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kumeko · 3 months ago

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A/N: For the @jshkflowerszine! I really liked delving into Aoi and her many masks.

…

Anemone:

On Valentines day, Aoi entered the dining room to find a bouquet of anemones on the table. The white flowers were carefully arranged in a vase, a red ribbon wrapped around the glass to finish off the ensemble. Beneath the vase was a card, one that Aoi didn’t need to open to know its contents.

It was the same every year after all.

Looking up from his newspaper, her father noticed her stare and smiled. His white teeth gleamed in the gloomy morning light, as though even the sun couldn’t muster enough energy today. “For your mother.”

Aoi’s eyes flickered to him, then back to the vase. The silken white petals couldn’t hide a black center, and she tried not to laugh. Even his flowers reflected his true self. Donning an unauthentic smile, she gave the most inoffensive reply she could manage. “They’re lovely.”

For a moment, he said nothing, and she wondered if he could see through her lies. If he knew she could see through his.

“They’re your mother’s favourite,” he replied benignly, and the moment was broken. After taking a final sip from his coffee, he got up, his chair scraping harshly against the ground. “I can’t wait for her to wake up, so I’m leaving them there.”

Aoi glanced at the time—it was only 7:30. Her father had an hour and half till his work started. His work was only half an hour away. Where are you going? she almost asked, but she didn’t really want to know. It wasn’t where he said he’d go, and that was all that mattered. Any further speculation was pointless. “Drive safely.”

Mug in hand, he stopped beside her. “Of course. And don’t worry,” he plucked a flower from the vase, presenting it to her with a wink. “I haven’t forgotten about you at all. Happy Valentines.”

He had mistaken her stare, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Instead, Aoi smiled even brighter, taking on a sugary sweet look as she delicately accepted the flower. Holding it to her nose, she smelled it and sighed blissfully. “Thanks! I’ll give you some chocolates later.”

“I look forward to it. I have something better prepared than this, don’t worry,” he added, his big hand landing in her head. He ruffled her hair once before letting go. “Anyways, see you later.”

“Bye!” she chirped back cheerfully, watching as he disappeared down the hallway and out the front door. The second she heard the lock click, her smile vanished. Pinching the flower between two fingers, Aoi walked to the trashcan and dropped the limp plant.

Her mother could fall for his insincere words if she wanted to. Aoi refused to.

Chrysanthemum:

“Aoi!” Nene chirped as she stood in front of her desk. Despite her energetic bouncing, she carefully plopped a bright blue mesh bag on the wooden surface with a soft thud. A delicate white chrysanthemum poked out of the top of the bag and Aoi followed its stem down to the cookies inside. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” Aoi hummed as she pulled the drawstrings, opening the top just enough to pull out the flower. It was a lot more work than she’d expected from Nene. It was also a lot better than she expected considering her friend’s general clumsiness. Holding the flower to her nose, she breathed in its sickly-sweet scent. Disgusting. “It’s lovely!”

“Ehehehe.” Embarrassed, Nene rubbed her wrist. Her fingers were covered in bandages and Aoi was glad to see that she’d guessed right about that at least. “I’m glad you like it.”

Inserting two fingers into the bag, Aoi carefully snatched up a cookie. It wasn’t even burnt, a rare achievement for a girl who could barely make it through a single home-ec course. A nibble verified that it was a little sugary, not overly so, and maybe Nene was better at cooking than she thought.

Or maybe, Aoi wasn’t the real reason they were made. Glancing at Nene’s desk, she noticed another bag poking out of the opening, a flower attached. Carefully hidden, it looked like something out of a shoujo manga.

The only question left was who that special someone was. After weeks of watching, Aoi wasn’t any closer to guessing just which classmate Nene would disappear with for hours at a time. Smiling brightly, Aoi looked up. “Giving anyone chocolates this year?”

“You?” Nene cocked her head, puzzled. “They’re chocolate chip cookies.”

“No, I meant…” Aoi dropped her voice to a low whisper, dragging out each syllable for emphasis. “Some-one spe-cial?”

“What?” Immediately, Nene flushed and she shook her head violently. It was a good thing no one else was around; Nene’s pigtails would have demolished them. “N-no!

Aoi didn’t know how to respond to that obvious lie. Resting her chin in her hands, she tried to wheedle the answer out. “No?” She pursed her lips doubtfully, her eyes big. “Not even a crush?”

“Definitely not!” she squeaked. The denial was quicker this time, but Nene’s skin turned two shades darker. She looked like an apple, the blush spreading from her cheeks to her ears.

Was it a good thing if Nene was a terrible liar, or a bad thing? Aoi wasn’t sure, though at least if Nene was better at this, Aoi wouldn’t have realized it. She’d rather not realize the deceit than face it head on. Sighing, she dropped the question and pulled out another cookie. “If you say so.”

“Yep, no crush, not at all,” Nene rambled, unable to recognize a mercy for what it was. Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands behind her back and asked quietly, almost shyly, “What about you?”

“Me?” Aoi blinked. Just behind Nene, standing at the front of the classroom was Akane. She could only see his back as he cleaned the chalkboard, his square shoulders that she’d memorized since childhood. Tearing her eyes away, she shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Oh.” Disappointed, Nene’s shoulders slumped.

“Hey, Nene,” Aoi whispered, feeling a little mischievous. Or maybe she just wanted some revenge. “Have you heard the rumour of the Lover’s Fountain?”

Freesia

Aoi stared at the folded white paper in her shoe cubby. Just like with her father’s card, she didn’t have to open it to know what was on it. She picked it up anyways, pinching the paper between two fingers as she retrieved it. It was no surprise to find Akane’s neat writing inside, nor was it a surprise to find that he wanted to give her a Valentines gift privately.

Honestly, she didn’t know why he bothered with this whole ritual. Whether it was behind the school gym or right here in the middle of the school entrance, they were going to do the same song and dance. It wasn’t like it was a secret either—the whole school knew the moves, knew his obvious crush and her blunt rejections. It was naïve to pretend otherwise.

Either way, she obliged, carrying the rose-scented paper with her as she slowly walked around the gym. There, standing nervously next to the school pond, was Akane. His hands were clasped behind his back, as though his lean frame could hide the bouquet of roses he was holding. Well, not entirely lean—he’d filled out a little when she wasn’t looking.

Aoi’s hand curled slightly at the thought. First glasses, then after school disappearances, and now this—Akane was full of surprises.

She didn’t like it, and she didn’t know why.

“Aoi?”

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she smiled angelically. Swallowing her distaste, she asked, “Yes? I don’t have chocolates for you.”

“That’s fine.” His smile didn’t waver in the least. Perhaps this had become an obligation for him too, then. Something in her twisted at the thought. “I have something for you.”

He whipped out the bouquet now, the dozens of flowers filling her sight. It was the paper’s smell buta far stronger, and she kept her smile bright as she gently accepted the gift. Maybe she could give them to her mother. She deserved something better than her husband’s thoughtless presents.

“Thanks.” Holding the bouquet loosely, she waited for the final part of the dance. The earnest marriage proposal that she would flatly reject as she had their entire life.

Instead, Akane held out his other hand, containing a smaller bouquet of yellow flowers. Freesia, she dimly recognized as she stared at the offering like it was a bomb.

“They’re for you too,” Akane explained, scratching his cheek bashfully,

It explained nothing. This wasn’t in the script. Aoi could only stare at the gift, not sure how to respond besides a confused, “Huh?”

“Red roses are the only things that can contain my love, but these flowers…they made me think of you.” Reaching forward, Akane gently wrapped her free hand around the bright bouquet. “So I wanted you to have those too.”

The roses, she could understand. This though…Akane looked at him, mystified. “How?”

“They’re cute flowers,” he answered, pulling one out of the bunch and pressing it to his nose. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “But they’re also a little childish.”

She could tear her eyes away, couldn’t move. “Childish?”

“Hiding within themselves, not telling the truth, seeing in others their own flaws.” She couldn’t be imagining how sharp his eyes were, how pointed his tone. “They’re the very definition of immature.”

For a second, Aoi forgot how to breathe. Did he know? The thoughts she kept to herself, the girl behind the mask? Did he see through her? She could almost taste the bitter tears of long ago, when he had said he’d hated her. Her heart clenched at the memory, at the potential repeat of it all.

“Despite that though.” He kissed the flower, closing his eyes as he broke the spell. “An angel, through and through.”

He smiled at her brightly now, and the moment was gone. Aoi remembered how to breathe. Her heart calmed. By the time Akane got onto his knee, she’d mostly recovered.

“Will you marry me?”

“No,” she replied instantly, giving him one of those honey-sweet smiles that he never saw past.

“Right,” he sighed, hunching over slightly.

“Well, then, bye! Can’t keep Nene waiting!” Eager to leave, she waved quickly before heading back to the school entrance. Her fingers still trembled as she held the freesia.

Childish.

She wasn’t.

Immature.

She wasn’t.

Lying—

She wasn’t. She wasn’t. She wasn’t.

With a sharp cry, Aoi hurled the flowers into the school garden. She wasn’t any of those things. Her father was, Nene was, Akane was, but Aoi…

Aoi just had to weather those things from others. She was a good girl surrounded by liars. That was all.

#toliet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #aoi akane #akane aoi #yashiro nene #tbhk #jshk #fanfic #i really need to catch up with the manga again #i haven't read it in like two years #and the arc was interesting!

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boltedgarlic · 8 months ago

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taglist~

you’ll have to use the search function unfortunately :( i am no longer linking all my tags. if you’re on desktop, my theme should have a search bar!

dated by year

1980 | - | 1994 | - | 1997 | - | 1999 | - | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023 | 2024 | - | 2039

dated by month

holidays/seasons

locations

alabama / alaska / arkansas / california / connecticut / idaho / illinois / indiana / iowa / kansas / kentucky / louisiana / maryland / missouri / new mexico / new york / north carolina / ohio / oregon / pennsylvania / tennessee / texas / utah / west virgina / wisconsin

animals

pets

art/mediums

artists

Ween

colors

food & drink

characters/licenses/media

interior

exterior/outside

miscellaneous tags

my tags

updated: 09/13/2024

#taglist #long post #my favorite tags are bolded #and will be hyperlinked when i get around to it

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iffoundreturntosea · 11 months ago

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February 12, Day 43

Day 43 2015

Just doodling in my journal today.

#doodling #journal #doodles #journaling #create #creative #art #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2016

Day 2 of 7 nature challenge, bush out on my walk with Elly today!

#bush #flora #outdoors #walk #nature #leaves #red #shadesoflove #february #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2017

I thought sharing was caring! ahah

#girlscoutcookies #smores #cookie #chocolate #haha #february #picoftheday #project365 #day43

This is one of my favorite shots from this month. Makes me smile every time I see it.

Day 43 2018

Once a year when she needs her shots I am blessed to be able to see my baby, Josey!!!

#josey #forevermybaby #furkid #pup #dog #dogsofinstagram #love #lookslikeamugshot #atthevet #treats #pictureofapicture #instax #polaroid #snapshot #february #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2019

Some days having a break in a library pays off.

#breaktime #read #books #hunt #find #plentytochoosefrom #ifallelsefailstheresalwaysabook #theresabookforthat #murdermystery #mystery #series #joannefluke #plumpuddingmurder #nationalplumpuddingday #february #feb12 #2019 #nationalday #nationaldaycalendar #picoftheday #project365 #day43

It hasn't gotten past me that I felt the need to excuse or defend my library posts. I always had to put it out there that I was on break. Strikes me as silly now.

Day 43 2020

They keep saying snow but I might as well be in Texas bc it’s only been rain and ice

#outdoors #missouri #winter #ice #rain #iwantsnow #nature #february #february12 #2020 #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2021

Not bad for shooting through a windshield of a moving car!

#nature #outdoors #hawk #birdofprey #onthehunt #flyby #bird #sky #lessstressmorefun #whateverthehelliwant #february #february12 #2021 #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2022

Finally feeling well enough to celebrate my birthday with the family. Root beer floats and birthday cake truffles!

#birthdaygirl #celebrate #family #smile #love #books #treats #february #february12 #2022 #picoftheday #project365 #day43

I sure miss my fam!

