#the blooming of an alyssum

[nanshe-of-nina]

Kushiel’s Legacy GIF sets || Alyssum

… and not at Alyssum, where they say she trembled to lay aside her modesty … The adepts of Alyssum, famed for their modesty, were robed and veiled as Yeshuite priests and priestesses, profanely provocative.

[2014subuwuflorister]

more pics of the garden from today! only planted about 7000 plants today. pictured above is one of our long strip beds with 2000 begonias laid out in a candy cane stripe pattern. also pleased with how my pots are starting to bloom! (that last one wasnt designed by me tho, just loved how it looks!!)

[whumptober]

Completionists of 2024 - 2/4

Enthusiasm Girl | @enthusiasmgirl | enthusiasmgirl on AO3

14rainyday | @14rainyday | 14rainyday on AO3

Will Soulsby-McCreath | @nopoodles | WordPress

@lokigodofaces | lokigodofaces on AO3

@runicmagitek | runicmagitek on AO3

Kim & Nico | @sayitcanonlybeme | Playmeslow on AO3

Blooming Alyssum | @bloomingalyssum | BloomingAlyssum on AO3

nova | @thefootnotes | reyesdiaz (whateverthecalamity) on AO3

@glamphantasm | Avarici0us on AO3

Feevee | @bloodyfeverdreams | messedupstargazer on AO3

@laffy-taffy-creations | Laffy_Taffy_C on AO3

@vivifriend | Vivifriend on AO3

The_Golden_Wolf | @theoneeyedgoldenwolf | The_Golden_Wolf on AO3

@redring91 | Redring91 on AO3

@summonfi | summonfi on AO3

Huffle | @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 | hufflepuffwritingstuff2 on AO3

@itooaminthisepisode | itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum) on AO3

G | GTheWriter1224 on AO3

@killjoyconstruct

@overdueforarevival | Sokeyy on AO3

Ace | @buckynerdycore | ducksandbooks on AO3

@britishsass | the_angst_alchemist on AO3

The Ultimate Fangirl | @blogger360ncislarules | OPSManager on AO3 | HettyRules on Quotev

Void | @thevoidismyhome2000 | TheVoidIsMyHome on AO3

Eternal | @eternalera | Eternal_Era on AO3

Ruin | @crash-bump-bring-the-whump

bones | @the-fabulous-51 | vosian_nightmare on AO3

@darkplaceblankface | SilentMocha on AO3 & JustBagel on AO3

@ouzoathena11 | OuzoAthena11 on AO3

TheOtherAsh | @theotherash | TheOtherAsh on AO3

Hummus654 on AO3

AtiRosnor | @atirosnor | AtiRosnor on AO3

Kittymobabas | @totalstupidityaddict | Kittymobabas on AO3

@lettersfromaplatypus | 525600thoughtsofaplatypus on AO3

@desired-misery | Desired_Misery on AO3

Alyssaromantic & BagOfGroceries | Alyssaromantic on AO3 & BagOfGroceries on AO3

@draconic-distress | Draconic_Distress on AO3

@alllthequeenshorses | AllTheQueensHorses on AO3

@papa-goose-ollie | PapaGooseOllie on AO3

OldGodLover | @oldgodlover | OldGodLover on AO3

@a-sin-to-be-rin | aSintobeRin on AO3

@cynicalone94 | Iburninsideatnight on AO3

@bubblebee10230 | Bubblebee10230 on AO3

Sourboi | @sourb0i | Sourboi on AO3

Kira the Angel | @kira-angel24

[leezlelatch]

Alyssum

A Primo Story

No plot, no drama, no sad. Just fluff. Can be slightly suggestive. Fem reader.

Tiny rocks scrape and crunch beneath your boots as you walk the pebbled path toward the Ministry greenhouse. Wisteria hangs from the lattice framed above the door, interlaced with ivy which blankets the facade and reaches with eager fingers across the roof. Potted plants litter the ground of various shapes and sizes, the stone patio wet from a recent watering. 

“Did you have a nice drink?” You question the plants, smiling softly as you continue through the greenhouse door which hangs slightly ajar as if expecting your arrival. The smell of soil and freshly cut flowers greets you upon your entrance, and you take a moment to breathe in the space. Primo’s space. 

Primo prefers to do his gardening outside, the greenhouse used mostly as a workshop and a place for his little experiments. You step around a few stray gardening tools, following your nose to the beautiful bouquet expertly potted on a little table fit with a lace cloth. You lean forward to take in the honey-like fragrance, your smile growing. Each day, a new flower. A new meaning. Primo always says each flower tells a story. And these stories are for you. 

“Alyssum,” Primo’s warmly accented voice sends a butterfly fluttering about your stomach, and you turn to watch as he takes off his soil-stained gloves, laying them casually to the side. “Worth beyond beauty. And you, my petal, are worth far more than any flower I have ever grown.” His lips twitch with a smile. “Sì, you are beautiful as well. Perhaps tomorrow will be purple heather.”

You turn and delicately pick one of the blooms from the bouquet, approaching Primo with a blushing smile. He chuckles softly, his well-used hands reaching out to settle upon your hips the moment you are close enough. You hold out the flower, “And for my Papa? Whose green thumb, clever mind, and sweet nature are invaluable. And very much loved.”

Primo hums, his hands sliding higher, fingers squeezing and massaging your sides. He lets go of one to take the bloom and bring it to his hooked nose, inhaling deeply with a gentle sigh. A slow smirk crosses his thin lips, and he bops you on the head with the flower. “Sweet, my petal? You know more than anyone how passionate my true nature can be.” Primo’s words end on a soft growl and he pulls you closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck. You squirm and giggle against him as he bites playfully at your soft skin, soothing it with his tongue. Your hands come to settle on his shoulders and you relax in his grip, sighing gently. Your eyes flutter shut as Primo drags a wet line to the shell of your ear. “Ti amo.” 

A tiny squeak of happiness erupts from your throat, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Primo grins, dropping another kiss to your neck. “Hmm, my petal?” He murmurs softly. “Does that make you happy?” 

“Very happy, Primo,” you say, your voice dreamy. You place a hand on his wrinkled cheek, feeling how soft the sagging skin is under your fingertips. “Oh! And…anc…anche…io?”

“Anche io, sì,” Primo encourages, smoothing a few flyaway hairs back from your forehead. “Very good! Learning more every day, amore. I am very proud.”

“It’s just a few words,” you say a little sheepishly, glancing to the side. 

Primo catches your chin with a thumb and forefinger, drawing your gaze back to his. “A few words that make my heart sing. It’s how you are willing to learn that makes me proud, not how quickly or how well.” He tickles your side and you can’t help but laugh, the sound of your happiness warming even an old man’s cheeks. “Do not worry, tesoro. You will be able to eavesdrop on my brothers’ conversations soon enough.” Primo’s eyes twinkle as you gasp, and he swallows your rebuttal with a kiss. He tastes of rosehips.

“Did I interrupt tea time?” You ask softly when you part, your lips brushing against his as you speak, neither of you willing to part fully. 

“Interrupt? Non essere sciocca! Do not be silly. You improve it,” Primo takes your hands, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “Rosehips for the arthritis, il mio amore for the soul.” He brings your hands to his lips and you beam, turning your hands in his to rub gently at his aching joints. Primo smiles sweetly at you for the gesture, his grip tightening as he pulls you toward his little parlor set up in a corner of the greenhouse. 

You delicately step over pots, and watch out for his propagating babies, ducking under drying herbs, and avoiding bubbling beakers on bunsen burners. Primo walks amongst it all, well-practiced and unworried, depositing you with a kiss into your favorite high backed chair: pink, and patched, and plush. You sit contentedly as he sets about preparing fresh tea things, humming some old Italian love song as he takes out a tin of loose tea. “Il mio amore’s favorite,” he mumbles to himself with a small nod, shaking the tin as if to accentuate his point. 

“Four sugars, please!” You say, leaning back in your chair with a broad smile. Primo glances at you with a raised brow, placing the kettle on the hot plate. “Or maybe five, I’ll have to taste it first,” you continue.

“How about we make it two,” Primo chuckles, approaching your chair. He makes a gesture with both of his hands to rise, and you stand. Primo takes your seat and then slowly pulls you down onto his lap, adjusting you here and there so you’re both comfortable. “Don’t give me that pout.” His finger taps your bottom lip. “I won’t have you diluting the flavor.” 

You sigh, and in favor of replying, you nuzzle your nose into his cheek. You drape an arm loosely over his shoulders while your other hand becomes occupied greebling his ear. You press little kisses on his face, and Primo practically coos. His hands can’t decide where they want to touch, his fingers traveling up your spine, over your thighs, across your stomach. They eventually settle on cradling your face. Primo looks at you with unfettered adoration, his eyelids hooded and mouth drawn into a lovesick smile. 

“I do not know what I did,” he whispers. “To deserve you. But I will pray to Lucifer every day to keep you.”

You close your eyes and focus on the feeling of his gnarled hands on your cheeks. Your fingertips explore the wrinkled and rough skin of his face, the wiry white hairs which are barely hanging on atop his head, the divots across his forehead, and the sagging skin of his neck. Alyssum. Worth beyond beauty. Primo earned every line of his face from hard work, dedication, and a life as well-lived as any of us could wish for. And a love like his? Completely worth it.

[jennhoney]

BABES get out your microscopes. This is alyssum that I grew from seed and it just started blooming today.

[birdsaredinosagenda]

the king's favorite

A story of a king and his concubine

♛ tōru oikawa x female reader

content warning: smut; mentions of violence, murder and forced abortion

notes: This is a multi-chapter fic, so next chapter will come soon-ish.

Spoiled.  

That's what the king said about his son and crown prince. But that king is dead and now the spoiled prince sits on the throne.  

He’s beautiful, that was clear, even with just the moonlight and an oil lamp providing illumination in your room you could still see how exquisite his features are. Defined jaw, high cheekbones, an elegant nose, lips that are almost always smiling, dark eyes that have a mischievous glint. The king looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

“Come here,” he beckoned you. Not moving from the mountain of silken pillows he had the servants bring in when he barged into your room, a flagon of wine in hand.  

Small bells around your waist made soft jingling sounds as you walked towards the prince, no, king. Brown eyes devoured every dip and curve of your body, the gauzy fabric covering you doing nothing to hide your form. 

You stopped in front of him, breath held. 

Hand just as beautiful as him reached for the knot keeping your sheer robe closed. One swift tug opened the flimsy garment, giving him a peek of the soft skin underneath. 

“Do you like it? Having your king disrobe you himself." 

