he found one, he brought it over to Scar, no longer afraid. He was just worried now, hating that look on Scar’s face. “Are your legs alright..? Or is it just revival shocks?” He asked, his voice impossibly gentle.

Scar didn’t answer. He was just staring at the ground, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. Grian hated the silence. Scar was never silent, he was always talking and laughing, trying to get everyone else around him to laugh too. But now here he sat, distracted scarlet eyes following a lizard crawling across the sand.

“S-Scar…?” Grian asked, gently cupping Scar’s cheek. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

Scar looked up at him instantly when he said that, fear in his red eyes. “Scared? Of- of me?” He asked, his eyes all big and puppylike. He looked small, almost fragile, like that.

Grian shook his head quickly. “No, of course not, Scar.” He promised, gently stroking the brunet’s cheek with his thumb. Grian’s mind was racing a million miles a minute. He couldn’t bear to see Scar like this. He wanted to make it all okay. To go back in time and stop him from falling. To fix his legs. To at least make him smile. “Just.. are you okay?”

Scar took a breath. “I-I… I think I am. Walking kinda hurts…” his voice was quiet, shaking a little. He was still spooked from death, but Grian knew it would wear off. Come tomorrow, Scar would be himself again, just a lot more.. dangerous. Murderous.

Grian gave Scar the stick he’d found, helping him stand. The brunet was shaking, but he could stand now. Scar looked at him, his eyes soft. “Gods, Grian… you’re so amayzin’.” He said quietly, his eyes starting to shine with tears. “I’m so glad I have you.” He shuddered, breaking down into sobs.

Grian hushed him, hugging him gently as Scar practically collapsed into his arms. “Shh, Scar…” he whispered. “C’mere, let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

His heart ached as he brought Scar up to the house. It killed him to see Scar in pain, and why did he have to say that..? He always said things like that– sweet things, things that Grian didn’t understand how he could see. Scar was so kind to him, so very loving. Grian always found himself relishing in it for a few moments, before asking himself why Scar even cares. He didn’t deserve Scar’s love, so why was Scar so good to him..?

Grian couldn’t love Scar. He couldn’t. He wanted to, gods, he wanted to so badly… But he knew that he could never be a good partner to Scar. Grian was horribly selfish and closed off, how could someone like Scar love him? Scar was so wonderful. He was selfless, kind, caring, sweet…

And he was Red now. He was dangerous. He could turn on Grian at any moment. So Grian shoved his feelings back down.

Scar’s bed was all the way upstairs, so Grian tucked the brunet into his own bed, pulling the red comforter up around Scar’s shoulders. He handed Scar the plush he always loved to steal, a pink rabbit with a black handlebar mustache. It reminded them both of a friend.

Grian started to walk away, but Scar quickly grabbed his hand.

“Wait..” the brunet said softly, “..stay with me?”

Grian hesitated. Of course he wanted to stay, but it’d been because of him that Scar died. He was supposed to protect Scar and watch out for him, but he hadn’t been watching. He hadn’t seen the ravine. It was his fault…

“Pl-please…” Scar begged, his voice breaking. Tears were forming in his eyes again.

Grian nodded quietly, lifting the covers to slip in next to Scar. Grian snaked an arm around his waist, tucking his face between Scar’s shoulder blades.

He knew that Scar liked being the little spoon, but sometimes he wanted to be the little spoon. He physically couldn’t, though, because of his wings, and that made him a little sad, but he didn’t complain. It made Grian happy when he could make Scar happy, so perpetual big spoon he would be.

*****

Grian was backed up against a wall, both physically and psychologically. Scar was in front of him, red eyes seeming to glow in the low light of the candles. Grian didn’t know what to do, his mind getting fuzzy from Scar’s hot breath on his neck.

“Grian…” came Scar’s low growl of a voice. It made Grian shiver. “What happened to our enchanter…?”

Grian swallowed the lump in his throat. “I-I..” he cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. “Cleo came a-and took it,” his voice was a shaking whisper. Was Scar about to kill him? Grian certainly deserved it; he’d gotten the enchanter stolen! “Sh-she dropped it into a lava pool.”

Scar frowned. He didn’t look right with a frown. “Hm..” he looked pensive, glancing away for a moment, “now that just won’t do, will it?” His eyes snapped back to Grian, pinning him in place. Grian felt the heat behind those scarlet eyes, and he wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or utterly aroused, because holy moly, Scar was so close to him right now

“I-I, um, wh-what– h-how can I f-fix it?” Grian offered up, hand shaking as he brought it up to Scar’s chest, placing his palm flat. “D-do you want me t-to steal Ren’s? Be- because I can do that! I-if you want me to! I-I’ll be so good, Scar, they w-won’t even notice I’m–”

He was cut off by Scar’s finger over his lips. The brunet gave a shushing sound, smirking. Grian was already caught off guard, so he was definitely not prepared when Scar slotted his knee between Grian’s thighs, pressing his body flush against the blond’s. Scar hummed softly, his hands traveling down to Grian’s wrists. He lifted them above Grian’s head, holding them there with just one of his much bigger hands. The other came back down to hold Grian’s chin by his thumb and pointer finger. He turned Grian’s head slightly to the side, leaning down to his ear. “You’ll be good, huh..?”