Day 43 2023

Stanley is so cool. Coworker found him attached to a piece of floating plastic, scooped him up and we kept him going until we could release him in an area with rocks to hold onto! Pick up your trash people! Do it for the Stanleys!!!

#anemone #seacreatures #rescue #justamermaidoutheresavinglives #february #february12 #2023 #picoftheday #project365 #day43

Day 43 2024

Watch out for the sharpness of pretty things.

#scissors #dailytheme #flower #create #art #color #february #february12 #2024 #picoftheday #project365 #day43

I was thinking of paper snowflakes when I created this scissor flower. So fun!

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sugaaaaaaaar · 2 years ago

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*CRASHES* h-hi it’s me agein 😼 thank you so much for drawing ristretto with their workaholic dad but UH I HOPE YOU DONT MIND ME REQUESTING AGAIN 😭

Can I get a 🧋🍭 with my self insert oc red anemone and sparkling slow dancing or anything up to you

Tw: old art (kinda. Also don’t mind the blue spots I accidentally smudged some crayons on it)

also if your going to draw them slow dancing you could always take the wings off! She has the ability to take her wings off (OMG NO ONE CARES STOP TALKING ABT YOUR OCS LORE)

Make sure to take your time and put no pressure on yourself!!

Notes: wow, and it only took me 100 years to get this out (but hey I'm back). Also I CARE AND I DREW HER WINGS BECAUSE I RESPECT OCS AND OC X CANON. I am very sorry this took so long but I hope you like it :)

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cr kingdom #art #cookie run oc #cookie oc #cookie run fanart #red anemone cookie #sparkling cookie #I have one more art request and then I'll open them again #request art #🍪#🍭

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shr00mie-rat · 3 years ago

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Ok so, I actually had something to post

𝐀𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞: Vanishing hopes

#dark choco cookie #cookie run #digital drawing #fanart #Red #anemone #Shr00mie-art

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my-blind-album · 2 years ago

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Clarissa; MERRY CHRISTMAS!! *squeals in excitement*

Reader; I'm too tired for this, Clarissa *sighs*

Clarissa; Why not?

Reader; There's nothing really special about it, the cookies are just normal with an icing of green/white and red people are dressing in 3 colours only it snows in winter all the time so the snow is no help at all

Anemone; Clarissa, Reader look what I found

Clarissa; What is it?

Anemone; Really Clarissa it's mistletoe

Clarissa; Wow, see Reader Christmas isn't all that bad

Reader; Whose dumb enough to do that stupid tradition? *crosses arms*

Lesso; What the hell is this? *points above her head*

Clarissa; Lesso you're standing under a mistletoe

Reader; WHERE?!

SORRY IM LATE WITH A CHRISTMAS THEMED ONE

#gxg #gxglesbianlgbt #school of evil #the school for and evil #school for good and evil #lady leonora lesso #lady lesso #lady lesso x you #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso #fem reader #lady lesso x female reader #lady lesso x fem #female reader

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tarotbee · 3 years ago

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Ways of Worshipping Loki

( For @wtf-is-a-christian / @wtf-is-a-pagan )

- flattery! As with most Norse Gods, flattery goes a long way, flatter them, talk about them to people, talk to other followers of Loki

- candy such as warheads, pez, pixie sticks, sourpatch kids etc and chocolate

- McDonalds food and drinks,,

- ,,, energy drink

- caramel apples

- peppers and chillies!

- cake! Specifically red velvet cake and other baked treats such as cookies and pastries

- Liquorice / Liquorice scented/flavoured things

- his associated herbs: common haircap moss, birch, mistletoe, bentgrass, cinnamon, tobacco, columbine, anemone, carnations, dahlia and dandelions

- cigarettes

- try new things, allow change into your life, embrace it, this in itself is a way of honouring Loki

- Red, orange, green or Black candles

- learn pyromamcy (fire divination)

- their associated stones: opal, labradorite, pyrite, hematite, gypsum, obsidian, sulphur, bloodstone, calcite, carnelian, red jasper, ruby, garnet and any other stones that really call out to you as "this is something Loki would like"

- alcohol such as mead, wine, spicy rum, cinnamon liquor, beere and whiskey (specifically fireball)

- coffee or hot chocolate

- tell stories around a campfire

- Snake, fox, wolves, ravens, spiders, goats, centipedes, horses and even fly imagery

- Snake shed (ethically sourced)

- horse shoes

- Fox skulls (ethically sourced)

- wolf teeth/fur/claws (ethically sourced)

- play practical jokes, get up to a bit of mischief

- runes! Specifically the Berkana rune

- watch James Bond movies

- toys! Especially toy boats

- anything that reminds you of him, Loki isn't a god who is picky about their offerings, even if it is cheap or even has no monetary value, if it feels like something they would like, you're probably correct, give it as an offering!

- androgyny!

- explore your sexuality and gender identity

- incense and scents such as whiskey, dragons blood cinnamon, cotton candy, anything sweet or strong in scent

- speak up, tell the truth, stand up for yourself and others, do not cower, be strong

- get into childcare, whether that be babysitting, teaching, volunteering, helping homeless youth, this is one of the best ways to honour Loki

- take care of your mental health and if you have the ability, extend a hand to others in need as well

- donate to charities

- offer him your suffering, your sadness, your hard to feel emotions, offer them to Loki

- don't be so harsh on yourself, learn self love, learn to brush off mistakes, they are not the end of the world, they are not life ruining, you will move past this, Loki will help you remember this

- money! Just a couple coins on his altar space

#pagan #paganism #omnist #omnism #paganblr #loki #loki god of mischief #loki deity #loki devotion #loki devotee #norse pagan witch #norse paganism #norse mythology #norse #norse gods #norse pantheon #aesir

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xjumbled-up-brainx · 2 years ago

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This is a project I’ve been crafting for a while through my re-run of everything english dubbed Octonauts. A brand new A-Z list of EVERY SINGLE CREATURE THE OCTONAUTS HAVE EVER MET:

*Vegimalese*

What’s that Tunip, you and the Vegimals want to learn about even more creatures?

*Vegimalese*

Well, let’s go again!

The Octocomputer will show you all the creatures the Octonauts, and Octo Agents, have met, on both land and sea!

Cheepa Cheepa!

Anaconda 1

Albatross 2

Anemones 3

Angler Fish 4

Arapaima 5

Adele Penguins 6

Alligator 7

Amano Shrimp 8

Anteater 9

Arabian Camels 10

Armadillo 11

Bowhead Whale 12

Barracudas 13

Beluga Whales 14

Black Caiman 15

Blobfish 16

Blue Whale 17

Blue-head Wrasse… 18

Bottle Nose Dolphins 19

Bat 20

Baboons 21

Barnacle Goose 22

Bear 23

Black Giant Squirrel 24

Black Winged Stilt Bird 25

Blind Shrimp 26

Burmese Python 27

Brittle Stars 27

Bombardier Beetle 28 and

Bomber Worms 29

Capybara 30

Carrier Crab 31

Catfish 32

Conocono Crab 33

Conocono Crab?

Coconut Octopus! 34

Colossal Squid 35

Comb Tooth Blenny 36

Cone Snail 37

Cookie Cutter Shark 38

Cuttlefish 39

Convict Fish 40

Caiman 41

Caterpillar 42

Cave Fish 43

Cave Shrimp 44

Chameleon 45

Clam 45

Chinstrap Penguins 46

Chinese Mitten Crab 47

Christmas Tree Worms 48

Coelacanth 49

Coral Polyp 50

Coral Snake 51

Crawfish 52

Crocodile 53

Crow 54

Crown of Thorns Starfish 55

Dormice 56

Deer 57

Damselfish 58

Dogfish 59

Decorator Crab 60

Duck-Bill Platypus 61

Dwarf Lantern Shark 62

Eel 63

Electric Eel 64

Elephant 65 and Elephant Seal66

Elk 67

Egyptian Vulture 68

Emperor Penguin 69

Fiddler Crab 70

Frogfish 71

Fire Ants 72

Flamingoes 73

Flying Fish 74

Flying Fox 75

Fruit Bats 76

Giant Clam 77

Giant Comb Jelly 78

Giant Isopod 79

Giant Spider Crab 80

Giant Squid 81

Giant Grass Carp 82

Giant Pacific Octopus 83

Giant Panda 84

Giant Weta 85

Golden Coral 86

Golden Mole 87

Giraffe 88

Garden Eel 88

Gray Whale 89

Grey Reef Shark 90

Grouper 91

Guard Crab 92

Gull 93

Great White Shark 94

Gulper Eel 95

Hammerhead Shark 96

And Harbor Seal 97

(Inhale hoo inhale hoo)

Harlequin Duck 98

Harpy Eagle 99

Hippos 100

Hoatzin 101

Honey Badger 102

Hornbill 103

Hourglass Dolphins 104

Howler Monkeys 105

Hyenas 106

Hermit Crab 107

Humpback Whale 108

Humphead Parrotfish 109

(Slower) Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-a-pua-a! Haha! 110

Ice worms 111

Iguanas 112

Indochinese Tiger 113

Immortal Jellyfish, 114

Jellyfish 115

Jaguar 116

Jawfish, 117

Kangaroos 118

Kea Parrots 119

Kelp, Fish 120

Leatherback Sea-Turtle 121

Loggerhead Sea-Turtle 122

Lemon Shark 123

Longfin Eels 124

Leopard 125

Lions 126

Lion Fish 127

Lions Mane Jellyfish 128

Long Arm Squid… 129

Leafy Sea Dragon 130

Mangrove crabs 131

Mantis Shrimp 132

Martens 133

Microbe 134

Monarch Butterfly 135

Mound coral 136

Mountain Goats 137

Mud Skipper 138

Moray Eel 139

Mimic Octo-Pus! 140

Marine Iguanas 141

Manta Ray 142

Mana (Mana?) Mana (Mana?) pause. Manatee…! (Clears throat)3

Narwhal 144

Needlefish 145

Nile crocodile 146

Nile monitor lizards 147

Nine banded armadillo 148

Nutria 149

Okapis 150

Omuras whale 151

Orca 152

Oarfish 153

Octopus 154

Prowfish 155

Pelicans 156

Polar Bear 157

Pilot Fish 158

Parrotfish 159

Piranhas 160

Porcupine Puffer 161

Porcupine 162

Puffin 163

Pangolin 164

Pikas 165

Pin-tailed whydahs 166

Poison dart frog 167

Pygmy 3 toed sloths 168

Quino checkerspot butterflies 169

Queens-land-Lung-fish 170

RedRock Crabs 171

Reef Lobsters 172

Remipedes 173

Remora Fish 174

Rainbow blanket octopus 175

Rats 176

Raven 177

Red deer 178

Red eye tree frogs 179

Red fox 180

River Dolphin 181

Rock climbing gobies 182

Ruffed grouse 183

Sand grouse 184

Sand viper 185

Screaming piha 186

Seals 187

Sehuencas water frogs 188

Squid 188

Skinks 189

Skua bird 190

Skull Spiders 191

Snail 192

Spinner dolphins 193

Suckermouth catfish 194

Sun bear 195

Sunflower Star 195

Sunfish 196

Surfing Snail 197

Sailfish 198

Sardines 199

Salt-water croc-o-dile 200

Sea gulls 201

Sea squirts 202

Sea tulips 203

Sea Otter 204

Sea Pig 205

Sea Skater 206

Sea Snail 207

Sea Snake 208

Sea Sponge 209

Sea Urchin 210

Sea Horses 211

Siphonophore 212

Slime Eel 213

Snapping Shrimp 214

Sperm Whale 215

Spook Fish 216

Sea Star 217

Surgeon Fish 218

Swordfish 219

Shovel Nosed-Guitar Fish 220

Swell (sigh) Shark (sigh) 221

Snot Sea (panicked) Cucumber! 222

Tiger shark 223

Tokay Geko 224

Toucan 225

Tree frogs 226

Tree lobsters 227

Tree snails 228

Trout 229

Turtles 230

Tulum cave remipede 231

Tube Worms 232

Triggerfish 233

Tor-pedo Ray…! 234

U: You? Me? Me? You? V!