He didn’t wait for your answer, he already knew what it would have been. Instead, he tugged on your sleeve and let the robe fall on the floor. Lust glinted in his eyes and he leaned back to take all of you in. 

"You really are quite a gorgeous gift, aren't you? No wonder you were the king's favorite." 

He’s right in both regards. You are gorgeous and you were a gift. You came to his kingdom dripping in gold and jewels and smelling like orange blossoms. But unlike all the invited guests who were royalties and nobles, you were an offering to the late king on his fifty-seventh name day. More beautiful than the gems that covered you but not as valuable. 

You caused quite a stir at the banquet, it’s not every day they see a woman who was wearing more gold than cloth. People leered and gawked. The men found excuses to get closer and stare. They asked about the emerald pendant nestled between your bosom, the strings of pearls on your wrists, and the delicate gold chains cascading down your thighs. 

“The Amirid kingdom must be wanting a heavy favor if they are willing to part with their late queen’s most prized gems,” said a duke who looked not very different from a snake. 

While the menfolk stared and marveled at your figure and the treasures you wore, none asked about you. They talked at you and not to you. The only one who approached you with genuine curiosity about who you were instead of what you were or weren’t wearing was the then prince. 

“Hello, beautiful” he greeted, “what is your name?” 

“Alyssum, your highness” 

“Like the flower. It suits you.” 

It was not the name you were given when you were born, but it was the name you’ve had the longest. Girls with the same fate as yours were stripped of their birth name and given new ones from pretty things—Rose, Esmeralda, Myrrha—gifts. Just like how they would be. 

He looked thoughtful then, quite different from how he’s looking at you now that it’s just the two of you in your quarters. 

A smile that makes your chest feel funny bloomed on his face. Taking a sip of wine, he patted his thigh and commanded you to sit. You can feel the heat of his body through the decadent silk of his garb.  

Truthfully, you’ve never been this close to him. Always surrounded by friends and admirers, a lady or two clinging to his arms, there was no room for another character in his crowd. So, you contented yourself with looks from afar and stories told by the other concubines. He, however, always greeted you warmly on the rare occasions you crossed paths when his entourage was absent. Inquired about the tea and sweets you were to enjoy with his father and graciously accepted the treats you offered him.  

“I did not see you at the ceremony. Did you not wish for me to be crowned?” he asked, hand on your hips pulling you closer still. 

The ceremony that would normally take weeks to prepare was held just a mere twelve hours after his father’s passing. Nobles whispered about how suspicious the haste was, but none would say it out loud for they too know that a kingdom without a king is a kingdom ripe for taking. So they kept their voices down, watched the high priest anoint him with holy oil, and wished him a long and prosperous reign. 

It wasn’t just the high priest who was moving faster than usual. The advisers and chymists, too, were busy at work. While the advisers sent word to neighboring kingdoms about the start of a new era — King Tōru, the scrolls declared — the chymists were rounding up the concubines and giving them moon tea to make sure no princelings would be born to claim the throne. Those who refused the brew were put to the sword. 

You shook your head and said to him “I wished nothing more than to see you on the throne, my king.” 

That answer seems to have satisfied him. So much so that the moment you uttered the words ‘my king’ you felt his hand on your nape and his mouth on yours. He licked your lips and coaxed them to part and welcome his tongue. He tasted like the sweetest, most intoxicating wine you’ve ever had. A moan caught in your throat while your hands found purchase on his chest and shoulders.  

“Entertain your king, sweet Alys.” His voice low and thick with desire. 

Your hands made their way down his torso only to be stopped when they’ve reached his belt. “No, no…” he said grabbing your hands and putting them on your thighs. He shifted underneath you, rolling his hips up and moving yours slightly making your naked cunt grind on his hardness. The movement and sensation of his cock still covered in fabric excited you and conjured up thoughts on what his cock would be like — feel like — when his clothes are off and out of the way. 

Eager to please your royal visitor, you braced yourself on his shoulder and started moving. Hips rolling, eyes never leaving his. The lessons in pleasure you received emphasized the importance of eye contact, the women who taught you said lessons spoke of courtesans who can bring men a step away from orgasm with just their gaze alone. You've always thought of it as an exaggeration, a good advice for certain but not the most important thing. However, the way the king’s eyes were blown with lust and cock getting harder and harder underneath you are proving the lessons to be true. Lessons that would serve you well in capturing the king’s favor.  

You moved your hip in a slow and mesmerizing pattern, soft breathy moans escaping your lips. A seductive performance for a very captivated audience. 

Sounds coming from the other side of the door stole your attention. “Your majesty,” called a voice. 

The king made no move to even acknowledge the man. And when he saw your attention diverted when the voice called again, he poured the half inch of wine left in his goblet on your shoulder. Golden liquid rolled from your clavicle down to your breast, a drop getting caught on your erect nipple. He leaned in to lick the trail of wine on your chest then captured the bead of wine on your nipple with his tongue. A gentle bite pulled a gasp from you. 

“Your grace!” A familiar voice this time bounced in the room. Unmistakably the king's loyal knight and friend, Sir Hajime. You wondered if they shared lovers before and if the king would share you too.  

“Lord Matsukawa brings news,” he continued.  

The king let out an exasperated breath, kissed you on the mouth and unceremoniously slid you off his lap then walked out the room. There you stayed, naked on silk pillows with arousal warming up your body and the taste of wine lingering on your lips. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised really, a king owes you no explanation or warning. And you have no power to demand either. Newly crowned and with a kingdom to rule, there would be countless people wanting his attention. 

All you can do is be patient, wait and try again. Besides, him being the way he is might just be the best thing to have happened. Because if there’s anything you know is that spoiled men, when they are enamored by you, like spoiling too.

[songofthesibyl]

Last Flowers

A Tamlin POV set during the events of ACOFAS.

It hit him, the weight of it, as soon as he returned. As if he had never been freed from his curse. As if, upon returning to the Spring Court, his heart had calcified. As if it had been happening this whole time. As if he had never been cursed at all. Perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe the whole thing had been another one of his delusions. He had dreamed the last few hundred years. He had laid down in the dirt, and closed his eyes, and the earth had taken him.

     And there had been stars under his eyelids, pricking through, willing him to open them. To life, to the new. He was held safely within, only the stars could come through. And when he finally opened his eyes, it was night, and he expected it to last forever. But he would never be in a place that was so stagnant, so stifling, again. He woke up, and he was high above, he breathed in the fresh mountain air, the sun was rising over the peaks. The world minuscule below him. Glittering like the stars, thousands of tiny fae lights. And stars raining from above, that he could catch in his hand. They were everywhere, surrounding him, he had gone into the pool, he was swimming amongst stars, forever. Not drowning—he swam, he flowed, he rose above, he walked out. It was a river, flowing, of many colors, to the sunset, to the sea. A rainbow. A promise that what lay beyond the waves was not Hybern, but only more flowing, more freedom.

     He walked, and the night bloomed. There were people in the streets, High Fae and Lesser, and no lesser at all. All mingling, happy. Safely within. He could hear the laughter and sweet words whispered. And the anticipation, walking up stairs, everyone dressed elegantly, shades of blue, and purple, and grey, and glittering jewels. All dressed in their best for her. There was a moment of confusion in the crowd, and panic, that he was alone—but a hand reached out, and he saw the wings, and smiled, and was reassured, and was one of them.

     And he took the hand, and joined the others, already waiting in their seats in the front row. And there was a great hush, and she appeared before them in a halo of light, sitting down at her harp, and singing. His mother. He looked around. Everyone was transfixed. And her song was joyous. A joy reflected in the crowd. They cheered, and clapped, and wept for being moved. And she was bashful, and humble, and beckoned with her hand for him to join her on stage. And he looked up to her, in awe, and wonder. But rose from his seat, and reached out.

     In the morning, the lilacs began to brown, and shrink from him. The leaves paper-thin, and crumbling. The scent was gone. He heard no birds chirping in the trees.

     The light had come to him then, wreathed in night. Obscured. He had not recognized it. But for the red hair, and the scar, and the eye of gold. The sun in his eye. And he had pushed him away, and hissed, and bit. Over and over and over. Until the sun bled, pouring down his chin.

     And the petals of the sweet alyssum had fallen to the earth. It had been heavy on him, the petals weighing him down until his eyelids drooped, and finally closed.

     And there was laughter again, and vases of sunflowers, and a zinnia tied to his buttonhole. Papers spread out on a table, and the table was round, and they were all there, Bron, and Hart, and Andras, and the sentries, one by one sitting at the table. And he stood, waiting for Lucien to sit first, and then sitting himself. And there was no head of the table, no bigger or smaller chairs. And he looked around. Alis was there too, and the villagers, it was all of them, his entire Court, and they laughed, and drank, and shared poems. It went on and on, ever-expanding, never-fading.

     And then the irises had wilted. And the wisteria. The sweet pea. Snapdragon and foxglove and hyacinth. All drooping, heavy. The peonies had fallen to the ground. And no summer flowers replacing them. No moonflowers, or lilies. No sunflowers or aster.

     No Autumn.

     It was a changing of his Court, finally a movement, an evolution. But no fruits on the vines, or the boughs. Everything was retreating. Fading from him.

     Insubstantial as a dream. Where the moonflowers opened, and tuberose, and jasmine, their scents overwhelming, until they closed at the break of day, and the morning glory replaced them. And there were colors, a rainbow of them, streaming across the sky, filling the halls of his manor, that was empty now. Blank as a primed canvas. And the every-color attached itself in abstract forms swiped across, filled in as blocks, free of form, only feeling, emotion. It was a sort of freedom that burst through the floors, splitting the black marble, the jagged gold lines bleeding, the windows and the doors opening out, and the colors running back. And the stagnancy was gone, a refreshing breeze swept through, and everything smelled of paint.

     And he woke, and everything was shut in again, and it stank of must and mildew and dust and rot. And an energy was in him, the rebellious agitation of Spring, and he tore through the manor, shattering windows, and slashing doors, his fiddle in splinters against the walls, the canvases all torn. Except hers. But the smell, and the rot, remained. The stagnancy of standing water, and the smell of bacteria building.

     The blight spread quickly after that. He went outside, and there was no more drooping, no more yellow-and-browning. Soon, only the rose garden was left. Roses always lasted so late in the year, in the Courts that weren’t fixed. They held on here, too, as if hoping he would last. Clinging to the last bit of life in him. Willing him to come back. But then, finally, relenting. There was nothing to nourish them. He could nourish nothing with his hands, awkward as they were, clumsy as paws. He could not caress, or coax, and encourage the blossom, the bulb, the briar. Petals fell, leaves curled at his touch. Recoiling from it, instinctively. It all fell away.