“Y-yes,” Grian breathed, hearing just how whiny his own voice had become. “I-I won’t let anything happen this time, I–!”

“Grian.” Scar smiled. “I don’t want to risk your life, but if you get that enchanter for me, then I’ll give you a reward..” he softly grinded his hips against Grian’s, making the blond gasp. He exhaled shakily, his jaw hanging open slightly.

Gods, those eyes… Grian’s own eyes fluttered closed, his head tipping back against the wall. His face felt as red hot as Scar’s eyes.

Scar grabbed his chin, tugging his attention back. “So.. are you gonna be a good boy, Gri..?”

[darkvolt]

Stumbled on this video by Minisodes, and thought it be a fun idea to try out making some SciFi Cacti.

  I joined the hobby back in 2008, so these were before my time, but I really like the crafty aspect, and different interpretations people have come up with to make plant terrain.

Wooden discs as bases, foam balls of various sizes, untangled jute string fibers wrapped around the bigger ball, and a cut popsicle stick to make the spines. An Awl to poke holes and wood glue to hold it all together.

For the Paintjob here, I used a dark purple as a base, and left it in the shadowy areas, and progressively used mixes of green on the plant, and red for the spikes, ending with highlights of a lighter color for each. A light black, water diluted, ink wash, to tie it all together.

only build one larger one because I need to buy me more foam balls for this, but having some small ones makes it feel like a living plant in different stages of growth, and the smaller balls give the plant a nice texture. as does the fibers.

[sartelainargret]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge 2024 (Prompt #1)

Prompt: #1 (Steer) Point of View: Sartelain Argret Spoilers: No, unless some visual details about an early Dawntrail area are spoilers to you Timing: Sometime after Dawntrail’s Main Scenario Quests Word Count: 777 --

You and I have been together a long time now. Long enough that I know by the rock of your gait that you are tired.

It is still a long way to our destination, but now I look for a quiet place to rest for the night. Near a stream, perhaps, or at a little town with a warm stable, or at least a clearing sheltered from the dust of the road where I might build a fire for the evening. I pull back gently on your reins, and we slow to a walk—rider and chocobo synced by years of adventures together. I feel your relieved sigh reverberate through my whole body.

“We’ll stop soon, Thaddic,” I encourage you aloud.

“Kweh.” You agree it is almost time. I think that even if I did not have the Echo, I would know what you meant.

This is an old dance to us both. The road that stretches before us is not the dustiest one we have trod, nor the cruelest, nor the longest. Thankfully, it is also not the most urgent. You have ferried me to battles from which I was uncertain I’d return. Yet you were always sure that we would see each other again. So far, you have always been right.

The crisp air takes on an uneasy chill, and the jagged mountains bleed purple and peach out of the retreating daylight. I see a barren outcropping at the top of a slope nearby; it overlooks much of the Urqopacha valley. Worqor Zormor looms, stern and imposing in the distance. This is a good place for a campsite and a view of the mountain both.

I steer you off the dirt-packed road and up the cliffside. We take it slow in case there are loose rocks underfoot. When we are on even ground again, I signal for you to stop. I pat the glossy feathers of your neck.

“Thank you, my friend,” I say.

“Kweh!” You tell me it is nothing, in your cheery way.

I dismount, remove your saddle and bridle, and unpack your saddle bags. Then I offer you some Gysahl Greens from our provisions; you inhale them with reckless abandon. While you nibble curiously on the native grasses that are poking out of the dirt, I look for kindling suitable to sustain a fire. There are few trees here, and I’ve learned that cacti make for a poor campfire. Nonetheless, I find some dead, shrubby thing that will suffice.

The sky is a gradient of greys and dark blues by the time I return. You are already curled up with your beak laid over your talons in preparation to sleep. You open an eye when I approach.

“Kweeeh…” You are glad I am back.

I light a fire, pull out some dried provisions from my pack, and sit down near the fire’s warmth to eat and watch the stars twinkle into existence for the night. You make a contented noise; I think you might be asleep already.

How many more of these journeys do we have left in us? You tire more easily these days. I do not want to think of the day on which they become too much for you.

Today’s ride was long and rough. My body aches from it, and I wonder if I am not becoming a bit tired of this kind of thing, myself. The dried meat is bland and unappetizing after so many days of it, too.