Vampire Squid 235

Vent Shrimp 236

Vole 237

Watchman goby 238

Water dikkops 239

Weasel 240

Wisent 241

Wolves 242

Wood louse 243

Wolf Eel 244

Whale Shark 245

Walrus 246

Water Bears 247

Weddell Seal 248

Whale Louse 249

White-Tip-Shark 250

X: Xylophone solo!

Yellow bellied sea snakes 251

Yeti Crab 252

Zebra 253

Zebra fish! 259

Dadadada!

#I’m having the Shellington moment at the end of the first official song where I realize ima have to edit this when season 5 gets English dub #MEOMI AND OCTONAUTS CREATORS:#do your musical thing pls and make this happen #if Keith wickam voiced this I would simply pass away #for 12 years of adeventures!#octonauts aniversay!#octonauts a&b #octonauts #octonauts above and beyond #above and beyond #the numbers are a bit messed up but the final number is 258 creatures

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aphrodite-areia-altar · 4 years ago

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Offerings for Aphrodite

To preface this, I’m a firm believer in it doesn’t matter what you give as an offering, as long as it has thought and meaning behind it, the gods will appreciate it (with some exceptions). Most things you offer, chances are, Aphrodite will like it. But if you are stumped on ideas, or want to offer her something that traditionally aligns with her, I’ve compiled a brief list of possible ideas. You can alter these things in any way you see fit.

My personal offerings

These are the things I will usually offer her. I’m bad at being consistent and I’m financially limited, so I can’t exactly afford to be extravagant. That’s okay. Thought and meaning is what matters, so I have a few list of things that I have found are easy for me to offer her while being confident it will satisfy her. My favorite offering to give her are apple slices drizzled with honey. Sometimes I will also make her tea—which kind is up on you. I usually go with a black tea with roses. When I can’t bring myself to prepare something, I’ll light frankincense incense. Whenever I bake, I’ll offer her pieces of cookies, cakes, and anything sweet like chocolate. I also once offered her a collage and a friendship bracelet I made for her in recovery. Lastly, I’ll light a vanilla scented candle for her if I have one.

Colors

Pink — love, friendship, self-love

Red — love, passion, romance, intensity

Blue — reminiscent of the ocean from which she was born

White — could represent the color of pearly white seashells, but could also be a stand-in color if you don’t have anything in the colors above

Foods & Drink

Honey

Chocolate

Vanilla

Baked goods and pastries

Water (Libations)

Sugar

Salt

Tea

Juice

Fruit, especially apples

Wine

Olive oil

Scents

Frakincense

Rose

Myrrh

Vanilla

Stones & Metals

Rose quartz

Copper

Pearl

Aquamarine

Silver

Gold

Animals

Dolphins

Doves

Bees

Swan

Sparrow

Flowers

Rose

Myrrh tree (in reference to the myth of Adonis)

Anemone (in reference to the myth of Adonis)

Objects/Misc

Seashells, sand dollars, fish, and things reminiscent of the ocean

Dagger, shield, things that relate to her war aspect

Devotional art/jewelry/digital altars/etc

Makeup, skincare, nail polish, and beauty

Feeling beautiful and doing makeup/skincare

Taking care of yourself

Friday is her sacred day, so many people will give her offerings then, as well as the fourth day of every month, as that is sacred to her as well.

If you’re in a position where you cannot openly give offerings, you can always do libations, which is to pour out liquid in honor of the Theoi—meaning if you have a houseplant, you can water it as a form of libation, or pour out a drink in the sink. An even more subtle offering is filling a glass with water, taking it in your room, and leaving it out for Aphrodite, as water is a life-giving source, so it is equally important as anything else.

If nothing else, in my experience, Aphrodite is most pleased when you are taking care of yourself.

And remember: Even if you aren’t able to give any offerings, or offerings often, the Theoi understand your circumstances. They will not get upset with you. Your devotion and faith are the most important things!

#aphrodite #venus #hellenism #hellenist #hellenic #offerings #offering ideas

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supremeinlilac · 4 years ago

Text

Greiving for something not lost

Sally Mckenna x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Canon death, mentions of suicide, grief, slight mention of nsfw activities but it’s literally nothing.

A/n: Here’s the exchange gift for @cissa-calls , and I hope it’s not too dark for you :/ I researched a lot of Greek Mythology because you said you enjoyed it so it’s based around a myth, although as always I got carried away so it ended up only being a small portion. I hope you like it :))

Instead of taking the direct route to the Cortez, you idled down the backstreets of LA, one hand stuffed deeply into your pocket as you scuffed feet against stones on the path. It did little to clear the fog in your brain after yet another argument with Sally, it was always too loud in the city and you seemed to never be able to silence it enough to think.

Sally had promised you, time and time again that the next job would be the last, and you clutch at the hopes that each time she’d be telling the truth. Each time you’d fumble with fingers against the hem of her jacket and beg her to stay, and she’d pry them off and tell you not to follow her.

“The Hotel Cortez is not a place for you babe,” she’d say, and then she’d be gone.

Usually, you’d accept that, and would wait by the window for glimpses of her silhouette along the street when she’d returned. Your heart would thrum in protest against your ribs almost painfully until you’d see her safe again. This time, you’d both cried and fumed. Neither understood the other, neither wanting to admit that they feared what that meant.

Your other hand held a small spray of white anemones, and an apology scribbled on paper. You had to rehearse it before you met with her again, she seemed to be able to sense when you weren’t genuine. You’d wanted flowers of a darker colour, they were more Sally, but had had to settle with that of purity and innocence. Not Sally at all, but you were still too proud and stubborn to stalk around more shops to find the perfect gift for her when you’d both been in the wrong.

The detour meant you’d probably find your girlfriend already high, stumbling aimlessly around rooms with that grin on her face that always made you want to kiss it off her. No doubt that tonight would end as it always did. Possessive and passionate in your shared bed. Sometimes you wouldn’t even reach it. Sorry with Sally was always spoken through sex.

The thought of apologising through kisses and softly idle fingertips had your pace quickening, and the guilt heating up within you. You didn’t like fighting with Sally, and you sure as hell didn’t like what you fought about, but you loved to bribe her back to you this way. But as you turned the corner to the hotel, the guilt in your stomach dropped into that of dread, and a lump formed so quickly in your throat that you felt you would choke on it with what you saw.

Aphrodite had warned Adonis about the dangers, just like you had Sally, and yet, here they both lay. It was as if her body blurred into two with your tears, two lovers, separated by the cruel twist of deaths knife in a hollow chest.

You seemed to be able to do nothing but stagger towards her, vision smoky and you prayed it was a dream. That you may stir in the sheets beside Sally, and she’d reach to still your tremors like the silent hand of a god against the rumble of an earthquake. Be still my love, do not fear what can not hurt you. I’m here, reach for me.

Now, you wished for something as merciful as a dream.

Her face paled to grey as you neared, and the world seemed to fall away. Passers by seemed unaffected as hurried feet carried them home, anxious to block out the city with thick blinds and gentle music. Your despair willowed to nothing, a commotion simply on the other side of the road wasn’t a rarity. The city had seen it all before.

It turns out the Hotel Cortez wasn’t a place for her either.

You felt like throwing yourself to the ground beside her, bare knees scraping against the harsh pavement, yet you’d welcome the pain beside your lover. White noise filled your ears, and only the blaring of car horns could cut through its insistent ringing. You couldn’t even hear yourself crying for help to anyone who might listen.

Her eyes were wide, glassy and pleading, but you saw no life in them. The glass gave way to murky water and it was clear you’d reached her too late. Defeated, you crumpled beside her, flowers forgotten in leu of pressing lips to her temple and whispering the apology as if it may be heard by her soul and it might return to her body. To you.

You wanted to close her eyes with gentle fingertips but feared that if she stopped seeing you then it would be the end. That it would mean she was gone.

A flower sprang where he lay, hours after Adonis’ death, a deep crimson anemone that bore the shade of his blood. Born from the sweet nectar from Aphrodite’s hand, the wildflower bloomed. Beautiful trauma.

The flowers on the ground by your side seemed to wilt, sensing the sour odour of deaths passing, they hung their heads in mourning and shrank into their petals. Heavy with grief. White anemones turned red under the suns dying love, its light bowing behind the buildings so it may pretend to have not bared silent witness to souls divided.

Aphrodite pleaded for her lover’s life in the underworld, so he could be with her once again in life. You would have plead as she did, knelt and sold your soul for Sally to be returned. You would have done as Aphrodite did, if you thought it would help. If you thought that someone could see your pain and render it pure enough to grant the impossible.

In the real world, there are no gracious second chances for such a fickle thing as love.

And now, it seemed that the Hotel Cortez would be her place, tied to her always in death.

You stayed by her side until the coroner arrived to take her away. You couldn’t cry, instead just watched through eyes of steel as the back doors of the van were slammed obnoxiously, ringing in your ears long after it had pulled away and been lost to the traffic. You vaguely registered someone’s hand on your shoulder, a soothing motion, talking as if underwater, muffled and unintelligible. You felt like you were barely clinging to driftwood on an unsettled sea, each swell of a wave bigger than the last.

In shock- you heard someone say. Suicide. That broke your haze.

When you’d got home that night, the silence had screamed at you. It had been too quiet to sleep, and you ached for the way she’d blast music loud enough to warrant the neighbours complaints the next day, so you’d have to bake horrendously in the kitchen cookies as apologies. Or when she’d strum against her guitar and the gentle tones would pull you from your work and into her lap to watch her fingers manipulate the instrument into art.

You craved the shrill laughter of Sally when she’d prank you childishly, how she’d pull you towards her and you’d see how joy creased her face beautifully. You’d always want to make her laugh and brush the pads of curious fingers over the dimples formed and make her shy away.

You’d never hear her song again, you realised, blinking away tears when the guitar propped in the corner caught your eye. Chest heaving painfully, you half wanted to grasp it by the neck and slam it against the ground over and over until anger diffused and you could cry into its shards. The other half, the winning half, wanted to pick it up and set it against you, ghost fingers over its strings so the thrum was barely audible. She’d played this tune, taught you this tune, and you vowed you’d never forget it. Fingers in her shadow, you ran them over the smooth wood, eyes closed and head back on the sofa.

She was everywhere in the apartment, and it only served to remind you that she was also nowhere.

The suffocating hands of her absence pressed against you, a ribbon of blackened ash around your ribs, until they threatened to crack under its pressure. Was it possible to miss how she hurt? Your lover, with her wild hair and glassy eyes, you could see her as she was, you would drunk in how she would move. Dancing slowly in an empty room, as if the world were watching her.

Wild hair was born to writhing snakes, and you feared to look directly into her eyes now. Death had claimed her as its own, and you refused to accept her insistent fate. She’d return. You’d look into her eyes and see that of your lover, and not of Medusa. Lungs of stone, how could they swell to receive the gift of a breath without her beside you?

Now you drowned the guilt, drunk in its depths instead of in her eyes.

Stuck in endless loops of questioning what if. What if you hadn’t taken the detour, what if you hadn’t argued, or if you had made her stay instead of letting her leave the apartment? Would she still be alive?

It wasn’t your fault but oh, how that option seemed so sweet in this moment. To be swarmed with an actual reason to hate, how it would be easier than the reality. You’d rather have yourself to blame than have no one. Responsibility for actions you weren’t even sure of. Questions unanswered by police, that would remain unanswered because the only person with the solution was gone. What had happened?

The pressure seemed to build up in your head, an unbearable thickness of thoughts that had nowhere to go but to force themselves down your throat so you’d choke on them, and the feeling of sickness would resurface. They’d swim in your gut like parasite and never still.

It was worse at night.

Distractions were less and your emotions ran so far above you on blackened clouds, so out of reach that you doubted you’d ever be able to wrestle them back into submission. Would they eternally be dancing in mockery and pulling at marionette strings in your limbs? A shell of your former self, only held up by unpredictable emotions that could burn you with their ice just as much as their fire.

After your first day back at work after the incident, you’d returned home exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse into yourself on the sofa and cradle one of her jackets. You forgot the lock the door on your way in, and remembered hours later, after the sun had drooped once more that you needed to lock yourself with your thoughts again for the night.