     And he realized, finally, that he wanted it to. He no longer lamented, or resisted it. Let it come finally, the blight.

     Let it come for him.

     After Rhysand left, he gathered the rest. Somehow, he did not tear through them. Lucien’s favorite handkerchief, pressed flowers. Letters from his mother, scented of cinnamon. Jackets, and shirts—when Lucien had sought him out after the meeting of humans and fae, he had said he had had no other clothes. He had had nowhere else to go.

     His eye had burned, the fire in it coming through, flickering, and rising, and fading again. He had been in so much pain.

     And he had hurt him. He could still feel the impact of his fists on his face, and Lucien egging him on, pushing him to go further. To just do it already. And he did, and there was blood running down his chin. He had put his hand to his face, and saw the blood on it, and had looked at him, wide-eyed.

     And he had told him to leave.

     Get out, he had said. Please. Get out.

     And he had. But then he kept coming back, and trying, like the roses lingering that bloom well into the Autumn, and even into Winter.  And so he had plucked them out, torn them from their roots. Rhysand had helped him to see—

     Everything you touch you destroy.

     And he let go, and the blossoms scattered on the wind, blowing south.

     And then it was all gone. The yellow roses, and the white, and red. The eglantine, pink with a gold eye. The green turned to brown, and then black. The thorns curled round, and covered him, and sank into his flesh. And dragged him down. He would never escape.

     It had all been a dream. And he had woken up, and seen what he truly was. So had everyone else. They had fled from him. He had only dreamed that they hadn’t. He had just seen it, that was it—the blood, and the brain matter leaking out of their ears. His mother’s severed head. Rhysand staring at him, full of fury, yet doing nothing. Knowing it was better this way.

     There was still smoke in his eyes, and the scent of burnt flesh. He had torn through the manor, and raged, and raged, and he was so tired now. He walked, shedding each layer like petals falling—his bandolier, his boots, his tunic. Everything, until there were only antlers, and fangs, and claws. Fur, and paws tearing up the earth. And he sank down, and curled himself up, and went to sleep a monstrous beast.

@tamlinweek 2024 Day Six: Dreams

[bumblebeeappletree]

Sophie profiles night-flowering plants to prove gardens can be enjoyed by early-birds and night-owls.

Under the harsh midday sun, it's easy to think gardening is purely a daytime activity, but plants don't put down tools when we do. With careful planning it's easy to bring your garden to life at night, adding extra dimensions for nocturnal pollinators. Sophie shows us that gardens can be enjoyed day in and day out.

Night Flowering Plants

Plants pollinated by butterflies and bees are at their brightest and most fragrant during the day, because that’s when their pollinators are most active. But not all plants are pollinated by bees and butterflies. Some plants are pollinated by nocturnal creatures like moths, bats and beetles, so these plants need to look and smell their best in the dark.

For pollinators that can't see well in the dark, they can be attracted by fragrance. Night-scented plants respond to the temperature drop in the evening. It triggers a chemical change in the petals where the volatile compounds become highly concentrated, and therefore more fragrant.

Some plants don't put on perfume but do respond to the fading of the light. In the plant world, it's called the nyctinastic rhythm, which is a bit like a circadian rhythm for plants. Typically, night flowering plants have white flowers because they have the best chance of reflecting light at night.

Madagascar Jasmine | Stephanotis floribunda *

This evergreen climber produces bunches of perfumed, white flowers over glossy, green foliage. It’s traditionally used in wedding bouquets and is reputed to have the best perfume of any climber. It's cold and frost tender and does best in a protected position next to a wall for radiant heat. In frosty areas, keep it undercover in a polyhouse or indoors. Stephanotis is related to Hoya and is non-toxic to pets so it can be a valuable addition to your indoor collection.

Chilean Jasmine | Mandevilla Iaxa *

This woody-stemmed climber has exquisite flowers with a sweet-vanilla scent that is most prominent in the evenings. Unlike other Mandevilla, which are sub-tropical plants, this one is cold and frost tolerant, even in the Adelaide Hills. The fresh, green leaves are deciduous in colder climates, but it will be semi-evergreen in milder climates.

Chinese Star Jasmine | Trachelospermum jasminoides *

This climber certainly packs a fragrant punch with its small star-shaped flowers, hence its name. Sophie’s grows this together with the Chilean Jasmine over the front doorway, and they are both members of the frangipani family. Star Jasmine are very versatile and can be grown over a topiary frame, on a trellis, as a ground cover, or even indoors if it has access to enough light.

New Guinea Bean | Lagenaria siceraria

It's not just ornamentals that are in the night scene. The New Guinea bean is in the bottle gourd family and produce long fruits with white flesh, and a flavour between zucchini and cucumber. Their white flowers open at night and emit a sweet fragrance to attract their nighttime pollinator, the hawk moth. This plant not only looks and smells good - it tastes good, too.

Cape Jasmine | Gardenia jasminoides ‘Florida’ *

Gardenias love acidic soils. This cultivar has beautifully scented semi-double blooms that appear in warmer months. Plant this in the centre of the pot to enjoy its height.

Star Jasmine | Trachelospermum asiaticum ‘Flat Mat’ *

This groundcover is perfect for a pot and can be planted towards the front, so it trails over the sides. It has dark green foliage and a crisp white star-shaped flower with a heavenly perfume.

Sweet Alice | Lobularia maritima

Perfect for edges, borders and trailing over pots, Alyssum or Sweet Alice gets its name for its wonderful fragrance. This plant is an annual though should self-seed in its pot.

* While Stephanotis, Mandevilla, Trachelospermum and Gardenia have "jasmine" as a common name; a "true" jasmine is from the genus Jasminum. Most Jasminum species are considered an environmental weed in Australia, so plant these instead to enjoy their impeccable beauty and scent, responsibly.

[chillydownhere2]

Gold Dust Alyssum Flowers are beginning to bloom on the Oklahoma Prairies.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Six

i probably shouldve mentioned the flower meanings in previous chapters before but eh

Blue aster: represent trustworthiness and faithfulness.

Blue Salvias: means "thinking of you,"

Azalea: Some cultures believe the flower symbolizes taking care of yourself and those around you.

Orange tulips: symbolize understanding and appreciation.

Pink tulips: Pink tulips are known for meaning affection, caring, good wishes, and love.

Forget-me-nots: represent loyalty and devotion.

Balloon flowers: These purple and blue blooms represent the desire for a friend to return, honesty and endless love.

Alyssum: In the Victorian language of flowers, Alyssums are known to mean "worth beyond beauty."

a03

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word count: 10,923

link to site used for flowers mentioned in this chapter <3

III awoke that morning with a clear head, fully rested with no signs of pain throughout his body except for the slow healing bruising on their face. He was wrapped around II, holding the drummer's smaller body to III's taller one like a teddy bear as II's snores filled the silence. He looked peaceful, still at rest as the both of them were warm under the blankets with his head tucked under III's chin. III was content to lay there a little longer before going to seek out Vessel to tell him good morning and ask how his night went-

Then III realizes he can barely feel Vessel in the bond. He sits up quickly, accidentally waking II in the process, who sits up slower, rubbing his tired eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

II barely manages to get his question out before III shoots out of bed, tripping over the blankets caught around their legs. "I can barely feel Vessel."

Any tiredness is sapped from II's bones like a lightning strike as the second vessel scrambles to completely attune himself to the bond he shares with the other two vessels. III is already out II's door, bare feet easily heard thumping against the flooring as they run down the hall towards Vessel's room. III's bond was a frantic mess of confusion and worry and panic.

II could not describe just how relieved he was when he felt Vessel's bond in tact, open but just barely, deliberate in how much of Vessel could be felt.

"He's not in his room, or the altar room!" III calls, footsteps pounding down the stairs.

II gets out of bed, too, socks slipping over the floor in his haste to help III check the house. His knee slams into the ground, sending pain up his leg and down the bond but he ignores it in his worry. Panicked cursing meets II's ears as he also makes his way down the stairs, forced to take them slower lest he slip and break his neck. II goes to check the bathroom and practice room as III checks the living room and kitchen, then heads outside. Neither notice that the vines, usually so lively, are listless, moving about the walls at a snails pace.

Vessel isn't in the house, and when III comes back in, II having heard him yelling for Vessel from inside, III says, "He's not out there either! The car's still parked outside. I- I can barely feel him. He promised! He promised he would try to keep the bond open! What happened?"

"I don't know sweetheart, he never usually goes out by himself... but the fucking car's still here...? Fuck, the only place we haven't checked is the attic and most of the forest. With his bond like it is, we'd never find him amidst all those damn trees."

All III can picture in his mind is a bloody Vessel, lost somewhere in the forest, even if the bond shows no pain. He has lied to them with it before.

A thought strikes them-

"Our phones! Have we tried calling him?" III asks, already taking II's arm and pulling him up the stairs.

They apologize when II slips, helping keep him upright as they go slower. "Fucking socks. I'm sorry."

"Its okay, doll, I'm not meaning to rush you."

"You're worried about Ves, sweetheart, it's alright."

III goes to grab his phone off the nightstand in II's room, pausing when he sees three of them, with a note placed over one. "He left his phone..."

"The note says he'll be back soon. He even put the cute six eyed smiley face." II says, taking in Vessel's elegant cursive.

III runs a hand through his loose blonde curls, then does it again to try and release some of the restless energy inside them, "We could ask Sleep again?"

"You probably should, I've displeased the God each time. I'm... not as respectful as I should be when it concerns Vessel's safety."

II knows that he should show the God more respect. That Sleep is his God as much as He is the others'. That he chose Sleep, chose this life... but II hates that Sleep is a flawed God. Just as any other being. Hates that Vessel can't seem to see it, or perhaps doesn't care due to his own lack of self-love and his unending devotion to the God.

III nods in understanding, tugging gently on their bond with Sleep. There is no answer. Not the first time, the second, nor the fifth. Each time, the furrow between III's brow deepens in frustration.

"He's not answering."

"Damn it... why?" II sighs, "We could try the altar?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, we can do that."

Seeking comfort, II and III link their hands together, heading down the hall. The altar room is dark when they enter, III lighting the candles littering the floor for light they don't truly need. II stops when he reaches the altar itself, eyes widening slightly at what greets him.

There's a drop of blood on the table, red and black swirls telling exactly who it came from. It drips over the edge of the table, a stained knife sitting next to the offering plate.

III steps up next to II, noticing the bloody knife as well. He freezes at the sight of the blood, the red all he can seem to focus on. The scent of iron invades their nostrils, fear flooding the bond like a tidal wave.