To raise my spirits, I think of the hot meal and warm bed that await me once this job is done. I imagine myself having my fill of it, of gladly choosing to head out again—of my curiosity getting the better of me, as it often does.

Still, I find it easier and easier to imagine a day where I no longer choose this kind of life. I hope—if that day comes—that I find something else that fills me with as much awe as the cloudy, nighttime vista that dances, dreamily, before me tonight. If only it was not so hard to reach these sorts of places, the ones so rarely trodden but so full of wonder.

The moon reveals itself, half alight, from behind a cloud. My heart dances at the sight. Inspiration takes me; I pull out a quill, an inkpot, and a well-worn journal from my pocket and jot down the inklings of a new poem.

It is so very quiet here. I can hear each gentle breath that you take as you sleep. I wonder, absently, if you are dreaming. If so, I hope that your dream is a pleasant one. --

[antilocaprine]

kiss prompt 47 please? 👉👈

(Kiss Prompt List)

This is it. The Final Kiss Prompt. I finally got them all cleared from my inbox. We climbed this whole mountain. Everyone give yourselves a pat on the back. (And a thousand thanks to Peach, who helped me brainstorm a plot when I was drawing a blank on this prompt.)

47: ...out of spite.

Gordon hit the ground with a clang like a cymbal crash, and Bubby booed from the top of the ladder.

“Hurry up, Gordon, we’re going to be late!”

“It’s - I can’t - I only have one hand, dude!” Gordon flailed the bloody stump in the air. Bubby huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Excuses, excuses,” he said, then looked over his shoulder and darted away. “Tommy, stop that! I want some!”

“Christ,” Gordon hissed, letting his sweaty forehead rest against the cool metal railing with a thunk. 

“hey, wow, what’s wrong with you? can’t even…d’you need to uh, download a ladder pack? huh? need a skill check?”

“I will fucking murder you,” Gordon replied in a conversational tone, not moving his head.

“that’s not very nice,” Benrey muttered. “can you, uh…can you move, then? so i can go?”

Gordon turned around and thumped his shoulders against the ladder rungs, squarely blocking the way as he leveled a glare at Benrey.

“No. Fuck you. You can fucking - teleport, or some shit. Did you forget I saw you drop out of the goddamn sky earlier? Go do that.”

“huh? no i didn’t.”

“Yes you did, you motherfucker! I saw you! There was a cactus there!”

Benrey smirked. “that doesn’t sound right. i don’t like, uh….cactuses.”

“It’s ‘cacti,’” Gordon snapped. 

“what is?”

“The plural of - of cactus.” Gordon felt like he was losing control of the conversation, but forged on regardless. “It’s not cactuses, it’s cacti.”

Benrey shrugged. “okay. weird. can you move, please?”

Gordon leaned back harder and awkwardly crossed his arms as much as he could without dripping too much more blood over his one remaining hand. “No.”

Benrey hummed, glancing up at the platform the other scientists had already scaled, then looking back at the tunnel they’d all just come through. “okay, fine,” he sighed. “if you let me up i’ll, uh, give you a kiss.”

“You’ll - what?” Gordon nearly choked.

“you heard me.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Gordon replied weakly. “Why do you - in what world would that be an incentive to me?”

“i dunno, man,” Benrey shrugged. “you’re the one who keeps, uh, eatin’ my balls. sayin’ my voice is pretty. i’m just -”

“Your voice is not pretty,” Gordon interrupted. “Your - it’s the sweet voice, the - the singing -”

“i’ve heard you,” Benrey said mildly. “no take-backs.”

“It’s not a take back, okay, it’s - I never said that in the first place, it’s you putting words in my mouth -”

“you wish i put stuff in your mouth,” Benrey muttered, and Gordon sputtered at him. 

“Why would I even want to kiss you, huh? Because I don’t. At all.”

Benrey glanced at the top of the ladder again, and Gordon tipped his head back as well to make sure the others weren’t poking their heads over like a peanut gallery.

“i guess that makes sense,” Benrey said, and Gordon looked back down to see him inspecting his nails. He kept losing and regaining the chipped black nail polish, to the point that Gordon wasn’t sure it was even real - but he had it now, and seemed unperturbed by the cracked state of his nails. “i mean,” he continued, “i wouldn’t want to kiss someone this good if i was, uh, that bad.”

“Excuse me?”

“s’common sense,” Benrey shrugged. “you prob’ly don’t have the, uh, skillset for that either. gotta…level up first. ladders, kissing - you’re really…not prepared for all this.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gordon snapped, flailing his good arm at Benrey. “Don’t tell me I suck at kissing when you - you don’t know shit!”

“yeah, well, you’re obviously scared to, so…”

“I am not scared to, okay, I just have no desire to - you - you’re the one who brought it up!”