You reached into your handbag, searching for something that seemed menial now, and instead your fingers curled around her packet of cigarettes. You stopped, hand still in the bag, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

It had been the first since that night, raw and salty tears that burned your eyes red and blurred your vision. The kind of crying that wore you to nothing within minutes and had you clutching bony fingers to your chest as if to pry open ribs and reach your lungs. You couldn’t breathe.

Everything caught up with you, and you felt as if you were falling alongside her, scrabbling to find purchase against nothing. The rational side of your brain knew that you wouldn’t crash to the ground, but you couldn’t help but be brought back to her side in that moment, a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t control, circling your head in a way that made you dizzy with your grief.

Her pale face, mottled with the tears of her death invaded your mind, the blood staining the pavement. Suddenly you felt hot with it, as if the sticky blood was covering you, pulling you to drown. You could smell its invasive metallic scent, almost taste its musk in your throat with every breath. It was thick, and you were clawing at your arms to try and wipe it away. It was everywhere, and then it was nowhere, and you wondered why you’d been tricked by grief in the first place.

Shaking, your fingers had flipped open the packet and picked one out. You didn’t smoke, yet trembling hands found the lighter and lips found the filter which already had a smudge of red on it. Almost as if Sally had gone to light it but changed her mind, discarding it back for later use. She never used it again, now it was you that drew in an unsteady breath, drawing the panel door to the side as you took the rest of the cigarettes onto the small apartment balcony you both shared to smoke them, alone.

There was really only room for one person out there at a time, yet you and Sally would huddle together on the nights when the city would keep you awake, and she’d wrap pale arms around your waist and nuzzle her chin into the crook of your neck. Passing her cigarette back and forth you’d overlook the streets below and watch the living.

You’d both used to wonder what it would be like to lead the lives of those people below, those on their way to work before the sun even surfaced over the horizon and set its path for the day. Working before the pair of you had even been asleep. The banality of their routine, oh, how you both pitied them. They’d work boring jobs to pay the rent for the whitewashed walls they’d come home to each night, eat the same meals at the same time, prepared by wives wearing lines of age, deeply set in valleys on their faces. These people always looked older than their years, tired and worn from work and children born to save a marriage already lost.

You’d used to pity them, yet now, you craved the intimacy of a boring life with someone you loved. You’d rather the predictability of this life than the one you had now. Nothing.

On the balcony, you smoked all the remaining cigarettes in the pack. Usually, you didn’t smoke, but you did, just to feel close to her again. Curling your fingers around the butt the way that she used to, and blowing the smoke out, watching it furl and twist into the cold night. You craved the warm roughness of her hands.

She’d kiss you with the lingering taste of those cigarettes, and you’d grown addicted to it. Still, once you’d finished the packet, you’d found yourself unable to rebuy them.

Slowly, you forgot its essence. You felt like you were forgetting her.

In the news, you waited for them to show a photo of Sally, one detached from everything she’d grown to be, beside a headline of death. The low hum of the city news was background noise to your grief, and you ached for someone to care enough to tell about her passing. For weeks, there was nothing. There was nothing and then there was everything, all at once, and in that moment, you knew that you would’ve preferred the nothing.

They said she’d jumped.

They hadn’t known her, and they said she’d jumped.

How dare they when you’d screamed at them until hoarse that she would never, that she promised she would never? The quick solution, one that wouldn’t raise questions, or demand the precious funds of the very system she’d been cheated by, to fork out for justice. She was an addict, they’d said. Painting the sky above her head an angry black, with clouds that swirled with viscous intent. She was a junkie, and therefore the answer was simple.

Death had been an inevitability with a life like that, habits like that. A person such as that.

You wasted grief on your anger, long nights where you’d clutch the phone to your mottled cheek with whitening knuckles, cursing everyone who’d rendered your love unimportant. You’d fall asleep on hold to police that had no more answers for you, no more pitied excuses and apologies for a loss they knew nothing about.

And it was on one of those long nights, when you sought for comfort that could be not offered by the living, that you reach for the memory of the dead. Running fingers deliberately slowly over the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, fingering through her dresses on the railing before slowly closing the door again, leaning against it and sinking to the floor.

You’d opened all her drawers that night, some for the first time. Spritzed her dresses with her perfume that still stood on the mantle, revitalised Sally in the apartment with her smell. It was as if you were back to then, when she’d return from work, stroppy and tired, yet still reach for her perfume and generously sprayed the air that she’d then dance into.

Picking one of her band shirts out of the drawer, you slipped your shirt off and replaced it with hers. It was soft cotton, the one she’d most frequently sleep in, and it brought you warmth like her hugs used to, arms enclosing you and grounding you in moments of fear.

You slept in it that night. Telling yourself that that would be it and then it would return to the drawer. But one night stretched painfully into three, and you found yourself unable to sever the small mercy you’d given yourself in wearing her clothes, the attachment to her that only you would know when you walked the street. No one else knew the chain you wore were hers, the boots, the dress. No one knew sally because there was no one left to know.

It had been a year since that day.

You’d woken with a headache and turned over in bed, wanting to shelter yourself from the day with blankets, sleep until the moon shone and the day turned into the next. You knew you could do that, but guilt had you pulling on the covers and groaning as the sunlight poured like liquid through the slit in the curtains.

It was going to be a long day. You already felt tired.

Pulling one of Sally’s band shirts over your head, you traipsed sluggishly through the apartment, purposefully ignoring the mess, like she would after a night of drinking. Not that it mattered today. You unhooked Sally’s oversized jacket from the peg and slumped it over your shoulder. Today was the day, you’d decided. You were going to visit her grave.

In the past year, you’d planned to visit her grave on several occasions, but avoided it at the last second. You couldn’t stand the thought of Sally trapped there, tied to the soil when she should be dancing upon it with you.

Sally couldn’t be tied down to a single place, she moved freely, without reign. It was how she liked it, and how you’d learned to love her. Labels had never been her thing. And now she was labelled on stone, with a corny phrase that she’d hate, with a date too early, a life too short. Sally deserved to be free.

She was the wind, unpredictable and changing and wild, she would go where she pleased and return on the breeze. Sally would’ve hated being buried, and yet through the selfish need to have a real place to visit her, she had been. You can’t capture the wind in bare hands, can’t collar it or tame it and make it beg. It controls you and you have no choice but to concede to it.

That was Sally.

Even now, a year later, you found yourself faltering. The gates of the cemetery loomed ahead of you, and your hands bunched at the material of your pants nervously. You could feel it calling, begging almost, for you to simply reach out and push the gate open with a metallic creak of protest. To visit the place you’d always avoided.

But just as you always did, you lost your nerve, sighing and peering down the road for a reason to be drawn away. For a distraction, even just for a moment. An excuse to gather your thoughts just enough to face your lover.

A corner shop caught your eye, with the newspapers in the windows just begging for customers. How convenient. Stuffing hands into pockets, you strode over the road with new purpose.

Dragging yourself down the claustrophobic aisles in the store, you distracted yourself with exited colours on packaging, picking items of shelves and replacing them further down the aisle. You didn’t care for tidiness today.

When a shop attendant asked you if you needed any help, you gave him a sad smile in appreciation and picked up a small bunch of white anemone flowers, her flowers. Last year, they’d been a peace offering, this year, an apology. The employee shuffled along again, and you set your eyes down to the floor.

Flowers in hand, you made your way to the till, placing them delicately onto the counter and fiddling for coins in your coat. You hadn’t planned on buying anything, so neglected to bring your wallet. Luckily, this was a coat you’d not worn since Sally’s death, and she was a fan of keeping loose change in the deep pockets.

“Is that everything for today?” the woman behind the till chirped with the voice of someone with long experience in public services. It cried out in tired falsity, in ‘how long have I left on my shift?’ It was a line well-rehearsed and overused.

Just as you were about to nod in answer, your eyes caught the tobacco cabinet behind the bored check out assistant. “What brand?” She asked pointedly, and you stared dumbly past her. Had Sally ever bought cigarettes from this store? Shaking out the thought from your mind, you answered her, asking for Sally’s brand and quickly paying and leaving.

Outside the shop, you held the package tentatively in your palm, fingering at the packaging as she used to when she was nervous. She’d wrap a tune with her chipped nails against the boxes edge, and you’d coax it from her, and dip her under the moonlight in your arms. Now, holding the cigarettes held no comfort for you, feeling both foreign and familiar, it left you aching for her.

Still, you found yourself unable to visit her grave. It was all too real to see where she lay. You needed something tying Sally to you that wasn’t so physical. You laughed to yourself. How ironic it was, to force her into a grave for something so trivial as to have a place to call her resting place, only to find yourself too weak to face your choice.

Instead, you took a left, and then another, and then a right, and continued until you could no longer smell your own fear in the air with the concept of her grave. Deeper into the city, where the pollution stained white houses grey, you could breathe clearly again. Guilt will consume a person, clog their lungs with it until their breathing is laborious and the weight drags them down into their thoughts.

You’d walked this route before, one year before, with white anemones and an apology in hand. You’d never gotten to tell Sally what you’d wanted, but perhaps you’d take her the flowers, and smoke her cigarettes in the window where she’d fell. You’d tell her what you didn’t get the chance to.

The hotel was just as you remembered it, flickering neon 34w`lights that read ‘Hotel Cortez’, and the eery alleys and parked cars that seemed to be in the same position as the year prior. It was as if time had paused, hotel residents left their cars and had never returned to them.

You weren’t really aware of yourself in that moment, feet leading a silent path as you found yourself stuck in a memory. When you reached the place you found her, your feet faltered, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the paving.

The pavement was clear, physically untainted, and any normal pedestrian would question your loitering. But although it appeared to be clean, you know because you’ve seen, you’ve remembered. The pain that would still remain, deep in the cracks of the paving stone, no matter how much scrubbing the clean up team undoubtably did after Sally’s body was removed, they couldn’t remove. They couldn’t fade the scarring, or the feeling of death that overcame you when you stared at the place she’d laid.

Someone bumped your shoulder as they passed on the street, muttered remarks about people standing in the middle of the street, and you raised your eyes to watch them walk away. When you looked back at the stone, the connection to it had been lost, and you found yourself unable to re-enter the trance you’d been in.

Pressing through the hotel doors, you left the light of the sun behind, left the living, and joined the death of the dusky lobby. Wondering through its room, you imagined Sally doing the same, with confident strides and a purpose. It was a nice place for downtown LA, you had to admit, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that came with it, of being watched by invisible eyes in the walls. The feeling one gets when you visit a place where death rules over occupants.

You looked up to the next floor, and swore you saw a flash of an animal print coat moving behind the barriers. No. Must’ve been the lighting change from coming inside.

A woman pointed you towards the bar, and you nodded towards her. Did all visitors come for the hotels bar? She seemed to know exactly what you needed, tired eyes searching for something not quite there.

In the bar, you drank and you smoked and spoke with the woman behind the bar who must’ve noticed the void behind your eyes. She didn’t question you, why you were alone, just slid extra drinks across the table with a wink and a smile. You didn’t return it, opting for a grateful grimace instead.

All of a sudden, the smell of Sally’s perfume seemed to melt into your senses, overpowering that of the cigarette, and the liquor, until your head swam with memories linked with its scent. You didn’t remember spraying it this morning, and it confused you. It was so strong, and real. It didn’t seem like your brain was tricking you with its musk, like it so often would with a silhouette against the apartment window.

Suffocated by Sally. You drowned in its poetry.

Searching for its origin, your eyes roamed the bar. It was real, you figured. Turning on the bar stool, your eyes met those that you thought you’d forgotten, and you found they were exactly like you remembered. Sally stood, leant against the wall opposite you, arms folded at her chest yet wearing cheeks stained with tears and widened eyes. You scrambled out of your chair, and the world fell away from you. You didn’t even try and catch it when she was next to you.

You palmed at your eyes, begging yourself to wake up from what must be a dream. Despite knowing she wasn’t real, you ached for your mind to stay in this fantasy so at least you wouldn’t be alone. Removing your hands, you felt yourself lighten. Sally remained still, unmoving yet she was closer that ever. You could reach and brush against her cheek if only your arms would cooperate.