In their minds eye, Vessel is bleeding out, laid over the altars edge like he had fallen asleep in worship. Blood drips from his open mouth, red pouring from his mangled arms.

III trembles, letting out a small cry when the match burns their fingers. He'd let it linger in his grip too long. They curse at the pain, silently glad for it, as it pulled them out of their head, putting the match out quickly and lighting another to continue lighting candles. Their mouth is pulled into a grim line, just the same as II's.

II is still standing in the same spot, staring down at the stained knife and blood splotch, when III comes back with a wet rag to wipe up the blood. He refuses to let this newfound fear take ahold of him, to ruin his favorite color. Even as he trembles, even as he still gets flashes of a bloody Vessel every time they blink, III forces themself to remain strong in the face of the blood.

"Has he been offering his blood to Sleep?" III asks quietly, running a hand through his hair as he kneels by the altar.

They light a stick of incense while waiting for a response from II, who slowly kneels to sit beside him silently, finally seeming to realize III was saying something.

"He must be." II's throat is tight with emotion, putting a hand on III's thigh in a desperate bid for comfort.

He needs to keep the tears at bay. He can't break down, he isn't the only one worried right now. II needs to keep it together.

"Might be why he doesn't want us to see him worship." III says, one shaking hand falling to hold II's tightly.

"He used to. We used to worship together, in the beginning. At some point, he asked to worship alone. I wish I knew why. There's so much he keeps from us. I hate it. I just want him to trust us. To be able to trust us."

"I think he does trust us though. Its just- He may not know how to open up, or maybe he doesn't think we'd want him to."

"But we tell him! We tell him all the time that he can lean on us if he needs it. We tell him that we're here for him. We take care of his cuts when he lets us, or asks. We don't... we don't pry nearly as much as I want to. I'm always so happy when he lets us hold him close, even if I can barely feel the pressure of his arm on mine when we sit close. Even if I can't feel his warmth when he cuddles with us! He doesn't- I know he didn't believe me when I told him I loved him!" II cries, not letting himself truly sob like he wants to.

Fuck, II needs to be stronger than this.

II continues, "I want him to believe that I care for him, even if he doesn't believe I love him. I need him to know that he is adored. He worries me, all the time, and I love him so dearly that I don't care about that stress as much as I should. I know its not his fault, I know that this is years of some sort of abuse that made him this way- I just... shit, III."

III listens, not sure what to say, letting II cry into their shoulder. Lets II wrap his arms around III, lets the other put their weight on him as III leans his head on II's shoulder, swamping him in a tight hug that brings some comfort to them both. They know he doesn't mean to, doesn't realize how deeply they care for him, but Vessel worries them so much.

III will tell him. Its time for Vessel to know that they love him. The biggest hurdle will be getting him to believe them. If Vessel didn't believe II when he told him, why would Vessel believe III?

When II finally cries as much as their body will allow, harsh whines and whimpers as his tears overflow fading into quiet little hiccups and sniffles, he speaks, "Ask Sleep where he is. Please."

It takes Sleep some time to answer, minutes passing without their candle lighting up. II and III almost give up by the time Sleep finally arrives. There's a twinge of annoyance in His voices when He asks what it is the vessels needed.

"We're worried about Vessel. Do you know where he is?"

"My First is with me, in my realm. He left you a note telling you of his eventual return, did he not? He left his bond open, did he not?"

"Well, yes, but-" III starts, as II squeezes his hand, worried.

"We're worried he's hurt. It doesn't feel like he's in your realm. His bond- Its not fuzzy around the edges in a mockery of rest-"

"My First will explain things to you when I return him here. You will leave us be until then, my vessels."

II bites his tongue, wanting desperately to say something snarky in return. Its understandable that the God wants to not be disturbed, but they're worried. So worried. For Vessel to disappear like this so soon after what happened to III. Neither of them thought it was without good reason.

II is angry, too. At the situation. Maybe a little at Vessel for doing this to them. He left them a note, sure, but if he is only in Sleep's realm, he could have just... No. The God never gives any warning. This is not Vessel's fault.

Fuck. II hates this. Hates the uncertainty of the situation.

"Alright..." III mutters, clearly not pleased either.

Softening His tone slightly, almost apologetically, "I will return him at the end of the day. Fret no longer, my vessels."

"Thank you, Sleep, for answering our call." III says, as the God's presence begins to fade.

A brush of feeling along their bond with the God, so unlike their own bonds yet still similar, brings acceptance and a small apology.

When II is sure Sleep is no longer near, he lets out a frustrated cry so unlike anything III has ever heard from him.

"If Vessel is in Sleep's realm, why didn't He just take Vessel's mind from his body, here in the house where we can watch over him? Why isn't Vessel here?" II asks, and III can only shrug helplessly, not really understanding.

III had heard them mention Vessel often being taken to Sleep's realm unannounced, but has never witnessed it themself. This situation is out of his realm of knowledge, and so he can't help II. III hates that. Its not their fault, Sleep hasn't done it since III has been around. Clearly, the grace period is over.

"To warn you in advance, Vessel is always... restless. When he returns from Sleep's realm. Desperate to write down what he gleaned from the God's cryptic messages. He explained once that the God will not let him leave until he understands whatever melody or lyric he thinks Vessel could use. I don't know if he'll return that way now, since it seems his entire body is in the realm instead of just his mind but- its better for you to be prepared, in case. If he's in a bad headspace, we'll have to ask him questions later."

"Alright." III takes a second to think of what to say, what to do, "Then we just... wait for him to get back?"

II sighs, "Yeah, that's what Sleep said."

III fiddles with II's fingers, hand still held over his. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to put my plan for the garden into action."

"Would you like help?"

"No, it's okay. I appreciate the offer. I want to work on it myself. Vessel helped me plan so much of it... And I need something to do. Wanna have us all be able to finish NieR together, don't really feel like practicing my bass right now."

"Okay sweetheart, I'm going to be in the practice room. I need to get out some of this frustration. I hate that Sleep doesn't understand where our worry stems from, and so doesn't seem to care about it at all."

III is still trying to find words to say when II stands, leaning down to give III a kiss on the crown of his head before disappearing out the altar room door. Sighing, III takes the snuffer and starts to put out the candles. The tips of their fingers still sting and he realizes he must have burned them worse than they thought.

II catches them in the upstairs living room on the way to their room, holding a red med-kit in hand, larger than any of the ones they've taken to keeping in their own rooms. "For your fingers, I can feel your pain. I'm sorry I didn't catch it before. This is the only first aid kit with burn cream."

II leads III to one of the small lounge chairs in the bare upstairs sitting room. As he applies burn cream and then some bandages around the tips of three of III's fingers, he comments on the healing slice on III's palm as III relishes in the coolness of the cream soothing the sting. "I'm glad to see this is healing well. It should be gone within a week or two more."

"Oh good, I feel bad every time Vessel sees the bandage and gets guilty again. And it makes it hard to play my bass sometimes. Still stings."

"He'll be happy when it's completely healed, and you never do something like that again." II states sternly, soft eyes going a little hard.

"I had to get the blade away from him." III mutters, chastised but still not thinking he was entirely in the wrong.

"You panicked, I know. I... It upset me too. I've never... I've never seen him do it before. Only ever helped with the aftermath." II says softly, gaze a little distant as they finish bandaging III's hands, keeping them in a gentle grip.

"I never want to see him do it again. I know how unlikely that is." III says bitterly, less upset at Vessel himself and more that he ever needed to resort to hurting himself at all to cope with whatever he was dealing with. "I... I'm afraid of blood now... I keep seeing him- Seeing him bleeding out in front of me- There's always so much blood- I- I hate it."

"Oh, Three, sweetheart..." II starts, but III cuts him off.

"I'm not going to be forever. I won't let myself. Red is the color of your cheeks and neck, your shoulders even, when you blush. Its the color of Vessel's eyes, like rubies. It was my favorite color, Before. Its my favorite color now. I'm going to work on it, no matter how long it takes. I'm going to overcome this fear."

There is such conviction in III's words that II could never doubt him.

"My fear of spiders... I'll work on it too, even if it means I'm only not afraid of you. I know you're not a spider, and even if you can manifest the arms of one, it shouldn't change anything but... but my brain thinks otherwise, despite my heart's protests."

"I appreciate that. I really, really do. It hurt so badly, when you were scared of me, Doll."

"I know sweetheart, I'm so sorry." II leans forward and wraps III in a hug, pulling him close.

Their breaths breeze gently on each of their ears, and they take in each others scent like oxygen. "Why don't we work on our gifts from Sleep together? I can get used to your spider power that way."

His voice in III's ear, lowered to a careful murmur so as to not hurt him with the noise so close, sends shivers down III's spine. Arousal simmers low in their gut at II's closeness becoming apparent, the warm weight of him pressed into III.

"Sure." III mutters, thinking about those lips so close to the sensitive, pointed shell of his ear.

"I really want to kiss you." III declares, and II laughs as he rolls his eyes though III can't see, a breathy, disbelieving thing that sends more tingles through III's body.

"Oh, you want to do more than that, sweetheart. To think, we were just having a serious conversation." II pulls back, away from III, just enough for their eyes to meet.

Blues of similar color, surrounded by a sea of darkness, darkened in interest. "When the opportunity arises, we're going to be having another serious conversation soon, with Vessel." III promises, the arm they wrapped around II's back when they started to hug sinking dangerously close to II's ass.

II simply watches III for a moment, studying them. Absentmindedly, II taps out a beat on III's thigh.

"I scared him off for a while when I confessed." II frowns, unsure. "He wouldn't, or couldn't speak to me until you got here. Tried to avoid me. Hurt himself."

III takes care to listen to what II is saying. They know it won't be easy.

"It can't hurt to try. I love him, you love him, I love you, so, I want to at least try to convince him." III insists.

Without warning, II leans forward and places a gentle, feather light kiss against the corner of III's mouth before barreling into their chest in a proper, tight hug.

"I love you too." II says into III's chest, turning as pink as III's cheeks.

This is the first time they've ever properly said it. The last time II uttered those words, his heart was mended and then shattered in the span of a few seconds and Vessel couldn't even look at him. II and III had intended to wait until they confessed to Vessel, but these last few days had been so hard despite the good moments. Even if it would shatter the both of them to pieces that only the other could hope to pick back up, at least they would have each other if Vessel ultimately didn't accept their love for him.

Bandaged fingers slip between the strands of II's hair, III's hand coming to rest on the back of his head after sliding up his back. "We'll tell him soon, and hope it goes well."

"I hope it does." II murmurs, words almost lost in the expanse of III's chest as it rises and falls with each breath.