“what, are you thinkin’ bout kissin’ all day?”

“What? No!” Flustered and confused by the direction this conversation had gone in, Gordon spun around and grabbed the ladder again, kicking his foot up and starting to climb. But he’d only made it three steps before his boot slipped on a rung and he barked his shins on the railing as he was forced to let go and drop back to the floor with a clang.

Gordon glared at the offending rungs at the base of the ladder. He wasn’t sure if it was his or someone else’s, but something had recently dripped enough blood on the bottom two rungs that the boots of the HEV suit were slipping - and without the balance of two hands to hold himself up, Gordon was at a disadvantage.

“wow, don’t hurt yourself,” Benrey said from behind Gordon, and he hunched his shoulders and fought the urge to rip the ladder off the wall and beat Benrey to death with it.

“Shut up,” he said instead. “Shut the fuck up, don’t -”

Somewhere above them, something exploded. Gordon flinched and glared up at the top of the platform.

“Fuck, we have to get up there.” Then he turned and looked at Benrey - at his two good hands, and his one good gun. “What am I saying, I’m useless in a fight right now. You have to get up there; they might be in trouble.”

“yeah? well, let me by, then.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted in distaste, but he stepped aside. “Ladder’s slippery,” he said as Benrey trotted past him.

“uh-huh,” Benrey replied scathingly, and scurried up the ladder like a fucking lemur.

“Goddammit,” Gordon snarled, and followed him laboriously, setting both feet before moving his hand, keeping his severed arm tucked close to the chestpiece of the HEV suit.

More gunshots echoed overhead, and Gordon even heard a couple bullets sing by as they flew over his head. Another explosion rattled the ladder and he had to pause and just hold on as concrete dust and rust flakes rained down on him from the ceiling. All in all, he was pretty fucking pleased with himself when he hauled his sore body over the top of the ladder and collapsed onto the platform.

“Two out of ten on the dismount,” Bubby’s voice yelled from several yards away. Facedown on the concrete, Gordon raised his hand and flipped him off.

“why not one out of ten?” Benrey asked, from slightly closer.

“Well, he’s not actually dead,” Bubby replied, then there was a whoosh of flame and his cackling grew more distant.

Gordon growled and dragged himself upright in stages. He swayed on his feet for a moment until his head stopped spinning, then walked carefully away from the bloodstained ladder. Benrey stood with his back to Gordon, idly spinning his gun around one finger. The others appeared to be further down the single corridor. At least Gordon didn’t have to make a choice on which way to go: he could just follow the explosions.

Benrey glanced up as Gordon drew even with him. “wow, good job completing the ladder level,” he droned. “tomorrow we’ll, uh, start on stairs.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Gordon said pleasantly. “What happened to the kissing level, huh?”

“nah,” Benrey shook his head. “you’re way too, uh, underpowered. gotta level up more before you could even try to hold your own.”

Gordon snorted. “Is that so? And what - what evidence is that judgment based on, you dick?”

“i know things,” Benrey said primly. “gordon freeman sucks at kissing. everyone knows that.”

Gordon’s jaw clenched, and he darted a glance down the corridor to make sure it was empty of both friends and foes. Once he knew there were no witnesses, he reached up and snagged Benrey’s jaw, tugging his face around and up.

“bwuh?” Benrey said.

Gordon ducked his head and kissed him with spiteful intensity. He pulled out all the stops, working their mouths together, darting his tongue out to dance across the seam of Benrey’s lips, then biting Benrey’s lower lip and tugging it sharply as he pulled back. When Gordon straightened up, Benrey sagged against him, both hands gripping the HEV suit like he would fall down without its support.

“Don’t even try to score that, I know it was ten out of ten,” Gordon said, trying to disguise his hammering heartbeat. Benrey looked too dazed to notice anything - he was flushed bright red and his eyes were glassy and shocked. Gordon snorted and unhooked his hands one at a time from the HEV suit. Benrey swallowed, then stepped back, still holding the pistol in one hand.  He gave it a halfhearted twirl and fumbled his grip.

The pistol went off, firing up at an angle. A moment later, a bloody pigeon smacked into the concrete and bounced, leaving a puff of feathers where it hit the ground. Gordon and Benrey both stared at it.

“i, uh…i didn’t mean to do that,” Benrey mumbled.

“It happens to plenty of guys,” Gordon said, his voice only slightly strangled. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

He could only keep a straight face for a moment, though. It lasted until Benrey turned a betrayed expression on him, and then he had to take off, whooping laughter echoing off the corridor walls as he hurried after the rest of their group.

Benrey would follow him, Gordon knew that. He would watch his back, if only to try to get revenge for the kissing thing later. And if it involved more kissing…well. Gordon touched his lips, still grinning. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that.