“Y/n?” she breathed, in that choked up voice, and you were falling again.

As if trapped in a dream, you startled awake with the feeling of cool fingers massaging against your scalp. The room was foreign, and it smelled like her. Foreign, yet startingly familiar as if you’d been there before.

Sally was curled into your side, and your breathing laboured again. You didn’t understand how she was here, you- you buried her. Sniffling broke your doubts, and Sally adjusted her head atop your chest. When you wiggled beneath her, her sniffs turned to coos, and her fingers in your hair and clutching your top were soothing at your cheeks.

“I love you, I’m here,” she flustered, worrying her lip between teeth, and you could see the moon in between buildings outside the window. It watched you with bated breath and shone onto her pale skin until her tears seemed to shine. “Say I love you Sally.”

Sitting up against the pillows, you caught her face in your hands, cupping it so she couldn’t move away as you remembered the outlines of her eyes, lips, the curve of her jaw and cheekbones. “I love you,” you found yourself admitting, tears welling in eyes that couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, “are you real?”

“I’m-” Sally started, faltering as if she didn’t quite know the answer either. “I’m here.”

You wanted to apologise anew, whisper the memorised speech that you’d spoken to her that night, but the words seemed to catch in your throat, sharp like the barbs from barbed wire were caught against the delicate skin. Instead, you pulled her in to brush lips against hers, testing slowly if they actually would meet and not melt through what your mind was making up.

They did meet, and you muffled a wail against hers, all the pent-up grief for the woman you were now kissing resurfacing. Fingers clung to her coat, which was still soft beneath your touch, and you pulled her closer to you. She cried, and you cried, and hands met to brush them away.

“I missed you baby.”

You didn’t stop to think about what it meant that she was here. Focusing only on her hands linked firmly in yours, and how she deserved to feel the taut string of a guitar again. You’d bring it to her, and she’d play her song. You’d hear her voice and feel the vibrations of her throat against your lips as she sang.

You’d do it all again.

Time you thought was lost was now frozen, suspended in a single heartbeat. She hadn’t aged a single day, and yet her eyes showed more trouble than you’d ever seen. You couldn’t wait to return and kiss away her worries, reintroduce yourself and love her and be loved like you both deserved. But for now, you were content to simply exist in her presence again.

You wouldn’t take her for granted.

taglist: @pearplate @pluied-ete @billiedeansbottom @okpaulson @mckennamayfairgoode @lilypadscoven @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnifique-monstre @magnificent-paulsonn @darling-dontforgetme @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @shineestark @amethyst-bitch @ninaahs @bluesxrgnt @germansarechill @d14n4ol @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @its-soph-xx @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @delias-bitch-craft @loverofallthingssarah @music-addict @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @in-cordelias-coven @cordeliass @peggycarter-steverogers @stayeviildarling ,, if you want to be added, give me a shout :))

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #american horror story #ahs hotel #spgiftexchange

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peachypizzicato · 4 years ago

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an about? on MY blog? its more likely thank u think (semi outdated, will be replaced eventually, f/o list is up to date though :3c)

hi there! i’m opal/anemone, but my friends call me callie/cal and sometimes i refer to myself as peachy so anything is fine! i’m 20 and my pronouns are she/her (but they/them are fine too)!

this is my main self shipping blog! pretty much every post here will either be about self ship in general or my f/os and their source, so if you aren’t keen on those this probably isn’t the blog for you!

i self ship mostly as a comfort thing, so my main purpose here is to just chill and have fun! :)

some important things to note:

-as stated, im an adult! as far as this account goes that means i’ll curse fairly often, so if you’re uncomfy with that you may want to tread lightly! (i also have an nsfw side blog, minors please do not follow or interact there, adult followers are welcome to ask for the url!)

-i can put on an outgoing face when posting, but im actually really nervous with new people! so please be mindful if you decide to hop into dms, small talk is pretty difficult for me!

-i don’t really have any notable triggers or anything like that, just don’t be weird, y’know? my account is meant to be safe and comfortable for everybody!

my tags:

-peachyrambles: textposts usually, just me runnin’ my yap

-peachyart: my art, if that wasn’t obvious! more often than not revolving around self ship, but sometimes crossposts from my general

-peachymisc: any post that isn’t exclusively text but also isn’t a high enough effort piece to fall under the art tag, middle of the road type stuff

-peachy’s prized possessions: gifts and fanart and the like! pretty much anything that people make for me, it means the world to me <3

-[name] appreesh/appreciation: reblogs or submissions from friends n muts that i interact with a lot!! sometimes also on fanart of inserts n things if we’re close enough :0

-peanut gallery: anonymous asks/submissions, regardless of whether they’re identified or not (identified anons usually get the previous tag too!)

-i don’t do content warnings much, but i’d be happy to within reason! don’t be afraid to ask :)

ship specific info:

-i don’t really have a huge problem with others shipping with my f/os, all i ask is that everyone shows mutual respect! nobody is more entitled to them than anybody else, there’s enough of them to go around!

-i don’t really have specific tags for ships, since i’m awful at thinking of clever ship names, but currently i only have a few (mostly from the same source, fnf, no less!) so they aren’t terribly hidden!

-however, for reference, my s/i’s are:

•penelope “penny” (rom: senpai [week 6]), who you can see in my icon!

•olive (rom: garcello [smoke em out struggle mod], plat: annie [vs annie mod]), with the bright red hair! (content hiatus)

•elodie (rom: chris [demonic discourse mod/hellbent]), with the ponytail and the big round glasses!

•cordelia (rom: raine whispers, child: golden guard/hunter [the owl house]), with the pointy ears!

•autumn spice cookie (rom: roguefort cookie [cookie run ovenbreak]), from like one single post!

•snickerdoodle cookie (rom: eggnog cookie, plat: tiramisu cookie [cookie run ovenbreak]), from the… more posts?

•calliope “callie” (rom: nadia, muriel, and asra [the arcana]), with the two-tone hair!

#woah i finally have an about… weird #only took me twoish months #peachymisc

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kiyoominous · 4 years ago

Text

anemone (yamaguchi tadashi)

synopsis: yamaguchi tadashi is a little insecure about everything and you come to his rescue. you’re always his rescue.

pairing: yamaguchi tadashi/reader

warnings: none

genre: fluff, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort

a/n: this is part of a series called ‘speak in flowers’ on ao3!! anemone flowers typically represent anticipation and fragility.

cross posted from ao3!

"Tadashi?"

The aforementioned boy shook himself from a stupor. He was too busy... thinking.

"Are you alright?"

Yamaguchi Tadashi glanced down at his lap, your gentle face laying on it. Somehow, a quiet conversation had morphed into a cuddle as you wriggled your way onto his lap. He didn't tell you that he was enjoying it, the dusty pink that crept onto his face did the talking for him.

He shot you a grin, not knowing what to say. The smile quickly faltered, his shining eyes moving to his hands in your hair.

For starters, he definitely was not okay.

Tadashi wouldn't deny that he was a nervous person. Sure, he wasn't as antsy as he used to be but every now and again, he would jump at the sound of firecrackers or found his hands shaking after a particularly stressful exam.

High school changed him for the better. The once timid boy from middle school had flourished into the person he was now. Someone who was confident, kind and reliable. He managed to find his own friends at college!

(He's very proud of himself for that.)

Though he had spent a humble six months with you, a seed of doubt had recently planted itself in his mind. It never grew past its minuscule size, only anchoring its growing roots of insecurity into him.

It liked to whisper vile thoughts into his ears. All he could hear was that he simply couldn't measure up to you or that you were just a fleeting moment. He tried to ignore it, of course, preferring to look ahead rather than behind. But he slowly found himself believing the twisted words that entered his mind.

Maybe it was the child in him who never truely felt closure from middle school. Maybe it was his brain trying to keep him in check. Tadashi would never be sure. All he knew was that he was scared -- so deathly afraid that he would lose your love.

He looked at his lap again and was met with expectant eyes. Right, he was in the middle of something.

"I don't think I deserve any of this, any of you." he finally replied.

Tadashi felt so undeserving of you, so much so that he began anticipating the relationship's end.

"I'm waiting for the inevitable." he told Tsukishima once.

"It's only inevitable if you keep thinking like that." the blonde chided in return.

Of course Tsukki was right. Tsukki was always right. If he kept this kind of thinking up, he'd probably annoy you so much that you would decide to call it quits. Okay, maybe that wasn't what Tsukishima had in mind but the point still stood.

Tadashi already knew that you loved him enough. making things official was already solid evidence. and yet, the seed hated him enough to tell him 'no.'

He remembered the moment he asked you to be his, hands trembling long before asking the question. The bouquet of roses that he held was starting to lose petals, slivers of red fluttering to the floor. Tadashi stood stiff in the December cold awaiting your answer.

"Of course! i've been waiting for you to ask me for ages!" came your giggly voice. Tadashi liked to recall your response as a loud scream into the night. You begged to differ.

As soon as he registered those very words, he felt his pacing heart freeze.

Were you serious?

Any incoming thoughts were quickly pushed aside as you waltzed over to him, pulling him into the best hug ever. The smell of the hot chocolate and cookies that were devoured moments before immediately hit his nose.

Maybe a little jasmine too, he thought.

He wrapped his arms around your figure, thoughts of how breathtaking you were flooding his mind. Tadashi loved how you fitted perfectly in his embrace. Your head rested so comfortably in the crook of his neck, perhaps you were a puzzle piece he didn't know he was missing.

In the warmth of your hug, he felt his heart defrost. The heat tingled so quickly through his body, maybe he didn't need such a thick jacket on.

Tadashi remembered the cold winter air tickling his nose, the snow falling onto the frozen ground, the sparkle in your eyes that night. but what he remembered most was his worrying thoughts being squashed by the thought of you.

With a shake of the head, he brought himself back to the task at hand: talking to you. Speaking with you. Replying back to you, his precious star. He opened his mouth and let his thoughts cascade from his lips. He detailed every rising anxiety, every awful thought, every unwelcome feelings he had harboured. And you listened, eyes lovingly fixated on his.

You always thought Tadashi was too good for you, never the other way around. The same seed that plagued him only sat in the soil of your mind for a day before withering away. You wouldn't let a measly thought control your growing love for him. He was your sun and moon, the beacon of light for your ship in a dreary storm. there was no way in hell you'd let him think otherwise.

"You do deserve this." you uttered.

Tadashi forgot that he had spilled his thoughts to you so openly.

"I would say you deserve more but that's besides the point. I love you, silly. Don't you ever forget that." you continued.

"What if you don't love me anymore?"

"I won't! Besides, if I did, that's my loss anyway." your giggles sounded like bells echoing through his small bedroom. Would wedding bells be too early, he thought.

The seed was starting to lose its grip on him.

With a swift pull, Tadashi suddenly felt the warm sensation of your lips on his and a hand reaching into his olive hair. All of his organs decided that they had butterflies in them and an unannounced heat washed through his entire body. He was sure that every inch of him was ruby red.

He felt like it had been hours before you left his lips, heavy hands slipping away from each other. He wasn't used to these kinds of kisses yet.

Tadashi was once afraid of commitment, only letting himself follow his anxieties about his self worth and your determination of it. But now, with your voice in his ears and your fingers curled around his clammy hands, he didn't fear. He only loved and trusted you.

With that, the seed had finally died out.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #yamaguchi imagine #yamaguchi tadashi imagine #art.os

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ketchup-monthly · 3 years ago

Text

Night Talks - Chapter 2

@anxious-ace Chapter 2!

Loceit (pre-relationship)

Tws: alcohol mention, flower mention

It wasn’t until a month later that Logan found himself alone with Janus again. It wasn’t that they were deliberately avoiding each other, they just never seemed to be in the same place at the same time without Remus or another side around. The month had gone surprisingly well, especially with Virgil moving from the Dark Side to the Light Side, and any problems that could have arisen from that. As Virgil spent most of his time in his room—no longer a crypt, but a dark room with purple accents and fairy lights strung up near the ceiling—to get used to one thing at a time, the misunderstandings were few and far between. That’s not to say that there weren’t disagreements and accidents from those under his watchful eye, but the blame for most of them was to be placed on Patton and Roman.