::

While II feeds Elvira then heads off to the practice room, III changes out of their pajamas and brushes through the tangled mess of their hair, putting it in a bun and using little flower clips to keep his hair out of his eyes while he works. Then, III gathers up all of the stuff he and Vessel have collected since they started planning III's garden. Its all piled up in a room downstairs that's unused. III is unsettled, even with the confirmation Vessel would be back with them soon.

The sun is bright overhead when III exits the house, needing to take a couple trips back and forth to bring everything they need outside, along with their radio and phone. They had already marked where they wanted to start the garden, to the left of the house on its side where a small clearing barren of underbrush lays. III smiles a little as he walks the small stone pathway II had suggested that leads to where they wanted the garden. A short, rickety plastic fence meant to resemble wrought iron fencing lines the stone path with little solar-powered lanterns hanging off the spikes. They're barely any taller than III's shin, and thankfully very fake or the last time he came out here and tripped over it would have hurt far worse. III still thinks its cute though, and loves it even more since it was Vessel's suggestion, quiet and more of a question when he pointed them out at the store. II and III had loved the idea, so it was a no brainer to get some even when Vessel backtracked and apologized for the suggestion. III hopes to one day get real wrought iron fencing, that's higher too, to line the pathway on either side. Maybe they'll make a little planter space on either side of the porch and use those to line it.

They set their radio up beside the house out of the sun, making sure the batteries inside are in properly. Turning it on and clicking play, an album III had found at the thrift store begins to play out a tune, Latin vocals and ominous music.

Infesstisumum by Ghost starts off with its title instrumental track, then transitions cleanly into Per Aspera Ad Inferi, and III knows all the words. Idly, III wonders what happened to all of his clothes and belongings after he had died. It doesn't really matter though, not anymore.

III decides to mark out how big of a garden they want, then moves on to actually laying down the red bricks overtop the outline they dug using a spade. They take their time, humming along with the music, feeling the brick scraping their hands as he tries to carefully line them up evenly. Lets himself get lost in the work, anything to abate the worry still writhing inside him. The plot is large enough for III to have a multitude of flowers, and vegetables if they so desired. He's glad Vessel thought of that, helped him figure out the measurements so III would have the space he needed.

III works tirelessly, adding some of his own store bought soil to the dug up dirt, then digging some small holes for the multitude of seeds they intend to plant.

The first flower they intend to grow is daffodils, for rebirth, new beginnings. It is only fitting, even if III has technically been a vessel long enough for it to no longer be apt. Alongside the daffodils, III has chosen to plant bellflowers for gratitude. III thinks those would be lovely as offerings to Sleep during his Worship, or even just to keep on the altar table. He is truly so grateful to the God for picking them as a vessel, for bringing them to Vessel and II.

If these grow well, III plans on seeing if the others' favorite flowers will grow too, if they have favorites, that is. Giving the seeds some water, III sits, letting their hands hold them up as they lean back. Not much else to be done, except wait for something to grow. But that's alright, this is what III wanted. He loves his plants, loves taking care of them. A garden will be a bit different though, he admits, than taking care of already grown potted plants. A lesson in patience and perseverance.

Looking up, III still has a couple hours until the sun sets. Deciding that a walk couldn't hurt, III dusts off their hands on their jeans and heads inside to grab a journal and pencil to sketch with. Maybe a little snack, too, as his empty stomach grumbles in complaint. III contemplates disturbing II, but ultimately decides not to. His drumming reverberates through the upstairs floor faintly as the sound proof paneling on the walls does its best to keep the noise from traveling too far.

The radio is left by their bed, and III only brings his phone alongside his notebook and pencil. Heading back down stairs, III passes Elvira. He takes a moment to pick her up, turning in a circle or two as he smooshes his face to her fur and coos at the black cat like she were a baby. She stares at him in contempt the entire time but does not scratch him, so III considers it a win. She escapes upstairs with a hiss as soon as III sets her down and he laughs at the little creature.

Setting off outside again, III takes in the sounds of nature around him with a smile, easily naming off many of the plants scattering the forest floor in their head.

III pauses on his walk to pick a single flower of each little new section of flower he comes across. They gather a decent little bouquet, stems tucked carefully into the pockets of their dirty jeans so that the flowers stick out. III is glad they decided to wear a tight tank top, one that just barely exposes a sliver of midriff. The weather has quickly taken a turn for the warmer, III notices. It was still cold most days when he arrived, but spring seems to be transitioning into summer quickly.

Blue asters, blue salvias, and azaleas are all carefully sketched out, along with a couple different types of mushrooms. No matter how many times III wanders, he always comes across new things. He knows they will never know the forest quite like Vessel does. III has gotten lost numerous times, and no matter what, Vessel always seems to find them. III supposes it could be the bond, leading Vessel to them, but thinks it may be something different. Maybe it has something to do with the vines around the manor.

When the sun begins to set, the canopies above causing orange to dance along the underbrush, III decides its time to head back.

Vessel's bond is still calm, fuzzy at the edges. III hopes the calm is genuine, that Vessel is really alright. II's bond has been steadily leaking exhaustion, a tiredness that has been purposefully brought upon as the day wears on.

III frowns, deciding its time for II to take a break. III has been outside for hours, and even when he went inside a while ago, II hadn't left the practice room.

By the time III makes it back to the house, they first put all the flowers they collected in a little glass, then go to take a quick shower. Hair still dripping, III finds II exactly where he thought he would, in the practice room dripping sweat as he beats away at his drumkit. II notices them, but doesn't say anything, continuing to pound away a fast beat.

"Hey, Doll, the sun just set a minute ago. You should take a break."

"Is Vessel back yet?" II asks, stopping to wipe sweat off his brow, panting from the exertion he has undergone all day.

Shaking their head, III hates to tell II no, that Vessel hasn't turned up. "Damn it." II curses, standing up.

He shakes his legs out one at a time, wincing at the movement and the pain in his back. At III's concerned look, II says, "Overdid it."

"Go take a hot shower. See if it'll help. I'll make sandwiches." III says as II moves towards them at the door.

"Oh, thank you. I didn't realize how hungry I was." II thanks them as he walks by, taking a hand and placing an unthinking kiss on III's forearm as he passes.

A little stunned, III shakes it off quickly and turns to pull II back before he can get too far. III pulls him towards himself, not caring how sweaty II is, and places a big, loud kiss on II's damp hair.

II grumbles in mild complaint, not pulling away until III does so, soaking up the affection fondly.

"Go shower, Doll. You stink." III laughs, gently shoving II away.

"Why, thank you. You're ever so kind to me."

"Careful." III warns playfully, "You're beginning to sound like Ves."

III's smile falls almost immediately as what they said sets in, "I trust Sleep to keep their word, at least. Vessel will turn up soon, sweetheart." II tries to reassure, but it falls short in the face of his own worry.

"I know. Thanks, Doll. Go shower, I'll be in the kitchen."

III makes a few sandwiches while II is in the shower, of a couple different types. He makes one that Vessel usually favors, even if he doesn't need to eat. He always looks so happy when they make him food, or bring him his favorite drink. Or do anything kind for him at all, really. Its saddening, but so, so endearing.

III can't wait for Vessel to get back.

::

Vessel lays maskless in a bed of flowers, surrounded by orange and pink tulips, forget-me-not's, and alyssums. His God sits beside him, growing more flowers as time passes until the meadow is covered in them and Vessel is nearly lost in the sea of color.

As pleased as Vessel has been to spend this time with his God, to show Him what Vessel has been working on, to show how he has interpreted the lyrics or melodies Sleep has given him, Vessel longs to return to the other vessels. He hates the emotions that have been stemming from their bonds all day.

"Everything is all right, my Vessel. The others can manage a day without you near. Stay with me for a little while longer." Sleep croons, his translucent hand unable to touch Vessel as it flickers in and out of existence over Vessel's hair.

"But... They're... They're so worried. I don't like being the cause of it. I already cause enough trouble for them." Vessel says, attention being pulled back to the bonds he shares with the other vessels.

There have been hints of playfulness, minor pain from III that had almost caused Vessel to ask Sleep to return him right then, exhaustion seeping in to their bonds, and so much worry.

"They love you, my First. Any worry you may or may not have caused stems from that love."

"They do not love me." Vessel insists, turning his gazes away from his God.

"They do."

"Then I am not worthy of it." Vessel spits, moving to stand, backing away, arms held close.

His eyes are wild, distress leaking out of every pore at the turn this conversation has taken. The flowers are trampled guiltily under his feet, beauty squashed under his heel like everything else Vessel has ever touched.

"Not worthy. Will never be worthy." He mutters, raking his nails down his bicep, scratching at the skin harshly.

"They will decide themselves whether you are worthy of their love, and you are worthy of it. I would not have chosen you if you were not worthy." Sleep stands, too, their taller form towering over Vessel.

It makes him feel small.

Sleep would not have chosen them, if they were not worthy of the First.

"Maybe you made a mistake." Vessel's voice is weak, hunching over into himself to hide from the anger he knows is coming.

Who is he to question his God?

"Are you questioning my judgment, my Vessel?" Sleep's voices are stern, his presence filling the meadow and overpowering Vessel's every sense, but He is not angry.

Vessel shakes his head shyly, averting his gaze. Sleep's presence brushes against his mind so fondly, almost apologetic, featherlight touches on his cheek, his forehead. His cheeks alight with a fiery blush, and Vessel sends his love down the bond with his God, knowing at least He loves him back. There was no question in that alone.

"They love you, I swear it."

"I do not know what it feels like to be loved kindly."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't! Everyone who has ever loved me has hurt me. The other vessels do not hurt me, therefore they do not love me."

"You are wrong. The others love you dearly. They truly love you. Those fools who claimed to love you and then marred your skin and ripped your heart to smithereens did not love you."

Softer now, Sleep continues, longing to hold His first vessel but unable to truly touch him, "The second and third love you kindly. Their love is not painful. You feel their love for you everyday. It is in every kind word or thought, every gentle action. Every smile and laugh, imbued into their very souls. They worry for you now, out of love. Accept them, and they will show you if only you will open your eyes enough to see through your past and into your present."

"I do not know how to move past what has been done to me." Vessel says, choking on a silent sob that leaves his lips in a faint whimper.

Golden tears drip onto his clothes, falling onto the broken flowers beneath his feet as he keels over on a despaired moan, hands coming up to cover his face from view.

He feels too vulnerable under the eyes of his God. He wants his mask.

A weight settles over Vessel's face, a hard material pressing into his fingers.

Vessel misses Sleep's surprised expression, carefully neutralized before His vessel can see.

Sleep did not realize that His first had any control over this realm. Sleep had left that mask in the other realm, wishing to look upon his vessel properly with his own eyes. Perhaps... perhaps Sleep gave Vessel more of himself than he thought. Than he wanted to.

He has not had vessels before. Sleep wonders if he made a mistake. First, it was His Vessel being able to put other humans to sleep, then to eat nightmares. His Vessel has taken so many of Sleep's own features on...

Vessel sobs silently, grateful for the mask that had appeared over his face in a shimmery golden glow.

So long ago when Sleep first came to Vessel, Sleep wonders if he gave too much of himself to his First, eager to save him from the edge of no return.

His First's body was so damaged, Sleep could barely repair it, no matter the tight grip the God had on his vessels soul. His decision had taken too long. That indecision almost cost Sleep something dear.

"They will help you."

Vessel does not respond for a moment, wiping unending tears from under his mask. Finally, he responds, "I do not want to help myself. I... do not know how to care about my well being enough... to want help."

Sleep also takes a moment to think on what to say. The God... isn't sure how to respond to that.

How does he help someone who does not want to be helped?

"You asked to be loved, my First." Its a familiar saying, "The other vessels... they will help you learn to love yourself. They're trying, even now, to instill in you that you are not worthless."

"You are everything."

"I am ugly." Vessel responds, and Sleep does not say anything in return, only stares down at His first with such sad, adoring eyes.

"I am inadequate." Vessel spits, letting out another sob, a harsh thing that grates on his vocal chords.

"I am lost." Vessel mutters, removing his hands from his face for only a moment.

All six of his eyes meet as many of Sleep's own as he can, and Sleep sees the depths of Vessel's emotions in the crimson irises. There is such loathing in his eyes, directed inward. Sleep is lost in it, lost in the face of such human emotion. His Vessel has always been so expressive, so human. Sleep has always wanted to understand what it meant to be human. His vessel has shown him so much.

Vessel awaits the day his God casts him away. All Vessel knows is to hurt, to be left behind by those he loves. Trampled under the feet of those around him. He has been left as a broken shell, shattered fragments with no hope of being put back together. He has been this way so long he doesn't remember a time where he could look upon himself in the mirror and smile at his own reflection. Does not remember a time when he loved himself. Does he even wish to love himself? Vessel... isn't sure. Doesn't think so. No, Vessel knows so. There has never been any ounce of love towards himself, never any desire to cultivate any affection. His soul was torn asunder long ago. Vessel was used to always giving all he has to give, never receiving that same love in return. There was never any left for himself.

"I wish to return, now. Please." Vessel sobs, sniffling as he forces his next words out, "I... I will listen to your advice. I will try to let them love me, only if they want to. I will not tell them myself, and if it means I stay full of this love, waking up beneath it all for the rest of my existence, then so be it."

"As you wish, my Vessel."

Vessel returns to the Earthen realm in the same state he left, despair choking him. Blood was still splattered over his mask, still dripping down his front. His chest ached something fierce, every rib on fire and Vessel knows his heart would be racing, pounding furiously beneath those aching ribs had its home still been in his chest. A fog has settled over the ground, the moon bright above him as he sits up from where he was leant on a porch pillar, strewn over one of the steps. The vines have tangled gently in his hair, caressing his thigh as if in welcome.

Vessel moves to stand, and finds his legs do not want to carry him up the steps easily. Each leg feels as though a leaden weight is attached at the ankle, and something feels vaguely off in his mind. His throat is tight, tongue heavy in his mouth, and he feels vaguely nauseous with every step. Vessel is afraid. Always so afraid.

II and III had shared a quiet dinner and settled in on the couch under a thin blanket meant more for comfort than heat. II is the one who hears the quiet click of the front door shutting, a hand idly playing with III's hair as the TV plays some movie II was only half paying attention to. II carefully gets up from the couch after removing III's head from his thigh. As stressful as the day has been while they waited for Vessel to return, and III's time outside, they had fallen asleep only a quarter way into the movie they'd put on.

Its nearly midnight when Vessel stumbles in the door, bloody and out of it. He's already making his way up the staircase when II reaches him, vines reaching towards him, writhing in their will to be near. Vessel pauses at the top when II calls out to him quietly, a leaf brushing his ankle.

"Vessel?"

Vessel refuses to turn around, afraid of what is to come.

"I've returned. I apologize for worrying you." Vessel says simply, trying to escape to his room before II can see the blood.

II follows Vessel as he tries to escape to his room, catching Vessel by the hand long enough to get him to stop moving. Vessel freezes in place like a stone statue, moving no further, not even when II releases his hand with a soft apology. They try not to startle him with sudden touches from behind, and yet what else was II to do?

"Where did you go?" II asks, stern, but still concerned.

Vessel turns, pupils mere pinpricks in his fear. His bond is calm, but under the surface II can see a storm brewing in Vessel's eyes. II recognizes that the bond is lying to him. That Vessel is hiding.

Then II's eyes register the blood.

There was blood on his face, splattered along the cheek of his mask. A long line of red dripped down and off the jaw. It was beginning to crust on his chest, dripping down his stomach in rivulets to soak the waistband of his pants.

"This isn't mine." Vessel states, seeing the oncoming panic on II's face and down the bond.

"I killed them."

"What?" II says, struggling to hear Vessel's words, to move past the bloody mess on the taller man.

"Three's murderers. I hunted them down and slaughtered them." Vessel says, somewhat louder this time, a noose tightening around his neck with every passing moment.

"Do you hate me? Are you... Are you going to leave? Leave me?" He asks, finally moving his six eyed gaze up to meet II's, shadows from his mask casting them into a darkness that amplifies the hue of his glowing crimson irises.

There is resignation in his eyes, in the bond he finally lets reveal his true emotions. There is no regret. Just fear, and expectation. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, throat tightening further, and Vessel wants nothing more than to lock himself away in his room and pretend that the other vessels still cared for him.

For a time, II cannot speak. He isn't sure what to say. Vessel has just killed people. That isn't to say II hadn't wanted to do the same, after III had been so terrified. Especially when III woke up from a nightmare yesterday, in tears and unable to breathe through the immediate panic attack they were sent in to.

The bruise on III's face has darkened into a deep purple, swelling up. The man's fist was large, and it damaged a good portion of III's face, and every time II has seen it, it has filled him with unadulterated rage. If Vessel had killed the man when III had initially been assaulted, II would not have stopped him.

"No, of course I don't hate you, Vessel. I'm upset you didn't let me get a punch in. For what they did to Three."

Surprise flits down the bond, the expectation ebbing away to be replaced by confusion.

"You... never respond the way I think you will." Vessel admits hoarsely, nails digging into his arms, shining, golden tears dripping off his jaw.

II gently asks him not to do that, and Vessel listens, slowly lowering his arms, fingers twitching to dig back in. Vessel desperately needs to punish himself somehow, but he has to wait. He has to. He never wants to see that expression on III's face ever again, that haunted look when Vessel took a knife to his arm that was somehow worse than when he was confronted with one of their murderers.

"They killed our Three. I wonder, sometimes, if we could have prevented it. Yet, that thought leads me to wonder if Three would have come to us at all. I'm glad you avenged them." II reaches forward, hands hovering over the sides of Vessel's mask.

A silent question in the bond, in his eyes, and Vessel nods, a small thing but II noticed easily due to their closeness.

There is a shuddering breath in Vessel's ears, harsh wheezing that seems to fade with every second Vessel hears it. His hands tingle, nails digging into his sides hard enough to draw blood as he holds them to himself in a mockery of a hug.

He can see III dying before him, unable to stop those bastards from beating them to death. Unable to hold them as they took their last breath. Vessel will never be able to forget it. The memory will be imprinted into his soul for the rest of eternity unless his God grants him the mercy of destroying his everything its entirety. He will never escape the agony of the experience. The agony of watching one of the most beloved people in his entire life fade away before him, unable to touch, to comfort, to save.

"Sweetheart?" Vessel glances up from where his gaze has fallen to the floor, at III lying there beaten and bloody, chest slowly rising and falling, finding his view of II's concern is no longer obscured by his mask.

Vessel's six eyes are all glowing faintly, the symbol in the hollow of his throat too. His skin, black as night, has not faded back into only his arms and legs, shadows lingering around his edges in wisps. Sleep's presence is still prominent, satisfied and satiated and eager for him to return to the God's realm even though Vessel had just left. Gentle whispers tickle the shell of his ear, murmurs of sweet nothings that Vessel can't quite make out. Vessel wishes he could take comfort from them.

Swallowing harshly, Vessel forces out, "'m okay. Had to watch."

"Watch what sweetheart?" II is careful not to touch Vessel in case the other reacts badly to it, hands hovering awkwardly in front of him, longing to reach forward.

"Three die. Had to know who did it. Their names. Faces. Had to watch. Couldn't-" Vessel chokes out a gasp when the shuddering breaths in his ears cease suddenly.

He scrunches his eyes closed, trying to will away the frightening noise, the gruesome apparition. He knows it is not real. He knows it is only his mind playing tricks on him.

"Oh, Vessel, honey, I'm sorry." II bites his lip with furrowed brows, "I... I hate that you had to do that. Three has said their death wasn't... That it wasn't kind."

"It was awful. Sleep showed me with a dream." Vessel admits as he reopens his eyes, voice going softer, more hoarse, as he struggles to keep from sobbing again.

"He... I couldn't touch him. Couldn't help. Couldn't... I couldn't do anything. I could only watch." Tears leaking down his cheeks, Vessel drags his claws over his sides, hugging himself tightly.

The self-comfort action has never worked like Vessel wanted it to, but who else did he have to hug him Before, if not himself?

Vessel's throat finally closes on him, thorns wrapping tightly around his voice-box and ceasing use of his voice. No, no, he still has to talk to III. Vessel has to know if he's lost one of his beloveds, he has to know if III will hate him for what he has done. He can't- Not his voice, not right now. Please.

His breaths come out in shorter and shorter pants, a faint tremble setting into his limbs. Scratching at his sides, his claws leave angry little lines and welts. "Hey, hey, Vessel, sweetheart don't do that."

Foregoing the no touching rule II had enforced upon himself, he reaches out and forcefully takes Vessel's hands in his own. They're ice cold to the touch, one crusted with blood, as II slowly leads them over to the same little couch he and III had sat on earlier that day. Sitting them both down, II places Vessel's mask to the side, taking one of his hands and putting it on II's own chest.

Deliberate, deep breaths start out slow enough for Vessel to follow. It takes time for Vessel to try, and so II starts humming one of their songs off-key. Vessel doesn't cease trembling, but the hand against II's chest curls its fingers to hold it. Slowly, Vessel's breathing gets deep enough to match II's. His face is riddled with guilt and stress, and II doesn't know how to help him.