As it was the last time he had run into Janus, it was late at night, though this time, Patton and Roman were asleep and Virgil was either asleep or enjoying quiet time in his room, free from an overly energetic prince. Logan was doing his final checks of the commons before checking the tenets of the Light Side, making sure that lights were turned off, countertop appliances were turned off, and there wasn’t anything left out on the counter that would attract pests or go bad. Logan was so focused on getting into the kitchen, on making sure there was nothing in the toaster or blender and that they were turned off and unplugged that he missed the dim light from a lamp in the corner of the seating area.

Logan shuffled around the kitchen, messing with appliances, and taking something green with a strange metallic sheen to it but a sticky texture and a strange smell out of the toaster before putting it in a tupperware container and placing it on the portion of the counter where he always left Remus’ experiments or pranks when he found them. After checking the rest of the kitchen, Logan sighed and walked back out into the sitting area, where he noticed a lamp on, light directed at a side curbed up in one of the armchairs. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Janus, staring forlornly at the pages of a book, eyes unmoving aside from the occasional sluggish blink.

“Janus?”

His head didn’t move, but his shoulders jumped up towards his ears before lowering to where they were prior.

“Why are you still up, is Remus setting off the fire alarms again?” Logan perched on the edge of the other armchair far as he could get from the other, not wanting to invade his personal space.

“I don’t miss him. I don’t miss the ambient sounds of another person in the room. I definitely don’t miss the sarcastic comments, or the secret smiles, or the way he used to look at Remus and I as if we meant the world to him. The days long past, when he was but a child, I don’t wish we had them back.”

“Virgil, I’m assuming. Wait one moment please.” Logan stood up, heading back into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the fridge and two wine glasses. He set the glasses on the table between their chairs and uncorked the bottle, pouring it into the two glasses. He held a glass out to Janus.

“Here. Would you like me to tell you about what’s been going on on my side? With Virgil and the others? And in return, you could tell me about Remus?”

The other side took the glass and sat up, book closing and falling to his side. “Of course not. Care to converse over a game?”

He snapped his fingers, producing a deck of cards adorned with a black rose design on the back. He twisted, sitting cross-legged, sideways in the chair, facing Logan.

At the unexpectedly sharp noise, Logan looked closer, noting that Janus wasn’t wearing his gloves, for once. His scales didn’t just cover the side of his face, it seemed, as there were lighter scales creeping up the back of his hands. They looked to be in better condition than the ones on Janus’ face. Logan wondered what they felt like, if they were cool to the touch, if they were rough or smooth, if they felt like a real snake’s scales or like something else entirely.

He shook his head and looked back into Janus’ mismatched eyes, focusing again. “What game?” Logan pushed the wine glasses to one side of the table and put the wine bottle on the table behind him.

“Not Gin, that’s for certain. You must be aware of the rules, yes?” He carefully removed the cards from the box and methodically shuffled them after removing the jokers, eyes straying to look back at them.

Logan nodded. “I have played Gin before, Virgil taught me a few weeks ago, though I admit I have not played it very much since.”

At the mention of Virgil, Logan noticed a slight twitch on Janus’ face, as if it fell for a second before a mask was put back in place, resulting in a small hollow smirk resting across his lips.

“Very well.” He dealt the cards, giving them both ten cards and the extra card to Logan to start.

Logan looked at his hand, noticing familiar faces on a couple of his cards. “Janus, what theme is this deck of cards?”

Without looking up at him, moving his cards around his hand instead, the other answered. “Thomas. Look at the jokers.” He pushed them across the table into Logan’s line of sight.

On each of the cards was an image of Roman and Remus, the first a mostly black and green one where they rested back to back, each holding a flower, Roman gazing down at a wilted amaryllis forlornly and Remus smiling nicely, a vibrant handful of angelica clutched in his grasp. The other was mostly red and white, Roman, flushed and smiling, looking off into the distance with a bouquet of red roses held gently to his chest. Behind him is Remus, a single overgrown rhododendron losing petals from the tight grip Remus had on it, a manic grin on his face.

Logan’s eyebrows rose at the beautifully detailed images. “You designed these? They’re incredible.”

Janus nodded, peering up through his fringe at Logan, gauging his sincerity. “Thank you.” He gestured towards the table. “Shall we play?”

“Of course, allow me to take a minute to look at my hand before discarding.”

Logan looked closer at the cards in his hand. A five of clubs, a seven of clubs, a five of hearts, a seven of hearts, a jack of spades, an ace of spades, a four of spades, a six of spades, a jack of hearts, a kind of hearts, and a six of diamonds. He placed the six of diamonds into the center of the table and looked closer at the ace and the face cards.

The ace had Patton on it, a white camellia tucked behind his ear, holding a blue hydrangea with white jasmine flowers placed around it. The figure on the card is smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners, form haloed by forget-me-nots.

Virgil was the side placed on the jacks. He was sitting down on a patch of clover, white flowers poking up above the green mass, hood down but still bunched around his neck, playing with a single red columbine. A crown of edelweiss and what looked to be coriander woven in sat atop his purple locks, the white and green making the color stand out more.

Before he could look further at the king, a throat was cleared, causing him to look up.

“Are you going to play a card, Logan? Or simply sit there all night.” He was smirking, no hint of malice in his words.

“Apologies, I was admiring the craftsmanship.” The logical side looked down at the pile, seeing that his six had been taken and replaced by the two of clubs. He drew a card from the draw pile, picking up and putting back down the king of diamonds.

While Janus was taking his turn, Logan looked at the king. Since it wasn’t Roman, or even Remus, it had to have been Janus. He wouldn’t put Logan on the king on the deck of cards he had created, would he?

He had. The king card had Logan on it, gazing off to the side, a small smile on his face, a book gently pressed against his chin, a blue hyacinth bound to the front with twine. A laurel of violet and clematis adorned his head, and there were a couple herbs that Logan didn’t recognize laying at the bottom corner of the image. It could be rosemary, but he wasn’t as sure as he was about the identity of the other flowers.

He looked back up from his hand to see Janus glancing at him expectantly before turning back to the discard pile, where a five of spades now lay. Logan picked up the five of spades, exchanging it for the jack of spades. He watched carefully as Janus drew a card from the draw pile and placed it into his hand, face betraying nothing. He took another card from his hand and placed it in the discard pile, the nine of hearts.

As Logan had no need for it. He drew the queen of clubs from the pile and held it carefully, looking at the new design, that was of Janus, as he was the only side not yet included.

His eyes and mouth were closed, and his head was tilted down slightly, facing directly out from the card. In his ungloved hands he held a snapdragon, an anemone plant, and a belladonna. Pinned to his collar was a black-eyed susan, and tucked into the band of his hat lay a single sprig of lavender and a bittersweet blossom. It was a very beautiful card, but it didn’t sit right that Janus looked so sad in the image.

Logan placed the queen onto the discard pile, for it to be snatched up immediately by Janus who put a card face down and laid out his winning hand: the king, queen, and jack of clubs, the king, queen, jack, and ten of diamonds, and the sixes of diamonds, hearts, and clubs.

“A good game. I suppose you weren’t going to tell me about the others. A shame, for I so wanted to talk about Remus.” He sighed and took a sip of his wine.

“Hm. I must know less about this game than I thought. Another round? I’ll speak as we play, and this time I will not lose so fast.” Logan handed his cards back to Janus, who shuffled them expertly, the bridge making a satisfying sound.

He smirked, dealing out the cards again. “Tell me, then.”

Logan placed down the first card. “Patton almost burned the kitchen down again while trying to make cookies in the toaster. I’ve told him several times that he cannot do that, and even put a sign up on the toaster in the Light Side kitchen, but I believe he ignores it and Roman encourages it.”

Janus nodded and took his turn. “Delightful. Remus flooded our space with sewer water. Luckily, he claims that there was nothing actually in it, at least in the dark common area, but it still smelled horrible and left my shoes and pants with a wonderfully unique texture.”

“I would love to assist with one of his experiments sometime.”

“He’d be delighted if you did. Perhaps our commons would finally be clean. It must be your turn.”

“Thank you. While Roman is a, granted, very good singer, as one of the creativities, I would very much appreciate it if he could cease for a while so I could work in peace and quiet.”

“I don’t understand at all how you feel. Remus never does that, ever. Though his singing is closer to screeching. Used to drive Virgil nuts. He’d hide himself and refuse to come down or out.” Janus’ face fell again.

“He still does that, usually when Roman is being overbearing. Patton tries in vain to lure him down with cookies, but given that Patton tries to cook them in the toaster, I believe Virgil is within reason to refuse them. It’s unfortunate that it comes to it, but I have to take his headphones hostage.” Logan smiled.

The other side smiled back at him, a bit sad. “His foundation and eyeliner were always safe from me when he would do that with Remus and I. Even then, when he came down, it was straight for the snakeskin jacket and the shoes. I assume he still wears them around the three of you?”

He shook his head. “No, we haven’t seen him wear them yet. Must be just for you.”

Janus placed a card face down and laid out the cards in his hand, frowning. “Surely we don’t have time for another game?”

“We do, if you’d care to.” He handed the cards back to Janus, who pushed them back to him.

“You shuffle this time, and I’ll deal them.”

Logan clumsily tried to mimic the smooth motions that Janus had when he shuffled the cards. It wasn’t working quite right, the cards not all doing what he was having them do. Getting a bit frustrated, he handed them back. “How do you get them to do that?” he asked, a small pout on his face that he would deny being there.

“It came naturally to me.”

Logan had noticed a particular lilt to Janus’ voice that appeared only when he lied, and knowing the fact that he had to practice to be able to shuffle cards the way he could set Logan more at ease.

Janus dealt the cards and the game began. “I wonder what went wrong.”

“The two of you are very different individuals, but you are also very much the same. The space between you now may help you in the future, allow you to see past yourselves and see the other properly.”

“I suppose.”

“I’d suggest giving Virgil space until he feels like he can come to you and start a conversation. Don’t force him, but make sure he can tell that you are genuine about your intentions with him. One thing I’ve learned about Virgil is that he likes knowing that people are genuinely interested in talking with him or being around him.”

Janus smiled up at Logan. “Thank you.”

The two finished their game quietly, sipping their wine until their glasses were emptied and Logan placed the final card upon the discard pile face down, signifying a win for him.

Janus’ smile grew, the fangs on the left side of his mouth becoming visible. “An excellent game. May we play again soon.”

He took the cards from Logan and put them back in the box as Logan took the wine bottle and empty wine glasses back to the commons kitchen. Janus followed him after stowing the cards back wherever he had procured them from.

“The cards really are beautiful, you know.”

The human appearing side of Janus’ face flushed. “Thanksss.”

Logan turned to look at him. “I must ask though, why do you look so sad on your card? Aside from the twins, everyone else appears happy or content.”

“I am a mystery, Logan. If Logic himself cannot investigate, I fear Thomas is done for.” A small, self-deprecating smile painted his lips. “Goodnight, Logan.”

He walked away to the door that led to the Dark Side.

“Goodnight, Janus.” Logan retreated to the Light Side after having checked the lights and doors again, stopping in front of Virgil, Patton, and Roman’s rooms to make sure they were asleep before heading to his own room and drifting off.

Flower Meanings:

Roman- Amaryllis (pride), Red Rose (romance)

Remus- Angelica (inspiration), Rhododendron (danger, beware)

Patton- White Camellia (you’re adorable), Blue Hydrangea (gratitude for being understood, frigidity and apology), White Jasmine (Sweet love, Amiability), Forget-me-nots (true love memories, do not forget me)

Virgil- White Clover (think of me), Red Columbine (anxious, trembling), Edelweiss (courage, devotion), Coriander (hidden worth/merit)

Logan- Blue Hyacinth (constancy), Violet (watchfulness, modesty, faithfulness), Clematis (mental beauty), Savory (spice, interest), Rosemary (remembrance)

Janus- Snapdragon (deception, graciousness), Anemone (forsaken), Belladonna (silence), Black-eyed Susan (justice), Lavender (distrust), Bittersweet (truth)

#sanders sides #logan sanders #ts logan #loceit #ts loceit #janus sanders #ts janus #ts patton #ts remus #ts roman #ts virgil #tw alcohol #tw flowers #s.s. loceit #ketchup writes

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

Text

III. Heavy With Mood

Summary: You have two very different dates with Steve. At the end of the second, the two of you come to be on the same page. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The Last Day of First Grade (yes, it’s special) is a complete blur as all of your students are too restless and overactive to get through much of anything. Your body is so tired from the late nights of making sure everything is in order before summer break. Curriculum pacing just so happened to place two assessments on Monday, which left you and Heather with the task of frantically grading and re-testing any student who missed school. Entering grades and stuffing report cards kept you awake Tuesday night, as well as planning the Last Day festivities. Not to mention during your “break” periods at work, you were pulled into various meetings.