The med-kit II had used on III earlier still sits nearby, and II grabs it to use on Vessel's scratches. Its a familiar routine, to clean and bandage the scratches and cuts. II hates the familiarity, hates the lingering, slimy feeling of guilt that settles over Vessel's bond like a stubborn oil that won't go away.

"Mind if I clean those, sweetheart?" II keeps his voice gentle, taking in the scratches on Vessel's sides.

Vessel places a hand to his throat, shaking his head frantically to show II he can't use his voice. Vessel is worried II will be mad at him for not being able to speak during such a serious conversation.

"That's alright, sweetheart. No need to panic, I'm not upset."

II gestures at Vessel's injuries again and Vessel nods his head in reluctant  acceptance. A small smile slips onto II's face, his eyes scrunching at the corners. "Thank you." He murmurs, taking out antiseptic and bandages to place over the wounds.

II continues humming while he works, and Vessel watches II's face intently, only glancing away shyly when II looks up at him.

When he's done, having cleaned some of the blood that wasn't Vessel's off, II takes Vessel's phone out of his back pocket. "Here, was holding onto this for when you came back."

Nodding in thanks, Vessel takes it. When he turns the phone screen on, the lock screen is of III, spinning Elvira around with a happy little grin as the cat looks on at them, disgruntled. Its a bit blurry, but it makes Vessel smile. Vessel adores III, and Elvira.

"He didn't see me get that." II smiles mischievously.

'It's cute. Thank you :::D' Vessel types, showing II, even as his mind wanders briefly to the sliver of III's midriff exposed in the photo.

"You're welcome, Ves. I'm glad you like it."

'Do you want me to kill yours? For killing you, too?' Vessel types out, tilting his head to the side, taking in a careful, measured breath as he turns the phone around for II to see.

Vessel watches as II clearly thinks it over. Its cute, the expression II gets when he concentrates. A furrow between his brow that almost makes him look angry. Vessel sees it most when II drums.

"No. It was a robbery. They probably were desperate for money, for whatever reason. I... I do not want them dead." II decides, finally, brushing a strand of hair from Vessel's face.

His hand remains on Vessel's cheek, the other leaning in to the touch, eyes fluttering closed. II wants to kiss him. Wants to feel the chapped, bitten skin of Vessel's lips against his own. Wants to know what Vessel tastes like. Will it be the mint of his toothpaste, iron from where he has bitten his lips and inner cheeks so hard that blood spills into his mouth? Will it be something II can't name, but screams of Vessel no matter what it is?

II looks away from Vessel's lips, finding Vessel watching him in open curiosity, perhaps some form of invitation if II were to look into it further.

"I'm going to go wake III, get him in bed. They worked on their garden while you were gone, were outside all day. He came back inside exhausted." II says, moving to stand as his hands slip from Vessel's skin.

His gaze slips back to Vessel's lips, raising to one pair of his six eyes. They're still watching II intently and II feels as though he is going to be burnt right through with the intensity of Vessel's searing gaze. He barely notices when Vessel has turned the phone around for II to read what he wrote, easily typing with one pair of eyes on the keyboard.

'Are you going to bed?'

"Yeah, Three woke up early... then they realized you weren't in the house and woke me up too. I've been in the practice room all day."

Guilt overcomes Vessel's pretty features, flooding the bond.

'I apologize. I left a note.'

"Yes, we found it, honey, but it didn't abate our worry. We could barely feel you in the bond. We didn't know where you went. You're allowed to go anywhere you please... its just, you left the car, your phone... And you've never been inclined to leave the realm by yourself before. We were worried." II tells Vessel softly, trying to convey that they're not upset, they were only concerned. "Especially after what has just recently happened with Three."

'I apologize. It was a necessary endeavor though.'

"I realize that now, it was just concerning at the time, Ves."

Vessel doesn't type anything else out for a moment, seeming to just process what II has said. Slowly, he nods, contemplating something.

II watches Vessel bite his lower lip with a fang, his angel bites glinting in the low light of the lamp nearby. Watches Vessel's split tongue peeking out to lave the bitten skin with saliva.

II really wants to kiss him.

'Can I join you in bed?' As Vessel turns the phone around for II to see, his face goes up in flames as he realizes just what he typed and how it could be taken.

II laughs lightly, catching himself before he leans too far forward with the intention of actually kissing Vessel at the intense wave of affection that washes over him.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Three will probably join us later, if he wakes and realizes I put them in their own room. They stole one of my tater tots over dinner." II jokes, and Vessel cracks a smile, a lopsided little thing that sends II's heart pounding erratically in his chest.

"Go ahead and take a shower... Ah, damnit, I forgot I just did your bandages." II groans, "Take the shower anyway. I'll just redo them. And I can try to braid your hair. Three has been letting me practice small ones on theirs."

Vessel laughs, a faint little chuckle that II barely heard, but it causes a wide grin to split his cheeks. Vessel's surprised look at the sound simultaneously shatters II's heart and causes pride to swell in his chest.

II shoos Vessel on with a benign smile, dimple on full show, and Vessel wanders off to his room to grab a change of clothes. On his nightstand is a small vase, filled with all sorts of little flowers.  Vessel finds he can name a couple of them, balloon flowers and beautiful alyssums and one he thinks may be called salvia's. Balloon flowers can mean the desire for a friend to return, or everlasting love. Vessel wonders which meaning III meant, or if they picked them just for their beauty. Vessel doesn't remember what the alyssums stand for, but recognizes them from Sleep's realm. The sight fills Vessel with happiness. He knows exactly who left him these flowers.

A gentle finger traces down the length of one of the alyssums, and the flower's petals seem to glow a little at the touch, a white to match the color of the petals. Where they had been damaged on one of the petals, the flower seems to rejuvenate, leaning into Vessel's fingers.

Vessel tilts his head, curious, as he touches another of the damaged flowers, this one missing a petal entirely. A new petal unfurls under Vessel's finger, the purple-blue of the balloon flower glowing gently in Vessel's dark room. A grin splits Vessel's face, a wide thing that bares fangs and hurts his cheeks. With this gift, which Vessel thinks may be connected to his heart, he can keep the flowers III has gifted him alive far longer. He wonders if he can use it on other plants, since it clearly does not apply only to the vines around the house.

III doesn't stir when II hefts him up with ease, their head lolling onto II's shoulder. Getting them up the staircase surely must have looked comical from an outsiders point of view, with III being considerably taller than II. II leaves III in their clothes; dirt covered jeans, sweaty tank top and all then heads off to his room to change into his own pajamas.

Vessel joins II in his room around ten minutes later, with hair still dripping water droplets. A hoodie and sweatshirt hangs over his arm, and a pair of navy blue pajama pants covered in yellow stars drag the floor. In his arms is his plague doctor plushie, held close to his bare chest with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It leaves his Sleep given tattoos on display, and II adores the sight. II holds one arm out, a hand splayed open in invitation. Vessel shuffles forward, taking II's hand and letting the other pull him gently onto the bed. He sits at the edge of it while II brushes his hair, braiding it down between his shoulder blades.

His hair has grown longer since he first became a vessel, a bit past his shoulders now. It's a short braid, but Vessel is happy II has done it for him anyway. Vessel types out his gratitude as he remains seated in front of II.

Redoing Vessel's bandages is a quick, easy affair. When II is done and slides under the covers to get comfy, Vessel puts his mask on II's nightstand and changes into his shirt and hoodie, slipping under the covers. II yelps when Vessel's cold toes touch his calf, curling up at Vessel's side with a lighthearted joke about Vessel having frostbite. Vessel huffs a laugh, II's tone making it clear he is only joking.

They sit in silence while II settles down to sleep, tired eyes already fighting to stay closed as he blinks. One hand glides up Vessel's arm as the two face each other, Vessel's phone laid face down between them.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt." II whispers, fingers trailing back and forth over Vessel's bicep.

Goosebumps arise at the reverent touch, 'They had no chance to hurt me.' Vessel assures as he shows II his phone screen, and even now he doesn't understand why they do not want to seem him hurt.

Vessel is used to pain, he welcomes it. Pain is a constant companion, one he has always had by his side. Vessel can handle pain. He frowns, but doesn't say anything more. II slowly nods off after that, not quite reassured, hand slipping off of Vessel's bicep, settling into a peaceful sleep.

When Vessel is sure II is asleep, he lifts himself onto an elbow, taking his phone and snapping a quick picture of II sleeping beside him. His hair is splayed over the pillows, a calm expression on his visage, with one hand still holding Vessel's between them.

The camera button makes the phone let out a shuttering sound, and Vessel panics, clicking the screen off and laying back down quickly. II doesn't stir, only let's out a small snore that sends affection whizzing through Vessel's nervous system. When Vessel is sure II will not wake, he opens his screen again, six eyes squinting at the brightness and tries to figure out how to change his phone's lock screen. After he figures out how to dim the screen to save his eyesight.

III wakes up groggy a few hours later, seeing the empty bed and frowning in displeasure.

Vessels bond is open, shining with a silvery luminous beauty. Its peaceful, just being able to feel it. To know Vessel is alive. All the stress III had been feeling throughout the day seems to wash away under that gentle light. III practically hops out of bed, immediately noticing they're still in their dirty jeans and shirt from earlier. They're quick to change into a loose t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of pajama pants, making their way out of their room.

They see II heading downstairs for the restroom, dressed in a loose tank top and low riding shorts, hair mussed up on one side from sleeping.

"Is Vessel back?" III asks, rubbing one eye with a fist.

"Yes, he's in my room. Do you want to join us?" II responds, eyes soft as they look at III and their messy hair pulled back into a bun.

III nods eagerly, "Yeah, why didn't you just take me to your room anyway?"

III frowns, but II only smirks playfully, "You stole one of my tater tots. It was only fair."

"You little shit." III curses fondly, "Just for that I'm taking one every time we eat tater tots."

II gasps in mock offense, "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I absolutely will."

III smile is infectious, one easily slipping onto II's face to mirror it, but it falls quickly as he turns around to continue to the restroom.

He pauses before he goes downstairs, one foot on a step, turning his head to look at III once more. III is about to turn around to go get their stuff when II whispers their name.

III turns back around, a little confused at II's tone.

There's a contemplative expression upon his visage before he comes to a decision.

"We'll tell him in the morning, after breakfast."

III's face lights up in excitement, but II continues. "Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart. Not like I did... And he wants to speak with you when you wake up. He has something to tell you. About where he went today."

"Okay, and I know..." III says, a little confused.