Other classrooms were doing huge events for the Last Day- full of parent involvement and showcasing student work.

You were dead tired. So you planned a pizza party and movie day before early dismissal. Screw the big huzzah. You had thrown two parties this year- Friendsgiving and Winter Solstice Party. The end of the year was going to be simple: Disney and pizza. The kids were beyond pumped for it.

In the morning you teach them how to make their own paper airplanes, decorating the papers together before folding. Then you take them on the playground and they all get a chance to fly them across the blacktop. Jason’s goes the farthest, coasting on a lucky breeze before diving nose-first into the bushes. Mabel’s plane gets caught in a basketball net and you have to poke it free with a snapped-off branch. The kids cheer as you teeter on your tip toes and jump until it comes loose.

By the time the pizza gets delivered, adults and children alike are sweat-glazed and ready for ice-cold juice pouches. You fire up the movie and begin passing out plates while Heather comes around with the pizza.

When you and Heather finally sit down, you breathe a sigh and wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. The kids are intently watching as Dory dreams about her parents and excitedly swims into the anemone. They giggle when she gets stung.

You rearrange your desk to make room for your own plate, moving flower vases and thank-you cards, stacking candy bars and consolidating gift bags. You had planned on reading these randomly, but a certain twine bow catches your attention and the bit of crust you’re chewing on gets stuck stubbornly in your throat.

Pulling the threads apart, you peek into the small gift back where a card sits on top of a stack of very large cookies encased in cellophane. The paper is heavy and rough against your fingers when you pull it out, peering in awe at the watercolor blossoms on the cover. You turn it in your hand, peering at the delicate craftsmanship, wondering which card company made such an exquisite thing but unable to see a label anywhere.

Holy shit. You realize, Steve painted this. You’re awestruck.

On the inside, his handwriting scrawls your first name delicately in black ink. Your heart leaps into your throat, taking place of the chewed crust as you choke a little bit.

Thank you for everything this school year. Sarah and I will be so sad to not have you in our lives… unless you’d like for that to change as much as I do. It is the last day of school, after all…

Please come have dinner with us today. I promise we’ll feed you more than just banana bread and cookies.

Steve

The smile you try to hide persistently thwarts your attempts as you reread the note over and over again, fingers digging into the cellophane wrapping before eating a corner of the top cookie. The raisins and molasses melt against your tongue. The crunch of the oats immediately sweeps over the softness with such deliberate balance you think you might faint.

It’s not your week on carline duty, but you take the students outside during dismissal to see and say thank you to as many parents as you can. Both you and Heather have received more hugs than you can count, and right after lunch, with pizza sauce on their shirts and all- the kids nearly dogpile you as you bend over to pick up a loose fork on the rug. Tears have been in your eyes since.

You hand off Grayson to his mother, Harper to her aunt, and one by one, all the children are gone. Except for, of course, sandy-haired, blue-eyed Sarah, who grips on to your hand and points when her father’s distinct figure peeks out from behind the crowd of parents. When he walks up, they share a smile and Sarah swings your hand in wide semi-circles.

“Are you gonna come have spaghetti with us?” She asks, skipping from you to latch onto her father’s leg. You look around tentatively, waving goodbye to any straggling student you might know. Other teachers glance over at Steve, then avert their eyes quickly.

The Rogers smile at each other and Steve gives Sarah a wink. There go those lovely eyelashes again, fluttering like your heart.

“Well, I do love spaghetti…” You mumble. Sarah giggles excitedly and jumps up with a clap.

“Yay yay yay yay! Daddy lets me make the meatballs and wash the tomatoes. Can you stay for a movie? Can you stay for a sleepover?”

Both you and Steve sputter at her suggestion but Sarah rambles on about what movies they have at home. He mouths an apology and you shake your head with a laugh.

“How about five?” He asks, fiddling with his phone. “I’ll send you our address?”

You nod and he shoots off the text. Then he takes Sarah by the hand and with a small wave and another shy half-glance back behind him, Steve leads her off the curb and into the emptying parking lot.

Wiping the beading sweat from your brow— more nerves than summer sun— you return to your classroom. It was about half-past noon. You have another two hours of cleaning up before you can leave. Heather stands by the door with a smile and swings it open for you. Graciously, she says nothing, only humming a brief tune as you take large strides out of view of your co-workers’ eyes.

—

A familiar wave of panic crashes upon you as you close your car door and step up to the Rogers’ house at four-fifty. It’s a cozy one-story Four Square with a manicured front lawn and tall rose bushes by the steps. The front porch suspends sprawling hanging plants and a swing bench accompanied by two outdoor chairs. Some of Sarah’s outside toys lay scattered by the doormat.

Your finger pushes the bell and you clutch into the bag at your side tightly.

Nothing.

Quickly, you check the address on the text again and step back to get a good look at the numbers to the left of the door. They match. You smooth your dress and try again.

Nothing.

A thousand errant thoughts run cross your mind— he must have given you the wrong address. This is a stranger’s house. It was a trick. He was pulling your leg. Of course he doesn’t like you. Oh god, you have to leave. You’re scrambling from the front steps when the door gets yanked open and Steve is chasing you down.

“Hey!” He calls.

Turning around, you see him apron-clad, trousers on, patterned button up sleeves folded up to his elbows. His hair is in slight disarray and he’s out of breath.

“Is it five already?!” He cries, checking his watch. “I’m sorry, dinner’s not ready—“ A shriek comes from inside the house and Steve whips around to look for it, “Sarah is— come on in, please! She’s very upset with me. I’m sorry. Oh damn it…” He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm and dejectedly leads you inside.

The smell of butter and tomato sauce is so inviting as it pushes past the heavy stiffness that lingers in the house. Something sweet is in the oven, too. The hardwood path to the kitchen is open and decorated with paintings of nature and pictures of Sarah. Just as warm as the bakery is, the Rogers house is even more intimate. It’s also spotless.

“This shouldn’t take too much longer…” Steve sighs before going silent.

He motions for you to have a seat as he resumes his place at the stove, stirring and peeking into the oven. There are half-rolled meatballs on the other side of the counter and Steve starts washing his hands before looking at them disparagingly. After setting your things down, you wander away from the living room and try to find the source of his exasperation, giving him a moment of privacy.

Sarah is in her room, repeatedly hitting a stuffed bear against a luggage bag when you gently knock on the door. She’s bright red and fuming, yellow butterfly dress crumpled at the hem, knee socks rolled down half-way and at uneven lengths. When she sees you, she screams your name and erupts into tears, smothering her face against your thighs.

Carefully, you kneel down and let her lean on your shoulder. Big droplets roll and collect in the hollow of your collarbone.

“Shhh, sweet girl. I know you’re upset.”

“I-I-I d-don’t don’t wanna g-g-go oh-oh-ohhhh!”

You pick her up and pat her back with a little effort. Her legs dangle down nearly to your shins because she’s got her father’s genes and she’s more than half your size at age six. You walk her slowly into the kitchen and upon seeing her father she presses her cheek to your neck and faces away from him. Steve looks pale and sullen as he rolls the last few meatballs between his two palms. Your heart is on the verge of breaking too. Sarah is breathing heavily, hiccuping in-between, rattling like a maraca.

“Sarah, honey. Let me have a look at you.” You set her down and hold out both your hands. She places hers is them and blink slowly, blue eyes swollen pink. “Are you nervous about going to see your mom?” She nods. “I know you’re going to miss your daddy, honey. But it’s only for one month, remember?”

She opens her mouth to cry but you give her a pointed look- one she’s familiar with- and she stops, waiting for you to finish.

“Your mama loves you, and she’s so excited to spend time with you. She’s going to make sure you have lots of fun. You know that our school has a short summer, right? Know why?”

She nods again, the tears temporarily ceasing as you try to divert her fears with facts. “We have a different calendar.” She says.

“Mhm… so… you’ll be back here in thirty days and guess what?” You smile at her.

“What?”

“Then you’ll be in second grade! You’ll be a big girl in second grade where you’ll get your very own locker!”

After a breath, Sarah giggles finally. A small, short tittering before she pouts again. You poke her with a finger and then point to your bags on the dining room chair. “I have an early birthday present for you. Something for your trip. Can you help me get that brown bag?”

Following her to the chair, the two of you sit cross legged on the floor as she pulls out your gift- a light blue mini-polaroid camera. It was something you’d gotten a few years back but had remained mostly unused and gathering dust on your bookshelf. While you were getting ready to come over, you thought about bringing a gift, but a dessert would have been offensive (Steve being a professional baker and all), and a bottle of wine might have been inappropriate (Sarah being six, you being a lightweight).

At the last minute- the camera caught your eye and you figure it would be a good distraction for Sarah to have during her travels. You also recall her birthday being one of the first days of school- making her one of the youngest in her class. It was perfect.

You teach her how to use it, hanging it around her neck and pressing the on button and watch it whirr and buzz to life. You’d also brought her two extra packs of film. She peeks through the viewfinder curiously and points it at you.

“When you’re ready, push the shutter button here.” You lightly move her finger to the dip and sit back. She peeks into the viewfinder for a second, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates. You’re laughing when Sarah clicks it and the flash goes off. Immediately, a small white rectangle ejects from the slot and you tug it out for her. She giggles and looks at the plastic, catching the kitchen light on its surface.

“Now we wait!” You say, playfully slapping it on her head before setting it on the counter, “It only takes a few minutes. But how about we take more pictures after dinner? I think your dad needs help setting the table.”

Sarah walks with you, holding the forks and napkins as you bring the knives. She chooses the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge and fills up three cups with ice before you pour. Steve quietly arranges the freshly baked meatballs on top of the pile of noodles and sauce with care and sets down three steaming plates on the table.

Sarah walks over to him before he can sit down and climbs into his arms when he kneels. Softly, she whispers “I’m sorry, daddy.” And Steve Rogers’ eyes fill up with tears. You tilt your head back so that your own won’t spill over, either.

Dinner is spent happily, the three of you slurp noodles and sip tea. By the end of it, you’re all so full that a single slice of blueberry pie al a mode has to be shared by three people.

Fifteen minutes into The Little Mermaid, Sarah falls asleep next to you. Little breaths escape her body as Steve scoops her up and takes her down the hall. You’ve been sitting on the recliner- a safe choice so that you don’t assume too much, but Sarah climbed up next to you and snuggled into the space by the armrest. When he returns, Steve moves to the edge of the couch and takes a deep breath. You send him a tentative smile, offering him your hand.

He looks unbelievably tired as he takes it.

“Thank you… Really, I--”

You shake your head, “No, I know it’s hard. My mother raised me on her own— she remarried when I was in high school, but trust me… I was tough. You’re just fine. Really.”

He squeezes your hand and you return the gesture, pushing your nerves down as much as possible. Fish are singing in the background, and the only thing illuminating Steve other than the movie is the lamp in the corner of the room. Slowly, as Sebastian the crab leads the chorus of marine wildlife, Steve laces his fingers in yours.

“I hope this is… um.. okay.” He whispers.

Your eyes are fixed on the T.V. “Mmhm.”

Another few minutes pass. “Can I get you anything else? More pie?”

You smile, “I’m okay. Thank you. Do you want help cleaning up?”

“No. No! I’ll do it.”

You blow a raspberry because there’s two pots, a pasta strainer, and a baking sheet, not to mention all those plates and cups and forks piled up in the sink. “Steve, I will have more pie if you let me help with the dishes.”