They already knew not to get their hopes up too high, after what II had said happened last time, when II confessed to Vessel. How Vessel had freaked out, ran away and hid. It was one of the only times Vessel had ever snapped at II, he had said. But... what does any of this have to do with what Vessel did while he was away?

"Get your pillow, Three, and head on to my room." II says softly, closing the conversation.

III stares after him for a moment, before going to do what II said. Vessel is on his side facing the door, his thick blanket laid over him and his stuffy held close under his chin. All six eyes move from his phone to III as they enter, clutching their pillow. Vessel smiles, a small, hesitant thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Vessel, I'm so glad you're back! I missed you, and we were worried!" III lights up much like he did earlier, bounding over to Vessel.

Vessel sets his phone on II's nightstand, and III does the same when he's close enough. "Scoot over, I wanna cuddle."

Vessel huffs a laugh, doing as III asks and moving to the middle of the bed. He does not speak, but a hand comes to glance over his throat as he shakes his head, all six eyes apologetic, and III understands. II comes back soon, finding III already cuddled up to Vessel on one side, showing him a video they'd found of cats getting startled at mundane things. There's a smile on Vessel and III's faces, III laughing loudly and shaking the whole bed with it.

Vessel flinches back from the noise slightly, smile falling into thin lips. There is determination in the bond, a firm resolve, and Vessel leans his shoulder onto III's, who places their own head on Vessel's in return. III sends down his feelings of pride in Vessel, and Vessel gently sends back hesitant acceptance. II climbs over both of them, and Vessel picks up his plushie from where it laid at his side, pulling it close to his chest instead.

II, desperate to give Vessel any affection he can before he inevitably pulls away from them come morning, leans forward to place a kiss on Vessel's shoulder, wrapping a hand around Vessel's and scooting impossibly closer to rest his head over the lingering tingle of the kiss he left. III, seeing the action, makes one of his own, leaning over and placing a kiss to Vessel's temple, and then getting up on an elbow to lean over and kiss II on the forehead.

Vessel is warm inside, and can feel his body growing warmer from II and III laying on either side of him, both cuddled as close as they know Vessel will allow. No hands stray close to his neck or chest, no ear too close to hear his lack of heartbeat through his many layers.

When morning comes, Vessel will keep a modicum of distance from III. He knows it's necessary for when III no longer wants him near, but for now Vessel will soak up any affection they'll give him. For now, they will giggle and laugh at the continuous videos III shows II and Vessel. He will let himself have this, even as he fears it will be torn from his fingers come morning.

[bloodykissesfromme]

A fresh cup of tea awaits you in the garden my dear.

The Alyssums are beginning to bloom. It is quite a lovely sight.

-🐈‍⬛

Thank you, faithful cat. I could use a good stroll in the garden, honestly. Care to join me?

[lacepockets]

Our garden, and closeups of the zinnia and alyssum in it 😊 I'm hoping the morning glory blooms in early autumn...

[evenfallwriter]

F0XY'S BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO MASTERLIST

I had been so excited to get and start on my Bad Things Happen Bingo and finally I have started writing for it!

ORIGINAL LINKS FOR 'BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO'

Where you can Ask for a Bad Things Happen Bingo Card! Bad Things Happen Bingo Tumblr Account Bad Things Happen Rules Bad Things Happen AO3 Collection

F0XY'S BTHB LINKS

BTHB Series

THE PROMPTS (and the fandom's that I will be writing using it for + who the event's will be surrounding

?? & ?? || Tears of Fear ?? & ?? || Put Down Your Gun and Step Away ?? & ?? || Stalking Andrew Minyard / Neil Josten || Tampering with Food/Drink [devil's come out when the sun goes down] Andrew Minyard & Neil Josten || Held at Gunpoint [to hunt a rabbit] Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya || Internal Bleeding [at least the war is over] ?? & ?? || Collared and Chained ?? & ?? || Stumbling and Staggering ?? & ?? || Therapy Session ?? & ?? || Captivity ?? & ?? || Witholding Medical Treatment Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya || Hurts to Breathe [to burn for your love] Dazai Osamu || Branding [blooming of an alyssum] Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya || Attempted Rape [all my agony fades away when you hold me in your embrace] ?? & ?? || Locked in a Freezer ?? & ?? || Can't Go Home ?? & ?? || Being Watched ?? & ?? || Villainous Rescue ?? & ?? || "I'm Fine" ?? & ?? || Lost Their Voice From Screaming ?? & ?? || Shackled Feet ?? & ?? || First-Aid Kit ?? & ?? || This is for Your Own Good ?? & ?? || Sensory Deprivation ?? & ?? || Worked Themselves to Exhaustion

(I am taking requests for this bingo, while also writing things that I want to write- feel free to leave in requests along with fandom and the character that you would like to see go through the prompt!)

I will be updating this as time goes by and will be adding in the fics that i write when they are posted online. If I am working on it I will only be putting in the other information!

[rcox808]

Art for Your HeArt ❤️

Poem: What I would like to grow in my garden

Poet: Katherine Reigel

Peonies, heavy and pink as ’80s bridesmaid dressesand scented just the same. Sweet pea, because I like clashing smells and the car I drove in college was named that: a pea-green Datsun with a tendency to backfire.

Sugar snap peas, which I might as well

call memory bites for how they taste like

being fourteen and still mourning the horse farm I had been uprooted from at ten.

Also: sage, mint, and thyme—the clocks

of summer—and watermelon and blue lobelia.

Lavender for the bees and because I hate

all fake lavender smells. Tomatoes to cut

and place on toasted bread for BLTs, with or without the b and the l. I’d like, too, to plant

the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace, and for it to bloom even when it’s hot,

and also lilies, so I have something left to look at when the rabbits come.

They always come. They are always hungry. And I think I am done protecting one sweet thing from another.

[flowerycharacterslist]

↑ ↑ ↑

The tournament is up there, with the rules, my open askbox etc.

Names' ideas from the characters list below (they're examples I've gathered or you submitted, THIS ISN'T A LIST OF CONFIRMED CONTESTANTS. If you want them in the bracket you have to submit them) :

Acerola, Aerith, Ainsley, Almond, Althea, Alyssa, Alyssum, Amaranth, Amarantha, Amaryllis, Amy Rose, Ananas, Anemona, Anemone, Angel Lily, Angelica, Angélique, Anthea, Anthy, Apple Bloom, Araluen, Arum, Asami, Ash, Ashleigh, Ashley, Aster, Artremisia, Ayano, Azalea, Azami

Basil, Begonia, Belladonna, Bellossom, Berry, Bloom, Blooms, Blossom, Bluebell, Botan, Bougainvillea, Briar Rose, Briony, Bryony, Buttercup, Byakuren

Calanthe, Calla (Lily), Camellia, Campion, Carmilla, Carnation, Cassia, Cedar, Celandine, Cerise, Cherry, Cherry Blossom, Chloe, Chrysanthemum, Clove, Clover, Cosmo, Crocus, Cucumber, Cynthia

Dahlia, Daisy, Dandelion, Daphne, Daphnes, Delphine, Delphinium, Dendro, Dendrobium, Diantha, Dianthus

Eglantine, Elanor, Erica, Erika

Fearne, Fields, Ficus, Fig, Fleur, Fleur de Lis, Fleur-de-Lys, Flora, Florence, Flores, Flower, Flower in the Night, Flowey, Flox, Forsythia, Foxglove, Fuchsia, Fuji, Fujiwara, Fuuka

Gardenia, Garlic, Gentian, Geranium, Gladiolus, Gladion, Goldmary, Guzma

Hana, Hanadera, Hanajima, Hanako, Hanami, Hanasaki, Haruka, Hau, Hazel, Heather, Hemlock, Hibiscus, Hinata, Holly, Hollyhock, Hollyleaf, Honeysuckle, Hortense, Hortensia, Hua, Hyacinth, Hyacinthe, Hyacinthus

Iantha, Ianthe, Ibaraki, Iolanthe, Iris, Itsuki, Ivy

Jacinda, Jaskier, Jasmine, Jessamine, Jessamy, Juniper

Kalen, Kalina, Kanon, Kasen, Katniss, Kiku, Kikyo, Kiryu, Kiwi, Kugisaki, Kukui, Kuroba

Laura, Laurel, Lauren, Lavender, Leif, Lemon, Lian, Liana, Lilac, Lili, Lilia, Lilian, LilianaLilium, Liliya, Lilja, Lillian, Lilliana, Lillie, Lillium, Lilly, Lily, Lime, Linnea, Lusamine, Lychee

Magnolia, Mallow, Mandelstam, Maple, Margaret, Marguerite, Marigold, Marlowe, Meadow, Mei, Mentha, Miki, Mimosa, Mint, Minty, Momo, Momoka, Moobloom, Myrrh, Myrrha, Myrtle

Nadeshiko, Narcissus, Nasreen, Nemona, Nepeta,

Orange Blossom, Orchid

Padma, Padmé, Pema, Peasley Peony, Pepper, Periwinkle, Pervinca, Petunia, Pimpernel, Plumeria, Poppy, Posey, Posy, Potpourri, Primrose, Pumpkinhead

Quince

Ran, Rapunzel, Raspberry, Ren, Riko, Ringo, Roisin, Rosa, Rosalie, Rosalina, Rosalind, Rosaline, Rosamund, Rosalyne, Rose, Rosella, Roseluck, Rosemary, Rosemaster, Ronsencrantz, Rosethorn, Rosetta, Rosie, Rosita, Rozaliya, Rue

Sage, Saki, Sakuko, Sakura, Salvia, Samantha, Seagrass, Sensui, Sequoia, Smilax, Sour Grapes, Sprig, Spruce, Strelitzia, Sue, Sumire, Sumireko, Susan, Susannah, Susie, Suzanne, Sweet Grapes, Sylvester, Sylvia, Sylvie

Tamar, Tamara, Tansy, Thalia, Thistlefoot, Thorn, Toph, Tsubaki, Tsubomi, Tulip, Turnip, Twoflower

Utena

Vanilla, Vasily, Venus, Veronica, Viola, Violet, Violetta

Whitley, Willow, Wisteria,

Xion, Xochitl

Yasamin, Yasmin, Yasmina, Yotsuba, Yuri

Zara, Zahra, Zinnia, Zisu, Zhou Xu

[kits-shrine]

Alyssum’s breath hitched in her throat at his touch. Bluebell eyes looked up at him wide and searching as a pretty blush bloomed on her cheeks. All she could manage was a breathless, “Oh?”

"Mhmmm~" Tamashii hummed, fingers brushing feather light again as he pulled back to straighten and smile at her "However these are an adorable consolation prize."