He rubs the back of his head. “Okay..” he laughs. “You’ve got a deal.”

Because you say it all the time, and because you swear your brain is just a giant spinning wheel of phrases you use in the classroom, you stupidly blurt. “Dill, pickle?”

He bursts into laughter. The sweetest, most joyful sound you’ve heard all night. Maybe ever. He clutches one hand to his torso and throws his head back. “Dill, pickle!”

Steve walks you to your car at eight-thirty. The two of you had shared another hefty slice of blueberry pie together and spent the last hour on the porch- you on the swing, him on the chair- because your conversations were getting too full and loud with laughter and you were afraid of waking Sarah. Peggy would be landing early to get her, about seven. Both father and daughter needed a good night’s sleep.

He takes leisurely steps next to you, both hands tucked in his pocket, chin to his chest with a smile and you find yourself slowing down to match his pace— not yet wanting the night to end. At the curb, you put your hand on your keys but leave them in your purse for now. He leans against the frame of your car and rubs the flutter sleeve of your summer dress lightly between two fingers.

“This is nice.” Steve says, maybe a little bolder than he should have been, but the entire month has been a series of days leading him up the peak of a terrible roller coaster, which tomorrow morning would plummet him into the longest thirty days of his life so far. He hasn’t seen Peggy since Christmas, only able to avoid her because he begs Marnie to take Sarah each time she visits. But tomorrow, promptly at seven, because Peggy is always prompt, he’ll be handing off his little girl with tears in his eyes and throwing himself into work to take his mind off being without her all summer.

Steve tries to find an anchor in the sorrowful sea. The sleeve of your floral yellow dress seems perfectly capable of keeping him still.

You see the desperate look in his eyes, brimming with sadness, worry, even if the edges of it are alight with joy from your time on the porch together. His comment seems less about your dress and more about the time, you think, but say nothing. Maybe he’s not ready— and you don’t expect him to be because all you know of Steve Rogers is just the tip of his iceberg. The weight of him- his grief, love, his complexities, lie much further beneath that blue.

You float there, too, with your own intricacies. Two icebergs melting slowly in the summer.

“Do you, um.. would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

Tomorrow is a teacher workday, and you’ll be in the classroom. He knows that, as he offers. The two choices are either going out to eat during the lunch hour, or him coming into the school to bring you something. You ponder the question for a minute as you memorize the lines of his face. Slowly, you let go of the troubles you’ve kept-- the fear of gossip and rumors. Steve Rogers is sweet. He is caring, he is gentle, loving, strong, respectful. There could be worse men interested in you.

Part of you also knows he would appreciate it, after the morning.

“Yes. I’d really like that.”

“Can I call you when I’m on my way? I’ll bring our daily special if you’re not already sick of my cooking…” He laughs.

“Oh no. Please, feed me more of it!” You respond, rolling your eyes back at the memory of the tangy tomato sauce that had simmered for over an hour. The robust meatballs perfectly paired with the delicate cheese and hand-torn sweet basil sprinkled on top. “Dinner was incredible. I can’t even—Ugh!”

Steve’s hand clutches his torso again as he leans back. “I guess if you hated my cooking we’d have to stop seeing each other.” And suddenly the statement makes both of you stop in your tracks because he’s brought to the forefront the exact kind of thing that you’ve been tiptoeing around all night.

“If that’s... I mean, if that’s okay with you? Us seeing each other?” He rubs the back of his neck bashfully and the two of you stand like teenagers after a first date, still leaning against your car, barely lit by the lights of his front porch.

Inside, Sarah sleeps soundly to the soft melody of a night-time playlist Steve has put on for her. She dreams of a plane ride, her mother’s red lipstick, her father’s watch, the light blue polaroid camera that matches her eyes, and the white plastic picture that she forgot to look at before bed. On the sidewalk outside, her father steps forward, hand cupped underneath her first grade teacher’s chin and places a goodnight kiss to her cheek.

In the morning, your face still sting with the softness of his kiss. Two completely contradictory sensations float over every thought you have- in the shower, brushing your teeth, driving to work, cleaning your classroom. Everywhere you look, you’re invaded with last night’s memory of Steve Rogers’ breath caressing you. The closer it gets to noon, the harder your heart squeezes and pounds.

Seeing each other.

Heather notices your dreamy looks and asks you after the third time you drop a chair and you tell her a white lie—too much wine last night, a hangover. You know inevitably, it’ll be too obvious to hide, with him coming in to eat lunch, but for now you just don’t know how to say it yet:

Seeing each other.

It feels so foreign. You haven’t seen anyone in almost two years. And now suddenly, you’re seeing possibly the most fantastic man to ever grace the Earth. There’s a very real and immediate chance that the both of you are getting caught up in the infatuated period of romanticizing a relationship. You try to ground yourself, but it’s hard when the very ground you stand on trembles at the thought of him. The more you know about him, the more you slip.

He’s been separated and now divorced, he revealed to you last night, for about two years. His whole life is the bakery and Sarah. She dominated the majority of your conversation, a good fixture to keep the mood from straying too far into anything too serious. It kept you from revealing your own baggage, mostly. Not that you had a lot of it. But you never know how people internalize others’ truths.

“You goin’ out for lunch?” Heather asks as she picks up her thermos.

“No, I, uh… I’m having lunch here.” You can hardly believe it’s noon already.

“You ain’t got anythin!” She looks around your desk from the door, and you pinch your lips together.

“S-Steve is b-bringing me something.” You whisper quietly before clapping both your hands over your face. Heather’s gasp makes you peek out from behind your hands and you see that she’s peering down the hall at the sound of footsteps. She ducks out of the door way and stares open-mouthed at you before jerking her thumb to the entrance.

“Girl….!”

You mouth get out to her and she cackles in delight. With a firm wink, she fixes the purse on her hip and struts out of the room, calling, “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Rogers! Y’all have a great lunch, alright?”

Steve enters with a smile and a brown paper bag. He looks just a little more tired than usual, eyes puffier than last night. Instead of crossing the room and holding him, your first instinct, you meet him on the rug and stand on your tiptoes, left hand on his cheek to kiss him chastely on his right. It echoes his gesture from yesterday.

“You’re alright, Steve.” You whisper in his ear.

“Yeah. I’m trying to be.”

He nuzzles his cheek against yours and the two of you stand there before parting. Steve takes out lunch- yogurt, two pressed paninis, a cup of fruit. It’s small talk at first, about his morning and then yours, the steady and predictable grind of work, you looking forward to Friday afternoon when you officially start your summer break. You planned on visiting your family for about a week in July.

You tell him more about your family- your mother raising you and your brother on her own. He was closer to her, staying in town and making a living in the city, starting his own family. Silly stories were shared about both your childhoods- Steve was sickly and often picked on, usually finding himself battered into a pulp in Brooklyn alleyways. You went through a rebellious phase, chain-smoked, skipped school, hitchhiked around town. Neither of you could believe what the other was saying. Him- small?! You- goth?!

Steve roars with laughter. You tell him you may still be in your rebellious phase- not wanting to move back home any time soon.

But, as you predicted, he asks the inevitable.

“So why did you move out here?”

You bite your lip, “For a partner…” you begin, “I moved here with my long term boyfriend, who got into the Ph.D program at the university.”

Steve listens as he finishes the last of his yogurt, wiping the remainder with a cut of cantaloupe.

“I had just finished my Masters and student teaching, was still interviewing for jobs… it uh, it fell apart early on after the move.”

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Your fruit cup begins to resemble sludge as your fork smashes against the chunks of watermelon and honeydew until they’re disfigured. Steve watches you intently, tilting his head.

“He… wanted to get married. Wanted kids. We’d been together for three years and it was always something we would eventually do— but he just became really convinced about starting a family.”

“And you weren’t ready?”

“Sort of.” You confess. “I had a bit of an awakening after spending a semester student teaching. After a lot of thought about my own childhood, being around all of these children who had such tough lives and required so much from me as their teacher... it came together. I realized I don’t want kids, Steve. That was the-- y’know— that was it.”

The corner of his mouth twitches a bit as he places his hands awkwardly in his lap. It must feel so strange to him, you think as you watch him slowly look around your classroom, disheveled in the middle of stacking desks and rolling up rugs. Everything is cared for here, deliberately put together to foster growth in twenty-five children every year… but he looks at you, and he sees the finality, the seriousness of your revelation: you didn’t want any children of your own.

He stops himself from saying those cliched, callous statements that people offhandedly throw at women who decide they don’t want children. But he can’t help still thinking them. You’re still so young, you might change your mind.

“Oh.” Is all he can summon.

You watch him almost physically recoil and your eyes slip shut, the disappointment settling down your body to gather into a tight knot in your gut. Maybe this was for the best— getting the truth out in the open before the both of you lead each other on too far. He wasn’t a young boy dating for kicks; he was an adult man, with a daughter, who had divorced his wife because she worked too much.

You fall asleep on the couch in front of lesson plans at least three times a week.

The sharp bite of truth mixes on your tongue with the sweet memory of his kiss on your cheek. Any future you might have with Steve Rogers would be as a mother to Sarah. You just admitted to him that you had no desire to be one.

You manage a dry laugh as you begin to gather the trash into the bin next to your foot. This was the downfall of your last relationship, and your very own mother had advised you that any man you might date will want a child sooner or later. Steve, already having one, was ahead of the curve.

“We- uh,” a single chuckle escapes, “We started something we couldn’t finish, huh?”

Steve blinks from his reverie, “No!” he helps, but it’s a futile attempt to salvage your feelings, “No, that’s not.. That’s not what’s happening.”

“Look at you, Steve. You’re leaned so far away from me.”

He does look at himself, and you’re right. Unconsciously, Steve had tilted back so far he looks like he’s just finished pushing himself away from the table. He’s at a loss for words because he doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t know how you can be so wonderful to your students, to his own daughter, right in front of his eyes over and over again… yet, you don’t want to be a mother. He doesn’t understand because being a father has been his greatest joy.

“You would make a great mother!” Steve blurts, “I’ve seen you… with Sarah. With all your students.”

You both wince, because he’s done it. He’s callously thrown that dismissive statement people tend to throw at women who don’t want children. His head is a mess. The complicated thing that was beginning to seem simple in his life has returned to being complicated again. This time, it’s so layered he doesn’t know how to even begin to look at it.

On the one hand, he can fool himself –assuming the relationship works out—and say that technically, Sarah isn’t your child, so you get what you want. But he also knows that any person who doesn’t want children is a person who doesn’t want to pledge their lives to the obligation of a child. Bucky and Natasha have often reminded him of those exact feelings. Furthermore, your not wanting a child was because of your own dedication to other children… to your work.

He’s vaguely reminded of Peggy and her dedication to her work.

His brain feels like how your fruit cup looks: slush.

“Wait.” Steve whispers suddenly, leaning forward. “I’m sorry I said that— I shouldn’t have. I don’t want to be the kind of person who invalidates you.”

He calls your name so softly it almost breaks your heart.

“I really like you. I’m not trying to change your mind. I… I don’t know what to do… but I really like you.” It brings a small smile to your lips.

“I like you too, Steve.”

“I just want to spend more time with you. Can we just .. see where this goes? At the very least, we’ll have this summer together… I…” he pauses, reaching across the table and linking his fingers through yours, like he did yesterday evening. It feels so good, and warm, and you sigh almost contentedly.

Steve takes a breath, “I don’t want this to end.”

That’s it, he thinks. This is him following Bucky’s advice, shooting his shot. This is Steve, laying himself down not knowing what will happen after summer, or even next week, or in five seconds, as he waits for your reply. All he knows is that he told the truth, with every fiber of him, he wants to keep seeing you. He wants to be in the presence of that incredible smile, the big heart, the warm laugh, so pure it lets him forget that he’s thirty-five and divorced.

It’s him, being selfish.

He stares at his shoes and says a prayer before taking the chance to glance across the desk. Your heart bellows in your chest before it drops from the incline. You take the plunge too.

Leaning over your desk, pencils clattering as the cup holder spills over the surface, you press your lips to his and whisper.

“Me neither.”

Next Chapter

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #self insert #slow like honey heli0s

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